by Norah Wilson
“I thought he was throwing his crib toys again. Just having some sort of tantrum and kicking at his crib railing. And... I was so tired. So very tired of the crying. So I... I just didn’t go to him as he screamed and cried ‘Me-anne.’ Not even... when his crying changed.”
Maryanne could almost hear him. Almost hear that little voice calling out all over again tinged with fear. Gagging. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to hear him crying again, now. She would run to him like a bat out of hell. But it was her tears that were falling now, her voice that was hitching now in her throat. Her head down in her hands. “And... he did stop crying. I remember thinking, ‘Finally, he’s asleep!’ That I was right to let him cry it out. Wouldn’t Grandmother Webb be proud of me! Oh, how smart. I was the most amazing babysitter. World’s most brilliant big sister.
“I... I was wrong.
“You know how I feel the mood of rooms? Well, soon the feeling in that living room as I sat with my popcorn and soda changed. It felt colder. Depleted somehow, yet heavy. Oh Lord, strange as this sounds it felt as if the walls were watching me. When I realized it, I jumped off the couch and ran up the stairs. Something was wrong! I felt it. Not just a niggling feeling now—but a thumping, hammering one. Something was horribly wrong in the house.
“I saw him, Alex. I saw my baby brother. Tangled in the blinds. His little face was turned toward me as he dangled helplessly there and I’ll never forget that sight. I don’t know how I did it, but I snapped the blind cord with my bare hands and ran with Jason to my parents’ room. I was already giving him CPR while I called 911. I begged my little brother—please, please be okay. Please, J-Bug, I begged him, please be okay. I screamed up to heaven!
“Heaven didn’t hear me. Jason... he wasn’t okay. He was gone. He was gone and his last thoughts were why wasn’t I coming to save him? Why didn’t I come to help? The last person he looked for was me. And I just let him choke to death.”
Maryanne looked into Alex’s unopening eyes. Looked at her unflinching face. She’d never spoken this sorrow to anyone. Never told another being this truth that shredded her soul.
“The paramedics came and raced my baby brother away in the ambulance. The police came, asked me questions, looked at the bedrooms. One officer stayed with me until my parents finally came home. But... my parents didn’t really come home, not like before. Mom and Dad were already lost to me. Lost to each other.
“Alex.” Maryanne lowered her gaze, unable to look her friend in the face as she confessed the rest. “I... I told my parents, the police, everyone that I didn’t hear any crying. Not so much as peep. No one knew that he called out to me and I ignored his last cries. That I let him just die. I told the police, my parents and everyone else that I hadn’t heard a thing. The lie never got easier. It only got harder and harder every time I told it, and yet I could never untell it!
“It’s all my fault. I ignored the feeling and sat down on the couch. I was so damn mad at Jason. Tired of running up there all night. Tired of his crying and whining. And in a moment of hellish frustration I answered that feeling out loud with ‘oh so what!’. That’s exactly when the crying stopped, as if to catch those words on my lips forever and ever and ever. Of course I didn’t know something was wrong—that he was choking. But if I had just listened to that feeling, my brother would still be alive.”
Maryanne’s head shot up as she looked over at Alex. The tears kept streaming down. “And if I’d paid attention to that feeling the other night, maybe you’d be okay. Not in this coma! Maybe you’d never have been attacked. And if you die, Alex. If you... if you don’t make it back up from this... I’ll own that too.”
It was the footsteps behind her, not the swinging of the silent door that caught Maryanne’s attention. The nurse smiled kindly, yet sympathetically, at her. She had to know that she’d been crying, still Maryanne wiped a hand across her eyes.
The nurse went to Alex’s bedside. She checked Alex’s pulse, shone a light in her eyes. She changed the IV bag, made sure the lines were clear and then looked at the same monitors Maryanne had studied earlier, writing down the numbers on the chart at the foot of the bed.
“The numbers are higher than they were before,” Maryanne said.
