"Jamie was always odd, nervous, unstable. Grenville was patient with it because Jamie was trying to reform, because he was very useful.... He still believes Jamie innocent of any wrongdoing...."
The way she said "Grenville."
There we have it, Dr. McDevitt thought. She's doing this for Grenville Hawkes. She will run over me, sacrifice Jamie, turn her back on her own ethics, for Grenville Hawkes.
Louisa Kahne, who'd always been above that sort of thing.
"Besides," she continued, "Jamie is an orphan, we have no way of knowing what he might be genetically disposed to."
"I'd stake my reputation this is a trauma-induced psychosis. He has no organic symptoms at all."
Louisa took a determined breath. "Phillip, Jamie is committed here under my orders. I have the authority to release him into my custody. I am going to go finish the paperwork now."
Dr. McDevitt was familiar with that expression—he'd seen in on Dr. Johnas Kahne's face many a time.
You couldn't budge the old goat when he was like that, and his granddaughter was the same.
He felt a stab of despair on Jamie's behalf.
"Louisa ..."
"Yes?"
"Be kind to him."
"Have I ever been otherwise?"
"Many times, when it suited your purpose. And this is one time more."
She left, and he measured the extent of her guilt by the lack of her anger.
Dr. McDevitt paced his office for a minute. He tried to think of some way to prevent this—other than going to Jamie and provoking a bout of full-blown hysteria—easily done, but which his medical ethics could not support—he could think of nothing.
Suddenly, he had a determination to go meet Grenville Hawkes.
He'd heard enough about the man to form some opinions— Jamie had no idea how revealing his comments were.
He went to the visiting lounge. Through the French doors he could see a tall, dark-haired man strolling through the room, flipping a magazine, examining the checkerboard.
He went in.
"Mr. Hawkes?"
The man turned. Handsome, in a commanding, confident way, aristocratic, smooth-mannered. "Yes?"
It was worse than Dr. McDevitt had even imagined. This man is cold, he thought, he is dangerous, he has secrets—
"Dr. McDevitt." The doctor held out his hand.
Grenville's handshake was surprisingly warm, and his voice deep and vibrant.
"You have been treating Jamie? I am grateful. Louisa has told me of the progress he's been making."
His dark eyes burned into the doctor's soul.
Dr. McDevitt's profession required a degree of hiding his thoughts, and he hoped Mr. Hawkes would not be aware of how deeply he was repulsed by him.
And I have to turn that—it was ridiculous to think of Jamie Sommers as a child, but it was the first term to spring to mind— confused young man over to this sinister presence....
"I want you to know, Mr. Hawkes, Dr. Kahne is doing this entirely against my recommendation. Jamie Sommers is not ready to be released."
"Is that your opinion? I am sorry. Jamie seemed quite himself to me. A little quieter, perhaps, but then, he was always somewhat reticent... and so very happy to be going home."
"A ten-minute conversation is not enough on which to base an opinion—I see Jamie daily and he is a very sick man."
"Dr. Kahne does not agree. And I must support her. Of course, my personal feelings must not interfere in a medical argument, but I will be glad to give Jamie a home again. He was always very useful. And I'm quite fond of him, besides."
This man has come for his dog, Dr. McDevitt thought. Nothing more.
The doctor felt his anger mounting. Between Louisa Kahne and Grenville Hawkes he was helpless. And Jamie was lost.
Neither cared a smidgen for Jamie Sommers. His sanity, his safety, his happiness wouldn't matter a whit to either.
And Louisa must have lost all perception if she didn't realize what kind of man this Hawkes was—
Jamie, with all his criminal background, was a child beside him....
"So you won't change your mind?" Grenville smiled, and it chilled the doctor's heart. "Surely it's not up to me. Dr. Kahne is making her own decisions."
Like hell, Dr. McDevitt thought. He couldn't rescue Jamie, but he still had something to say to Grenville Hawkes.
He had no business provoking this man. For Jamie's sake, if not his own.
It was a mad, dangerous thing to do...
(In fact, five minutes later, Dr. McDevitt was in the pharmacy, gulping down two tranquilizers.)
