Did people really think she’d killed her own sister? No. This was just Reggie, screwing with her mind. Scrambling her thoughts. Trying to scare her because scaring women turned him on. He got off on the power of it. She remembered the Rockwell Fish Fry in the park. That awful, awful festival in town. Even now, when she saw fireworks, she felt vaguely sick. Reggie’s voice hot in her ear, calling her pretty. The way he’d made her feel: like one of them, but in a bad way. She needed to get away from him. Now there was nothing but repulsion. And fear.
“Oh, hey, one more thing.” He jogged up to her, keeping even with her pace, which had quickened. He reached out, grabbed her forearm. Not hard, but enough to stop her from moving. She turned to him, unease certainly written all over her face. “I’m sorry about your aunt.”
“Really? It doesn’t seem like it.” She jerked her arm away, unsure of what to do with her anger. Unsure where it came from or even if it was misdirected. Maybe she’d misread the whole exchange. Maybe Reggie was just doing his job. How could Wyatt stand him?
“A lot of strange happenings up in that castle on the hill, you know? All them missing girls years ago. Then your aunt and uncle move in, and there are more missing girls.”
“Julia ran away,” Hannah answered quickly, defensively. She said it rotely, automatically. She felt like she’d said it a million times since she’d come to Rockwell. Everyone questioning, even when they didn’t verbalize it. Wyatt, Alice, Reggie, even Huck.
“Uh-huh. I know. I’ve heard.” Reggie nodded, seemingly agreeable, his shoulders rising and falling like it was no big thing to him. Was he being Reggie the cop now? Or Reggie, the creep of a kid she used to know? “What about Ellie?”
“What about Ellie? You guys told me she ran away. Back when we were kids at the fish fry.” The words popped out of her mouth before she had time to think about it. She’d spent so much time training her mind away from that night that now, when she was an adult, whole portions of the evening were missing. Blank chunks of time. How had they gotten home? She didn’t remember.
The night Julia had run away.
“I’m just saying. In 2001, Ellie ran away. In 2002, Julia ran away. And now, seventeen years later, your aunt was running away and got herself killed.” Reggie coughed, starting to walk backward, away from Hannah, toward his truck. “You gotta wonder, that’s all. What’s everybody running from?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Then
June 2, 2002
The first day back in Rockwell was always the best day. Even that last summer, the first day felt thick with promise. The lick of anticipation sweet on their tongues, unsoured by reality. Misunderstandings had yet to happen; arguments had not yet been imagined. The impending summer loomed bright with possibilities. The idea that they had three whole months together, the pool, the castle, the grounds, the woods, the river, and now: the boys. The taste of last summer fresh on their lips like blackberries, fading fast, layered with new memories the way Uncle Stuart laid bricks.
Julia waved wildly as the big Buick rolled back down the driveway, Trina’s hand thrust out the window in an uncharacteristic burst of emotion. Aunt Fae and Uncle Stuart waved back from the driveway, stoic and reserved, before disappearing back inside. Julia squealed, up on her tiptoes, hands clapping silently, and she took Hannah’s hands in her own and danced them in a little circle.
“This is going to be the best year yet,” she gushed, her cheeks pinked and eyes gleaming. Later, she pulled Hannah to the shed and extracted the bikes.
Already? thought Hannah. It was fine; her heart skipped at the thought of Wyatt. She wanted to make up for that awful, awful night in Plymouth. Her thighs quivered (she hated that word, but that was what they did) at the thought.
She was fifteen now. Old enough for them to come out with their relationship. She had to convince him. She knew he couldn’t wait to see her again. He had sent her endless emails over the winter, and she had written back. Were they boyfriend and girlfriend? They hadn’t said so. Hannah didn’t think Tracy and Beth even believed he existed. She still hadn’t said a word to Julia. She just couldn’t.
Why all the secrecy? she’d asked Wyatt time and time again, and he’d replied, You’re fourteen. Could a seventeen-year-old get in trouble for dating a fourteen-year-old, even if there wasn’t sex (there hadn’t been sex, not yet, just almost sex that one awful night)? She didn’t know. Had no one to ask.
But now she was back. She was fifteen. She’d thought about that Plymouth night countless times, the feel of him under her palm, his sharp intake of breath, the knowledge that she’d done that. Made him hard. She could hardly even think the word, much less say it out loud.
She followed Julia down the path, shouting to Aunt Fae and Uncle Stuart that they’d be back by dinnertime. Julia’s long curls trailed behind her; her windbreaker, tied to her waist, flapped in the wind.
They paid their entrance fee at the pool, and Hannah broke from Julia almost immediately. She didn’t care what her sister thought, if she saw them or not; she just ran right for the concession window.
There he was, his red hair curled against his forehead, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something a girl at the window said. Hannah felt a brief stab of jealousy, but then he met her gaze, and his whole face changed. She could see him go from shock to happiness. Delight. He closed his eyes, smiled, like she was a dream standing before him.
He put a finger to his lips. She shook her head playfully. She was tired of being quiet. Tired of being told to sit still, just wait, be patient. Tired of being too much for her mother, too loud for her stepfather, too wild for Julia, too, too, too. She wanted to burst wide open at the seams—to be allowed to simply let herself spill out would be the greatest gift.
He held up his index finger and then cocked his head to the back of the building, splaying all five fingers. Meet me in five.
It felt like an hour before he burst out of the back door and crushed her against the concrete. His mouth on her mouth, stealing her breath, making her gasp.
“I missed you,” he growled into her neck.
“I’m sure you had other girls to keep you company,” Hannah demurred, then hated that her first words to him were jealous, petty.
“Not like you.” He rested his forehead against hers and kissed her nose. “I don’t drive three hours for anyone.”
“This is going to be the best summer,” Hannah breathed, her legs shaking and her hands shaking and her heart pounding so wildly she was sure he could feel it. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist and he twirled her around and kissed her hair and his hands gripped her waist and they both talked at the same time and it was everything Hannah had hoped their reunion would be.
Later, she tried to talk to him about telling the others. He was adamant. “No one will understand. One more year, okay? I’ll be nineteen; you’ll be sixteen. That’s fine. Maybe by the end of summer. Please?” He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip, sending a thousand volts of electricity right down the middle of her body. So they stayed silent.
They met up with Julia and Dana and Yolanda and Reggie, with his movie-star good looks, tan like a lifeguard, skin smooth and glistening. He smiled at her, and she felt the small hitch in her breathing. Knew he did, too, gave her a sly smile like a cat with a bird trapped in its paws. She looked away.
“I didn’t know the girls from Brackenhill were such little hotties.” He guffawed at his own cleverness, and Dana and Yolanda and Julia giggled behind their palms.
“Shut up, man.” Wyatt punched him in the stomach, playful, but he laughed too. The whole scene made Hannah’s insides flip, her legs clench. Wyatt stayed on the other side of the group, his eyes following her every move. He winked at her every few minutes. And when no one was looking, his fingertips tickled the back of her neck, once cupped her ass.
She was his. Even if no one knew it. He was her sun, shining bright, blinding, in the center of her universe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-T
HREE
Now
The small stone church in Rockwell held around thirty people by the time Pastor Jim was ready to start his eulogy for Aunt Fae. Hannah wondered who everyone was as she slid into place next to Alice, who greeted Hannah and Huck with a single stern nod. Huck made a face at Hannah, his chin pulled back into his chest and his mouth stretching out: Eesh, what’s gotten into her? Hannah covered her mouth with a palm and hoped people thought she was muffling a sob. Huck elbowed her, a teasing admonishment.
The urn was blue, swirled in whites and greens around a yellow eye, reminding her of a hurricane. It felt fitting with Hannah’s childhood, everything she remembered or loved about Aunt Fae. She had been the calm in the storm of Hannah’s life; the one stabilizing force had become her summers away from Plymouth. The urn sat on the altar between two taper candles in plain pewter candleholders. So different from her memories of Catholic mass: all gild and incense and ceremony.
She turned in the pew and scanned the crowd. Wyatt sat in the back next to Reggie in a navy-blue suit that contrasted sharply with his reddish hair, his skin glowing a healthy summer bronze. Hannah looked away before they could make eye contact.
The first few pews also held a handful of people, but beyond that the church was empty. Hannah felt a rush of sadness. She didn’t recognize anyone from her summers in Rockwell.
Pastor Jim talked about Aunt Fae in the way Hannah remembered her, but he also must have collected stories from others in town. He told a funny story about when she’d had chickens, her battles with the wildlife, hawks and foxes mostly, eliciting chuckles from the congregation. He told a story about when she’d worked for a literacy project in town as an advocate for children. These were things Hannah hadn’t known. Glimpses into her aunt’s recent life, as insular as it seemed.
The service lasted forty-five minutes, much of it ceremonial. She caught sidelong glances from Alice during the service. Hannah self-consciously wondered if anyone expected her to speak. What would she have talked about? Her aunt seventeen years ago? Still, it seemed noteworthy to live a life such that no one felt compelled, or even morally obligated, to speak at your funeral. The thought depressed her. What kind of circumscribed life had her aunt led for the past seventeen years? At least when Hannah had known her, she’d been reserved, quiet, but her life had seemed full: she had gardens and Jinny, and she’d sometimes ventured into town, into the Sunday farmers’ market, and returned with armloads of locally grown vegetables and homemade breads. She chattered on about who she’d seen, who was selling what. She wasn’t free with her laughter or even her words, but she radiated a quiet strength and warmth that Hannah hadn’t ever known before.
Hannah hosted no catered lunch after the service. She didn’t stand in a receiving line. She simply waited in her pew for everyone to file out after the memorial. She scanned the crowd in the back, telling herself that she was absolutely not looking for Wyatt. Huck’s hand was warm on her back, and she leaned into him.
“Hannah Maloney.” The voice came from the back of the church, thin, wobbly, but direct.
“Jinny Fekete.” Hannah felt a flush of happiness. Her aunt’s only friend and another adult who had known Julia. There was no one else left.
Jinny was tinier than Hannah remembered, probably less than five feet tall and thin, childlike. Her hair was still dyed black but had gone white at the roots. She wore a pillbox, with a film of netting over the top half of her face. Shiny black feathers sprouted from the top. She rushed at Hannah like a furious seagull. The hug was ferocious.
“I knew it was you. I knew it. I knew it from the back of your head, all that thick dark hair. Not curly like your sister’s, God rest her soul, but that beautiful shine. I’d kill for that hair. HOW ARE YOU?” She waved both hands in the air, fists pumping, the Bakelite on both arms clacking together. Hannah sneaked a glance at Huck, who looked utterly baffled. Jinny’s dress was black but with a lace overlay, and it was pretty, more understated than Hannah would have predicted.
“I’m good, Jinny. How are you?” Hannah turned to Huck. “This is my fiancé, Huck.”
Jinny hugged him, her tiny arms around his waist like a child’s. Hannah covered her mouth with one hand and tried not to giggle out loud. Jinny turned to Hannah. “This is one adorable man you have there. I remember all you teenagers running around town—you were a skinny little thing, hardly a wisp. Your sister, God rest her soul, was the pretty one. You were both so smart, too smart for your own good.”
The sheer number of words gave Hannah a twitch in her eye.
“We’re going to lunch,” Jinny announced suddenly, loudly, her voice echoing in the cavernous, now-empty church. “You, me, Huck. We’re all going to lunch. Let’s go.” She took Hannah’s arm. “You’ll have to hold tight. My balance isn’t what it used to be. I get the vertigo now. See, age is a bitch. Don’t get older. The alternative is dead. Fae, God rest her soul, would tell you to get older, you know. But if you can figure out how to keep your youth, you’d make a mint.”
They walked out of the dark church and into the bright day. The parking lot had cleared, and again Hannah felt a heaviness pass through her. Did no one care about her aunt’s life? They’d fled like cockroaches in sunlight. Jinny pointed one shaky finger down the street to the diner.
“Jinny,” Hannah began as they walked, arms linked. Huck ambled behind, observing the town, the dwindling storefronts, the crumbling sidewalks. “There was no one there. No one to speak for her. Why? What’s happened in the last seventeen years?” She asked the question baldly, without self-recrimination. Jinny was the least judgmental person Hannah had ever met.
