Lori looked stricken at Ben's comment.
"Sorry," he said. "That's not what I meant exactly."
"I think it is what you meant, and you may be right. It's like those killers who send letters to the cops or call the victims' families. They enjoy messing with their heads."
"Maybe… and I hope I'm not about to plant something terrifying in your mind, but maybe... he follows the girl left behind. Not to take her, but just to... relive it or whatever."
Lori had gone even paler.
"Has there ever been anything like that? Anyone watching you, stalking you?" Ben asked.
"I don't know. I mean, never before, but then... well, the night before I met you at Mulberry, something freaky happened at work."
"What?"
"I was in the shower in the locker room at the company gym. I was the only person working out and while I was showering, I heard this sound like"—she bit her lip and scrunched her face as if searching for the right words—"scraping or dragging on the showers. I kind of imagined someone dragging a screwdriver down the locker faces."
"Did you see who it was?"
"No, it got even more nuts because the lights went out, pitch black, but I swear something was in there with me. I started to panic and scream and then the cleaning lady walked in and turned the lights on."
Ben thought back to his own pitch-black night, the terror that had seized him initially upon waking. "That is freaky. Did the cleaning lady see anyone?"
"No. She said I was alone."
"But maybe somebody slipped past her?"
"Possibly, but…" Lori shook her head. "I kind of wrote it off, thinking"—she waved at the map—"that all of this was getting to me."
Ben sighed. "I've wondered that myself, but still, be on the lookout. I don't know why this guy would emerge now if our theory even remotely holds true, but just in case, stay alert."
"Because it's been five years," Lori said suddenly, sitting up in her chair and tapping her finger hard on the names on the map. "The last girl vanished in 2008, that was five years ago."
Ben considered, not sold on the five-year cycle theory, but nodded anyway. "It's possible. And right now, anything is possible, so watch your back."
"You should tell Carmen."
Ben frowned. He hadn't told Carmen anything about reopening his investigation into Summer and he didn't want to. She'd witnessed his manic descent after Summer disappeared and he could already see the expression on her face if he admitted that he'd started considering theories again.
"I messaged the families of the other girls this morning," he said, shifting the subject away from Carm.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Someone in Bella's family has a Find Bella Facebook page, so I reached out through private message."
"Do you have a Facebook page?" Lori asked, remembering her own attempts at finding Ben's profile and coming up empty.
"No. I made one this morning, so I could contact the family. I've got a phone number for someone connected to Peyton Weller. I'll try calling this afternoon. If I can set up times to talk with these people, do you want to go with me?"
Lori looked drawn at the suggestion, but after a moment, she nodded. "Yeah. I do want to hear their stories."
"And theories. I'm hoping to see if a specific person comes up, a man somehow connected to all the girls."
"The guy you mentioned? Hector."
"Maybe him, maybe someone else. I'm not opposed to the possibility it wasn't Dunn, but—"
"You think it was?"
"Yeah."
"Can I borrow your book?" Lori asked, gesturing at the counter where he'd left the copy of Strange Michigan he'd found in the ER waiting room.
"Go for it. I flipped through it, but it's not really my thing."
Lori stood and picked up the book. Ben noticed the way her mouth turned down as she stared at the cover.
"I better get going. I'd like to head to my mom's house to take a shower and put on some clean clothes."
"Worried the dream doctor won't take you seriously?"
She smiled, but it looked forced.
"I'm only kidding. It's interesting, the dream thing."
Lori shrugged. "I'm just hoping he can help it stop, honestly. I don't want to have that dream again."
Ben nodded, standing and following her toward the door. "If you figure it out, call and give me some pointers." He took his keys from the hook by the door and Lori watched as if not understanding.
"Are you leaving too?"
He grinned. "I'm taking you back to your car, unless you want to walk the two miles.”
Lori put a hand to her forehead. "My car. That's right. I'm sorry about last night. I'm embarrassed. I can't remember the last time I drank that much."
He waved away the apology. "Based on the week you've had, I think a drunken night was warranted."
