Читаем The Hunter полностью

With everything else on her mind, Trey hasn’t looked at her mother properly in days. At first she can’t tell what seems strange about her, until it comes to her that Sheila is the first person she’s seen in weeks who looks peaceful. Her head is tilted back, to take the late warm light through the window full on her face. For the first time, in the high harsh sweeps of her cheekbones and the wide curves of her mouth, Trey sees the beauty that Johnny talked about.

Trey says, “I went into town with Lena. To the Guards. I told them there was no one on the mountain that night, only my dad went out.”

Sheila takes another bite of toast and thinks that over. After a bit she nods. “Did they believe you?” she asks.

“Yeah. Think so.”

“So they’ll arrest him.”

“Dunno. They’ll bring him in there and ask him questions, anyhow.”

“Will they come search this place?”

“Prob’ly. Yeah.”

Sheila nods again. “They’ll find what they’re after,” she says. “ ’Tis all in the shed for them.”

In the long silence, the faint telly chatters busily on.

Sheila points with her chin at the chair opposite her. “Sit down,” she says.

The chair’s legs rake dully on the linoleum as Trey pulls it out. She sits down. Her mind can’t move.

“I saw what you were at,” Sheila says. “First you only wanted your father gone, same as I did. Isn’t that right?”

Trey nods. The house feels like a place in a dream; the row of faded mugs hanging from hooks under the cupboard seem like they’re floating in mid-air, the chipped enamel of the cooker has an impossible glow. She’s not afraid that any of the little ones will burst in, or that Nealon will come knocking at the door. Everything will be motionless till she and her mother are done here.

“ ’Twas no use,” Sheila says. “I saw that early. He was going nowhere, as long as he had that Rushborough fella on his back. All he could think of was getting that money.”

Trey says, “I know that.”

“I know you do. The night him and Cal had that fight, there was me cleaning the blood off him, and him acting like I wasn’t there. He never did see me. But I was there. I heard what he was at. He was taking you to use.”

“He didn’t take me. I wanted to help him.”

Sheila looks at her. “This place has no mercy,” she says. “Once you step foot over the line, they’d ate you alive. You’da been gone, one way or the other.”

“I don’t give a shite,” Trey says. Her mind is starting to stir again. It hits her full force that her mother is a mystery to her. She could have anything folded away inside her silence.

Sheila shakes her head briefly. “I lost one child to this place,” she says. “I’m not losing another.”

Brendan is a swift slice through the air between them, bright as life.

Trey says, “That’s why I wanted to help my dad. To get back at them. He wasn’t using me. I was using him.”

“I know that,” Sheila says. “You’re as bad as him, thinking I know nothing. I knew that all along. I wouldn’t have it.”

“You shoulda left it,” Trey says. She finds her hands are shaking. It takes her a moment to realize it’s from anger.

Sheila looks at her. “You wanted your revenge on themens,” she says.

“I had it. Had it fuckin’ sorted. I had ’em.”

“Quiet,” Sheila says. “The children’ll come in.”

Trey can barely hear her. “They were walking straight into it. All you hadta do was leave me at it. The fuck did you go interfering for?” Fury has her on her feet, but once she’s there she can’t find what to do with it. When she was a kid she would have thrown something, smashed something. She wants that back. “You wrecked fuckin’ everything.”

In the sunlight Sheila’s eyes are blue as flames. She doesn’t blink against it. “You’re my revenge,” she says. “I won’t have you ruined.”

That stops Trey’s breathing. The peeling cream paint of the walls is achingly radiant and the stained linoleum has a simmering, risky translucence, ready to boil up. She can’t feel the floor under her feet.

“Sit,” Sheila says. “I’m talking to you.”

After a moment Trey sits back down. Her hands on the table feel different, humming with strange new kinds of power.

“Cal knew what you were at, as well,” Sheila says. “That’s why he bet up your dad: he wanted him gone as much as I did. Only your dad wouldn’t go. In the heel of the hunt, Cal woulda had to kill him. Or kill Rushborough, one or the other.”

She considers her piece of toast and reaches for the knife to add more jam. Sun catches in the jar, lighting it the rich purple of a jewel.

“He woulda done it,” she says. “I knew by your dad, by how afraid he was: Cal almost done it that night. The next time, or the next, he’da done it.”

Trey knows it’s true. Everyone around her is changing, layered with things barely held in check. The scrubbed grain of the table looks too sharp to be real.

“Cal’s your chance,” Sheila says. “At having more than this. I couldn’t have him ending up in prison. You can do without me, if you haveta.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, like she’s saying something they both know well. “So I reckoned I’d haveta do the job instead.”