“Pink . . .”
“Look, now, don’t do anything stupid. Promise me. You don’t want to ruin Elmer’s life, do you? And you sure as hell don’t want to ruin that baby’s life. If you need penance for what you done to Isabelle, then be the best damn mother you know how to be. That’s your penance, Claire.”
Pink swung the door shut and loped off into the woods. Out of breath after only a few minutes, he stood on a small knoll overlooking Burtran Lake, his chest heaving, watching Claire’s car from behind some pines. After a few minutes, her car pulled away slowly, moving along the gravel road until it disappeared behind the trees.
Chapter 46
Reporters called day and night, some camping for hours on the sidewalk in front of Michelle’s home in Atlanta, hoping for an interview. A television anchorman reported that the skeletal remains had been found at the Stage’s cabin. The reporter then reiterated the story of Michelle’s disappearance only weeks earlier, openly speculating on a possible link between the two events.
One evening after dinner, Cassie called Michelle to the living room. “Mom, come see this.”
A CNN anchor was talking about Pink Souder, the story of his disappearance and the bones found on his property. The segment was accompanied by photos of Pink Souder, some old photos of his real estate office space in Ardenwood, as well as pictures of Isabelle Souder as a young, attractive woman.
“A statewide search for Pink Souder continues after he fled the home of Lulu Martin, where he was rumored to have been convalescing after a nervous breakdown,” the announcer said. “Details are sketchy, but what we’ve learned is that police had driven to the house to arrest him, but when they arrived, he had already fled Mrs. Martin’s home. Authorities are combing the area aided by neighboring law enforcement. He is believed to be armed and dangerous. This is considered to be the region’s largest manhunt since the search for the abortion clinic bomber, Earl Borden.”
Armed and dangerous. Michelle was seized by conflicting emotions. She realized Pink had killed Isabelle in one reality, based on everything Mattie had told her, yet the Pink Souder Michelle knew hadn’t killed or hurt anyone. That was the only Pink she knew. She pictured the path he had built in the trees for Isabelle, how Mattie spoke of them as kids, how much Pink must have loved Isabelle. And now Pink was running for his life, unaware of the crime he was being hunted for, unaware of the reality he now found himself in.
Chapter 47
Pink scrambled down the hill, pulling himself through the thick rhododendron. He dropped the shotgun when he slipped on the loose dirt. The gun slid down the culvert and into a shallow draw. “Oh, fuck it all to hell!”
The sun was bright through the trees, and he figured it was close to noon. Even so, the day held a chill not uncommon for this time of year. He pulled the shotgun from the creek then scooped clear water to his mouth. He gulped down several palmfuls, then sat a moment, allowing his thoughts to ramble unimpeded over Lulu’s story and Claire’s account of things. There was much overlap, and Pink was fairly certain Lulu had actually pulled off something supernatural. But he couldn’t wrap his brain around any of it.
“Crazy as a trapped bat, that old woman is,” he said to himself. The sound of barking hounds snapped him back to the present. He’d managed to stay ahead of Fisk for two days, but they’d found him now.
It was Claire that most troubled him. What she lacked in brains she made up double in heart. Pink hoped she’d bought his bluff about Isabelle’s body and where it was buried. Pink had no idea where Isabelle was buried and until Lulu told him the story, he hadn’t even known she was supposed to be dead. He hoped Claire wouldn’t say anything to cast doubt about Pink’s guilt in Isabelle’s murder, hoping she’d keep her mouth shut. There was no way she could stand up to a Fisk interrogation. Fisk would ask her two questions, and she’d breakdown and confess to every murder that had ever happened in Ardenwood.
“Uhhh, shit, Louden. The fucking dogs? You brought them dogs down on me?” Pink got up and started running again, but he knew he could never outpace the hounds. Fisk knew him too well, knew where Pink hunted, knew every cave and hollow tree, just like Pink. He’d lied to Claire about that as well. They’d hunted bear and boar together. They walked these woods all their lives. And Louden was one of the best damn trackers he’d ever met. Pink knew it was a death sentence with Louden tracking him, but he didn’t care anymore. Pink felt like he was wearing someone else’s life, and everything felt wrong and unfixable.
The dogs were getting closer. Pink had run another couple of miles, but was out of gas, partly from not having eaten much since he’d left Claire, but mostly from being out of shape. He had to sit down against a tree. His breathing was strained and shallow. His chest pounded. Why Michelle Stage entered his mind he didn’t know. “I guess that’s why she acted like she hardly knew me,” Pink said to himself. Things were adding up but only if he could accept the premise of some alternate reality that Lulu had gone on about. “Alternate reality,” Pink said, smiling to himself. “Where’s that alternate reality where I live at the Playboy Mansion?”
The dogs howled louder, clearly on his tracks. Pink hunted enough coon to know the high-pitched wail of a hound on a hot lead. He couldn’t go on. He’d probably covered ten miles this morning alone, but it was barely noon and he was already on empty. He pushed himself up to his feet using the butt of the shotgun. He’d gone by Clarence’s trailer early in the morning while it was still dark. He knew Clarence kept a shotgun in his pickup truck and a nice stash of peanut butter crackers in his glove box to curb his hypoglycemia. But Pink hadn’t bothered to check if Clarence’s shotgun was even loaded. Pink shook his head. He cracked it open—two dark, empty chambers—then clapped it shut.
“Hell, Clarence. You’re just a damn pumpkin roller after all.” Didn’t matter, Pink wasn’t planning to shoot anyone, but a loaded gun might be nice to give them hounds a scare, he thought. “Hate to get all bit up before I die.”
A squirrel ran down the tree and stopped ten feet away from Pink.
“Come to watch the show?” Pink said to the animal. Its tail twitched. “Well, it ought to be one hell of an event. I’m too fat to keep running and too wore out for prison. I got me an empty shotgun and no prospects for the future. Don’t that beat all.” Pink laughed a little, his head drooping. “Them folks chasing me think I killed Isabelle. No sense disappointing them.” Pink wiped his eye, picturing how beautiful she’d been before she took ill. “You ever killed anyone, Mr. Squirrel? Of course not. I could never have killed Isabelle either, even though that ill-conditioned woman had grown to hate me. And her sister, Claire. That girl made me crazier than a peach-orchard pig. I loved them both. Those girls were the most precious things I ever laid eyes on.”