by John Rector
“You want to leave?”
“I’m just talking.”
“Are you serious?”
“You asked me, and I’m telling you.”
She wanted to say more, but he wasn’t listening.
“One year,” he said. “We agreed we’d give this one year. Now, three months in and you’re ready to pack up and run back to Chicago.”
Megan didn’t say anything.
“I thought things have been better,” he said. “You made a friend, and you told me you’ve been getting out of the house more. I don’t understand.”
“Forget it,” she said. “I take it back.”
“Do you think it’s that easy to take back?”
Megan closed her eyes. “What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing.” Tyler rolled onto his side, his back to her. “You’ve said enough.”
She expected him to say something else, but he didn’t, and for a long time she stayed staring up at the night-blue ceiling, listening to his breathing.
Eventually, he was asleep.
Megan pushed the covers away, slipped out of bed, and headed downstairs to the kitchen. She took a cup from the cabinet and poured herself a glass of water from the tap.
She drank half of it and dumped the rest.
Her hands were shaking, and she squeezed them into fists before opening the cabinet above the refrigerator and taking down the bottle of bourbon. She poured three fingers into the empty glass and carried it, along with the bottle, into the living room.
She stood at the window, staring out at the shadow of Rachel’s house on the corner, and listening to the sharp, creeping pulse of the grandfather clock.
Soon, her glass was empty.
When she reached for the bottle to pour another drink, she noticed her hands had stopped shaking.
14
Megan?”
Tyler’s voice pulled at her.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the couch in the living room. Tyler was standing over her, dressed for work, his travel mug in hand.
She sat up slowly. “What time is it?”
“Early.”
Megan leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. Her glass from the night before was sitting empty on the coffee table beside the bottle of bourbon.
Her head hurt.
“Thought you’d want to move to the bed.”
She looked up at him, but the light from the windows burned her eyes and she turned away. “You’re leaving?”
“It’s that time,” he said, starting for the door. “I’ll call you this afternoon, and we’ll talk.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Tyler laughed and took his keys from the bowl. “Why, did you have another change of heart?”
The sarcasm in his voice was thick, but she ignored it. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, that’s all.”
“If only it were that easy.”
He walked out, and a minute later Megan heard his car back down the driveway. She sat for a while, listening to the pounding tick of the grandfather clock. Then she took the empty glass and the bourbon from the coffee table and carried them into the kitchen.
She put the bottle back in the cabinet above the refrigerator and rinsed the glass in the sink. She filled it with cold water and drank, finishing it in three large swallows. Immediately, she felt better. Not perfect, not even close, but the pain in her head faded a little, and she didn’t feel like throwing up anymore.
She considered it a victory.
Setting the glass in the sink, she headed upstairs to the bedroom and crawled into bed. She took Tyler’s pillow and put it over her head, blocking out all light and sound. She could smell him on the pillow, and the scent touched something inside of her, making her ache.
Within minutes, she was asleep.
Lost in a blue light.
It was almost noon when she woke up. Her headache was gone, but every muscle in her body was stiff and sore. She slid out of bed and into the shower. The heat helped clear her head, and she stayed under the water until it ran cold.
When she got out, she felt almost human.
Once she was dressed, she went downstairs to the kitchen. There was a sticky note on the coffeemaker.
Ready to go. Press start.
Despite their conversation the night before, Tyler still set up the coffee for her before he left for work. The gesture, both simple and sweet, made her smile. But when she reached out and pushed the button and heard the coffee start to brew, she felt nothing.
It scared her, and she didn’t know what to do.
There was no clear path.
She wanted to leave Willow Ridge, but not without Tyler. She wanted to tell him about Rachel, how something was wrong with her, but she knew he wouldn’t listen.
After a while, the coffeemaker beeped.
Megan grabbed her yellow cup from the dish drainer and filled it. She drank half of it while standing at the sink. Then she set the cup on the counter, headed for the front door, and took her shoes from the closet.
She needed to clear her mind.
Fiona was right, walking with her had helped, and even though she didn’t want to go alone, she knew that getting out of the house would make it easier to think.
At least, it wouldn’t make things worse.
Megan walked for a long time, and she was about to turn around and head home when she saw the rabbit.
It was lying on its side in the gutter, and it looked so perfect that at first she wasn’t convinced it was dead. It hadn’t been there for long. There was no blood, no insects, and no injuries that she could see.
Most likely, she thought, it’d been clipped by a car and thrown, or crawled, to the side of the road to die.
It looked so perfect.
Above her, a single white cloud passed in front of the sun, and everything fell into shadow. Megan looked around at the suddenly dull green lawns and the muted, mirrored rows of pastel houses.
