by Ann Aguirre
“Same thing that happens to everyone who’s different around here.”
In the stillness, I heard the soft shuffle of someone who wasn’t there. The boards creaked lightly beneath Martha’s invisible weight. As she’d done for countless years, she paced her prison. I thought my heart would explode when the footsteps, accompanied by terrible cold, stopped beside us.
Shannon managed to ask, “What’s that?”
The non sequitur came, low and almost toneless, full of hissing, static snakes. “They found I can call things to me, things that fly, things that crawl. I can fill a tree with butterflies, spell your name in lightning bugs, or send a plague of locusts to their houses, but I cannot get out of here. Won’t you let me out?”
I ached for her. Kilmer wasn’t a good place to be different. That had still been true in my time. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like in hers.
“I’ll try,” Shannon assured the child’s ghost. “But I need to know what happened to you first.”
“Same thing that happened to Holly Jarrett, Timothy Sparks, David Prentice,” Martha sang out. An eerie, tuneless humming poured out of the radio, and it made my head feel strange, almost disconnected from the rest of me. Eventually, the sound evolved back into words again, leaving me numb and frightened. “And more, and more.”
“Tell me what that was,” Shannon begged.
“They fed us to the thing in the woods. ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—’ ” the ghost in the machine whispered, “ ‘I took the one’ . . . ‘I took the one’ . . .” Her tinny little voice repeated, a scratched phonograph phantom.
Mr. McGee must’ve been researching the dead children and he’d located Martha Vernon on his radio—not because he was Gifted, but because he was old and near death. He’d said I could understand the whispers, whereas Chance could not because I was soon to die myself . . . and I did.
He’d scrawled down the poem at some point, and Curtis Farrell took it with him. Maybe I didn’t know all the reasons why yet, but I was starting to find connections. Once I had all the pieces, the big picture would take shape.
“That’s the link,” I said aloud. “Remember how you and Mr. McGee found a pattern for the ‘bad things’ that happen every so often on December 21? They targeted families who were different and sacrificed them to the demon. I saw them performing the ritual when I read the wreckage.”
My mother and I had certainly qualified. If anyone knew about Shannon’s gift, it would have qualified her for the purge. I could imagine Sandra Cheney’s chagrin when she realized her family wasn’t perfect enough for her perfect town. Maybe she thought sleeping with August England would change his mind. If she’d only taken a good look in his eyes, she would have seen he had no heart, and hence, no reason to change his mind.
“But why?” Shannon’s question came out anguished.
I shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Why did they hang so many witches in Salem?”
“ ‘I took the road less traveled by,’ ” Martha announced at length.
The radio crackled and spat. I could sense its vibrations against Shannon’s chest. A cold breeze poured over us, stirring the dust in the attic until it became hard to see.
“She’s getting agitated,” the girl said in a rush. “What should we do?”
Right, I was the mentor here. I didn’t have time to think or ask for a second opinion; Martha was working her way up to a poltergeist tempest. Like most children, she wasn’t long on patience, and the years alone in the attic hadn’t helped.
I decided swiftly. “I’ll pry open the window.”
A child’s strength wouldn’t have been sufficient, not when the nails were new and the boards were at their best. Years of dry rot and rust had weakened the slats over the window, though, so I pulled them off, one by one, not trying to be quiet any longer. I yanked them away, tearing my fingers on the splintering wood, and still didn’t pause until I had the whole thing cleared. Fresh air poured into the attic for the first time in I don’t know how many years, mingling with the spirit storm.
I nodded at Shannon. “Tell her the way is clear.”
Who knew if removing the symbol of her imprisonment would be enough? The girl relayed the message, standing up to thrust an arm through the triangular window. A queer pop emerged from the radio as if something had passed through its ancient speakers, and then wind gusted outward.
Surely we’d set her free. In another moment, we had our answer. Though it was too late in the year for fireflies, they twinkled outside the house, glimmering in sequence to spell out the words, “Thank you.”
