All The Pretty Dead Girls

by John Manning

  She glanced out the window. Myrna Lee had come outside and was staring at her, smoking a cigarette. Sue wiped at her face, smiled, and gave Myrna Lee a friendly wave, even though fear was starting to inch its insidious way back into her mind. So much for acting normal, she thought grimly as she slipped the car into gear and rolled out of the parking lot. I need to put some distance between me and this place.

  There was no traffic coming, so she sped up as she headed back onto the highway. The eighteen-wheeler was just taillights in the mist far ahead of her. She got the car back up to seventy-one miles an hour and turned the cruise control back on, then allowed herself to relax a little bit. But within a few miles, she was back to glancing in the rearview mirror every minute or so to make sure no one was behind her.

  I’m being stupid, Sue reminded herself again. Even if they are coming after me, how would I know it was them behind me? I wouldn’t know until it was too late, until they had me—

  “Stop it,” she said, and turned the radio up louder.

  Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plain…

  She wished so much she had managed to grab her iPod, or at least a handful of CDs.

  Every muscle, every bone, every joint in her body ached with fatigue. Sue’s eyelids began drooping again. The coffee hadn’t helped at all, other than to churn up more acid in her stomach. She grabbed the pack of Rolaids she’d bought a hundred years ago, it seemed, in North Carolina and chewed on two. Rolling the window all the way down in spite of the rain, she took a long deep breath of cold air. Her hair blew back into a mass of tangles and her teeth began to chatter, but it was better than falling asleep again.

  She flew past the exits for Amite, Tickfaw, and Independence, glancing down at the directions she’d printed off the Internet just before taking off on this nightmare drive. The first Hammond exit wasn’t the right one, so she kept going. The traffic was getting heavier, but it was the second turnoff she wanted. She slowed down at the bottom of the off-ramp and turned left, heading into Hammond. She passed a Lowe’s, a Wal-Mart, and the numerous fast-food places that always gathered in small towns near the highway exit. Her stomach growled again and she thought about going to a drive-through, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. I’m almost there. I can worry about getting something to eat after I’ve gotten out of this goddamned car and talked to Dr. Marshall.

  Even though it was early afternoon, the wet streets were packed with cars crawling along as she passed parking lot after parking lot. Christmas shoppers, she thought. Once she had loved Christmas. Once it had been a festive time for her, but now it terrified her.

  She dreaded what might come on Christmas Eve.

  She passed a Raising Cane, a Sonic, a Wendy’s, and the sight almost made her cry again. No, no, you’re almost there, keep going. The road swerved to the right and she followed the curve, and started passing into a residential area. The street she wanted was two blocks past the railroad tracks, and she turned right, watching the house numbers. She struggled to keep her eyes open and focused. She’d gone two blocks when she found the house she wanted, and turned into the driveway, parking behind a black Chevrolet SUV.

  The house was a three-story clapboard Victorian, complete with a cupola. Dormer windows peered out from what was probably a half-attic. A porch ran the distance of the house and curved around it, disappearing behind in the back. The windows were large, and the whole place needed painting. The lawn was also in disrepair, with exposed areas of dirt. Towering pines shot upward with lower branches sparse and brown.

  Yet the windows were lit up with blue Christmas lights, and a huge Christmas tree, unlit, stood in a window at the corner of the house. Gray smoke rose from a chimney. She smiled. Someone must be home.

  Still, she sat in the car for a couple of moments, and felt the fear start to snake through her body again.

  What if this was all for nothing? What if she has no answers for you? What if she thinks you’re crazy, and calls them to tell them you’re here? What if there’s nothing she can do to help you?

  “No,” Sue whispered, gripping the steering wheel with both hands until her knuckles whitened. “Stop it. You’re here.”

  She steeled herself, and got out of the car. It was raining hard again, so she grabbed her backpack and ran up to the front door. Without any hesitation, she rang the bell. Footsteps sounded within the house, and she sagged against the door frame with relief.

  The door opened. The woman who stood in front of her was in her early fifties, wearing a red and black checked flannel shirt over jeans and fuzzy blue house slippers. Her short dark hair was shot through with gray, and reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose. Her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Sue?” Her eyes grew wide. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  She pulled the younger woman into a hug.

  “But thank God you’re all right! I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  Sue couldn’t say anything. All of her weariness suddenly seemed to overcome her. She just clung onto Dr. Marshall.

  The older woman stepped back and looked at her. “Are you okay, Sue? You look terrible! What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

  “Just really tired, Dr. Marshall.” Sue gave her a weak smile. Her legs felt like they might buckle at any moment. “I had to come. I had to see you.”

  Dr. Marshall stepped aside and Sue brushed by her into the house. “Ever since I got that e-mail from you, I half expected this,” the older woman said. “Sue, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.” Once inside Dr. Marshall’s house, Sue began to tremble. “I need your help. And I’m so tired—so very tired.”

