How cool the metal was.
He took the clip out, put it back in, flicked the safety catch off and on, jacked a round into the chamber. He laid the barrel of the weapon alongside his forehead, noting again how cool it felt. Like a cold cloth on his forehead. Like his mother’s hand, checking to see if he were running a fever.
It was hard to believe such a little gun was truly lethal. He took experimental aim at the wall calendar, at a glass ashtray on top of one of the filing cabinets, at the silver-framed photograph of Elaine and the girls. Each time his finger gave the trigger a tentative caress.
He placed the gun on the desk and sat looking at it. Something had led him to it, and not so that he might cool his brow with it. The gun was a machine for killing. Whom, he wondered, was he supposed to kill?
He sat for several moments, considering this question. Then, with a sigh, he got to his feet and returned the gun to his jacket pocket.
“Don’t look now, Jardell, but we’re being followed.”
“Huh?”
“He’s just creeping along behind us. Our favorite Buick. Good old DWE-628. Why don’t you turn around and give him the famous Jardell stare?”
“I don’t want to.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s creepy,” she said. “Why’s he following us?”
“He always follows us. Especially since we turned up at his house.”
“Maybe it was a mistake, going to his house.”
“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, who expected him to turn up there?”
She frowned. “Maybe I’ll just go home to my house today.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he’s following us because he heard you were a musical genius. He wants to sign you to a recording contract.”
“Sure.”
“Or he’s a white slaver. He’s going to chloroform you and fuck you five hundred times and ship you to Argentina where they’ll make you do it with Shetland ponies.”
“Or he’s from the Legion of Decency and he heard that there’s a gross pig named Erskine Wold who ought to be arrested.”
“He could probably get arrested for what he’s doing, as far as that goes. It’s against the law, isn’t it?”
“What, following people?”
“Well, bugging little kids. We could call the cops from my house.”
“And tell them what?”
“That this man keeps following us all the time. I could tell them the license number. I wouldn’t have to say that we know who he is because we did a little investigating. They might not like that part. But if we gave them the license number they could pick him up and give him a hard time.”
“Roberta would have a fit.”
“Roberta?” He stared at her. “What’s she got to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Ariel. Why’d you say that?”
She shook her head. “No reason,” she said….
When the two children entered the Wold house, Jeff circled the block and parked five houses down the street. He shut off the motor, left the key in the ignition. After a moment he took the gun from his pocket and gazed at it as if he were seeing it for the first time. It seemed to him to be an object of considerable artistic merit, its proportions mathematically perfect, the angle of butt and barrel evidence of its designer’s brilliance. With a fingertip he stroked its gleaming nickel surface. He tilted it in his palm, seeing himself reflected in its mirror surface.
If he were going to kill himself, how would he set about doing it? He held the gun first to his temple, then with the barrel in his mouth, tilting it so that it pointed up through the roof of his mouth.
You would have to take careful aim, he thought. The gun fired a small-caliber steel-jacketed slug that would not expand upon impact. To do the job properly, you would have to put a bullet directly into the brain.
When he withdrew the gun from his mouth he felt as though he had passed through some sort of ordeal. The taste of metal lingered on his tongue. He breathed deeply, in and out, in and out.
He looked at the Wold house. He thought of Grace Molineaux, and he thought of Bobbie and Elaine, and finally his thoughts centered on Ariel. It was difficult for him to think about Ariel because his thoughts were never very clear on the subject. There was something hypnotic about the child, something that clouded his thoughtss.
He extended a hand, adjusted the rear-view mirror so that he could see his face in it. He kept glancing at his reflection and immediately looking away, not liking what he saw. Each time he met his own eyes in the mirror, a pulse worked in his temple and he felt something throb at the base of his skull.
But he couldn’t avoid looking into the mirror.
An answer presented itself. He took the little gun from his pocket, braced himself against the seatback, leveled the pistol at the mirror. His eyes closed involuntarily as he tightened his finger on the trigger, but he willed them open and was staring wide-eyed at his reflection as he fired.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed car. The mirror shattered and the slug ricocheted, starring the window on the passenger side, rebounding into the back seat. Jeff sat motionless for a moment, then touched his left forefinger to the barrel of the gun. It was quite warm. He reached up to remove a few stray shards of glass from the mirror frame and let them fall to the floor of the car.
No one seemed to have heard the shot. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of cordite, listening to the ringing in his ears. He felt calm now, and pleased with himself. It seemed to him that he had confronted a problem head-on and solved it.
TWENTY-ONE
Erskine’s new tape recorder was larger than his old one, with a more powerful speaker. They sat listening to a cassette Ariel had made. She had played her flute while one of her tapes ran on the original recorder, and now she was hearing the result, a flute duet in which her two voices sang one against the other, blending yet remaining distinct.
At first she had trouble concentrating on the music. She couldn’t get her mind off Channing, and twice she went to the window and checked to see if his car was there. But then she managed to slip into the music and get lost in it.
They were sitting side by side on Erskine’s bed. Just as she was fully caught up in the music he slipped an arm around her and she felt his fingers take a tentative purchase inches from her breast. She could feel the urgent pressure of his hand through her sweater. She tensed the muscles in her legs, trying not to lose the flow of the music, trying to will his hand from her. The hand stayed where it was. She twisted her upper body away from him to dislodge the hand but it held on and began to crawl like an insect toward her breast.
“Stop it,” she said. The hand at least stopped moving. “I said stop it.”
“Aw, Ariel …”
She stood up, crossed to the recorder and pushed the stop button. “I don’t want to hear any more now.”
“It sounds good.”
“Maybe. I wish you would cut that out.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“It’s hard to concentrate on the music when I’ve got hands all over me. I don’t like it.”
“Sorry.”
“How would you like it if someone was grabbing you all the time?”
“I’d love it.”
“You probably would.”
Want to grab me, Ariel? Grab me here.”
“You’re disgusting,” she told him. She went to the window again, eyes searching for Channing’s Buick. “That was creepy before,” she said.
“I touched your sweater, for God’s sake. What’s so creepy about that?”
“I mean the way he was following us. He never did that before.”
“Maybe he thinks we’re agents of a foreign power.”
“Be serious.”
“Want to put the music back on? I’ll sit on my hands if you want.”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel l
ike listening to it. I don’t know if it’s any good.”
“It sounded good to me.”
She shrugged.
“You can’t even tell which part you recorded first,” he said. “It’s even tough to tell where one part begins and the other leaves off.”
“Not for me it isn’t.”
“Well, you’re the one who played it, Ariel. That makes a difference.”
“I suppose.”
“You’re in a terrific mood, Jardell. You’re a lot of fun to be with.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What’s the matter? That creep Channing?”
She shook her head.
“What?”
She thought of the argument the night before. Channing was Roberta’s lover and the knowledge confused her, but it was not something she was prepared to share with Erskine, not just yet.
Anyway, that wasn’t the only thing that was bothering her.
She sat down beside him. “We’re moving,” she said.
“What?”
“I heard them talking the other day. He went to a real estate agent and put the house on the market. Pretty soon I guess somebody’ll buy it and we’ll have to look for a new place to live.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
“Where are you going to move?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe she’s got her eye on one of those mansions on the Battery.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You think she wants to move out of the neighborhood?”
“I said I don’t know.” She looked at her lap. Her little hands had hardened into fists and she studied them, then opened them and placed them palms-down on her knees. “He said they wouldn’t even look at houses until they found a buyer for ours. And he told her it would take time before they found a buyer who would pay a fair price. But the house is up for sale and anybody who wants it can just come along with a suitcase full of money and I’ll have to move.”
She looked at him and then had to look away because she could tell his face was a mask composed to keep back tears. If she went on looking at him she was likely to start crying herself and she didn’t want to cry.
“I’m not moving,” she said.
“Maybe they’ll stay in the neighborhood, Ariel. There’s plenty of places for sale. The Moeloth house right across the street’s for sale. Move in there and we could run a phone wire across the street between the two houses. I bet we could even work out a pulley system to send things back and forth.”
“I’m not moving anywhere,” she said. “Not across the street, not anywhere.”
“What are you going to do?”
She didn’t answer immediately, and when she did her voice was softer and carried less conviction. “I don’t know,” she said. "I;ll think of something.”
“Get a lawyer to block the sale. Maybe your friend Channing can make himself useful.”
“Sure.”
“You know what you could do? You could live here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here,” he said, gesturing. “This house. You could have my old room. My parents suck but I don’t suppose they’re any worse than David and Roberta.”
“They couldn’t be.”
“So?”
She looked at him. “You’re serious.”
“Sure.”
“They’d never let me do it, Erskine.”
“Sure they would. They never let up about how glad they are that I finally found a friend.”
“I know. I only spend time with you out of charity. I’m going to take a tax deduction for it.”
“Shut up. The thing is, if they’re so glad you’re my friend, why wouldn’t they let you move in?”
”Your parents might. Or I could just move in quietly and they wouldn’t notice.”
He giggled. “My father could live in the same house with you and not notice you were there. At dinner you could ask him to pass the salt and he’d pass it and still not notice. But my mother would catch on sooner or later. She’s sharp.”
“Mine would never go for it, David and Roberta.”
“Can’t you get unadopted? And move in here?”
