by J. S. Volpe
The interior of the trunk was too dark for him to see her nod, but he sensed the movement and heard a tiny, muffled, “Mm-hmm.”
With much more care than he had used when removing his own tape, he peeled the duct tape off her mouth. While he did so, he faintly heard Roger talking. John couldn’t catch any words, but the rhythms of Roger’s speech and the way he kept pausing briefly made it sound like he was having a conversation with someone. But John didn’t hear a second voice.
“What are we going to do?” Anna whispered as soon as her mouth was uncovered. Her voice was wavering and husky. She was close to panic.
“Do you have a bobby pin or anything?”
For a moment she was silent, no doubt baffled by the seeming non-sequitur.
“What?” she said.
“A bobby pin. Something I can pick the handcuff locks with.”
“Oh, um…no.”
The car jounced over a pothole. The force of the impact flung them up and down hard. Anna’s head thumped against the floor.
“Ow!” she yelped.
“Quiet,” John whispered. “We don’t want him to know we’re free. Or, well, kinda free.”
“Sorry.”
The car turned a corner, sending John sliding into the wall and Anna sliding into John. As the car came out of the turn and accelerated, they wriggled apart.
“What are we going to do?” Anna asked again.
“The next time he opens the trunk, I’ll attack him. You jump out and start running.”
“But he has a gun. He might kill us.”
“Yeah, well, what do you think he’s gonna do anyway?”
To that, Anna had nothing to say.
10
Special Agents Max Rowan and Russell Schmidt were on their way to a meeting with some of their fellow agents in the police station’s conference room when Chief Krezchek intercepted them in the main hallway. Krezchek’s aged face looked more lined and careworn than usual.
“Have either of you seen or heard anything from Officers Carter or Thompson?” he asked.
“No, why?” Agent Rowan said.
“They’re not responding to calls.”
“Where were they last?”
“I, uh…” Krezchek grimaced, then tilted his chin up resolutely. “I sent them to check out the Crow girl’s tip about the chest freezer at Roger Grey’s house. Their last call-in was about twenty-five minutes ago, when they reached the house. Since then, nothing.”
Agent Rowan grunted. “We’d better—”
A wail rose up from somewhere in the station. All activity in the busy hallway ceased. Everyone looked around, stiff and wide-eyed. A moment later the dispatch room’s door flew open and Karen West ran out.
“No!” she cried. “No no no!”
“Karen, what is it?” Chief Krezchek said.
“Anna!” she shrieked, clutching at his shirt. “She’s been abducted. Right from her bedroom.”
“What? What happened?”
In one swift, barely coherent outpouring, she explained that she had just gotten a call from her panicked husband Herbert, who had been at home alone with Anna. He had been in the living room watching TV. Anna had been in her room doing homework. When he got up to check on her, she was gone and her window was open. A man’s footprints were in the flower bed outside.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “We have to find her before—before—” She began to sob.
“Damn it,” Krezchek muttered. He looked around. The hallway was packed now. Most of the people in the station had come running to find out what all the shrieking was about.
“Has anyone seen Carter and Thompson?” Krezchek called.
“Aren’t they in Car Five?” asked Officer Murphy.
“Yeah.”
Murphy jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the main entrance. “As I was coming in just a minute ago, I saw Car Five drive past. It was heading south down Potts.”
“South?”
Alison Creech, another of the dispatchers, poked her head out of the dispatch room.
“Chief,” she said, “someone just dialed 911 from the home owned by Colleen Brandt. That’s—”
“That’s John Coyote!” Karen cried. “He and Anna and Emily Crow are all best friends!”
“Any info with the call?” Agent Rowan asked.
Alison shook her head. “No one said a word. There were just some muffled scuffs and groans.”
“Send two men there and two men to the West house,” Agent Rowan said. “Send another two to Grey’s house. Everyone else on the streets. Eyes out for Anna West, John Coyote, Roger Grey, Carter and Thompson, and Car Five.”
As the crowd dispersed around them, Agent Schmidt asked, “So where do we go?”
Agent Rowan stared off into space, thinking hard. Then he stiffened and snapped his fingers. “South down Potts! The woods!” He raced toward the door. Agent Schmidt hurried after him. “He’s going back to the scene of the crime! He’s going back to where all this started!”
11
“Okay,” Calvin said. “Maybe we should try a different tack. Let’s get back to the basics here. Let’s trace this back to square one.”
“Square one?” Cynthia said.
“Everything begins somewhere, right? What’s the first thing we know happened for sure?”
“Firebird. His vision quest.” She frowned. “No, wait. The underground chamber.” She jabbed her finger at the spot on the map where Spirit Cave was located. “If we believe what Turner May wrote, then it sounds like someone carved that chamber and put those bones there a long time before Firebird was even born.”
“There’s also the Stone Pillar,” Calvin said, tapping the spot where the pillar was. “Everyone assumes it was a piece of stone left by the glacier or a marker for some old Indian trail, but what if whoever carved the chamber also put the pillar there? I mean, the pillar’s on a straight east-west line with Spirit Cave, so it could be, uh…”
He had been about to suggest that the pillar was a marker pointing the way to the cave, but as he stared at his and Cynthia’s fingers on the map and the black pin Mr. May had inserted into the clearing, he realized there was more to it than that. A lot more.