  “Well, yes, of course I’ll do whatever I can. Come on in.” Dr. Marshall gestured into the living room. “Have a seat here. Can I get you anything? You must be hungry.” She followed the younger woman into the room, standing over Sue as she nearly collapsed on the sofa. “I haven’t been to the grocery store—but I’m sure I can make you a sandwich or something.” She stared down at Sue, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Sue, you look terrible. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Sue laughed bitterly. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

  The room was warm, comfortable. The furniture didn’t match, and there was a thin layer of dust on the tables. A fire blazed in the fireplace. Books were piled everywhere, and overflowed from bookshelves on the walls. A frayed Oriental rug covered the hardwood floor in the sitting area.

  “Has anyone—” Sue’s words stuttered as she looked up at Dr. Marshall. “Has anyone been looking for me?”

  “The college called here last night, wondering if I’d heard from you.” Dr. Marshall looked at her intently. “Would you like some tea? Coffee? A soda?”

  Sue sat upright. “What did you tell them?”

  “Well, you told me in your e-mail not to say anything to anyone.” Dr. Marshall shrugged. “Sue, what’s going on? What kind of trouble are you in? Apparently, your grandparents are frantic.” She leaned forward. “Don’t you want to call them?”

  “No.” Sue replied definitively.

  I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here—but they suspected I might come here. How could they have known? I got rid of the cell phone, and the phone I bought was untraceable…

  Then it hit her.

  They must have hacked into my e-mail account.

  She fought back a sob. I’m not safe here, I’m not safe anywhere, they’ll find me wherever I run to…

  “Let me get you that tea and sandwich, then we’ll talk.” Dr. Marshall headed out of the room, and Sue’s body slumped with fatigue and defeat against the back of the sofa.

  Maybe Dr. Marshall won’t be able to help me, but at least I’m here. They might be able to trace me here, but I won’t be here that long. If they know I’m coming here, they’re probably already on their way. I could be putting her in danger. But if I tell her before I go, I might be safer. And once someone else
knows, if anything happens to me…

  She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to think about that.

  She reached down, opened her backpack, and pulled a manila envelope out of it. The envelope was full of printouts, two separate groups rubber-banded together, which she placed on the coffee table. She could hear Dr. Marshall in the kitchen. She had everything in that envelope memorized, but she started reading the printout on top again.

  VIRGIN SIGHTING IN MONTERREY

  (from the Mexico City Sentinel)

  LOS ZAPATOS—Thousands of the faithful have come to this tiny town in the desert of Monterrey to watch and pray for the Virgin Mary’s intercession.

  Three young girls, all aged thirteen, went to their village priest just over a week ago to tell him of their miraculous vision. They were looking for a lost goat when, on a hilltop, the three girls heard a voice and looked up. According to the priest, Father Fernando Ortiz, the girls claimed that the “sun turned into a silver disk and moved across the sky until it was directly over their heads, where it began to spin, growing smaller and smaller until it winked out and darkness fell over the hills. Then, a small light appeared, and grew until it took the form of the Holy Mother, who then spoke to the girls. The Holy Mother asked them to pray for the repentance of mankind, and also spoke to them of other things, about which she swore them to secrecy.”

  While the girls have steadily refused to tell anyone what the Virgin Mary told them, they have returned to the hillside every day, where they claim she reappears to them and gives them other messages, again swearing them to secrecy.

  The news of the visions spread throughout the province, and now every day when the girls return to the hillside, they are joined by thousands of faithful Catholics, who maintain a distance from them while the girls are experiencing their visions of the Virgin Mary.

  A spokesperson for the Archdiocese of Mexico City refused to comment on the sightings, saying only that the Church is taking these visions very seriously and is planning on conducting its own investigation into the sightings.

  Sue paged through the clippings for the thousandth time. They were culled from newspapers and press services all over the world, and each one of them told a similar story—all within days of each other.

  A young Catholic girl in a small rural village in Vietnam was marked with stigmata. There was another vision of the Virgin Mary in a remote village in the Philippines. In each case, the children were given a message and sworn to secrecy by the Holy Mother. In Poland, in Canada, in sub-Saharan Africa, in India. Stigmata, visions of the Virgin Mary—or if she appeared to non-Christian children, she was described in terms of their own religion. “A holy lady.” “The goddess of the sky.” One Chinese girl claimed a visit from Quan Yin, the female manifestation of the Buddha. The tabloids were having a field day. ARE THESE THE END TIMES? one headline screamed.

  Sue’s hands shook as she paged through the clippings. All of the articles and stories in the first grouping were from twenty years ago. The second pile was from the last two months. They all consisted of the same type of thing: occurrences of stigmata and sightings of the Virgin.

  Sue ran her hands through her unwashed hair. Maybe I have lost my mind. None of this will make any sense to anyone. All I have to go on is the word of two women, and both of them could be completely insane.

  But if they’re insane, that doesn’t explain—

  She choked back another sob.

  Dr. Marshall came back into the living room, carrying a tray with a teakettle and two cups. There was also a sandwich on brown bread. Placing the tray down on top of several magazines on the coffee table, she poured a cup of tea for Sue and passed it over to her. She smiled apologetically.

