“Wandering along the side of the road, I guess.” She grins. “The police called me a couple minutes ago. I was waiting for you to get here. They took him to the hospital in Alpena.”
“Is he all right?” My heart stutters to a stop.
She chews on her lip, a trait so similar to mine. “They said he’s a little beat up, but he’s alive.” She takes a deep breath. “That’s the most important thing.”
I force a smile to my face. “Of course. When can we see him?”
She glances at the front door as Wendy, her part-time manager, enters. “Let me fill Wendy in,” she says. “Then we’ll head to the hospital.”
A few minutes later, she hurries me into the car, and we drive half an hour to Alpena. I try pumping her for more information, but she gives me an exasperated laugh and says she’s told me everything she knows.
“Have you told Brett and Molly yet?” I ask as she pulls into the hospital’s parking lot.
She shakes her head. “No, I wanted to see him first. I told Grandma and Grandpa, but I asked them to keep it a secret until we know more. They’ll want to see him, too, but if he’s injured or sick, well, I want to be cautious. I’ll tell them after we talk to his doctor.”
“Okay.” She’s right, my brother and sister would panic if they saw our normally strong, stoic father injured and bedridden. Me? I’ve maxed out my weird quotient for a while, so I think I can handle it.
My mom leads me through the hospital’s double doors straight to the intensive care unit. The middle-aged nurse behind the desk, whose name badge reads Jones, frowns when Mom asks for my dad.
“I don’t know if the doctors are finished with him yet.” She glances down the long hallway. “It might be better to come back later.” She jerks her head toward me, emphasizing her belief that Mom should come alone.
I stiffen my shoulders, about to blurt how I’m not a kid, and I can take whatever happened to Dad, when she puts her arm around me.
“It’s okay. Would you please check on his status for us? We’ve been so worried about him, and I know it would make a world of difference if we could see him.”
“Sure, I’ll go get the doctor.” Nurse Jones disappears down the hall. A few minutes later, she returns with a young African American doctor on her heels.
She nods at the tall man. “Dr. Fosters will tell you more about your husband’s condition, Mrs. Gillet. I’m sorry, but I have to get that call.” She hurries around the counter to answer the perpetually ringing phone.
“Good afternoon,” Dr. Fosters says. “Please follow me.” He gestures to a waiting room off the main hall. Once inside, Mom and I perch on mauve chairs as Dr. Fosters pulls up another across from us.
“When can we see my husband?” Mom asks.
He hesitates, casting a glance in my direction. “Are you sure you want your daughter to hear this?” She nods. “Okay, then. Your husband was beaten and severely injured. He has a closed head injury with so much pressure on his brain we had to relieve it by drilling through his skull. If we hadn’t, his brain would have swelled up so much he would have died.”
Mom gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. The doctor’s words swirl around me, and I feel like I’m falling into some weird reality where Dad can’t possibly be that hurt. It must be some other girl’s father. There must be a mistake.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asks.
Dr. Fosters looks away, his expression grave. “He’s stable now, but we believe there may be some brain damage. When he regained consciousness, he began speaking incoherently. He also tried to leave, and we were forced to restrain him for his own safety.”
Mom pales, wringing her hands in her lap. “Can we see him?”
The doctor reluctantly nods. “Yes, but you might want to ask your daughter to remain outside.”
Mom’s gaze swings in my direction, and I shake my head. “Not a chance. I’ve got to see him; I can handle it.”
Mom sighs. “Okay.” She turns to the doctor. “Let’s go.”
My father’s hospital room is sparse with a single bed, a brown chair, and fake woodgrain cabinets set against the far wall. Dr. Fosters brushes aside a white curtain surrounding the bed and gestures for us to go closer.
An IV pole perches over his shoulder, and a white bandage is wrapped around his head, obscuring most of his hair. Both of his eyes are bruised a deep purple and his bottom lip is split. A thin blanket covers him up to his chest, and a myriad of bruises dot his arms. A brutal jagged gash sealed with at least twenty stitches bisects his right arm.
“Oh, Greg.” My mom collapses in the chair and clutches his free hand.