"Yeah, but you don't drink and—"
"And I also don't judge. I don't drink because that's what's right for me. Most of my friends drink. It's not an issue, Lori."
"Still, I'm sorry for crashing on your couch."
"My couch gets lonely. I'm sure she appreciated the company."
Lori smiled. "Okay, I'll stop. But thank you. I actually picked King's Post because it was walking distance to my mom and grandma's house. Apparently, I was too inebriated to tell you that last night."
"Actually, you did tell me that, but you also told me they go to bed at nine. I didn't want you standing on the stoop pounding on the door for an hour to be let in."
"I have a key."
"I was happy to bring you here. I'm happy I did bring you here. Gave us a chance to talk more." Ben unlocked his car and opened the passenger door. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."
Lori climbed into her seat and Ben slid behind the wheel, starting the car. The radio blared on. Every Breath You Take boomed too loud from the speakers. Ben jumped and cranked the volume to off.
"Not a fan of the Police?" Lori asked.
Ben frowned. "That song must be making a comeback. I've heard it twice this week." He ignored the gooseflesh that had risen along his arms.
"I haven't heard that song in ages. It always struck me as stalkerish."
"Yeah," he murmured, focusing on the road and ignoring the niggling question behind that damn song.
As Ben drove Lori home, she leaned down, head nearly between her legs, and he wondered if she was about to get sick. "Are you nauseous?"
She straightened up and held out her palm. "No. I saw a glint of gold. Looks like someone dropped this on your passenger floor."
He stared at the piece of jewelry on her palm, his own palms instantly sweat-slick and his heart climbing to a crescendo in his chest.
A horn honked and he looked back at the road, swore, and swerved back into their own lane, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a pick-up truck, whose driver was red-faced and screaming at Ben as he passed.
Lori gasped, fingers closing around the gold unicorn as she clutched the oh-shit bar with her opposite hand.
Ben steadied the car. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Can you just stick that in the glovebox for me?"
He didn't speak of the necklace again. After he dropped Lori at her car, he drove away and pulled into a parking lot behind a strip of downtown shops.
For several moments he gazed at the closed glovebox, telling himself he'd only imagined it looked like a unicorn. It wasn't, of course. It couldn't be because Summer had been wearing the unicorn necklace the night she vanished. He'd never seen it again after the last night, when it had been hanging beneath the hollow of her throat.
Gathering his wits, he reached for the latch and popped the box open, stretching until his fingers brushed the cool metal. He pulled it out. The gold chain was tangled, but the unicorn with the tiny red eye, a ruby for Summer's July birthstone, was unmistakable.
He’d bought it because it was corny, because they’d laugh about it much the same way they laughed about their song and about the kids at school who took
everything so seriously. Summer had gotten him, his wry sense of humor, his refusal to follow the in-crowd.
He sat in his car and stared at it, willing it to make sense.
This was it. Undeniably and yet…
He picked up his cell phone and dialed Carmen.
"Hey, brother," she answered after two rings. He could hear the baby giggling in the background.
"Hey, quick question." He suddenly wished he hadn't called. Carmen didn't talk about Summer and she'd grill him if he asked about the necklace, perhaps fearing he was slipping back into that dark hole it had taken years to emerge from.
"Yeah?"
"Please don't read into this. I'm just curious. Summer was wearing the unicorn necklace when she disappeared, right?"
Silence on the other end and the baby's voice faded as if Carm had walked into another room. "You know she was. It was listed as one of the distinctive things to look for if… if a body was ever found."
"Okay. I thought so. And we never found it?"
"She was wearing it, Ben. Why are you asking about Summer's necklace?"
"I met someone who had a similar experience. She had a friend who went missing in the Manistee Forest in 1998. I'm trying to look at connections."
"Really? Another girl who went missing?"
"Yeah, also fourteen at the time."
"That's scary."
"I know. Don't trouble yourself about it. If I find out anything more, I'll let you know."
"Are you sure that's a good idea, Ben? Getting into all that again?"
