by John Rector
They were still a few blocks from Megan’s house when Fiona stopped at an intersection and said, “I don’t think you should say anything about this to Tyler.”
“You mean about Rachel?”
“It’s not my place, but he was upset when he called looking for you,” she said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to make things worse between you two, especially since we don’t know what’s going on.”
She’d already decided not to talk to Tyler about Rachel, but part of her didn’t feel good about that choice. Having Fiona back up her decision made her feel better.
“Thank you,” Megan said. “For believing me.”
Fiona touched her arm, smiled. “Once Rachel gets back, we’ll get all of this settled, I promise. Focus on fixing things with Tyler, and don’t worry about any of this.”
Megan nodded, but she knew there would be no way she could stop thinking about Rachel. Until it was resolved, it was going to be all she thought about, but she didn’t say that to her. Fiona was only trying to help.
Instead, she told her she’d try.
Fiona turned back to the road and drove the last few blocks to Megan’s house. The lights inside were on, and when she pulled into the driveway, the front door opened and Tyler stepped out.
Megan sighed. “Well, here we go.”
“Good luck.” Fiona leaned over and hugged her, and when she pulled back, she looked Megan in the eye and said, “If you need anything at all, you call me.”
Megan opened the door and got out.
She crossed the lawn toward Tyler, who was watching from the porch, and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at him, and neither of them said anything.
After a moment, he turned and went back inside.
Megan glanced over her shoulder and watched Fiona pull out of the driveway. Then she climbed the steps and walked through the open door and into the house.
“There’s no way to fix it?”
“He told me we could sell it for parts.”
Tyler made a dismissive sound and got up from the table. He took his plate to the kitchen and set it in the sink. “I want a second opinion. It doesn’t sound like this guy knows what he’s talking about.”
“We couldn’t get it to start at all,” Megan said. “It didn’t even turn over.”
“That could be a lot of things.”
“He said the engine was seized.”
Tyler paused. “I’d still like to have someone else look at it.”
“We’ll have to get it towed.”
“And that’s just great.” He turned and leaned against the counter. “I still don’t understand why you drove it to Ashland. You knew that car needed work.”
“I told you why,” she said. “I wanted—”
“A change of scenery. Yeah, I got that part.”
“What else do you want me to tell you?”
He looked at her for a long time. “When I came home and you weren’t here, I thought you’d left for good.”
Megan shook her head. “It wasn’t for good.”
Something in Tyler’s eyes changed, and she could tell he knew the truth. Part of her expected him to get angry, to ask her why she wanted to leave. If he did, she didn’t think she could lie.
But instead, he changed the subject.
“I ran into Roger Addison,” he said. “Rachel is out of town for a few days.”
“Visiting her sister.”
Tyler nodded. “He mentioned you stopped by, told me you wanted to see Rachel.”
There was a question behind the statement, but it wasn’t one she wanted to answer, so she sidestepped it.
“I don’t want to talk about her anymore,” Megan said. “I don’t even want to think about her. I want it to be like she doesn’t even exist.”
“Last night you wanted to go see her.”
“That was a mistake.”
“You had to have a reason.”
“Not a good one,” she said. “I don’t want to think about Rachel Addison anymore.”
“But I don’t—”
“Tyler, let it go.”
Thankfully, he did.
That night Tyler slept closer to her than he had in weeks, his arm around her waist, his body tight against hers. Normally, Megan would’ve liked to have him close, but this time there was something uncomfortable about it.
She didn’t push him away or say anything, and she’d almost drifted off to sleep when she felt him kiss the back of her neck, soft, and press against her, not soft.
Megan pretended to be asleep.
Tyler put his hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her toward him. She resisted at first, but then gave in and let him roll her onto her back. Then he climbed on top of her, moving her legs apart.
Megan closed her eyes and waited.
When he finished, he rolled off and onto his side, his back to her, and fell asleep. Megan stayed in bed, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. Then she got up and went into the bathroom. When she came back, she stood at the bedroom window and looked out at the empty street.
It was late.
She thought about the white vans she’d seen outside Rachel’s house. Then she thought about Mercer and the dead rabbit and what he’d said to her.
The sweepers come at night.
Tomorrow, she decided, she would start asking questions. She would talk to the neighbors and see if anyone else noticed anything strange the night before. Fiona wanted her to wait until they had a chance to talk to Rachel, but she was done waiting.
Tomorrow, she would look for answers.
And she’d start with David Mercer.
Megan stood at the window for a while longer, thinking of all the things she wanted to ask Mercer, and when she finally climbed back into bed, she fell asleep almost at once.
And she dreamed . . .
. . . of music.
There are dark shapes everywhere, and the air around her is cool and sweet. She can hear voices, soft at first, growing louder. Behind them, whistles and bells and the breathy wheeze of calliope music.
