“Chief! Chief, stop. Move aside. It’s okay. We’ll take him.”
Earl stared up at the sky. Thank you, he mouthed to the being.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
After Tim left, Liz sat back down at Paul’s desk, suddenly panicked. She’d experienced a certain degree of satisfaction at the idea of Paul sensing her at his heels, but what if he actually were checking email, and saw that she had learned about PEW? Might he leave the place where he had gone, take Reid and Ally even farther away? Liz forced a breath down. Wherever he was, Paul must be deeply entrenched, and Liz had the feeling that finding another such place wouldn’t be easy. Still, she went to her husband’s Sent items, and deleted the email to Tim.
The tab for PEW blinked at her, a jittery taunt. This group held the answers Liz was searching for, at least the live version of them did, but all she had access to were static statements and pixelated images. These people had her children, and Liz hated and envied them with a fearsome fury. Staring at the screen, she began Googling shoemaker, rage in every strike of the key.
Given the nature of PEW, Liz’s guess had been that the online identity was someone who cobbled things together. But cobblers repaired shoes, they didn’t make them. She continued scanning pages, coming to more and more far-fetched links. She stumbled across an announcement for a school play, and wondered if the town where the play had been performed might proffer some information as to the Shoemaker’s identity. It was in Iowa. There was a link to an out-of-print title, a true crime paperback on a used book site, which Liz clicked on. She’d just begun skimming it when a new email came in. It was from Tim.
It contained ten numbers, and a message.
Mackenzie traced the phone that Ally used. Don’t use a landline—they might not pick up if the number is identified. Call from the pay-as-you-go.
Liz hadn’t had the chance to buy a temporary cell yet, and Wedeskyull had blocked the encroachment of most chain stores. She was going to have to drive all the way out to the Northway. Liz printed out Tim’s email, then raced downstairs and wrenched open the front door.
She covered the distance to Verizon, unable to recall a single length of road she had traveled, or any turn she’d made. Inside the brightly lit store, she ran for the counter. An array of devices was laid out in glass cases like pinned bugs.
“I need something I can use right away,” Liz told the guy behind the counter. “Do you have anything like that?”
“Sure.” The guy nodded. “Did you want a disposable? Or something you can renew—”
“I want any phone you have that will make a phone call!” Liz cried.
The boy took a step back. “Yeah. Sure. Take it easy, lady.”
He pulled out a drawer beneath the display case and removed a box. “This one’s the most basic model we’ve got. $29.99 plus tax.”
“Fine,” Liz said, desperation ragged in her voice.
Starting to hold the box out to her, the boy glanced up. Then he removed the device from its packaging, and keyed in a few numbers himself.
Liz put two twenties down, all the money she had in her wallet. She snatched the phone out of the guy’s hand, clawing Tim’s email out of her purse. She walked out, seeing nothing besides the keypad.
“Ma’am! Don’t you want your change?”
Liz banged open the door, entering the number Tim had sent.
The call went through, the signal strong in this spot.
Still, each ring was harder and harder for Liz to make out. Her ears were filled with the tinny notes. She pressed the phone so close to the side of her head that she felt the imprint of each key.
The generic voicemail prompt took a moment to register.
“No,” Liz said to no one. “Ally?” She spoke into the phone. “Are you there, Al?”
She stumbled backward to her car, hardly aware that she was climbing inside. She ended the call and tried again, comparing each digit to the ones in Tim’s email before pressing Send.
Nobody is available right now.
Robotic, uncaring.
Please leave your message after the beep.
“Hello,” Liz whispered into the phone. She coughed to clear her throat. “If somebody gets this, please call me. Please call me back at this number.” She quickly scanned the card that had come with the phone and read off the ten digits. “Or else this one.” She recited her real cell number in a voice as machine-like as the voicemail prompt. Tim would see if someone called on it. Liz added the only other thing she could think of. “Please.”
