TWENTY-ONE
S
ANDERSON HAD BEEN CALLING
for Rowan every few minutes, but neither she nor the dogs had come back. He’d messed up, he knew it. Something was wrong, and he shouldn’t have sent her out there on her own. He couldn’t wait—he had to find her.
He tucked the useless phone into the breast pocket of his shirt. Then, steeling himself against what he knew would be terrible pain, he scooched slowly around so he could back towards the front hall closet, using his elbows to pull himself along the floor. Despite his efforts to keep the whole leg steady, his foot bounced with the first pull, flopping towards the floor. He shrieked and broke out in a cold sweat. He couldn’t look—to look was to feel sick. It was the kind of break that would require a lot of care. And no movement.
He groaned and gasped and tried to breathe through his mouth without any more screaming, and he managed to pull himself a couple more feet along the hall floor.
Tucked into the closet was a box of things he hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet. The tall box had once contained aluminum tracking for industrial lighting. Inside it was a badminton net with adjustable poles, his golf shoes, a lacrosse racket, two tennis rackets—a Yonex and a lesser wooden racket he’d had since college—and a set of ski poles. Also a hockey stick, a CCM Vector. It would make a decent crutch, he hoped.
He worked himself across the floor, concentrating on how Paula had looked as she’d turned to meet his eyes before she left, her face so vulnerable.
When they were gone, Marla went to the back door and listened to the quiet. She did not turn on the outside light. The neighbourhood was dark. She would have to go soon, do her part for the greater good. The greater evil.
It was probably too late to help herself. Or Paula.
But there was Rowan. David’s child.
isn’t that right Pauls isn’t that who she is
Her mother didn’t realize it, Marla was sure of that. Not even Izzy could be so cruel as to ignore that fact, to have such designs on the offspring of her favourite child.
Marla had suspected, had wondered, but not seriously. She’d thought that if David had got Paula pregnant, Paula surely would have told her. The realization that she hadn’t was at least as painful as knowing what she had just done to Paula and her daughter. Her niece.
Why didn’t you tell me?
What had she done?
When she’d seen Paula again, here in Haven Woods, she’d realized how much she’d missed having a real friend. The girlfriends she’d made since Paula had left had at best been recruits, even if they hadn’t begun that way. As she’d watched them embrace the faith with such passion and gusto, eating up their opportunities no matter how blood-soaked they were, the friendships had changed. And not into sisterhood either, despite the cant.
Of course, now she was more blood-soaked than most. All because she’d used her power, her persuasion, to help her mother—a woman who had done her utmost to make Marla feel second best all her life. Now Marla had no way to stop it, and a trail of blood followed her everywhere. The stupid coach, all those people at the mall, now her
(niece, blood of her blood)
she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it out loud.
But maybe there was something she could do to make it right. And if she was successful, maybe her own children—her blood—would be spared.
Father, forgive me, for I am sin
.
Doug was lying with his head on his papers, eyes closed, the lines and circles around them invisible in the low light. He looked like his old self when he slept
(if he slept)
She whispered, “I have to go out, darling. The kids are in bed. I won’t be too long.”
Next Marla went to the room at the end of the basement where no one ever went but her—a housewife’s room. There was built-in shelving along the walls, nearly full of the usual pickles/relish/homemade jam. She reached behind the canned peaches and retrieved a small brown bag. Without looking inside she carried it back upstairs.
Once again the phone was ringing. It rang and rang and rang, until finally she gave up and answered. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice at the other end of the line, but she knew the tone. Worry. Soul-sucking worry.
“She’s not here,” she broke in. “They’re taking her to the Chapman house. It’s best you stay away. Watch out for that little girl. This is no place for a little girl.” She hung up.
Then Marla went out into the night. She pushed herself into a light jog, then faster. As she ran along the road she saw tiny shapes dart out of hiding, falling in silently behind her. She didn’t care. It felt good to run.
Sanderson stared down at his phone in disbelief. The Chapman house?