A carnival.
Megan feels someone take her hand, a child, pulling her along through the darkness. She looks down and sees the back of her head, her dark hair flowing out behind her as she runs, leading them both through the crowd of shadows.
Every step they take, the darkness fades.
Megan sees game booths, a carousel, and rows of barkers. In the distance, a blue Ferris wheel turning slowly over it all.
And everywhere she looks, there are people.
She hears them talking and laughing, but they don’t move. Only their eyes follow as they weave among them, ducking and running through a blur of flashing lights and sound and the quiet spaces in between.
“Where are we going?”
The little girl holding her hand doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t look back. Up ahead, the Ferris wheel spins, its blue light shining out, covering them as they run.
Megan stares at it, unable to look away.
Lost in the light.
Then she feels the little girl’s hand slip from hers, and when she looks down, the child is gone. All around, the people start to move, ignoring her, their voices loud.
Megan turns and scans the shifting crowd, searching for the girl, but she doesn’t see her. Then the crowd breaks against her, pushing her farther along the path, toward the rolling blue light of the Ferris wheel.
Megan yells, “Where are you?”
But there is no answer, only the chatter of the crowd, the fading whirl of the bells, and the gentle rise and fall of the calliope music.
21
Megan woke up early the next morning, but it was almost noon by the time she left the house. Outside, the air was cool and smelled like freshly cut grass. She could hear an angry chorus of blue jays in the trees as she crossed the lawn toward the sidewalk, but when she looked up, she didn’t see a single bird.
Next door, Edna Davidson was in her yard, moving an oscillating sp
rinkler from one spot to another. She was wearing a black silk robe with yellow flowers embroidered across the bottom and along the cuffs of the sleeves. Edna glanced up at Megan when she passed by, but when Megan waved, she turned away and went inside.
Megan frowned and kept walking.
As she made her way through the neighborhood, she noticed how quiet the streets seemed. Most of the people were at work during the day, but the longer she walked, the more she started to wonder. The few faces she did see watched her from behind windows as she passed by, or they turned away, ignoring her completely.
By the time she made it to Mercer’s house, the feeling that something was wrong sat heavy in her mind. She did her best to push it away, but it wasn’t until she started up the driveway and saw him in the garage, leaning over the engine of an old car, that the uneasiness faded, replaced by genuine curiosity.
The car was decades old, lemon yellow, with sharp fins and a white stripe along the side that widened toward the back. Mercer didn’t see her until she was only a few feet away. Once he did, he stood up and stepped away from the car, socket wrench in hand.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, squinting. “Megan, right?”
“That’s right.” She smiled. “Good memory.”
“For some things,” he said. “Others, not so much.”
“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”
“Not at all. Have you found any more rabbits?”
His voice sounded fun, but Megan noticed the way his eyes moved past her as he spoke, scanning the street and the houses around them.
She decided to get to the point.
“That’s kind of why I’m here,” she said. “I was hoping I could ask you a couple questions, if you don’t mind.”
“About the rabbit?”
“About a few things, actually.”
“Sounds serious.” He held up both hands. “I didn’t kill that rabbit, I promise.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.” He turned back to the lemon-yellow car and studied the engine as he spoke. “Happy to have that out of the way. So, what is it then?”
“You said something the other day, but you walked away before I could ask you about it.”
Mercer looked up at her, his eyes sharp. He motioned to the toolbox on the ground by her feet. “Do me a favor. There’s a flat-head screwdriver in there somewhere. A big one with a clear yellow handle. Grab it for me?”
Megan bent down and lifted the top tray from the toolbox. She found the screwdriver at the bottom and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He took the screwdriver and bent back over the engine. “Do you like old cars?”
Megan immediately thought about her Corsica sitting outside the gas station in Ashland, even though she knew that wasn’t what he meant. The Corsica was old to her, but his car was at least thirty more years back.
“I like the design,” she said. “What is it?”
“She.” He paused, finished the adjustment he was making, and stepped back, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Cars are always female.”
“I guess I knew that.”
Mercer motioned to the car with the screwdriver and said, “She is a convertible 1957 Chevy Bel Air. I’ve been tinkering with her forever, but it seems like there’s always something else that needs to be fixed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “Who knows what I’ll do with myself the day I finish with her.”
“Go for a ride?”
Mercer glanced down at the car and smiled a thin, wistful smile. “Trouble is you can only go so far before you have to come back and find something else to do to pass the time. Which is probably why I’m still at it. Fear of letting her go.”
Megan thought about this, and for a while they were both quiet. Then she said, “What are the sweepers?”
Mercer looked up at her, his smile gone.
