Darkling

by R. B. Chesterton

  “Stop it!” Cora grasped my wrist in a punishing grip. She was old, but she was strong. “Stop that talk right now.” She shook my arm. “Where do you come up with the things you say?”

  I snatched my arm free. “I saw them. Everyone else was too busy to pay attention, but I saw them.”

  “What I saw that night was you, out of control. You frightened Donald half to death, and you injured yourself so severely you required medical attention.” Her pale blue gaze held mine and dared me to say more. “Now you get hold of yourself, Mimi. You have everything a young woman could want—a wonderful job, living with a great family in a beautiful house. Do you really want to risk this because you’re jealous of another child?”

  “She isn’t a child.”

  My tone must have frightened her, because the anger in her face gave way to something else. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s more to Annie than she lets on. You know that. The story of finding her on the streets of Mobile, that’s not true, is it?” I thought I saw fear flicker in her eyes.

  “Are you sick, Mimi?” She reached a hand toward my forehead. “Your feet! The infection has made you delirious.”

  I ducked to avoid her touch. “I’m not sick and I’m not stupid. Where did Annie really come from?”

  Cora pushed her chair back and stood. “Mimi, you’re irrational.”

  “Let me tell you what’s irrational.” I was beyond control. “She fucked Bob. That’s what’s going on under this roof with precious Annie.”

  Cora fell back as if I’d slapped her. She started to speak but stopped herself.

  “I saw them. The night of the scavenger hunt. In Annie’s bedroom when they thought I was in bed. They brought me back here, remember?”

  “That’s an awful accusation.” She spoke as if her mouth was deadened by Novocain. The words came out, but they didn’t match the shape of her lips.

  “What’s awful is that it isn’t just an accusation. It’s a fact. Annie wants Bob, and she will use any opportunity to seduce him, even Margo’s death. You get her out of this house.”

  “Get a grip on yourself before it’s too late.” Cora looked beyond me and then stood and walked out of the kitchen to check to see if anyone else had heard me. “You can’t be saying this kind of thing out loud.”

  “Why not?”

  She grasped my shoulders. “Trust me, Mimi. You cannot do this.”

  “But—”

  She shook me lightly. “No buts. Never say such a thing again.” Her hand touched my lips, stopping my protest. “I will take care of this. But you cannot do this to Berta right now. Do you hear me? She’s lost her firstborn. She cannot hear even a whisper of talk that Bob has betrayed her.”

  “Even if he has?”

  “I will handle this.”

  “How?”

  She pushed me toward the sink. “Wash the dishes. Try to be as helpful and kind as you can be. I’ll do what has to be done.”

  Her answer didn’t satisfy me. “What do you mean?”

  “It means that you stay out of it now. Keep your mouth shut. If you start this with Berta, it could send her into an institution. She isn’t strong enough for accusations of Bob’s betrayal. If she collapses mentally, the family will leave Belle Fleur, Mimi. Think about that. If Berta requires hospitalization, the family would no doubt return to California.”

  The hall clocked ticked and chimed. I didn’t count the number. I forced myself to be calm. “Okay,” I said. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” she asked. “You have as much to lose as Annie.”

  I nodded.

  “Not a word.” She picked up her purse and left.

  38

  I slipped the keys to Berta’s Thunderbird off the hook and headed for town, searching for Annie and the children. Though I drove to all the places we frequented, I found no trace. When I returned to Belle Fleur, the station wagon was parked out front, but a quick search of the house revealed they weren’t inside. I could only assume Annie had returned with the children and taken them somewhere on foot. Perhaps to the stables—anywhere away from the pall of doom that hung over Belle Fleur.

  She was alone with them—in total control of their safety. And I could do nothing but wait for her to bring them back. My feet prevented me from searching for them on foot.

  Berta’s soft sobs told me she was in her room. If I pressed my ear against the door, I could hear Bob’s consoling murmur. Though he was as grief-stricken as Berta, he had to be strong. Without Bob, the Henderson family would disintegrate, which made Annie’s seductions all the more dangerous. Berta was a wonderful mother, but she wasn’t strong enough to hold the family together without him.

