The Viper

ONE MORNING WHILE Gurney was having breakfast, Kyle phoned to announce that he’d broken up with Kim Corazon, having finally seen the cold and manipulative heart under all that attractive energy. Suggesting in her RAM interview that Gurney was capable of murder provided the final ugly insight into her ambition.

“She’s scrambling to finish a book about the Slade case, full of insinuation and conjecture,” said Kyle, “and she’s using the horrible Thanksgiving event as its selling point to prospective publishers. She doesn’t care how that might affect you or Madeleine or anyone else. Her rotten little career is the only thing that matters to her.”

GURNEY CALLED THE hospital every evening to ask about Hardwick, but the answer was always the same.

On several occasions, he was tempted to drive down to Dillweed to tell Esti how sorry he was, but each time he decided not to, suspecting that his motive was selfish—to diminish her hostility toward him, rather than to share her burden of fear and sadness.

HIS POST-CONCUSSIVE SYMPTOMS kept coming and going with little rhyme or reason. He could lug heavy armfuls of wood in for the fireplace with no trouble, then be struck by a fit of dizziness or a stabbing headache while scrambling an egg.

TWICE HE HAD the Danny dream, always the same, always leaving him in tears.

On their way to the playground on a sunny day.

Danny walking in front of him.

Following a pigeon on the sidewalk.

He himself only partly present.

Pondering a twist in a murder case he was working on.

Distracted by a bright idea, a possible solution.

The pigeon stepping off the curb into the street.

Danny following the pigeon.

The sickening, heart-stopping thump.

Danny’s body tossed through the air, hitting the pavement, rolling.

Rolling.

The red BMW racing away.

Screeching around a corner.

Gone.

SOMETIMES HE HAD an overwhelming feeling that the structure of his life had collapsed, that all the points of reference had disappeared, that everything he’d imagined was permanent had evaporated. One morning, he was looking out the dining room window, watching a curled-up leaf being blown erratically this way and that on the icy surface. He mistook it at first for a small, crippled creature—like himself.

SEVERAL TIMES HE was tempted to go down to the Franciscan Sanctuary and volunteer to regain a sense of purpose, but he never did. And it wasn’t just the dog-walking idea that came and went. Whenever he thought of doing anything, he thought of a reason not to.

The only exception occurred after he’d been at the lodge for two weeks. He got the idea that he should drive down to Walnut Crossing, check on the house, talk to Madeleine. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to her. Maybe the right words would occur to him during the drive. In fact, nothing occurred to him. Every time he tried to think about it, his concentration dissolved. It was as though his mind had slipped away beyond his reach.

The closer he got to Walnut Crossing, the more pointless the trip seemed. He thought maybe he should just go directly to the campsite, take down the tent, take everything down to his car, drive back to the lodge. But instead of taking the turnoff that would bring him to the back of the campsite hill, he stayed on the county road that led to the town road that led up the hill to his property. He had the feeling that the watchers would be gone, and he was right.

He drove up through the low pasture and parked by the asparagus patch. It felt like everything around him had changed in some way he couldn’t identify. He got out of the car and breathed in the cold December air. Madeleine’s car wasn’t there, and the house showed no signs of life. The fencing around the coop and the alpaca shed had been completed, enclosing at least a half acre of the pasture.

As he walked toward the shed, he heard a low humming, almost a human sound. When he got closer, he realized it wasn’t coming from the shed, but from behind it. He followed the fence around the shed and came face-to-face with the creatures making the sound.

Twin alpacas were standing next to an open bale of hay, looking at him. He saw in their eyes an expression that looked like gentle curiosity—along with a sense of peace and contentment.

He wondered if that was what Madeleine was feeling now—a peace and contentment that she’d never felt with him.