by Tom Deady
Dad was oddly chipper. And when had Officer Benson become Rick? An idea tugged at her brain, but she dismissed it as crazy. “Did you check for a message from the blogger?”
Dad and Benson exchanged comical expressions.
“Some cop you are,” Hannah quipped and went to the laptop. Still nothing. That couldn’t be good. She joined Dad and Benson at the table, and they ate in silence.
“The librarian.” Hannah blurted out through a mouthful of eggs. “The librarian is one of them. Officer Benson, you can arrest her, make her talk, make her tell us where Ashley is.”
Why didn’t I tell him sooner?
Officer Benson kept eating but Hannah saw his mind working. He took another forkful of eggs. “I’m off work today, but I’ll go by the library in uniform and see what she knows.”
“Do you think she’ll talk?” Dad’s voice held the same note of hopefulness Hannah was feeling.
Benson had resumed shoveling eggs into his mouth. None of them had eaten dinner last night. Hannah watched Benson, waiting for a response. A weird expression came over his face. It looked like excitement. “I think I might be able to persuade her to help.”
Hannah glanced at Dad, relieved for the first time since Ashley went missing. Benson stood up and drained his coffee.
“I’m going to go home, shower and change, then head to the library. I’ll leave the laptop. Call my cell if you get a message.”
She thanked him and Dad walked him to the door. They spoke in quiet tones for a moment, then Benson squeezed Dad’s arm and headed out.
“I could use a shower and a change of clothes. Leave the kitchen, Dad, I’ll clean up after.”
Dad just grunted. He was busy feeding Scout the last of the bacon. He got up and poured a fresh cup of coffee, tousled Hannah’s messy hair, and walked out the back door. Scout followed.
Hannah showered and dressed quickly, throwing a baseball cap on to avoid having to do her hair. She ran back to the laptop, noticing that Dad had already cleaned the kitchen on her way through. Still no message. Her worry was turning to anger. She was losing control of her emotions.
Hannah looked out back for Dad but didn’t see him. She heard movement from the basement. She went down, and sure enough, there was Dad, going through more boxes. Hannah stood next to him and watched him pull out different objects, examine them, then place them in one of three other boxes on the ground.
“Thanks for picking up the kitchen, Dad. I would have taken care of it.”
He was staring at a small figurine of a ballet dancer. He looked at Hannah and seemed surprised to see her there. “Oh, it’s fine, Hannah. Just trying to keep busy.”
“What’s that?” she asked, realizing she had never seen it before.
Dad smiled his sad smile. His real smile had disappeared with Mom, replaced by this ghost of smiles past. “It’s just something I bought for your mom when we were dating. We went to the ballet once... one of our attempts to add some culture to our lives.” He laughed, but it held the same sadness as his smile. “It was awful. The single most boring thing I’ve ever sat through. I gutted it out for your mom. We went for drinks after and she told me she hated it. Boy, did we laugh at that.” He held up the figurine. “I bought this as a joke, to remember that night. Not the ballet part, the laughter afterwards.”
His eyes filled up and Hannah looked away. She couldn’t handle any more sadness. She had to be strong for him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm.
Just then, a brilliant shaft of sunlight pierced the room, enveloping Dad’s face in dazzling yellow light. Hannah glanced up at the small rectangular window and something clicked.
Get busy with something else and whatever it was will just pop into your head.
She closed her eyes, returning in her mind to the first time she’d gone to Mama Bayole’s house; the sagging porch, the colorless paint, and the unruly grass growing all around the aging farmhouse. It popped in her head, just like her mother said it would. That first time at Mama Bayole’s she had marveled at how high the grass had grown, so high that it covered the cellar window.
Mama Bayole had told them that the previous owner had moved the hot water and electrical upstairs and sealed the door. The bulkhead was impassable, filled in with dirt and bricks and debris. Hannah had seen the small cellar window intact, though. If the basement was sealed off, why hadn’t they boarded up the windows? It might just be an oversight, but her gut told her otherwise. There was a cellar, and that’s where Ashley was.