Now that he was upright, the hockey stick jammed underneath his armpit, his ankle throbbed and throbbed. But all thoughts of hospital had vanished from his head. He had to find Rowan first. Then to hell with what Marla said, he was going to go get Paula out of the Chapman house.
He hobbled out the door, not bothering to try to shut it behind him. The street was very quiet, as if everyone on the block had gone out for evening. Maybe they had. Or maybe they were inside, hiding because they were afraid.
His car was in the driveway where he’d left it what seemed like months ago. The keys jingled, bouncing against the stick as he limped to the driver’s-side door.
He would find them both, make it right. Rescue them. From what, exactly, he didn’t know, but there sure as hell was something going on.
Save the female
is an ancient male imperative, a guy thing, but in this case it seemed more than that. An imperative of unknown origin.
The car started. He had to use his left foot on the accelerator, resting his injured leg on the hump in the middle. It was awkward for a minute, but he adjusted. Cars are also a guy thing.
The hospital lights loomed just ahead of her. There was no one in there except Audra; Marla knew this for a fact. The lights were on a timer, to keep up the pretence.
Behind her grew a sound like rain on the sidewalk, dozens of cat feet, padding on the road, coming from behind trees, mailboxes, shrubs, fences. So far that was all they had done—follow her.
She pushed through the front doors, ignoring the small, elegantly lettered sign on the desk at reception:
VISITING HOURS ARE OVER. THANK YOU FOR CARING ENOUGH TO STOP BY. SEE YOU TOMORROW!
Marla hit the elevator button to take her to the second floor. The doors opened almost instantly and she stepped inside. Just before she did, she glanced back through the glass front wall of the hospital. Staring at her was a row of cats. Twelve or fourteen of them. Beyond them there would be more. The elevator door shut.
On the second floor, Marla passed room after empty room, beds perfectly made, cheery yellow blankets pulled taut over snow white three-hundred-thread-count, private-hospital-grade sheets, half lit by the soft glow of bedside lamps. It was eerie.
A single door near the end of the corridor was closed. She pushed it open and gave a gasp. She couldn’t help it. Audra lay on her side, spine curled, knees up. Her arms stuck straight out from her shoulders, wrists and fingers stiff.
The older woman’s eyes opened and moved in their sockets, and Marla gasped again.
“Oh god, what have we done to you?”
Audra’s speech was even more garbled from the spell. “Maarrrl—”
“Audra, your eyes,
your eyes—”
“Iiss it Friid-aaay?”
“Yes.”
Audra closed her eyes and seemed to sleep. There was an unhealthy heat in the room, and Marla could smell her, a pungent animal scent.
“Are you an animal?”
“Iiimm a Juu-daass goat,” Audra said, those horrible eyes opening to meet Marla’s. “Chick,” she said. It sounded like
shik
, or
shit
. She repeated it. “Chick.”
Marla nodded; she got it. Just the sort of thing that would have seemed clever at the time. But it couldn’t have been Izzy. Izzy would never have done this. It had to have been … something else.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, and then regretted it. From the woman’s posture and voice, it was obvious that she was.
Still, Audra shook her head slightly. “Inn heeere,” she said, and looked down, her reptilian eyes focusing on her chest. Her heart.
“I want to help you. And Rowan, and Paula if we can. But we don’t have very much time.”
Audra met Marla’s eyes once more and Marla fought the urge to look away.
“I think I can set you free, at least for a little while. Maybe long enough.”
Marla took both of Audra’s stiffened hands in hers and held them tightly, until she could feel the heat of their bodies joining. The goat smell was distracting. But that was not entirely a bad thing, because Marla was scared.
Audra closed her eyes and said, “Doo waad yoouu caann.” But by then Marla was concentrating on calling up larger forces.
“Humilis oro ut recreaturus sitis feminam vestram …”
Audra began to shudder. Her eyes flew open as if she had been startled by some great noise. They widened until a white circle surrounded her slitted pupils.
