Tristan didn't wait to hear anything more. He rushed off toward the bridges, taking the route Ivy would have taken by car. He was fully awake now and felt stronger than he ever had. His mind was moving fast.
Did Gregory plan to kill Philip? Was he crazy enough to think he could get away with one murder after another?
Crazy like a fox, Tristan thought. What if this was a trap? What if it was just a way to con Ivy out to the railroad bridges?
Tristan caught up with her on the winding route that followed the river.
He rode beside her in the car, but she was so focused on where she was going that she didn't notice his golden light. A sudden bump from a pothole broke through her concentration.
Pothole! More of them. Watch out. Got to get to the bridges. Find Philip, Tristan thought, until he matched a thought with her and slipped inside.
"It's me."
"Tristan! Where have you been?"
"The darkness," he said quickly. "Ivy, slow down. Listen to me. It could be a trap."
"That's what you said about Eric," she reminded him, and drove faster.
"Maybe if I had gotten to Eric a little earlier-" "That's not how it was," he interrupted her, "and you know it. You couldn't have saved Eric."
"I'm going to save Philip," she said. "Gregory's not taking anyone else away from me."
"What are you going to save him with? A gun? A knife? What do you have with you?"
He felt the doubts growing in her mind, fresh fear icing her veins.
"Turn back. Go to the police," he urged.
"I went to the stupid police!"
"Then try Will," Tristan said. "We'll go get Will."
"Will can't be trusted," she replied quickly. "You said so yourself."
"I was jealous, Ivy, and mad about the way he was keeping secrets. But we need him now, and he'd do anything for you," Tristan argued.
He felt Ivy draw back. She was keeping something from him. "What? What is it?"
Ivy shook her head and said nothing.
"He can help us," Tristan persisted.
"I don't need his help. I have you, Tristan-at least I thought I did," she challenged him.
"You know you do, but I can't stop bullets."
"And Gregory can't risk them," Ivy said with confidence. "That's been his problem all along. He's got to do it better than that, sneakier than that. There've been too many deaths now. Too many people close to him have died. He can't get away with a murder that has any evidence attached."
Her certain tone told Tristan that this was a losing battle. She had made up her mind.
"I'll be back for you," he said.
"Tristan?" she called out.
But he raced ahead of her now and came to the bridges almost instantly.
The weather had worsened, the light drizzle becoming a cold, slicing rain that swept both sides of the river. A mist rose from the warmer water rushing beneath the bridges. Tristan saw the fog, and yet somehow he could clearly see the parallel bridges it blanketed. Gregory and Philip were not in view. Then Tristan heard voices upriver. They were moving north, in the opposite direction from where Eric had died, where there were no easy paths to walk. He felt like an eagle, targeting the two of them exactly, then dropping down beside them. Something had changed in him since the last deep darkness. His own abilities surprised him.
Gregory was standing with Philip in front of a tiny shack that was well camouflaged by bushes and vines.
He pushed open the wooden door, and Philip walked into the ramshackle building without hesitation.
"We'll be like real hunters," Gregory was saying to Philip. "I know where there's a pile of wood. I can pull out some dry pieces and build a fire."
Tristan listened, trying to figure out Gregory's plan. Would he set the building on fire and trap Philip inside? No, Ivy was right: it was too obvious, and Gregory had to be very careful now. Besides, Maggie knew that Philip was out with him.
Philip set down his iron spikes. "I'll help. The spikes will be safe here."
Gregory shook his head. "No, you'd better stay and guard our treasure. I'll go get the wood and be back in a few minutes."
"Wait," Philip said. "I can put a magic spell on our treasure. Then no one will be able to take them and-" "No," Gregory cut him off.
"But I want to help."
"I'll tell you how you can help me," Gregory said too quickly. "Lend me your jacket."
The little boy frowned.
"Come on, give it to me!" Gregory demanded, unable to hide his impatience.
