The Singing Bone (26 page)

She nods. “They'll all know soon enough, anyway. There's a film.”

“I did read about that. Hans Loomis is in town.”

She nods. “Well.” She stands. “I should be going. I need to end my semester.”

“Fine.” At the door, he touches her arm. “Please let Hester and me know if you need anything. We're not—”

She looks up at him.

“We're not unsympathetic people.”

“Thank you,” she says simply. “I'll let you know how my research is going. I need to have a Faroese version translated.” She begins walking out the door and then turns back. “So we'll say it's a
family
matter?” She smiles at this. She can't help it.
We'll be a family, all of us,
she hears Mr. Wyck say.

“Yes.”

Cousin Alice. Sister Alice.

She nods, her eyes on the floor. “That fits.”

She turns and walks down the hallways that lead to the exit. At the exit, she pauses before she opens the door. She's in the ecotone, the shadow world between the forest and the field, between her protected life and this strange new one, the one where she becomes Alice Pearson again. Since her visit to Sing Sing, she's gone through half the bottle of white pills, sleeping at odd hours, waking in the evening or in the middle of the night. She doesn't remember crying, but her pillow is often wet. She doesn't remember dreaming. It's like falling through space.

Alice wishes her mother was still alive so she could ask her the questions Alfred and Hans want the answers to: “Why didn't you come for me? Why didn't you save me?” She knows the answers: “You were with your friends,” and “Why did I need to come for you?” But Molly's parents had tried, and so had Stover's.

Alice's mother spent her days off in a housecoat and slippers, and if she had to leave the house on those days, she donned the same burnt ­orange wool coat with tarnished buttons that she'd been wearing for as long as Alice could recall. It had a musty smell, like she had spent a long weekend in it cooking cabbage. In Penney's, her mother's shoes made a scuffing sound along the tiles, as if they were too big, so Alice scuffed her shoes on the tiles, too, pretending it was a game.
Swish slosh splosh.
Take out the wash. When strangers looked too long at her mother, Alice walked in front of her, jumping, scuffing, singing, distracting. Hiding in plain sight.

Between 1968 and 1978, along the interstates of New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Vermont, twenty-two people went missing. Hans lays the pictures of the missing out in front of him. Most of them are female, but there are four men. They are children, really. Some went missing in cities, others disappeared on desolate roads—their cars were found abandoned, purses recovered in Dumpsters. It's as if they evaporated. Everyone's talking about UFOs, about aliens. No one wants to admit that the monster is one of us—one of us asking for help in a parking lot, offering a job, offering love. Hans can't blame anyone for thinking that a monster must be an
obvious
monster—distorted, skewed, somehow recognizable—a monster, by definition, stands out. Who wants to think he actually looks just like the rest of us, that we can't tell even when we've talked to him, just shared a meal with him? He could live next door—or in a farmhouse in New York.

Ariel posits a theory. “It's Jack Wyck,” she says. “I know it is. I can feel it.”

“How do you know? These cases could be unrelated. They might be runaways. They're the right age.”

“Look,” she says, leaning forward. “These girls are the same age as Alice and her friends were. Alice said there were clothes in the house and no one knew who they belonged to. Before Allegra—it's just Jack and Lee. And maybe Allegra knew. Maybe she was scared and that's why she ran away. Maybe she
is
hiding somewhere.”

“Why do the abductions stop?”

“Look at the date.” Ariel points: 1978. “They have a new scam. The Vietnam scam. Alice and her friends. There are missing people after that, of course, but not in the same way. Look at the photos,” she says.

Hans looks. The girls are anywhere between fourteen and twenty—and so are the four boys. These are school pictures—the three-quarter profile, combed hair, a blue sky background, the best shirt. “We need to find Allegra,” Hans says.

“I'm still coming up with nothing.”

“My man in the camp wrote these,” Mr. Wyck said. He laid the letters out on the table, smoothing them. Alice looked down at the handwriting. It wasn't Mr. Wyck's—it was dense and uneven and in a language she could not fathom. The blue ink in the letters matched the blue of Mr. Wyck's oxford cloth shirt. Allegra had ironed it; steam rose from the starch and water she sprayed it with. “Do my dress,” Alice had said, but Allegra said you couldn't do knits.

