The Corrigan house was a dark husk against the darker trees. Whatever light she had seen from across the field was gone now. Maybe it was never really there, a phantom twinkle luring in the unwary like a siren to sailors. Old ghosts, hungry for revenge.
She had seen headlights turn into Corrigan’s drive earlier but there was no vehicle in sight. Did he park around the back or drive off again?
Up close, the old house loomed over her like a midway spookshow. The door agape to swallow her up. Rolling the lightbeam over the bleached clapboard, the flashlight did nothing to diminish its power. It looked like the haunted house in every movie she’d ever seen. Every Hansel and Gretel tale read from a storybook. She climbed the rotting steps and banged on the door.
Calling out her son’s name, then Corrigan’s. Nothing, just the noise of crickets starting up after the rain. She knew the door would be unlocked. It swung open on a feather nudge. She stood just at the threshold and roamed the lightbeam over the room.
“Travis?”
The light crawled over the hard scrabble chairs and table under the window. The rolltop squatting in the corner. The smell of mildew and fungus was pungent after the clean smell of rain. Something else too, a rotting smell like a carcass trapped in the walls. The floorboards creaked and dipped under each foot, threatening to snap and swallow her leg to the thigh.
Noise, sharp and out of place. She held her breath to listen. It came again, a clang followed by a thump, coming from somewhere in the house. Was it upstairs or down below? Another clang sounded. It was definitely coming from upstairs. She tiptoed to the foot of the staircase and trawled the flashlight up. The beam bounced up each step until it dissipated in the darkness of the second story. No way in hell was she going up there. Again, the butterfly thought of ghosts waiting for her. Corkscrew teeth chittering in a sooty jawbone.
“Travis?”
Her voice high and shrill, grating her own eardrums. Maybe he wasn’t here after all.
“COCKSUCKINGSONOFAWHORE!”
Blue curses tumbled down the steps to her. Emma blew out her cheeks in relief. That could only be one person. The voice upstairs bellowed again. “Who’s there!”
Bootheels thudding on wood. Corrigan materialized at the landing, shielding his eyes from the lightbeam. “Turn that fucking thing away!” he barked. “Who is it?”
“Sorry.” Emma swung the beam away, then tilted it under her chin. “It’s me. Travis ran off. Has he been here?”
“Emma?” Thundering down the steps. He wiped a forearm across his brow, his face flushed and sweaty. A hammer gripped in the other hand. “What do you want?”
She stepped back, surprised at the harsh bark. “Have you seen Travis?”
“I chased him off.”
“Chased him off? Why?”
“He’s not welcome here.” Corrigan turned and marched down the hall. “Neither are you.”
Emma followed him into the kitchen. “Hold on. Did he do something?”
“Go home, Emma” he said, tossing the hammer onto the workbench where it clattered and rolled among the tools.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“My eyes have been opened. I finally see you people for what you are.” He ran the faucet and splashed cold water over his face.
Emma lingered in the doorway. She was used to the man’s ranting but something in his tone made her keep her distance. “How long ago was Travis here?”
“I don’t know.” Corrigan leaned over the sink, keeping his back to her. “Not long.”
“Did he seem upset to you?” Emma bit back the panic in her guts, wanting to scream at the man to pay attention. This was important. She took a breath and said; “Did he say where he was going?”
“I thought you were different, Emma, but no. You’re all the same. Expecting the world to just lie down at your feet.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Her tone was acid. “Don’t you get tired of acting all superior, Will? You should climb down from that high horse of yours. Join the rest of the world.”
“Go home, Mrs. Hawkshaw.” Corrigan turned around and looked at her.” Close the door behind you.”
The light in the kitchen was pale but she saw his face clearly. Two red claw marks scratched down his cheek, angry and livid. “What happened to your face?”
His face darkened but his eyes burned hot. Taking her length from crown to toe. “Tracks of my tears,” he said. “Better go find your boy.”
Emma didn’t move, rigid in the doorframe. She took a step closer. “I need something from you.”
“I can’t help you.”
She swept the damp hair out of her eyes and took another step. “Will, hear me out.”
Saying his name. Something inside him uncoiled, like severing a piano wire.
“Quit the lawsuit. Leave my family out of whatever it is you’re doing. Please.”
His teeth gritted. “I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Whichever one suits you.” He waved a hand, palm up. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me your sorry. You can end this whole thing right now.”
“It’s gone too far for that, Emma. It’s out of my hands.” He watched her eyes sharpen, anger rising fast.
“You just have to have your revenge, don’t you? Or whatever game you’re playing.”
“It’s no game.”
Emma felt the knots loosen. Too much anger for one day, it burns hot for only so long. Other waves roll in to take its heat. Keep it together, just do that. “Be reasonable, Will. Please.”
Another stab at his name. A dog was howling somewhere, low and far away. “Reasonable?” he said. “All right. What would you do to save your family, Emma Hawkshaw?”
She looked at him. A spindle of hope, but wary. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll end this whole thing in return for something from you.”
Warier still. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
A blind woman could have seen what he wanted. But still, just bold like that. She couldn’t believe what he was asking. She scrambled to stall. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m utterly serious. It’s not so much to ask. One small favour and you save your home.”
Dizzy, Emma’s eyes darted around the room for something to anchor herself to. The front door, not ten paces away. She should storm out. Slap his face, like in the movies and march out. But this wasn’t the movies and she didn’t move, didn’t storm out the door like she knew she should.
The floor creaked behind her. Emma bunched her hands into fists, nails digging in but felt nothing. Going numb, disoriented. Removed, as if watching it happen to someone else.
She felt his hands grip her arms and hold her fast, as if she might bolt away. She should run. This is crazy. Run. The hands pulled her into him. Hot breath blowing down the back of her neck.
The Dublin had emptied out when Jim entered, patrons drifting away. Puddy stood behind the bar, speaking quietly to Berryhill. Combat Kyle listening in, flicking his Zippo open and shut. One other patron propped up at a table near the window, singing to himself.
Berryhill bristled as Jim came up. He said something to Puddy then slid off his stool, Kyle at his heels. He nodded to Jim as he crossed to the door.
“Thought you went home, Jimmy” Puddycombe said.
Jim chinned in the direction of Berryhill and his toadie. “What was that about?”
“Just talking.”
“The weather?”
“Discussing what needs to be done.”