“You mentioned them the other day when we saw that rabbit in the gutter,” Megan said. “You told me the sweepers come at night. What did you mean?”
“Is that what you wanted to ask me?” The smile was back, but this time it didn’t touch his eyes. “You want to know about the street sweepers?”
“That’s what you were talking about?”
“Of course,” he said. “They come through here at night when everyone is asleep, probably so they don’t bother folks during the day.”
Something in his voice was different, and when he slid past her and dropped the screwdriver back in the toolbox, Megan could feel the tension radiating off him.
“That’s considerate of them to work at night.”
Mercer nodded and went around to the front of the car and closed the hood. “The Institute takes care of their own around here, don’t they?”
“Sure seems that way.”
Megan watched him kneel next to the toolbox again and fasten the latches. Then he carried it across the garage and set it on the floor in the corner. When he turned back to her, he put his hands on his hips and shrugged.
“I think I need a shower,” he said. “It was good of you to stop by. I hope you decide to do it again.”
“Right.” She lifted her hand, nodded. “I’ll get out of your hair. Maybe next time I stop by, you’ll be finished with her and you can take me for a ride.”
Mercer winked. “Not if I can help it.”
“That’s right. Never let go.”
“Not until they make you,” he said. “And maybe not even then.”
He started to walk away, but Megan stopped him.
“Mr. Mercer?”
He turned. “Just Mercer.”
“Mercer,” she said. “What did you mean when you asked if I’d seen it, too?”
He looked around at the street and the houses and the trees before coming back to her again. “Like I said, I’m an old man. Sometimes my thoughts get away from me. Half the time I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Megan’s voice was steady, matter-of-fact.
This time, when he looked at her, there was something new in his eyes. It wasn’t humor and it wasn’t anger.
It was fear.
“Look, I—”
“Because I have,” Megan said. “I’ve seen things, and I think you have, too.”
Again, Mercer’s eyes moved past her, scanning the streets. “It’s best to not talk about this.”
“If you’re trying to get rid of me, I’m not—”
“It’s not that,” he said. “Not entirely.”
“Then what is it?” she asked. “What did you mean when you asked me that? What exactly is happening around here?”
“We can’t discuss this,” he said. “Not now.”
Megan looked around, lifted her hands and let them fall. “Seems like a good time to me.”
“It’s not.”
“Tell me why?”
“Megan—”
“Tell me.”
Mercer hesitated, then leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Because they’re watching.”
22
Mercer took her arm and led her down the driveway.
“I’ll walk with you,” he said. “Do you mind?”
Megan glanced around at the other houses along the street, but she didn’t see anyone outside or standing in the windows. If someone was watching them, they were well hidden. Still, Mercer was obviously scared of something, so she kept quiet as they moved along the sidewalk.
As they walked, Mercer pointed out houses and told her a little about the people living inside, who they were, and how they were connected to the Institute. It was difficult to focus on what he was saying. She had so many questions that it took all of her willpower to keep them inside.
Megan tried to play along.
“What do you do at the Institute?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve never even been inside.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked. “
I thought you had to work on the ridge to live here.”
“My wife worked there.” He smiled at the memory. “Brilliant woman. Here I am, barely able to calculate a tip at a restaurant, while she . . .”
His voice trailed away, and he was quiet for a long time. Eventually, she asked if he was okay, and he nodded.
“The woman intimidated me,” he said. “So damn smart, even when we met as undergraduates. Part of me always found it baffling that we had anything to talk about at all. But we did. A lifetime’s worth of things, as it turned out.”
Again, Mercer went quiet, and Megan let the silence hang between them. Up ahead, the sidewalk curved to the south, and she could see the willow forest running along the base of the ridge. As they got closer, she could hear the whisper of the wind in the trees.
“How about you?” Megan asked. “What did you do?”
“Nothing, once we came here,” he said. “At one time, I wrote novels, which meant I was somewhat of a bum.”
“Were you published?”
“A few times.”
“Then you weren’t a bum,” she said. “Sounds to me like you had some success.”
“For whatever that’s worth.” He paused. “To be honest, I barely remember the days before we moved here. In a lot of ways, it was a different life.”
“You quit writing when you moved here?”
“I found I didn’t have the heart for it anymore, and thanks to Anna’s job, we didn’t need the money.” He leaned closer as they walked. “Do you know the secret to making a living as a novelist?”
Megan told him she didn’t.
“Marry rich.”
He laughed, and the sound was so joyful that she didn’t have the heart to tell him it was an old joke. Instead, she laughed along with him and told him that was true for all artists.
“No doubt,” he said, nodding. “No doubt.”
They walked a little farther, and Megan could feel the pressure building inside of her with each step. She was starting to lose patience, and even though she didn’t want to say anything, she couldn’t hold back.