The light was slowly dying as they pushed on westward. He’d had the headlights on from the time they’d left the restaurant, and soon they were really needed. A couple times he glanced over at Ann and saw she still had the sunglasses on. It seemed strange in the near darkness, but he figured that if she was comfortable with it, so be it. After a brief call she took on her cell phone, obviously from Uncle Homer, conversation between them fell off rapidly. There just was nothing much for them to talk about. That was fine, because his thoughts were full of some of the things he’d learned at the restaurant.

Clearly there had been some pain in her past, most likely pain that she didn’t want to talk about much, probably at least some stemming from the fact that she’d been pretty different from the other kids in school. He knew all too well that school-age kids tended to be hard on kids who were visibly different. Although his own school experiences were a while in the past, he was well aware of just how it had been back at Bradford. What’s more, it wasn’t limited to boys; while he’d never been directly involved, he knew that girls pulled shit like that on each other too, and if anything it could be even more cruel than what boys would do to each other.

At least he could say he hadn’t been involved in much of that stuff when he’d been in school, mostly because he didn’t hang out with the kind of kids who thought it was cool to put down others. In fact, he’d been more on the receiving end of it, partly because he didn’t do sports, and partly because he’d been something of a loner and not the most social of people.

Fortunately most people grew out of that stuff as they got older, but the scars could last a lifetime. Probably that was part of the reason he’d stayed a loner and hadn’t had much to do with Bradford or his old classmates since. In Bradford, the local slang for kids leaving town after graduating to find lives of their own was called, “taking the on-ramp,” referring to the freeway overpass at the edge of town. Steve felt that his stepfather had pretty well pushed him up the on-ramp, and he was just as happy to not look back. He hadn’t left anything in Bradford and had little desire to go back, not even for a visit.

A girl like Ann – or whatever her name had been back then – would have been in a position to have suffered a lot more of that kind of shit than he’d had to endure. It seemed likely that had been what had happened – and really, if that had been the case, no wonder she was reluctant to talk about it. Obviously Uncle Homer had had something to do with it, but he couldn’t imagine what it might be. Oh, well, he thought. Maybe the story will come out. If it did, fine. If it didn’t – well, when you got right down to it, it didn’t matter, so that was fine too.

In any case it didn’t call for a lot of thought, because it didn’t seem to bear on the problem at hand. Whatever else, Ann hadn’t given him any further hint of what Uncle Homer wanted. It was clear that his uncle wasn’t in very good shape, and living a nocturnal existence because of Ann probably made things even stranger.

“The best way to get to Wychbold is to turn off at the next exit, sir” Ann announced after several minutes of silence. “It’s more two-lane road but it’s shorter and quicker than taking the four-lane. I had to come the long way around last night to maximize the four-lane.”

“You know where you’re going,” he said. “I’m sure I haven’t been that way before.”

From the signs Steve knew that Meridian lay off that way, but well before they reached the town Ann had him turn off on a country road. In the darkness of the next half hour or so Ann had him turning this way and that at various intersections; by the second or third turn he was totally clueless as to where he was. Twice they went through small towns with names that were meaningless to him.

Some of the roads were narrow, and though paved they were on the rough side, so he kept the speed of the big old Lincoln down. All of a sudden Ann said in a firm voice, “Slow down, sir! There are deer up ahead.” Steve slowed the Lincoln to a crawl, even though he could see nothing within the range of the headlights. He stole a quick glance at Ann out of the corner of his eye, and noticed that she had the sunglasses pushed up on the top of her head.

They crept forward for a couple hundred yards or more, and all of a sudden Steve could pick out several dim brown shapes ambling across the road. “A doe and two fawns,” he said.

“There’s more, sir,” she replied. “Just ease forward slowly.”

Sure enough, five more deer crossed the road in the next few seconds; he’d had no indication they were there until they wandered into the beam of the headlights. He could see that Ann hadn’t been fooling when she’d talked about being able to see well in low light. He remembered the night vision gear he had occasionally used in the service and realized that her normal vision must be something like that. While it could see objects in dim light well, it was overwhelmed by bright light. That has to be tough, he thought. “I’m glad you were looking,” he said. “I would never have seen them.”

“It’s just normal,” she said conversationally. “Always be very careful when driving around here after dark, because there are a lot of deer in this area. In case you’re wondering, sir, we’re getting close now.”

“Glad you know where we are,” he shrugged. “I’m totally lost.”

A short distance farther on they made another turn onto an even narrower and bumpier road, although still paved. “Take it easy, sir,” she ordered. “You’ll turn right and stop in a couple hundred yards.” Steve could see a driveway up ahead; he made the turn and stopped when he saw a heavy wrought-iron gate blocking their way.

Without a word Ann opened her door of the Lincoln and got out. He expected to see her head for the gate, but she went behind the car instead. In a few seconds she got back in the car, carrying a handful of mail. She closed the door and the overhead light went out. In the dimness he could see her leaf through it. “Looks like the usual junk,” she said. “Every now and then we get something important, but not often.”