The nurse answered, “A little higher.”
“Bad higher?”
“Just higher.” She smiled again. “Alexandra’s awfully lucky to have a good friend like you.” The door swung closed behind her.
Maryanne stood slowly, looked up at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see how much time had passed. She’d missed supper at Harvell House. Mrs. Betts would be having a fit. But there was something else she had to do. One last thing she had to tell Alex Robbins.
“We’re going ahead with our plans.” She turned to make sure the door was still closed, then turned back to Alex. “We’re going to dig up Connie’s body this weekend when everyone’s away. And everyone is going away. Betts is pretty insistent that no one is staying home after what happened to you in the attic. So Brooke and I are going ahead with the plan to stay at a motel, and then sneak back into the house. We have to do it now, before the snow comes to stay. Black casters against white snow... we’d lose so much of our ability to hide.
“We’re doing it for you too, Alex. Because we know you’d want us to finish this. To give Connie the chance to finally rest. Find peace.” She drew a last shuddering breath, leaned over and brushed Alex’s dark bangs back to kiss her on the forehead, just below the bandage. “Yeah, I know.” She laughed weakly. “You’d shoot me for that if you were awake.”
Shouldering her book bag and wiping her eyes one last time, she headed home to Harvell House.
Chapter 37
Digging up Bones
Brooke
Brooke paused a moment, arching her back to ease the ache.
Maryanne had just started her turn in the pit, which was inching close to three feet deep now. They’d both dug for a while, but it soon became obvious one of them was going to have to move the displaced soil away from the edge of the hole, as it was quickly becoming too hard to lift each new shovelful clear of the last. So they’d started taking turns, one in the pit, one beside the pit moving the soil back a few feet.
Another load of dirt hit the pile, some of it tricking down to land on Brooke’s runners. Break time’s over. She drove her shovel into the unearthed soil, hefted it, and tipped its contents several feet to the left. Then repeated the process, again and again and again.
They’d kept up a conversation of sorts for the first fifteen minutes, but they really didn’t have a lot to say to each other. They were all talked out, after last night in the motel.
Brooke and Maryanne had been the last of the students to leave for the American Thanksgiving weekend. Mrs. Betts had ushered them out to Brooke’s car, suitcases in hand, with obvious relief. After the assault on Alex, absolutely no one was being permitted to stay back this year. Nobody wanted to.
So they’d gone to the motel as planned. Not the low rent spot she’d invited Seth to before school had started, but the nice new motel out by the highway. Her mother had sent her plenty of extra money to see herself through this holiday alone.
Initially, after hearing about the attack of a student at Harvell House, her mother had wanted her to come home for the break, offering to cancel her vacation plans. Talk about irony! Her mother finally putting her first and she couldn’t go home. Not with what she and Maryanne had to do. So Brooke had reassured her mother that security—at the school, at the residence and in the town—had been tightened to the point of ridiculousness. When her mother persisted with the protests, Brooke had said she’d made friends here in Mansbridge and no offence, but she wanted to spend the holiday with them. There was enough truth in the words that her mother bought it. With Brooke’s blessing, she’d gone back to anticipating her getaway with Herr Kommandant.
But the whole motel thing, which Brooke had so been looking forward to when she originally hatched the idea, was a bust. Pre
dictably. With Alex still lying comatose in a hospital bed, neither of them had felt much like partying. Nevertheless, Brooke had drunk half a bottle of Grey Goose vodka just on principal. They’d been so busy with the casting, she hardly ever managed to get drunk these days. Even Maryanne had had a drink last night—a very weak screwdriver—joining Brooke in a toast to Alex. And then another to Connie. And then they’d talked. And talked and talked.
So this morning, the conversation dried up pretty quick. As they fell into a rhythm, they let their shovels do the talking.