  Neither Bob nor Berta needed to be at the Paradise when Margo was retrieved. I would be there. Somehow, I kept hoping the discovery of a car with two bodies was a mistake, that the Search and Rescue divers had been mistaken, that no Mustang was submerged in tidal silt and the feathery tendrils of aquatic life. I wanted to discover that the cadaver dogs had picked up the decaying scent of a cow or some other livestock or that there were other blond teenagers, other black Mustangs … other boys with an arm that ended at the wrist.

  But even as I tried to convince myself, I knew the truth. And while I wouldn’t admit it even to myself, I knew what had happened. The nester had edged one fledgling from the nest.

  I put on my old boots, the most comfortable shoes I owned, put the crutches in the back of the station wagon, and drove to the Paradise.

  The scene came straight from hell. Red lights on the ambulance flashed like the spinning headache that smacked my forehead every few seconds. At least a dozen sheriff’s cruisers, doors open and blue lights spiking, mingled with the yellow flashers of the massive wrecker backed up to the bayou.

  Using the crutches, I made my way to the water’s edge. Several deputies made to push me back, but Mark stopped them. He came over to me.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “So I’ve been told.” The morning was chill, but not cold. Even so, my teeth chattered, and I was reminded of the first day Annie came to Belle Fleur. She’d certainly changed from a trembling, skinny, unwanted child into a lush and voluptuous little vixen. Now I was the one shaking as if afflicted by an ague. “I’ve come to identify Margo’s body. I don’t want Bob to have to do that.”

  “You could do that at the morgue, after they’ve had a chance to clean her up some. Why not spare yourself this horror?”

  “I want this behind us.”

  He stepped slightly away from me. “How did you end up at Bayou Abondant yesterday? I mean, your feet—” he pointed at them. “You shouldn’t have been walking. What were you doing in the woods?”

  He’d caught me unprepared. “I wanted to help.”

  “But why take the trail you took? How did you know?”

  Now was a chance. “I saw Annie going that way yesterday. I wondered where she was going, so I decided to try and figure it out, while everyone else was with the search groups.”

  “Annie was with Bob and the others.”

  I steeled myself for the lie. “Part of the time, yes. But I saw her. Why else would I hobble around on my damaged feet? I wanted to see what she was up to.”

  “Up to?”

  “I don’t trust her. All of this started since she came into the house. I don’t have any proof, only suspicions. I tried to tell Cora, but she won’t listen.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m overreacting. I didn’t find anything in the woods. I just fainted.”

  His gaze slid from me and I turned back to the water. A rubber-suited diver surfaced and lifted a hand. The winch on the wrecker began to turn, the thick twisted wire cable inching out of the water. Something large stirred beneath the surface.

  The sheriff called to Mark, who gave me one last look of pity and walked away. I was glad he was gone. It would be hard enough to see this without having a witness to my reaction. But I would do this so Bob or Berta wouldn’t have to.

  The fr
ont of the car broke the water’s dark surface. I was facing the driver’s side, and as the passenger compartment came up, water gushed from the open window. Andrew Cargill’s head, savaged by crabs and other aquatic creatures, flopped out the window. A moan escaped me.

  No one heard me over the shriek of the cable as the wrecker slowly crawled forward and dragged the streaming car onto the bank. Ignoring the deputies, EMTs, firemen, and other curiosity-seekers, I walked to the passenger side.

  Margo had floated out of her seat and resettled on the floorboard of the car. I looked inside and saw her, curled like a gray, decaying fetus. She wore her favorite blue jean shorts and a red blouse that she’d loved.

  “Margo!” I reached out, but before I could try to touch her, Mark swept me away. He turned my face into his shirt, smelling of sweat and starch.

  “It’s Margo,” I said. “And Andrew.”

  “I know, I know.” He eased me back to the station wagon.

  “I should.…” But I didn’t know what I should do. What did one do with a body so badly decayed?