A shrill ringing interrupted Hannah’s thoughts and jarred Dad from his memories. He looked at her, wiped his eyes, and ran up the steps to get the phone. Hannah followed, wondering if Officer Benson was calling with news. When she got to the top of the stairs, Dad was holding the phone to his ear with one hand and running the other through his hair. Whatever news he’d gotten was not good. After a few hushed words, he hung up and turned to her.
“That was Dietrich. Jacob is at County Memorial in stable condition. He was dumped out of a car at the ER late last night, unconscious.”
Hannah watched Dad drive away, feeling as alone as she ever had. When he’d insisted she go with him to see Jacob, Hannah had done something she hadn’t done since she was a grade-schooler—she’d faked sick. The relief she’d felt at Jake being found had been indescribable. She hadn’t realized it until that call had come but she’d been sure that Jake was dead. As much as she wanted to see him, she needed the time to herself to figure a few things out. Grudgingly, her dad had left Hannah behind and gone to meet Benson at the hospital. Not before he’d made Hannah promise a dozen times that she’d be careful.
Now that he was gone, panic seized her. It started as a single thought: what if they come for me? From there, the seed had taken root and blossomed into an unhealthy flower. She was paralyzed with fear, unable to even think about what to do next.
Her eyes fell on the laptop Benson had left behind and the veil of panic lifted just enough. She went to it and logged into her email. When she saw a new message from the blogger, the veil lifted more.
Hannah,
So sorry for not getting back to you sooner. When I didn’t hear anything yesterday, I feared the worst and took an extra sleeping pill to calm down. The pills knocked me out and I just woke up to find your email.
I’m so sorry this happened. It’s my fault for being afraid. Always afraid. I’m done with that, it’s cost me too much, too many years. I’ll meet you or go to the police, whatever you want. This needs to end.
Susan
Susan! The blogger was female.
I should have known. It made sense. There was a phone number under Susan’s name. Hannah went to the phone and dialed the number.
“Hello?”
The voice was tentative, Susan’s fear palpable. Hannah knew at that moment, from that one word, how hard this was for her. She heard a click and was afraid Susan had hung up.
“Hi, Susan? This is Hannah Green.”
“Oh, thank God.” Sobs and sniffling filled the receiver for a moment before Susan spoke again. “I was so afraid for you.”
There was another click.
“Susan, please, I don’t know what to do. I think one of the police—”
“Stop! Don’t say anything. Meet me at the gazebo in Champlain Park. Thirty minutes.”
The line went dead. Hannah knew she was afraid of someone listening, of the phone being bugged. She wondered about those clicks. Hannah grabbed the laptop and her cell phone, threw both in her backpack and headed for the door. Scout scurried over, ready for the next adventure.
As they walked toward town, Hannah was careful to watch for approaching vehicles. Her panic had subsided but not disappeared. It was too easy to picture a car or van pulling up, grabbing her. Making her disappear.
What would Dad do without me?
She brushed the thought away before it turned to panic. She stopped to retrieve her cell from the backpack. Having it handy made her feel better. She thought of how cl
ever Ashley had been to use hers to leave clues behind and a crippling sadness threatened to consume her.
No. I will not give up.
Instead, she thought about Susan and the courage it took to stand up to people she knew were murderers, risking her own safety for a couple of strangers. That was the kind of person Hannah aspired to be. For some reason her thoughts drifted to Mom. What kind of person was she? Had she just upped and abandoned her family? Had she fallen into the false security of drugs? Was there something else?
Then, a darker thought—what was Dad lying about?
She was close enough to Champlain Park to see the gazebo, but too far to tell if anyone was in it. She picked up her pace, urging Scout to keep up. As she approached, Hannah spotted a lone figure standing against the railing, looking out over the park. Despite the cloudless blue sky and the happy families laughing in the park, the woman’s silhouette evoked a heavy sadness in Hannah. A feeling that she was heading toward some awful inevitability slowed her steps.
This is what a death row inmate walking the last mile feels like.
