The old theme park had been closed for decades by the time Natalie and her high school friends discovered it on the outskirts of town. They laughed hysterically at the big goofy cement figurines of giants and elves and twisted crones. Everything was covered in crawling vines and out-of-control ivy. Funland Village was so cut off from the rest of the world, they knew they’d found their special meeting place. Back in high school, Natalie had formed a club with Bella, Bobby, Adam, and Max. They called themselves the Brilliant Misfits and amused themselves by boasting about how talented they were, because it bolstered their morale. They were five smart, gifted kids who felt like total losers, but their club made them feel like superheroes.
Natalie stepped over the broken fence with its bullet-riddled KEEP OUT sign and entered a postapocalyptic playground where the rusty swings creaked in the wind. The decommissioned theme park was part of the vast state forest that spread into the Adirondacks and beyond. The boarded-up concession stand and abandoned ticket booth were covered in a tangle of vines, and the “sculpture garden” was populated with large, demented-looking creatures from Grimm’s Fairy Tales—a headless Evil Queen, an eroding Snow White, Jack and his tumbledown beanstalk, a mossy-eyed Cinderella and her ugly stepsisters.
A few yards beyond Rapunzel’s vandalized tower was the stone bridge where the five of them used to hang out after school, sharing joints and conjuring up their incredible futures. Part of the Bridge to the Future had collapsed into a heap on the forest floor, and as a result you could only walk halfway across before the future abruptly ended. Because of this, Natalie and Bella jokingly called it “the Bridge to Nowhere.”
Now she headed up the crumbling stone steps and trailed her fingers along the guardrail, while ancient chips of paint flaked off beneath her touch. The mortar was disintegrating between the old stones. The bridge’s floorboards were warped with rot. Above her head, the night sky was full of stars.
She paused at the precipice where the bridge abruptly ended, a few splintered boards jutting out over the drop. If you didn’t mind heights, you could sit on the ledge with your legs dangling. It was like sitting on the edge of a cliff. Twenty feet down was a pile of rubble on the vine-choked ground. Scattered across the remains of the bridge were decades’ worth of cigarette butts, discarded liquor bottles, condoms, and other detritus beneath layers of autumn leaves.
The place had once belonged to them exclusively—Natalie, Bella, Bobby, Adam, and Max. Five skinny rebellious teens. The absurd fairy-tale toadstools, cement elves, weird witches, and goofy-looking pigs made them roar with stoned laughter.
Now the treetops danced in the November wind, causing golden leaves to fall and drift like snowflakes. The figurines in the sculpture garden, which Natalie could see from here, appeared to be wading through a river of undergrowth. It reminded her of a haunted topiary garden—hedges trimmed to resemble strange beasts. She listened to the rush of wind through the brittle leaves—a haunted, pleading sound. Begging for forgiveness. Reprieve from the past.
After Bella went missing on the night of their high school graduation, a boy with behavior problems named Nesbitt Rose became the prime suspect. Nesbitt was innocent. He loved Bella and would never have hurt her, but the media hounded him and his family until one rainy night, three weeks after Bella disappeared, Nesbitt took his own life. That was tragic enough, but then, three months later, letters from Bella began to arrive, proving she was still alive. The case was closed.
In the aftermath, Nesbitt’s brother, Hunter Rose, sued the police department and the local papers, blaming them for his brother’s death. He turned his bitterness and grief on the small-town mentality that he believed contributed to Nesbitt’s demise. The city settled, but it took Hunter years to get over it. Now he was one of Burning Lake’s most prominent citizens, founder of Rose Security Software, a wealthy man with friends in high places. He pulled the strings and others danced.
When the police called off their search for Bella, it was a heartbreaking moment for the Misfits. At that point, everyone assumed she was dead. During the long hot summer that followed, it wasn’t the same for the four of them anymore—not without Bella. Soon the Brilliant Misfits would be going their separate ways, heading off to college, but before they split up, they wanted to do something in her honor. They set up a website, intending to keep Bella’s memory alive, but of course things never played out that way.