In response Philip's jaw got that stiff, stubborn look. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"I need it to carry the wood in," Gregory explained in a gentler voice.
"Then we'll build a good fire and get warm and dry."
Reluctantly Philip took off his red jacket. Then his eyes suddenly widened. Tristan knew that he had been spotted.
"What? What are you looking at?" Gregory asked, whirling around.
Tristan quickly ducked out the door so the boy couldn't see his shimmering light, hoping that Philip understood this silent message.
Philip did. "Nothing," he said.
There was a long silence, then Gregory went to the doorway and glanced outside, but he didn't perceive Tristan.
"I thought I saw a big spider," Tristan heard Philip say.
"A spider won't hurt you," Gregory told him.
"A tarantula would," Philip replied stubbornly.
"Okay, okay," Gregory said, his voice hoarse with irritation. "But there isn't one. Stay and guard our treasure. I'll be back."
As soon as he stepped out of the shack, Gregory closed the door and scanned the surrounding bushes and trees. Satisfied that he was not being observed, he pulled a padlock out of his pocket, slipped it over the rusted latch, and silently locked Philip inside.
"Lacey, Lacey, I need your help. Philip needs your help," Tristan called to her, then passed through the walls of the shack.
Philip greeted him with a bright smile. "How come you're here? How come you were hiding?"
Tristan remained where he was and waited for the little boy to move close to him, then he walked over to the door. Just as he had hoped, Philip followed him. Tristan put his hand on the latch, knowing the boy would see the latch glow. Philip immediately reached out and jiggled the handle.
"I can't open it," Philip said.
Matching that thought, Tristan slipped inside him. "You can't because there's a padlock on the outside of the door. Gregory put it on."
Philip reached for the latch again. As if he couldn't believe it, he kept jiggling and pulling on it.
"Stop. It's locked. Philip, stop and listen to me."
But the little boy started banging on the door with his fists.
"Philip-" He began to kick the door. Growing desperate, he threw his body against it over and over again.
"Stop! It won't work. And you may need your strength for other things."
"What's going on?" Philip demanded. He was breathing fast, his mouth open, his eyes darting around the room. "Why'd he lock me in?"
"I'm not sure," Tristan said honestly. "But here's what I want you to do. I'm going to have to leave you, Philip, just for a while. If Gregory comes back before I do and lets you out, run toward the road. Get to the road as fast as you can and try to get the attention of someone driving by. Don't get back in the car with him, okay? Don't go anywhere with him."
"I'm scared, Tristan."
"You'll be all right," Tristan assured him, glad that Philip couldn't probe his mind and know how much he himself feared. "I've called Lacey."
"I've called Lacey," a voice mocked. "And lucky for you she didn't have something better to do."
Philip's face brightened when he saw Lacey's purple mist.
"What kind of mess have you two gotten yourself into?" she asked.
Tristan ignored the question. "I've got to leave. You'll be all right now, Philip," he said, slipping outside of him.
"Not so fast,
" Lacey spoke silently to Tristan so Philip couldn't hear.
"What's going on?"
"I'm not sure. I think it's a trap. I have to find Will," he replied quickly, moving toward the shack walls. "Ivy needs help."
"So when hasn't she?" Lacey called to him, but Tristan was already on his way.
Chapter 18
Ivy drove toward the double bridges, gripping the steering wheel, leaning forward, straining to see. She flicked on her lights, but the mist absorbed them like pale ghosts. The rain and early fallen leaves made the pavement slick, and at a curve in the road the tires suddenly lost their grip on the road. Skidding sideways, her car slid all the way over to the oncoming lane. Without blinking an eye, she pulled it back in line.
The river, woods, and road went for miles and miles. If Philip and Gregory weren't at the bridges, it would be difficult to search for them alone. Ivy wanted to call Tristan back, but he wouldn't come, he just didn't understand. The weather was getting worse, and there was no time to get the police.
