A Breath After Drowning

by Alice Blanchard

  “She was probably exaggerating,” Kate protested. “She had a tendency to dramatize.”

  “But I believed her.”

  “How dare you blame him!”

  “Look,” Stigler said patiently, “you came to me, and I welcome the opportunity to share my side of the story. My truth. Isn’t that what you tell your patients, Dr. Wolfe? Face the truth and know thyself?”

  Kate felt lightheaded. “I should be going.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Kate bolted out of the office and hurried down the corridor, her stomach roiling. She spotted a restroom and yanked the door open, but didn’t quite make it into a stall. She threw up all over the checkered tiles.

  43

  KATE’S PHONE BATTERY WAS running low; she’d forgotten to charge it last night. She tried calling Palmer Dyson on his cell phone, but he wasn’t picking up, so she left a brief message. “Hi, this is Kate. We need to talk. Give me a call as soon as you can.” He’d be upset about her meeting with Professor Stigler, but she could live with the consequences.

  She drove back across town toward her old neighborhood, and was relieved to find her father’s Ford Ranger parked in his driveway. She got out of her car, hurried across the snowy yard, and banged on the door. After a few moments her father opened it.

  “Kate? What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I got your message. We need to talk,” she said, scraping her boots on the welcome mat.

  “Come in. I was just putting some groceries away.”

  The house smelled of leather and rain. She sat at the kitchen table, while he started the coffee maker and put away the groceries. He reached the top shelves with ease and stacked items according to their expiration dates. Beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, the ravages of time were revealed on his face.

  Kate stiffened her resolve. “Remember when Phoebe died?” she asked.

  “The cat?”

  “We thought she was poisoned.”

  “No, it was some sort of virus,” Bram said.

  “Really? Because I don’t remember her being sick.”

  “Cats die all the time,” he said irritably. “What’s your point?”

  “I think she was poisoned.”

  The coffee maker beeped, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee filled the kitchen. “Where’s this coming from?” he asked.

  Kate decided to get straight to the point. “Did you ever hit Mom?”

  He flinched involuntarily. “Hit her? No. Why? What’s this about?”

  “Did you hit her before she committed herself to Godwin Valley?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I loved your mother. Why are you asking me these ridiculous questions? Where’s this hostility coming from?”

  “Dad.” She jabbed the table with her finger. “We are going to have this conversation. It’s a simple question. Did you hit Mom during an argument? Sometimes we lash out in anger. Nobody’s perfect. Her behavior was becoming more erratic… maybe you lost your temper?”

  “No, Kate.” Her father shook his head. “It’s not true.”

  “William Stigler told me that’s exactly what happened.”

  “Who?” A pall came over him. “What did you just say?”

  “I went to see him today.”

  His face fell. “You know about him and your mother, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who told you?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? Did you think you could keep it from me forever?”

  “I certainly hoped so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have understood.”

  “So you let me think she went back to the asylum?”

  “It was just an infatuation,” Bram insisted. “When your mother came home from the hospital, I was so relieved at first. I figured it was a fresh start. But then she told me she’d fallen in love with someone else, though I recognized it for what it was. She got crushes all the time. Your mother feared love. She feared commitment. She ran away from our marriage, but I knew that if I let her go, she’d be back. She always came back. So I called her bluff and told her to go. Told her, ‘Move in with him, if that’s what you want. Because God knows, feeling better about yourself is much more important than marriage and children.’” His eyes were fraught with pain. “I figured she’d come to her senses eventually, and the whole thing would blow over. Then after she died, I didn’t think it mattered anymore. She was gone, and nothing was going to bring her back.”

  “She asked for a divorce?”

  He gave a reluctant nod.

  “And you threatened to withhold custody of Savannah and me?”

  “No.” He blinked a couple of times.

  “But Professor Stigler said—”

  “Well, he’s lying!” Her father slammed his fist on the table. “That’s nonsense, Kate. Complete and utter nonsense! First of all, your mother didn’t commit herself voluntarily. I had to drive her over there myself. I could see she was losing her grip, and I was genuinely afraid for her. Her behavior was becoming dangerous. Don’t you remember the morning she blew out the pilot light, turned on the gas, and was about to light her Zippo? She almost blew up the house, with you girls in it! I had to knock the lighter out of her hand. And she kept running away from home. I’d find her down by the river with her shoes soaked. She thought the coats and jackets were talking to her, and that there was an evil being living in the walls, talking to her in ‘scratch language.’ She was in an extremely fragile state of mind.” Bram took a seat at the table and pressed his palms over his eyes. “Dr. Holley kept me informed about her progress, and I participated in some of her therapy sessions. I honestly thought she was getting better.” He looked up at her. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s too painful.”

  The house was so still, Kate could hear all the clocks ticking at once, like cartoon bombs about to detonate. Her father got up and filled two mugs with coffee. He took a careful sip. His hands were trembling. He seemed so frail, despite his height, despite his righteous indignation. Kate suddenly pitied him. “Dad, I’m sorry if this upsets you… but you kept it hidden from me all these years, and that’s not fair.”

  Bram nodded. “You’re right. But please try to understand. I was always working. Twelve-, fourteen-hour shifts, six days a week, just trying to keep my practice afloat. You know how it is. You’re buried under paperwork—insurance forms, lab results, clinical notes, federal regulations, taxes. I barely had time for my patients, let alone my own family. When Julia came home from the asylum, I was so relieved; she seemed like her old self again. The paranoia was gone and at first I made sure she took her meds and attended her weekly therapy sessions, but it didn’t last long. It was as if our life together meant nothing to her.”

  “Did you threaten her with a custody battle?”

  “I never threatened your mother. I rejected her request for full custody. I told her I’d fight it. She was becoming a danger to you girls again, and I couldn’t allow that. She stopped taking her meds. She demanded her freedom, and so I gave it to her.” He paused. “Are we done here?” he asked hoarsely, getting to his feet.

  A strange, displaced energy wobbled between them, and she wondered if this was one of the factors that had driven her mother away—his tallness, his imposing physicality, his inability to hold a difficult conversation without becoming defensive and angry. His wounded pride.

  “Yeah, Dad, we’re done.”

  She got up and left.

  44

  BACK IN HER CAR, Kate cranked the heat and fiddled with the radio dial. Pop tunes. Anything to drown out what she was feeling.

  A throbbing headache had lodged itself behind her eyes. Storm clouds were gathering in the distance, and the scrub pines swayed in the wind—dwarfish trees straight out of a Salvador Dali painting. Further up the road were the newer developments, too many FOR SALE signs popping up all over.

  Her thoughts turned to Hanna
h Lloyd. On an impulse, she turned left instead of right and headed toward The Balsams, the thickly wooded area where Hannah’s remains had been found ten years ago, just off Kirkwood Road.

  Twenty minutes later, Kate parked by the side of the road, unbuckled her seatbelt, and got out. The last residence was half a mile back. She crossed the street and followed the signs to the trailhead. The old-growth forest was part of an extensive state park that stretched into neighboring townships, a shared treasure of woodlands and wetlands whose crown jewel was Mount Summation in Greenville, New Hampshire, attracting hikers, fishermen, and rock climbers from all over. The Balsams were unique, comprised of icicled northern hardwoods that loomed one hundred feet in the air—balsam firs, red spruce, old-growth oaks—and a lower canopy of hickory, dogwood, and scrub pine.

  She listened to the crunch of old snow under her boots as she headed a little ways into the woods and realized the cabin wasn’t far from where she stood. The rocky trails eventually led to Parsons Road on the other side of town. “Her” side of town. It hit her hard. There was a direct route from Hannah Lloyd’s dumpsite to the cabin from which Savannah had disappeared.