The four of them—Natalie, Bobby, Max, and Adam—grew closer then due to their shared grief and loss. If something like that could happen to Bella, then it could happen to anyone. Life was precious. Grab it while you can. Late in August, before heading off to college, they all made a pledge. Friends for life. Friends forever.
Funny, how things turned out. Adam was dead. She hadn’t seen Bobby in ages. The only one she’d kept in touch with was Max. He used to play classical piano. Now he worked for his father’s construction company and was advising Natalie on her home renovation schemes.
Natalie took out her phone and called him.
“Hello?” Max answered brightly as if he’d imbibed too much caffeine.
“It’s me, Natalie. Got a minute?”
“Sure, kid, what’s up?”
She had a flash memory of the last time she’d seen him—he’d come over to repair her leaky roof. He’d aged quite a bit since their high school days—a paunch over his belt buckle, graying temples, crow’s-feet around the eyes—but he looked like the same old Max to her. “Guess where I am right now,” she said.
“No clue.”
“Sitting on the Bridge to the Future.”
“Oh God,” Max said with a laugh. “Brilliant Misfits, man. Fist bump.”
She smiled sadly. “You heard the news, right?”
“About the woman in the dumpster? Yeah. It’s freakin’ tragic.”
“She was a violinist. So I couldn’t help thinking about Bella all day long.”
“Funny how life turns out,” he said gently. “Here you are, solving murders. And here I am, working for my dad. I never figured that would happen. Adam and Bella are gone, and Bobby’s in Syracuse, working as a CPA, of all things. Christ, his SAT scores were off the charts. His math skills were college-level and beyond. How the hell did he wind up as a fucking accountant?” Max sighed heavily. “Remember the first thing he said to you?”
So much time had passed, Natalie couldn’t remember.
“Your last names both had hearts in them. Lockhart. Deckhart.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” She smiled, thinking about her teenage crush. Natalie had been a skinny punk wannabe with a growing feminine body she hid under layers of clothes, like Diane Keaton in Annie Hall. She didn’t want to be “pretty.” She wanted to be Dorothy Parker on acid. She wanted to be the female version of Jean-Michel Basquiat.
Back then, Bobby was a lanky, sensitive, dreamy-eyed youth with a cowlick on one side of his head that swirled his hair in different directions, and calm brown eyes that made him seem more mature than he actually was. He wore jeans put together with safety pins as proof he didn’t care about fitting in, when he secretly cared a lot. The Misfits were all about finding a place to fit in. It just so happened to be with one another.
Bobby loved numbers and statistics so much, he used them to explain his love for Natalie—how many days they’d known each other, how many times they’d kissed, the geometry of her face.
On the night of their high school graduation, Natalie let Bobby finger her. Out of school and free at last. Their shy, slippery experimentation, a finger that went in a little further. Their awkward fumblings in the dark. Natalie figured she and Bobby would get married someday, but those feelings didn’t last. Bobby was too sensitive, too passive for her tastes. Not ambitious enough. Not confident enough. After they headed off to separate colleges, Natalie broke up with Bobby over the phone. He sustained feelings for her all the way through college but eventually moved on. Now he was married with two kids and pretty happy, according to Max. Bella was gone. Adam was
gone. Max and Natalie were single, but they didn’t belong together. They were like brother and sister, always teasing each other and bickering about the small stuff.
“We were the Brilliant Misfits, right?” Max said. “But I was never that gifted, Natalie. I’m not brilliant. Neither is Bobby. He moved to Syracuse to become a bland corporate slave. We both gave up the dream.”
She smiled. “Are you kidding me? You guys are legends in your own minds.”
He laughed. “You’re such a badass. Jesus, here you are chasing serial killers. I’m not worthy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I lead such a glamorous life. Up to my elbows in unicorn puke.”
“You’re right. I have no idea what it’s like to be you.”
“Anyway, I can’t stop thinking about Bella. Where she is. What happened.”
