Эд Горман - Riders on the Storm

I move along the side of the house. More flowers, more scents. Distantly the sounds of eighteen-wheelers on the highway; a lone lonely dog a few blocks over barking out his need for companionship.

I stop at the side door. People in our town of thirty-five thousand or so still leave their doors unlocked. This is slowly changing with the increase of serious crime across the country.

I try the door. Apparently Will is still of the belief that you can trust your neighbors. The door is unlocked.

I have terrible thoughts again.

If I call the police and there is nothing wrong — maybe Will has just had one of his frightening panic attacks — then I will have embarrassed Will. Karen is from some of the town’s oldest money. She is the reason that Will’s veterinary clinic is doing so well. She is on enough boards of this and boards of that to know people who do not mind expending heavy-duty dollars on their animals.

I start inside and then stop. A good way to scare the hell out of people; a good way for me to get shot. Both of them know how to shoot. Karen’s father owned a large chain of sporting goods stores. The entire family was taught to shoot, even, and as Karen often joked, the dog.

I close the door and then stand in the starlight deciding what to do next. My impulse is to just get in my car and head back to my apartment.

Then I see the beam of a flashlight waving around inside in the kitchen window.

The light vanishes quickly. Through a window close to the front room I see the beam again still waving around. Searching for something.

Then the living room light comes on.

I move cautiously back to the front of the house and there she is in the window. Karen in a flattering pink nightgown, her mussed, bobbed blond hair giving her the look of a just woken child. But that impression is contradicted by the Colt Python in her hand. Pretty as she is, there is a hard side to her. I have no doubt she is tougher than Will.

When she finally sees me, she sets the gun down on the table and hurries to the front door. As she’s letting me in she says, “Are you all right, Sam? What’re you doing here?”

“Will called me. About twenty minutes ago.”

“Will did? Why?”

“What I’m thinking now is that he must’ve had one of his panic attacks.”

We have a small circle of friends. We all know of Will’s troubles. His panic attacks, the frightening temper he’s developed, his inability to get a good night’s sleep, his recklessness in both his personal and business lives.

“He always wakes me up when he has them. Usually I give him more of his meds and sit with him until he calms down. I wonder why he didn’t wake me up tonight.” Will had accidentally shot and killed a little girl in Nam. He’s never gotten over it. And worst of all, sometimes he has to rush out of his own home when he sees his daughter, who is about the same age as the little girl he killed. Mere sight of Peggy Ann triggers all his self-loathing and terror. Drunk one night he told Karen that maybe their daughter is actually the little Vietnamese girl here to haunt him.

We are standing a few feet apart. She smells of sleep and yesterday’s perfume. “I’m so sorry you had to come over here, Sam. Look at the time. You have to get up and go to work in a few hours.”

“And Peggy Ann will have you up pretty early yourself.”

“Is there something I can get you? How about a beer?”

“I won’t say no.”

She pats me on the cheek. “You’re such a good friend, Sam. I’ll get you your beer and then round up Will. He may be embarrassed and hiding in the den. He does that sometimes.”

The living room is so formal I never quite feel comfortable in it. From the grand piano to the white-brick fireplace to the long flocked drapes that cover the tall narrow windows to the bay window that overlooks the swimming pool — I am always careful when I’m here. I like the Cullens very much, it’s just that their modest abode is a little less modest than my own. I sit down on a tan leather ottoman, mindful that I don’t want to brush my Levi’s against her couch or chairs.

The beer is served in a fancy Pilsner glass. I thank her for it and she rushes off.

I soon hear a door open quietly. From here I can see into the hall that divides the house. A light comes on and then goes off almost immediately. A child’s voice, frightened. Maybe a bad dream. Or adults up at this time of night. Adults do terrifying things at night. Even three-year-olds know that.

Karen has a soothing voice and she uses it now with her daughter. I can’t understand the words but the sound Karen makes is almost songlike. There will be hugs and kisses and then Peggy Ann will be tucked back down into the gentle dreams of three-year-olds. She will forget whatever had woken her.

Karen comes back. Shaking her head and twisting her long hands together. “He’s not in the den or any of the bathrooms or the kitchen. Just a second. I should try the basement.”

“Let me try that, Karen. Why don’t you just sit down?”

I am pretty sure she knows as well as I do that he isn’t in the basement. Not unless he’s dead down there. At his own hand.

I spend several minutes in the basement. It is not only finished but also furnished with expensive family room chairs and a couch. There is even a small bar and a twenty-nine-inch TV console. Even though I am not much of a sports fan — except for the World Series — I’ve spent many long afternoons down here with Will’s group of vets.

She waits for me at the top of the stairs. She’s changed into dark slacks and an olive-colored cotton blouse. Her feet are in thongs.

“No luck?”

“Sorry. No luck.”

She waits until the basement door is closed again before she says, “Now I’m afraid, Sam.”

“Before either of us starts to panic, let me check the garage, which I should have done first anyway. I’m just a little foggy, I’m afraid.”

“You think he went somewhere? It wouldn’t be like him to go anywhere. After he has these attacks he usually goes to sleep and I have a hard time waking him up.”

“I’ll flip the backyard light on and go have a look.”

“I’d like to go with you.” Tension has tightened her narrow face.

I smile. “Since it’s your house I think that can be arranged.”

The backyard grass is green and rich in the sudden light. A picnic table, a child’s swing set, a barbeque are spread across the sizable stretch of yard. Suburban bliss.

She keeps so close to me she bumps me a few times.

I’ve known Will since we made our First Communion together. He’d been one of those kids who didn’t take much seriously. B’s were fine with him. His main interest until late in high school was science fiction in all forms. He’d had a few dates but none had ever turned into anything serious. In his sophomore year in college he’d shocked everybody by going out with a true heartbreaker, Cathy Vance. There were a lot of jokes about how he’d managed to get her to fall in love with him, including mind control. Two years they went together and when it ended it was him not her who broke it off. They were engaged until he suddenly met Karen. They got married quickly and had Peggy Ann four months after the rings slid on their fingers. Then he was drafted. Before the war he’d been the dominant one. When he returned, their relationship changed considerably. He’d come home in pieces and shards of his former self.