Ian imagined Alex in the basement, without his father to banish Eston.
"You know, I think I'm doing all right."
Ian gestured at the mask.
"This helped a lot."
"Are you sure?
Sometimes people think they're doing better than they are.
CO poisoning can be tricky business."
"No."
I can't afford it anyway,
Ian thought to add, but skipped it.
While it was true, it would lead down another avenue of argument he'd rather avoid.
"I'm really doing better."
"All right."
Synech gazed at him.
"How old is that car you were napping in?"
"It's a '91," Ian admitted.
The Check Engine light had been on for the last year or so, but he didn't mention that.
"Well, you need to get it checked.
Even a '91 shouldn't be leaking that much CO."
"Yeah, I told the nurse - I backed up too far, hit the snowbank.
The tailpipe got clogged with snow."
"Yeah," Synech said.
"Listen, Ian.
If you need someone to talk to, I know a guy - very approachable, very easy going, no pressure.
I'm gonna give you his card here."
Ian scoffed.
"I didn't do this on purpose, doctor."
"Well, I believe you.
But I'm giving you the card anyway."
He took Ian's hand, pressed the card into it.
"Call if you need to, and if that headache comes back or you start getting lightheaded or short on breath, come back in."
"All right."
Ian shook his hand.
The snow had dwindled to a whisper by the time he got home.
He trudged up the front walk, buried under the day's snowfall.
As he fished in his coat pocket for the house keys, he wondered with dread what awaited him inside.
He eased the door open a crack and fished inside for the light switch, flipping it on before stepping through.
His brush with his own mortality had left him shaken.
He didn't feel equal to encountering Eston in the dark of his living room tonight.
The couch was empty; the room silent.
He stepped inside and stomped his boots on the entry rug, shaking off the snow, waiting for the call from Alex or the whispered greeting by Eston.
Neither came, but that only left him expectant and unnerved.
"Alex?" he said.
When there was no response, he picked up his boots and crossed into the kitchen.
He glanced down the hallway to Alex's room as he passed by, but the room was dark and empty.
At the door to the backyard, he paused to put his boots back on.
When he finished, he said again, "Alex?
I need to talk to you."
His eyes darted around the room, but found only a sink full of stinking dishes, an old yogurt container on the counter, a small collection of empty, unrinsed milk cartons.
The room grew more disgusting every day.
To get away from it, he turned and went outside.
The snow shovels were in the little, one-car garage behind the house - along with the lawnmower, a mess of broken-down cardboard boxes, a stack of Alina's defunct painting projects, and a host of other miscellaneous crap.
They'd filled the little garage so quickly after moving in that instead of fighting over who got to clean and park in it, they both opted to just park on the front street.
Besides, the door opener was busted, and the only way to get in was through the little side door.
The lock gave him some trouble - it always stuck a bit in the winter - but he jiggered his way past it.
As he swung the door open he caught his breath without thinking about it, bracing to find something horrible on the other side.
The sullen light from the streetlamps hung heavy in the windows, framing a single, long silhouette that comprised all the junk in the garage.
He scanned it for just an instant.
If Alex or Eston was here, he'd be able to see them in the dark.
But they weren't.
He let out his breath - it plumed from his mouth in a long, curling cloud - and flipped on the light.
It took five minutes of hunting to find the snow shovel.
He should've done the back walk, too - the one leading from the house to the garage - but wasn't in the mood.
He'd be keeping the shovel in the house for the rest of the winter, anyway, and he wasn't likely to make a lot of trips to the garage for any other reason.
So he just did the front.
Other than the drone of a distant snowblower and the
scrape-whuff
of his own work, the street was silent.
The snow was plentiful, but not too wet.
It took him about twenty minutes to get through it.
He spent the time wondering how much a new catalytic converter would cost him, and whether it was time to buy a new car.
He cleared up to the front step and paused to stretch his back.
He hated shoveling those two stairs.
One of them had a crack, and he could never tell where it was under the snow.
His shovel would always catch on it.
It was maddening.
He rolled his neck, determined not to spend all night trying to deal with that stair crack, and caught a glimpse of Leroy Eston through the front curtains, pacing.
For a long moment Ian stood still on the step, waiting.
When several minutes passed and he saw nothing more, he carefully and deliberately finished shoveling the porch.