The woman turned in her direction and everything changed. An odd sense of comfort filled Hannah. Something about the woman’s face, her stance, her presence, made her believe everything was going to be all right. Hannah raised a hand to wave and the woman responded with a smile so beautiful that Hannah couldn’t stop a goofy grin from spreading across her own face.
Before she could climb the steps to the gazebo, the woman rushed down and wrapped Hannah in a hug. The smell of her hair reminded Hannah of her mother and she realized how badly she missed her. Not just since she was physically gone, but for so long before that. Hannah returned the hug and let out her grief.
Eventually, she pulled away and looked up at the woman. Susan was around forty with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was stunning.
“Thank you for coming.”
The woman smiled again, and Hannah realized she wasn’t just pretty. She had actress or model beauty. Hannah couldn’t look away.
“I’m so sorry this is happening again. I was afraid I was going to be too late.” The woman looked around, searching the park. Then her words finally sunk in.
“How do you know you’re not?” Hannah asked, dread weighing her down.
“The ceremony is tonight. We have to do something now.” Hannah watched Susan’s face crumble into a portrait of pain and fear.
“I don’t understand,” Hannah whispered.
Susan grabbed her shoulders and Hannah tried to take a step back. Was I wrong about her? Scout moved closer, emitting a low growl. Susan sensed the change in mood and pulled her hands away, holding them up defensively.
“I’m sorry, it’s tonight. The Ritual of San Sakrifis. The blood sacrifice.”
Susan drove fast, but not fast enough to attract any unwanted attention from the police. Hannah kept her eyes everywhere at once, watching for a cruiser or any suspicious-looking car. Scout hung his head out the window, ears and jowls flapping in the breeze. During the ride, Susan told Hannah about the ceremony, her own eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror.
“The Ritual of San Sakrifis is what Mama Bayole claims keeps her alive. It’s a sacrifice to the Great Spirit.”
“You mean Satan? The Devil?” Hannah said, her voice querulous.
“No, it’s closer to paganism than it is to devil worship. Think hybrid nature-based beliefs with some voodoo thrown in. Mama Bayole says she’s well over a hundred years old and believes she stopped aging once she discovered the ritual.”
Hannah thought back to Jacob’s story. If Mama Bayole was telling the truth, it had been her back in the clearing over fifty years ago.
“This ritual, does it take place in the woods?” Hannah asked.
Susan glanced sideways at her. “It does, in a clearing surrounded by thick trees and underbrush. It’s nearly impossible to find if you don’t know it’s there. There’s a stone altar in the clearing, and all these creepy stick figures hanging in the trees. They’re supposed to be symbolic of the entities that Mama Bayole believes in. The ceremony itself is pagan but very close to what you may have seen in witchcraft movies.”
Hannah’s head snapped toward Susan, a horrifying thought occurring to her. “Susan, were you part of one of these ceremonies?”
“I was,” she said, her voice amazingly calm. “It was my last night as one of Mama Bayole’s followers. Until that night... It was different. I would meet with her and we would talk and pray a little. I would help her at the Farmer’s Market, things like that. She was, well, like a mother, or a grandmother, I guess.”
“What about the others? Did you ever hear about the ceremony from them?” Hannah hoped that Susan might help identify the other members, specifically the fake blogger that had taken Ashley.
“That’s the thing. Until that night, I didn’t really know there were others, at least not that many. I was new. The ritual was going to be my initiation, I guess.”
She stopped speaking and Hannah glanced at her. Tears rolled down Susan’s cheeks. How could someone like Susan even get involved with Mama Bayole? She was pretty, seemed smart and good-hearted. It didn’t make sense.
Susan seemed to read her mind. “I was lost. My parents both died within a few months of each other. I was devastated and decided to go to therapy to help me with my grief. My therapist was nice. I thought he was helping, but he wasn’t nice. He... he ended up messing my head up worse.”
Hannah closed her eyes. It wasn’t unusual for bad men to take advantage of broken, confused women. Especially ones that looked like Susan. “Did he, you know... did he...” She trailed off, she couldn’t say it out loud.