“Restore this creature, your woman, to her bloom, in Your name to undo that which has been done …”
A moan started from inside Audra, like a growl in her stomach, and rose up and out her throat. An awakening—an angry one. Her body seemed to vibrate. Her spine uncurled and she grew longer, her legs stretching out, straightening, her feet lengthening. The fingers of her right hand, still held in Marla’s, flexed, the hard edges of her fingernails scraping painfully against the inside of Marla’s palm.
Marla felt as if a hot wire was cutting through her core, but she hung on to Audra with everything she had. She hoped that this wasn’t a mistake, that her children wouldn’t suffer any repercussions, because it was too late to stop now.
Audra’s head went back, her mouth stretched open and she
shrieked
. It was an unholy sound. Her eyes glowed briefly gold, the whites turning pink and then red. Her skin became shiny and sleek from whatever power was thrumming through her body.
Marla felt the hot wire turning back on her, and she groaned too, not sure how much longer she could hold on.
The woman on the bed sat up abruptly and yanked her hands away. “No!”
And everything stopped. The hot wire inside Marla popped, the wretched fire in her hands, the fear—all disappeared.
Audra blinked a few times. “Dry,” she croaked.
Marla looked around the room. There was a covered container on the table in the corner. She went and got it, pulled the lid off. The smell was horrible. She shook her head at Audra.
“Clothes—”
All Audra had on was a short-sleeved nightgown. Her arms no longer looked frail and skinny; she seemed to have gained ten pounds.
“Okay,” Marla said. She checked the cupboard, which was empty. A hanger swung lazily with the motion of the door opening. “They must have taken your things.”
Audra slid off the bed tentatively. She let out another groan, this time a relieved one. Her feet were bare. Marla looked in the bottom of the cupboard and under the bed, but there were no shoes either.
“How much time do I have?”
“I don’t know,” Marla said. “It could be forever. Or until we get to the door.”
“We better get going then,” Audra said.
The hall was as empty as it had been before.
“Is Paula at the house? And … Rowan?” Audra said.
Marla shook her head. “I don’t know where Rowan is. They were going to find her. Paula didn’t bring her. Did you do that?”
“No.”
“They took Paula to the Chapman place, but it’s Rowan they need now. Sanderson Keyes called me just as I was leaving. I told him to keep Rowan with him.” She choked up.
“Marla?”
“My babies … my husband. They’re in terrible shape. I don’t know what will happen to them after this—” She started to cry in a way she hadn’t for years. Like Izzy, she thought she’d lost the ability.
Audra put her hand on Marla’s back. “If I can fix it I will. I’m going to Izzy first, though, okay?” Marla nodded.
The two of them walked down the hall, Marla’s footsteps echoing impotently, Audra’s bare feet not making a sound. When they came out of the elevator into the lobby, about two hundred cats sat looking in at them, tails flicking.
Rowan crouched behind a shrub, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid the old ladies would hear it. She had no idea where she was. Except that it was someone’s backyard.
She touched the plastic Jesus around her neck, making sure it was still there. And that it was still
that
. She wished it was a cellphone. Everyone had a cell, except her.
It was dark, although this particular backyard had motion detectors, so the light had come on when she ran from the lane to the bush. It had since gone off again, but it was a problem. If she moved, the light would come on again.
As far as she could tell, they had driven her around two corners and down four or five blocks. But she wasn’t exactly sure which direction she’d gone when she ran from the car. Rowan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She closed her eyes and in her head went all the way back to when the car had stopped in front of Mr. Keyes’s house.
After about five minutes she stood up and walked straight out front to the street, ignoring the light when the motion detector turned it on. She was in the zone.
Sanderson drove slowly, eyes shifting from side to side, looking for any sign of anything. He did not call out the window. For some reason he thought it was best to stay quiet. He was alone on the road.
Rowan …
He willed the girl to show herself.
TWENTY-TWO
“S
HE’S TOO DAMN HEAVY!”
