Bad News Page 9

  I hesitate, wondering whether it's safe to go through, but then I figure that I might as well get the measure of this place. I step into the next room, and then I very carefully shut the door so that it won't make too much noise.

  This room, at least, looks as if someone lives here. There's not much furniture, and the bare pine walls are totally bare, but there's a table with a solitary plate, and at the far end of the room there's an open-plan kitchen that has a few items drying on a rack next to the sink. There's no fire in here, so the room is slightly cold as I step past the table and head to the windows, and then as I reach the door I stop again to look around. Is it possible that someone brought me here, set me down on a rug, and then left?

  I try the next door handle, and to my surprise it turns and opens. So I step out onto the cold porch and suddenly I realize that I've been here before.

  Startled, I turn and see a figure sitting in a nearby chair, watching me from the darker end of the porch.

  ***

  “You could have killed us both,” Thomas Roper says as he sets some mugs on the counter in his kitchen. “Your car's pretty mangled, but in the morning I can go out there with my truck and see if I can pull it out of the ditch. It'll need some work, though.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” I ask, still not quite convinced that I haven't stumbled into the start of a horror movie.

  “The nearest hospital is a fair distance away,” he replies, “and cellphone coverage is pretty bleak out here. Once I got you home, I realize that you didn't seem to be too badly hurt, so I made sure you were warm and comfortable. I was thinking that maybe you had a concussion, so I was trying to figure out whether or not it'd be safe to move you. And then I heard you moving around.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but for a moment I hesitate.

  “It's only one in the morning,” he adds. “You were unconscious for an hour at most.”

  I swallow hard.

  “Where's my phone?” I ask finally.

  He turns to me, and then he nods toward the far end of the counter.

  “Charging,” he says, just as I spot my phone attached to a wire and a socket. “You're lucky, we use the same model. It kept beeping 'cause the battery was low. It was driving me nuts.”

  “Thanks,” I say cautiously.

  I guess his explanation makes sense. I head over to check my phone and find that it's well on the way to a full battery, although there's no coverage this far out in the forest. I unlock the home-screen, but I've got no connection at all.

  “I don't suppose you have internet here, do you?” I ask, trying to sound pretty casual.

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” I set the phone down, and then I turn to see that he's holding a large carving knife.

  “Cheese and crackers?” he asks.

  Before I can answer, I see that he's set out various items on a platter nearby. There are several types of cheese, along with some crackers and even some lengths of some kind of sausage.

  “Or I can cook up something more substantial, if you're hungry,” he continues. “I have a lot of stuff in the freezer, I could heat up some home-made meat sauce, something like that.”

  “No, I'm fine, thank you,” I reply, forcing a smile.

  He sets the knife down.

  “You're nervous,” he says.

  “No, I'm not.”

  “It's okay, I understand.” He pauses. “Listen, I was planning to wait until morning to drive you into town, or to a hospital, but we can go now if you prefer. I'd be happy to drop you off anywhere you like.”

  “That would be good,” I tell him, perhaps a little too eagerly. I keep imagining Malone waiting at the bar with his ice cream, although I doubt he actually waited all that long.

  He probably just thought that I stood him up and went to bed early. It was only a casual arrangement, and he probably think I'm some flighty person who can't keep an appointment. The odds that he's actually looking for me are very, very slim.

  “I'll grab my keys,” Roper says, before heading over and grabbing a set from the fruit bowl, and then making his way toward the door that leads out to the porch.

  I grab my cellphone and unplug it, and then I start to follow.

  “Wait,” he says suddenly, stopping in the doorway and turning to me. He hesitates, and I can already tell that something's wrong. “You know,” he continues, “I just remembered. I need to refill the gas tank before I can drive anywhere, and there's no way I can do that in the middle of the night. I need light. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to wait a little while longer. That's okay with you, isn't it?”

  “Sure,” I reply, although every fiber in my being is screaming at me to get out of here. “What difference will a few more hours make?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “The farm belonged to my parents,” Roper says as we sit on the porch, with only a single – moth-covered – light to break the darkness, “and when they passed, I took it over. I don't really have to do much, though. I rent out a few of the fields, and that money pretty much pays for everything else.”

  “So how far exactly is it to town from here?” I ask, looking out at the pitch-black forest. “In miles.”

  “About nine, as the crow flies.”

  “That's doable,” I reply. “That'd take, what, three hours to walk?”

  “Well, like I said, it's nine as the crow flies.” He pauses for a moment. “The road's pretty twisty, so it's actually at least three times that in practice.”

  “Not if you cut through the forest,” I point out.

  “Sure, but then you've got to watch out for the river. Plus, I don't know about you, but I don't think I'd much like to be out there at this time of night.”

  “There aren't, like, bears or anything, are there?”

  “No bears, no,” he says, “but there's just something about the forest, you know? I've lived here all my life, and even I wouldn't want to be wandering around out there. A man could lose his bearings and get lost, maybe stumble into the water, or even over the edge of the waterfall. And that's someone who's experienced. Are you experienced with the great outdoors, Ms. Carter?”

