to have something happen back there, but whatever it was it sounds like it wasn’t very satisfactory. If he really does act on his frustrations the way you think he does, then he’ll be at a boiling point and looking for some way to let off steam.”
“I agree. The question is, which way?”
Spicer thought for a moment. “I’m thinking he headed north, but maybe away from the river. There’s too much traffic along the water. Someone might see him.”
“Yes. He’ll look for a house that’s away from any others, and if there’s a young woman alone, he’ll do his filthy work and go on.”
Spicer finished the sentence for him. “Because he still has to make money to support his family. He hasn’t had much luck along the front, so he’ll likely go where he stands a better chance of selling. He won’t stray too far from the river because that’s where most of the houses are.”
Lewis felt that his trust had been rewarded already. Spicer had grasped the severity of the situation immediately and formulated a reasonable approach from it. There was definitely hope for this boy.
They rode as fast as they could, scanning each street and yard for the red and blue peddler’s wagon.
They followed the eastern bank of the Moira River as it thundered along, flowing over rocks and forming cataracts in its mad rush to open water. All of the rain that had fallen in the backcountry seemed to have found its way into this river, and it was threatening to spill over its banks. As they reached the outskirts of Belleville, where it was less built-up and the spaces between houses widened, Lewis happened to glance behind and notice the peddler’s wagon tucked behind a large barn. They would never have seen it if they hadn’t been looking so carefully. He pointed it out to Spicer.
“I’ll go and make sure he’s not still in it,” Spicer said, “but I doubt he is since his horse is gone.”
Lewis surveyed the surrounding area. Where was he? Which way would he go?
“We should try over there,” Spicer said when he returned, waving toward a wooded area ahead. “If I remember rightly, there are a lot of fairly lonely houses along that road.”
They had to slow down, searching carefully and asking as they went; Simms’s grey horse would be far harder to spot than the wagon, and they had to hope that someone had seen him pass. They were in luck; one old woman had been weeding her kitchen garden and had noticed the peddler.
“I called to him and told him to stop, for I’ve been wanting a length of cloth to make some new curtains. I’m a widow, you see, and it’s easier to buy from the peddlers than it is for me to get into town to the store. He wouldn’t stop though. He was in a right surly mood and was quite rude to me.”
He had ridden on down the road, she said, without another word.
They quickened their pace, and it was Spicer who led them to the little cottage that stood away in the woods. Usually all the trees around a house were cut down, to guard against the danger of wind blowing them over onto the dwelling and to allow for gardens, but for some reason the builder of this cottage had left a number of tall pines standing. Lewis had to look closely to see if there was a house at all.
“I’ve been here before,” Spicer said. “There’s a young woman lives here with her husband and a new baby. The woman looks a little like Rachel.”
They followed the winding path through the trees, and as they rounded a bend, they could see a grey horse tethered to the verandah. They kicked their horses into a gallop, Spicer quickly pulling ahead.
Lewis had a moment when he hoped that they would go storming in through the door and find the young woman and her husband peacefully eating their dinner, the new baby gurgling happily in its cradle. Then he wondered if they should storm at all. Wouldn’t it be better to approach cautiously? What if Simms was merely making his regular round and they burst in to discover nothing more than a financial transaction taking place? How could they explain themselves without Simms knowing that they had discovered his secret? On the other hand, if they did barrel through the door and surprise him in mid-murder, he would be a desperate man. What would he do?
Spicer had no such reservations. He reached the cottage, leapt from his horse and wrenched the door open.
“No-oooo!” he screamed as Lewis rushed up. “Stop!”
Simms bolted out the door, shoving Spicer aside. Before Lewis could even get down from his horse, he ran off into the heavy woods that backed onto the cottage. Spicer ran after him. For a moment Lewis debated following them, but his horse would be a hindrance in the thick trees and he knew that he could never match their speed on foot — they were both far younger men than he. Besides, he needed to see what had happened in the cabin. Hoping they had interrupted Simms in time, he went inside.
The table had been set for a meal, just as he had briefly imagined, and the baby was in its cradle, not gurgling, but sleeping peacefully. The young woman, who did indeed look like Rachel, was laid out on the bed in the corner, just like all the others had been. Her face had a bluish sheen, her tongue protruded and there were ugly marks beginning to form at her neck. Simms had not had time to perform the atrocities he had committed on the other bodies. Lewis lifted the woman’s limp arm and felt for a pulse. He could find none. There was a small mirror hanging above a washbowl beside the bed. This he lifted down and held over her mouth. No cloud formed on its surface and Lewis felt an overwhelming defeat. They had not been in time!
He decided that the baby was probably fine for the time being and set off in pursuit of Spicer and Simms. He did not have far to go. Spicer, being the youngest and fittest, had caught up with Simms a few hundred yards or so from the cottage, and as Lewis neared, he saw that they were engaged in a desperate struggle.
Spicer had managed to knock Simms to the ground; Spicer was at a disadvantage by a good twenty pounds, but was far quicker. He made no attempt to pin the bigger man, but every time Simms attempted to rise, Spicer was on him, knocking his feet out from under him then quickly retreating. As Lewis ran toward them, one part of his mind registered the surprising fact that Spicer would probably have made an excellent wrestler — of course he would, he thought, he’s probably been fighting bullies all his life.
Lewis leapt on Simms, grabbed his arms, and used all of his weight to hold him down. The man struggled beneath him.
“Isaac! Stop! It’s over.”
Simms looked up at him with a chilling blankness. It was as if there wasn’t a human being there at all, just a strange nothingness behind the eyes, as if all human spirit had departed and left an unthinking beast in its place. Then, abruptly, the eyes focused and the blankness was replaced with a look of raging hate, a boiling loathing on the face, and a foam of spittle at the mouth. Lewis could have been convinced that he was wrestling with Lucifer, so depraved and violent was the look. He must have loosened his grip in his dismay. Simms rolled abruptly to the left and swung his right fist in a smashing blow against Lewis’s head. He caught the arm just before it could land a second blow. Spicer threw himself on Simms’s legs and held him down again.
“Are you all right?”
Lewis’s head was spinning from the blow and he blinked furiously, trying to clear his blurred eyesight. “I think so. Let’s get him back to the cabin.”
They hoisted Simms to his feet. As they marched him along, he began to speak, but it was speech such as Lewis had never heard before. He moaned and coughed and howled and in between he spouted every foul word
