Sissy lifted the florist's receipts out of the box. She could sense at once that these were what had alerted her psychic sensitivity. They almost prickled her, like real roses. Roses. Just like the roses that had appeared in every DeVane card that she had turned up recently.
Each delivery had come from Jones the Florists, on Fountain Square. They had been delivered every Tuesday for five weeks to Ms. Jane Becker at Taft, Clecamp Evans, Attorneys at Law, Twenty-one Giley Building, Cincinnati.
"You see this?" said Sissy. "I thought Jane Becker told you that she didn't know George Woods."
"That's right, she did. She called him 'that poor man.'"
"Did she? Well, 'that poor man' was sending her a dozen roses every week. Fifty-three dollars' worth, including delivery. That was from the second week in March to the third week in April."
"Do you think they were having an affair?" asked Molly, peering at the receipts over her shoulder. "That would account for George Woods wanting to say sorry to his wife, wouldn't it?"
"Yes. But I don't understand why Jane Becker should give everybody the impression that she didn't know George Woods at all. If some man sent me a dozen red roses every week for five weeks, I'd sure want to find out who he was, wouldn't you?"
"Every order had the same message on it," Molly pointed out. " 'Remember the Vernon Manor…when our dreams came true.' So she must have known who he was."
"I think we need to go talk to her," said Sissy. "I'm pretty sure she's only told us half of the story. If she was having an affair with George Woods, that would have given Red Mask a motive to attack her, too, wouldn't it? Red Mask didn't stab her at random, just because she happened to be in the elevator at the wrong time. It was premeditated. He meant to hurt her. He might even have intended to kill her."
Sissy tucked the florist's receipts into her purse, and they left Frances Delgado's office. As they began the long, careful climb down the stairs, Molly said, "Red Mask could be one of Jane Becker's boyfriends…or maybe some guy who was obsessed with her, a stalker, who didn't like to see her getting too friendly with anybody else."
"Or a relative of Mrs. Woods," Sissy suggested. "A brother or a cousin who wanted to punish them for cheating on her. So there's a chance that Jane Becker knows who he is."
"So why lie about it?"
"That's what we have to find out, don't we?"
Sissy paused on the fourteenth landing and pressed her hand to her chest.
"Whoever said exercise was good for you was lying through their teeth."
"Do you want to stop and rest for a while?"
"No…I think I want to get out of this building as soon as I can. There's still a second Red Mask on the prowl, remember?"
They carried on down. As they reached the ninth floor, Sissy said, "Remember…even if we do find out who Red Mask is, it's not going to stop him from murdering more people. We have to track him down-the same way we tracked down this Red Mask today."
"So you do want me to bring Frank back?"
Sissy looked down at her, and her eyes were glistening. "What do you think?"
Detective Bellman
Detective Bellman was hot and exhausted after nearly an hour in the elevator. He sat astride one of the office chairs with his necktie loosened, drinking from a bottle of mineral water. His white shirt was sticking to his back.
Sissy had explained to him exactly what had happened on the seventeenth floor. She had told him the truth about Frank, and who Frank really was, and how Molly had created Deputy. She described how Red Mask had come bursting out of the closet and stabbed Officer Gillow.
She told him how Frank and Red Mask had burned into ashes, right in front of their eyes.
Detective Bellman listened to all of this wearily, without making notes. When Sissy had finished, he said, "How am I supposed to file a report on this?"
"I don't know. It depends if you believe it or not."
"No, it doesn't. It depends if my lieutenant takes me off the case and sends me for a psych evaluation. It's madness. It's like something out of Alice in Wonderland. Playing cards, coming to life."
"Where do you think Lewis Carroll got the idea from? It's been recorded in so many cultures…pictures that step out of their frames and sculptures that move."
Detective Bellman took another swig of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, it's not going to be recorded in the Cincinnati Police Department culture. It's going to stay our little secret, capiche?"
They ate a subdued supper that night. Molly was too tired and distracted to cook, so Trevor went to Blue Ash Chili and brought home three four-ways and one five-way for Sissy, who didn't believe that a chili was a chili without beans. She didn't really believe that chili should be eaten with spaghetti, either.
"Who eats chili with spaghetti?" she said. "It's against God's law."
"You'll get used to it," Trevor told her. "One day, when you're back in New Milford, you'll think to yourself, 'I just got to have myself a Cincinnati five-way-chili, cheddar, onions, and beans, all on top of a big pile of spaghetti-and I got to have it now!'"
Victoria said, "Isn't Grandpa coming for supper?"
Sissy glanced at Molly. If they were going to re create Frank to go after the second Red Mask, then she didn't want to say, Grandpa had to go away-not yet.
"Grandpa had some business he needed to attend to," she said. "Maybe he'll be back tomorrow."
"Is Grandpa going to come live with us, like Grandma?"
"You understand that he isn't your real grandpa? He's just like a picture of your grandpa, except that he can walk and talk?"