“I don’t think so,? she said. She went to the window again, just to see if the car happened to be around, and she couldn’t see it. “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t want to move out of my house. I like it there.”
“I know you do.”
“I want to live there forever. I knew that the minute I saw it and every day I like it more.”
“I know.”
She sat down heavily. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Want to listen to the music some more?”
“No. Maybe I’ll go home.”
“It’s still early.”
“I know. I’m in a weird mood.”
“Want to play a game? Cards or Boggle or something?”
“No.”
He touched her arm lightly. “Listen,” he said, “don’t panic or anything, okay?”
“I guess.”
“We’ll think of something. Maybe nobody’ll want to buy your house.”
“Are you kidding? A house like that? Somebody’ll buy it.”
“Yeah.” He brightened. “Maybe my father’ll buy it.”
“Your father?”
“He’ll buy it for us.”
“Sure,” she said. “Just tell him you need it, like the tape recorder. ’Daddy, I sort of need Ariel’s house.’ Perfect.”
“Don’t laugh,” he said. “It might work.”
It was cold when she left Erskine’s house, with a wind blowing up that chilled her the minute she got outside. She had her bookbag hitched over her shoulder with the strap cutting into her. The bookbag was heavier than usual, weighted down with one of the tape recorders. She was carrying the other one.
A car’s engine turned over as she left the house. About the time she reached the sidewalk, the car was pulling away from the curb several houses down the street. She was only faintly aware of it until it braked to a stop alongside of her.
“Ariel!”
She turned. It was the Buick, and Jeffrey Channing was leaning across the front seat, rolling down the window on the passenger side. There was a small hole in the window, she noticed, with lines radiating out from it like the spokes of a wheel.
“Come here, Ariel.”
He knew her name. Well, of course he would know that. If he was Roberta’s lover or lawyer or whoever he was, he would surely know her name. He’d been following her, after all. Small surprise that he knew who he was following.
“You’re Ariel Jardell,” he said.
And you’re Mr. Jeffrey Channing, she thought, but decided against letting him know that she knew who he was. She merely nodded, and took a tentative step toward the car, moving from the sidewalk to the narrow strip of lawn between sidewalk and curb.
“Get in the car, Ariel,” he said. He let the door swing open and smiled at her, a tight smile that stopped short of his eyes. He was definitely a handsome man, she thought, and wondered that Erskine couldn’t see it.
Old enough to be her father …
“Get in, Ariel. I’ll drive you home.”
“I live close,” she said.
“I know where you live.”
“I don’t mind walking.”
“It’s cold out. I’ll give you a ride.
“No, I sort of think I’d rather walk.”
“Get in the car,” Channing said. There was a taut quality in his voice that she recognized. Roberta’s voice had that tone to it at times when she was having trouble holding herself together. If he was really Roberta’s lover, maybe he learned it from her. Or maybe she got it from him.
“Get in the car, Ariel.”
Suppose she ran. Suppose she turned around and ran up the path to Erskine’s door. They would let her in and Mr. Wold would call the police.
And tell them what?
“Ariel—“<
br />
“Why were you following us?”
“Why were you and your friend at my house the other day?”
“Your house?”
“On Fontenoy Drive. I saw you there, Ariel.”
:Oh,” she said. “We went to visit a friend of mine from my old school. Her name is Linda Goodenow.”
“You were at my house.”
“I didn’t know it was your house. Honest. We were visiting my friend Linda. You can ask her if you don’t believe me.”
He looked at her for a moment. Then suddenly his face brightened with a smile. “I believe you,” he said, moving to pat the seat beside him. “Now hop in and I’ll give you a ride.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t you know me, Ariel?”
“No.”
“You don’t recognize me?”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m a friend of your mother’s.”
“My mother?”
“That’s right.”
Her heart pounded in her breast. “Do you mean it? Are you telling me the truth? You really know my mother?”
“Of course.”
“You know who she is? Is she alive? Does she live here in Charleston? You really know her?”
“Get in the car, Ariel.”
“Are you going to take me to see her?”
He smiled again for an answer.
Who was he? Her father? Roberta’s lover? Some combination of lawyer and detective? It didn’t matter. He knew her mother and was taking her to meet her. It was hard to believe but it was true. It was…
She got into the car.
TWENTY-TWO
“Where are we going?”
“For a ride.”
But she already knew that. He had driven out of the neighborhood down streets she did not know, and it was hard to tell whether he had a destination in mind or was just letting the car find its own way. She was sitting next to the door now, her right hand on the handle. All she had to do was wait until he stopped for a light or a stop sign and then open the door and hop out.
“Are we going to see my mother?”
“Your mother,” he said, like an echo.