  “Go back to Belle Fleur, Mimi. I’ll come with you and tell the Hendersons.”

  I nodded mutely and let him put me in the passenger seat of the station wagon.

  “Were they dead when they were put in the water?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. “It’s hard to tell. The coroner will be able to help us with that.”

  “Berta will want to know everything.”

  “And so will the Cargills,” he said. “As soon as we have information, I’m sure the sheriff will be in touch.”

  “Do you think you’ll catch the person who killed them?”

  We were fifty yards from the Mustang and he turned back to look at the car. Water seeped from it and the deputies and emergency workers stood around it, defeated by the bodies inside. In the cold gray morning light, it was an image of sadness.

  “Water washes away a lot of evidence,” Mark said. “The medical examiner is good at his job. Maybe he’ll find something that will give us some leads.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Mark put his arm around me and started walking back to the station wagon. “We’ll do our best, Mimi. The sheriff’s been in office a long time. He has a lot of experience, and the homicide detectives are good.”

  “But you are viewing it as a murder?”

  He hesitated.

  “Andrew didn’t cut off his own hand, you know.”

  “That’s a fact.” He sighed. “I’ll stop by Belle Fleur later today, maybe around eight or so. I have some questions for Annie. And I want to see how you’re doing. I am so sorry, Mimi. I was wrong to criticize you for caring about this family. In the end, you were right to worry.”

  I touched his chest with the flat of my hand. “I’d better get home. You don’t have to come. It would be better if I told Bob and Berta.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. Let me handle this.” I pulled the car keys from my pocket and limped back to the car. My feet throbbed with each beat of my heart. While I dreaded facing Bob and Berta, I was eager to get home. When I was gone from Belle Fleur too long, I grew anxious. The house sheltered me in a way I found impossible to explain to Mark or anyone else.

  As I drove slowly along Shore Road, I let the sound of the water console me. Belle Fleur rose above the trees and I stopped to admire the gingerbread trim of the upper balconies, the ornamental shingles that decorated the eaves. Bob had painted them a darker yellow than the main body of the house. In the pale morning light of November, the house seemed to glow with an inner light. It was a beacon leading me toward home.

  When I entered the house, I was struck by the silence. The narcotics I’d slipped into Berta’s coffee had taken effect; she was soundly sleeping. Her bedroom door was shut, and I could hear nothing when I eavesdropped with an ear against the solid door. I wouldn’t wake her.

  A note on the kitchen counter told me Bob had gone to Mobile to meet with the medical examiner. It was obvious the sheriff had telephoned Bob, or maybe stopped by and told him. He, too, had decided not to wake Berta.

  It was almost noon and Annie and the children still had not come home. Worry and frustration ate at me.

  I put together sandwiches I knew no one would eat, as the routine actions made me feel useful, productive, in control. I thought about driving to Cora’s, but I hesitated to do so. For some reason I felt I should stay close. If Berta was deeply asleep, she was vulnerable. To what, I didn’t want to say. But I stayed in the kitchen, cleaning the refrigerator, then the oven, organizing the flatware drawer, taking inventory of the canned goods and glass jars of preserves we’d put up over the summer. There was enough food at Belle Fleur to see a family through several months. The thought was strangely comforting.

  When the hall clock chimed one P.M., I climbed the stairs to the second floor. The slim possibility that somehow the children had slipped back in the house without my awareness sent me for another check.

  Donald’s room was empty. His toys were scattered about the floor, mixed with dirty clothes. In the past, Berta would have skinned him if she came up and found such disarray. But she wasn’t coming up here any time soon. And I seriously doubted she’d fuss at her youngest. Loss took the starch out of discipline.

  I moved down the hall to the end bedroom where Erin had been sleeping. The room was still a bit austere. She’d moved some of her books, but she’d left the blue-checked bedspreads on the twin beds in the room she’d shared with Margo. I detected Annie’s influence in the bedspread striped in the colors of the sunset. Annie loved vibrant colors, and Erin was emulating her. But Erin had brought her stuffed animals and lined the room with teddy bears, carnival prizes Bob had won for her, princess dolls, and Breyer horses. Caught on the cusp of young adulthood, Erin still fell on the side of child at times.

