Limits of Justice, The by John Morgan Wilson Page A

much as I love the horses. Besides, all the ghosts are here. That’s why Equus must never be broken up and sold away. I tried to explain that to Charlotte. She didn’t understand.”
    “What ghosts are those, George?”
    He swept a slim, pale hand, indicating the distant dimensions of the darkening property.
    “The ghosts of all the boys.”
    “What boys, George?”
    His dark eyes shifted uneasily.
    “The ones who came to visit.”
    “To be with Mr. Preston?”
    He nodded, just once, slowly.
    “The boys are dead?”
    “We’re all dead, aren’t we? Our souls die the moment the older people begin to kill the child in us.” He dropped his eyes. “Or steal it for themselves.”
    “Is that what Rod Preston did to you?”
    The dark eyes, fiery as hot coals, found me again.
    “Mr. Preston loved me. He was good to me, took care of me.”
    “What about your parents, George? Where are they?”
    “They didn’t want me.”
    “Rod Preston raised you then.”
    “Mr. Preston brought me back from Europe. He found me there, when he was making one of his movies. My parents were gypsies, nomadic, poor. They didn’t want me, so he gave them some money and brought me back.”
    “Was that legal?”
    Krytanos smiled knowingly.
    “If you have enough money, anything is legal, isn’t it?”
    “What happened to these boys, the ones whose ghosts you say haunt this place, who came to visit?”
    He looked at me curiously, as if my question was silly.
    “Happened? Nothing. They came for a while, then they went away and never came back.”
    “And what did Mr. Preston do with these boys while they were here?”
    “Sometimes we played in the pool, or games inside the house. Mostly we went riding.”
    “What else, George?”
    “I think you know.”
    “You told Charlotte about this?”
    “I didn’t want to. She didn’t leave me any choice.”
    “How’s that?”
    “I told her why Equus must never be sold, why I had to stay on, taking care of the horses, watching over the ghosts of the boys.”
    “When you told Charlotte about the boys, how did she react?”
    “She was angry. She didn’t believe me.”
    “Did you argue?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Did you threaten her?”
    “Not in the way you mean.”
    “How, then?”
    A tiny smile formed on his pretty lips; he looked pleased with himself.
    “I showed her the pictures.”
    “What pictures are those, George?”
    “The photographs of all the boys, without their clothes on. The photographs that Mr. Preston had me take.”
    “Was Mr. Preston in any of these pictures?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Naked, with the boys?”
    His smile vanished into a sadness whose source seemed vague, elusive.
    “Of course.”
    “Where are these pictures now?”
    “Charlotte took them. I threw them all in her face. I had to, because she didn’t believe me about Equus.”
    “She must have been quite upset.”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “You know that she’s dead, don’t you?”
    “The police came. They told me. They asked me questions.”
    “What did you tell them?”
    “Not about the boys, just that Charlotte and I had argued, that I felt Equus should be mine.”
    “Why didn’t you tell them all of it?”
    “I don’t want to hurt Mr. Preston. He was always good to me.”
    “But you’re telling me.”
    His tone grew colder, harder. “Maybe that’s a mistake.”
    “Have you seen Randall Capri’s book?”
    “I don’t read books, except ones about horses.”
    “You must have seen something about it on television or in the papers.”
    “I don’t have television here. I don’t read newspapers. I have the horses, that’s all I need.”
    “You look quite a lot like Randall Capri when he was younger.”
    “I know.”
    “You knew him?”
    “For a while, after Mr. Preston brought me here. Randall came to visit. Sometimes he brought a boy with him. Sometimes two or three boys.”
    “He found these boys, brought them here for Mr. Preston?”
    “I don’t think I want to tell you any