  It had always been a mystery to her how the killer had managed to snatch her sister away without Kate or any other witnesses spotting a vehicle on Parsons Road. The answer was obvious to her now. Savannah had been led out of the woods in the opposite direction, along one of these trails, probably with a gun pressed to her back or a knife at her throat.

  It began to snow, gentle white flakes fluttering down from the sky. Kate wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and shivered as the wind picked up, goosebumps rising on her flesh. Okay, time to go. A trek through the woods would have to wait.

  She was about to leave when she spotted something fluttering through the woods about a dozen yards away. A ghostly swirl. A vortex of motion. What was that?

  She blinked and it was gone. Probably an optical illusion. She could feel a migraine coming on, constricting her blood vessels. She shook her head and saw flashes of color darting through the trees—cardinals, seeking shelter from the storm.

  Kate scanned the forest again, and there it was—further away this time, a small figure drifting through the woods on an easterly trajectory. She squinted hard. Was it a deer? A dog? Sensory overload? Visual exhaustion? Stress could do that to a person. Too much cortisol released into the bloodstream, combined with a subliminal desire to see something that wasn’t there, and your subconscious would fill in the gaps. An ethereal child walking through enchanted woods. “Enthrallment” was a psychological term used to describe a subset of joy. It was a state of intense rapture that occurred when you experienced something that significantly elevated your mood. Kate was feeling that now. She didn’t know why.

  The snap of a twig.

  “Savannah?” she shouted.

  A flash of movement.

  Where did it go?

  Get a grip. You’re losing it.

  She just had to know what it was. Snow crunched underfoot as she ventured further into the woods. The forest was eerily beautiful. The wind was a siren song. Majestic trees swayed, their boughs creaking like rocking chairs. A flock of birds burst out of the canopy, screeching hauntingly. The snow fell around her like the world’s largest snow globe. She followed the trail deeper, avoiding fallen branches, protruding rocks, sudden ruts. She would have to step carefully if she didn’t want to break her neck.

  She reached a point where two trails overlapped, and directly in front of her was a six-foot embankment. Once she’d reached the top, she paused to look around. Nailed to several nearby birch trees were round plastic disks about the size of an orange. These colored disks, secured to every tenth tree or so along the trail, indicated which type of activity was permitted by the state park. Green disks were for mountain-biking, red disks were for horseback riding, and orange disks were for hiking. Unmarked trails were privately owned and not meant for public use. As a safety precaution, all the colored tags were numbered so that, if you ever got lost, Search & Rescue would be able to pinpoint your location.

  Kate wondered if Savannah had seen these disks sixteen years ago, as she was marched through the dark woods— crickets in the underbrush, a summer breeze rustling through her hair, a man’s heavy footsteps behind her, his gruff threats prodding her on.

  Kate climbed back down the embankment and stepped over a fallen log. She continued along the hiking trail, until it dropped down into a washout. There were icy patches hidden under the snow. Here, she thought. This was the place where she’d seen the ghostly little girl. As expected, there were no tracks in the snow, animal or human.

  Snowflakes caught on her eyelashes, and she blinked them away. The afternoon air was as cold as steel. Beyond an old stone wall, the hiking trail split off into two tracks.

  Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo.

  She spun around.

  A small voice carried on the wind. “Kate?”

  She spotted something at the top of a rocky eroded hillside about twenty yards away. It stood relatively still, like a tornado hovering in the distance. She tried to blink it away, but a little girl stared back at her. Not a girl. A blur. The suggestion of a girl.

  “Savannah?”

  Her head throbbed. This is crazy. You’re acting crazy. Adult onset schizophrenia could happen at any time—but especially in your twenties and early thirties. Was she having a breakdown?

  The figure dissolved in a gust of wind.

  Kate shook her head. There had to be an explanation. Pine branches swaying in the wind. The wind kicking up snow. Her growing migraine.

  You’re losing your freaking mind.

