“Not exactly. I don’t know that it can be closed, to be honest. The best I can do is create a dead end. Anything that comes through will have no choice but to go back.”
“Is that why the fence is off?”
Ian nods. “Yes. There’s nothing to keep out, or in, anymore.”
Chapter 19
I stop at the library on the way home and grab a couple of books off the New Release shelf to keep up appearances. Then I pick up my brother and sister and drive us all home.
Most of the lights are off when we pull into the driveway. Brett and Molly race in ahead of me and head to the living room. My mom sits at the kitchen table, caressing a photo of my dad. A tear runs down her cheek, and she absent-mindedly wipes it away.
I pull out the chair across from her and collapse into it, all my strength leaving my body.
“Austen?” The surprise in her eyes fades swiftly. “I didn’t realize you were back. Where are your brother and sister?”
“They’re in the living room.” I jerk my head in that direction.
She nods, and then her gaze strays to the picture on the table. “I miss him so much,” she murmurs.
I put my hand on hers, and it’s trembling. “Me, too.”
Her gaze meets mine and then darts away. “When I was visiting your dad, he kept talking about all this nonsense.” She touches the picture again. “At least, I thought it was all nonsense. Now, I’m not so sure.”
My dad’s words haunt me. This has to be it, the missing clue that makes everything make sense. “What was he talking about?”
She glances at the ground. “Nothing really. I mean, it can’t be anything. He was talking about a doorway and going through that door to somewhere else. He talked about having to pay the price and some people called the Francos.”
I mentally catalog the name. Finally, I have something I can use to hopefully find some concrete evidence of Dad’s past. “Did he say anything else about these people, the Francos?”
She shakes her head, worry tightening the lines around her mouth and eyes. “No. He just kept saying that name and that he had to go to the lighthouse for some reason.” Her gaze meets mine. “You can’t tell anyone about this. You know that, right?”
If she knew even a quarter of what I had to keep stuffed inside my head, she’d think I was nuts. “No problem. I won’t tell anyone.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’m serious, Austen. When they find your dad, and I’m sure they will, I don’t want them to think he’s mentally unstable.” She hesitates. “I think he needs help, that’s for sure, but he’s not crazy. He doesn’t deserve to be locked away forever. I know he didn’t kill that woman.”
“I don’t think he did that, either.” All the things I’ve learned about my dad hover on the tip of my tongue, but I keep them to myself. She wouldn’t be able to handle everything I know. “Dad wouldn’t do anything like that.”
She gives me a quick hug. “Now we have to convince the rest of the world.”
That night, after everyone falls asleep, I creep downstairs into Mom’s office. Part of me argues that I should wait until tomorrow, but I can’t sleep. The knowledge eats at the edge of my consciousness, and I can’t focus on anything else except solving at least one of the millions of mysteries haunting me.
I sit in front of the computer and start with the name Francos and type in missing family, murdered, and killed as other key words. At first there’s not much but B-list celebrity gossip, but on page four of my Google search, I hit pay dirt.
It’s on one of those Unsolved Mysteries pages, where the host focuses on strange, unsolved crimes.
On the top of the page is a grainy black-and-white photograph of a young couple holding a toddler with the heading, “What really happened to the Francos?”
In 1925, mob bosses and kingpins ruled Chicago. They introduced the world to the concept of drive-by shootings and even had a sports team named the Chicago Hitmen. However, for one small family, a close encounter with some of these dangerous criminals might have taken a deadly turn.
James Franco was a bookkeeper when his boss, Arthur Gitanno, asked him to crunch a few numbers for one of his friends, Al Capone. As they say in The Godfather, this was an offer he could not refuse.
Soon Franco began running all the books for Capone and became one of his trusted advisors. He knew Capone was known for getting rid of people who disagreed with him, so he kept his mouth shut. One day in March 1925, the Federal Bureau of Investigation raided Gitanno’s office.
The FBI arrested Franco but agreed to cut him a deal if he would testify against Capone. Fearing for the lives of his wife, Louise, and son, David, Franco initially refused but later relented when he realized he would be faced with life in prison without the possibility of parole, leaving his young family helpless.
That’s when Capone sent his most celebrated hitman, Jack “Machine Gun” McGurn to take care of Franco and his family. On June 21, 1925, Franco and his family were seen leaving church and getting into a dark unmarked car. They haven’t been seen since.
Local law enforcement and the FBI conducted extensive searches but have never found anything. It is widely believed that McGurn and his associates murdered the Francos and disposed of their bodies in Lake Michigan, a fact McGurn denied up until his death in 1936.
I look at the photograph again. These people look familiar, but it’s not possible. The man holding the baby looks a lot like my dad, but it’s not him. It was taken so long ago, that’s impossible. No. That looks like my grandpa, but that’s also impossible. They can’t be the Francos. There has to be a logical explanation for all of this.
I have to talk to someone, but I don’t have anyone around who will understand. It’s after midnight. I can’t call Ian up or Phoebe or even Danny. Tomorrow I’m sure I can come up with a reason to leave the house and go to the lighthouse, but I can’t right now. I yawn, my eyes starting to feel impossibly heavy. I can’t go to sleep yet, though. I need to print out the article first, just in case I can’t find it tomorrow.
