He grinned and took several steps toward her. Ivy took several steps back, still clutching the jacket.
'Chick, chick, chick,' Gregory chanted softly. 'Who wants to play chick, chick, chick?'
Ivy glanced toward the far bank, expecting to see a train loom up, as in Philip's nightmare, eager to swallow her.
She turned back to Gregory. 'What have you done with him?' she asked again, keeping her voice low, struggling to keep down the hysterical fear that was rising within her.
Gregory laughed softly. 'Chick, chick, chick,' he said, then took a few steps backward.
Ivy moved with him, her anger overcoming her fear. 'You killed Eric, didn't you?' she said. 'You were afraid of what he'd tell me. It wasn't an accidental overdose.'
Gregory stepped back again. She matched him step for step.
'You killed your best friend,' she said. 'And the girl in Ridgefield-after you attacked me at home, you killed her as a cover-up. And Caroline. That's how it all started. You murdered your own mother.'
Step for step she moved with him, wondering what kind of game he was playing. Was a train coming?
Was that what she heard in the distance?
Gregory suddenly reversed his direction, moving toward her. Ivy backed up. They were two dancers on a tightrope.
'Tristan too,' Ivy shouted at him. 'You killed Tristan!'
'And all because of you,' he said. His voice was as soft and eerie as the twisting shapes of fog. 'You were supposed to die, not Tristan. You were supposed to die, not the girl in Ridgefield-' A train whistle sounded, and Ivy spun around.
Gregory exploded with laughter. 'Better say your prayers, Ivy. I've heard tales about Tristan becoming an angel, but no one has seen a shimmering Eric. I hope you've been a good girl.'
The train whistle sounded again, higher in pitch, closer. Ivy wondered if she could make it to the other bank in time. She could hear the train itself, rumbling through the trees now, close, already too close to the river.
Gregory was walking steadily backward, and Ivy guessed his plan. He'd keep her on the bridge between him and the train. The girl thought to be crazy enough to throw herself in front of a train once would seem to have tried it again.
As Gregory moved backward Ivy stayed with him. 'You've got things wrong,' she said. 'It was all because of you, Gregory. You were terrified of being found out. You were terrified of being left out. Your true father could never give you the kind of money Andrew has.'
Gregory's mouth opened a little, and he stared at her. She'd taken him by surprise. They weren't far from the bank now, and he stepped back uncertainly. Ivy inched toward him. If he stumbled, she'd have a chance.
'You didn't think I knew the whole story, did you, Gregory? The funny thing is, the day you killed your mother I never saw you. I never saw past the reflections on the glass. If you'd left me alone, I would never have guessed it was you.'
She saw his face darken. He clenched his fists.
'Go ahead,' Ivy challenged him. 'Come get me. Push me off the tracks, but it's one more murder on your head.'
She glanced down. Ten feet more-ten feet more and she'd have a chance, even if she fell.
'Caroline gave Eric a key,' Ivy continued, 'and Eric left it to me. I found some papers in Andrew's clock.'
Nine feet more.
'Some pretty interesting letters from your mother,' she told him.
Eight feet.
'And a medical report as well.'
Seven.
'I turned them in to the police an hour ago,' Ivy said.
Six feet. Gregory stopped. He stood absolutely still. So did Ivy. Then, without warning, he lunged for her.
Tristan arrived at Will's just as a dark car pulled away from the house.
With his sharpened vision, he saw the man inside: he wondered why the detective who had investigated Ivy's assault was visiting Will.
Will stood alone on his front porch, so deep in thought that Tristan couldn't find an easy way to slip in. He saw a pencil in Will's pocket and pulled it out, but Will didn't notice. Tristan tapped the pencil against a wooden post and wrote his own name with materialized fingertips, underlining it twice, amazing himself with the new strength he felt in his hands.
'Tristan!' Will said, and Tristan slipped inside.
He didn't waste any time. 'Ivy needs help. She's gone to the bridges, thinks Gregory took Philip there. It's a trap.'
'Have to get my keys,' Will replied mentally, and hurried inside.
'No!'
Will stopped and looked around, confused.
'Just run. Run!' Tristan urged.
'All the way to the bridges?' Will argued. 'We'll never get there in time.'
'I'll get you there,' Tristan said. 'We can do it faster off the road, out of the traffic.' He knew how crazy it sounded, just as he knew somehow it was true. The last darkness had given him more strength than he had ever had, powers that he hadn't yet tested.
'Trust me,' Tristan said. 'For Ivy's sake, trust me,' he pleaded, though he had never completely trusted Will.
Will took off, and they moved together as one. Tristan could feel Will's bewilderment and fear. What was happening to Ivy? What was happening to his own body, taken over by Tristan? What did people see?
'I don't think they see us at all,' Tristan said. 'But I don't know much more than you.'
They were on the winding road now. As they traveled strange voices rose up all around them. Were the voices inside his own head? Tristan wondered. Or was it Will's mind rebelling? Maybe they were human voices pressed together the way space seemed to be compressed as they raced across the landscape.
The voices murmured at first and seemed indistinct, but now they grew louder and clearer-noisy jabbering and clear singing, dark voices threatening and high voices arching over all the others.
'What is it?' Will cried, covering his ears with his hands. 'What am I hearing?'
'I don't know.'
'What is it? I can't stand it!' Will said, shaking his head as if he could shake the voices out of him.
Tristan was experiencing more than the voices. He was seeing things he had never seen before-scared animals hiding behind trees; jagged rocks, though they were covered completely by leaves; roots buried deep in the ground.
They were at the clearing now, and he saw the tracks behind the wet screen of trees. As they rushed toward the bridges the high voices grew higher and ore intense, the low grew deep and furious.
'Demons,' Will said, trembling, as they came upon the bridges. 'It's demons we hear.'
As soon as Gregory lunged for her, Ivy turned and ran. There was no way around him on the narrow bridge. As she started running she saw the headlight of the train, like a small sun brightening the fog, rushing through the trees close to the bridge. She couldn't make it to the other side in time-she couldn't beat out the train. But there was no turning back. She had Philip's bright red jacket. If she waved it, the engineer might see her.
Gregory was gaining on her. The whistle sounded again, and Gregory laughed. He was only a few feet behind her, laughing and laughing, as if they were playing tag in the park. He was insane! He didn't care; he'd die with her as long as he could kill her. With each stride he moved closer-she could see him out of the corner of her eye. In desperation, Ivy threw Philip's jacket on the track behind her. It blew and tangled around Gregory's legs. Gregory stumbled. She glanced back and saw him go down on his knees.
Ivy kept going. She could hear the long rumble of the train and ran as hard as she could toward it. If I she put enough distance between herself and Gregory, she could try to find a place to cling to some finger hold beneath the track to dangle from.