“Maria?” His eyes flutter open, and he searches the room, passing over Mom several times, almost as if he doesn’t see her.
She chokes back a sob. “What happened to you?”
My dad wrenches free and jerks against the padded straps holding him to the bed, twisting and turning his shoulders in such a way I’m afraid he’ll pull them out of their sockets. “I’ve got to get out of here.” He gasps, his face turning beet red from the effort.
“Please stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Mom grabs his hand, but he ignores her.
His fingers scrabble on the sheets and he gasps for breath. “If they find out I’m here, I’m dead.”
“Who’s after you?” The words leave my mouth before I have the sense to think about whether or not feeding into his delusions will actually help him.
His wild gaze lands on me, pinning me to the spot. “I’ve done something awful.”
Oh God, he’s going to admit to killing Hillary Crum. The blood drains from my face. Dr. Fosters was right, I should have stayed outside. “No,” I croak. “You could never do anything that bad, Dad.” This is the man who is a Cub Scout leader, a cook, a man who rescues spiders instead of smashing them to smithereens like any sane person would do.
He whips his head violently from side to side. “You don’t understand.” He wheezes. “Hilary didn’t understand, either, and now she’s dead.”
“What’s going on?” she asks. “Tell us, please.”
“They found me. God knows how they did it, but they found me.” He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing rapidly. “I gotta get out of here before they find me again.”
“Oh Greg. Calm down, please. Everything’s going to be okay.” At my mom’s cry, his confused expression clears.
“Maria?”
Her free hand flies to her mouth. “Yes, it’s me, baby.”
“What are you doing here?” His brows furrow together in concern.
“Austen and I came to see you.”
“No! You have to leave.”
A tear leaks from the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t wipe it away. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you. I don’t care what you were doing with that woman. I’m still your wife.”
Confusion fills his expression. “Are you talking about Hilary?”
Mom flinches. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re safe.”
“No, no, no!” He resumes thrashing against his bonds. “I’m not safe, I’m dead, and you’re dead, too, if you stay here!” The conviction in his statement chills me to the core.
I gulp down the bile rising in my throat. “What happened to you, Dad?” My gaze travels over the dark splashes of bruises and injuries dotting his body.
“They came for me.” He grimaces, as if the memory itself is excruciating. “I should have known.” He chuckles. “I should have known they’d come sooner or later. I have to pay the price.” He grips mom’s hand with a ferocity that’s at odds with his weakness. “I told you, Hilary! I told you they were coming.” His lips twist in a macabre grin. “All the signs were there, but you didn’t listen. You never thought the truth could hurt you, too.”
Mom tries to jerk her hand from his, but he’s too strong. “I’m not Hilary,” she chokes out the words. “Hilary’s dead.”
My dad’s cold glare pins her to her chair. “I know, and you’re next. Our kids, too, if you don’t get
out of here. They came for me, and they’re not done yet.”
With that, he releases my mom’s hand and pushes the call button on the side of his bed. Within seconds, a pair of nurses descends with drugs that swiftly put him to sleep.
Mom hurries me out of the room as his eyes drift shut. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” She gives me an awkward one-armed hug.
I choke back the lump in my throat. “It’s okay, Mom. Let’s go home.”
Later that night, I stare outside my window. Every shadow, every rustling tree, makes my heart race. The hours tick by until dawn streaks through the sky. I collapse into bed. Ian didn’t show. Why didn’t he come for me?
I curl under a light blanket feeling like an idiot until Mom calls for me to get ready for work.
Chapter 12
Right before dinner the next day, the doorbell rings.
“Can you get that, Austen? It’s probably Phoebe.”
“Sure.” I pause my Netflix marathon and meander to the front door. From the corner of my eye, I see Brett race into the room and dive onto the couch. I spin around and point my finger at him. “Don’t even think about changing the channel.”
“Too late!” He chortles and turns on some stupid cartoon. I scowl, knowing a lost cause when I see one.
“Hey, kiddo!” Phoebe’s forced smile belies the lines creasing either side of her mouth. “How are you?” She hands me a wrapped loaf of homemade bread, but keeps a bottle of wine.
