He reached inside to move the garbage can.
The woman's teeth, what few of them remained, sunk deep into exposed skin of his wrist. She twisted her head ferociously from side to side like a mongrel dog trying to rip free the last piece of meat from a bone.
'My hand! The goddamn bitch is biting my hand!'
Another patrolman moved in with a can of Mace. The woman saw it, let go of her bite and started knocking over the barrels and recycling containers as she screamed, scurrying back underneath the porch.
Darby pushed the patrolman away and slammed the porch door shut.
The patrolman holding the Mace said, 'What the hell you doing?'
'We're going to give this woman some breathing room to calm down,' Darby said. The first patrolman, his eyes tearing, grabbed the dangling meat of his bleeding wrist with a shaking hand. 'Go and help him.'
'All due respect, hon, your job is to -'
'Move everyone out of the driveway – and while you're at it, make sure the ambulance doesn't pull in with its sirens blaring.'
Darby turned and addressed the crowd of men who had gathered around her. 'Back up, I want everyone to back up now.'
No one moved.
'Do what she says.' Banville's voice. He emerged from the crowd, his black hair flattened by the rain.
The patrolmen moved out of the driveway. Banville stepped up next to her. Darby explained what she had seen.
'She's probably a crack addict,' Banville said. There's an abandoned house down the road where they all hang out.'
'Let me try and talk her out of there.'
Banville stared at the porch door, water dripping over his lumpy face. With his hangdog expression, he bore a striking resemblance to the cartoon character Droopy Dog.
'Fine,' he said. 'But under no circumstances are you to go underneath the porch.'
Darby put down her umbrella. Slowly, she opened the porch door. No screaming. She knelt in a cold puddle. The flashlight was still on and gave her enough light to see.
During a college history course, Darby had seen grainy black-and-white footage taken of prisoners inside Hitler's concentration camps. The woman underneath the porch had clearly been starved. Most of her hair had fallen out; what little remained was thin and stringy. Her face was incredibly gaunt, the cheeks sunken, the skin waxy and white. The only color came from the blood around her lips.
'I'm not going to hurt you,' Darby said. 'I just want to talk.'
The woman didn't look at her so much as through her. Vacant eyes, Darby thought.
Then, incredibly, the vacant sign disappeared. The woman's eyes came into focus, narrowing first in recognition, then widening in surprise mixed with, what, relief? Was that it?
'Terry? Terry, is that you?'
Use it. Whatever it is, use it.
'It's me.' Darby's mouth was dry. 'I'm here to -'
'Lower your voice, he's watching.' The woman pointed with her chin at the porch ceiling.
There was nothing on the ceiling but spiderwebs and the dried-out husk of an old hornet's nest.
'I'll shut off the flashlight,' Darby said. 'That way he won't see us.'
'Okay, good. That's good. You were always smart, Terry.'
Darby turned off the flashlight. The flashing blue and whites blinked through the spaces between the latticework. The woman was still holding on to the barrel, still using it as a barrier.
Ask her name? No. She already believes I know her. Darby didn't want to risk breaking the connection. Better off going along with the delusion.
'I thought you were dead,' the woman said.
'Why did you think that?'
'You were screaming. You were screaming for me to come help you and I couldn't reach you in time.' The woman's face crumbled. You weren't moving, and you were bleeding. I tried to wake you up and you didn't move.'
'I fooled him.'
'I did, too. I fooled him real good this time, Terry.' The woman grinned and Darby had to look away. 'I knew what he was going to do when he put me in the van, and I was ready.'
'What color was his van?'
'Black. He's still out there, Terry.'
'Did you see a license plate?'
'He's looking for me – for us.'
'Who's looking for us? What's his name?'
'We've got to hide until the screaming stops.'
'I know a way out,' Darby said. 'Come on, I'll show you.'
The woman didn't move, didn't answer. She continued her examination of the porch ceiling. She was crouched behind the other side of an overturned barrel, holding it in a way to keep anyone from getting close to her.
Two choices: She could go in there and see if she could somehow guide the woman out, or she could let the patrolmen take care of it.
Darby moved the barrel blocking the door. When the woman didn't scream, Darby slid underneath the porch.
Chapter 9
'I'm going to come closer so we can talk,' Darby said. 'Okay?'
Darby crawled across the muddy ground of spilled trash, soda cans and newspapers. The most atrocious body odor she had ever smelled hit her. She dry-heaved, coughed.
'You okay, Terry? Please tell me you're okay.'
'I'm fine.' Darby was breathing through her mouth now. She leaned her back against the wall. She sat less than two feet away, on the other side of the barrel. The woman wasn't wearing pants or shoes. Bones jutted out from underneath her skin.
'Did you see Jimmy?' the woman asked.
Darby had an idea. 'I saw him, but I didn't recognize him at first.'
'You've been gone away for a long time. I bet he's changed a lot.'
'He has, but it's… I'm having trouble remembering things. Small things, like my last name.'
'It's Mastrangelo. Terry Mastrangelo. Will you introduce me to Jimmy? After everything you've told me, I feel like I know him as much as you do.'
'I'm sure he'd like that. But first, we have to get out of here.'
'There's no way out, only places to hide.'
'I found a way out.'
'You've got to stop that foolish thinking. I tried, remember? We both did.'
'I came back for you, didn't I?' Darby took off her windbreaker and held it across the barrel. 'Put this on. It will keep you warm.'
The woman went to grab the jacket, then pulled her hand away.
'What's wrong?'
'I'm afraid you'll disappear again,' the woman said. 'I don't want you to disappear on me again.'
'Go ahead and take it. I won't disappear, I promise.'
It took several minutes of thinking, but finally, the woman touched the jacket. The terror, the pain and fear – all of it seemed to collapse. She hugged the jacket against her chest, burying her face in the fabric and rocking back and forth, back and forth.
