Free The Wrath of Angels by John Connolly Page B

man or a woman at the wheel of the approaching vehicle, but now the relief showed. She came forward, the rain streaming down her face. Her mascara had run. Combined with her dark dress and coat, it made her look like a mourner at the end of a particularly difficult funeral, but one radiant in her grief. The boy hung back, waiting until his mom told him that it was okay to approach. No, it wasn’t just that: Barbara was very good at picking up on the responses of others, and there was something in the boy’s reaction that went beyond obedience to his mother, or a child’s innate caution. He was suspicious of Barbara.
    Clever boy, thought Barbara. Clever, sensitive boy.
    ‘Damn tire blew,’ said the woman, ‘and the jack doesn’t seem to be worth shit. Do you have one I can use?’
    ‘No,’ Barbara lied. ‘Mine gave out a couple of months back, and I never got around to replacing it. I tend to wait for a helpful cop when I get into trouble, or I just call Triple A.’
    ‘I don’t have Triple A, and I haven’t seen any cops, helpful or otherwise.’
    ‘Haven’t you heard? They melt in the rain.’
    The woman tried to smile. She was already soaked through. ‘They may not be the only ones.’
    ‘Well, this is down for a while, and it’s not such a good idea for you to wait with your car,’ said Barbara. ‘There have been a lot of accidents at the bend in the road just ahead. People take it too fast, especially in bad weather. If someone hits you, you’ll have bigger worries than a flat tire.’
    The woman’s shoulders sagged.
    ‘What do you suggest I do?’
    ‘I live just up the road from here. You can almost see my house from that big pine back there. Come up, get dry, and I’ll call Roy, my neighbor, when the rain stops.’ Once she had told the lie about her own jack, she could hardly offer to change the tire herself. ‘He lives to help out damsels in distress. He’ll have that tire changed in no time. In the meantime, you and your son can have a warm drink and wait in comfort. He is your son, isn’t he?’
    There was an odd pause before the woman answered. ‘Oh yes, of course. That’s William. Billy to me, and to his friends.’
    That pause was interesting, thought Barbara.
    ‘I’m Barbara,’ she said. ‘Barbara Kelly.’
    ‘I’m Caroline. Hi, pleased to meet you.’
    The two women shook hands slightly awkwardly through the open window. Caroline gestured to the boy. ‘Come here, Billy, and say hello to the nice lady.’
    Reluctantly, or so it seemed to Barbara, the boy came forward. He was not a good-looking child. His skin was very pale, and Barbara wondered if he was ailing. If this woman was really his mother, and there was already some doubt about that, then there was little of her in him. The boy seemed destined to grow into an ugly man, and something told her that he was not a child with many friends.
    ‘This is Barbara,’ Caroline told him. ‘She’s going to help us.’
    The boy didn’t speak. He simply stared at Barbara with those dark eyes, like raisins set in the dough of his face.
    ‘So,’ she said, ‘hop in.’
    ‘You’re sure we’re not imposing?’
    ‘No, not at all. I’d just be worrying if you insisted on staying out here, so I’ll be happier if I know that you’re safe. You need anything from the car?’
    ‘Just my purse,’ said Caroline. She turned away, and left Barbara and the boy alone. With his hood up, and his windbreaker zipped, he looked older than his years. He reminded her uncomfortably of a doll come to life, or a homunculus. He regarded her balefully. Barbara did not let her smile waver. She had all kinds of medicines in her house, and she could easily put a child to sleep.
    His mother too, if it came to that, for she could almost taste Caroline, and the warmth had begun a slow, insistent throbbing.
    Repentance could wait.
    The two women chatted as they drove to the house. It seemed that Caroline and William had been on their way to visit friends