If not for the sign, she would have thought she took a wrong turn. Of all the stops along the route, Wickham is the most developed yet. It's almost quaint. Down the main thoroughfare she can see a toy store, a real estate office, clothing boutiques, and a pizza parlor, all with hand-painted wooden signs hanging down that remind her of the storefronts of Concord Center. On the right is an ice cream place, and next to it a bookshop called Bound to Please.
It's still dark, of course, and she doesn't see any residents, but there's a smattering of lights on in the windows of Main Street. Sue tries to think. Are the towns along the route also coming to life as she enters them?
Up ahead she can see a snow-dusted triangle of ground, slightly raised, with the main road bending around it. In the center, bracketed by park benches, is a pedestal with a figure on top of it. Isaac Hamilton, who else could it be? And from here she can see clearly that the figure has no arms or legs, just a slender body with head, held up at the same proud tilt. At least the angle of the headused to look proud to her; now it looks defiant. As she lowers her foot on the brake, the Expedition's tires encounter an unexpected patch of black ice and the vehicle swerves a little. Sue instinctively steers in the direction of the skid, correcting it without thinking-ambulance driver reflexes coming into play again.
Then, halfway through Wickham, as she passes the statue, it starts snowing again, heavily. She sits forward, switches on her wipers, visibility compromised. The flakes are thick and seem to strike her windshield with real weight. It's becoming distinctly more difficult to see.
Up ahead, at the next intersection, the gray van is pulling out of a side street, emerging from a snowfall so thick that it actually seems to materialize out of the air. It turns right, and now it's driving in front of her, fifty feet up the road, heading out of town. The van is moving slower than she is and she taps the brake slightly to maintain her distance. At the same time the snow falls even harder, thicker. The wipers are at their fastest setting and they still can't keep up. Sue slows down even more, hovering between twenty-five and thirty. The van's taillights fade in the distance, and then they are gone. She feels pressure in her skull, building in her sinuses. It's her headache coming back. Her foot goes down on the gas. She's going thirty-five, forty.
Sue's still picking up speed when the snow suddenly stops coming down again, the road clear in front of her. With complete clarity she sees the van is right there, less than twenty feet away.
It's directly in her path.
And it's not moving.
"Shit!" She grabs the wheel with both hands and smashes down on the brake. The Expedition goes into a skid, the back end swerving, coming around faster than she can control it, and Sue realizes there's no choice-she's going to hit the van, and she's going to hit it hard. Everything slows down, the details of the moment laser-clear in her mind, and there's a loud, complicated crash as the rear of the Expedition smacks violently into the van. The impact hurls her hard against the seat belt, which catches her between her breasts, the Expedition's airbag deploying with a pop that she feels more than hears, the synthetic smell of fresh plastic whacking her in the face and driving her head back against the seat. Then it's deflating, letting her sag forward, as she looks out her windshield at nothing. The engine has stalled. It's dead quiet.
Sliding out of her seat, she jumps down and walks around the back of the Expedition. From here she can see that the rear door of the van has been knocked open and hangs crookedly from its hinges. There's a faint light on inside. Sue takes two steps, hearing her feet scrape the snow off the road as she advances toward the van, then cranes her neck for a closer look.
All the seats have been removed, creating a featureless cave. Sprawled on the floor, not moving, are two corpses that by now she recognizes immediately-her nanny, Marilyn, and Jeff Tatum. Marilyn is on her side, her legs flopped at an angle, one arm across her face. Jeff Tatum is facedown.
There's nothing else back here.
Keeping her distance, Sue walks sideways around the van. She sees a child's car seat on the front passenger side.
Veda's car seat.
It's empty.
The driver's seat is empty as well.
Sue slowly opens the passenger door, leaning in, placing one hand on the padded car seat, fingertips brushing over the stale cracker crumbs and dried raisins that have found their way into its creases over the months. The fabric upholstery is still warm. Pressing her nose against the seat's headrest, Sue smells Veda's hair, where the back of her skull probably lay just a few seconds earlier.
Veda, what did they do with you? Where are you now?
Behind her in the darkness, she hears the trill of the cell phone in the Expedition. She starts walking toward it and thinks she sees something moving in the back of the vehicle, the shape in the garbage bags sitting upright against the rear window.
Watching her.