“Ann, I thought you were going to open the gate.”

“Oh!” she said. “I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t thinking. Hit the button on the left-hand remote clipped to the visor.”

Steve had to fumble around for it in the low light, but finally found the button and pushed it. The gate immediately began to open, although it took a few seconds for it to open wide enough for the Lincoln. When it stopped moving, he pulled the big car forward. “Close it the same way, right?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Is security a problem?” he asked conversationally as he pushed the button again, and in the rear view mirror he watched the gate in the light of the car’s taillights as it began to close behind them.

“Not really sir, just curious people and not too many of them anymore. Mostly just kids looking for a place to make out, sometimes the occasional salesman or religious fanatic looking for people to convert. For the most part Mr. Taylor would prefer to not have to deal with outsiders, and the gate does a pretty good job of stopping them.”

Steve drove the Lincoln on up the narrow road through the woods. The driveway seemed barely wide enough for the big car; it was made of well-packed crushed stone, but there was a center stripe of low green between the wheel tracks. It was not a short drive; apparently where they were going was well back from the road.

After a while the close shrubbery to either side seemed to fade back into the shadows. While it was very dim in the darkened woods, up ahead Steve could make out a large house with thin slivers of light showing around what might be drawn shades of a few windows. “You can park the car in the garage, sir,” she told him.

“What garage? I don’t see anything. It’s as dark as the inside of a cow out here.”

“It’s off to the right, sir. Hit the right button.”

By now Steve had a little better idea of where the other garage door opener was clipped; he touched it, and off to the right he could see a dim, thin light widen as a garage door began to open. He swung the car toward it and in the headlights could see what appeared to be a rather Gothic-looking carriage house. He drove the Lincoln on into the garage, put it in park, and shut off the engine, then punched the right button again to close the door. “Well,” he said. “I guess we’re here, wherever that is.”

“I’m just glad to be back, sir,” she said. “I’ve been worried about Mr. Taylor. I know he sounded all right when I last talked to him on the phone, but it’s not the same as being here.”

It was perhaps fifty yards from the garage to the house, and of course there was almost no lighting. Steve could tell from the outline of the house looming against a somewhat lighter sky that it was big, but only a few lights were on. It seemed just a touch spooky to him in the near total darkness, but he figured that it must have been normal for Ann.

All of a sudden she stopped and bent over to pick something up. He saw her rear back and throw it off into the darkness as she yelled, “Beat it, stupid!” He could hear something hit with a mild thump, and then there was a rustle off in the dark. “I can’t keep that damn raccoon out of the bird feeders,” she said in a more normal voice. “I think I hit him this time. Maybe that’ll get his attention.”

“Nothing but dark out there to me,” he said.

“Sorry, sir, but it’s hard for me to remember that you’re almost blind in these conditions, sir. It’s sort of like I am in broad daylight without sunglasses, except that it doesn’t hurt you.”

There was enough light for him to follow her up a wheelchair ramp and into the house and what proved to be the kitchen. Inside, there was somewhat more light, although it wasn’t exactly what he would call bright. “Mr. Taylor?” she called. “We’re back, sir.”

“In the living room, Ann,” he heard the reply of a firm, mellow voice.

Steve followed her through a couple doors into what was a more normally lit room, although again it wasn’t what he would have called bright. The furniture and the styling of the room were old, as well; Steve didn’t have a word for it beyond “Victorian,” and he wasn’t sure that was the right word to use. In any case, there was something about the room that said it hadn’t changed much in a long time, except for a huge flat-screen computer monitor against one wall. A glance at it revealed that someone had been playing Windows Solitaire. Off to one side there was an old man sitting in an easy chair with a computer keyboard on his lap, and a mouse and mouse pad on the wide arm of the chair. “Did everything go all right?” he asked.

“Except for the plane being hours behind schedule on the way back,” she replied. “Is everything all right with you, sir?”

“No problems,” he said. “I had a good day’s sleep. You know, Ann, I really can take care of myself at least a little.”

“Yes, sir, I know. But still, I couldn’t help worrying about you.”

“And you know I appreciate it,” he smiled. “So this is Steve?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “It was about as you expected.”

The old man eyed Steve carefully. “Yes, I think I do remember,” he said. “It’s been a good many years, though. How have you been, Steve?”

“Not bad enough to complain about it,” Steve replied, looking at the old man in his chair. He did look familiar but had changed more than a bit over the years. Steve’s mental picture was of a fairly solid man, on the heavy side. This man was now old and wizened, a lot of the heaviness gone. “I’ll be honest; ever since Ann came to me this morning, I’ve been trying to summon up a memory of you, but now that I see you I seem to recall last meeting you years ago.”

“Has to be close to twenty years,” the old man said. “I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man. I happened to be out of the country at the time. I didn’t hear about his death soon enough or I would have been at the funeral. Sorry about that.”