He anticipated anger, but not the deadly look he received in answer, when he asked slowly: "Tell me, Mr. Hawkes—what really happened to Kellen Quinn?"
Last Scam
Hawkes Hall, Hawkes Harbor, Delaware June 1965
Jamie pulled the package of baloney from the ice chest and sat at the kitchen table. He inspected the loaf of bread for mold—it was spooky, the way things went bad so fast in this house—took a half-hearted bite of his sandwich.
He hadn't been able to eat his lunch at the Coffee Shoppe, not with the news he'd heard, but couldn't swallow much now. It was too close to sunset.
The bite felt like a piece of jagged cement in his belly. He tossed the rest in the trash.
He looked around the kitchen idly. It still needed a lot of work, but the Vampire was rarely in it, there were other things to do first. Jamie knew he should be lighting the candles in the great hall. If he waited much longer, he'd be shaking so badly he'd waste matches.
And the goddamn Vampire might notice. It noticed everything.
Jamie had seen an antique icebox in Betty's Old Stuff store, he could get block ice at the cannery. Maybe it wouldn't be too newfangled for the Monster. It would work better than the ice chest, look better in the room, too.
He'd just have to pick the right time to ask....
Sighing, he picked up the matchbox. No use dreaming of leaving... he'd tried often, early on...
Jamie almost jumped out of his skin as he turned the corner into the great hall.
"Kell!"
Kell started, too, then smiled.
"How are you, Jamie?"
"How'd you get in here? The door's locked."
"And when did a locked door ever stop me from gaining entry, lad? Surely your brains haven't totally turned to mush."
"You gotta get outta here!" Jamie's stunned nerves began to hum. "Kell, it's almost sundown!"
"So it is. And the war is over in Troy. You have any other earth-shaking news for me, Jamie?"
"You have to leave!" Jamie ran to look out the window. He tried to gather his thoughts. "I heard the mayor ran you outta town today. They found out you were scammin' Lydia Hawkes."
When he'd heard that piece of news, Jamie had felt more than he had in months—relief, grief, envy so strong—thinking of Kell shipping out, feeling an ocean wind—and a final empty loneliness ...
"Invited me to leave—quite persuasively."
Kell walked around the room, studying the books on the tall secretary shelves, the weapons on the wall, the mess of wood and shavings from the repairs of the windowsills.
Jamie swallowed. He knew that tone. Kell sizing up a job. And Kellen Quinn on the track of money could be a very dangerous man.
"All right, Jamie, let's not waste time. Where's the money?"
"What money?"
"Oh, come off it, Jamie "Kell said impatiently. "This is me you're talking to. I saw you making a deposit at the bank with my own eyes, a week ago. You never made a transaction in your life, without something sticking to your fingers. You think I haven't known you've been up to something here besides repairman for this Grenville Hawkes? Mr. I'll-never-hold-a-land-job Sommers? It's made me sad, boy, to think of all the deals I've cut you in on, that you'd be holding out on me. Sad, and very angry, Jamie."
"Kell, I don't have any money! He's gonna be here any minute!"
"So what if he is? I ha
ven't been livin' so soft I can't handle that fop of an Orangeman. Now, let's dig out the money box, Jamie, and I'll be on my merry way."
Jamie found himself backing up. He'd always had a hard time, taking a swing at Kell—he had to be very mad or drunk. And now he was only scared....
It slowed his reflexes—Kell swiftly backhanded him, then pulled out his Luger.
"You wouldn't kill me, Kellen." Jamie wiped the blood from his mouth, looked at it, and shuddered.
"Of course not, Jamie, but I will hurt you a bit. Unpleasant thought, but you and I have seen unpleasant before.
"Where is it, Jamie? You know me, lad, I will shoot you. Just a toe to begin with, just to let you know I mean business."
Jamie almost passed out from fear—but Kell had no way of knowing what had been done to him, couldn't realize this was any different from their old roughhousing.
And Kell was perfectly capable of doing what he said, if he thought he smelled money.
"Back in my room," Jamie choked out. There were a few coins set out, Jamie was supposed to broker them tomorrow. Maybe Kell would take them and go—quickly. "I'll get them for you."