Tristan was right, of course. She didn't have weapon, unless she could count the rusty nail that rattled around in her cup holder. But she did have threat: she had left the information with the police. And if Gregory hurt Philip, he'd have a lot more explaining to do.
Ivy suddenly jammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel around, almost missing the turn into the clearing. Her headlights made an arc of light against the trees. Her heart started thumping in her chest.
Straight ahead was Gregory's car. They couldn't have gotten far on foot, she told herself.
Ivy parked her car facing the road and left the front door gaping open, but this time for a reason. If she and Philip were chased back, she'd push him in the open door, get in behind him, and lock Gregory out.
Now she hurriedly searched the ground for a rock. Finding one, she bent down by the rear tire of Gregory's car and used the rock to drive her rusty nail into the rubber.
Ivy ran through the trees, scrambling up on the railroad track. Oh either side of her the tunnel of trees closed in, heavy and dripping. She raced along the rails, and suddenly the green tunnel opened out and the parallel bridges hung before her as if suspended in midair.
The fog rising from the river hid their long-legged supports, and only the sound of rushing water proved the river ran fast beneath them.Sections of the bridges continually disappeared and reappeared as wisps of clouds caught on their skeletons like filmy scarves, then floated past. In the rain and mist, it was impossible to see where the old bridge abruptly broke off.
The weather was making it easy for Gregory, Ivy thought. All he'd have to do is lure Philip onto the track with him, then give him an unexpected push. In Gregory's twisted mind, what was one more "accident"?
Ivy focused on the old track, where Gregory was supposed to have collected spikes for Philip. She squinted until her eyes stung, then glanced over at the new bridge. The shifting fog swirled up, and she saw a flash of red. Just as quickly, the clouds covered it again. Then the red waved at her once more from the new bridge-the bright red of Philip's jacket.
"Philip!" she screamed. "Philip!"
She started running down the track of the new bridge. "Stay where you are," she called to him, afraid that if he ran to her he'd trip and fall.
But as she got closer she realized it was just his jacket lying on the track. Ivy's heart sank, but she kept going, fearing the worst yet needing to find any clue she could about her brother.
The jacket was soaked by the rain, but there were no rips and only a splatter of mud on the cuffs-no sign of a struggle. For a moment she was hopeful. Of I course, there didn't have to be a struggle, Ivy thought.
Philip could have been conned into taking off his jacket as part of a game, then quickly pushed. She picked up the jacket and held it in her arms close to her, as she had held Ella.
"Find something?"
She whirled around, nearly losing her balance.
"Hello, Ivy," Gregory said. In the mist he looked like a gray shadow, a dark angel perched on the bridge ten feet away from her. "Hunting for spikes?"
"I'm hunting for my brother."
"Not here," he said.
"What have you done with him?" Ivy demanded.
He grinned and took several steps toward her. Ivy took several steps back, still clutching the jacket.
"Chick, chick, chick," Gregory chanted softly. "Who wants to play chick, chick, chick?"
Ivy glanced toward the far bank, expecting to see a train loom up, as in Philip's nightmare, eager to swallow her.
She turned back to Gregory. "What have you done with him?" she asked again, keeping her voice low, struggling to keep down the hysterical fear that was rising within her.
Gregory laughed softly. "Chick, chick, chick," he said, then took a few steps backward.
Ivy moved with him, her anger overcoming her fear. "You killed Eric, didn't you?" she said. "You were afraid of what he'd tell me. It wasn't an accidental overdose."
Gregory stepped back again. She matched him step for step.
"You killed your best friend," she said. "And the girl in Ridgefield-after you attacked me at home, you killed her as a cover-up. And Caroline. That's how it all started. You murdered your own mother."
Step for step she moved with him, wondering what kind of game he was playing. Was a train coming?
Was that what she heard in the distance?
Gregory suddenly reversed his direction, moving toward her. Ivy backed up. They were two dancers on a tightrope.
"Tristan too," Ivy shouted at him. "You killed Tristan!"