Then back down at the rabbit.
As the cloud cleared the sun, the shadows faded away, and the sunlight shimmered off the rabbit’s fur.
Megan bent down for a closer look.
Part of her almost expected the rabbit to get up and run away, slipping seamlessly back into the world.
But it didn’t.
She stepped off the sidewalk and into the gutter and nudged the back of the rabbit with her toe. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but when nothing happened, she did it again, harder.
Then she heard a man’s voice behind her.
“My heart has joined the thousand, for my friend stopped running today.”
Megan turned around, fast.
The man standing behind her was older. He had short gray hair and a ragged silver beard that touched the top of his chest. There were several faded green tattoos running up his arms and disappearing under the sleeves of his black T-shirt.
He smiled, his teeth perfect and white.
Instinctively, Megan stepped back.
“Sorry.” He motioned to the rabbit in the gutter, his smile fading. “Watership Down. Seemed appropriate.”
Megan put a hand to her chest, didn’t speak.
“I really do apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”
“I just didn’t hear you.”
“It’s the ghost in me.” He laughed at his own joke and stepped closer, looking down at the rabbit. “Another fallen soldier in the great automobile wars, I see.”
Megan followed his gaze. “Looks that way.”
“Did you think kicking it would help, or do you have something against rabbits?”
“God, that makes me sound terrible.”
The man winked at her, and even though her heart was beating hard, and she could still feel the cold rush of adrenaline running through her, a part of her liked him immediately, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m not crazy about squirrels myself.” He shook his head. “So I un
derstand the impulse.”
She laughed even though it wasn’t that funny. “Nothing like that. I was just making sure it was dead.”
“You thought it was faking?”
“Hard to tell around here.”
Megan didn’t know why she said it, and she regretted the words right away, but it was too late. The man stared at her, hard, and for a second she thought she saw a flash of fear pass behind his eyes.
“Why do you say that?”
The air between them felt thick. Megan tried to backtrack, pretending she didn’t notice the shift. “It looks like it’s asleep, don’t you think?”
The man watched her, silent.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked.
The man seemed to snap back, but his eyes never left hers. She was about to say something else, but before she could, he leaned in and spoke softly.
“You’ve seen it, too?”
A sudden chill spread through her. She wanted to act like she didn’t know what he was talking about, but she could tell he saw the truth on her face.
The old man’s eyes went wide.
He whispered to himself, “Oh Christ.”
Every muscle in Megan’s body tightened, and when she spoke, her voice cracked.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re—”
The man put a finger to his lips and shook his head. The movement was subtle, but there was no mistaking it. His eyes moved past her toward the houses across the street, then back down to the rabbit in the gutter.
He didn’t say anything else.
The feeling they were being watched was overwhelming, and Megan stepped closer. “What did you mean?”
There was a pause, then the old man turned and looked up at the blue sky, the sunlight revealing deep lines in his skin. He inhaled slowly, and Megan watched his shoulders rise and fall with his breath.
When he looked back at her again, his eyes were soft.
“You must think I’m crazy,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes I forget myself.”
There was a new falseness to his voice that Megan wasn’t expecting, but before she could say anything, he held out his hand and she surprised herself by taking it.
“David Mercer,” he said. “Everyone calls me Mercer.”
“Megan Stokes.”
“It’s a pleasure.”
Mercer’s hand was calloused, and when he let go, his skin made a rough scraping sound as it passed over hers.
“I’ve seen you before, walking with Fiona Matheson.” He looked past her, scanning the street. “Is she with you today?”
“Not today,” Megan said. “She’s working.”
“I see.” He stepped back. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Megan. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
“Wait,” she said. “Can you tell me what you meant?”
“Meant about what?”
“You asked if I’d seen it, too.” She paused. “What did you mean by that? Seen what?”
Mercer’s eye twitched, and for a second the sharpness returned. Then it was gone, and his face stayed calm.
“It’s my age,” he said. “Sometimes I get confused. To hear my daughter talk about it, you’d think I—”
Megan’s eyes narrowed.
Mercer noticed and smiled.
She waited for him to go on, but instead he stepped closer and leaned in.
“The sweepers come at night.” He nodded toward the rabbit in the gutter. “By tomorrow it’ll be gone.”
He reached out and put a hand on her arm, squeezing a gentle good-bye. Then he turned and headed off down the sidewalk toward the houses at the end of the street.
Megan watched him walk away.
The sweepers come at night?
She tried to make sense of it, but it meant nothing to her, so she started following him. She wanted to ask him again what he meant, but before she could catch up, Mercer turned up the walkway toward a pale-green house at the end of the block.