“Well, it is strange the way she disappeared without telling anyone, isn’t it?” he said. “Not even you, her best friend. Before the letters started coming, Bobby and I figured Nesbitt must’ve done it. Or maybe him and his brother. Like maybe they killed Bella and buried her on the property,” Max said. “But instead she ghosted on us. I guess you don’t really know a person, do you? I mean, she never really explained anything in those letters, did she? Did she say why she left so abruptly like that, letting everyone think she was dead? Did she say where she went? And why? And what the hell? You split one night and don’t tell your best friends. Then three months later, you send letters with pictures of yourself as if you’re trying to prove … what exactly? ‘Hey, I’m okay, you guys, I’m alive, but guess what? I don’t care enough about any of you to explain what the hell happened to me.’” He sighed. “Anyway, I thought for sure she’d show up at her father’s funeral six years ago.”
“They had a complicated relationship,” Natalie said.
“Complicated? You come home and pay your respects,” Max argued. “But about the dead girl, Morgan … it’s weird, Natalie, because I saw her perform at the Monster Mash on Friday night.”
Natalie sat forward. “You did?”
“The whole point of the contest is to play the spookiest Halloween music, right? You’ve got a million pieces to choose from, but Bartók’s peasant folk songs aren’t what I’d call scary. They’re fairly plodding. But she played with a lot of intensity … all elbows and swaying upper body. She gave it her best shot, and the audience was polite and respectful, but she didn’t wow the crowd.”
“Who won?”
“This violin soloist from Manhattan, Ava Dixon … she blew everybody away. I mean, it wasn’t even close,” he said. “First, the stage goes completely dark. This is an outdoor concert, mind you, and all of a sudden there isn’t a peep. The audience is riveted. A single spotlight shines down, and three stagehands wheel out an old-fashioned tub on a dolly, and all around the tub is this white shower curtain. It’s closed. You can’t see who’s behind it. There’s a long pause … then you hear the beginning strains of Psycho by Bernard Herrmann. Oh man, this young violinist played like a storyteller. We all got chills. Then the shower curtain draws back to reveal the spitting image of Janet Leigh … all dolled up in a blond wig and a pink bodysuit with fake suds in all the right places, standing there in the shower, playing the violin … it was chilling. They used tinsel to represent water, and the audience is going wild. She’s taking a shower, playing madly, when all of a sudden an Anthony Perkins look-alike in an old lady wig comes onstage and starts to viciously attack her, stabbing her … there’s fake blood flying everywhere … and the violin is literally shrieking … and the audience is riveted. It was the star performance of the evening, no question. Hands down. She blew the competition away.”
“Sounds amazing,” Natalie said, thinking how hard it must’ve been for Morgan.
There was a click on the line.
“Hold on,” Max said. “Gotta take this.” He answered his call-waiting, then came back sounding winded. “Everything’s a fucking emergency.”
“Max, before you go, did anything unusual happen at the contest? Anything that might help me with the investigation?”
“Nah. I went to the contest and enjoyed the whole experience. I no longer beat myself up about why I quit playing piano, Natalie. Those days are gone. I’m much happier now. Sometimes you have to drop the pretense and just be yourself.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Thanks, Max.”
“Sure. Hey, call me anytime about the reno, okay? Take care of yourself, Natalie. Stay safe out there.” He hung up.
Years ago, Bella had promised Natalie, “We’ll never be separated, it’s not possible. We’re like barnacles. We’ll be glued together forever. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” Natalie had promised back.
Little did she know that their promises would be broken and smashed forever, and completely lost in time.
20
Natalie woke up in the middle of the night and thought she heard music. Sad, sweet violin music. She sat up in bed and glanced out her window at the pitch-dark. There it was again—that eerie melody coming from the hills beyond the power lines. It ebbed and flowed, and the more she focused on it, the more distant and remote it sounded, until she couldn’t hear it anymore.
Was she dreaming? Was it the wind in the trees?
She settled back against her pillow and tried to sleep.
