by Lisa Unger
Rainer told her what happened, how he followed Abigail, then fell into the mine. How he followed the sound of her laughter until he heard Finley’s voice.
It surprised her; Finley wouldn’t have thought of Abigail as her ally. Abigail was always running her own agenda, like with the wedding rings, willing to use Finley and consider her collateral damage. Abigail liked drama and trouble, not rescue.
“Let’s get you some medical attention, son,” said Jones, returning to them. He took Rainer’s other arm, and the two of them helped him out down the long tunnel and out of the mine. Even as they left, Finley felt an energetic tug at her back.
*
Eloise Montgomery had seen a good many things. Too many, she thought, as she pulled her car to the side of the road and donned her red wool hat, pulled on her gloves. She couldn’t bear the cold anymore; it tightened her joints and seemed to burrow under her skin, causing her very bones to shiver inside her flesh.
The full rainbow of human suffering had revealed itself to her and she’d been asked to bear witness to all the violence men and women could do, all the havoc they could wreak through their neglect or ignorance or evil intentions. And the truth was, the honest truth was that she was tired.
She is ready, said the voice that wasn’t a voice.
It grieved her that Finley might be asked to live the kind of life Eloise had lived. But it was beyond her control. Eloise was old enough to know that. Only the young think they have something to say about how their lives turn out. We don’t choose; we are chosen.
Before she left the house, she’d phoned Ray, just to say that she was sorry, that she loved him in the way that she could. He didn’t answer, which wasn’t like him, and his voicemail picked up instead. But, actually, she supposed it was a good thing. They fought the last time they’d spoken.
“You’re not coming,” he’d said. “Are you?”
“Not yet.”
He’d been quiet, his disappointment filling the line between him. Then, “You’re not coming at all, are you?”
She didn’t answer at first. She’d been promising for so long to come out to San Francisco, to spend a weekend at least just having fun. You know, dinner and a show, a cable car ride, a walk along the beach. Like normal people.
It sounded nice, but Eloise had given up trying to be like normal people long ago. The fact that he didn’t realize she couldn’t just switch off what she was troubled her. He was trying to move away from “the work,” as they called it. He didn’t seem to understand that she didn’t have that choice.
“Finley needs me right now,” she said weakly. “Maybe when she’s more settled.”
“It’s time to put yourself first, El,” he said. Didn’t he really mean that it was time she put him first? His voice was flat, distant on the line. “Finley’s a grown woman.”
Of course, there were other reasons she couldn’t come to San Francisco. She just didn’t want to get into it.
“If I could have loved anyone else again,” she said to his voicemail. “It would have been you.”
She stepped out of the car and into the weather. She’d worn her boots and warmest coat, and still the cold snaked up her sleeves and down her collar. She headed into the trees to a place she’d visited many times—in visions, to find Finley, to help a lost boy, and once to find a burning girl. She thought that the place had everything it needed. But she realized now that she’d been wrong.
In fact, now that she understood what was really needed, she felt like an old fool. She should have known long ago. It was obvious.
She’d heard the activity on her police scanner at home that the car belonging to the missing man had been found. She knew that he’d be found dead, but that because of the beacon in his car Eliza Fitzpatrick would be found alive. She’d return to her mother and go on to live a happy life. In fact, the horrors she’d endured would cause her to honor her gifts and know her own strengths in a way she never would have otherwise. Was it a fair trade? No. But nothing about this life had ever been fair.
You can make a trade, the voice said.
She also knew that Finley was in trouble, that she had a choice to make. The girl had been flirting with it for a while. Would she let the darkness take her? Or would she claw her way back to the light? Eloise wasn’t worried. She knew Finley in a way she knew few others, even her own daughter Amanda. She knew Finley because she was so much like Eloise. Finley felt the tug of destruction, but she always came back from the edge. The girl knew that people loved her and needed her. That knowledge was the cord that pulled her back.