  While her room showed recent occupancy, there was no sign of Erin.

  On the off chance she’d returned to her old room, I checked the bedroom she’d shared with her older sister. The beds were neatly made, and all of Margo’s things were in place. Books, posters on the wall, stuffed animals, a radio and eight-track tape player, the things of vital importance to a teenager. All of this would have to be removed, and preferably before Berta came up here. It choked me up to think of her looking at this, these last reminders of the daughter she’d lost.

  I closed the door and started to the third floor. Maybe they’d gone up the exterior stairs and slipped into Annie’s room.

  In the quiet of the house, I heard a sound like something being dragged. The hair on my arms stood at attention, and my foot faltered on the next rise. I listened intently, but there was only silence. My imagination was in overdrive. I’d taken only two steps when I heard it again—the distinctive sound of something being dragged along the upper hallway.

  “Annie.” I spoke softly because fear clamped my throat. The noise stopped. Whoever it was heard me.

  “Annie.” I whispered her name again.

  There was only silence.

  “Donald?” Surely he would answer. Donald was not a cruel child. The panic in my voice was clear. If this was a prank, he’d give in and respond. He would—if he could.

  “Annie!” She could hear me. She was deliberately making it hard for me. “Annie!”

  “An-nie!” My voice echoed back to me in perfect imitation followed by a giggle. It came from the third floor. The sound of nails clicking on the hardwood was distinct. “Mi-mi, let’s play Hide and Go Seek.”

  Fear made my body clench. “Where are the children?” I asked.

  “You’re it!” The creature scuttled above me. The giggle came again, so sweet and innocent in the beginning but turning dark and smoky at the end. A child maturing into evil in the space of ten seconds.

  “I want Donald and Erin right now.”

  “Find them, Mimi. Find them if you can.”

  The nester was on the third floor—had been in the house all morning. A th
ousand terrible images climbed through my brain. Had Bob really gone to Mobile? Was Berta merely sleeping? The creature had gained access to the house earlier. It had scratched on my door hours before, but I’d thought it had left. Now I had to find it, and quickly.

  The third floor was smaller in size than the second or first. Part of it was under the eaves, so the walls angled in. A narrow hallway led down to the door of Annie’s room, which was in the center of what must have once been an attic, until it was fitted out for Chloe’s room. Chloe’s prison. The story Chad Petri had told resurfaced in my mind. Horrible things had happened in Belle Fleur. I pretended they hadn’t, but now I couldn’t escape the past.

  The hallway was empty, but that didn’t mean anything. There were nooks and alcoves with windows that threw the pale November light on the carpet runner that went straight to Annie’s door.

  Steeling myself, I walked down the hallway, my feet pulsing with blood and pain.

  The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open, half expecting the children to jump out and scare me. But this wasn’t a game of hide and seek. This was deadly.

  The wind gusted through the open windows, sending the material billowing all around the room like a mini-cyclone. If Annie and the children were in the room, they were completely quiet.

  I heard something else. A whisper. A tickle of toenails on wood. A wallowing gurgle.

  Moving deeper into the room, I followed the sound. It came from Annie’s bathroom.

  The door was closed. I pushed it open slowly. Water coursed into the tub in a strong jet, but no one was in the room. I entered, startling myself with my own reflection in the bathroom mirror. At first I didn’t recognize the pale face with huge eyes.

  The water in the bathtub was running full blast. Stumbling across the tile floor, I reached for the faucet and froze. Donald’s pale face floated beneath the surface. He rested at the bottom of the tub as if he were asleep.

  “Donald!” I didn’t know what to do. “Oh, Donald!” I sank to my knees beside the tub. As I reached to pull his lifeless body from the water, his eyes blinked open. His lips drew back to reveal sharpened teeth.