By the time she got there, he was already inside, and the door was closed.
15
Tyler brought Chinese food and a bottle of wine home for dinner. They sat together at the table and ate out of the boxes with wooden chopsticks. He told her about his day, and she told him about meeting Mercer on her walk.
“His name is Mercer?”
“David Mercer,” she said. “He just goes by Mercer.”
Tyler shrugged. “I think it’s great you went without Fiona. I didn’t think you would.”
“I don’t see why,” she said. “I’m not a shut-in.”
Tyler agreed and reached for the bottle of wine and refilled her glass. “Did it make you feel better?”
“No,” she said. “Worse.”
He set the bottle back on the table and leaned over his food, chopsticks picking through the box. Then he set them on the table and said, “Megs, I can’t leave. You know that, right?”
Megan nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe in a year, but not now. Not yet.”
She took one last bite, then pushed the box of lo mein away and reached for her glass. The wine was sweet and good, and she tried to focus on that and nothing else.
“I want you here with me,” he said. “I need you here with me. If you give it a little more time, I know things will get better.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Megan set her glass on the table and absently ran her finger around the rim, silent.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She looked over at him, staring.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I saw Rachel yesterday.”
Tyler eased back in his chair, didn’t speak.
“Have you seen her recently?” she asked.
“Not since you called me home to check on her.”
There was an edge to the comment, but Megan ignored it.
“I saw her outside for the first time in days, so I went down there and—”
“Jesus, Megan.”
“She didn’t say anything to me,” Megan said. “I’m not even sure she can speak.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means she’s different.”
“Different? How?”
Megan shook her head, then lifted her glass and took a drink. “I’ll make you a deal, but I want you to do something for me.”
She watched the suspicion build in his eyes.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to go see her again. And I want to be there with you when you do.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why are you—”
“If you do this for me, if you see her, and if you think everything’s completely normal, then I’ll stay.”
Tyler seemed to think about it. “You want to do this tonight?”
Megan glanced toward the window and the black sky beyond. She shook her head. “No, we’ll go tomorrow. After you get home.”
Tyler stared at her; the expression on his face sat somewhere between anger and desperation.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I really don’t understand you.”
“I don’t think it’s asking too much,” Megan said. “Tomorrow night. We’ll go together.”
“And if I do this, you’ll—”
“I’ll stay.” She paused. “As long as you don’t think anything is out of the ordinary.”
Tyler nodded in agreement, and Megan felt some of the tension in the room fade. Then he reached for his glass and held it up, waiting for her to do the same. When she did, he touched his to hers and said, “Whatever makes you happy.”
Megan smiled.
They both drank.
That night Megan couldn’t sleep.
Her mind kept drifting toward tomorrow, wondering what Tyler would say, or how he’d react once he saw Rachel.
The uncertainty of it terrified her.
Every time she drifted close to sleep
, all that came were blue dreams and a familiar, desperate emptiness that pulled her awake. So she lay there, staring up at the soft shifting shadows on the ceiling, until eventually she gave up trying to sleep and slipped out of bed.
Tyler didn’t stir.
Megan walked downstairs to the kitchen and took the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and poured a drink. This time, she left the bottle behind instead of taking it with her into the living room.
She’d learned her lesson.
Cradling the glass in her hands, she stood at the window and stared out at the dark and silent street. Once again, she thought about Rachel and wondered how Tyler was going to react when he saw what had happened to her.
She ran through several scenarios, none of them good, and her thoughts spun with all the terrible possibilities.
When she finished her drink, she set the empty glass on the coffee table and curled up on the couch. It was comfortable, and she closed her eyes, losing herself in the steady ticking of the grandfather clock.
Then she heard a new sound.
Engines.
She opened her eyes and saw shadows pan across the blue room.
Megan pushed herself up and looked out the window. There were three white vans moving slowly down the street in front of her house. Their headlights were off, and their windows were a deep, empty black.
When they got to Rachel’s house, the first van pulled into the driveway. The other two stopped along the street out front. All the doors swung open at once, and several men climbed out, dressed in black.
They moved with no hesitation.
It was like watching a machine.
The men split into groups. The first group circled around to the back of Rachel’s house; the next climbed the porch steps and went inside through the front door. Several others stayed by the vans, unpacking large hard-shell cases that they stacked on top of each other before rolling them up the driveway toward the house.
The last four met in the intersection.
They stood together, face-to-face. Then they each took a small device from their belts and split up, moving down different streets, away from the intersection.
Megan squinted against the darkness, but she couldn’t see what they were carrying. As they moved out of the intersection, all four devices began to glow, sending out flat, cold beams of blue light that panned over the streets and the rows of quiet houses.