The pit work was the worst, of course. The digging was hard, and the shovel had to be lifted so high. Even the sound of the shovel driving into the compacted earth was different. It made a very solid thunk sound when it bit in, compared to the lighter scritch sound the same implement made when it plunged into the loose soil. But no matter whether you were in the pit or up above, the sound of a shovelful of soil hitting the ground was the same. Plop.
On and on they shoveled. Thunk-plop. Scritch-plop. After a while, the sound sort of drove out thought. Thunk-plop. Scritch-plop. Thunk-plop. Scritch-plop.
Thud.
At the new sound, Maryanne dropped the shovel and scrambled out of the pit.
“So, switch off again, I guess?” Brooke said dryly. They’d just switched five minutes ago.
“I’m sorry, Brooke. I just... can’t.”
Of course she couldn’t. Brooke was surprised she’d lasted this long. Given the way Maryanne felt the cellar’s vibes, just coming down here was enough to set her nerves on edge. And the deeper the pit grew, the grimmer Maryanne looked. Fortunately, Brooke suffered from no such sensitivity. Squeamishness, yes. She really wasn’t looking forward to dealing with bones. But at least she didn’t feel them the same way Maryanne seemed to.
“Don’t sweat it.” Brooke lowered herself carefully into the pit and picked up Maryanne’s shovel. “Okay, let’s see what it is you hit.”
A few scrapes of the shovel and she had her answer. Wood. A rough, unfinished plank.
They’d actually improvised some kind of coffin for Connie. Given all the awful things they’d done to her, Brooke would not have been surprised to find the girl’s remains without so much as a burlap sack between her and the soil.
“Is that a casket?”
Brooke glanced up at Maryanne, who’d crept close enough to peer into the pit. “Effectively, I guess,” she said. “Though don’t be expecting any satin lining.”
“Oh, thank God! I was worried about our shovels smashing into her bones.”
Brooke had thought about that too, but what the hell? It wasn’t like anyone could hurt the girl anymore.
“Step back,” Brooke said. “We’re on the homestretch, and the dirt is gonna fly.”
Within eight minutes, Brooke had entirely exposed the lid of the crate—now that she’d seen it, she refused to dignify that mean little box by calling it a casket. Face flushed from exertion, heart pounding from grim anticipation, she looked up at Maryanne. “Ready?”
“No,” Maryanne said. “But I don’t suppose I’ll ever be. Go ahead.”
Brooke moved to one side, wedged the point of her shovel between two planks and pried. The wood, surprisingly vital after all those years in the ground, protested against the nails that held it in place. She withdrew the shovel’s point, repositioned it closer to one end and pried again. This time, it came loose. Or rather, one end of it did.
Okay, Brooke. Showtime.
Heart thudding so hard she could hear it in her own ears, she propped the shovel up, grasped the board with both hands and wrenched the other end free. She pushed the plank aside, and peered in.
“Oh, God, I can see her!” came Maryanne’s voice from up above. “She’s really in there.”
“Well, duh. Of course she’s in there.” On the words, Brooke expelled the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding, but when she inhaled again, she drew a very shallow breath, half expecting to be assaulted by the hideous odor of decay. But there was very little of that. At least, nothing that wasn’t overpowered by the earthy smell of the soil they’d been digging.
She’d also expected that after all these years, there’d be nothing left but a bare skeleton, but she was wrong. While the gleam of white bone was very evident, the body still appeared to retain some mummified tissue, especially around the joints. Ligaments, she supposed. They’d be tougher than other tissue, wouldn’t they?
“Okay, we found her. Get up out of there, Brooke! Let’s go get Connie.”
“Just give me a sec,” Brooke said. “I’m going to take the rest of this lid off.”
“I can’t watch.” The words came out thick, and Brooke knew Maryanne was battling nausea.
“It’s okay. Just move back. It’ll only take me a minute.”
It took a couple of minutes, actually. The last board was hard to raise, since there wasn’t much to leverage her shovel for prying. She had to resort to hooking the top edge of the shovel under the board and yanking upward. A couple of grunting reefs and the nails gave up their grip. Repeating the process on the other end of the plank, she pulled it free and stacked it on top of the others.