Then he went inside, his heart pounding.
Eston was sitting on the couch.
He said, "Where the fuck have you been?"
Ian's mouth worked, but he had nothing to say.
The sight of the man was like the scream of fingernails on a chalkboard.
Is he talking to me?
Does he see me, or is he just -
"Whatever," Eston answered.
"Answer your fucking phone next time."
He glowered at some response that Ian neither heard nor delivered.
"I'll talk to you however I fucking please.
Now get in here, and close the door."
Ian realized he still had the door open.
He closed it, staring carefully at the kidnapper, who had stood up and was chewing his lip.
"I think you're right," Eston finally said.
"I think we need to move to your place."
A heartbeat.
Eston fixed his gaze on a point somewhere around Ian's jaw.
"Yeah.
Careful.
Thank god you're here.
I could never pull this shit off on my own."
He snarled.
"Why the fuck do you think I said anything in the first place?
This isn't working, it's - there's too many people.
That boy is so goddamn mouthy, if he starts screaming at the wrong time -"
His eyes widened, affronted.
"You must think I'm an idiot.
No, I haven't told him that.
Why the fuck would I tell him that?"
Eston cocked his head, just slightly.
"No.
No, no, no.
If anyone's going to let anything slip, it's you.
You've been nothing but a constant fuckup since day one.
You're lucky I share him with you at all."
He snapped his head toward Ian, lip curling.
"Listen, bitch, you are in this as deep as I am.
Don't fucking start with me.
Just start getting the shit together."
He yanked a palm up, his eyes blazing.
"
Don't.
It's a twenty minute drive.
I think even you can manage that.
Just get the shit together.
Now."
He stalked into the kitchen.
Ian followed, but Eston was gone.
So he stood staring into his empty kitchen while his thoughts smoldered.
Kelly had been Eston's accomplice.
If that hadn't been obvious before, it was glaring now.
He had to have been talking to her.
Had
to.
She had hurt Alex.
Eston had
shared
him with her.
She had worked with Eston to keep the boy under control.
She had volunteered her place to keep him -
Was that where they had been going, when Alex had somehow gotten out by O'Dowd?
Kelly, I lost him, get down to the shore.
And they hadn't caught her.
The police didn't even
know
about her.
Ian's fist clenched.
She was still
out there.
"You son of a bitch," he muttered to his empty kitchen.
"You fucked up tonight."
And suddenly, he knew.
He was absolutely certain.
This
was why Alex had come back.
Because Kelly was still out there, someplace, and Alex couldn't rest until she was dead.
He thundered down the stairs, even leapt the last three.
Stabbed at his computer's power button like he was murdering a bug.
When the desktop finally came up, he didn't go to the internet.
He brought up an empty text document, and started typing.
- Kelly.
Girlfriend?
of Eston.
He backed up, added:
(Coworker?
Partner?
Maybe he beat her)
In the basement Saturday night, when Alex had looked away from Eston, Eston had said,
"Don't look at her, look at me."
Her.
He typed:
Definitely a female, even though Kelly can be a guy's name.
Then he entered down and wrote:
-
Black hat?
Ski mask?
Something to do with shoveling?
Pause.
Lives in
Minnesota
, maybe.
Still needs to shovel snow.
Enter.
- They were moving.
Going from Eston's place to hers.
She must own a place.
Or rent a place.
Or HAD a place - this would've been in March or April.
Maybe not any more.
Enter.
- Call the PD, see if they had any leads on her.
Pause.
He added:
Or had even heard of her.
Then he highlighted the entire entry and deleted it.
- She was out running an errand, or something.
Eston was pissed she took so long to get home.
Maybe she picked up the supplies for them?
Maybe people saw her, at the grocery store or something?
Enter.
His fingers shook.
- HE SAID HE SHARED HIM WITH HER.
ENTER.
He knuckled it that time, as if he were pounding on a door.
What else.
What else.
- They were at the lake.
Eston sent her down to the shore.
A terrible thought occurred to him.
She might have fallen in.
She might be dead.
Check obits or news for a body showing up in Shakopee?
But if they'd found a body in O'Dowd - a second one, after already finding Alex - he would've heard about it.
Enter.
As if he had just lunged headlong off a cliff, he realized he had nothing else on Kelly.
His freefall lasted twenty seconds.
Then he wrote: