by Skye Darrel
“Maybe we shut it down for good,” Natalie muses on the way back to town.
No suck luck. Verne Resnik is not a man who quits. He’s like me. He comes back harder.
We spend the day driving around town, having lunch at the Applebee’s on Randolph Street, but Dunkel never shows.
At five, we head back to my house. I get the feeling something bad is coming our way, and I don’t even know what it is.
Natalie is silent.
She looks out her window when I drive past Gatsby’s empty house. The Branigan Realty signs with her smiling headshot are still planted on the lawn.
I squeeze her hand.
“Someday,” she says with a sad smile.
By the time we stop in my driveway, my body stirs again. I stroke her hair and feel the soft skin of her neck, my animal hunger awakening after a long day. Natalie meets my kiss, but my ringtone startles us.
“You better get it,” she whispers.
A call from Cora. I swipe Accept.
She’s chewing gum, her voice fast and tense. “Rene never came in today, Ash. He’s late sometimes, but he always comes in. If he were sick he’d call. We didn’t hear from him the whole day. So Mom went to check in on him at his apartment, it’s only five minutes away. That was an hour ago. I’d look for her, but I’m not supposed to leave Goldilocks and she’s not answering her phone.” Cora sniffles. “I didn’t want to bother you, but with everything that’s happened, I’m worried.”
“You did good, Cora. Stay at Goldilocks. I’ll go to Rene’s.”
Natalie looks at me. “Trouble?”
“Trouble. You better stay here—”
“Don’t even start. I’m coming with you.”
28
Ghosts
Natalie
Asher turns off Main Street onto a narrow road two blocks from Goldilocks. We enter a neighborhood of clapboard townhouses with small porches. I catch a worn green sign that reads Ember Lane. Two kids on bicycles cut in front of us. We jolt over a pothole. Parking is parallel, and Asher backs into a space between two rundown SUVs.
“This part of town isn’t meant for tourists,” he says.
“I could tell.”
Asher says the townhouses are cheap apartments divided into three floors. His friend, Leon Costello, lived in a similar neighborhood not far from here.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Asher pulls out the pistol from his ankle holster, checks the weapon, then tucks it into his pants at the back. “SIG Sauer. It’s a good weapon.”
“Sure.” I had a friend in college who liked to hunt, but call me girly or whatever, all I see in a gun is a tool designed to kill. Even now, knowing the man who holds it loves me, I shudder.
We leave the Mustang and head toward a townhouse with a blue door. There’s a bike rack outside.
Asher recognizes Rene’s bike. “He never left home.”
In the distance, I hear children’s laughter.
I grip the strap of my bag as we enter the building, walking past a block of mailboxes, up a rickety staircase to the second floor. The place smells of old wood, but it’s clean. Better than the first apartment I lived in when I moved to DC. We reach the end of a narrow hallway, to a door labeled 2A.
“Rene’s a good man,” Asher says. “Juno was thinking about making him a business partner at Goldilocks.”
“She still can.”
“Yeah.”
Asher knocks with his pistol drawn. Then he turns the knob and it’s not locked.
“Stay behind me.” His voice is cool and level.
I’ll listen just this once.
Turning the knob, he levels the gun and flings the door back. I focus on breathing as he steps inside and sweeps the pistol in every direction.
A small living room that smells of scented candles and aloe. On a table sits a bowl of cereal, half a glass of orange juice. The carton nearby still open. Blinds down over the windows.
Asher’s stance relaxes slightly. We look around to find Rene facedown behind an old sofa, hands cuffed at his back, feet bound with rope. Not moving. Asher kneels and touches his neck.
“He’s alive.”
We untie him and turn him over slowly.
Rene whispers “Juno” before he loses consciousness again.
“Stay with him,” Asher says.
I stand over Rene’s body, hugging my elbows, feeling totally useless while Asher checks the open kitchen and another room. It’s so quiet I can hear myself breathe.
“She’s here!” Asher yells.