“I’ll have to say that I was so upset at the time I probably wouldn’t have remembered if you had been there,” Steve admitted. “So how have you been?”

“Old,” Uncle Homer grinned. “I’d say too damn old, but at least it beats the alternative.” He turned to Ann. “So what did you think about him?”

“Sir, he seems like a nice enough man,” she replied. “He seems like a very well-ordered and rather neat individual, if a little on the shy side. As you wished, sir, I didn’t tell him anything of what you had in mind, but he showed considerable curiosity, which he was able to keep under control.”

“But he was curious enough to want to know what this was all about?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, “but well-mannered enough to not pry very deeply.”

“Did you get the impression that he was worth a try?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, “at least with my limited experience of knowing him.”

“Very well,” he said. “Steve, I don’t know what Ann had to tell you to get you here, but I asked her to say as little as possible. She’s aware of most of the reasons for my wanting to talk to you, although she may not have the same perspective on everything that I do. Therefore I didn’t want her to get into details.”

“Sir,” Ann broke in. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Well, I had one of those sandwiches you left for me,” he replied. “That pretty well served the same purpose. I don’t need anything more right now.”

“A cup of coffee, perhaps?”

“That would be nice,” he said, “but there’s no rush. Why don’t you take a few minutes and go freshen up before you tend to me? I’ll bet you’re getting pretty tired of those clothes.”

“That’s all right, sir,” she replied. “I’ll go get the coffee started, and then I’ll change.”

“Ann,” he said. “You’ve been up all day. If you want to take a nap, it’s fine, and I’ll understand.”

“That’s all right, sir,” she told him. “The young Mr. Taylor let me sleep on the plane for a couple hours. I’m good for a while yet.”

“Your choice,” he said and turned to Steve as Ann headed for the kitchen. “I’ll bet you’re tired, too. Grab a seat, take a load off. Let’s jaw for a bit.”

“It’s starting to be a long day, but I’m good for a while yet, too,” Steve replied as he found a seat in a comfortable wing chair not far from his great-uncle. “I guess I don’t keep the hours you and Ann do.”

“Probably not,” the old man grinned, “although it’s become the natural thing around this house. Ann told you about her difficulties with daylight, then.”

“Quite a bit,” Steve nodded. “I suppose becoming basically nocturnal is a natural reaction to it.”

“It’s worked well around here. I’ll admit it was a little strange at first, and we sort of gravitated to it slowly as time went by. But Ann has proved tremendously loyal to me, and given everything it would be very difficult for me to get along as well as I do without her assistance.”

“She seems to get along very well in the dark, that’s for sure. Just before we came in she heaved a rock or something at a raccoon that was bothering the bird feeders. I couldn’t make out anything in the darkness.”

“Oh, crap, that must mean Rocky is back,” he shook his head. “That damned coon is a pain in the ass. I’ve suggested to Ann that she just take the .22 and shoot him, but she’s a little too soft-hearted. What the hell, I guess it doesn’t matter. She’s the one who has to clean up the mess he makes, not me.”

“Sir, he has to carve out his own life, just like everything else,” Ann responded from the kitchen. “It’s just that I’d prefer that he doesn’t do it here.”

“You could try live-trapping him again, Ann,” Uncle Homer replied. “Although, this time you might want to think about dumping him off quite a bit farther away.”

“I think I hit him with the cobblestone I threw at him, sir,” she replied. “He may get the message from that. We’ll just have to see.”

“Your choice, Ann,” Uncle Homer shook his head again and turned back to Steve. “In case you’re wondering, Ann is the one who really runs everything around here. She only lets me think I’m in charge. Did she tell you much about this place?”

“No, nothing,” Steve replied. “I got the impression that it’s rather large.”

“It’s not small,” Uncle Homer replied. “The property is about three quarters of a square mile. It’s all old glacial end moraine, so it’s pretty rugged, all hills and swamps. I picked it up years ago at a pretty good price. This place has a history, no doubt about that. Some of the locals seem to think it’s haunted, and I suppose keeping the hours we do that they might have reason to think it. It’s a huge damn house, an old Victorian monstrosity from the word go. We don’t even try to use most of it. I can’t do stairs anymore, and Ann seems to think she needs to be within earshot of me all the time, so we both live on the main floor. I can’t tell you the last time I was upstairs. It’s been years.”

“It was six years ago, sir,” Ann replied as she came back into the room, carrying a couple mugs of coffee. She set one on the table beside Steve, and the other one next to Uncle Homer. “It’s decaf, sir,” she said. “You don’t need the caffeine and I doubt young Mr. Taylor does at this hour, either.”

“I suppose,” Uncle Homer replied, a little grumpily. “Thank you, Ann.”

“I’ll leave the two of you alone while I go and freshen up a little,” she said. “If you need anything, just call.”

“Shouldn’t be necessary,” the old man said. “Take your time. We can talk later.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, turning to walk out of the room on the way to somewhere in the back of the house.

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