His eyes roved over the map as he recalled everything Mr. May had told them about the history of the area.
“Oh my God,” he muttered.
“What?” Cynthia said. “What is it?”
He fumbled through the desk’s drawers until he found a pencil and a ruler. Then he laid the ruler against the map and began to connect everything up. From the May house, where Turner May’s family burned to death and Anna May succumbed to influenza, he drew a line northeast to Spirit Cave, where Hamilton Crow found his daughter’s sodden corpse and Turner and Hamilton descended into the underworld; from the cave he drew a line west to the Stone Pillar, the mysterious obelisk of uncertain origin where Randolph Crow blew his brains out; from there, a line southeast to the Crow house, where Turner May performed strange rituals and Randolph Crow painted Door and Eugene Scott fell to his death; then a line from the Crow house north-northwest to Indian Hill, the holy site of the Mima, where Firebird led the ceremony that culminated in his suicide; and finally a line from Indian Hill south-southwest to the May house, where he had started.
The lines formed a perfect pentagram.
And right in the center of the pentagram was the black pin, the clearing.
Calvin and Cynthia looked at each other, their eyes big with amazement.
“What does that mean?” Cynthia asked.
“I don’t know,” Calvin said. “But there’s no way that’s an accident.”
The rumble of an engine grew audible. A car was coming up the driveway. They hustled over to the south-facing window and peeked out the blinds.
Headlights shone down the long tunnel of trees. The lights grew brighter and brighter, and then a police car rolled into view. It passed out of sight behind the house’s south wing. A moment later the engine cut off.
“The police!” Cynthia said. “I wonder what’s going on.”
“Let’s go find out.”
Chapter 32
Full Circle
1
“That stupid old fuck,” Violet said as she hopped off the last of the stepping stones and joined Donovan on the Kanseeka’s west bank. They headed up the bank and through the woods toward the May house. “How come he only left me ten thousand bucks? How come everyone else got a hundred thousand, and that dweeb Calvin got a million plus a giant fucking house? I helped out just as much as anyone else. More, even. If that doddering old fuck wasn’t already dead, I’d kick his wrinkled little ass.”
“I think you’re being too hard on him,” Donovan said. “I’m sure the dude had his reasons.”
“Yeah, the reason was, he was a dick.”
“Violet, maybe you should…uh…”
He fell silent. Up ahead in the distance white light shone through the trees. He and Violet stopped walking and listened. They could faintly hear the rumble of an engine.
“Does Calvin own a car?” Violet asked.
“I don’t think so. And I know Cyn doesn’t.”
The lights went out. The engine stopped. A few seconds later a car door slammed.
“Come on,” Violet whispered. She motioned for him to follow, then slunk forward. “Keep in stealth mode till we know what’s what.”
“I got a bad feeling about this,” Donovan muttered. Then he followed her into the darkness.
2
When the car stopped and the engine shut off, John whispered to Anna, “Okay, you know what to do.”
Anna scooted against the driver’s side wall. John positioned himself on his back under the center of the lid, then drew his legs up until his knees were against his chest. The plan was that when Roger opened the trunk, John would kick out at Roger as hard as he could. While Roger was distracted, Anna would scramble out of the trunk and run. It wasn’t the greatest plan in the world, but it was better than nothing. Maybe John could kick the gun out of Roger’s hand. Maybe Anna would get away. Or maybe not. But they had to try.
They waited. Nothing happened for several long moments. Wherever they were, it was deathly quiet. John didn’t even hear any traffic. That wasn’t good. It meant there were few, if any, people around, which would make finding help more difficult.
Then Roger said, “Okay,” as if someone had just told him something. The driver’s side door opened and shut. A moment later keys jingled right outside the trunk. A key thunked into the trunk lock. The lock clacked, and the lid popped up slightly.
A second passed. Then two. Then three.
Then the lid flew up. John started to kick, but then saw that no one was there. There was only an expanse of stars, distant trees. His legs dropped back to the trunk floor. Beside him he heard Anna let out a despairing moan.
Roger stepped into view from around the side of the trunk. He had backed a couple of paces away from the trunk, out of John and Anna’s reach. He trained Officer Thompson’s gun on John.
“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” he asked.
“Yes,” John said.
Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Get the hell out of there.”
3
Calvin and Cynthia drew back the curtain in the smoking room window and looked outside. A police car sat front-first against the garage door, its trunk wide open. Roger Grey was leading two handcuffed children north toward the woods. He held a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.
“Those’re Emily’s friends,” Cynthia said.
“I’ll call the cops.” Calvin got out his phone and dialed 911.
“They might not get here in time,” Cynthia said, hurrying toward the door. “We’d better do something ourselves.”
“Agreed.” Calvin hustled after her, the phone pressed to his ear.
