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Back Maplecroft
Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
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  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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  139. Emma L. Borden
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
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“Never mind the clock, Mr. Hamilton. I’m happy to help. But please, wouldn’t you . . . or wouldn’t someone tell me what’s happened?”

He released a wretched, racked sob and once more wiped at his nose. “I don’t know how to tell it,” he said, looking down, then up at me with a pleading, pitiful gaze. It was an entreaty, I knew—a silent petition that I should please, for the love of God, believe whatever he said next.

Gently, I told him, “You must try. And I will listen, and you can tell me the story however you think is best.”

He nodded wildly, and it didn’t mean “yes.” It only meant that he was glad for permission to sound entirely outrageous, if the circumstances called for it. “Doctor, I asked for you to come on out, because you’d seen Matty a time or two. And . . . and you knew, better than anyone but us, how strange the whole thing’d got.”

“I only wish I’d been able to help.”

“No one could’ve helped, no one but the Lord above. No one.” He repeated himself, alternating now between nodding his head and shaking it. “You couldn’t have known. Nobody could. Nobody could explain it, neither. Nobody. I can’t. I don’t. I just . . .”

Again, very gently—as if I were speaking to a child distracted by a broken arm, I tried to direct his focus. “No one is asking you to explain the matter. The world is full of nonsensical events and bizarre occurrences, understood only to God Himself. But you must tell us simply what happened. Start only at the beginning, and share only what you can. Begin with Matthew,” I prompted. “Last I saw him, he was desperately unwell, if you’ll recall.”

I made a point of meeting his eyes.

He and I were now the only two men living who knew exactly how bad Matthew’s condition had become. They’d been right to hide him away. At the time, I’d had doubts . . . but those doubts were withering, the longer I sat in that small, damp, cold room. I wish they’d done more than hide him; I wish they’d sent him away, somewhere far from the ocean—far from Fall River . . . for all the good that wishing did me.

“The poor lad was confined to his bedroom,” he said cautiously. He did not mention that they’d bound him to the bed, or say that they’d covered all the windows with black cloth because of the way he used to scream when the sunlight touched him, as I’d learned in one of my subsequent visits. “And he was in there still, this evening. Late this evening, a bit after midnight, I’d say.”