"I'm different now, Carm. Okay? It won't ever be like it was."
"Okay. Take care of yourself."
"Carm, wait," he said, before she could hang up.
"What?"
"Have you seen anyone around? Following you or anything?"
The longer he stared at the unicorn the more he thought about Hector Dunn peeling out of his driveway days before and speeding by Ben as he sat watching him. Had Dunn followed him home and put the necklace in his car? Ben flashed on his conversation with Lori. Mind games.
"No, why? What's going on?"
"Nothing, probably nothing. But be careful, okay? Eyes wide open, especially when you're on your own."
"Ben, you're scaring me."
"I don't mean to and I'm probably overreacting, but just in case. I'll give you more details soon."
"Okay, Ben."
17
After a quick shower at her mom's, Lori shrugged into a pair of old jeans and a loose-fitting button-down shirt. She drove to Traverse City to the office of Dr. Arnold Chadwick.
The building stood on a grassy lot that overlooked Traverse City's West Bay. Sun glinted off the windows, turning the structure into a dazzling mirrored cube.
Lori pushed through the glass double doors and into a lobby with a black tiled floor and a wall filled with names and office numbers. There was no receptionist. Next to the names stood a map of the building and beside that a tall stone fountain. Water trickled over the black stones into the basin below.
A memory surfaced for Lori of Henry tugging at their mother's purse, begging for a penny to throw into the fountain to make a wish. Lori glanced into the water, but saw no shining pennies on the dark stone bed.
Nerves and nausea circled within her as she took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked down a hallway carpeted in dark green. She found 4C at the end of the hall. The door read ‘Dr. Chadwick.’
Dr. Chadwick did have a receptionist. She sat in the octagonal office at a white desk with a modern-looking computer on its face. The office was clean and bright and Lori knew she’d been in it before, but had no solid memory to accompany the feeling.
"Welcome to Dr. Chadwick's office. Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked, adjusting her green cat's-eye glasses.
"Yes, I'm Lori Hicks."
"Lovely," the woman said, typing on her keyboard. "Have a seat and the doctor will be with you in a moment.”
The woman didn't summon the man behind the closed black door and Lori assumed she’d alerted him to a client's presence through the computer.
Lori sat, crossed her legs and then dug in her purse and pulled out the copy of Strange Michigan, flipping quickly past the cover and the leering face of the Dogman. She skimmed the pages, glancing at the titles above each story.
The book described a horned creature known as Nain Rouge. It had another story devoted to a water panther. Several stories described haunted houses and hotels. Lori paused on the story of the Dogman and read the first few lines.
Seven feet tall with the torso of a man and the head of the wolf, the Dogman has been giving the fine folks of the Great Lake State nightmares since 1887 when the first sighting of the Dogman was recorded in Wexford County.
She slipped past the Dogman story, skimmed a story about Melon Heads and paused at a black and white picture of a cloaked figure hunched over a tall black cauldron. The drawing revealed only the profile of the figure beneath the cloak, a hideous old woman with a hook nose and a long chin sprouting warts and boils.
The Witch in the Woods
Sources vary regarding the time period when the witch of Manistee was first seen lurking in the dense forests on the west side of the Great Lake State. One legend tells that one morning as two children of a lumber baron played near their home, a tree split open and a woman's long gnarled arms reached out and dragged one child inside. Though the baron hacked the tree down, he found no sign of the witch or his daughter. She had vanished without a trace. Townsfolk would later claim the stepmother of the girl did away with the child, jealous of her husband's affection for his daughter, but there are those who believe the story of the witch.
This writer heard many tales of the Witch of the Manistee Forest, but found few written accounts.