I shrug, unwilling to talk about Dad or Ezra or any of the other things bothering me. “Fine.”
“I sure could use you at the camp.” She gives her head a rueful shake. “It’s crazy. We have more kids than ever, and most of the cabin leaders are new, so they don’t know what’s going on.”
I shift from one foot to the other. “I wish I could, but my mom needs my help at the diner.”
She nods sympathetically. “I understand.” Mom calls her name from the kitchen. “Coming!” Phoebe hurries past me. “I brought the good stuff!” she calls as she waves the bottle in the air. “I figured we could both use it.”
“Thank God!” Mom digs through the drawer until she finds a corkscrew and hands it to Phoebe “Will you do the honors?” She turns to me. “Call your brother and sister in, okay?”
“Sure.” I turn and yell down the hall. In a couple of seconds, the patter of their feet race toward us.
“Beat ya!” Brett snickers, elbowing Molly before sliding into his chair.
“Butthead,” she mutters. She pokes him with her fork when our mom’s not looking. I try my best not to laugh.
Phoebe chooses a chair next to Mom, and I sit on my mother’s other side. If there’s any important gossip to be had, I want to hear it.
As Mom dishes out the meatloaf, Brett and Molly start ripping on each other, and I tune them out, choosing to focus, instead, on the side-eyed looks Phoebe gives my mom.
“How’s Greg?” she whispers.
Mom glances at my siblings just in time to see Brett lob a crumpled napkin at Molly. She scowls but ignores it. “They’re moving him to a psychiatric hospital downstate. Physically he’s doing better, but mentally . . .” A faraway look enters her eyes. She sighs. “It’s hard. The kids want to see him, but it’s not a good time.”
“What have you told them?” Phoebe asks.
“I told them he’s sick, and they can’t see him until he feels better.”
Phoebe’s phone rings and Little Red Corvette blares throughout the small dining room.
She glances at the screen. “I’m sorry, but I have to get this.” She strides into the living room, cupping the phone to her ear.
I set my napkin down on the table. “I’ll be right back, Mom. I need to use the bathroom.” My mother, too busy arguing with Molly about eating her corn, waves dismissively at me.
I creep down the hall and pause at the other end of the family room.
“Shit, Ian. That was the stupidest thing you could have done.” Phoebe runs a hand through her hair, every movement a mirror of her frustration. “Yes, I know that, but still. Just because Austen—”
She lets out a huff and collapses on the recliner. “Yes, God knows you’ve drilled this into our heads often enough. But still, it’s too dangerous.” She closes her eyes, and I can almost see her mentally counting to ten. “Fine.” She pauses. “No, don’t bother. I’m coming whether you like it or not.” She angrily ends the call and jams her phone in her pocket.
I barely have enough time to duck out of the way before she storms past, pausing outside the kitchen to collect herself.
“Sorry about that.” She pokes her head into the dining room. “My idiot brother can’t seem to run the camp for even an hour.”
My mom chuckles. “Danny’s not that bad.”
Phoebe laughs. “You have no idea. At any rate, I have to head out before he burns the place down.”
“Are you sure it can’t wait?” Mom raises her glass of wine and swirls the liquid around inside.
Phoebe sighs. “Regretfully, no. I’ll take a raincheck, though.”
Numb after hearing Phoebe’s bold lie, I slide back into my seat, unnoticed by either adult. Something’s wrong with Ian, and whatever it is, it’s big enough to prompt her to leave our house and rush to his rescue. Head swimming, I realize it could be any number of things: the monster that killed the truck driver, a renegade mermaid, drunk pirates, or some worse horror that I have yet to encounter. A smarter version of me would take this as an opportunity to stay home, stay safe, and stay alive. Unfortunately, all I can think about is how I can get out of here and figure out what’s going on.
Minutes tick by while we finish eating. There’s no way she’d let me go in the middle of dinner. Afterwards, however, I have a shot.
“Do you need me to go to the store for anything?” I ask, trying my best not to glance at the clock on the wall every five seconds.