"And all because of you," he said. His voice was as soft and eerie as the twisting shapes of fog. "You were supposed to die, not Tristan. You were supposed to die, not the girl in Ridgefield-" A train whistle sounded, and Ivy spun around.
Gregory exploded with laughter. "Better say your prayers, Ivy. I've heard tales about Tristan becoming an angel, but no one has seen a shimmering Eric. I hope you've been a good girl."
The train whistle sounded again, higher in pitch, closer. Ivy wondered if she could make it to the other bank in time. She could hear the train itself, rumbling through the trees now, close, already too close to the river.
Gregory was walking steadily backward, and Ivy guessed his plan. He'd keep her on the bridge between him and the train. The girl thought to be crazy enough to throw herself in front of a train once would seem to have tried it again.
As Gregory moved backward Ivy stayed with him. "You've got things wrong," she said. "It was all because of you, Gregory. You were terrified of being found out. You were terrified of being left out. Your true father could never give you the kind of money Andrew has."
Gregory's mouth opened a little, and he stared at her. She'd taken him by surprise. They weren't far from the bank now, and he stepped back uncertainly. Ivy inched toward him. If he stumbled, she'd have a chance.
"You didn't think I knew the whole story, did you, Gregory? The funny thing is, the day you killed your mother I never saw you. I never saw past the reflections on the glass. If you'd left me alone, I would never have guessed it was you."
She saw his face darken. He clenched his fists.
"Go ahead," Ivy challenged him. "Come get me. Push me off the tracks, but it's one more murder on your head."
She glanced down. Ten feet more-ten feet more and she'd have a chance, even if she fell.
"Caroline gave Eric a key," Ivy continued, "and Eric left it to me. I found some papers in Andrew's clock."
Nine feet more.
"Some pretty interesting letters from your mother," she told him.
Eight feet.
"And a medical report as well."
Seven.
"I turned them in to the police an hour ago," Ivy said.
Six feet. Gregory stopped. He stood absolutely still. So did Ivy. Then, without warning, he lunged for her.
Tristan arrived at Will's just as a dark car pulled away from the house.
With
his sharpened vision, he saw the man inside: he wondered why the detective who had investigated Ivy's assault was visiting Will.
Will stood alone on his front porch, so deep in thought that Tristan couldn't find an easy way to slip in. He saw a pencil in Will's pocket and pulled it out, but Will didn't notice. Tristan tapped the pencil against a wooden post and wrote his own name with materialized fingertips, underlining it twice, amazing himself with the new strength he felt in his hands.
"Tristan!" Will said, and Tristan slipped inside.
He didn't waste any time. "Ivy needs help. She's gone to the bridges, thinks Gregory took Philip there. It's a trap."
"Have to get my keys," Will replied mentally, and hurried inside.
"No!"
Will stopped and looked around, confused.
"Just run. Run!" Tristan urged.
"All the way to the bridges?" Will argued. "We'll never get there in time."
"I'll get you there," Tristan said. "We can do it faster off the road, out of the traffic." He knew how crazy it sounded, just as he knew somehow it was true. The last darkness had given him more strength than he had ever had, powers that he hadn't yet tested.
"Trust me," Tristan said. "For Ivy's sake, trust me," he pleaded, though he had never completely trusted Will.
Will took off, and they moved together as one. Tristan could feel Will's bewilderment and fear. What was happening to Ivy? What was happening to his own body, taken over by Tristan? What did people see?
"I don't think they see us at all," Tristan said. "But I don't know much more than you."
They were on the winding road now. As they traveled strange voices rose up all around them. Were the voices inside his own head? Tristan wondered. Or was it Will's mind rebelling? Maybe they were human voices pressed together the way space seemed to be compressed as they raced across the landscape.
The voices murmured at first and seemed indistinct, but now they grew louder and clearer-noisy jabbering and clear singing, dark voices threatening and high voices arching over all the others.
"What is it?" Will cried, covering his ears with his hands. "What am I hearing?"
"I don't know."
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