  “Not especially,” I reply, as I realize that he probably has a point.

  He's not going to murder me.

  I keep telling myself to remember those six words, but I'm not sure I quite believe them yet. I mean, what kind of guy can't put gas in his car in the middle of the night? That alone makes very little sense. I don't want to push Roper too much, in case he has some kind of breakdown, but I'm getting weird vibes and I can't help wondering whether a dash through the forest might actually be a good idea.

  He's not going to murder me.

  Or is he?

  “You were here a year ago, weren't you?” he asks suddenly.

  I turn to him.

  “No,” I lie.

  I immediately realize that lying was a mistake. He wasn't really asking; he was letting me know that he remembers.

  “Yes, you were. You knocked on my door. I was sitting right here, and you asked for directions.”

  “Oh.” I pause for a moment. “Yeah,” I continue finally, “I think maybe I was. Huh, that's a weird coincidence, isn't it? Who'd have believed something like that could happen?”

  “You're not from around here.”

  “No, I'm not.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I'm... visiting friends,” I say cautiously.

  “That makes sense. You came to see them last year, and then you came again this year. Is that it?”

  “That's it.”

  “There's a lot going on in these parts at the moment,” he continues. “I don't know whether you heard, but a girl has gone missing. Well, she went missing a year ago, but she still hasn't been found.”

  “I think I heard something about that,” I tell him.

  “A lot of people have been looking for her,” he explains, “although it seems to me that the trail has run cold. If the police w
ere going to make any breakthroughs, that would have happened by now. Don't you think?”

  “You never know,” I reply.

  “It's not going to happen,” he says, and it sounds like he's really got the bit between his teeth. “These things get resolved quickly, or they don't get resolved at all. Anyway, it's quite possible that the girl just ran away. If you ask me, the police around here need to focus their resources on cases they can actually solve. That girl, whatever her name was... She's gone.”

  “That's one way of looking at it,” I reply, preferring to not argue with a guy who might still turn out to be a psycho. I glance around, but the forest is as dark as ever and dawn's a long time coming. Could I walk back to town? Sure, I could. I could also wander into any number of deadly situations, and then maybe I'd end up joining Kimmy Duchette and Esmee Waters on the list of people who went missing in this part of the world.

  “You can sleep, if you want,” Roper tells me.

  “No!” I blurt out, turning back to him. “I mean, thank you, but... I'd rather stay awake.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I wait, but now he's fallen silent. In this light, I can barely even see his face at all. He's really just a dark silhouette, set against the moths that are crawling all over the electric light a little further back. I guess I should probably say something, but I really don't want to disturb him, and finally I realize that maybe I should excuse myself for a moment.

  “I might just use your washroom,” I say, getting to my feet. “I think I saw it earlier.”

  “Go for it.”

  I slip back into the house and make my way quickly toward the corridor that leads to the bathroom, and then I slow once I'm certain Roper can no longer see me. The guy is really starting to creep me out, and I'm not so sure that I want to sit around for several more hours like this. He'll probably just come up with some other reason why he can't quite drive me into town yet, so I'm going to need a plan pretty damn fast.

  As I get to the bathroom door, I see that another door has been left open, leading into a darkened room. I glance over my shoulder, to make sure that Roper isn't following me, and then I take a left turn and peer into the room.

  It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but finally I spot a single camp-bed over in the far corner. And then, as I continue to look around, I realize that there's nothing else in here. This sure seems like a bedroom, but it's not like a home at all. A moment later I spot a couple of mugs on the floor, and a plate. The room also smells kind of musty, and I'm suddenly overcome by the realization that Thomas Roper seems almost to be camping out in his own house.

  I step back out into the corridor, and I'm honestly not sure whether to be horrified or just sad. I mean, if Roper isn't some kind of homicidal maniac, he seems to just be this kind of pathetic guy who lives all alone and doesn't really see anyone and barely even has a life.

  I shouldn't use the word 'pathetic', I feel bad, but that's basically how this whole set-up feels.

  Figuring that I've already taken a suspiciously long time, I make my way into the washroom and flush the toilet, and then I quickly wash my hands before heading back out into the main room. I guess I can maybe try to gently find out a little more about Roper's life, so – as I head onto the porch – I'm already trying to think of a few subtle little questions I can ask.

  And then I look over at the chair and see that Roper is gone.

  I look around, but I'm all alone on the porch and I suddenly start to worry that maybe he secretly followed me when I was snooping in his house. Either that, or maybe he's gone to fetch an ax or a chainsaw so he can start chopping me up.

  “Hello?” I call out tentatively. “Um, hey, where are you?”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Is everything okay?” I continue, stepping to the top of the steps and looking out toward the forest, but seeing only trees in the darkness.

  Again, I wait.

  I swallow hard.