"I know," said Victoria. "But that doesn't matter. He's still my grandpa, isn't he? And he can come to my school and everything and see my play?"
"Victoria, sweetheart," said Sissy, taking hold of her hand. "I'm really not sure how long Grandpa will be able to stay with us."
"I'll tell him he has to stay forever."
Sissy thought about that, and then she said, "Okay. That sounds like a plan. When a granddaughter has asked for something-anything-what grandpa in recorded history has ever been able to say no?"
Sissy could eat only a few spoonfuls of chili. She was trying hard not to show it, but seeing Frank burn up today had shocked her badly. She couldn't stop herself from shivering, even though the evening was so warm, and she felt the same iron-cold hopelessness in her heart that she had felt twenty-four years ago, when the state troopers had knocked on her door.
She must have been mad to suggest that Molly bring Frank back. But she had been so worried about how Frank would feel that she had forgotten her own emotions-especially her grief.
"Not hungry, Momma?" Trevor asked her. "Don't worry about it. Mr. Boots loves five-way chili."
"You're not going to give it to Mr. Boots, are you?" asked Victoria. "He always makes such horrible smells."
"Actually, I think that's Daddy," said Molly. "He just blames it on Mr. Boots, that's all, and poor Mr. Boots can't say, 'Hey-it wasn't me!' can he?"
She started to collect up the plates, but then the phone rang. She answered it and said, "Sawyer residence."
Somebody must have answered, because she frowned, and said, "Who is this?"
Trevor stood up. "What is it, honey? Give it to me."
Molly covered the mouthpiece with her hand and stared at them wide-eyed. "I think it's Red Mask."
Trevor said, "Give it to me!"
But Sissy said, "No! This could be important! Switch on the speaker and let's hear what he has to say! Victoria-can you do something for me? I want you to take Mr. Boots outside and give him this chili, okay?"
"But-"
"Victoria, this is something you don't need to hear, okay? Now be a good girl and feed Mr. Boots for me."
Molly said, "How did you get my number?"
She listened, and said, "I see." But she waited until Victoria had left the kitchen before she switched on the speaker.
"You're trying to track me down, aren't you, Molly?" said Red Mask. "You created me, so you think you have the divine right to hunt me down and destroy me."
"You're a mass murderer," Molly retorted. "What do you expect me to do?"
"I expect you to take the responsibility for your own creation, Molly. Is it my fault if I'm so driven by revenge? I have to have justice, Molly-it's in my blood, or what passes for blood when you're nothing but paper and pencils and paints."
"Don't you think you've had enough justice? Why don't you stop, and show some mercy?"
"I can't, Molly. It's not the way I was painted. I thought I might be able to stop, but now I know that I can't. You killed me today, burned me. But I didn't feel nothing. It wasn't cathartic. I didn't feel purged. What I felt was even more vengeful. I felt like killing even more people, scores of people, hundreds of people! I wanted to see their blood spraying like warm summer rain!"
"You have to stop," Molly told him. "If you don't stop yourself, then I'll stop you, and that's a promise."
There was a long pause, during which they could hear Red Mask breathing, almost like a single cicada clicking. Eventually he said, "Making a promise like that, Molly, that was a serious error of judgment. If you make a promise to come after me, then by God I'll make you a promise to come after you."
"Hang up!" hissed Trevor. But Sissy raised her hand. She wanted to hear everything that Red Mask had to say.
"You'd better keep looking behind you," he breathed. "You'd better watch out for every shadow on every wall. And you'd better keep your loved ones close to you, too. Yours was the very first face I saw when I was created, Molly. Make sure that the very last face you see in your life isn't mine."
Trevor snatched the phone, and snapped, "You listen to me, you SOB-!" But there was a clattering sound, and Red Mask hung up.
Trevor said, "That's it! That's it! I'm not having my family threatened! We're going to go after this psycho first thing tomorrow! We're going to find him and we're going to burn him, the same as we did today!"
Sissy said, "I need a drink. Not only that, I need a cigarette."
She went outside into the backyard. Victoria was sitting on the kitchen steps, watching Mr. Boots as he wolfed down his five-way chili.
"Mr. Boots likes spaghetti, doesn't he?"
Sissy lit her Marlboro. "Mr. Boots likes everything, except for tuna."
She sat down next to Victoria and blew smoke into the warm evening air.
"Why do you do that, Grandma? It's really, really dangerous."
"I know. I'm a fool. I've tried to give it up more times than I can count. But, you know, every time I light a cigarette, I hear your grandpa's voice saying, 'When are you going to stop smoking, Sissy?' And I guess that hearing him say that is better than not hearing him at all."
"I love him," said Victoria.
"Yes. Me too."
At that moment, however, Mr. Boots finished his chili and came trotting up to them, messily licking his lips. He tried to nuzzle Victoria, but she screamed out, "Get away! Get away! These jeans are clean!"
Trevor poked his head out of the kitchen window. "Something wrong?"