Shannon whispered, “Good-bye, butterfly girl.”
The radio went dead silent. In response, Shannon clicked it off. I stretched, arms over my head, just as we started to hear commotion downstairs.
“Where the hell are they?” Jesse asked.
“Hell if I know.” Chance wasn’t a morning person, let alone a middle-of-the-night person. “Did you hear a car pull up?”
“Didn’t hear anything,” he answered. “The Forester and the Mustang are still here. You think someone took them?”
Chance’s voice became panicked. “They wouldn’t have gone out to the woods without us?”
That tore it. If we let them, they’d go running around looking for us, trying to play heroes, and wind up lost. Then we’d have to go save them before the demon scared the piss out of them and they broke their necks falling in the gully like Rob Walker.
“We should nip this in the bud,” I said.
Shannon grinned. “Yeah, they’re about to have twin aneurysms.”
In response, I unhooked the catch and gave the ladder a good kick. It dropped with a thunk; then I waited. Both guys came running, armed with makeshift weapons. Their fear turned in unison to absolute exasperation.
“What are you two doing up there in the middle of the night?” Chance demanded.
Shannon told him pertly, “Exorcising a ghost.”
Excellent. I couldn’t have done better myself.
Jesse thought better of whatever he’d meant to say. “Did it work?”
“Yep.” I knew I sounded smug. “Didn’t you feel all that wind blow through here?”
“Well,” Chance muttered. “Yeah. It woke me up, in fact.”
“But I thought something was wrong and that the windows were open when they shouldn’t be,” Saldana added.
“That’d be a reasonable assumption under any other circumstances . . . ,” I began.
“And with any other combination of people,” Shannon finished.
Lord, I loved this girl. I gave her a quick hug around the shoulders, surprising both of us. Sheepish, I grinned and indicated with a gesture that she should precede me down the stairs. We went into the kitchen and fixed pancakes, even though it was a few hours before dawn. It didn’t look like any of us would get back to sleep anyway.
The guys bitched us out soundly for not waking them, but neither of them had much to say when I asked, “Just what would you two have contributed to the occasion?”
Frankly, Shannon hadn’t even needed me. Unless she wouldn’t have thought to open the window. In that case, I’d been mildly useful.
After conceding the point, Chance made a pot of his deluxe coffee, and I didn’t try to talk Shannon out of having some, well doctored with sugar and powdered milk. I figured we both needed the warmth and the kick, after the serious eeriness of the last hour.
An hour later, Dale staggered in and put away two mugs of java and two plates of pancakes. He didn’t seem to suffer from hangovers in the usual sense, but he did ask for some aspirin. None of us had any, and we were apologizing for that when a knock sounded at the front door.
I think our collective response to that was . . .
Oh shit.
At this hour, it couldn’t be the twelve, coming to invite us to partake of our civic duty. Somehow I wasn’t a bit surprised to open the door and find Sandra Cheney standing there, perf
ectly groomed even at six in the morning. Not a single blond hair stirred from her attractive bob. Her fingernails shone pearly in the half-light.
She fixed a smile on her face as I might hammer a nail into a wall: doggedly and with force. “I’ve heard Shannon is staying with you. I’ve come to take her home.”
Behind me, the girl made an awful little sound. I made a show of looking at her. “Do you want to go?”
“Fuck no,” she answered deliberately.
“I’m pretty sure you can’t remove her against her wishes,” I said with saccharine sweetness. “Is that right, Jesse? How does the law stack up on that?”
“Once kids turn eighteen, they can’t be forced to return to a home they’ve left,” he agreed. “And I think her wishes are clear at this point.”
I smiled. “It was kind of you to come out and check on her, though.”
“Well then.” Sandra fidgeted with her pocketbook. In her icy eyes, I saw livid anger. She wanted to rant and say we’d all rue the day, but that wouldn’t be polite. Plus, you shouldn’t threaten people you actually meant to harm. Sandra might be evil, but she wasn’t stupid.