"How very kind of you—but I believe I can find the way."
"Kell!" Jamie grabbed at his arm. "Don't! I gotta tell you something. He's a v-v-vampire, Grenville Hawkes—you know, one of the living dead."
Kell looked at Jamie, puzzled and amused.
"I knew you came off the booze too quick and sudden. So you're seein' vampires, lad? Quite original."
"I'm telling you! He's dead! But he walks at night! He's evil, Kell, more dangerous than anything you've seen! And he'll be here any minute!"
"You think you could bullshit me? And with such a cockamamie story as that? Reduced to sniffin' household cleaners, are you, lad?" Kell shook off his clutching hand. "Never mind, Jamie, I'll find them myself."
Kell turned, but his jaunty step halted midstride. "Good evening, Mr. Hawkes—"
I won't remember this, Jamie thought, flattened against the wall. He should have known what Kell would think, seeing him with money. It was what he would have thought himself—they thought a lot alike, sometimes, he and Kellen....
So that was what it looked like, Jamie thought, detached. The unholy, perverted mock embrace ... how fast the Thing could move...
The expression of terror, sheer ghastly terror—Jamie must have looked like that.
Jamie slid downward to the floor. He closed his eyes but could still hear the rasping noise.... He knew what it felt like, those fangs of icy steel deep in your throat, the frantic grasping at one more breath, just one more ... please ... just one ... the cold draining of your life force, blood ...
I won't remember this, Jamie thought, whenever I think of Kell— I'll think of the first time he bought me a drink, the time he got me out of jail.... He taught me how to judge a jewel, a whiskey, a forgery ... how to roll a joint... what to order in a Bangkok whorehouse, or in a Monte Carlo restaurant... Kell, he had a friend or a leverage in every port, often they were the same....
Jamie heard the body hit the floor. It was just a corpse, he'd seen those before, it wasn't Kell... that voice still echoed somewhere, that great heart still beat on...
"Stake him."
Jamie looked up. The dark and depthless eyes ... a cold finger brushed his forehead.
"Stake him or he will rise and be as I am."
Jamie crawled robotlike across the floor, gathered his hammer and a board.
No, he'd always remember something else—
The cathouse bar in Singapore. Kell making up verses to "What Can You Do with a Drunken Sailor," each one filthier and funnier than the one before. Jamie and the little Aussie hooker had to hold each other up, they were laughing so hard, the whole place roaring...
The deadly duel at poker in Paris, Kell never lost his cool—they'd been rich for a while after, Kellen always shared.
The night in that Liverpool pub—he'd recited most of Macbeth, four in the morning and you could hear a pin drop—Jamie wasn't the only one with nightmares after....
Greeting the Burmese pirates. Like he was inviting them to tea...
They'd froze and sweltered, lived high and starved ... argued over women, money, weather.... They had laughed an awful lot.... Aw, geez, Kell... couldn't you listen to me, just this once...?
He placed the jagged edge of board, somehow knowing where— lifted the hammer high above ... He must have brought it down.... He felt something give, in his head, the first strand of a fraying mind snapping....
No, he'd always think of Kell like he had this noon, when he first heard he was leaving town....
Out to sea somewhere, planning his next caper...he'd make other friends, Kell had a gift for that, but would remember Jamie fondly.... The shark and pirates would always be his favorite story....
Jamie dropped the blood-soaked hammer. Crawled until he hit the wall... His eyes still shut, tears streaming, he hummed the best he could ... what can you do with a drunken sailor....
Aw, geez, Kell, he thought. Kellen...
Garvey's Hardware Store Hawkes Harbor, Delaware April 1968
"These ain't the right candles," Jamie said. He'd opened the box to make sure. He'd gone over his list three times to make sure he had everything right; only on the third time did he think to open one carton of candles.
"Now, Jamie," Mr. Garvey said, "these are exactly the same candles Mr. Hawkes has been using since he moved into Hawkes Hall."
"No, they ain't. They're yellow, see? They gotta be white. All the candles gotta be white."
Jamie showed one to Mr. Garvey. It shook in his hand.