“Can’t wait to get out of the house?” She smiles.
“Yeah.” I nod, grateful for the excuse. “I need to clear my head, what with Dad coming back and all.”
“Why don’t you head into Alpena and grab a couple movies for your brother and sister. They’ve already seen the ones at the gas station. I’ll be following the ambulance with your dad tomorrow and want to make sure you guys are all set.”
I brighten at the thought of driving into the city. “Sure, that sounds great.”
As I head to the door, she calls my name. “One more thing.”
I turn slowly, dreading that she’s found a way to stop my escape. “Yeah?”
“Nothing with blood and guts, okay? I don’t want them to have nightmares.”
I nod, relieved that she isn’t trying to stop me. “Got it. No gore.”
She chuckles. “I mean it. Drive safe.”
Of course, I don’t go straight to Alpena. Instead, I speed down the highway until I get to the road that leads up to the lighthouse. Fingers crossed, I drive as quickly as I can up to Ian’s gate. Yes! It’s gaping open, easily enough for my car to go through. I was hoping that Phoebe would be in such a hurry that she’d forget to close it. If she hadn’t, well, then I’d really be stuck.
I slow down after that, until my car’s crawling by the time I reach the clearing by the lighthouse. Right at the edge of the treeline, I turn off my lights and park within the trees, hoping their silhouettes will mask my presence.
A cool night breeze caresses my skin after I get out of the car. Crickets chirp in the distance. As I get closer to the lighthouse, I see deep ruts digging into the once flat field, leading up to one of Phoebe’s camp trucks. Between the truck and the lighthouse is what looks like a pile of something about ten feet tall.
I creep closer. The clouds cloaking the moon drift away revealing a mess of long pointed beaks, leathery turkey-sized bodies, tattered wings, and talon-like claws curling into the night air. Are those . . .? No. That’s not possible. Those can’t be dead dinosaurs outside Ian’s lighthouse. They must be fakes, some
how. Ian playing a trick on me, on Phoebe, on anyone. Right, because Ian’s the kind of guy who likes to play jokes.
I spot a stick poking out of the ground, grab it, and poke one of the creatures. The leathery skin gives slightly, but bounces right back into place. Huh. That’s weird. Darkness glistens on one the animal’s bent wings. I dip the stick in it and bring it closer to my face. The tip of the stick glistens in the moonlight. Blood. Those aren’t fake, are they?
I jump back and drop the stick, heart racing. There are dead dinosaurs in Ian’s backyard. Talk to Ian, he’ll explain everything. There has to be a logical explanation for this.
As quickly as I can, I skirt around the pile and approach the lighthouse. At the front door, I hesitate. It seems weird to knock, especially since I wasn’t invited. If Ian wanted me here, he would have called me, not Phoebe. I should leave. I’ll come by in the morning and then find out what happened. That sounds better than sneaking around at night again. I’ll just make sure he’s okay; then I’ll go.
I peek in the living room window, but I don’t see anyone so I sneak around to the back. There’s a light shining through the kitchen window, and suddenly I’m back in the kitchen. Ian’s fingers glide across my wounded flesh. I shake my head to dispel the memory. Don’t go there right now, Austen. He probably won’t welcome you with open arms if he catches you again.
When I get to the window, I stand up on my tiptoes, but I’m still too short to see inside. Come on. You can figure this out.
At the edge of the backyard, I spot an old stump. It has deep gouges on the top, which tells me it was probably used to split all the wood in the pile. Not quite a stool, but it’ll work. Trying to ignore the cobwebs sticking to my fingers and whatever creepy crawlies might also be hiding inside the rotted cracks, I tip it on its side and roll it up to the back of the lighthouse.
When I get the log right under the window, I try to push it right-side up, but the bark is too wet and slippery, and I can’t get a good grip. Great. I nudge the log and it rocks just a little bit. Huh. That’s not so bad. Using the building for leverage, I climb up onto the stump. Once there, I peer through the screened window overlooking the kitchen sink. If I’m careful, they’ll never even know I was here.
When Darkness Falls Page 15
