The Devil in Silver

The Devil in Silver is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Victor LaValle

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Spiegel & Grau, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

SPIEGEL & GRAU and Design is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

LaValle, Victor D.

The devil in silver: a novel / Victor LaValle.

p. cm.

eISBN: 978-0-679-60486-0

1. Psychological fiction. I. Title.

PS3562.A8458D48 2012   813′.54—dc23   2011034970

www.spiegelandgrau.com

Jacket design: Keenan

v3.1

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Volume 1: Intake

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Volume 2: Coffin Industries

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Volume 3: Starry Night

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Volume 4: Intake

Chapter 42

Author’s Note

Dedication

Other Books by This Author

About the Author

The fear, the horror, that I had of madness before is already greatly softened. And although one continually hears shouts and terrible howls as though of the animals in a menagerie, despite this the people here know each other very well, and help each other when they suffer crises.

—VINCENT VAN GOGH

1

THEY BROUGHT THE big man in on a winter night when the moon looked as hazy as the heart of an ice cube. It took three cops to wrestle and handcuff him. They threw him in their undercover cruiser and drove him to the New Hyde mental hospital. This was a mistake. They shouldn’t have brought him there. But that wasn’t going to save him.

When they reached the hospital, everyone got out. The big man refused to walk. The three cops mobbed around him, trying to intimidate, but to the big man they just looked like Donald Duck’s nephews: Huey, Dewey, and Louie. A bunch of cartoons. It didn’t help that they were dressed in street clothes instead of blue uniforms.

Dewey and Louie walked behind the big man and Huey stayed up front. The big man’s hands were cuffed behind his back. Dewey and Louie pushed him like tugboats guiding a barge, one good shove and he floated toward the double doors of the building. The lobby was so empty, so quiet, that their footsteps echoed.

New Hyde looked like a low-rent motel. Bland floral-print cushions on the couches and chairs, the walls a lackluster lavender. There were no patients waiting around, no staff members on hand, not even an information desk. But Huey, the lead cop, knew where he was going. The big man frowned at the décor and the empty seats. He’d thought they were taking him to a lockup. What the hell kind of place was this? He got so confused, his feet stopped moving, so Dewey and Louie gave him another shove.

They reached the far end of the lobby and found a hallway. The cops turned right but the big man went left. It might’ve looked like an escape attempt except that the big man stopped himself after two paces. So confused he actually turned back to look for them. Huey, Dewey, and Louie were watching him now, to see what he would do. They were relaxed because they knew he could do nothing.

Huey raised his right hand. He wore a chunky silver diver’s watch that looked expensive even under the hospital’s terrible fluorescent lights. He beckoned and the big man stepped closer to them. It was quiet enough that the cops could hear him lick his dry lips.

Now this guy was big but let’s put it in perspective. He wasn’t Greek mythology–sized; wasn’t tossing boulders at passing ships. He wasn’t even Green Mile–sized; one of those human-giant types. He stood six foot three and weighed two hundred seventy-one pounds, and if that doesn’t sound big to you, then you must be a professional wrestler. The dude was big but still recognizably human. Beatable. Three smaller men, like these cops, could take him down together. Just to get that straight.

The big man returned to his captors, without a word, and once again they all moved in the same direction.