NEIGHBOR； MATTHEW GRAVES； SAID THAT MRS。 DIMENT HAD BEEN DECAPITATED。 'HER HEAD WAS ON THE IRONING BOARD；' HE SAID。 'IT WAS THE MOST AWFUL THING I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE。' GRAVES SAID HE HEARD NO SIGNS OF A STRUGGLE； ONLY THE TV AND； SHORTLY BEFORE FINDING THE BODY； A LOUD CAR； POSSIBLY EQUIPPED WITH A GLASSPACK MUFFLER； ACCELERATING AWAY FROM THE VICINITY ALONG ROUTE ONE。 SPECULATION THAT THIS VEHICLE MAY HAVE BELONGED TO THE KILLER …
Except that wasn't speculation； that was a simple fact。
Breathing hard； not quite panting； Kinnell hurried back into the entryway。 The picture was still there； but it had changed once more。 Now it showed two glaring white circles…headlights…with the dark shape of the car hulking behind them。
He's on the move again； Kinnell thought； and Aunt Trudy was on top of his mind now…sweet Aunt Trudy； who always knew who had been naughty and who had been nice。 Aunt Trudy； who lived in Wells； no more than forty miles from Rosewood。
'God； please God； please send him by the coast road；' Kinnell said； reaching for the picture。 Was it his imagination or were the headlights farther apart now； as if the car were actually moving before his eyes 。 。 。 but stealthily； the way the minute hand moved on a pocket watch？ 'Send him by the coast road； please。'
He tore the picture off the wall and ran back into the living room with it。 The screen was in place before the fireplace； of course； it would be at least two months before a fire was wanted in here。 Kinnell batted it aside and threw the painting in； breaking the glass fronting…which he had already broken once； at the Gray service area…against the firedogs。 Then he pelted for the kitchen； wondering what he would do if this didn't work either。
It has to； he thought。 It will because it has to； and that's all there is to it。
He opened the kitchen cabinets and pawed through them； spilling the oatmeal； spilling a canister of salt； spilling the vinegar。 The bottle broke open on the counter and assaulted his nose and eyes with the high stink。
Not there。 What he wanted wasn't there。
He raced into the pantry； looked behind the door…nothing but a plastic bucket and an O Cedar…and then on the shelf by the dryer。 There it was； next to the briquets。
Lighter fluid。
He grabbed it and ran back； glancing at the telephone on the kitchen wall as he hurried by。 He wanted to stop； wanted to call Aunt Trudy。 Credibility wasn't an issue with her； if her favorite nephew called and told her to get out of the house； to get out right now； she would do it 。 。 。 but what if the blond kid followed her？ Chased her？
And he would。 Kinnell knew he would。
He hurried across the living room and stopped in front of the fireplace。
'Jesus；' he whispered。 'Jesus； no。'
The picture beneath the splintered glass no longer showed oning headlights。 Now it showed the Grand Am on a sharply curving piece of road that could only be an exit ramp。 Moonlight shone like liquid satin on the car's dark flank。 In the background was a water tower； and the words on it were easily readable in the moonlight。 KEEP MAINE GREEN； they said。 BRING MONEY。
Kinnell didn't hit the picture with the first squeeze of lighter fluid； his hands were shaking badly and the aromatic liquid simply ran down the unbroken part of the glass； blurring the Road Virus's back deck。 He took a deep breath； aimed； then squeezed again。 This time the lighter fluid squirted in through the jagged hole made by one of the firedogs and ran down the picture； cutting through the paint； making it run； turning a Goodyear Wide Oval into a sooty teardrop。
Kinnell took one of the ornamental matches from the jar on the mantel； struck it on the hearth； and poked it in through the hole in the glass。 The painting caught at once； fire billowing up and down across the Grand Am and the water tower。 The remaining glass in the frame turned black； then broke outward in a shower of flaming pieces。 Kinnell crunched them under his sneakers； putting them out before they could set the rug on fire。
He went to the phone and punched in Aunt Trudy's number； unaware that he was crying。 On the third ring； his aunt's answering machine picked up。 'Hello；' Aunt Trudy said； 'I know it encourages the burglars to say things like this； but I've gone up to Kennebunk to watch the new Harrison Ford movie。 If you intend to break in； please don't take my china pigs。 If you want to leave a message； do so at the beep。'
Kinnell waited； then； keeping his voice as steady as possible； he said： 'It's Richie； Aunt Trudy。 Call me when you get back； okay？ No matter how late。'
