'No.' He woke in darkness to the sound of his own voice.
He lay soaked against the sheets, listening. Such silence. He found it difficult to believe a town slept below the windows of this hotel. Even blocks away, he thought he could still hear waves rise against the sand, a constant sigh, though scarcely more audible than his heartbeat. The sound eluded him entirely when he tried to focus on it, but the moment his attention drifted, the ebbing hush swept back.
Something tapped at his window, and his fists clenched. As the gentle pattering grew more rapid, he groped on the nightstand for his watch. He held the luminous dial near his face. Only a little past ten thirty. He had time.
What began as soporific, the somnolent brush of rain across the glass, became something wild, distressing. Again, he woke in alarmed confusion.
When the second hand on his watch touched midnight, he rang the number once before hanging up, then dialed again.
What would his life become?
It rang twice. With a tremor of something like pain, he shut his eyes when he heard her voice. 'It's starting again,' he muttered. 'Yeah, I'm sure now.'
He exhaled loudly. Sleet chipped at the window. 'What does it matter how I am?' Listening to her words, he rubbed at his face before responding, despising himself for the petulance in his voice. 'Sorry.' He pressed the phone hard against his ear, the receiver slippery in his palm. 'I...think I'm coming down with something. I just...sometimes...wonder if we're doing the right thing anymore. No, I'm all right, I guess. Don't worry. Yeah. I'm on top of this. Most likely. I'll call tomorrow.' He hung up quickly and clenched his teeth until the shivering stopped.
He shut the door softly behind him. At the end of the corridor, a narrow alcove opened to the well of the back stairs. Near the bottom, he paused, and silence settled like dust. Stealthily, he groped along with both hands until he felt the sliding doors. Casters rolled with a low, chattering hum. Weird shapes jutted: tables with chairs on top of them, he guessed. As he crept through the dining room, floorboards barely sighed. A draft found his face, and he located the alcove. Straight ahead must lie the kitchen, and somewhere along here, he knew, a rear entrance led to the family's apartment. With a deft movement, he snicked open a small knife.
Before his probing fingers located it, frigid dampness revealed the service entrance. He sank to his knees, felt cold whittle in through the jamb. Clicking on the tiny flashlight, he held it in his mouth while he tested the lock with the blade. He took a small can of household oil from his pocket and went to work on the hinges. At last, the door eased open almost soundlessly, and he stepped out into the parking lot. Thin drizzle continued to settle, visible under the streetlight. His Volks was next to the old van that always seemed to be in the same place. As usual, there were no other cars.
He released the brake and let the beetle roll into the street before hitting the ignition.
The streets crawled past, empty and slick, until at last some heat leaked up from the grill. For over an hour, he cruised, constantly circling, trying first a main street, then a back road near the edge of town.
Rain pebbled the windshield. Near an intersection, he let the engine idle and switched off the lights to watch for any sign of movement.
He switched the headlights back on and eased the car forward.
Deciding to take the long way around, he quickly left the streets and houses behind him. As though barring the way, a tangle of evergreens seemed to leap at his windshield. This secondary road led to the mainland, and with each curve his high beams sheered into the trees.
The forest sank into salt marsh. Even with the windows rolled tight, he could smell it.
Near the dilapidated docks, the road ended at police barricades. He stopped the car and got out, left it steaming off the side of the road. On foot, he slipped between the barriers.
The shore road ended abruptly at a low fence, and the earth dropped steeply to frosted silt.
Cold seared his flesh. Icy leaves crunched underfoot, and his shoes scuffed quietly as he clambered onto a boulder.
The bay whispered. He felt another tremor begin in his shoulders.
Hovering over moon-burnished whorls of water, coldness became a vaporous presence. It surrounded him, icing his lungs. Gradually, he made out the docks below, and the wobbling slabs of small boats.
Even this far away, he could hear waves lapping at the docks, though it sounded strangely hushed, as though the tides had died away forever. The noise of a passing car faded around him, and he quickly stepped aside. His shoe sank, and he pulled his foot up with a loud suck of water. He waited, squinting against the wind.
Blind as the eye of a dead fish, the moon hung over the water.
He decided against heading down to the dock where the body had been found--he'd taken enough chances lately. What would the nets and gulls have left anyway? And, even on a night like this, anyone might be watching. Instead, he picked his way down the slope and strolled past the foot of the pier, as though heading for one of the houses just beyond. Dampness penetrated him. One circle of the area, he decided, not sure what he was looking for.