I run into a cluttered room where Juno’s sitting against the foot of a bed, hands behind her.
On one knee, Asher struggles at the handcuffs binding her hands to the bed’s leg. Duct tape covers her mouth. She’s mumbling, nodding at Asher, and not to state the obvious, but I push him aside and pull the tape off carefully.
Juno sighs. “Thank you, city girl.”
“My pleasure.”
Asher gets back to working the handcuffs. I guess he had a forest-for-the-trees moment.
“Who did this?” I say.
Juno shakes her head. “He wore a mask.”
“What kind of mask?” Asher says.
“The kind that hid his face,” Juno says sourly. “Covered his whole head, one of those ski masks. He had shades on. I couldn’t see his eyes.”
Asher asks for a paperclip. I look around the apartment and find a pencil holder filled with clips, and I hand one to him. He bends it into a pick and unlocks the handcuffs.
She rubs her wrists. “Always thought that was a myth. Paperclips opening handcuffs.”
“He’s a natural with restraints,” I say, somewhat sourly. “What happened?”
Juno tells us she entered the apartment like we did and saw Rene on the ground. Then a gun was jammed into her back. The masked intruder had knocked Rene out and used him as bait to lure Juno here. She describes his clothing and build, but nothing stands out. He could be anyone. He took her to the bedroom and tied her to the bedpost.
“He held a gun to my head,” Juno says. “A chrome revolver. He asked me questions, said he’d kill me if he didn’t like the answers. He had a throaty way of talking, I don’t think it’s his real voice. And the questions were strange.” She shudders. “God I need a drink.”
Still kneeling, Asher puts a hand on her shoulder. “What did he ask about?”
“Your sister. He wanted to know if Pris ever owned a cabin by the river. If she ever kept a house or property out there. I told him no one lives by the river in these parts, it’s all wilds and woods, and Priscilla is gone. He got real agitated and ignored me for a while. I’m not sure he’s right in the head. He kept saying ‘she’s still alive’ under his breath. I think he’s trying to find her, Asher. Then he asked me the same questions all over again.”
“What’d you tell him?” Asher says.
Juno shrugs. “I told him about that cave. Neverland. Didn’t see what harm it could do. He left.”
I give Asher a puzzled look.
He helps Juno to her feet, and she leaves to check on Rene in the living room.
“What’s Neverland?” I ask.
Asher frowns at the floor. “When Pris and I were kids, we used to hike upriver with Eugene. Juno came along too. We found a cave a few miles north, middle of nowhere. Most of the caves in this area are filled with old leaves and snakes, but this one was clean. Smooth stone, like it was made for living in. We made that cave our cave. Went camping there every summer. Eugene named it Neverland. You know the story, Peter Pan and Tinker Bell? The land where children never grow up.”
“I saw the Disney version.”
Asher smiles. “Eugene used to joke how great it’d be if we stayed kids forever. He’d be Peter Pan, Juno a modern-day Tinker Bell. They’d look after Pris and me, their little rascals. All four of us, young and carefree forever. Then he left for West Point, Juno had Cora to worry about. Pris and I never went back. I suppose we grew up.”
His voice drifts off.
I squeeze his hand.
He comes back to me. “My sister is gone. I saw the photos of her body. Juno buried her at Lorraine Hill Cemetery when I was in Afghanistan.” He says the words as if to remind himself they must true. “Pris is not living in a cave.”
We go to the living room, where Juno sits with her cook on the sofa. Rene’s holding his head and groaning. I stare at his yellow nail polish because the rest of him is so bruised and swollen.
“He say anything?” Asher asks Juno.
“Nothing we don’t know,” she says. “An intruder broke into his apartment this morning. Knocked him down, tied him up. Wore a mask. Same bastard that did me. He ordered Rene to invite me over, but Rene wouldn’t have it, so he kept beating him. If I hadn’t shown up, he probably would’ve killed him.”
