Looking up, she saw a man running toward them, a woman just behind him, her face streaming with tears. Reece’s parents, she hoped. But that meant she didn’t have much time.
“You’ve already dreamed this, Reece, what I’m going to tell you now. But when you dream it, it will seem like the first time. Draw the infinity loop. Make me figure it out. I can’t go back now, but you will, because you will dream this in the past, and if you tell me more sooner, I can do better.
“You’re talking too fast,” he moaned.
“We don’t have much time. Don’t give up. Just—be honest, Reece. I’ll eventually believe you. But I’m also a skeptic. You’ll have to be firm with me.” She started to cry, then laughed at her own crying. “Just try to remember.”
“It’s too much.”
“Do your best. If you forget some of the words, just draw the infinity loop. Start with that.”
“Why?” He screwed up his face. “I’m going to be sick.”
“That’s the shock. But you’re doing really good. Just stay with me.”
“They shot Caleb? He wasn’t even here.”
“He was hiding in the grass,” Ruth said.
“No, he wasn’t. He left in his dad’s truck. Some guys saw him leave. Like he was here and changed his mind or got spooked.”
“He must have come back on foot.”
“I think he was going after Vorst.”
Of course. The coach was the cause of Caleb’s fury. She felt a surge of pity for Caleb. First, her kid sister, then this poor kid, and Vorst connected them all. It wasn’t just a figure-eight, it was a Gordian knot, one that had to be cut, not loosened. She hated Vorst, and yet she had to stop Caleb from attempting to confront him so the others wouldn’t be hurt. But that still wasn’t the whole solution.
“I should have . . .” Reece started to say, but another spike of pain overwhelmed him.
“Don’t worry. Just breathe.”
Ruth smelled the smoke again. Accident or arson.
Reece’s father and a second man crouched next to Ruth, preparing to lift Reece. Ruth felt herself outside the circle, no longer needed. She closed her eyes, which had started to burn as the wind shifted, and she pictured Vorst’s house going up in flames—perhaps hers, as well. The fire and the mayhem might engulf her.
Instead, the opposite happened. Everything went black and perfectly quiet, and now there was neither screaming nor smoke.
49
Ruth
For a moment, Ruth was dreaming peacefully and lucidly. She knew it was a dream, because it was based on a photograph she’d once seen in a museum file and never fully understood. It was labeled annie oakley, but there was no Annie visible and no explanation.
A large group of young women in pale summery calf-length dresses were gathered on the gentle slope of an emerald-colored lawn. They were mingling, laughing, holding small crystal glasses. The only man at the gathering, in a dress shirt and bow tie, was standing behind a cloth-covered table, ladling punch.
They’re her daughters, a voice said from behind Ruth. All eighteen of them.
I didn’t know Annie Oakley had eighteen children.
You didn’t? Everyone knows.
I don’t think so, Ruth said, still captivated by the loveliness of the scene, the tinkling of soft laughter, the fabrics ruffling: peach, ivory and buttercup yellow. She was too old by the 1920s to have any daughters.
Oh, Ruth. You’re so literal. But you can see, she’s happier now. After those terrible trials. And all that . . . well, you know. She was done with it. Partly because she’d seen it through, she’d faced it. Partly because of Frank. But mostly because of this.
Ruth looked for signs of Annie Oakley, but she must be hidden, enfolded like a bud at the center of this gorgeous arrangement of flowers, these young women who clearly adored her.
The fabrics looked so soft. Ruth wanted to press those cool, pale colors to her hot cheek. She was desperately thirsty. She wanted to walk across the emerald lawn. The liquid in their crystal glasses sparkled.
Not for you, the unseen voice said. It isn’t yours.
The punch? The beauty? The company? The kindness? Ruth’s head ached, and it must be because of the thirst.
It isn’t yours to have. It’s hers, the voice said. She earned it, she made it for herself.
I only want . . . Not just the beverage. But this sense of peace and love. That was what she wanted and could not have.
Ruth felt the image fade, felt herself being pulled back, slow at first and then faster, knowing exactly where she would be deposited: the stillest place. The strongest place. The point at which the two loops converged.
Draw the symbol, Reece.
The only place that was connected to everything else, the only place where change was and would always be possible.
The present.
Ruth was awake but inconveniently positioned, facedown on her own lawn, which was not emerald or lovely, but rather brown, rough and redolent of dog shit.
And yet: there was no smell of smoke.
She heard the crackle of a distant speaker powering up, similar to the one she’d heard—was it hours ago, or only seconds?—before she’d decided to hurry toward the school.
Ruth didn’t try to stand yet. She sat still and tried to remember. She’d been conscious, the Rockets had been starting their show. But there had been that sound system glitch. She’d heard the music stop and start several times. From the time that happened until the end of the Rockets’ performance and the moment Caleb was finally positioned, ready to rise out of the grass, it might have been only twenty minutes. That was all she had.