Ever since Grace passed away last April, nothing else mattered in the middle of the night but the methodical, painful process of carpet bombing her memories and wiping out every last crumb of pain. Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, Natalie would get up and go downstairs and work on her caseload, until her head felt woozy and thick with facts. She would comb over the trace evidence—hairs, fibers, glass shards, leaf matter, soil samples, bits of random debris. She would stare at crime scene photos until her eyes throbbed and try to find that one elusive clue that might solve a case and guarantee a win for the good guys.
Sometimes, unable to process her losses, Natalie would close the case file, sit back, and sort through old memories like a Rolodex full of dog-eared cards. Luke, for instance, with his cracked leather holster under his left arm. In those rare instances when a detective’s life was in danger and he was forced to reach for his weapon, Luke called it the “Pledge of Allegiance” draw. Because when you pledged allegiance to the flag, you placed your right hand over the left side of your chest. Whenever you were compelled to defend yourself, you pledged allegiance to your gun. He meant it ironically, but the reality was grim.
Ever since the tragic events of last April, Natalie had gone over the scenario in her mind, and yes, the chances of hitting the Crow Killer in the arm or the thigh were slim. There was always the risk of missing her target, and the odds of her surviving a subsequent attack while Samuel was even more enraged weren’t good. Instead, she’d hit him center of mass, killing him. And she was glad she had stopped him. What didn’t feel good at all was the knowledge that she had killed another human being, and that she would have less anxiety about it the next time. That felt shitty.
Outside the pitch-black windows, the world felt dead. A car drove past, its headlights casting creeping shadows. The shadows didn’t go away. She sat up, parted the curtains, and looked out the window. Luke’s Ford Ranger was parked by the side of the road, its engine idling.
Natalie expected him to get out of his car and come ring her doorbell, but instead he just sat there, alone in his vehicle. She wondered how his date had gone.
Leaping out of bed, she threw on some clothes and went outside to talk to him. “Hey there, stranger.”
“Hello.” He smiled but didn’t get out of his vehicle.
“How was your date?”
He squinted moodily at her. “Was it a date?”
“What else would you call it?”
He shrugged. “Rainie’s a nice person.”
Natalie nodded, wondering what that was supposed to mean. He didn’t sound super-excited, which made her feel happy. “So what’s up?” she asked
. “What’re you doing here?”
“What else? Thinking about the case,” he said.
“Well, I for one am glad you dropped by.” She sat down on the cold lawn with her legs crossed. “I was about to wrestle with my insomnia for another hour or so. But the night air has revived me. Maybe I’ll stay up for a while.”
His body relaxed as he gazed at her. “I used to love my job so much, I couldn’t wait to get out of bed in the morning. Digging around for the truth, arresting the bad guys. I took the worst cases—the shittier the better. The guys used to tease me because of the way I’d pounce on the phone. But I couldn’t help myself. I was a CIU whore. I lapped it up.” He paused. “That attitude almost ruined me. There’s a price to pay.”
She sighed heavily. “Why do I feel a lecture coming on?”
“I know all the symptoms, Natalie. First you start repeating yourself. Then you second-guess yourself. Next thing you know, you’re drinking Red Bull and imagining vast conspiracies that only you can solve. Take the night off, understand? You need your rest—both mentally and physically. Go back inside, take a long hot shower, lie down, and at least pretend to sleep.” In the moonlight, he seemed older, more worn down by life.
Natalie glanced at the stars. “I used to think Grace was so daring and brave. I had this illusion about her, because she dazzled me. But now I realize … she was kind of a chicken. She’d dare me to do things, and I never refused. Once, while we were browsing through Kmart, Grace spotted a discarded candy wrapper in one of the candy displays and dared me to pick it up. I did. I trusted her. I didn’t realize there was a man standing behind me, and he thought I’d eaten the candy bar because I was holding a crumpled wrapper. He said, ‘You don’t want to grow up to be the girl who steals candy, do you?’ I told him I didn’t steal anything, and he called me a liar. All the while, Grace was laughing her ass off.”
Luke smiled. “So your big sister set you up, huh?”
The Wicked Hour Page 12