For Eloise, however, the scales had tipped. There were more that needed her on the other side now than here.
She crunched through the snow, The Whispers louder than the wind. Those million voices all around her, telling her their stories of sorrow and loss, of love and joy, of birth and death, and lives lived well or otherwise. It was the chorus of humanity in all its beauty and discord. Sometimes lovely, other times painful to hear. Eloise had been listening for so long. And she was very tired, tired to her bones, as if they didn’t have the strength to hold her anymore.
She pushed through the clearing. The roof of the old church was covered in snow, caps of white resting on the gravestones, heavy frosting on the branches of the trees. She heard the voice of a woman she used to know, singing.
Little flowers in the garden.
Yellow, orange, violet, blue.
Eloise could see the lights off in the distance, the klieg of red and white shining up into the sky like a display of aurora borealis. She’d seen the Northern Lights once, eerie green dancers in the sky, the stroke of a cosmic paintbrush on the night. There were so many beautiful and mysterious things about this world. It almost made up for all the rest of it. Almost.
“Abel Crawley, what have you done?”
He stood at the low wall of the graveyard, weeping. Eloise was not one who believed in evil, per se, though she’d witnessed many evil acts. As far as Eloise was concerned, there were only two ways of being in the world. You either walked through life acting out of love, or you acted out of fear. But Abel Crawley made her wonder. She’d known some black spots on the fabric of the universe, and he was certainly one. Like an ink stain on a wedding dress, they spread their blackness, and it worked its way into the delicate weave, damaging it, and leaving an indelible mark.
He’d been a terrible boy—a bully, an animal sadist, an arsonist. He got smart and learned to hide himself, and then he was more dangerous still. He liked young flesh, he liked fear, he liked misery and pain. And yet he moved among the people of The Hollows invisible, mowing lawns and trimming shrubs, and peering in windows for that special light, the shine of the Dreamers.
“I can’t get them to be qu-qu-quiet,” he sobbed. “They w-w-won’t leave me a-a-alone.”
She saw them all around him. They looked like angels in the snow. Abigail, Patience, Sarah, Priscilla—and others, so many others. The lost girls, the broken, abused, neglected, and murdered. All those Eloise had tried to help or save over the years but couldn’t, and some she’d never seen before. They were restless, angry, and oh so tired, just like Eloise.
“You don’t deserve silence, Abel,” she said.
Eloise released a series of shuddering coughs then. Her last visit with Dr. Apple hadn’t been a pleasant one.
“There’s still hope, Eloise,” he said, exasperated with her again. “But not without the treatment. Without the treatment, the way this is progressing, you don’t even have six months.”
“The cure is worse than the disease, Ben,” she said.
“Until the cure takes hold,” he said. “And then you live well again.”
Live well again. The truth was, she hadn’t lived well since Alfie and Emily died, since the accident that took their lives gave her these abilities. She’d tried to see what she did as a gift. She knew that she’d helped many people, that the world was a better place because of the things she had done. But it hadn’t been a
better place for her.
“I want you to understand that I view your refusal of treatment as a form of suicide.” He was a serious young man about Amanda’s age.
“Don’t be so grim, doctor,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
He’d released a frustrated breath. Outside, the day had been bright and blue. She watched the wind blow the white clouds. They shifted and changed shape—a puppy, a dragon, a couple dancing.
“But there could hardly be a more grim situation,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “Surely you see that.”
Perhaps only doctors knew what Eloise and people like her knew, that life was a closed unit, a sphere you might hold in the palm of your hand, contained and finite. The body had its very unyielding limits, a thing youth never understands. But obviously the good doctor didn’t comprehend that there was so much more than the life of the body. That, in fact, that was the least of it.
“I can see that’s how you feel,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”
“Mrs. Montgomery,” he said. “Eloise. Please don’t do this.”
Now, the snow had stopped falling and the air had taken on an icy stillness. The boy was there, too, standing behind his father. He was broken, damaged, but not a stain like his father.