Paula heard Glory say from outside the vehicle. She was in the back seat of someone’s minivan. She could smell the faint whiff of sour milk, the familiar odours of a family car. Other than that, she had no idea where she was.
She remembered her friend Marla coming at her, muttering incantations, and that she’d collapsed, hadn’t been able to move a muscle, had passed out. Testing carefully, she realized her limbs could move again a little.
She heard someone yell, “Bring Paula.”
Both feet had pins and needles—unpleasant, but wholly welcome. Whatever Marla had done to her, she’d made a poor job of it, maybe for Paula’s sake. Maybe that’s what she’d meant when she’d whispered that she was trying to be on Paula’s side.
A seatbelt buckle dug into her lower back. She could see very little of the outside, just sky and stars. A single streetlight somewhere behind the car cast some light into the interior. She didn’t know where they were, but they wanted her out of the van—that much was clear.
She’d taken a self-defence course in the city because of all those late nights she’d had to make her way home alone. Her mind flitted through what she’d been taught, but the only thing that came back was the second-location theory. The course instructor—big, intimidating, male—had stressed that no matter what, if kidnapped, you must do everything in your power to prevent your kidnapper from taking you to a second location. The second location was where they killed you. Ted Bundy had kidnapped girls from all kinds of public places, but he killed them all at the next stop. Paula had to stay in the van.
Glory’s voice again: “I don’t think I can use my left arm … I think it’s about to come off. When is Izzy getting here? I’m getting nervous about this …”
The fingers of Paula’s left hand grazed the carpet on the floor. She could feel the rough nap on her knuckles. The van rocked slightly as Glory leaned against it.
Outside, she figured, were the ones who had held her: Esme, Glory and Bridget. She had no idea if anyone else was with them, wherever they were parked. It had to be somewhere private, because the girls felt okay about shouting out their business to one another. They seemed to be waiting for Izzy. Why David’s mom? Why Izzy? Clearly she was key.
Logic suggested that time was crucial. Likely she had only minutes before one of them opened that door and pulled her outside to face whatever fate awaited her. The pins and needles had progressed up her legs and arms and by now had almost disappeared. Her chest felt heavy and full, as if she had heartburn, and her scalp was still numb. She flexed her ankles and was surprised to find that they felt normal.
She made fists, then pressed one hand down on the floor of the van, putting a little muscle into it. That was too much, and she released the pressure, gasping. But the act had sent blood into her arm so that when she tried it again, she was able to raise herself a little.
She relaxed, resting her hand on the carpet a moment. Then she felt around, hoping there would be something on the floor she could use. Under the driver’s seat her fingers closed around something and she pulled it towards her. It was a doll, a Barbie knockoff, made of very hard, inflexible plastic, its legs sticking straight out. She supposed it was better than nothing, and she held on to it.
She concentrated on listening for other cars, conversation, the sound of her daughter’s voice, hoping she would not hear it.
Not Rowan
.
The door handle clicked and Paula tensed, uncertain what to do with the makeshift weapon in her hand. A goddamn Barbie doll? But she didn’t have time or the presence of mind to react except in the most primal way when the door opened.
It was Glory, who excused herself and whispered to Paula, as if she were interrupting a nap, “Sorry, just going to grab my purse. I think I left an Oreo in there—”
She leaned in, giving Paula just enough time to jerk herself up before fear could stop her. She swung the doll as hard as she could and made sudden, hard contact. There was a terrible wet, tearing sound and Glory staggered back out of the van, clutching the side of her face. Her mouth opened and a gasp came out
—uuuhh
. Paula jammed her hand against her own mouth to keep from screaming out loud. The doll’s legs had plunged right into Glory’s eye.
Blood soaked into Glory’s glove, dripping down as her good eye stared, shocked, at Paula. Then she staggered and fell forward heavily onto Paula’s legs, hovering a moment until gravity pulled her large body to the ground.
Paula scrambled out of the van. She stared at Glory sprawled on the grass, her mouth open in horror, then looked at the doll in her hand. It was covered in blood to the knees.