The letters were torn and taped back together again. He passed a letter to Bob and Greta. Alice held Tilly on her lap, bobbing the child gently on her knee.

“How did the letters get past the censors?” Bob asked.

“Smuggled out,” Mr. Wyck said. “We'd never take the chance of using the regular channels.” He brought out a photo. “This is a photo of Robert,” he told them. The photograph was blurry, taken from a distance.

Alice let out a small gasp. “It's really him!” she said, looking at Greta.

Bob studied the picture. He placed a finger on it. A deep wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. Greta took his hand. “They say this is really our Robby?” Bob asked. His voice was uneven.

Molly was singing to Matty in the kitchen. She brought him out and gazed over Greta's shoulder. Mr. Wyck brought a finger to his lips and looked at Molly.
Shh.
Trina sat next to Allegra, her hands folded in her lap. Allegra held a manila folder. It contained maps and surveillance ­photos—whatever history there was on the camp. Lee sat next to Mr. Wyck, a notebook in front of him, a pair of glasses he didn't need in his shirt pocket. Alice closed her eyes and concentrated.
Don't forget to put them on
. She sent the thought to Lee.

“Girls,” Mr. Wyck said. “Why don't you take the babies into the living room while we finish talking?” Alice rose and carried Tilly on her hip into the living room. The little girl played with Alice's hair, laughing and cooing, her warm breath on Alice's neck. Molly and Alice put Tilly and Matty down on a bright yellow blanket and sat together on the faded flower sofa. Trina joined them, making a space for herself in the middle. “I'm so fucking bored,” she whispered to Alice. Alice brought her finger to her lips. They all looked at the babies and listened to Mr. Wyck

“It shouldn't be long now,” Mr. Wyck said. “We have direct communication.”

“What does Robert say?” Greta wanted to know.

A mirror hung on the wall opposite and Alice could see Mr. Wyck's face in the reflection. His back was straight. His hands were folded in front of him on the table. Lee still hadn't put his glasses on.
Put them on,
Alice thought. It was part of his costume. She didn't like it when they were not in full costume. A moment later, when Lee pulled his glasses from his pocket and put them on, Alice wasn't surprised that her thoughts had reached him.

“He says he can't wait to get home again,” Mr. Wyck said. “He can't wait to see you again.” Mr. Wyck took Greta's hands in his.

“See, darling?” Greta said to Bob. “I knew we'd see our Robby again.”

“You should have your son home by Christmas, Mr. Smith.” Lee nodded.

“That's what we all want,” Mr. Wyck said. “But there is one problem—”

“Tell us.” Bob rubbed his hands together. He picked up a pen and put it down.

“My man inside—he says it's going to be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Greta leaned forward.

“You said they could take him out in the night—let him go into the woods. How is that dangerous?” Alice bit her lip as she listened. Bob sounded angry, but he was probably just scared. She wanted to tell him not to worry. Robert would be safe if Mr. Wyck was overseeing this.

“Your son's a hero,” Allegra said.

“He says if he leaves, everyone leaves,” Lee explained.

“He doesn't want to be the only one who escapes.” Mr. Wyck's voice was low, gentle. “He says he's taking everyone with him.”

Greta and Bob were silent, and then Alice listened as Greta began to sob. The twins, alarmed, stopped playing and looked at their mother in the next room. “Mama—” Tilly said, reaching out. Alice picked her up and held her close. Molly played peek a boo with Matty until he laughed. Trina rose and went to the window. Her skirt bunched in the back where the wool had proven too thick to take in. Alice looked down at her stocking feet. She could see the chipped red nail polish beneath the tan nylon. In the living room mirror, Alice watched Mr. Wyck watch Trina.

“How much?” Bob wanted to know. His voice was determined. “I'll write the check today.”

Trina turned to Alice and gazed at her, a hand on her hip.

“Now I know, I know.” Mr. Wyck held his hands up. “I tried to reason with him, but we are talking a major operation here. My guy says it's going to have to look like an accident, all these men escaping at once. It's going to have to look like something happened at the camp—that the men revolted and took the guards hostage—but to do that, we need all the guards on board. We can't have a single one who doesn't know what's going on.”

