Black House

"Don’t you have antibiotics?"

"Sure, I do."

"Then let’s go back to Beezer’s place, and you can stick me full of needles."

"Whatever you say," says Doc.

20

AROUND THE TIME Mouse and Beezer first fail to see the little road and the NO TRESPASSING sign beside it, Jack Sawyer answers the annoying signal of his cell phone, hoping that his caller will turn out to be Henry Leyden with information about the voice on the 911 tape. Although an identification would be wonderful, he does not expect Henry to I.D. the voice; the Fisherman–Burnside is Potsie’s age, and Jack does not suppose the old villain has much of a social life, here or in the Territories. What Henry can do, however, is to apply his finely tuned ears to the nuances of Burnside’s voice and describe what he hears in it. If we did not know that Jack’s faith in his friend’s capacity to hear distinctions and patterns inaudible to other people was justified, that faith would seem as irrational as the belief in magic: Jack trusts that a refreshed, invigorated Henry Leyden will pick up at least one or two crucial details of history or character that will narrow the search. Anything that Henry picks up will interest Jack.

If someone else is calling him, he intends to get rid of whoever it is, fast.

The voice that answers his greeting revises his plans. Fred Marshall wants to talk to him, and Fred is so wound up and incoherent that Jack must ask him to slow down and start over.

"Judy’s flipping out again," Fred says. "Just . . . babbling and raving, and getting crazy like before, trying to rip through the walls — oh God, they put her in restraints and she hates that, she wants to help Ty, it’s all because of that tape. Christ, it’s getting to be too much to handle, Jack, Mr. Sawyer, I mean it, and I know I’m running off at the mouth, but I’m really worried."

"Don’t tell me someone sent her the 911 tape," Jack says.

"No, not . . . what 911 tape? I’m talking about the one that was delivered to the hospital today. Addressed to Judy. Can you believe they let her listen to that thing? I want to strangle Dr. Spiegleman and that nurse, Jane Bond. What’s the matter with these people? The tape comes in, they say, oh goody, here’s a nice tape for you to listen to, Mrs. Marshall, hold on, I’ll be right back with a cassette player. On a mental ward? They don’t even bother to listen to it first? Look, whatever you’re doing, I’d be eternally grateful if you’d let me pick you up, so I could drive you over there. You could talk to her. You’re the only person who can calm her down."

"You don’t have to pick me up, because I’m already on the way. What was on the tape?"

"I don’t get it." Fred Marshall has become considerably more lucid. "Why are you going there without me?" After a second of thought, Jack tells him an outright lie. "I thought you would probably be there already. It’s a pity you weren’t."

"I would have had the sense to screen that tape before letting her hear it. Do you know what was on that thing?"

"The Fisherman," Jack says.

"How did you know?"

"He’s a great communicator," Jack says. "How bad was it?"

"You tell me, and then we’ll both know. I’m piecing it together from what I gathered from Judy and what Dr. Spiegleman told me later." Fred Marshall’s voice begins to waver. "The Fisherman was taunting her. Can you believe that? He said, Your little boy is very lonely. Then he said something like, He’s been begging and begging to call home and say hello to his mommy. Except Judy says he had a weird foreign accent, or a speech impediment, or something, so he wasn’t easy to understand right away. Then he says, Say hello to your mommy, Tyler, and Tyler . . ." Fred’s voice breaks, and Jack can hear him stifling his agony before he begins again. "Tyler, ah, Tyler was apparently too distressed to do much but scream for help." A long, uncertain inhalation comes over the phone. "And he cried, Jack, he cried." Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Fred weeps openly, unguardedly. His breath rattles in his throat; Jack listens to all the wet, undignified, helpless noises people make when grief and sorrow cancel every other feeling, and his heart moves for Fred Marshall.

The sobbing relents. "Sorry. Sometimes I think they’ll have to put me in restraints."

"Was that the end of the tape?"

"He got on again." Fred breathes noisily for a moment, clearing his head. "Boasting about what he was going to do. Dere vill be morrr mur-derts, and morrr afder dat, Choo-dee, we are all goink zu haff sotch fun — Spiegleman quoted this junk to me! The children of French Landing will be harvested like wheat. Havv-uz-ted like wheed. Who talks like that? What kind of person is this?"

"I wish I knew," Jack says. "Maybe he was putting on an accent to sound even scarier. Or to disguise his voice." He’d never disguise his voice, Jack thinks, he’s too delighted with himself to hide behind an accent. "I’ll have to get the tape from the hospital and listen to it myself. And I’ll call you as soon as I have some information."

"There’s one more thing," Marshall says. "I probably made a mistake. Wendell Green came over about an hour ago."

"Anything involving Wendell Green is automatically a mistake. So what happened?"

"It was like he knew all about Tyler and just needed me to confirm it. I thought he must have heard from Dale, or the state troopers. But Dale hasn’t made us public yet, has he?"

"Wendell has a network of little weasels that feed him information. If he knows anything, that’s how he heard about it. What did you tell him?"

"More or less everything," Marshall says. "Including the tape. Oh, God, I’m such a dope. But I thought it’d be all right — I thought it would all get out anyhow."