Page 82 of The Witching Hours

“The timing of you coming for a visit. Seems worth noting.”

“I can’t say for sure, but your point is well taken.”

“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

“No. I’ve rarely in my life been sure I was doing the right thing. I’ll say this. If you’re right about the demonstration being an unwelcome directed at me, it means they don’t want me there. And, if they want to go to lengths to discourage my visit…”

“It’s a good sign and not a bad sign.”

“That would be my guess. But I’m happy to turn around and go back to my cat if you’ve changed your mind.”

“Oh. Sorry. No. Fuck. I just…”

“End of your rope.”

“Yes. I think maybe they’re afraid of you and don’t want to be thrown out.”

I didn’t want to tell David that I’m just not that powerful. I needed him to believe in me. The night before had been a rousing escalation, but I couldn’t know that my involvement was behind it.

As I pulled back onto the road, I said, “You know. I think sharing a room is a great idea. For now,” I said. “The kids will handle this better if you and Molly are close by. And I’ll be at your house in the morning.”

“Promise you’ll drive carefully. It sounds cheesy to say you’re our last hope, but…”

“Iwillbe there.” I tried to end the call, but couldn’t. My mind was busy playing images of a family being terrorized. “Hold on. How much money did you raise to pay me?”

“Six hundred and twenty-three dollars.”

“Okay. Take what you need of that to go get a room at a family motel. Keep the receipt for the room and dinner out. We’ll deduct it from six hundred twenty-three dollars.”

“Really?” He perked up.

“Yeah. I have to get paid, and it has to cost you, but it doesn’t have to cost you everything. If this does have something to do with my coming… Well, I’m getting closer every minute. Throw some stuff in bags and go. If you let me know where you’re staying, I’ll head there and get a room at the same place.”

“Will do and, Valerie… Thank you.”

“See you soon.”

I stopped at a waterfront restaurant in Wilmington for lunch and a stretch of the legs, then made my way to I40. The scenic portion of the day’s trip was concluded. The rest would be landlocked interstate speedway. I put on my audio copy ofTaltosand listened the rest of the way. One thing about Tim Curry. I can count on his acting to keep me awake.

I pulled into Georgetown just after five. Perfect timing for end of day traffic. When I stopped at a red light, I texted.

me: In Georgetown city limits. Where am I going?

I was still sitting at the light when the response chirped up.

David: Molly and kids at Super 8. Texting address right now.

I programmed the address into navi and prepared myself to lean into stop and go driving the rest of the way. Between thefact of too many cars, a short lane closure for road work that backed up northbound traffic for a mile, and a delay-causing rear-ender, it was after six when I opened the lobby door of the Super 8.

I got a room on the second floor because I’d heard women traveling alone shouldn’t stay on ground level. The clerk laughed when I asked about getting help with my bags. Since nothing more was added, I took that as a no.

“Which room are the Campbells in?” I asked.

“I’m not really supposed to give out that information.” I waited. “Can you give me a first name at least?”

“Husband David. Wife Molly. Two boys and a girl. Ages five through eleven.”

“Well, you look harmless,” he said finally. What a horrible thing to say to a person. I wanted to bitch slap him for that, but I let it go. “They’re in #189.”

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