Then she sat in the lot, blind with disappointment, making no move to start her car.
The phone lay there blackly, taunting Liz with its refusal to ring. She idly pressed keys before registering the sequence she’d dialed: her own childhood phone number. Her parents hadn’t been in touch in the last several days; it wasn’t yet time for their biweekly check-in. Thinking of her mother—as good as a calendar—Liz hit the button to end the call before anyone had a chance to pick up.
No car had driven by in a while. Liz was all alone out here. She reentered the river of road, straddling lanes as her car surged forward.
Only when she crossed Lee Bridge with its arched metal humpback did she realize how close she was to the center of town. She had never apologized to Jill for how angry she’d gotten at Andy. Liz wondered if she could do it now, weighted down with loss as she was.
At least Jill had her son.
When the phone rang, she nearly sobbed with relief. “Ally?” she said into it, swerving wildly onto a side street. “Hello? Hello?”
“Elizabeth? Did you call from this number?”
Liz’s shoulders settled. She eased the car out of the way in case anyone else should come along, and shifted into Park.
“Are you there? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Mom,” Liz said into the phone. “I’m here.”
“Oh good.” Her mother’s voice didn’t usually contain much emotion, but it had risen for a moment. “How are you, dear?”
Well, my children are still missing, Liz thought. She had to pause a moment before speaking, and when she did, she ignored her mother’s query. “Mom? What would you have done if Dad—”
There was silence on the other end, a caving vacuum that Liz knew wasn’t related to the weak signal.
“—if Dad had done something like what Paul is doing to me?”
“Why, what a strange question to ask, Elizabeth.”
“Yes,” Liz said simply. “I suppose it is.”
The silence lasted longer this time.
“I imagine a lot of women would’ve gone to a judge,” her mother said at last. “It was the era of divorce back then; everyone was doing it.” Her voice struck a derisive note. “Even here. Those things used to happen only in big cities.”
“Right,” Liz said, wondering why she’d bothered. Divorce wasn’t on the table right now; it was practically a given. At issue was only how to find her children.
“But I wouldn’t have,” her mother said.
It took Liz a second to register that she’d spoken.
“I was raised to believe that the man made the decisions, and that he knew what was best for his family. It’s old-fashioned, I suppose.”
Liz bit back the rejoinder that leapt to her lips. You think?
“How I would’ve missed you, Lizzie,” her mother burst out.
For the past thirty years or so, only Jill had used that name. Coming from her mother, it triggered a childish rush of tears.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” A gap before the next words came. “But I don’t think it would’ve occurred to me to fight. Oh, child, if Daddy had decided to do something like this, I don’t know that I ever would’ve seen you again.”
There was another pause as Liz took that in, and then her mother spoke again. “You know how word gets around in this town. Do you remember Mrs. Watters, from church? Marjorie Brackman is a good friend of hers.” Her mother took in an audible breath. �
��Oh, honey, I never would’ve had the strength you’re showing right now.”
She was crying, and Liz spoke through tears of her own. “Thank you, Mom.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Jill didn’t answer Liz’s cursory knock when she got there, but neither of them stood on ceremony at each other’s houses. Liz nudged the door open, walked inside, and collapsed on the couch.
Just as fast, she was upright again.
Whimpers were coming from the second floor. Liz followed the sound, the strangled cries growing louder.
“Stay away!” Jill cried out hoarsely.
“Jill? It’s me! What’s wrong?” Liz ran up the flight of steps.
Jill was crouched in the hallway, arms wrapped around Andy’s enormous rocking form.
“Jill?”
“I said, stay away!”
Andy’s big body was folded in on itself, his elbow twitching as if he were shooting infinite passes.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
Andy started to buck in his mother’s hold, craning to look up at Liz.
Jill fought to hold on while waving Liz away. “It’s okay! He’ll be okay! Some of his memory is coming back, that’s all. The doctor said it might happen this way, in bits and chunks.”