Murder-Weapon Barbie
. She flung it to the ground and it landed beside Glory. Then she tore her eyes away and looked around at where she was.
The van was in a yard, about fifty feet from a house. She could hear voices rising and falling. No one had reacted to what had just happened. What
had
just happened? Had she killed Glory?
Now what?
For the first fifteen or so seconds, the building she was staring at was just a house. Then, with a terrible clarity, she realized—
He Lives Here
It was the Chapman house.
She had to get away.
Glory was lying very still, and Paula begged in her mind,
Don’t be dead
. Then the woman shifted and moaned, clutching her eye, and that made Paula move, fast. She leaped into the driver’s seat. The keys were not in the ignition. She pawed around in the console recess. Gum, candy, a couple of pens, a tiny dinosaur, some fuses. She popped open the glovebox, taking care to stay low and quiet
(oh please oh please oh please)
In the glovebox: papers, operating manual, gloves, sunglasses
(oh please come on)
Paula flipped down the visor over the driver’s seat and the keys fell, hitting her on the head and dropping into her lap. She fished them out from between her legs, hands shaking, and jabbed them at the ignition … missing, missing, missing … then the key slid in, she turned it and the motor roared into life.
A voice called out, “Hey!”
Paula flipped the headlights on, threw the van into reverse and backed up past the moaning body on the drive. Just as she was pulling onto the road, she looked into the rear-view and saw
I swear
people in the windows—dark silhouettes
(a child for certain)
even as three women ran screaming down the front steps as she drove madly out of view.
–
Marla and Audra looked out at the cats.
“There’s Tansy,” Marla said.
Izzy’s golden-eyed familiar sat perched above the others on the concrete base of a tall streetlamp. The cats now covered the entire wide walkway. Tails flicked lazily, contemplatively, and their eyes never left the women’s faces.
“Do you think they’ll do something?” Marla said.
Audra didn’t answer. She stood, blinking slowly, her arms wrapped around her waist, listing a little.
“Audra?” Marla put her arm out, steadying her.
“I’m all right, dear. Just a little unsteady on my feet—”
“I’m sorry,” Marla said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Audra trembled ever so slightly in her nightclothes. Marla put both arms around her and rubbed her back. She was chilled, in spite of the warm night.
“I should have put a stop to all of this years ago. And it’s certainly time now.” Audra touched a cold hand to Marla’s cheek and smiled. “You did the right thing. Thank you.” Carefully she pushed open the door.
They were greeted by a steady vibrating thrum. Purring.
The two women exchanged looks, then stepped out into the gathering of cats. They kept to the concrete sidewalk, moving carefully, avoiding tails. The cats got out of the way elegantly, unhurriedly, heads high. But after the women passed they snapped unholy looks at them, eyes iridescent in the halogen lights.
The street in the front of the hospital was quiet, deserted. It was probably after nine.
“Everyone sleeps,” Audra said, pointlessly.
Marla nodded.
They walked towards Proctor Street, going slowly, Marla worried about Audra’s bare feet. The cats followed, keeping their distance. At the corner the road split. One way led to the Chapman house, at the edge of Haven Woods, and the other to where Marla lived. All around them the purring of the cats bounced off the expensive house fronts, the asphalt.
“I have to go home,” Marla said apologetically. “I have to stay out of it now.”
Audra slipped her arm out of Marla’s. “I know,” she said. “You’ve done enough.” Her hands were still quite cold, but the process of becoming whatever it had been had halted. She looked frightening, nonetheless, with her golden eyes and coarse, wild hair.
I’m sorry
, Marla thought.
“Go now. I have a long walk.”
Marla looked behind them, around them at the cats, which were sitting idly.
“I don’t think they’ll hurt me,” Audra said to reassure her. “I think if they were going to, they would have by now, don’t you?”
“I guess …”
“You have to go to your family. I’ll be all right.” Audra swayed, but only very slightly.
