falconer, the south's greatest evangelist! The second line, Billy saw, was being allowed to weather away. It would not be repainted. Home for Wayne's body was now a meticulously kept cemetery near the Falconer estate; he'd been buried next to his daddy, and there were always fresh flowers on the grave.
'I've never seen so many hills,' Bonnie said. She'd noticed him wince, as if from an old injury, as they'd passed the sign. 'Lamesa's about as flat as a flapjack. Are we gettin' near?'
'We'll be there in a few minutes. It's just past Fayette.' There were still dark hollows under his eyes, and he needed to gain five or six pounds so his face would fill out, but he was doing much better. He'd been able to walk without crutches for the first time just a week before. There were a few lost weeks in which Billy had faded in and out, his body fighting against massive infection. His jaw was wired and was healing well, as was his left arm in its thick elbow cast. Dr. Hillburn had been straight with him: the doctors didn't know why he hadn't died out in that desert. The injuries he'd received in the crash had been severe enough to begin with, but the exposure and the infection from his broken wrist should have finished him off.
Dr Hillburn hadn't replied when Billy told her that he
Dr. Hillburn had smiled and said she didn't mind at all.
Later, Billy had asked about his mother. Dr. Hillburn confirmed what Billy already knew: Ramona Creekmore had died in a house fire of indeterminate origin. The cabin was almost a total ruin.
He'd told Bonnie fragments of what had happened in Mexico, but she knew it was hard for him to talk about it. She didn't want to push him; if and when he was ready to tell her, she would be there to listen.
Now they were passing through Fayette, and Hawthorne was only fifteen miles away.
Billy had turned twenty-one while still in a semiconscious state in the hospital. He was different now, he knew, from the person who'd left Hawthorne that first time to join Dr. Mirakle's Ghost Show. He saw his direction more clearly, and he was secure with his own place in the world. He'd fought his way, he realized, through a rite of passage that had begun when he'd stepped down into the dark Booker basement a long time ago; he was strong now, strong in his heart, and he knew that in his life the eagle was winning.
His Mystery Walk was pulling him onward, out into the world.
But first, before he could walk forward—to the University of California, Duke University, or even to Oxford in England, where parapsychologists had been studying the Alcott Tape and were eager to get Billy into their death survival research programs—he had to look back over his shoulder. There were good-byes to be said, both to people and to places.
The Gremlin rounded a bend, and Billy saw the old weather-beaten high-school building with its brick gym addition. There was a large, ragged scar in the football field, as if grass wouldn't grow where the bonfire had exploded.
Billy touched Bonnie's arm and asked her to stop.
The parking lot was empty, all the students out for Christmas holidays. Billy rolled down his window and stared out at the football field, his eyes dark with the memory of May Night.
'Something bad happened here, didn't it?' Bonnie asked.
'Yes. Very bad.'
'What was it?'
'A lot of kids got hurt. Some of them were killed.' He ran his gaze along the new fence, remembering the pain of his hands being ripped as the shock wave blustered past. He waited for a few minutes, listening to the sigh of wind out on the field. Pines swayed in the distance, and clouds seemed to skim the hills.
'They're gone,' he said. 'There's nothing here. Thank God. Okay. I'm ready to go.'
They drove on, following the road into Hawthorne. When Billy saw the tangle of black timbers and the standing chimney where his house had once stood, his heart sank. The field was overgrown, the scarecrow sagging, everything gone to ruin. He didn't ask Bonnie to slow down, though, until they'd almost reached the lot where the decaying hulk of the Booker house had stood.
The rubble had been cleared away, and now a trailer sat on the property. It was there to stay, sitting on concrete supports sunken into the earth. A Christmas tree stood in a front window, white lights blinking. A little boy—who looked not at all like Will Booker—sat outside, roughhousing with a big brown dog that was trying to lick him in the face. The boy saw the Gremlin and waved. Billy waved back. There was warmth surrounding that trailer, and he hoped the people who lived there were happy. Hawthorne's 'murder house' was long gone.
He heard the sawmill's high whine as they approached the cluster of grocery store, gas station, and barbershop. A couple of farmers sat outside the gas station, watching with interest to see if the Gremlin would pull in. Someone was loading a sack of groceries into a pickup truck. A television flickered from within Curtis Peel's barbershop, and Billy saw figures sitting around the red glow of the old heater Life was going on in Hawthorne at its own slow, steady pace. The world had touched it—there was a poster on a telephone pole that said now hiring qualified labor. apply at the chatham personnel office. we are an equal opportunity employer—but the essence of life, easy and unhurried, would never totally change. Maybe that was for the best, Billy thought; it was comforting to know that some places in the world remained the same, though the people living in them grew and matured and learned from their mistakes.
'Would you stop here?' Billy asked, motioning to the curb near Peel's barbershop. 'I want to go in there for a minute. Want to come with me?'
'That's why I'm here,' she replied.
When Billy opened the barbershop door, the three men sitting around the heater looked up from their television show—'Let's Make a Deal'—and froze. Curtis Peel's mouth dropped open. Old Hiram Keller, as tough as leather, simply blinked, then returned his attention to Monty Hall. The third man, younger than the others, with curly brownish blond hair and a plump-cheeked face tinted red by the heater, leaned forward as if he were staring at a mirage.
'Damn my eyes!' Peel said, and stood up. 'Is that . . . Billy Creekmore?'
'That's right.' He stood tensed, ready for anything. He'd recognized the younger man, and saw Duke Leighton's eyes narrow.
'Well, I'll be a . . .' And suddenly Peel's face broke into a grin. He came forward, clapped Billy on the shoulder, and then, embarrassed by his own ebullience, stepped back a pace. 'Uh ... we didn't expect to see you back, after ... I mean, we . . .'
'I know what you mean. I want you to meet my friend, Bonnie Hailey. This is Curtis Peel. That's Hiram Keller, and Duke Leighton.'
'Howdy,' Hiram said without looking up.
'I didn't figure you'd recognize me, Billy.' Duke patted his bulging beer-belly. 'I guess I've changed a lot. You have, too. You look like you've been in an accident.'
'Could be.'
They were silent for a long moment. Then Curtis said, 'Hey! You two young folks want a Coke? I've got some in the back, just as cold as they can be! No? Weather's turned for the worse, I hear. Supposed to get a hard freeze tonight. Listen, y'all take a chair and make yourself—'
'We're not staying,' Billy told him. 'I've come to visit the cemetery.'
'Oh. Yeah. Well . . . Billy, that was a bad thing. A real terrible thing. The fire burned everything up so
'So am I.'
Peel turned and stared into Bonnie's face for a few seconds, seemingly entranced by her eyes. He smiled uncertainly, then looked back at Billy. 'You need a haircut, Bill. Come on, get in the chair here and we'll fix you up. On the house, okay? I recall you used to like the smell of Vitalis. You still do?'
'No,' he said, and smiled slightly at Peel's willingness to please. 'Afraid not.' He was aware of Leighton's unyielding gaze on him, and he felt anger begin to simmer.
'Well . . .' Peel nervously cleared his throat. 'Most everybody's heard about you, Bill. You're a celebrity. I mean, I don't rightly understand what you've been up to and all, but . . . look here.' He stepped next to the shelves of hair tonic, shampoo, and pomades and pointed to something mounted on the wall; he smiled proudly, and Billy saw it was a bulletin board. It was covered with newspaper clippings about the 'Mystery Medium,' and the Alcott tape, and pictures of Billy. 'See here, Bill? I've been keepin' them. People come in here to read 'em all the time.