Alice held Trina's gaze. Alice shook her head.
No.
She wanted to tell Trina that Mr. Wyck was watching her, but she couldn't.
Don't,
she mouthed. She didn't know what Trina would do. It was like Trina with the Monopoly board. You couldn't predict.

“Each guard must be paid off.” Lee pushed his glasses up on his nose. They were too big.

“We think another six,” Allegra said.

“Six thousand?” Bob said. A click of a pen. Silence.

“We know it seems a lot,” Allegra said.

“It's not too much to have our son home again.” Greta was convinced. She didn't need any convincing. She was ready.

Trina whispered, “They're fucking with them,” as Alice came towards her, blocking Mr. Wyck's view, but he heard her—if not what she said—he heard her voice. “What's that, sweetheart?” he called from the other room.

Trina didn't say anything. “She says Tilly looks tired,” Alice told him.

“We'll be finished soon,” Greta called.

Alice looked at Trina and shook her head again, and Trina turned back to look out the window. Molly rose from the couch and lay down on the blanket, her head propped in her hand. She picked up one of Tilly's curls with her finger and twirled it gently in her hand, whispering something that Alice couldn't quite make out. She went to the blanket and sat down with Molly.

“Do you remember Robert?” Molly said. Tilly looked sleepy. She lay on her back, gazing up at Molly. “Yes?” Molly smiled. “You remember Robert.” Tilly closed her eyes. Molly smiled up at Alice. “I know they probably don't remember him,” she whispered, “but when he comes home, they'll know it's something special.”

Alice nodded. She looked up when she heard the front door open. Trina went outside. Alice could see her through the window. She was pacing up and down the front walk. Mr. Wyck wouldn't like it. He'd told them to stay inside Virginia's house as much as possible. At least she wasn't smoking, though Alice imagined she was debating it. Molly sat up and followed Alice's eyes. “What's she doing?” she whispered. Alice shook her head. “She should come back inside,” Molly said, “before Mr. Wyck sees.”

Alice bit her lip and looked in the mirror. “Too late,” she said. Mr. Wyck was staring at the front door. Alice debated following Trina, but she heard the others putting the papers away in the dining room. Chairs scraped across the wooden floor. Allegra asked something about Halloween, and Greta answered “Hummingbirds.”

“Alice,” Greta called, and Alice rose and came smiling into the dining room. “Why don't you and Molly take the twins out on Halloween?” she asked. “They'd like that.”

“What about that, Alice?” Allegra said. She reached out and pushed Alice's hair behind her ear. “That sounds fun.”

“We'd love to.” For a moment, they really were the kind of ­family they said they were, and Alice was a teenager again getting a special babysitting job. They stood on the porch and waved goodbye to the Smiths. Mr. Wyck kept an arm around Trina. “Smile,” he said to her. His voice was small and tight. Trina smiled. Alice smiled.
Goodbye!
They all called. They kept waving until the Smiths' car disappeared at the end of the street. Then they dropped their shoulders and stretched. Lee took off his glasses and put them back in his pocket. “Why do I have to wear glasses?” he said.

“It makes you look smarter.” Mr. Wyck chucked him on the chin.

“Hey.”

Molly and Alice washed and dried the dishes and put them away in the cupboards. Alice looked out the back door at Trina, who sat in one of the swings, smoking a cigarette. She let the chains idly wrap around her as she turned the seat forward and back. Mr. Wyck, Allegra, and Lee talked in the living room. After a while, Mr. Wyck sauntered into the kitchen. “Time to go, animals,” he said. He opened the back door. “Come on, then.” Trina walked slowly, letting her feet drag a little.

In the van, when Molly began to sing, no one joined in, and eventually, her soft voice grew softer until it died away. The truck was cold. Mr. Wyck had turned the heat off, and though Alice wanted to speak up to ask Allegra to turn it on, she had a feeling that she shouldn't say anything. They were driving through Bear Mountain Park and then taking the bridge across the Hudson. Alice saw deer in the woods, dodging in and out of the truck's lights as it grew darker.