Desperate Measures Read Online Free PDF Page A

his move.”
    He escorted the deputy to the door, then stood and watched as he and Gus walked toward the car. Gus jerked around and came back to the porch.
    â€œTell that freak that I’m not letting this go. I intend to put forty houses on that tract of land, give him some company when he’s out spying on little girls. I’m not done with this!”
    Dr. Minick closed the door and turned to see Alex in the living room, the good side of his face contorted in a grimace.
    â€œCan he do that?” Alex asked.
    â€œNo way. Land-use laws won’t let him do anything like that. Don’t worry about it, he just had to get in the last word.”
    Alex didn’t move for a few seconds, then he wheeled around and strode into the kitchen, where he picked up his sunglasses and rammed them on, then went out through the back door.
    He had fulfilled the promise of the good fairy who had blessed him with a fine physique; he was tall, with broad shoulders, a body like his father’s, and he was never sick. Years earlier he had said he would never go outside without sunglasses because a kid might come across him and think the bogeyman was real. He never did leave the house without them, regardless of rain or sunshine. Now, Dr. Minick knew, he would go up into the woods behind the house and hang out somewhere up there for an hour, two hours, more. That was what he did when he was upset. No more violence, no trashing of anything, but he had to be outside and alone. Possibly he had to become Xander for a while.
    Actually Alex had not flown away as Xander that day. He hadn’t been Xander in years, not sine he penned him down. He thought of the phrase and repeated it in his mind: penned him down. That was exactly right: he had created a comic strip with a superhero of sorts named Xander, and after that he had never assumed the role again. Sometimes he went up into the woods as Alex, often with a sketchpad in his backpack, and sometimes he became Alexander again. Today he was Alex.
    For fourteen years as Alexander, he had been despised, scorned, reviled, hated, and filled with self-hatred. Then for a couple of years he had alternated between being Alexander and Alex until finally Alex had sent Alexander packing. He hadn’t broken anything on purpose in years, hadn’t screamed at and cursed Graham Minick in years; he had days and even weeks at a time when he forgot Alexander entirely, and at those times he felt good, confident, proud of what he had accomplished with his pen, and unafraid. And that was the best part, not being afraid. But he was well aware that when others looked at him, like that deputy today, they saw Alexander, the devil. He knew they were ready to believe he was guilty of whatever he was accused of.
    One day when Daniel Marchand was still little, eight or nine, he had stopped out front where Alex was cutting brambles. He had yelled, “Hey, devil freak, take off your cap. Let me see where they cut your horns off.”
    Alex had made it a point after that never to be out near the road when the kids were due home from school. And now that twit of a girl accused him of spying on her, and everyone would believe it. He kicked a log viciously, then continued to climb the hill.
    It got steeper as he went, rocky, with tree roots underfoot, everything wet and dripping, and fog settling down lower and lower as the day lengthened. His thighs were throbbing and he was sweating Alexander out through his pores. He had been frightened and alarmed by his reaction to the deputy sheriff’s accusation. His first impulse had been to go outside and beat Gus Marchand to a pulp.
    Finally he had to stop and lean against a tree to catch his breath in ragged gasps. What really terrified him was the awareness that Alexander was still there, not dead, not buried, but inside him, ready to spring out again.
    One week later Hilde was in the outer office at school, talking with several teachers, greeting students