Snakes.
They were in Timmer’s home. Timmer’s basement.
‘But, the good news is, you won’t have to worry about them for long.’ Ben brought the flashlight up so she could see his face. She could also see he was wearing one of Peter’s coats. ‘You came here, and fell down the stairs,’ he said, in a reasonable voice, as though expecting her to agree with him. ‘Gamache may suspect, but no one else will. Peter would never suspect me, I’ll be the one comforting him in his loss. And everyone else knows I’m a kind man. And I really am. This doesn’t count.’
He turned away from her and walked toward the wooden stairs, the flashlight throwing fantastic shadows across the dirt floor. ‘The electricity’s been turned off and you stumbled and fell. I’m just fixing the steps now. Rickety old things. Asked Mother for years to repair them, but she was too mean to part with the money. Now you’re paying the tragic price. Happily, if Gamache doesn’t buy that I’ve sprinkled enough clues so that Peter’ll be charged. I expect a whole lot of fibers from his jacket are on you now. You probably breathed some in too. They’ll find those in the autopsy. You’ll help to convict your own husband.’
Clara rocked herself to a sitting position. She could see Ben working on the stairs. She knew she had a matter of minutes, maybe moments. She strained against the cords binding her wrists. Fortunately, Ben hadn’t tied them tightly. He probably didn’t want to cause bruising, but it meant she was able to work her wrists loose though not free.
‘What you doing over there?’ Ben turned the light on Clara, who leaned back to mask her movements. Her back touched the wall and something brushed into her hair and neck. Then was gone. Oh God. Dear Mother of God. The instant the light turned back to the steps Clara worked frantically, more desperate to get away from the snakes than from Ben. She could hear them slithering, moving along the beams and ventilation shafts. Finally her hands burst free and she scrambled off into the dark.
‘Clara? Clara!’ The light flashed back and forth wildly searching. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
Ben left the stairs and started frantically searching. Clara backed further and further into the basement, toward the rank smell. Something brushed her cheek then fell on to her foot. She bit through her lip, trying not to scream, the metallic taste of blood helping her focus. She kicked hard and heard a soft thump as it hit a nearby wall.
Gamache, Beauvoir and Peter ran through Jane’s home, but Gamache knew she wouldn’t be there. If something bad was going to happen to Clara, it wouldn’t be in this home.
‘She’s at Hadley’s place,’ said Gamache, making for the door. Once out Beauvoir quickly sped by him, as did Peter. Their footsteps sounded like wild horses as they raced through the storm toward the home with its welcoming lights.
Clara wasn’t sure whether the roaring she heard was Kyla, furious Kyla, or her own terrified breath. Or blood pounding in her ears. The whole home above her seemed to shudder and moan. She held her breath but her body screamed for oxygen and after a moment she was forced to breathe, hungrily and noisily.
‘I heard that,’ Ben swung around, but he moved so fast he lost his grip on the flashlight and the thing flew out of his hand, landing with two thumps. The first sent the light bouncing, hitting Clara full in the face. The second thump plunged the basement into total darkness.
‘Shit,’ hissed Ben.
Oh God, Oh God, thought Clara. Complete and utter darkness descended. She was frozen, petrified. She heard a movement to her right. This was just enough to get her going. She crawled quietly, slowly left, feeling along the base of the rough stone wall, looking for a rock, a pipe, a brick, anything. Except ...
Her hand closed around it and it in turn curled up and closed around her. With a spasm she hurled it into the darkness and heard it bounce across the room.
‘Here I come,’ Ben whispered. As he spoke Clara realised she’d crawled right up to him in the darkness. He was a step away, but blind as well. She squatted frozen in place, waiting for his hands to grip her. Instead she heard him moving off across the room. Toward the tossed snake.
‘Where is she?’ Peter pleaded. They’d searched Ben’s home and found only a puddle. Now Peter was striding in concentric circles around Ben’s living room, coming ever closer to Gamache, who was standing stock still in the center.
‘Be quiet, please, Mr Morrow.’ Peter stopped pacing. The words were spoken softly, with authority. Gamache was staring ahead. He could barely hear himself think for the force of the storm outside, and the force of Peter’s terror inside.
