Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

and changed clothes. She looked down at the scars on her belly and shivered at more than just the chill. Walter's blue jeans and red flannel shirt were too large for her, but the dry fabric felt good against her skin and she gleaned a strange comfort from wearing his clothes. She went back to the hearth with her wet clothes in her arms.
    "Okay, you can look now," she said.
    Walter kept his attention focused on opening the cans. The smell of the food mixed with the smoke. "I didn't lie," he said. "That creep really was climbing out of your window."
    "I know. I think my fiancé–I mean, my ex-fiancé–”
    Walter finally looked at her, and his gaze was hungry. "You don’t have to be alone. You can let somebody ride shotgun once in a while.”
    She blushed, but hoped it was hidden by the firelight. “I think Mitchell hired him to harass me and play tricks to make me think I was going nuts. He thought I’d have to cave in and then he could control me. He seemed obsessed with my money, but I don’t have any.”
    "You're starting to sound as paranoid as me."
    "It ain't paranoia if they really are out to get you."
    Julia spread her wet clothes out on the stone hearth, and then suffered a sudden attack of shyness as she draped her bra and panties on the mantel. She scolded herself and finished the job. No need to keep secrets anymore. Secrets had never done her any good.
    Walter handed her the sardines. Julia had rarely eaten sardines and had always been repulsed by the smell. Now, though, her hunger was stronger than her distaste. She pulled one of the small oily fish out of the can with her fingers and ate it like a seal would, her head tilted back.
    "Your turn not to look," Walter said, pulling another change of clothes from the backpack. "Can I trust you ?"
    Julia licked the fishy taste from her lips. Not too bad, though a bit overpowering. "My therapist said not to trust anybody."
    "Therapist? What can a therapist tell you that you don't already know? All they do is pass their own problems onto you, instead of the other way around."
    Julia looked at him. "That’s a relief. You really are crazier than I am."
    "And from that phone call you told me about, your Dr. Forrest is crazier than both of us put together. Now, keep your back turned."
    “I’m no gentleman, either,” she said.
    Walter went to the corner and changed clothes while Julia ate another sardine and wondered whether or not she was considering peeking. She couldn't decide, and she was on her fourth sardine when she realized that nearly a minute had passed without her thinking of Mitchell, Snead, or Dr. Forrest.
    Or of her father.
    Walter joined her before the fire and ate the sausages. They then had an apple each, passing a canteen of water back and forth while they finished the makeshift dinner. Julia put a large oak log on the fire and watched sparks fly up the chimney. The rain had held steady, and darkness settled heavily on the mountaintop.
    Julia stared into the deep red embers and wondered if that was what hell looked like. "Tell me about your wife."
    The rattle of rain on the roof filled the pause. Walter said, "Her name was Rita Faye. We were married right out of high school. We knew we'd most likely be poor all our lives, but we had a little bit of land and figured other people had it a lot worse. She loved to keep up flowers. I always thought dirt ought to be used for vegetables, but I sure do miss the smell of those flowers now."
    Walter leaned against the fireplace and continued in a barely audible voice. "I can picture her now, bent over her marigolds and daffodils, her hair tied back in a ponytail, the sun catching on it and making it shine. She was five months' pregnant when she disappeared."
    "I'm sorry," Julia said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
    "No. It's in the past. And the past can't hurt you none unless you let it."
    "It's hard to believe she just got up in the middle of the night and walked off. My father disappeared like that, too."
    "In the middle of the night?"
    Julia took a smoky breath. "I think he was a Satan worshipper." Somehow, the accusation sounded even more unbelievable when said out loud, beyond the safe madness of Dr. Forrest's office.
    "Satan. Not many believe in him these days."
    Julia crossed her arms. Walter's face was soft and kind in the firelight, with a touch of sadness in the shadows of his eyes. She could trust him. She was consumed by a sudden desperation to completely trust somebody, after the