“But—” Liz stopped. “That’s good, isn’t it? If his memory is returning?”
“It’s scary for him,” Jill said, and indeed Andy was mewling again, making tiny sounds more suited to a newborn creature than a man-sized boy. “Go downstairs. Please, Liz.”
Liz turned to go. It was hard to see—no lights had been turned on and full dark had wrapped itself around the house—so she had to pick her way, taking care.
“Aunt Liz?”
Liz stopped. She hadn’t heard those words in so many months. After Mommy, they were the words she’d been most longing to hear.
“Shhh, Andy,” Jill said, smoothing her son’s hair. “Go on, Liz. I’ll be right down.”
“Where are your kids, Aunt Liz?” Andy let out another tortured mew.
Liz had to turn away, lest Andy see her reaction, and become even more distraught. She headed down the hall toward the steps, hand extended to reach for the railing. She would let Jill remain behind, try and keep her son from tripping and falling into the holes in his memory.
“Are they in the woods?”
Liz came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs. Her foot hovered in the air over the first step, and she had to cling to the banister to keep from falling down the whole flight.
“Did he take them into the woods? Are they with … are they with—” Andy let out a bellow so deep that the walls shook. “Are they—argh!” he cried, tearing at a clump of his hair. And then the words emerged like a burning coal from his raw, red throat. “Are they with Paul?”
Liz’s ankle had turned when she’d almost fallen. It throbbed as she made her way back to Jill and Andy, walking through darkness as if in a dream.
“How do you know that, And?” she asked softly. “What do you mean about the woods?”
He stared up at her through smeared eyes.
Jill continued to grasp his shoulder, though her hold on him had loosened.
“I was—I was at your house,” Andy said.
All other sources of sound had vanished. There was no rush of water through the pipes, no refrigerator humming, nor leaves rustling outside.
“You—you and my mom were outside. In the—in the—” His voice began to pitch again.
“Garden,” Liz said, hushed.
“That’s right!” Andy said, his relief so great it made his eyes stream. “In the garden! You both like to garden!”
“Yes,” Liz said quietly. “We do.”
“Liz—” Jill said.
“Shhh,” Liz hissed at her.
“Paul—is that your husband, Aunt Liz?”
“Yes,” Liz said again, still low. “It is.”
“He told them something. I can’t remember exactly what.”
“That’s okay,” Liz said. “Just tell me what you do remember.”
“Something about getting ready to go on a long walk. Through the woods.”
“The woods,” Liz echoed. “Did he say which woods? Are they nearby?”
Andy shook his head back and forth. “I told my mom a long time ago.” A pause. “I think it was a long time ago. She asked me the same thing, but I couldn’t remember.” He looked up. “I don’t remember any more than that, Aunt Liz! I’m sorry!”
Liz hardly heard his last desperate bleat. “Did you say you told … your mom?”
Her gaze dropped to Jill. She was shifting on the floor, away from Andy as if not even conscious of the movement. Her gaze wouldn’t meet Liz’s.
“You knew this?” Liz asked.
Silence.
“You knew?” Liz cried.
Jill lifted her head, chin thrust out. “Knew what, Liz? That Paul once said something about some woods? We’re in the Adirondack Park, dammit. We’re all about woods up here.”
It was like being plunged into a cold sea. Every part of Liz stopped functioning and she was left gasping for breath. Her throat worked soundlessly for a second until finally she burst out, “Anything! Any … tiny … bit of anything—I’ve been dying for! You know that, Jill! You have to know that!”
Her friend let out a sob. “I didn’t think it had any meaning! Lots of things come back to him and are discarded. I had no idea this was any more real than—”
Liz began to back away, feeling a pulse each time her ankle came down.