“I’m so distressed to hear that, Shannon. I know we’ve had our share of troubles, and you think I don’t understand you, but the truth is, your father and I love you very much. He’s going to be so sad to hear this.”
“He’s been sad a long time,” Shannon muttered pointedly. “And it wasn’t because of me. I’ll write to him when I get settled.”
Sandra ignored most of that. “No idea when you’re leaving, then?”
“Probably soon,” Chance said,. “I believe we’ve just about tapped the tourist attractions around here.”
To say the least.
“Then take care. I love you, sugar bean.” To my surprise, Sandra said that with evident sincerity. Her two-inch ladylike heels clacked as she hurried across the porch and down the stairs toward her shiny, understated luxury automobile.
When she drove away, I honestly didn’t know what to make of the visit. “Could you be wrong about her?” I asked Shannon, shutting the door. “Could she have started sleeping with England when she realized you had a gift, trying to save you?”
That didn’t clear her of the charge of trying to kill us and deliver us up as alternate sacrifices, but it might mean she wasn’t as bad as we thought. It was a rare she-viper who could slay her own young without batting an eye.
Shannon thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “Don’t know. Possible, I guess, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it.”
Well, neither would I.
“Come on,” Dale roared from the kitchen. “Time’s a-wasting! Will you ungrateful devil-seekers come look at the book or not?”
As it happened, we would.
“Waiting for Godot”
The book was a gold mine.
Crazy Dale Graham had all kinds of news clippings coinciding with the December 21 disasters. He also had a mess of pictures documenting the secret meetings, and everything he’d compiled corroborated our theories. Mainly, it was good to see pictures of our enemies; we’d be out in the woods with a bunch of different people today, and I didn’t want collateral damage if we could help it, so I memorized names and faces.
This would be a different sort of final showdown, not of weapons, but of wits; not of action, but attrition. I didn’t intend to fight fair.
After the sun came up fully, I took the list of casualties to Shannon. “Can you call them to you?” I asked. “I know it’ll take a lot out of you, but I think it’ll be worth it. We’ve got a stash of chocolate you can have if you need it.”
“Everyone but Mr. McGee,” she said. Right, the blockage. “Why?”
I told her.
“Oh, that’s fiendish,” she breathed. “I’m on it. What’re you going to be doing?”
“Waiting for Godot.”
At nine a.m. sharp, he arrived in the form of Sheriff Robinson. When I opened the door, he doffed his hat and twisted it in his hands. His brown uniform pulled across his gut as he fidgeted. I didn’t make things easier on him, but just stood there studying him.
“Morning,” he said.
I nodded. “What brings you out this morning? Not bad news, I hope?”
His answer came in a rush. “The good people of Kilmer have taken heart from your bravery. They’d like y’all to lead a search party for the other missing folks.”
I couldn’t seem to acquiesce too easily. Robinson might not be in on this, but England would doubtless ask for a recap of the conversation. So I furrowed up my brow, feigning puzzlement. “How come? We’re not professional search and rescue.”
“Well, I reckon they’re hoping your good luck will rub off,” Robinson offered.
I barely stifled a snort. If only he knew.
“To tell the truth,” he went on, “those woods spook a lot of folks around these parts, but y’all have shown us there’s nothing to be scared of out there.”
I wouldn’t go that far.
He peered at me a little closer. “What happened to your neck anyhow?”
Oh, here was my chance. I could level charges now, and England might pay for what he’d done to Curtis Farrell. But if I blamed August England at this point, it would queer the whole deal, and they’d doubtless wonder why I hadn’t come forward before. In a town like Kilmer, you could accuse England of anything and he’d likely walk away clean.
No, this was the better opportunity. How else would I get all twelve of them in one place outside of their secret meetings?
