John Saul - Brain Child

The hedge clippers were at the bottom of the first box. As Alex worked them loose from the tangle of other tools, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. And yet, he had to know. The vines covering the garden wall were part of the pattern, and he had to see for himself if he was right.

The book, after all, might have been wrong.

The clippers in hand, he left the garage and walked down the driveway to the sidewalk. Then, working slowly and deliberately, he began cutting the vines off as close to the ground as the strength in his arms and the thickness of the trunks would allow. He worked his way slowly up the hill until the last stems had been cut; then, going the other way, he tore the thickly matted vegetation loose, letting it pile on the sidewalk at his feet. When he was done, he stepped back and looked at the wall once more.

Though it was covered with the collected dust and dirt of the years, and its whitewash had long since disappeared, the tiles remained.

The wall looked exactly as he had thought it should look when he had first come home from the Institute.

He went back into the garage and opened the second box. His father’s shotgun was on top, neatly packed away in its case. He opened the case and methodically began putting the pieces together. When the gun was fully assembled, he took five shells from a half-full box of ammunition and put them in his pocket. Carrying the gun easily in the crook of his right arm, he left the garage and walked once more down the driveway, then turned to the right and started the long climb up toward the hacienda.…

It had been a bad morning for Ellen, and as she started up Hacienda Drive she was beginning to wonder if she was going to get through the next few days at all.

She’d spent most of the morning with Carol Cochran, and none of it had been easy. Part of the time they’d simply cried, and part of the time they’d tried to make plans for Valerie Benson’s funeral. And over it all hung the question of who had killed Valerie.

And then there had been Carol’s oddly phrased questions about Alex:

“But is he really getting better? I mean, Lisa keeps telling me about strange things he says.”

“No, I don’t really remember what”—though Ellen was quite sure she did, and simply didn’t want to tell her. “But Lisa really seems very worried. In fact, I think she’s just a little frightened of Alex.”

Ellen had become increasingly certain that after Valerie’s funeral, the Cochrans and the Lonsdales would be seeing a lot less of each other.

She came around the last curve, swinging wide to pull into the driveway, when she suddenly slammed on the brakes. Piled on the sidewalk, nearly blocking the driveway itself, lay the ruins of the masses of morning glory that had covered the patio wall only two hours ago.

“I don’t believe it,” she whispered aloud, though she was alone in the car. Suddenly the sound of a horn yanked her attention away from the tangle of vines, and she jerkily pulled into the driveway to make room for the car that was coming down the hill. She sat numbly behind the wheel for a moment, then got out of the car and walked back down the drive to stare once more at the mess on the sidewalk.

Who would do such a thing? It made no sense — no sense whatever. It would take years for the vines to grow back. She surveyed the wall, slowly taking in the streaked and stained expanse of plaster, and the intricate patterns of tile that were now all that broke its forbidding expanse. And then, behind her, a voice spoke. Startled, she turned to see one of the neighbors standing on the sidewalk looking glumly at the vines. Ellen’s mind suddenly blanked and she had to grope for the woman’s name. Then it came back to her. Sheila. Sheila Rosenberg.

“Sheila,” she said. Then, her bewilderment showing in her voice: “Look at this. Just look at it!”

Sheila smiled ruefully. “That’s kids,” she said.

Ellen’s expression suddenly hardened. “Kids? Kids did this?”

Now it was Sheila Rosenberg who seemed at a loss. “I meant leave the job half-done.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose you know what you’re doing, but I’m going to miss the vines, especially in the summer. The colors were always so incredible—”

“What I’m doing?” Ellen asked. “Sheila, what on earth are you talking about?”

Finally the smile faded from Sheila’s face. “Alex,” she said. “Didn’t you ask him to cut the vines down?”

Alex? Ellen thought. Alex did this? But … but why? Once again she surveyed the wall, and this time her eyes came to rest on the tiles. “Sheila,” she asked, “did you know that wall had tiles inlaid in it?”

The other woman shook her head. “Who could know? Those vines were two feet thick, at least. No one’s seen the wall itself for years.” Her eyes scanned the wall, and her brows furrowed speculatively. “But you know, maybe you did the right thing. If you put in smaller plants, and maybe some trellises, it could be very pretty.”

“Sheila, I didn’t ask Alex to cut down those vines. Are you sure it was him?”

Sheila stared at her for a moment, then nodded her head firmly. “Absolutely. Do you think I would have let a stranger do it? I saw him a couple of hours ago, and then I got busy with something else. The next time I looked, the vines were all down, and Alex was gone. I thought he must be having lunch or something.”

Ellen’s gaze shifted to the house. “Maybe that’s what he’s doing,” she said, though she didn’t believe it. For some reason, she was sure that Alex was not in the house. “Thanks, Sheila,” she said abstractedly. “I … well, I guess I’d better find out what’s going on.” Leaving Sheila Rosenberg standing on the sidewalk, she went through the patio into the house. “Alex? Alex, are you here?”

She was still listening to the silence of the house when the phone began ringing, and she snatched the receiver off the hook and spoke without thinking. “Alex? Alex, is that you?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Marsh’s voice came over the line. “Ellen, has something else happened?”

Something else? Ellen thought. My best friends are being murdered, and I don’t know what’s happening to my son, and you want to know if something else is wrong? At that particular moment, she decided, she hated her husband. When she spoke, though, her voice was eerily calm. “Not really,” she said. “It’s just that for some reason Alex cut all the vines off the patio wall.”

Again there was a silence; then: “Alex is supposed to be at school.”

“I know that,” Ellen replied. “But apparently he isn’t. Apparently he left school — if he even went — and came home and cut down the vines. And now he’s gone. Don’t ask me where, because I don’t know.”

In his office, Marsh listened more to the tone of his wife’s voice than to her words, and knew that she was on the edge of coming apart.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Just sit down and take it easy. I’m on my way home to get you, and then we’re going down to Palo Alto.”

“Palo Alto?” Ellen asked vacantly. “Why?”

“Torres has agreed to talk to us,” Marsh replied. “He’ll tell us what’s happening to Alex.”

Ellen nodded to herself. “But what about Alex?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we try to find him?”

“We will,” Marsh assured her. “By the time we get back from Palo Alto, he’ll probably be home.”

“What … what if he’s not?”

“Then we’ll find him.”

Now, Ellen thought. We should find him now. But the words wouldn’t come. Too much was happening, and too much was closing in on her.

And maybe, she thought, as she sat waiting for Marsh to come for her, maybe finally Raymond would be able to convince Marsh to let him help Alex.