  She headed toward the snow-swept hill and began to climb. It was steeper than it looked and she worked up quite a sweat as she ascended, her breath clouds lacing the air before her. At the top, there was nothing there.

  The howling wind stung her face. Time to go. The Balsams were known for absorbing stray hikers every couple of years, especially those stupid enough to go exploring during a snowstorm. The trees creaked in the wind. Mom lost her bearings around the same age as me. Maybe this is how it starts?

  Kate began to make her way down the hillside, but after a couple of minutes, she came to a sharp drop-off she hadn’t seen from above and had to start over. The trick was finding a gradual descent without any hidden ledges along the way. At the mid-point, rocks gave way to ice, and she slipped and fell, soaking her gloves and parka. She picked herself up, brushed herself off, and continued her slippery descent.

  Kate made it to the bottom and headed back to Kirkwood Road—or at least in the direction she thought it was—but then the hiking trail turned into a series of washouts, and she no longer recognized where she was. She doubled back, but the storm had grown in its ferocity. She could barely see five feet in front of her.

  It took another couple of minutes to realize she was lost. The temperature had plummeted. She picked a direction, but the trail was so eroded that she was forced to double back again. Soon she couldn’t find any of the colored disks on the trees marking an official trail. She must’ve wandered off the public trail onto private property.

  Her head was beginning to throb. She’d left her backpack in the car. She took off her gloves and dug her hands into her pockets, looking for an Aleve. She found one lint-covered pill and swallowed it dry, then took a moment to gaze at the towering treetops. There were no colored disks anywhere to be seen. She edged down a moderate-sized hill and came to another fork in the trail. Which way? Left or right?

  Neither, she decided. She began retracing her steps, but now the snow was coming down even harder, making progress difficult. She tried to bully her way through the icy wind but couldn’t see three feet in front of her. Her legs were growing numb. She stomped her boots to keep the blood circulating and refused to panic. Panic only made things worse. Panic got you killed. The driving snow was devouring her footsteps behind her.

  Kate craned her neck, searching for any colored tags, but all she
saw was snow and trees. Her head was pounding. Her ears were ringing. Her vision began to blur. She took out her phone and stared at it. Despite the dire circumstances, she couldn’t bring herself to dial 911 yet—not just yet. The potential for humiliation was too great, far worse than being lost. The police, Search & Rescue, a call for volunteers. Her embarrassing adventure would end up on the nightly news. Dr. Kate Wolfe got lost in The Balsams today during white-out conditions. What she was doing in such a remote location during a blizzard is anyone’s guess. Thirty-two-year-old Kate—a child psychiatrist and the sister of murder victim Savannah Wolfe—had no backpack, no compass, no water, and no explanation. Sources suggest she was chasing the ghost of her dead sister. News at eleven.

  The snow fell around her silently. This blizzard would smother her slowly, inch by terrifying inch. Death by soft suffocation.

  Kate glanced at her watch. 4:15 PM. She didn’t have much time left. In forty-five minutes the sun would begin to set. Unless the Aleve took effect soon, her migraine would cripple her with debilitating pain that could last for hours.

  Snow. Trees.

  I’m so fucking lost.

  45

  KATE TOOK OUT HER phone but there was hardly any charge left. She thought about calling James, but then she couldn’t deal with the blowback. He would be worried sick about her. He might even be angry. What do you mean you’re lost in the woods? How the hell did that happen? Didn’t you see the weather report? What were you thinking, Kate? Besides, all he could do was call Search & Rescue, and she could do that herself.

  But Search & Rescue wouldn’t be able to locate her if she was on a private trail. She squinted around at the trees. Still no colored disks anywhere. Maybe she should call her father? But he’d probably come down equally hard on her, and she couldn’t face his criticism. She needed someone steady and non-judgmental, somebody who’d “get” why she was there in the first place. Kate didn’t want to have to explain herself. So she called Palmer Dyson.