He hung up； looked at the TV； then dialed Newswire again； this time punching in the Maine area code。 While the puters on the other end processed his order； he went back and used a poker to jab at the blackened； twisted thing in the fireplace。 The stench was ghastly…it made the spilled vinegar smell like a flowerpatch in parison…but Kinnell found he didn't mind。 The picture was entirely gone； reduced to ash； and that made it worthwhile。
What if it es back again？
'It won't；' he said； putting the poker back and returning to the TV。 'I'm sure it won't。'
But every time the news scroll started to recycle； he got up to check。 The picture was just ashes on the hearth 。 。 。 and there was no word of elderly women being murdered in the Wells…Saco…Kennebunk area of the state。 Kinnell kept watching； almost expecting to see A GRAND AM MOVING AT HIGH SPEED CRASHED INTO A KENNEBUNK MOVIE THEATER TONIGHT； KILLING AT LEAST TEN； but nothing of the sort showed up。
At a quarter of eleven the telephone rang。 Kinnell snatched it up。 'Hello？'
'It's Trudy； dear。 Are you all right？'
'Yes； fine。'
'You don't sound fine；' she said。 'Your voice sounds trembly and 。 。 。 funny。 What's wrong？ What is it？' And then； chilling him but not really surprising him： 'It's that picture you were so pleased with； isn't it？ That goddamned picture！'
It calmed him somehow； that she should guess so much 。 。 。 and； of course； there was the relief of knowing she was safe。
'Well； maybe；' he said。 'I had the heebie…jeebies all the way back here； so I burned it。 In the fireplace。'
She's going to find out about Judy Diment； you know； a voice inside warned。 She doesn't have a twenty…thousand…dollar satellite hookup； but she does subscribe to the Union Leader and this'll be on the front page。 She'll put two and two together。 She's far from stupid。
Yes； that was undoubtedly true； but further explanations could wait until the morning； when he might be a little less freaked 。 。 。 when he might've found a way to think about the Road Virus without losing his mind 。 。 。 and when he'd begun to be sure it was really over。
'Good！' she said emphatically。 'You ought to scatter the ashes； too！' She paused； and when she spoke again； her voice was lower。 'You were worried about me； weren't you？ Because you showed it to me。'
'A little； yes。'
'But you feel better now？'
He leaned back and closed his eyes。 It was true； he did。 'Uh…huh。 How was the movie？'
'Good。 Harrison Ford looks wonderful in a uniform。 Now； if he'd just get rid of that little bump on his chin 。 。 。'
'Good night； Aunt Trudy。 We'll talk tomorrow。'
'Will we？'
'Yes；' he said。 'I think so。'
He hung up； went over to the fireplace again； and stirred the ashes with the poker。 He could see a scrap of fender and a ragged little flap of road； but that was it。 Fire was what it had needed all along； apparently。 Wasn't that how you usually killed supernatural emissaries of evil？ Of course it was。 He'd used it a few times himself； most notably in The Departing； his haunted train station novel。
'Yes； indeed；' he said。 'Burn； baby； burn。'
He thought about getting the drink he'd promised himself； then remembered the spilled bottle of vinegar （which by now would probably be soaking into the spilled oatmeal…what a thought）。 He decided he would simply go on upstairs instead。 In a book…one by Richard Kinnell； for instance…sleep would be out of the question after the sort of thing which had just happened to him。
In real life； he thought he might sleep just fine。
He actually dozed off in the shower； leaning against the back wall with his hair full of shampoo and the water beating on his chest。 He was at the yard sale again； and the TV standing on the paper ashtrays was broadcasting Judy Diment。 Her head was back on； but Kinnell could see the medical examiner's primitive industrial stitch…work； it circled her throat like a grisly necklace。 'Now this New England Newswire update；' she said； and Kinnell； who had always been a vivid dreamer； could actually see the stitches on her neck stretch and relax as she spoke。 'Bobby Hastings took all his paintings and burned them； including yours； Mr。 Kinnell 。 。 。 and it is yours； as I'm sure you know。 All sales are final； you saw the sign。 Why； you just ought to be glad I took your check。'
Burned all his paintings； yes； of course he did； Kinnell thought in his watery dream。 He couldn't stand what was happening to him； that's what the note said； and when you get to that point in the festivities； you don'