Mr. Garvey paused. He was color-blind himself, he knew he couldn't tell the difference. He checked the carton, SEA SUN. Mr. Hawkes always used sea caps. Jamie was right.
"Well, it looks like they shipped us the wrong order. Can't Mr. Hawkes use these until we can get what he wants?"
He'll have to, Mr. Garvey thought, unless he wants to sit in the dark. It still amazed the whole town that a man with the money Grenville Hawkes obviously had would live in a house with no heat, no electricity, and only partial plumbing.
"He's not going to like this," Jamie said, agitated. "This is going to piss him off. Those candles are supposed to be white. You got any off-white, like ivory ones? He might not mind ivory as much."
"No, we're out of ivory, as well, Jamie. Just tell him the factory made an error. It wasn't your fault, I'm sure he won't blame you," Mr. Garvey soothed. Last week a mistake in the order upset Jamie so badly, Mr. Garvey thought for a minute he was going to sit down on the floor and cry.
"Think so?" Jamie asked worriedly.
"Sure."
Mr. Garvey sometimes wondered what they'd done to poor Jamie, off in those mental hospitals. He'd certainly come back changed.
Mr. Garvey had seen him change once before—when Kellen Quinn and Jamie Sommers first came to Hawkes Harbor, Jamie had been pegged as a thief, a bully, and petty hoodlum. He had caught Jamie trying to steal tackle out of this very store.
Then Kellen Quinn left in a sudden hurry—run out of town by the mayor, people said—and Jamie, who was by then working for Grenville Hawkes, was a changed man.
Quiet where he'd been boisterous, soft-spoken and polite where he'd been loudmouthed and rude; the story was he was trying to reform, and Grenville Hawkes was giving him that chance.
Still, there was an intense watchfulness to Jamie in those days; quiet though he was, nothing seemed to slip by him. He'd had a nervous edge under the quiet, like a man in a dangerous situation who couldn't afford slipups.
Then came the shooting. Katie Roddendem had been kidnapped. It seemed so clear he was guilty.... Most people believed it to this day.
And when Jamie came out of the coma induced by three bullets in his body, he was mad as a hatter, crazy, poor guy, and spent months in one hospital after another.
And now that he'd been released from Terrace View Asylum (there hadn't been enough evid
ence to charge him with the kidnapping), he was changed again.
Maybe at one of those places they'd clipped his brain with an ice pick or whatever it was they did to crazy people; Jamie, nervous, unstable, sometimes incoherent, seemed unable to think logically anymore. Most people thought Grenville Hawkes was a saint to give him a home again. No matter how handy Jamie was, few people could have put up with him.
"Okay, Jamie, just tell Mr. Hawkes we're sorry and the new order is on the way. You've got everything now."
Jamie looked over the list one more time. "I'm going to have to come back for the shovel. Mr. Hawkes took the car and I'm walkin'. I can't carry these sacks and the shovel, too."
He almost sounded like he was rehearsing his excuse.
"All right, Jamie, it's right here whenever you want it, marked paid for. You seem to go through a lot of shovels up at the Hawkes Hall."
Jamie went white. "W-w-w-we're p-p-puttin' in a garden."
He gathered up his two sacks of supplies and left.
Poor nutcase, thought Mr. Garvey. It wasn't even the right time of year to put in a garden. He, for one, didn't believe Jamie had ever kidnapped anyone.
Out on the street, Jamie glanced toward the bank. Grenville had gone to Baltimore this morning but had said he would stop by the bank on the way home.
It would be nice to have a ride. But there was no sign of the black Mercedes.
But there was Katie ... she looked so pretty, the way the sunlight caught her hair ... if she looked this way he'd wave, no, his hands were full... he saw that Mitch was with her, they got into his truck. Jamie sighed and turned away.
Jamie saw the first of the kids, the ones on bicycles, and his stomach turned to ice.
He had meant to be well beyond the school before it let out. If only he hadn't counted everything three times over... if they'd had the right candles...
Jamie took a breath. He'd have to keep going now. If he tried to hide in the Coffee Shoppe until all the kids were gone, he'd be out on the road at twilight.
Of the two dreads, the kids seemed the least horrible. He kept his eyes ahead and kept walking.