“Arthur,” she said gently.
He stepped into view, his head bowed. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
“Arthur, walk yourself through those trees and find a man named Jones Cooper. Tell him who you are and what you and your father have done. Tell him where to find the girls.”
“They’ll lock me away.”
“That’s what you must do,” she said. “You must make amends for the wrongs you’ve done.”
He sat on the ground and cried. “I can’t.”
She shook her head. “They’ll find help for you,” she said. “You’ll be all right.”
She wasn’t entirely sure this was true. Some things were beyond the reach of her sight. Some things were not for her to see. She had grown to accept this, as she had grown to accept so many things.
“Go now, Bobo,” she said. He stood, staring at her as she moved closer to Abel.
“Show me where you’ve put them,” she said. She was not angry with him; she did not hate him or judge him. She did not even fear him. That was for others to do. Eloise neither condemned the wicked nor praised the good, because they were just two sides of the same coin. They were all one, all the same, even though so few ever seemed to realize that, would rail with fury at the very thought.
Sobbing, Abel Crawley turned and began to walk toward a path that led back into the woods.
They passed out of sight along the edge of the clearing where Eloise paused to watch Finley help Rainer into a police cruiser. Jones Cooper stood staring in her direction, though she was reasonably sure he couldn’t see her, back as she was in the safety of darkness. She saw Wolf and Merri Gleason, holding each other, oblivious to everything around them, grief was wrapped around them like a curtain. How cruelly Merri Gleason had been treated to think she was close to finding her daughter, only to have everything snatched away. Abbey Gleason was gone. Merri had to find a way to let go, or lose herself.
Eloise saw a light around Finley, something bright and good and strong. She was different from Eloise, a natural. She had a big ego, a strong spirit. She was ready. The girl wouldn’t let it rule her; she wouldn’t let it take everything. Eloise spent a long moment taking in the youthful beauty of Finley’s solid flesh, strong and flushed with life. I’ll stop when my outer self looks like my inner self, she’d said when Eloise had expressed distress over the girl’s myriad tattoos. Eloise still didn’t like it, but she understood now that Finley was exerting some kind of control over her body, making it what she wanted it to be. Part of her wanted to call to Finley, to hold her in her arms and try to explain. But there was no explaining anything to youth. And there was no such thing as good-bye. She knew that better than anyone. She kept after Abel Crawley.
She followed him deeper and deeper into the woods, away from the mine opening that was now crawling with police and to another one a bit farther north. When they reached it, she followed him into the opening that was so well hidden that most would pass right by without seeing it. Just as she plunged into darkness, she heard Finley’s voice.
Mimi? Mimi! Is that you?
“Faster, Abel,” said Eloise. “They’re coming.”
THIRTY-THREE
Finley didn’t know what made her turn in time to see Eloise and Abel Crawley move through the trees. In fact, she couldn’t even say she saw them exactly. There was a tickle, something that made her turn away from Rainer. She had been standing there, leaning against a police cruiser, trying to get her head around the fact that the girl she’d saved was Eliza and not Abbey. How could she have been so wrong?
She’d watched Wolf Gleason collapse, weeping. “It’s not Abbey. It’s not Abbey.”
And Merri had stood over him, gray faced and catatonic, broken.
Finley’s throat was closed from crying, the blood rushing in her ears. Eliza had been carried from the scene, her mother called. There would be a joyful reunion tonight, just not the one Finley imagined. It was all so complicated, so fraught, wasn’t it? No joy without sorrow, no sorrow without joy. It was then that she saw them, but maybe it was just a shadow, a shifting of light, something.
“Mimi?” she called. She didn’t even know why. Finley moved quickly toward the trees, a sudden feeling of urgency making her pulse quicken.
Jones Cooper moved into step beside her. “What did you see?”
