by John Rector
“Diagnostic programs on what?”
“All the proprietary hardware and software up there.” Tyler frowned. “You’ve never cared about my job before. Why the sudden interest?”
“I was thinking about you today,” she said. “Every time I look up at the ridge I wonder what you’re doing, so I decided to ask.”
Tyler’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” she asked. “Something wrong with wanting to know what my husband does with his days?”
“No, it’s just unusual for you.”
Megan knew she’d made him suspicious.
She also knew that all she had to do was take his hand, tilt her head, and raise the pitch of her voice while making some excuse about wanting to get closer to him, and his suspicion would fade away. But she’d never been good at that kind of thing.
Besides, she wanted to know more about the Institute.
“Do you ever see Fiona?” Megan asked.
“Your friend?”
“She works up there, too. Some kind of administrative supervisor or something.”
“I don’t have contact with anyone on that level unless something breaks. And when that happens, they usually send someone else. I’m still the new guy up there.”
“Have you ever seen anything weird?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Hansen Institute—they do all kinds of medical research, don’t they? That’s pretty interesting. Have you ever seen anything strange?”
Tyler inhaled deeply and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Megs, I spend my days in a room without windows, staring at numbers on a screen. I compare those numbers to other numbers on a different screen. When they match, my job is easy. When they don’t match, I make a phone call to someone I never see. So no, I’ve never seen anything I think you’d consider interesting.”
“That’s really all you do?”
Tyler looked at her, his eyes hard. “I’m an entry-level systems technician. What did you think I did?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just thought with everything they do up there that you’d have seen—”
“What is this about?” he asked. “Why the sudden interest in my job?”
There was a sharpness to his voice, and Megan realized she’d pushed too far. Without thinking, she put her hand on his, tilted her head, and said, “I want to know more about what you do,” the pitch of her voice lifting each word. “I want to be closer to you, to try and make things better.”
Tyler stared at her for a moment, and she saw the softness slowly come back to his face. She leaned in, kissed him, and smiled.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a tough week. I’m a little on edge.”
She told him it was fine, that she didn’t take it personally. Then she reached for the wine bottle and refilled his glass, smiling, and thinking that she’d underestimated herself.
25
The next morning, Megan woke to Tyler standing over the bed, watching her sleep.
She sat up slowly, her voice tired. “Hey.”
Tyler was dressed for work, his coffee mug in one hand, and his keys dangling loose in the other.
He didn’t say anything.
“What are you doing?” Megan asked.
“Leaving for work,” he said. “I’ll probably be late tonight. Thought you should know.”
“Okay.” Megan’s head was still clouded, and her thoughts were thick and slow. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He forced a smile. “It’s a busy week.”
“I mean with you. Is everything okay with—”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I wanted to see you before I left. You might be asleep when I get home.”
Megan eased back down onto the bed and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t believe his excuse, and she tried not to let it show.
“You’re sweet,” she said.
“Are you seeing your friend today?”
“My friend?”
“Fiona?”
“I was thinking about stopping by her house this afternoon. Why?”
“No reason.” He stared at her for a moment longer, then leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Maybe I’ll see you later tonight.”
Before Megan could reply, he turned and walked out.
She stayed in bed, listening to his footsteps on the stairs. She waited until she heard the front door close, then she got up and walked to the window and watched him back down the driveway and into the road.
There was a hollow space growing in her chest. She tried to ignore it, but the more she thought about the way Tyler sounded, the way he looked at her, the wider it got.
Something was wrong.
Why did he ask about Fiona?
Megan took her robe off the back of the door and slipped it on. Then she walked downstairs to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed Fiona’s number. She let it ring for a long time before hanging up.
The empty feeling in her chest spread, and it was too strong to shake. She told herself she was being paranoid, that she and Tyler had been through a lot lately, and it was going to take some time before things seemed normal again.
She was looking for problems where none existed.
The idea calmed her a little.
Megan put the phone back in the cradle, then took her coffee cup from the dish drainer and reached for the coffeepot.
It was empty.
Megan frowned and started another pot.
While she waited for the coffee to brew, she went into the living room and stood at the window and looked out at the street, thinking about what she needed to do.
Fiona was going to ask around about Rachel, and while she would’ve loved to join her, Fiona had already said she’d handle it on her own.
That left Mercer.
After their conversation the day before, Megan had even more questions. She wanted him to show her the documents he had hidden in the forest. If they proved what he said they proved, Tyler would have to believe her.
Megan glanced over at Rachel’s house. The curtains were all open to the sunlight, and the roses out front were in full bloom. Roger’s car was gone, and she wondered, not for the first time, what he was hiding.