“No,” Susan said, knowing where Hannah was going. “He didn’t rape me. It was more a matter of him preying on my vulnerability, I guess. I’m not sure it’s much different.”
A few days ago, the worst thing in Hannah’s life had been dealing with Mom leaving. Now everything had gone wrong, one thing after another, dominos crashing down on her. It was more than she could take. She turned to stare out the window, watching the trees rush by her. She longed for her old, boring world.
Susan continued, “I met Mama Bayole at the Farmer’s Market and we got to talking. She was so nice, comforting. I made a point to go to the market for the next few weeks just to talk with her. We were becoming friends. She seemed to understand my sadness. She invited me to her house for tea after the market one day.”
Hannah waited for Susan to go on. When she remained silent, Hannah looked over at her. Susan was staring straight ahead at the road, but Hannah got the impression she was seeing something else.
“Something happened when you went into the house, didn’t it?” Hannah finally whispered.
Susan blinked, her eyes sliding toward Hannah then quickly back to the road. “Yes, I think so.” She paused again, biting on her lower lip, her eyes still distant, troubled. “Something didn’t feel right as soon as I entered the house. I know it sounds like I’m rewriting history, but I really do remember wanting to get out of that house. It felt suffocating, claustrophobic. Wrong.”
Hannah nodded, a chill running through her. That awful buzzing.
Susan said, “I felt sleepy suddenly, and there was a sound—”
“The flies,” Hannah nearly screamed.
Susan started, turning again to look at Hannah. “Yes, the flies. They were... hypnotizing somehow. It was almost like there was something underneath the buzzing sound that I was trying to hear, a voice maybe.” She shook her head. “Mama Bayole changed, too, when we entered. She didn’t seem like the kindly old woman I’d been meeting at the Farmer’s Market. She seemed sly, sneaky. I felt like I was the fly and she the spider who’d lured me to her web. I would swear she’d drugged me, but I hadn’t had any food or drink from her.”
Susan slowed as they arrived at Hannah’s house and she was disappointed to see that Dad wasn’t back yet. She was anxious to find out if Jacob was okay and if Benson had gotten a
ny information out of the librarian.
I’ll call as soon as Susan finishes telling her story.
Since they weren’t sure who, aside from Benson, on the police force was trustworthy, Hannah didn’t know what they would do even if Benson had found something out.
They went inside and Hannah got them Cokes. They took them out to the back porch and sat on the top step. Hannah watched Scout do what Dad called his perimeter check, sniffing around the edges of the yard. Susan continued where she left off.
“Mama Bayole began to speak. I honestly can’t tell you a single thing she said. Her demeanor changed again, and she seemed both agitated and manic—it was very strange. She was always so calm, laid back. We had a cup of tea, and then she said it was time to go. Any apprehension I’d had was gone. She handed me a duffel bag and we went out to the shed in her yard. The next thing I knew, this golf cart was rolling out of the shed with Mama Bayole behind the wheel. It was the oddest thing I’d ever seen. Until later that night.”
Hannah remembered the golf cart from when they’d searched Mama Bayole’s property with Officer Benson. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Scout had meandered to the far end of the property. He stopped sniffing and looked off into the woods. He remained motionless, crouching, his ears back. Then he turned and started toward Hannah and Susan. Hannah exhaled a sigh of relief. For a minute, it had looked like he was going to bolt into the trees, chasing something.
Or someone.
“She drove us through the woods on a path that was barely there. Branches were whipping my face and arms. After a while, maybe as long as thirty minutes, but it was hard to tell, she stopped. She had been silent the entire time, concentrating on driving. I sure wasn’t going to distract her and end up in a ditch or smashed into a tree.
“We got out and she started rummaging through the duffel bag. When I tell you we were in the middle of nowhere, I’m not kidding. It was so dark I could barely see her, and she was only a few feet away. She handed me something and told me to put it on. I held it up and felt afraid of her for the first time. It was a scarlet robe with a hood. One of those pointy-shaped KKK-looking things, so your face is covered too. I put it on, and she pointed to a small opening in the bush that I swear hadn’t been there before.