Sissy smiled. "Nothing that a wet cloth can't fix."
Sissy opened her eyes. It was daylight. Her cheek was sticky where she had been lying against the leather seat of her Uncle Henry's Hudson Hornet. She lay there for a while, listening to the monotonous whine of the automobile's transmission and feeling the bumping and jiggling of the Hornet's suspension.
She couldn't think what she was doing here. It had been so long since she had visited Uncle Henry and Aunt Mattie that she wasn't even sure that they were still alive. Yet they must be, if this was Uncle Henry's car and Uncle Henry was driving it.
After a while she sat up. Sure enough, that was the back of Uncle Henry's head in the driver's seat, with his sunburned, prickly neck. That was Uncle Henry's straw hat, with the red snakeskin band around it, and those were Uncle Henry's red suspenders.
She looked out of the window. The prairie was gloomy and seemed to stretch for ever. In the far distance, she could see a farmhouse, and a white-painted Dutch barn. The sky was overcast and heavy with smudgy brown clouds. Or maybe they weren't clouds at all. Maybe they were swarms of cicadas.
A strange song was playing on the car radio. It had an odd, irregular rhythm, as if it were being played backward.
"I saw you in the garden… I saw you turn away… I saw you smile and asked you why…but while you smiled I knew you lied…"
"Where are we, Uncle Henry?" Her voice sounded as if she were speaking into a cardboard tube.
"West of the east and east of the west."
"Yes, but where are we going?"
"Don't you remember? It's the stormy season. We have to run ahead of the storm, don't we?"
She knelt up on her seat and looked up ahead, through the windshield. The sky was growing darker and darker, even though the clock on the instrument panel told her that it was only two in the afternoon. She could smell rain in the air.
They passed a sign that read '
ENTERING BORROWSVILLE, POP. 789'
, and at the same time, she caught sight of the huge figure of a man standing by the side of the road. He was still over a half mile away, so he must have been at least thirty feet tall.
She gave an involuntary jerk, like she did when she was falling asleep, but this was a jerk of sheer terror.
"Can we turn round? I don't like giants."
"Not this time, Sissy."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. This time we have to take a closer look at him. You can't put it off any longer, no matter how frightened you are."
"But it's a giant, and I don't like giants. Please can we turn around, please?"
"Not this time, Sissy."
They drove nearer and nearer to the giant. Sissy was so frightened that she was breathing in little gasps. As they approached it, Uncle Henry drove slower and slower. He shifted the Hornet into neutral, so that it was rolling along on nothing but its own momentum. Gradually, it crept to a stop about thirty feet away from the giant's huge black feet.
"Come on, Sissy. Let's take a closer look."
"Please, Uncle Henry. I'm so scared."
"You have to do this. There's no other way. You're here for a very good reason, Sissy Sawyer, and you know it. So you have to overcome your fear, young lady, and do what's necessary."
Uncle Henry tugged on the parking brake and climbed out of the car. He came around to Sissy's door and opened it. There was a warm wind blowing from the southwest, and his baggy pants were rippling.
"Come on, Sissy. He's not going to hurt you."
Reluctantly, Sissy took hold of Uncle Henry's hand and stepped down onto the road. Some grit flew into her eye, and she had to blink furiously to get it out. Uncle Henry led her along by the side of the road, where blazing star and purple prairie clover were nodding in the wind.
They reached the giant's feet. At first Sissy didn't want to look up at him. His feet were black and his pants were black, all painted in shiny black varnish.
"Lift up your eyes, Sissy. You have to. Look him in the face."
"Please, Uncle Henry, I'm too frightened. What if he recognizes me and comes chasing after me in my dreams?"
"He's made of wood, Sissy. He can't chase you anywhere."
"Are you sure?"
"Surer than rabbits. Surer than all fall down."
Very slowly, Sissy raised her head. The giant was wearing a black coat, with a dark red shirt underneath it. His arms were crossed over his chest, and in each of his hands he held a large triangular butcher knife, painted metallic silver.
It was when she saw his face that she really froze. It was painted bright red, with two narrow chisel cuts for eyes and a wider chisel cut for a mouth.
"Red Mask," she whispered. "Oh God in heaven, it's Red Mask."
But Uncle Henry was shaking his head and smiling and saying something to her, although the wind made his voice sound very blurry.
"I can't hear you. I don't understand."
Uncle Henry took hold of her arm and pointed to a large aluminum-sided building not far away with trucks and pickups parked outside it. A large sign on top of the roof said
BORROWSVILLE MEAT PACKING CO.
"It's an advertisement, that's all. It's never going to chase you."
But a harsh voice said, "Trust your Uncle Henry, do you? Uncle Henry died years ago. What does he know about reality? You wait till the blood starts spraying like summer rain!"
There was a deep rumble of thunder, and rain began to fall, only a few silvery spots at first, but then harder and harder.
Run, Sissy! Run!