Стивен Кинг - If It Bleeds

“And how will the exchange work?”

“Never mind for now. Just believe it’s going to work so we both walk away.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you on that?”

Another question she has no intention of answering. “Let’s talk about the other thing I need from you.” This is where she either seals the deal… or doesn’t.

“What is it?” Now he sounds almost sullen.

“The old man I told you about, the one who spotted you—”

“How? How did he do that?”

“Never mind that, either. The thing is, he’s been keeping an eye on you for years. Decades .”

She watches his face closely and is satisfied with what she sees there: shock.

“He left you alone because he thought you were a hyena. Or a crow. Something that lives on roadkill. Not nice, but part of the… I don’t know, the ecosystem, I guess. But then you decided that wasn’t enough, didn’t you? You thought why wait around for some tragedy, some massacre , when I can make my own. DIY, right?”

Nothing from Ondowsky. He simply watches her, and even though his eyes are now still, they’re awful. It’s her death warrant, all right, and she’s not just signing it. She’s writing it herself.

“Have you done it before?”

A long pause. Just when Holly has decided he isn’t going to answer—which will be an answer—he does. “No. But I was hungry.” And he smiles. It makes her feel like screaming. “You look frightened, Holly Gibney.”

No use lying about that. “I am. But I’m also determined.” She leans forward into his space again. It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done. “So here is the other thing. I’ll give you a pass this time, but never do it again . If you do, I’ll know.”

“And then what? You’ll come after me?”

It’s Holly’s turn not to speak.

“How many copies of this material do you actually have, Holly Gibney?”

“Only one,” Holly says. “Everything’s on the flash drive, and I’ll give it to you on Saturday evening. But .” She points a finger at him, and is pleased to see it doesn’t tremble. “I know your face. I know both your faces. I know your voice, things about it you may not know yourself.” She’s thinking of the pauses to defeat the lisp. “Go your way, eat your rotten food, but if I even suspect you’ve caused another tragedy—another Macready School—then yes, I’ll come after you. I’ll hunt you down. I’ll blow up your life.”

Ondowsky looks around at the nearly empty food court. Both the old man in the tweed cap and the woman who was staring at the mannequins in the window of Forever 21 are gone. There are people queuing at the fast food franchises, but their backs are turned. “I don’t think anyone’s watching us, Holly Gibney. I think you’re on your own. I think I could reach across this table and snap your scrawny neck and be gone before anyone realized what happened. I’m very fast.”

If he sees she’s terrified—and she is, because she knows he’s both desperate and furious to find himself in this position—he may do it. Probably will do it. So once more she forces herself to lean forward. “You might not be fast enough to keep me from screaming your name, which I believe everyone in the Pittsburgh metro area knows. I’m quite speedy myself. Would you like to take that chance?”

There’s a moment when he’s either deciding or pretending to. Then he says, “Saturday evening at six, Frederick Building, fifth floor. I bring the money, you give me the thumb drive. That’s the deal?”

“That’s the deal.”

“And you’ll keep your silence.”

“Unless there’s another Macready School, yes. If there is, I’ll start shouting what I know from the rooftops. And I’ll go on shouting until someone believes me.”

“All right.”

He sticks out his hand, but doesn’t seem surprised when Holly declines to shake it. Or even touch it. He gets to his feet and smiles again. It’s the one that makes her feel like screaming.

“The school was a mistake. I see that now.”

He puts on his sunglasses and is halfway across the food court almost before Holly has time to register his departure. He wasn’t lying about being fast. Maybe she could have avoided his hands if he’d reached across the small table, but she has her doubts. One quick twist and he’d’ve been gone, leaving a woman with her chin on her chest, as if she’s dozed off over her little lunch. But it’s only a temporary reprieve.

All right , he said. Just that. No hesitation, no asking for assurances. No questions about how she could be sure some future explosion resulting in multiple casualties—a bus, a train, a shopping center like this one—wasn’t his doing.

The school was a mistake , he said. I see that now .

But she was the mistake, one that needed to be corrected.

He doesn’t mean to pay me, he means to kill me, she thinks as she takes her untouched slice and her Starbucks cup to the nearest trash receptacle. Then she almost laughs.

Like I didn’t know that all along?

The mall parking lot is cold and windswept. At the height of the holiday buying season it should be full, but it’s only at half capacity, if that. Holly is exquisitely aware that she’s on her own. There are large empty spaces where the wind can really do its work, numbing her face and sometimes almost making her stagger, but there are also clusters of parked cars. Ondowsky could be hiding behind any one of them, ready to leap out ( I’m very fast ) and grab her.

She runs the last ten steps to the rental, and once she’s inside, she pushes the button that locks all the doors. She sits there for half a minute, getting herself under control. She doesn’t check her Fitbit because she wouldn’t like its news.

Holly drives away from the mall, checking her rearview mirror every few seconds. She doesn’t believe she’s being followed, but goes into evasive driving mode anyway. Better safe than sorry.

She knows Ondowsky might expect her to take a commuter flight back home, so she plans to spend the night in Pittsburgh and take an Amtrak tomorrow. She pulls into a Holiday Inn Express and turns on her phone to check for messages before going inside. There’s one from her mother.

“Holly, I don’t know where you are, but Uncle Henry’s had an accident at that damn Rolling Hills place. He may have a broken arm. Please call me. Please .” Holly hears both her mother’s distress and the old accusation: I needed you and you’ve disappointed me. Again.

The pad of her finger comes within a millimeter of returning her mother’s call. Old habits are hard to break and default positions are hard to change. The flush of shame is already heating her forehead, cheeks, and throat, and the words she’ll say when her mother answers are already in her mouth: I’m sorry . And why not? All her life she’s been apologizing to her mother, who always forgives her with that expression on her face that says Oh Holly, you never change. You are such a reliable disappointer . Because Charlotte Gibney also has her default positions.

This time Holly stays her finger, thinking.

Why, exactly, should she be sorry? What would she be apologizing for? That she wasn’t there to save poor addled Uncle Henry from breaking his arm? That she didn’t answer the phone the minute, the very second , that her mother called, as if Charlotte’s life is the important life, the real life, and Holly’s only her mother’s cast shadow?

Facing Ondowsky was hard. Refusing to immediately answer her mother’s cri de coeur is just as hard, maybe even harder, but she does. Although it makes her feel like a bad daughter, she calls the Rolling Hills Elder Care Center instead. She identifies herself and asks for Mrs. Braddock. She’s put on hold and suffers “The Little Drummer Boy” until Mrs. Braddock comes on. Holly thinks it’s music to commit suicide by.