  “I’m sorry, dear, all I had was peanut butter. I hope that’s okay. Maybe we could order a pizza or something?”

  Sue picked up the sandwich. “No, this is fine for now.” She wanted to add, but didn’t: I don’t have a lot of time.

  Dr. Marshall poured herself a cup of the tea, then picked up the pile of papers. She frowned as she paged through them all. “Sue—what are you doing with all of this?”

  Sue let the tea warm her as she leaned back into the sofa. “Sometimes, I think I’m going insane, Dr. Marshall. I think I’ve completely and utterly lost my mind. But if I’m not—if I’m right—if everything I’ve been through, been told, and found out is true, I would rather be insane.” She laughed. “I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

  “But I don’t understand.” Dr. Marshall riffled through the pile of papers again. “Why did you come here? Why did you bring this with you?”

  “Because you’re the only person who would understand.” Because a woman in a psych ward told me to come here, that you could help me, that you were meant to help me, crazy as that might sound.

  Dr. Marshall set the papers down and picked up her teacup. “This is all very interesting. Obviously, I’m very familiar with all of this, since I’m writing a book about sightings of the Virgin Mary.” She smiled. “I’ve even been to Los Zapatos, when those young girls were having their visions.”

  “And what did you think?”

  “Sue, dear, I fail to see how this—I mean, you came all this way to talk about sightings?”

  “Please, just tell me what you think about the visions in Los Zapatos. And everywhere else.”

  Dr. Marshall sighed. “The Church has never recognized any of these visitations as miracles, you know.” She took another sip of her tea. “Of course, if it had been just fifty years earlier, the Church would have been all over these incidents. Back then, they seemed to like to publicize them, to whip the devout into a bit of religious frenzy. But things have changed, and now the Church isn’t so sure…”

  Sue closed her eyes.

  Dr. Marshall studied her with concern. “But what does any of this have to do with you, Sue? Why have you run away, made your grandparents worry? This is not like you. Are you sure you don’t want me to call your grandparents, let them know you’re okay?”

  “After I tell you—” Sue bit her lip. “Just let me tell you, okay? Then we can talk about my grandparents, if you want to.”

  But I am not calling them, Sue told herself, and if you call them, I’m out of here.

  “All right.” Dr. Marshall removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I won’t call your grandparents just yet. But talk to me, Sue. Tell me what’s going on, what’s got you acting so differently. Explain it to me.”

  So Sue told her everything.

  2

  She talked for just over three hours. Dr. Marshall didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask any questions. She just let Sue talk until she finished, betraying no emotion on her face.

  The clock on the mantelpiece read just past five thirty when Sue finished her story. The sun had gone down, and an automatic timer had turned the lights on. Every so often as Sue talked, Dr. Marshall had stood and put another log on the fire. The tea service still sat on the coffee table, the water gone cold, the cups untouched for quite some time.

  They sat in silence, the only sound the occasional crack and pop from the fireplace.

  “So,” Sue said finally, “do you think I’m crazy?”

  “I’m not sure what to think, to be honest.” Dr. Marshall replied, standing up and picking up the tray. She carried it out of the room.

  She does. She thinks I’m crazy.

  Sue shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. The streetlights outside had come on, throwing strange-looking shadows into the room.

  Maybe it was a mistake to come here. Maybe there’s no one who can help me.

  But if it hadn’t all happened to me, I don’t know if I would believe it either.

  Dr. Marshall walked back in, carrying two wineglasses and an open bottle of Shiraz. She poured herself a glass and placed the bottle and second glass on the table. She settled back into her chair. “Help yourself,” she told Sue.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Sue—” Dr. Marsh
all looked at her with stern eyes. “Surely you’re aware of how fantastic your story is.”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t make it untrue.” She doesn’t believe me, Sue thought, clenching and unclenching her fists.

  “But you don’t have any proof, do you?” Dr. Marshall asked gently. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t believe me.” Sue felt her eyes fill with tears of frustration. It had been a mistake to come here.

  “No, that’s not quite true.” Dr. Marshall cleared her throat. “I don’t want to believe you. But I conducted a few investigations of my own before I left the college, and so parts of your story ring true.”

  Sue moved forward in her seat. “Do you know then? Do you know what was going on there?”

  Dr. Marshall took her glasses off and set them on the coffee table. “No, Sue. Like yourself, I have no hard evidence.” She shook her head. “But if your story is true…Sue, it’s frightening. Absolutely frightening. And without proof, I don’t know what we can do. No one will believe this, no one.”

  “My grandparents lied to me. I can prove that.”

  “But that doesn’t prove your story,” Dr. Marshall went on. “Your grandparents could easily explain away why they didn’t tell you the truth. I can think of any number of reasons myself they wouldn’t have told you.”

  Sue stood up and walked over to one of the windows facing the front yard. A truck drove by as she watched. Show her, a voice within her whispered. That’s the only way to make her believe. You have to show her.

  She resisted the voice, as she had any number of times since that horrible day.