“Done,” she announced. Tossing her shovel up onto the soil pile, she levered herself out of the grave. She removed her gloves too, tossing them down beside the shovel as she peered into the pit. “God, that’s sad. She was just a kid.”
“Almost exactly our age, according to the diary,” Maryanne said.
“Well, guess we better go fetch Connie’s cast, huh?”
Maryanne bit her lip. “One of us should probably stay here, with the remains.”
Brooke slanted Maryanne a look. “Right. By which you mean I should stay here.”
“We could draw straws,” she said gamely.
“Forget it. You go and I’ll stay here. I’ll just go up and make myself an instant coffee and wait for you in the attic,” Brooke said.
“Oh, no! I meant someone should stay down here, with the bones.”
“Screw that. I don’t mind staying, but I’m not gonna do it down here. Those are just bones, Maryanne. They don’t need me hanging around for company.”
Maryanne’s lips thinned. “I’ll stay, then. You go get Connie.”
Brooke’s eyes shot open. “You’re volunteering to stay down here?”
“Someone should be here,” she said pointedly.
Brooke shrugged. “Suit yourself. Can I get you anything before I go?”
“No,” she said. “Just bring Connie back. Fast.”
“That I can do.”
Within minutes, Brooke stood in the attic, peering out the stained glass window. It was early yet—barely 5:30 p.m. The snow from two days ago had gone with the rain, so the ground was dark, and there was no moon to speak of as yet. Nevertheless, there was still a lot of diffused light in the overcast sky, as though the cloud cover caught all sources of light and bounced it back. Her black cast would stand out against the bruised, dull grey sky if any residents of the town were to look up as she soared past.
“Let them look,” she murmured.
Let them all look. And then let them run for the safety of their well-lit houses. The night was hers.
Smiling, she tapped on the window. “I want out, I want out, I want out!”
And then she was out, soaring off toward the tree by the river to retrieve a copper bracelet.
Chapter 38
Cold and Lonely, One and Only
Maryanne
Maryanne watched through the small basement window—the one that faced the river. She could barely make out Brooke’s cast against the evening twilight as she moved to the river behind the house, hurrying up the oak tree for the copper bracelets. Maryanne suspected—hoped!—she could only see Brooke’s cast because she was really looking for it. But Brooke was far from hidden in the early-evening darkness. She bit down on her lip, hoping Brooke would hurry back. For Brooke’s sake. For Connie’s. And yes, absolutely for Maryanne’s own. She jus
t wanted to get this over with.
With a tight sigh, Maryanne turned. She couldn’t help but stare at the open grave where Connie’s remains lay. In one of those I-could-kick-my-own-butt moments, she wished she’d let Brooke stay after all. But it passed that quickly.
Brooke had been surprised when Maryanne insisted on staying with Connie’s body rather than leave it alone. Heck, she was surprised. How could she explain it to Brooke when she barely understood it herself? Well, not that it was based on a heck of a lot of logic. But it was the helplessness of Connie’s remains... that’s why she had to stay. To watch over them. And the poor soul had been alone for so long. To leave her alone again... as nonsensical as that thought was, it just about broke Maryanne’s heart.
Taking a wide berth around the grave as she crossed the room, Maryanne rubbed the chill from her arms. She’d been working up a sweat as she’d dug, and had shed her hoodie hours ago in favor of just the light grey t-shirt she’d worn underneath it. But now, even as she pulled her fleece sweater back on, it wasn’t just the cold of the basement that had her rubbing away at the goose bumps. Nor was it merely from being in the basement with the body.
She needed to cast. With the assault on Alex and the inevitable crackdown at the dorm, and the hours spent at the hospital, they’d not been able to cast out for days now. And she was more than longing for it. More than craving to tap on that window and soar into the night. Her skin was practically crawling with the need of it.