“Loui,” he mouthed at me.
“Loui?” I whispered back to him and he nodded his head. “Clancy, who is Loui?” I asked.
“It’s his brother,” he said, sitting back in his seat.
“Who’s brother?” I asked, unsure of the name. I hadn’t heard the name Loui before and I didn’t know anyone’s brother.
“Harry’s brother,” he whispered.
4.
What I have known about Harry Lightman, probably the only piece of information I was 100% sure of, was that Harry Lightman was an only child. His mother had died when Harry was 6, the only child to the proud parents.
“Clancy, Harry doesn’t have a brother,” I said. He looked at me.
“Harry has two brothers,” he said in a matter-of-factly tone. I could see Steph peering at me over the windscreen, waving a hand at me. I took a brief glance at her and she was pointing at something in the cabin of the truck. I took a look but didn’t see anything of note.
“Clancy, have you met Harry’s brothers?” I asked. He nodded almost immediately. “Who’s his other brother?”
“The one I don’t want to say, Harry and Eddie, Eddie is the nice one,” he said, then resumed his chewing. I heard Steph gasp a little as she heard the name and for a moment, I didn’t understand the connection. Then I remembered what she had told me about her father, the one she never knew, the way Margaret had spoken about him at the Esso. I still didn’t understand what he was talking about. Harry Lightman had no brothers.
“Clancy, I don’t understand. Who is Eddie?” My frustration began to boil over. I smashed my elbow against the window, screaming at him.
“FOR FUCK SAKE, START MAKING SENSE!! WHO IS EDDIE? WHO IS LOUI? TELL ME!!” I screamed at him. He shrank away, trying to sink deeper into his chair, his face terrified again. “TELL ME, CLANCY!”
“They are all Harry,” he finally whispered through tears. “Harry becomes Eddie and when he gets really angry, he becomes Loui. He talks different when he is a different one. But when he becomes Loui, he just gets angry and hurts people. The doctor knows.”
“Doctor? What Doctor?” I asked.
“Dr. Levinson,” he said, and I suddenly had a recollection, a vague memory from long ago, as well as a memory from earlier in the day, like two things finally coming together to reveal the complete picture. The first memory that came drifting back was from the night I had chased Lightman from Tami’s shed, had chased him down the driveway as he ran from me. When I had managed to force him to the ground, he had said “It wasn’t me, it was Loui.” It made no sense at the time and none of us had paid the slightest attention to it. He had only said it that one time and I had completely forgotten about it until now. The second memory was from earlier today, when I saw Levinson’s book on Tami’s bookshelf. The book had been called “Splitting Hairs” and when I flicked through it, didn’t really take too much notice of its content. But a couple of words did jump out to me, words that now came flooding back to me in a bright flash. “Multiple personality disorder” and “Split Personality” were written on the back of the book. The doctor was studying the disorder and was experimenting with different treatments. As those memories began dancing around my mind, another one surfaced. The page that Tami had included in her envelope, the one about the banned serum.
It all began to come together like the pieces of an intricate jigsaw, each one having its very own place on the table. Harry was the Devil, but suffered from some type of multiple personality disorder. I was trying to build the pieces in my head when Steph began screaming at me. I looked and saw her pointing into the cabin again. This time I saw what she had wanted me to see. Lying in his lap, partly hidden by the jacket, was a revolver. Clancy held it in one hand, his finger on the trigger. He had the cylinder open and was flicking it with one finger, sending the cylinder spinning on its pin. Whilst he was doing this, he had resumed singing his song, looking at the bullets as they spun, round and round and round.
“Ring-around-a-rosie, a pocket full of posies,” he sang, over and over again. He was staring at the cylinder as if he was in a trance. The thunder boomed above us again, the boom rolling across the sky. The rain had eased a little but was still falling in great sheets.
“Clancy? Clancy, give me the gun. You don’t need it, mate,” I said but he just shook his head, singing, over and over again. Steph also began to bang on the window, but he ignored her. Either he didn’t register her presence, or he didn’t care.
“Clancy? Clancy, give him the gun,” she yelled, but his singing never stopped. He suddenly flicked the cylinder back into place and cocked the hammer back.
“CLANCY! CLANCY, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS!” I screamed but he never looked at me, just singing that damn song. Then he grabbed the rusty steering wheel with his free hand and raised the pistol to his head, aiming the barrel at his bad eye. In his final seconds, he turned his head to me and spoke one last time.
“You can’t beat the Devil, Jim,” he said. I saw his finger begin to flex, but as it did, an explosion suddenly rocked the truck, a brilliant flash blinding me as I was thrown backwards by a force so strong that I flew through the air like a ragdoll. I hit the ground hard, slid a few feet, then came to rest in a large puddle some fifty feet from the truck. My arm throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch and my chest felt like it was going to explode. I