The future and the past are our two most difficult battles. They aren’t battles we are always meant to win.
But the present was fair game.
At this moment, Caleb might be in the woods, walking toward the school field.
No. There was no fire yet, and in her vision, someone had started a fire. Unless he had a good friend—and she knew Caleb had few friends—he had done it himself. If she waited here, there was a good chance he’d walk right past her yard and then past Vorst’s. But there was also a chance he would see her and start running. In any case, he was close. He had to be, given the timing.
She needed to get to him sooner, and not only that, she needed his full attention. She had only one chance to make him listen.
Ruth jumped into her Honda and pulled out of the driveway fast, scanning up and down the street. He wouldn’t be hard to spot: she’d seen him in her vision, even if she didn’t remember his exact features.
Reece had told her that Caleb had left the school in his dad’s truck. Ruth thought about where she’d ditch a truck: not so far that you couldn’t get to the school on foot. On her block alone, she saw two new pickups parked in driveways, but no one walking. The streets and the sidewalks were empty.
Maybe this was a mistake. Minutes were ticking by. Maybe she should have waited at her house, or Vorst’s, or the entrance to the trail.
At the first intersection, she had to decide: go straight, past a busy road with fast-food chains; turn left, toward the school and newer houses; or right, toward the older side of town, smaller houses, more weedy lots, places to park and not be immediately seen.
Definitely right.
Just when she had reached a dead-end and was looking over her shoulder to back up and turn around, she saw him: jeans and a cinched hoody, about her height, walking with his head down. And carrying a hockey stick.
Ruth rolled down the window and came up just behind him, rolling slowly to match his pace. She had to choose her words carefully.
“Caleb, don’t run away. I want to help you. My name’s Ruth McClintock. I’m a friend of Reece’s.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her without stopping.
“Caleb, I know wha
t Vorst did. I want to punish him, too.”
He started walking faster. At any moment, he might duck between houses. She could lose him in an instant.
“Caleb.” She had to blow his mind and leave him speechless. “You’re going to Vorst’s house to light it on fire, and then you’re going to go through the woods to the school, where you’re planning to run across the field and attack Vorst with that hockey stick. But it’s not going to work.”
He stopped. He turned and looked at her, through the car window.
“You’re Kennidy’s sister,” he said.
Ruth, it turned out, was the speechless one.
When she found her words again, she said, “Please get in the car.”
He was still peering in the window, debating.
“You shouldn’t know all that.”
“No, I shouldn’t. Trust me, I know it sounds crazy. But I want to help you. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Except Vorst.”
“Except Vorst, maybe. But nobody else.”
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“And I can’t see very well. It would be safer if you drove, actually.”
Ruth hopped out, walked around to the passenger side, and gestured for Caleb to take the driver’s seat.
“You’re kidding,” he said. “I’m a stranger, and you’re letting me drive your car?”
“You can go anywhere you want.”
“Anywhere?”
“You won’t be able to get away in your truck after you do whatever you’re going to do. The cops know the plates. But you can take my car.”
“I can take your car?”
“I promise.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Even if I crack the coach’s head open with this stick?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I start a fire?”
“Absolutely.” She paused. “But let me ask this one thing. Why exactly do you want to start a fire?”
“It’s . . .” he paused, sounding less certain. “It’s just a diversion. Vorst’s got tires leaning up against his house, and I figured if I could roll one out onto the street and get it smoking, I could lure the cops away from the school so they don’t spot me right away and stop me.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s pretty smart, actually.”
He looked at her with surprise.
“I live right next to him, you know that?” She could tell from his wide eyes that he’d had no idea. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m okay with the fire idea. I’m just wondering. You’re sure he has something to light the tire with?”
“Can of gas for the mower, yeah,” Caleb said, looking at her suspiciously. “In his carport.”
“Good. But there’s a problem. There are still way too many armed guards at the school. That’s where it goes bad.” She corrected herself. “Where it will go bad. Turn here if you’re going to Vorst’s house.”
He looked at her like she was still trying to put one over on him.
They’d been creeping down the street since he’d taken the wheel. Now he gunned the motor, testing her. But she didn’t tell him to slow down or pull over.
“You’re really letting me go to Vorst’s house.”
“If that’s what you need to do. Don’t miss the stop sign. Okay, the next left. I think you know the way.”
What she wanted most right now was time—a diversion of her own, just until she could figure out the rest.
As long as he didn’t make it to the school, the chain of events couldn’t start and the accident couldn’t happen. If he wanted to play around and make smoke, even if it got out of control, she was willing to risk Vorst’s house, the lots across the street, even her own home. Lord knew she had occasionally dreamed of Gwen’s house going up in flames, since no one seemed to want to buy it.