Megan was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Rachel sitting outside on the grass next to the rosebushes. It wasn’t until she stood up and crossed the yard toward the garage that Megan realized she was there at all.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Rachel was wearing her white sun hat and her tortoiseshell sunglasses, and she seemed to shimmer like a mirage between the green lawn and the blue sky.
In the kitchen, the coffeemaker beeped.
Megan barely heard it.
Rachel disappeared into the garage, and Megan stayed at the window. When Rachel came back, she was carrying a flat wicker basket, her arm looped through the handle. Megan watched as she moved down the length of the rosebushes, carefully selecting and cutting the best flowers before laying them lengthwise in the basket.
Megan backed away from the window and headed for the front door. She stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and checked to see that Rachel was still outside. Then she started across the street toward her house.
Megan’s feet were bare, and the ground was sharp, but she stayed focused on Rachel and ignored the pain. The closer she got, the less real it all seemed.
As if she would wake up at any moment.
When Megan got to her house, she stepped onto Rachel’s lawn and came up behind her. She lifted her hand and gently touched the back of Rachel’s neck, still not believing she was real.
Rachel jumped, startled, and turned around.
“Oh my.” She put a hand to her chest, her eyes wide and panicked. “Megan, you scared me half to death.”
Megan felt her mouth open, but no words came out.
“You have to let me catch my breath.” Rachel’s voice was sunshine, and she exhaled loud and musically. “It’s so nice t
o see you.”
“You’re back.”
“Since late last night,” she said. “I’d ask if I missed anything exciting, but who am I kidding?”
Rachel laughed, then looked down at the flowers in her basket. She selected one and held it out to Megan. “What do you think?”
Megan took the flower. It was bright yellow.
“Careful of the thorns.”
Megan stared at her, unable to speak.
Rachel stepped closer and slipped off her sunglasses. Her skin was soft, and her eyes were clear and blue.
“Are you feeling okay, honey?”
She didn’t answer.
Rachel glanced down at Megan’s bare feet, then around at the other houses lining the street. She set the basket on the ground and took Megan’s arm, leading her back toward her house.
“Can I share some advice, dear?” Her voice was a sweet whisper. “My mother had a rule. She used to tell me that the distance between your front door and your mailbox is the exact same distance you can go outside in your robe before people start thinking you’re a crazy person.”
“You’re not dead.”
Rachel stopped walking. “Excuse me?”
“You fell off the ladder,” Megan said. “I saw—”
“I did what?”
“You lost your balance. You broke your neck.”
Rachel laughed, her eyes sharp, but confused.
Megan was about to say something else, but then the expression on Rachel’s face softened and she smiled.
“I believe you had a dream, my dear.” She held Megan at arm’s length. “It looks as though you might have just woken up, and I believe—”
Megan pulled away, backing across the lawn toward the sidewalk. Rachel watched her, frowning. Then she turned and went back to her rosebushes.
Megan ran the rest of the way home, her robe billowing out behind her. She had to talk to Fiona. She had to tell her about Rachel, but when she got home and called her house, there was still no answer.
Megan hung up the phone and leaned against the counter, breathing hard. She didn’t know where to turn, and her mind was racing. She could feel her thoughts spinning away, and she knew she had to get out of the house.
Megan went upstairs to shower.
She stood under the water for a long time, letting the heat sink into her skin, thinking about her options.
There weren’t many, and she didn’t like any of them.
PART III
26
Mercer’s garage was open, and the car inside was covered with a dull gray tarp. Megan was hoping to see him outside, but the house was silent. All around her, the leaves of the trees shook in the wind, and a line of heavy clouds moved in overhead, as if building for rain.
She walked up the path toward Mercer’s front door and rang the bell. Then she stepped back, waiting.
The woman who answered the door looked to be in her late forties. She had blond hair and brown roots, and wore thick-rimmed glasses. She smiled when she saw Megan, but there was nothing friendly about it.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking for David Mercer.”
“What’s this regarding?”
Megan wasn’t sure what to say, and she stumbled over her words. “I’m a friend of his. He asked me to stop by.”
“You’re a friend of Mercer’s?”
“That’s right. Is he home?”
The woman stood in the doorway, watching her. Then she shook her head and said, “Well, you just missed him. He left this morning for a car show in Denver.”
“He’s gone?”
“Afraid so.”
“I just spoke to him yesterday,” Megan said. “He never mentioned a car show, or that he was leaving.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” the woman said. “There’s Dad and his plans, and then there’s everyone else.”
“You’re his daughter?”
The woman nodded. “If you’d like, I can leave him a note and let him know you stopped by. I’m only here for a day or two.”