I tiptoe to my mom’s room and slowly close her door. Then I print out the article and return to my bedroom, sleep finally winning me over.
Chunks of concrete bite into my fingers. I scrabble for a way out, a way to get away from the swirling vortex behind me, but I can’t.
Behind me, there’s a popping noise, and I whirl around. Breathless and disheveled, Ezra bursts through the portal, arms pinwheeling at his sides. His gaze flies to the gateway behind him, and he shudders then races toward the entrance to the cave.
I shout at him that the cave is blocked, that there’s no way out, but he can’t hear me. He rushes through me as if I’m no more than another one of the shadows blanketing the walls. Ezra crashes into Ian’s barrier with a thud, knocking the wind right out of him.
After a few seconds, he catches his breath and pushes himself to his feet. Inching forward, he reaches out and grazes the wall with his fingers, searching frantically for a way out. There isn’t one.
Behind him, something growls from the depths of the portal, and the inky darkness starts swirling again. Something’s following him. Something big.
I awake with a start, heart nearly thudding out of my chest. It was only a dream, I repeat to myself. A dream. Ezra’s not stuck in the cave. He can’t be. Those were his footprints I saw outside his house. He’s safe.
I keep telling myself that as I stare out the window, willing tendrils of dawn’s light to start streaking across the horizon.
Chapter 20
The next day, I drop Brett and Molly off at our grandparents’ house and tell them I’m going to the library before my shift at the diner. As long as they don’t cross-check my story with Mom, I should be fine. I have to watch I, or she’ll start to get suspicious.
I drive to Ezra’s house. Maybe seeing those footprints again will erase the lingering fear that he died in the cave, trapped and alone.
As I get out of the car, I scan the forest for watchful eye
s and sharp, ravenous fangs, but the sunny clearing surrounding the house is quiet except for birds chirping from the trees and zipping among the flowers. I call out Ezra’s name several times as I approach the house. No answer. Looks like I’m alone, again. There are worse things than being alone.
After I skirt the house, I decide to see if the front door’s locked. If I can get inside, I can check for signs that someone has been in there. Hopefully it could lead me to Ezra, or the shoeprint’s owner if it isn’t him.
I bang on the door hard enough to shake the curtains in the front window. Wait. That wasn’t me. The curtains moved. Someone’s inside. I rap on the door again and yell hello. During the third bout of knocking, whoever’s on the other side wrenches the door open, grabs my arm, and whisks me inside.
“Quiet,” Ezra hisses, a stern scowl on his face. “I don’t want anyone else to know I’m here.”
“Ezra!” I fling my arms around his neck, so overwhelmed that he’s alive. I notice too late the rigid set of his shoulders and the way he doesn’t hug me back. And then I notice the distance he puts between us and how shifts his gaze to the ground, unable to look me in the eyes. “What’s going on? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I know.” He stares at the covered window. “Do you know how hard it is to comb through the forest with you and all those search parties traipsing around? I’ve seriously had to hide in the woods three times when search parties came by the house.”
My joy fades to anger. “You’re such a jerk! I can’t believe you left me in the woods with that thing out there.”
Embarrassment flashes across his face. “Sorry about that. I was so close. I couldn’t risk getting sidetracked again.” He strides to the front door and locks it. “Sit, please.” He gestures to the dusty living room. Then Ezra ducks into the kitchen and grabs a couple of cans of Coke. “Here.” He hands me one of the drinks.
“Thanks.” I study Ezra while he sits down. His hair needs a trim, and his clothes are stained and unkempt. Where did that fun-loving boy go who kissed me not that long ago? “What’s going on?”
He folds his hands in front of him and stares at his weathered knuckles for a few seconds. “You know I came here to find my brother, right?”
I nod. “Did you?”
An empty bark of a laugh escapes his lips. “No. Nothing. Nada. Zip. It’s like he never even existed.” When Ezra’s gaze meets mine, it’s filled with desperation. “I’ve looked everywhere, but I haven’t been able to find anything. It’s like he vanished.”
I hesitate, unsure of how much he knows about the portal. “You searched Ian’s property, right?”
“Yeah.” His lips twist at the name. “You’ve gotten to know him pretty well since I’ve been gone, haven’t you?”
I flush. “It’s not like that.” But it is, my inner voice argues. “Just answer the question.”
He looks out the window and takes a long swig of soda. When he finishes draining the can, he crushes it and sends it sailing into a trash can brimming with refuse next to the door. “You could say that.”
I raise my eyebrows but don’t respond.
“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry. I never should have left you alone in the woods. I knew better, I know I did. I was so obsessed with finding Nate. Finally, after all this time, I felt like I was on the right track. I could never get past the fence before. I convinced myself that you’d be fine if you went straight back and that it would be more dangerous for you to come with me.”
Sympathy dampens some of my anger. “But you didn’t find anything.”
He closes his eyes. “No. Nothing.” He stands up to pace the room.
“What are you going to do now?”
He pauses by the front window and peeks around the corner of the curtain. “Keep looking, of course.”