  Okay, this is definitely starting to feel really weird. Where did he go? This farm seems pretty big, with several out-buildings dotted around in the darkness, and I'm suddenly very aware that I really don't know what kind of operation Roper has got running here. Squinting slightly, I can just about make out what look like large metal hooks hanging from one of the far walls, and over in the other direction that are several machines – or maybe just parts of machines – covered in what look like chains. Roper sure seems to have a lot of stuff, but so much of it seems old and decrepit. What does he actually do out here, all alone?

  Suddenly hearing a bumping sound, I turn and look along the porch. The first thing I see is the chair that Roper was sitting in last year, when I first came here. The chair is empty now, although – as I take a step closer – I can't help thinking that it seems to be moving slightly, as if someone has been sitting in it. Or is that just a trick of the low light? I reach the chair and look down, and then I touch the edge, and it's certainly still now. There's no way someone could have been here and I wouldn't have noticed, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched.

  And then, slowly, I realize that I can hear a creaking sound nearby. I look straight ahead and tell myself that I'm wrong, that I can't surrender to my fears, but at the same time I can hear the sound continuing over my shoulder. Finally, unable to hold back for a moment longer, I slowly turn and look the other way along the porch. For a moment, I briefly think that I spot something moving at the far end, as if a figure moved out of sight, but then I spot something moving again and I realize – I think – that it's just a shadow cast by a tree blowing in the breeze.

  Just as I've begun to believe that, I hear the creaking sound again, this time coming from the other direction.

  I turn to look back into the house, but at that moment I suddenly hear an engine starting somewhere nearby. I turn and look around, worried that what I'm hearing is a chainsaw being revved, but then lights appear from one side of the house and – before I have a chance to panic – a truck comes bumping into view across the rough ground and screeches to a halt right in front of me.

  “Get in!” Roper yells as he pushes the passenger-side door open.

  I stare at him, confused by this sudden development.

  “I said, get in!” he continues, sounding agitated. “You want to go into town, don't you?”

  “Sure,” I say, “but I thought -”

  “Are you gonna ask questions,” he says, interrupting me, “or are you gonna get in? 'Cause I don't know about you, but I'm tired. I have things to do in the morning, so I'd really like to get some sleep tonight. Come on, get in the truck. I'll drop you off anywhere you like, but let's get moving.”

  For a moment, I'm really not sure how to respond.

  “It's not a trick question,” he continues. “Get in the truck! Now!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I haven't been along this way in a good long while,” Roper says as he steers the truck into the motel's parking lot. “I don't really have much need to come out much beyond the gas station. Any time I need to go to town, I go to Marlston. It's a little further but, well...”

  His voice trails off, and as he brings the truck to a stop I can't help noticing that he's peering through the windshield as if he's a little nervous.

  Ever since we left his farm, he's been talking. In fact, he's seemed to be almost compulsively trying to fill the silence, and I can't shake the feeling that he's trying desperately to seem normal. He's been telling me how normal and boring he is, and he's been going into his routine in great detail. And at the same time, I can't shake the feeling that he still hasn't quite told me what he wants to tell me.

  I look around and see that the morning sun has finally begun to rise, lightening the gray sky just enough for me to see that nothing and no-one is moving out there. It's almost as if we're staring out at a photo of the world. After a moment I turn back to Roper and see that he's still looking out there, and I can't help watching his face and trying to work o
ut what's going on his his mind. After all, he spent hours telling me that we couldn't leave his farm, and then all of a sudden he was rushing me into the truck.

  “So you don't come into town much, huh?” I say finally.

  I immediately regret saying anything at all. I feel bad for breaking his spell.

  He turns to me, and for a moment he seems a little dazed.

  “I don't come round here much,” he says cautiously. “People can be...”

  His voice trails off.

  This time, I force myself to wait for him to finish.

  “People can look at you funny,” he says. “They don't even have to say anything. They just look at you, and you know roughly what they're thinking. You can tell yourself that it doesn't matter, that they're wrong, but after a while you just want to go further out, to somewhere else. When I go into Ridge Falls, people look at me funny. When I go all the way to Marlston, most of them don't do that. So that's where I do my things, even though it costs me a lot more in gas. I go to Marlston once a month, to the store and the library, and that's about it.”

  “Why do you think people look at you funny around here?” I ask, pretending that I have no idea about Roper's past, and about the questions surrounding the disappearance of Esmee Waters.

  “Well,” he says, “it's because of ideas.”

  “Ideas?”

  “Ideas that get caught in their heads. Fed by parasites and...”

  He hesitates, and now there's a flicker of anger in his eyes.

  “People write things,” he continues finally, “and other people read them. Do you know about the media? Do you know how they twist things? News people, they hurt you.”

  I wait, but now he's staring at me as if he expects me to agree with him.

  “Sure,” I say cautiously. “I get that.”

  “You can't ever change it,” he explains. “It's just the way things are. You just have to move past it. I should've moved away from here a long time ago.”

  “Why didn't you?” I ask.