“Got it stuck in the can ring of a six-pack of cherry cola. People should really take more care not to litter.” He responded to that with a puzzled blink, but before he could say that didn’t make a lick of sense, I added, “I’ll ask the others if they’re game for another hike, then.” I called out, and the guys appeared within a few seconds.
“What’s up?” Chance asked.
I filled them both in.
Civic-minded soul that he was, Jesse nodded first. “Sounds like a good idea. What time should we meet you?”
“And where?” Chance added.
“Three . . . the access road at mile marker forty-seven,” Robinson suggested.
I thought it might seem suspicious if I agreed too readily. They knew I wasn’t stupid, so I pretended to haggle. “Now that’s not going to give us enough daylight, is it? Make it two.”
“Done.” The sheriff squeezed my fingers, then briskly clasped hands with Jesse and Chance.
I gave a sweet smile in parting. “Looking forward to it. Let’s bring some of those poor souls home.”
Chance grinned as I shut the door. “Your accent becomes pronounced when you talk to the locals, you know that? I keep expecting you to fling your hand to your forehead and say, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ ”
I smiled back, but my heart tugged because I knew that when this was all over—and it would be soon, one way or another—we were going to talk, and he probably wouldn’t like the outcome. After calling to Shannon and Dale, I led the way into the front parlor. With the couch and the chairs, we had just enough seating for everybody.
Settling with Dale’s book of secrets in my lap, I rubbed my hands together. “We have a little less than five hours ’til showtime. Let’s get to work.”
At one forty-five p.m., we sat waiting near mile marker forty-seven. We’d left Dale at home keeping an eye on Butch. The little dog hadn’t been happy, but I knew damn well this would be dangerous. I only wished we could have left Shannon there too, but she wouldn’t have stayed put. I’d seen the movies where you forbade the teenage girl to do something, and then she would run off to do it all by herself. We weren’t going to let that happen.
Thanks to Dale’s good records, I’d recognize the twelve when they arrived. I just hoped a lot of innocent townsfolk wouldn’t volunteer for the search party, as it would shortly turn into a wicked game of cat and mouse. In that case, things could get . . . complicated.
Well, we’
d cross that bridge when we came to it.
To my delight, they arrived in just two vehicles, which meant they hadn’t brought any bodies along for the ride. I signaled, and Jesse pulled in behind them. We’d agreed it wouldn’t be smart to let them block us in.
I hopped out of the SUV, settling into my role as cheerful, helpful former resident. It probably wouldn’t fool anyone, but it might annoy them. As I’d already known, mostly men climbed out of their vehicles. Only Sandra Cheney and Regis’s receptionist added estrogen to the mix.
Agnes Pettigrew? Really?
That revelation startled me. I hadn’t sensed any killing animosity from her—just the typical bureaucrat’s annoyance at having her system circumvented. Even now, she didn’t look frightening—just a plump, middle-aged woman geared up for a ramble in the woods—but I did notice she wore a horseshoe pin on the lapel of her jacket. She must have been in the top tier, part of the council leadership.
August England, Harlan Cooper. I located them with a casual glance and covertly watched them as they discussed their options in a low voice. I wished I could read lips. They had no visible weapons, but I would have been surprised if they didn’t have guns beneath their jackets. They even wore orange vests so they wouldn’t be mistaken for game if someone happened to be hunting. I glanced down at my black hoodie. So that was how they meant to play things. It was strange how they saw me only as an old mistake to be erased.
The rest of the men looked like they must have been retired; I recognized none of them from prior encounters in town, but they matched the dossiers Dale had compiled. I twitched, knowing I was standing before the men and women who had casually decided to feed my family to the demon. I wanted to scream, to spit at them, but that would have tipped our hand. They thought they’d been so clever, running me around town looking for answers.
By the goddess, I had them now.
I pinned a smile on my face. “Are y’all ready to take a look around out there? There’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Sandra Cheney looked as if she’d had a bad face-lift. “That’s why we’re wearing our walking boots.”