“What about your parents, I’m sure they’ve been worried about you.”
His fingers clench the curtain so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I know, and I’m sorry about that, too. Sometimes I feel this whole thing was one big fuck up.” He frowns. “I’ve hurt a lot of people, and I can’t help that. The worst part is that I haven’t done what I came here to do. I haven’t found my brother.”
“Will you at least let them know where you are?”
He nods. “I already did. A few days ago I had to . . . um . . . borrow a car and disappear. I went down to Detroit for a day and sent them a postcard. I told them I was okay; I just needed some time alone.”
I stand up so quickly my head swims. “I thought Phoebe was lying about someone seeing you downstate.”
He peeks through a slit in the curtains. “Yeah, I got my car confiscated there, too. Had to grab another one, and I left it outside of Harrisville. Hiked back from there myself.”
“What happened to your backpack? I found it at the lighthouse, and it had blood on it.”
He holds up his hand to show me a half-healed slash across his palm. “I was in the cave, and I fell.” He cracks a smile. “Stupid rocks were damp.”
“Did you go through the portal?”
He hesitates. “Is that what that was?” I nod. “I almost did, but something told me not to. It was the weirdest feeling I’ve ever had.”
I shake my head. “It probably saved your life.”
“Who cares?” He shrugs. “You don’t understand. If I don’t find out what happened to my brother, my life is meaningless.” He crosses the distance between the chair and the couch in two long strides and sits down next to me. “You have to promise me something.” He takes my hands in his, ignoring the stiff cast. “You can’t tell anyone you saw me. No one. They can’t know I’m here. Do you understand?”
“Why?” I try to disengage myself, but he won’t let me.
“Because I’m not done yet. I have to find my brother.” He finally releases me. “It’s this feeling I get. Sometimes it’s even a dream. I’m in the forest, calling out his name, and then I find him leaning against a tree. He’s just there, and he’s exactly like the way he was the night he disappeared.” His lips twist in cynical grin. “He’s even wearing his favorite green-and-white letterman jacket, jeans, and the white Nikes that he saved up two months to buy. It’s stupid, I know.”
I recall the nightmare where he was trapped in the cave. “Trust me, it’s not stupid. I’ve had a few strange dreams lately, too.”
Ezra peers through the curtains toward my car, barely visible among the trees. “You should probably go. I don’t want to attract too much attention to this place. I’ll walk you out if you want.”
Anger kindles within me. Is he really that callous? I thought he cared about me, at least a little. Good thing I know where I stand.
“No, I’m good.” I give him a hug. He’s more relaxed this time, now that everything’s out in the open, and he doesn’t have to hide from me. “I think I can find my way from here.”
He rubs my arms. “Thanks for not giving up on me. I don’t know anyone else who would have done that, especially after I left you there alone.” He presses his lips to mine, but there’s no heat there. No passion. Not anymore. It’s like that part of me died when Ezra left me alone in the forest.
After I leave the farmhouse, I hurry to the car, my mind so full of Ezra’s news that I almost miss the crackling footsteps behind me, and the click of a safety. The cold muzzle of a gun presses up against the skin behind my ear before I can react. The reeking scent of cigars fills my nostrils.
“Make a sound and you’re dead,” a gravelly voice demands.
Chapter 21
“You must be related to Franco, right?” He waves the gun at me. “You got his eyes, hair, too. Cousin maybe? Sister?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My last name is Gillet.” I try to give him a confused look, but I’m sure he sees through it.
The man who grabbed me is dressed in a long black trench coat. He has a hat pulled low over his face, cloaking it in a shadow. His steady hand holds the shiny black gun like it�
��s an extension of his arm.
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realize Dad was telling the truth. There is someone after him, and he’s right here.
The man shakes the muzzle of the gun at me. “Don’t lie, girl. Take me to Franco.”
I hold my hands up in a pleading gesture. “I swear. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He scowls, and the tip of his gun twitches. “Don’t make me shoot you. I don’t like shooting women and kids, but I’ll make an exception if I have to.”
“Who are you?”
“That don’t matter. Take me to your old man.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know where he is, honest.”
He chews on that for a few seconds before cocking the gun. “I don’t believe you.” He aims for my knee. “Tell me the truth, or I’m gonna start shooting.”
An icy lump fills my stomach. This guy’s serious. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll take you to him.”
“Good girl.” He jerks the gun toward the car. “Let’s go.” He pats me on the rear with his gun.
Enraged, I almost turn and say a whole bunch of things I shouldn’t, but the cold metal barrel reminds me to keep my mouth shut.
Once in the car, the hitman keeps his gun trained on me as I back out of the driveway and pull onto the highway. Sweat drips down my spine. I don’t know where to go. This man wants my father, but I have no idea where to find him. What was it my mom said Dad kept repeating? Something about going to the lighthouse. But why? The portal. It’s got to be because of the portal.
I follow the highway until I find the road that leads to the lighthouse. Ian. Even if my dad’s not there, Ian will know what to do.
About halfway down the driveway, the man instructs me to pull over. “We’ll walk from here. Don’t want to let your old man know we’re here.”
When Darkness Falls Page 21