idea at all, afraid to warm to it. “I don’t know him. Do you?”
Colin just shrugged again.
“I’ve already described him,” Doyle said. “A big man. Light, almost
white hair, cut short. Blue eyes. Handsome. A little gaunt . . .
Does he sound like somebody you know?”
“I can’t tell from a description like that,” Colin said.
“Exactly. He’s like ten million guys. So we’ll operate under the
assumtion that he is a total stranger, that he’s just your average
American madman, the kind you read about in the newspapers every day.”
“He was waiting for us in Philly.”
“Not waiting. He happened to-”
“He started out with us,” Colin said. “He was right there behind us from
the first.”
Doyle did not want to consider that the man might know them, might have
some real or imagined grudge against them. If that were the case, this
whole crazy thing would not end with the trip. If this maniac knew
them, he could pick them up again in San Francisco. He could come after
them any time he wanted. “He’s a stranger,” Alex insisted.
“He’s nuts. I saw him in action. I saw his eyes. He is not the sort
of man who could plan and execute a cross-country pursuit.”
Colin said nothing.
“And why would he pursue us? If he wants us dead-why not kill us back
in Philly? Or out on the coast? Why chase us this way?”
“I don’t know,” the boy admitted.
“Look, you have to accept some coincidence in this thing,” Doyle said.
“By sheer also coincidence, he began his trip the same time we did,
from the same block of the same street that we did. And he’s crazy. A
madman might very well become obsessed with a coincidence like that. He
would make more of it than it was, use it as the foundation for some
paranoid delusion. And everything that has happened since would explain
itself.”
Colin hugged himself and rocked slowly back and forth on the bed.
“I guess you’re right.”
“But you still aren’t convinced.”
“No.
Doyle sighed. “Okay. We’ll forfeit the room deposits we’ve made.
We’ll pick motels at random the next two nights-if we can find any
vacancies.” He smiled, somewhat relieved even though he could not
believe Colin’s vague hypothesis. “You feel better now?
“I won’t really feel better until we’re in San Francisco, until we’re
home,” Colin said.
“That makes two of us.” Doyle slid down in bed until he was flat on his
back. The movement made his bruise throb again. “You want to turn out
the light so we can catch a few winks?”
“Can you sleep after all this?” Colin asked.
“Probably not. But I’m going to try.” I’m certainly not going to leave
the motel now not in the dark. And if we’re going to take back roads
and add hours of driving time to our schedule, I’ll need all the rest I
can get. it Colin turned out the lights, but he did not slip under the
covers. “I’ll just sit here awhile,” he said. “I can’t sleep now.”
“You better try.”
“I will. In a little while.”
As exhausted as he was, Doyle slept, though fitfully. He dreamed of
flashing ax blades and gouting blood and maniacal laughter, and he woke
repeatedly, sheathed in cold sweat. Awake, he thought about the
stranger and wondered who he might be. And he thought, as well, about
his own new courage. He realized that it was his love for Courtney and
for Colin that had provided him with the key to this strength. When he
had no one to look out for except himself, he could always run from
trouble. But now . . . Well, three could not run as easily or as
quickly as one. Therefore, he had been compelled to call upon resources
which he had not known he possessed. Knowing, he felt more at peace
with himself than he had ever been before in his life.
Content, he slept. Sleeping, he dreamed again and woke with the shakes
and countered the shakes with the knowledge that he could now handle the
cause of them.
For two long hours Colin sat up in bed, wrapped in darkness, listening