I watched him stroll out the door, then I called the farm and arranged for a ride home.
For the next two hours, I stared out the window at a dreary expanse of black rooftop, thinking unproductive thoughts while the relay switch in the heating unit clicked wildly. At a quarter to five, Marty slouched into the room, and it was only from long acquaintance that I noticed the brief hesitation in his face as he took in the bruising and the gown and the bandages around my wrists.
He called over his shoulder. 'He's in here.'
Dave, Foxdale's handyman, appeared in the doorway as Marty hitched a hip on the footboard.
'Tell all,' Marty said.
Since I'd started at Foxdale, Marty and I had become best friends. An unlikely union as we were more opposite than alike. He was easygoing and coarse, vulgar at times, and seemingly without ambition. 'You first,' I said. 'What's happening at Foxdale?'
Marty shrugged. 'What you'd expect. Phone ringing off the hook. Outrage, paranoia, tears.' He grinned. 'On the boarders' part, that is. 'Cause the guys are thrilled to death having seven less stalls to muck out.'
'That won't last.'
'Suppose not. But some folks'll be afraid to trust their horses to us now that somebody's taken off with a trailer full. So give with the details. Whatju run into?'
I sighed. It was going to be a long week.
He waved his hand. 'Come on, man. The cops were crawling all over the place yesterday. You'd of thought you were dead,' he glanced around the room, 'or dying.'
'It's true,' Dave muttered but kept his gaze on the floor. He'd been checking out the pattern in the tiles ever since he'd walked into the room.
'Anyway,' Marty said, 'the boys in blue had Mrs. Hill holed up in her office for about an hour, and when they finally hightailed it out of there, she was madder'n hell. But, Mrs. Hill being Mrs. Hill, she wouldn't tell us a goddamn thing. And, get this. A fucking reporter showed up this morning. Mrs. Hill sent him packing, though,' Marty added, and it was clear the thought amused him.
I just stared.
'So, what happened? Rumor has it, the shits who took the horses took you, too.'
'That's right.'
'Fuck, man. How'd you get away?'
'I just did. So, why'd Mrs. Hill send both of you?'
Marty stood and stretched. 'She thought you might be wantin' your truck, so we dropped it off at your place when we got the clothes you asked for.'
'Oh,' I mumbled.
'What were you-'
'Marty, shut up,' Dave said. 'Let Steve get dressed so we can get outta here.' He handed me the paper bag he'd been holding which I saw contained a fresh change of clothes.
'I knew you were weird,' Marty said. 'But goin' to the barn naked?'
I grinned. 'My clothes got soaked. The medics cut them off.'
'How'd they get-' Marty said as Dave pushed him out of the room, 'wet?' he finished as the door swung shut.
It was after six and dark by the time Marty swung his old Firebird round the parking lot behind the loft and jerked to a halt at the base of the steps. He looked over at my Chevy parked under the dusk-to-dawn light. 'We couldn't find your keys. Hope you got a spare. And you'd better check your battery 'cause it was dead. You left the door open, and the dome light was on.'
But I had closed it. I distinctly remembered how loud it had sounded. 'Then how'd you get it over here?' I said.
'Jumped it.'
'But-'
'He hot-wired it,' Dave said from the back seat, and I thought I heard a hint of disapproval in his voice.
Marty turned in his seat and grinned at me.
'Well, who'd of thought.' I levered myself out of his low-slung car, then watched Dave struggle out of the back seat and plop thankfully into my spot.
Marty ducked down so he could see me through the passenger window. 'Need help with anything?'
I told him I'd be fine and waved him off, but by the time I made it to the landing, I was doubtful. By the time I reached the deck and walked into the kitchen, I knew I had lied. I was exhausted and hungry, but too tired to bother with it. I swallowed some pain pills, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed.
I was running down a long dark tunnel. Running as fast as I could and getting nowhere. There were no footsteps. No sound.
I came to a door. Didn't open it. Didn't want to.
Just the same, I ended up inside a room. A room without walls.
The ground felt solid but somehow wasn't. With dread, I looked at my feet. The floor was liquid. It didn't make sense. I looked closer. Not water. No, it wasn't water.
It was blood.
Ripples lapped against my boots as something moved on the edge of my field of vision. I tried to turn my head to see what it was but couldn't.
Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
I forced myself to look. It was a head. A horse's head. Others floated past in the current, rising to the surface like huge, hideous bubbles. One drifted past my feet. I could see the dull, lifeless eye staring up at me.
Tight bands constricted around my chest, and my heart was pounding so hard, I was afraid it would explode.
Someone cried out.
The sound woke me. Though the air was chilly, I lay trembling between sheets soaked with sweat. The pain medication had worn off.
I sat up, braced my hands on the edge of the bed, and worked to slow my breathing. One of the cats leapt onto the bed and leaned against my arm. Her purring sounded loud in the quiet dark. Ignoring her play for attention, I nudged her off the bed and stood up.
I walked stiffly into the kitchen, washed down a pill, and set the glass on the counter. It had snowed, and I could see quite easily into the night. Dark shapes were scattered on the hill above the lake. I picked up the binoculars and adjusted the focus. Deer, six of them. In the muted light, the fencing rose and fell like a roller coaster, enclosing pastures that were otherwise empty, their inhabitants snug in the barn below. On the frozen lake in the south field, the snow was even and stark.
I glanced at the clock on the stove. Three-ten. I had slept for a long time. I walked into the bathroom and switched on the lights. The plush expanse of teal and navy wallpaper and matching carpet seemed foreign after the cold sterility of the hospital. The loft seemed different somehow. Nothing tangible, but a change nonetheless. Or maybe it wasn't the loft that was different but my perspective of it.
I turned on the shower and looked in the mirror. Despite the fact that I had two impressive shiners and my cheek was mottled with purple, black, and yellow, the swelling around my eye had improved considerably in the last twenty-four hours.
When I took off my clothes, the view there wasn't much better. Under the bandages, worse still. Deep red grooves dug into my wrists. In places the skin was raw and oozing.
Bastards.
I stood under the spray of hot water, and as the tension in my muscles drained away, I thought about the horses. They had been chosen for one characteristic and one characteristic only. Size. The larger and heavier, the more money they would command at slaughter. I thought about Shrimpy with his huge, intelligent eyes. I had watched him in a jumper class once, when he had slipped going round a turn. He'd regained his balance, zeroed in on the next fence, and jumped it without a rub. His rider, all the while, had been grossly out of position, simply struggling to stay on. The horse had a heart of gold, and now he was heading down a frightening path to