“I saw my grandmother,” she said. The sky had cleared, a wide high moon hung silver in the blue-black sky. “With Abel Crawley.”
Had she seen that? Surely not.
“Up here?” said Jones. “I don’t think so.”
The wind howled, and Jones frowned as they came to the edge.
“Mimi!” she called again. “Is that you?”
Finley and Jones exchanged a look, a worried energy passing between them. They both knew that Eloise turned up when she was least expected. Some people were always just where you thought they would be. But Eloise was exactly where she needed to be—wherever that was. Jones put the beam of his flashlight to the ground, and it wasn’t long before it fell on two sets of tracks, one large, one small. Finley recognized the snowflake tread of her grandmother’s boots.
“Those are her boot tracks,” said Finley, a rush of fear making her hands shake.
“What would she be doing up here with him?” asked Jones, sounding in equal parts mystified and annoyed. “Your grandmother has to be more careful with herself.” There was a note in his voice, the deep concern of friendship. And something else.
“Why did you say it like that?” Finley asked.
His glance told her that he knew something that Finley didn’t—or rather hadn’t wanted to know.
“She’s an old woman,” he said. “She should be at home knitting blankets.”
“Oh, please,” said Finley, picking up her pace, following the tracks.
Another voice. Another flashlight beam. “Where are you two going?”
Detective Chuck Ferrigno trailed up behind them, panting. He was not sure-footed in the woods, looked out of place even in his parka and heavy boots. Finley had a new jacket too, given to her from the trunk of a prowler. Thick and navy blue, hanging down to her thighs. Jones told them what they saw, and Chuck Ferrigno took out his walkie.
“It looks like they’re headed for the north entrance to the mine,” said Jones. “Have your guys block the head we already discovered.”
“We have Arthur Crawley,” said Chuck. “He turned himself in. But he was looking for you, Jones. He said: ‘Eloise said Jones would take care of me. That he’d make them understand.’ Freaky-looking kid, covered with blood, blank in the eyes.”
“He asked for me?” said Jones.
“He said ‘Eloise’?” asked Finley.
F
inley didn’t wait for Detective Ferrigno to answer; she just burst into a run, following her grandmother’s tracks, calling after her.
For the first time as she ran, she heard The Whispers, as Eloise referred to them. It’s the sound of all the voices of this place and others, telling their stories to anyone who will listen, Eloise had explained to her. Some of them are sad, some joyful, some horrifying, some uplifting. It’s the full rainbow of human experience. Finley had been glad to never hear them; she had enough unwanted visitors.
Do they ever stop? Finley had asked Eloise.
No, said Eloise, as if considering for the first time. I don’t suppose they do. Sometimes they’re quiet, sometimes loud. But, no, I don’t believe they’re ever completely silent.
What do they want? Finley had asked.
Eloise regarded Finley with a bemused squint. They just want to be heard. They just want us to listen to their stories.
Are you sure that’s all they want? Finley had asked. Why would you be able to hear them if they didn’t want something from you?
If they want more, she told Finley, I have no idea what it is.
Hearing them now, Finley knew that Eloise had been wrong. It wasn’t just a radio broadcast for those few who were able and willing to tune in. There was something more, something selfish and grasping.
The mouth of the tunnel was up ahead, Jones and Chuck lagging behind.
“Finley,” she heard Jones say faintly. “Don’t go in there alone.”
But she did, she had to. There was no time, no time at all. Even though she was blind heading into the dark, she heard sounds. Movement, breath, a distant calling, her own heartbeat banging out the uneven rhythm of exertion and fear.
“Mimi,” she called, reverting to the name she used as a child. “Mimi!”
The darkness, the tunnel seemed to grow and expand. Her hands touched the hard walls, the crown of her head skimming the ceiling, the wetness, the closeness all around her. Her breathing was labored and jagged. She felt the world wobble and tip, and it dropped her to her knees. And then she wasn’t in the tunnel anymore; she was back in the graveyard.