Marla turned away, breaking into a run. Audra watched until she was halfway down the block, then took the first step towards her own fate.
As she walked, the cats followed behind her, edging closer and closer.
Rowan wanted her mother. Very badly. She would not cry, though, not yet.
She thought she recognized the street she was on. When she got to her grandmother’s house, she’d use the phone to call her mom. And an ambulance. And the police, if she had to.
She touched her plastic Jesus and ran across the street, watching for signs of life and seeing none. She snuck down the narrow path between the houses and into another backyard, climbing the fence, then hopping down into the neighbouring yard. She crept along the side of that house, and there, not ten doors away, was her grandmother’s.
She broke into a jog. She just wanted to get somewhere safe.
Sweat beaded Sanderson’s forehead as the car lurched and jerked. Using his left foot on the pedals, he was driving like a teenager behind the wheel for the very first time. He’d propped up his broken ankle as best he could, but every time the car hit a bump or jerked forward, pain shot up his leg all the way to the hip. Everything was on fire. But he couldn’t give up—he had to find Rowan.
He scanned the streets, which were dark and silent. He tried to see between bushes and behind trees. He resisted the idea of sticking his head out the window and calling for her; he still had a feeling that was a bad idea. He did a loop up the block and then went back the way he had come, scoping the other side of the street. He willed her to appear.
Rowan …
Sanderson turned onto the next block, heading for Paula’s mom’s place. For all he knew Rowan had a key and might have gone back there to use the phone.
It struck him that it was completely weird for the streets to be this deserted, for all the houses to be dark. No doubt economical and ecological, but spooky as all hell.
Twice Rowan thought she heard something behind her, but when she spun around to look, forgetting all about being careful and quiet, there was no one behind her. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone, or something, following her. It didn’t mean she could let her guard down. What it meant was
(just go)
Her running shoes made almost no sound on the sidewalk, so she could keep track of other noises. And she did. A rustle of leaves, the wind blowing litter, a rattle in someone’s throat—
“Rowan?”
She jumped out of her skin, letting out a squeal. She looked behind her. The sidewalk was empty. She swung to look at the houses on either side of the street, but their windows were still dark, their yards full of shadows.
“Rowan,
dear,”
the voice said, and then out of the shadows came the woman from before. The woman Bella.
Rowan backed away. “No—”
“Don’t be afraid,” Bella said. “I’m all on my own; it’s just you and me. I’ve come to keep you safe.”
The woman’s voice was soothing. There was a halo of light around her head from the streetlamp behind her. It was … peaceful. The girl paused for just a second.
“Rowan, you’re all alone out here. I’ll take you to your mother. You want to see your mother, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Rowan admitted. And took a step in Bella’s direction.
As she did, her mind did a funny thing. Into it popped an old memory from her neighbourhood in the city, of the boys who sat on the steps across the street, jeering at her when she walked to school
c’mere little girl I’ll teach ya
Once, feeling bold, she had started to answer back. A passerby had wagged his finger at her and said,
stay away from those boys they’re no good
.
(no) good
“No!” Rowan said. She stepped back and jammed her fists into her eyes and rubbed. The woman’s voice seemed to be coming from inside her own head.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I want to take you to your mother. She’s at a special place, the Chapman House. With friends. It’s not far …”
no good for you
Bella put her hands out and Rowan felt her body leaning towards her.
How nice it would be to just
(give in)
no good for
She turned and ran. Light reflected off the pavement where it was shiny from hundreds of cars driving over it every day, fathers and husbands going to work, children being driven to school, mothers and wives driving to their own work, to school, to the grocery store, the hospital, the dry cleaners.
The woman ran after her, but not very fast because she was old. “Stop, stop! You have to come with me! Oh, stop, stop, stop!” She was running out of air. “Rowan … you damn little bitch! We already have … your mother. If you ever want … to see her again … you … have … to … come …” The woman stopped, hunched over, gasping for air, her hand waving as if asking Rowan to
Stop, just stop
out of plain courtesy.