I turn to Asher. “Verne Resnik’s guys? Titus?”
“Could be,” he says quietly. There’s a but, but he doesn’t say what it is.
We call an ambulance and the police. The ambulance shows up first and takes Rene to Salma Memorial, the local hospital.
Deputy Murphy arrives fifteen minutes later. He spends ten minutes looking over the scene before declaring it a textbook robbery gone wrong. The masked intruder is clearly a local lunatic.
“I’ll find him,” Murphy assures Juno. “Yes ma’am. Don’t you worry.”
We wish him luck.
Asher takes us to Goldilocks, where Juno parts ways. “At least the doctors in this town are qualified,” she mutters in the back lot. “I’ll visit Rene in the morning. You two look after yourselves.”
We drive back to Asher’s house in silence.
He parks in front of the porch, and we’re right back where we started this morning. Almost seven in the evening now. The long summer day is still bright.
I can tell he’s thinking about something painful when our eyes meet. Then he kisses me hard on the mouth. Our tongues tangle. I feel his hand on my chest and put mine on his. When I’m close with him, I want to be closer.
He leans back. “I’m sorry.”
“Huh?”
“I gotta go out there. To the cave.”
My chest sinks, but I figured he would say that.
The masked man. Who is he? The obvious answer is he works for Resnik.
But Verne Resnik of all people knows Priscilla is dead. So does Titus, Chief Dunkel, and everyone involved. Who else would be looking for her? It must be someone who knows how close Juno is with the Wade family, which could be many people in this town. A local. But how can any local not know Priscilla Wade is dead?
“I have to go out there,” Asher repeats. He looks at the old Colonial looming over us, the house of his past, filled with bittersweet memories of a time he can’t get back.
I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he really thinks that by some miracle, his sister is alive, living at Neverland.
“The answer is there,” he says firmly.
“Well you’re not leaving me here.” I’ve never spent a night in the Wade house by myself and I have no intention of doing tonight. The feeling of ghosts is spooky enough during the day.
“I’ll drop you off at Goldilocks,” Asher says. “You’ll be safe there.”
“We talked about this before.” I put my finger on his lips. “We’re in this together.”
He sucks on my finger. Heat pools between my thighs, and despite everything, I yearn to feel him against me. “I’m coming with you,” I say.
“Natalie . . .”
“Don’t talk to me about dangerous. I knew you were dangerous when we met.”
He smiles faintly. “Okay, doll face. I need some gear first.”
We go into the house, to the basement. We gather two heavy-duty flashlights and a gadget that Asher says is a GPS. Bottles of water he stuffs into a backpack. He puts on a vest lined with pouches. He opens his weapon locker and takes out a matte black military rifle, slings it around his shoulder as he stuffs the vest pouches with ammunition.
My knees shake.
He shoulders the backpack, looks around one more time, and takes my hand. “I’d ask if you want a weapon, but if you don’t know how to shoot, it’ll be more dangerous for you to have one.”
“I keep pepper spray in my bag.”
“Good girl. Safety first.”
I shove him and we head upstairs. I have a feeling my spray won’t be much use against anything that gets past Asher Wade.
We get back in his Mustang, and I take one last look at our flowers on the lawn, at my Beetle still parked in his driveway, and I tell myself I’m a girl who sells houses and wants to be an artist. Going out at night into the wilds is not my strong suit.
But like my mom used to say, once in a blue moon, your greatest dreams and worst nightmares can come true.
It’s hot and humid in the woods. Darker than I thought it would be.
We’d be blind without our flashlights.
With the beams in front of us, we work our way down a trail through the thickets, leaves rustling all around us, mosquitoes buzzing, and other night noises I try to ignore. The world is inky black outside the light. Every few minutes something brushes my bare legs. Branches, I hope.
My shorts are terrible for this. I should’ve changed into long sleeves and leggings before we left.
I should’ve packed more water.