The second story was passed to me by a centenarian named Edith, and for those of you not familiar with the term, that means she was one hundred years old. Edith told me of losing her sister to the witch in 1904. They were girls on the cusp of womanhood, as twelve was in those days, and had been sent to the forest by their mother to collect leeks (wild onions) for supper. As Edith dug in the soil, pulling out a handful of leeks, she glanced up to see a cloaked figure, an old, terrifying woman, reach out and wrap her sister as if in a hug. And then they were gone. Edith did not see the woman drag her sister away. They seemed to vanish into thin air, but stranger still when Edith raced home, nearly an hour had passed since they'd walked into the forest, though she swore only ten or fifteen minutes had gone by. She was scolded for losing her sister and a search was conducted but no trace of the child was ever found.
A trickle of cold sweat slid down Lori’s forehead and plopped on her hand. She jumped when the black door opened to Chadwick’s office. She dropped the book face-up on the carpet. She'd been so immersed in the story, she'd forgotten she sat in Chadwick's waiting room.
He gazed at her, smiling and revealing two rows of perfect teeth. "Miss Hicks. I'm ready for you." Despite the professional feel of his office, Chadwick wore jeans and a Hawaiian shirt.
Lori bent and picked up the book, stuffed it into her purse and followed Chadwick into his office. It was familiar, though slightly different than what she'd remembered when her mother had reminded her of the visits. The same huge window looked out on the glittering west bay and thick blue carpet muted her footfalls, but the once-white leather furnishings had been replaced with colorful furniture including a long red couch, two sky-blue chairs on stilted legs and, oddly, a fluffy orange beanbag in the corner of the room.
Chadwick followed her gaze and smiled. "You're welcome to the beanbag. It's a favorite among my younger clients, and I must admit to lying there a few times myself for a bit of afternoon daydreaming."
"It looks comfy," Lori said, opting for one of the sky-blue chairs.
Rather than settling behind the large dark desk, Chadwick took the opposite chair.
"Do you remember me?" Lori asked.
Chadwick bobbed his h
ead up and down. "Oh, yes. I remember most everyone I've worked with. Though we called you Lorraine back then and you were significantly shorter."
"And fatter," Lori murmured, not sure why she'd made the statement and wishing she could take it back.
"Ah, well"—Chadwick rested his hands in his lap—"food is often one of the few coping mechanisms available to us as children. Seeking comfort through food is very normal. But I see you were able to deal with that at some point."
"I started going to groups for binge-eaters." Lori looked beyond him toward the window. She felt like a child whenever she spoke about the binge-eating, filled with shame and self-doubt.
"Community is important for long-term healing. Do you still attend meetings?”
"Not really." She didn't tell him about the meeting she'd gone to nights earlier. She was there to talk about dreams, not her penchant for eating a box of cupcakes in a single sitting.
"Tell me, Lori, have the night terrors returned? Is that why you set up the appointment?"
"I didn't even remember I'd had night terrors," she admitted, "or that I'd ever seen you, and then recently I stayed the night at my mom’s and I had a terrible dream. My mom woke me up. She said I'd been screaming."
Chadwick nodded. "Much as you experienced in adolescence."
"But I remembered the dream."
"I see. Now that is a new development."
"You remember all that? What we talked about?"
"I tape-recorded all of our sessions. I brushed up before our appointment today. If it's okay with you, I'd like to record this session as well."
Lori shrugged. "Sure."
Chadwick stood and walked to his desk, took a small black voice recorder from a drawer. He set it on the edge of his desk.
"I don't remember much of anything from when I used to come in," Lori admitted. "And I'm a little confused about what exactly you do."
"I look at dreams and nightmares from a Jungian perspective."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"I'll give you the abbreviated version because it takes years of study to truly understand what it means, but Carl Gustav Jung was a Swiss psychoanalyst who viewed dreams as messages from the psyche. Jung put forth a theory that human beings have both a personal unconscious and a collective unconscious. Your personal unconscious is formed by your individual life. Our collective unconscious is the larger assembly of archetypes and symbols that human beings have formed during our hundreds of thousands of years of existence. It's a collective way of interpreting the world, in a sense. The key is that the unconscious is just that—un-conscious. We are not consciously aware of what it knows. However, the knowledge contained therein can be the keys to our healing, to our individual growth, to overcoming our blocks.
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