“Oh, child. Your aunt had a hard time in life. Julia nearly destroyed her. But truthfully, I think it started with Ruby.”
Hannah jolted. Uncle Stuart had said that name to her earlier. “Ruby was too much,” he’d said.
Inside the diner, they took a booth in the corner. The waitress approached the table and poured them all a cup of coffee. They ordered their brunch, and she eyed them suspiciously. Two newcomers and Jinny Fekete—Hannah was sure the curiosity was killing her.
“Jinny,” Hannah said after the waitress departed. “Who was Ruby? Stuart said something to me today—”
“He spoke? I didn’t think he spoke anymore. The last time I ever heard of him talking was months ago!” She clapped her small hands together. She looked up toward the ceiling. “They’ll be together soon. Don’t you think it’s a shame? We don’t do this kind of thing to our pets. He just lies up there, waiting to die.”
“Who was Ruby?” Hannah pressed, trying to redirect Jinny’s wild thoughts.
“You didn’t know? Fae and Stuart had a child.” Jinny shook her head, lowered her voice. “She died when she was five.”
“She died?” Hannah’s stomach dropped. It seemed impossibly young. Oh, her poor aunt. Hannah felt a deep stab of despair. Under the table, Huck squeezed her knee. “When? How?”
“It must have been . . . oh, now, almost twenty-five years ago. Let’s see, she was born in 1991, I think. I think she died in ’95 or ’96.”
“How did she die?” Hannah’s voice cracked. Hannah and Julia had been alive, preschoolers, but they’d been born when Aunt Fae had a baby. How had she not known? Hannah remembered the few times Trina talked about her sister. Had she told them about a cousin? Had she mentioned a cousin who died? Surely not—that would be entirely too troublesome for small children in Trina’s mind.
Hannah had a vision then—Aunt Fae crying for seemingly no reason, her pervasive, unshakable melancholy, the rooms in the castle that had remained closed. One in particular that had been locked—the turret room that faced Valley Road. The way Aunt Fae seemed so surprised when Hannah and Julia had made her laugh: like she’d forgotten that she could. And then a darker memory. Julia knew about Ruby. She’d broken into a locked room, and she and Fae fought about it. There had been a shouting match; Hannah had forgotten all about it. If I find you in that room again, I’ll send
you both home!
“I simply cannot believe that no one has told you this.” Jinny slapped her hand against the Formica table, and even Huck startled. A few feathers from her hat came fluttering down to rest between them.
“Jinny, I came to stay with Fae when I was eleven. Who would tell an eleven-year-old about the death of a child?” Hannah was exasperated. “How did she die?”
“That ridiculous castle she lived in. Over a hundred and fifty years old. No safety measures at all.” Jinny reached out, gripped Hannah’s hands, her long plum nails digging into Hannah’s wrists. “The poor girl fell out a second-story window.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Now
The night after Aunt Fae’s memorial, Hannah had another dream. This time, Julia appeared in her doorway, mostly silent again, her hair pulled back in a tight chignon, her skin seeming to glow in the darkened room. Julia led Hannah to the locked turret room, and they tried in vain to open it. Julia pulled bobby pins from her bun and wiggled the lock with no luck. The doorknob appeared stuck. In the dream Hannah kept saying, “This door isn’t green; are you sure it’s the right one?” She awoke standing in the hallway in front of Uncle Stuart’s door, listening to the rasp of the oxygen tank, the rhythmic beep of his heart monitor. She crept back to bed and woke in the morning before Huck, exhausted. At least this time she hadn’t ended up in the woods; she checked her feet and the hem of her nightgown to be sure.
Hannah hadn’t sleepwalked since she was a child, and now, suddenly, it was becoming a regular occurrence. When she googled it, she found correlations with stress and PTSD. She wondered if she was experiencing a small amount of latent trauma just from staying in Brackenhill. While she still felt uneasy in Rockwell, she was surprisingly comforted by the house, the memories of her aunt and uncle, even the memories of her sister. It hadn’t felt as traumatic as she would have expected. She felt more at home here than she ever had at her mother’s house, with the thin, mildewed carpeting and peeling wallpaper.
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