“How long will he be gone?”
“I honestly don’t know,” she said. “With him it could be a day, or a month if he gets distracted.” Megan paused, then looked up at the swirling clouds.
The woman followed her gaze, frowning. “Better make up your mind,” she said. “Looks like you’re going to get wet.”
“Will you let him know that I came by?” she asked. “My name is Megan. He was expecting me.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Megan Stokes?”
“That’s right.”
“I think he left something for you. Hang on a minute.”
She let the screen door close, leaving her alone on the porch. Megan walked toward the steps and stared out at the street. A gray Mercedes drove by, and for an instant she thought she saw a young girl in the backseat, staring out at her as they passed, but it was only a reflection, light on the glass.
“Here you go.”
The woman was back, standing in the doorway. She had a book in her hand, holding it out. Megan took it and turned it over. There was a large black rabbit on the cover, silhouetted by a golden-orange sunset.
Watership Down.
“He left this for me?”
The woman held up a yellow sticky note with Megan’s name scribbled on it in pencil.
“This you?”
Megan told her it was.
“Then he left it for you.” The woman crumpled the note and squeezed it in her thick fist. “I’ll let him know you were here next time I speak to him.”
“Thank you.”
Megan walked down the path and stopped on the sidewalk. She didn’t want to think about Mercer being gone the day after they’d talked, or what that might mean. If she allowed herself to go down that road, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back.
Instead, she looked down and read the text on the back of the book. Then she flipped it over and fanned through the pages.
The book opened to the middle, and a small brass key pressed inside.
Megan closed the book fast and glanced back at Mercer’s house. The woman was standing at the window, watching her, but when she saw her looking, she stepped away and faded back into the dark room.
Megan put her head down and started walking.
She climbed the steps to Fiona’s front door and rang the bell. While she waited, she moved to the edge of the porch and stared up at the tumbling sky and the gray swirl of clouds.
You’re going to get wet.
Megan glanced down at the book and opened it, letting the key slide out into her palm. It was a plain key, brass and ordinary, and she turned it over a few times, examining both sides for any numbers or markings.
All she saw were scratches and age.
Her hands started to shake, and she dropped the key into her front pocket, then rang the bell again. She didn’t hear any sounds inside, so she stood on her toes and looked in through the small windows at the top of the door.
The house was dark.
They got to Fiona, too.
The thought dug in before she could stop it, and a slow chill wormed its way along the base of her spine. She told herself that Fiona was at work, or maybe running errands, and there wasn’t anything to worry about.
All she had to do was wait for her to get back.
Megan wanted to believe it.
She sat at the top of the porch steps and looked around at the pastel houses along the street, all of them several shades dimmer under the heavy clouds. In the distance, she could see the edge of the forest, and it made her think of the spot Mercer pointed out the day before, and about the path leading through the trees toward the abandoned shed with the lockbox hidden inside.
She felt for the key in her pocket.
Mercer had given it to her for a reason. He’d wanted her to go to the shed and find what he’d hidden, even told her where to look.
Did he know he wouldn’t be going with her?
She took the key fr
om her pocket and held it between her fingers. She wanted to know what was inside the shed, but she didn’t want to go alone. Whatever she found, this time she needed a witness.
She needed Fiona.
Megan glanced down the empty street, and once again the fear that Fiona was gone seeped into her mind. She thought of her talking to the neighbors, asking around about Rachel, drawing attention.
Disappearing.
Like Mercer, suddenly gone the day after telling her about his wife and what she did at the Institute.
Both of them had been removed.
Megan shook the thought away the best she could. Then she slipped the key back into her pocket. She knew she was letting her imagination get the best of her, and she tried to laugh it off, telling herself that she’d read too many bad books.
But after everything that’d happened, everything she’d seen, she didn’t feel much like laughing.
Megan pushed herself up and started down the steps. When she got to the bottom, she noticed a woman standing across the street. She was alone in her empty driveway, two houses down, wearing black pants and a black button-up shirt. Her hands were at her sides, and her hair, plain and brown, moved back and forth with the wind.
She was staring at her.
Megan waved, but the woman didn’t wave back.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Megan saw movement in the house next door and glanced over. There was a man watching her from the window, his face barely visible behind the glass.
And there were others.
At all the houses along the street, in nearly every window, someone was looking back at her.
She decided it was time to go.
27
Megan walked home, head down, and even though she didn’t see anyone else, she could feel eyes on her the entire way. She tried to tell herself that it was all in her head and that no one was really watching, but the sensation was too strong, and she couldn’t shake it.
Once she was inside, she went upstairs to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, squeezing her hands between her knees to stop them from shaking.