“I’m wondering,” she said, “maybe we should make it a big fire, not just one they’ll come and put out right away.”
“It’s harder than you think,” Caleb said.
“I bet. But maybe we can really get it going. Burn the whole house down. That would send a message, right? Maybe even more than threatening him with a hockey stick.”
He mumbled, “What’s the point?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”
After a moment, Caleb said, “The cabin,”
They had just pulled up to Vorst’s house.
“What?”
“Everything he cares about is in his cabin.”
Ruth turned her head so she could see Caleb better through her only good eye. “You’ve been to his cabin? You know where it is?”
They were pulled up to the curb, car still running.
“I need something inside, for our protection,” Ruth said. “It’ll take only a second.”
“You’re calling the cops.”
“Caleb, if I wanted to call the cops, I already would have. If you’re worried about that, hold my phone.”
She handed it to him, opened the car door and hurried inside.
Ruth went directly to the bathroom, where the apothecary dresser with its five rows of drawers stood. She knew instantly which drawer held the key. Scott had left it behind.
Just in case you ever need it. I don’t like to think of you alone in that house.
In the garage, she rummaged around and found the case that matched the key. She’d always known where it was stored, and even when Scott had come last time for his belongings, she’d neglected to mention it. Neglected, not forgotten. Her subconscious had known even then.
The feel of the handgun, heavy in her jacket pocket, made her feel both excited and sick. She remembered how nervous she’d been the first time Scott tried to hand her a gun. She remembered how upset she’d felt when her mother’s boyfriend had brought a gun into their home.
In her subconscious, she must have pictured this, the horrible exciting power it would give her, to have this object in her pocket, in her hand, at the right time.
It wasn’t Kennidy who couldn’t be trusted with a weapon. It wasn’t Caleb, either. It was Ruth.
50
Caleb
It normally took an hour to drive, but Caleb made the trip in forty minutes, head pounding and stomach twisted. On the highway they’d passed a police car, but it was only helping direct traffic around a jackknifed truck. Ruth had been right: he couldn’t be seen except like this, in someone else’s car. But that didn’t mean she was right about everything. He’d listened because she’d appeared like some messed-up, bleeding angel, like the friend he never had, telling him she would help.
Of course, she was probably insane. They were more than halfway to the cabin when he let himself turn and actually look at her, strapped into the car next to him. She’d fallen asleep or passed out with her chin on her shoulder with something that looked like dried blood caking her ear and neck, like she’d been in a bar fight.
So he’d gotten into a car with a crazy woman, injured and high or drunk. But he wasn’t nervous about that, exactly. It was his own anger that had scared him most, back at the school.
Then this: Vorst’s neighbor. Kennidy’s sister.
Caleb looked back at the empty road, watching for police. When he glanced over at Ruth again, her eyes were open, studying him.
“He molested my kid sister,” she said.
He nodded.
“You already knew that somehow.”
He nodded again.
“He did something to you, too.”
Caleb didn’t nod this time, didn’t speak. He didn’t need a heart-to-heart. All he wanted was someone in the car with him, willing to do something big enough to really scare Van Vorst and protect Mikayla.
Ruth asked, “How did he do it? Did he just force you? Or talk you into it, somehow?”
�
��Does it matter?”
Ruth was quiet for a moment. Then she wiped her nose. “I guess it doesn’t. Sorry.”
That weakened him just a little. “I can tell you one thing. Your sister thought you were smart, going away to college when you did. She really admired you.”
“You’re making that up.”
He didn’t answer. She could believe or not believe him, like the dozens of others who wouldn’t believe him about anything that mattered.
Ruth said, “How do you know?’
He left the question hanging there until she said, “Never mind. I believe you. Thanks.”
51
Ruth
They turned down a long gravel drive past hayfields, passed the oak tree and pulled up to the cabin. Fallen leaves blanketed the ground. The cabin, bathed in the last golden glow of early evening light, looked rustic but not menacing.
Kennidy. Ruth tried to feel her presence but couldn’t. Still, she wanted her to know. We’re here.
“There’s got to be stuff in there that proves what he’s done to people,” Ruth said. “Right? So we need to get in there and take what we can.”
“I thought we were burning down his cabin. You were willing to burn down his other house. This is the one he cares about. That’s what I told you.”
“And you were right. But first, we should get our hands on anything important that’s inside.”
Caleb looked at her. “But if we break in and steal evidence, isn’t that a legal problem?”
Ruth paused. “Maybe.”
“Police need warrants.”
“You’re right. But maybe if we just broke in and brought out something that will show he’s guilty, then they’d have to go back inside and do a real search.”
“But they won’t find anything. It’ll all be gone. You said you’d help me burn this place to the ground.”
Ruth could tell that something had dawned on Caleb, and it wasn’t going to make things easier for her.
Annie and the Wolves Page 33