4
“Fucking cops,” Violet grumbled. She and Donovan were peering out the woods at the police car in the May driveway. “What the fuck are they doing here?”
“That’s not cops, Violet,” Donovan said. He pointed at the north end of the lawn, where Roger Grey and two kids were just disappearing into the woods.
“That’s Roger Grey,” Violet said. “That scumfuck! Let’s get him!”
Violet raced north through the woods. Donovan followed.
“Um, shouldn’t we, like, call the cops or something?” he said.
“Don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Violet raised one index finger into the air. At first Donovan had no idea what she was talking about, but then he heard the sound of sirens in the distance.
5
Rather than bother with a car, Agents Rowan and Schmidt ran to the woods, bargaining that since it was only a couple of blocks, they could get there faster on foot. Indeed, by the time they heard the first sirens whine to life in the Civic Administration Building’s parking lot, they were already sprinting across Indian Hill Park, their black shoes smashing flowers, their trench coats flapping behind them like drab flags.
“We try the clearing first?” Schmidt asked.
“He liked it once.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“We’ll worry about that only if we have to worry about it.”
They disappeared into the woods in a flurry of foliage.
6
“The dispatcher said the cops are on their way,” Calvin told Cynthia as he put his phone back into his pocket. They were running across the rear lawn toward the spot where Roger Grey and the two kids had disappeared into the trees twenty seconds earlier.
“Good,” Cynthia said.
“She said we should just stay out of the way and let the cops handle everything.”
“Uh-huh.”
She didn’t slow down. Neither did he.
They plunged into the woods.
7
Violet stopped dead and flung out an arm across Donovan’s chest, stopping him too.
“What—” he began.
“Sh,” she said. “Someone’s coming.”
Donovan listened and heard the thump of feet and the puff of breaths swiftly approaching behind them.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Is that Grey? Did we pass him by?”
Violet motioned for him to get behind a tree. They hunkered down and waited.
The footsteps and heavy breathing grew louder, closer. Then a bush rustled violently on the other side of the tree, and there was the sound of branches snapping.
“Ow,” said a familiar male voice. It was Calvin. “I can’t see shit. We should’ve brought flashlights.”
“Too late now,” said a female voice. Cynthia.
Donovan and Violet stood up and stepped around the tree.
“Hey, guys,” Donovan said.
Cynthia and Calvin yelped and scrambled backward, then stopped when they realized who it was.
“Jesus, you scared the fucking shit out of us,” Cynthia said. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We saw Grey,” Violet said. “We’re gonna kick his ass.”
“Well, come on, then,” Calvin said, hurrying off in the direction Grey had been going. “There’s no time to waste.”
8
When Roger pushed John and Anna through the last tangle of bushes and into the clearing, he was relieved to see Emily waiting for him, her white sneakers stationed squarely on the circle of burned grass. He had been starting to worry; he hadn’t seen her since he left the car. Yet for all his relief, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of disorientation, as well. It was jarring to see the girl he had murdered looking healthy and alive in the very spot he had stabbed her.
Of course, this wasn’t the real Emily. But soon enough, if everything went as planned, the real one would be alive again, and all of this would be over.
But he had to act fast. The sirens were louder now. They seemed to be everywhere. They were Dopplering down Potts and Indianview. They were massing on Oaks. He didn’t have much time.
Emily knew this, too.
“Quickly,” she said. “Kill them. Right here in the center of the clearing. You have to act fast.”
She vanished. Roger stiffened. Why had she disappeared like that? He might need her help.
But no. He knew what to do. It was simple.
He tossed the flashlight aside. He didn’t need it now. Not with the starlight illuminating the clearing. He holstered the gun, and before the kids could glance back and see their chance to run, he grabbed each one by an arm and pulled them into the center of the clearing. The kids understood what was about to happen. Anna screamed for help and pleaded with Roger to stop. John writhed and twisted, trying to tear free of Roger’s grip. None of it did any good.
Roger flung the two kids face down onto the burned circle, the very spot where their friend had died five nights earlier. Then he drew both cops’ guns and aimed one at each kid’s head.
He heard a rustle in the bushes on the south side of the clearing. He started to look back over his shoulder, but the moment he took his eyes off John and Anna, John planted his chest and hands against the burned grass, then kicked up and back with both feet. One foot slammed into Roger’s left thigh. The other smashed into his balls.
Roger doubled over with a hoarse cry. He reflexively squeezed one of the guns’ triggers and sent a bullet into the dirt half a foot from Anna’s face.
He snarled at John. “You son of a—”
And then Calvin and Violet tackled him. The trio toppled onto the two kids. Anna screamed.
Calvin and Violet each seized one of Roger’s arms and pinned it to the grass. Roger growled and tried to buck the duo off him. Then he saw that Donovan and Cynthia were pulling John and Anna out from under his legs.
“Don’t!” Roger cried. He kicked at John Coyote’s head, hoping to crush the little fuck’s skull. After all, Emily didn’t specify how the kids had to die. But Roger’s aim was off and his shoe only thumped against the small of John’s back. As Donovan pulled him to his feet, John cast a hateful scowl at Roger.