“Lizzie!” Jill screamed. “He got so upset! Every time Andy started talking about this. I couldn’t let him get upset! You know what the doctor said. It was the worst thing we could do, to let him get …”
Liz held on to the banister as if it were a lifeline, belaying down the stairs to spare her wounded ankle, and hobbling out of the house at a run. The last thing she heard was Andy’s voice rising again—something about was Aunt Liz feeling sad—and Jill shouting at him to be quiet, to just please, please shut up.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Liz knew something was wrong the instant she got out of the car. She stood motionless in the curved sickle of her driveway, and took a craning look around.
The house stood in shadows, its front porch a sagging sweep. The woods grasped in their usual way, branches reaching toward the property.
Maybe it was just the aftermath of betrayal, tipping her whole world a few degrees. Jill had known her, stood by her, supported her ever since they were in kindergarten. How could her best friend have abandoned her during the hardest time of her life? Andy’s words may not have meant much, but they were better than nothing, and they indicated that Paul had been preparing the children.
Smoldering fury filled her, directed at her husband, but also at Jill. Liz reached a hand out to the car to steady herself. A grim vision returned to her: Andy’s trembling body, his precarious mental state.
Jill had simply prioritized her child. Would Liz herself have done any different?
She took another glance around. What felt so wrong?
The tops of the tallest plants—the hollyhocks and cornstalks she’d had Andy leave behind—weren’t standing at attention. This time of year, tips and fronds could always be seen from this vantage point.
Liz headed in the direction of Roots, taking out the new phone to call Tim.
She limped a little, going downhill past the looming outline of the house, then kept to the perimeter of woods. The wreckage appeared before her and she came to a shuddering halt.
It was possible that nobody else would’ve registered this, certainly not in the dark. But as if she herself had been bodily violated, Liz felt the full extent of the disruption, the terrible tearing hands.
Bush beans and Armado cauliflower, carrots, broccoli, and four varieties of onion, all the crops planted to winter over, had been scooped out of the ground. Cuts had been made in the earth with a trowel or spade, far deeper than wa
s required to lift the tender young roots. The field of holes looked like empty eye sockets, blank and staring.
For Liz it was like botched surgery, an amputation or incision performed by somebody who didn’t know how to wield a knife. Whoever had done this hadn’t taken care as he walked, so anything left behind had been trampled. Blooms were broken at the stem, seedlings destroyed before they’d had a chance to grow. Sunflowers were bowed by someone’s brushing body, the leaves on succulents had been crushed into an oozing mess.
Terror hit Liz like a train. The Shoemaker had come back.
All was empty and deserted now. If he had been here, he was gone.
Liz checked the house, but as expected, it was undisturbed.
A moon had risen, casting a ghostly, lonely light. Only Roots had been laid to waste, its bounty needed wherever Paul was.
Liz walked toward the thin woods on their property. They were incapable of hiding anyone, of being the location Andy had spoken about. She howled a great, billowing cry of grief.
“Where are you? You bastard, you want my plants, you want my children, then take them when I’m here, confront me to my face!”
She didn’t know whom she was speaking to: Paul, or the Shoemaker, or both.
From behind her came the beat of footsteps, and she remembered calling Tim. She spun, feeling her ankle twinge, then stopped short at the sight of his face.
Tim’s expression was so fierce that at first it seemed he had to know what had happened—was reading the soil as Liz did with her fingers and her soul. But then she realized that something else was driving him, that Tim had troubles all his own.
He strode toward her and she met him at the same speed, her ankle forgotten. He clutched her wrists, and bound, she reached to stroke the sorrow on his face.
She hadn’t realized how dirty she’d gotten, touching crevices and gaping wounds in the garden, until she took in the sight of Tim’s dirt-streaked face. She tasted salt and earth when he bent down, opening her mouth with his.
Liz let out a moan of loss and hunger.
Tim lifted her into his arms, moving back with her across the ground. He parted the leaves on a tree, setting her down on one thick branch. She felt the scrape of bark against her thighs, then the rasp of Tim’s hands. His form was so solid and reassuring, like a part of the tree itself. She rocked against him, off balance on her perch.
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