Sweat runs down my sides and my tee sticks to me. Asher stalks ahead with his flashlight attached to the bottom of his weapon. He told me two hours ago during the drive it’s an AR-15 rifle modified to fire on automatic, more than enough for whatever awaits us. I told him to focus on driving.
We parked along a rural road about five miles north of town, and we’ve been following this sloping trail through the trees toward the river. Asher leading. Me on his heels. I’m way outside my comfort zone.
“You okay?” he says when we stop to rest.
I nod, catching my breath. He stands guard while I sit on a tree stump. Just breathing makes me sweat.
We go on.
The trees grow apart.
We emerge from the woods, and ahead flows the river with its black waters in the night. Thick clouds veil the moon.
A steep drop to the rocky bank below. Asher slings his rifle and lowers himself like a gymnast, agile even with all the equipment he carries. I pass him my flashlight.
Then he opens his arms for me.
I get on my butt and edge down feet first, grabbing at clumps of grass, but lose my grip at the last moment and fall into his embrace.
“I got you,” he whispers, holding my shoulders, kissing my hair, careful to keep his gun away from me. “You did good, doll face.”
“Is there a bad way to stumble through the woods at night?” I’m exhausted and my calves feel on fire.
“Do you want to go back?”
“No. Let’s get this over with.”
“Natalie, if you’re hurting—”
“I said I’m fine.”
He holds me a while longer, and I bury my face in his chest where the vest doesn’t cover. Outside the woods, it’s quieter, no more insects and strange noises. All I hear is the river’s slow current.
“You need a longer break?” Asher says. “You’re soaked.”
“I’m out of shape.”
“You’re perfect.”
I roll my eyes and blush. “I mean that’s why I’m sweating so much.”
I’ve already finished the bottle of water I put in my bag.
Asher takes a full bottle out of his pack and lets me drink my fill. He wipes my forehead with his sleeve and feels the pulse at my neck. “Dehydration is as dangerous as the enemy,” he says in a gravelly voice that makes me laugh.
“How insightful.”
“Quoting my drill sergeant.”
“Let’s go,” I say, feeling better.
He kisses me again, and this time his mouth lingers before it finds its way to my ear. “Is your little pussy wet too?”
I sh
ove him. “Asher!”
He smiles and we go on.
Following the river, we trek north along the rocky bank, scrambling over ledges and crossing smaller streams. The dark woods to our right make me nervous, but Asher’s solid presence chases away the fleeting monsters of my imagination, and my fear that the masked man is stalking us.
A long time passes.
I fall into a rhythm of walking and breathing, my discomfort fading to numbness, and just when I think everything will turn out fine, Asher holds up his hand and drops to one knee.
“This is it,” he whispers.
I kneel beside him. The riverbank isn’t as rocky here and the trees have thinned out. There’s a low cliff not far ahead, and I can see a cave entrance. We turn off our flashlights because a faint yellow light glows from the cave.
Asher checks his weapon. “Stay close,” he says.
No need to tell me twice.
We move toward the light, walking over wild grass and old leaves, passing the remains of a campfire in a circle of rocks. I notice a short stool, a blanket, and a row of empty food cans. Asher picks one up and I smell pineapple.
“Fresh,” he says.
We reach the cliff and sidle our way to the cave mouth.
Asher motions for me to stop. I hear a man’s voice somewhere from inside. We share a final look and he nods at me, and I nod back, holding my pepper spray.
Asher swings into the cave with weapon at the shoulder.
I follow, my nerves so on edge nothing can surprise me. I feel like I’m weightless.
The cave is a cave. A smooth stone floor, the ceiling no higher than our heads. Someone’s been living here for sure. Clothes piled near the entrance, stacks of cans, some unopened, and another blanket and a dirty pillow. There’s a smoky smell, the ashy remains of another fire in a small crater.
Asher’s back blocks my view further in. He’s standing still, shoulders tensed, and I hold my breath and expect a gunshot or scream, but the silence is absolute. I peek around him to see what’s grabbed his attention.
