Arlette was impatient and feeling the strain of anticipation. She couldn’t read the child and if she moved to fast, the bone would be wasted. She had not thought this far into her plan. How she would get the little girl to make the right wish was the least of her concerns when getting her hands on her had seemed next to impossible in the first place.
If she could get Jessica to play the game, there was a chance Arlette would win, but if Jessica held the larger half, for all Arlette knew, she could wish to be back with her father in the city, or at Disneyland, for all she knew; or worse, for Arlette to be dead. There was more risk involved than she cared to consider.
Arlette returned her attention to Jessica and found the child’s eyes, now glazed over and transfixed on the photo of Sarah. The little girl began to hum.
Arlette felt hope again, “There you go Jessica. That’s it. You love Sarah, I know you do. You want her to come home right now…so she can be with you, teach you…protect you.”
Jessica looked at Arlette, the picture frame now in her tiny grasp.
Arlette fished in her lap and brought the bone back into view.
Jessica stared at the wishbone as Arlette held it out to her.
“Now make a wish, Jessica.”
The dog backed away from the table releasing a high pitched whimper.
Arlette closed her eyes. It seemed an eternity until she felt Jessica’s resistance against her own.
Tink!
Arlette opened her eyes to the smaller half of bone in her grasp, and the relief that she was still alive and in the same location. A chill ran down her spine. Providing the little girl had not made a damaging wish, if the attempt had failed, they would have only three more chances to bring Sarah back. Only time would tell.
Lind entered the house leaving the front door wide open behind him. The Mercedes was not there and, without Arlette, he hadn’t a clue of what to do. His temples throbbed and he went to find a bottle of aspirin, forgetting all about the bird he had trapped in the bathroom that morning; the bird he had promised Arlette he would kill. The jay shot past him as he opened the bathroom door, but he couldn’t be bothered to go after it. He sat on the commode cupping water to his mouth from the sink faucet and swallowing the tablets he found in the cabinet above. He thought he heard a noise from the other room and shut the water off. He heard her footsteps approaching from the hall and quickly dried himself off, eager to tell Arlette about the incident with Julien in town.
Ed Bale sat in his car finishing his third chili dog and sipping soda from a large fast food cup. He looked at the pad on the passenger seat beside him. All the information was right there, as if the incident took place only yesterday; a detailed account of evidence, discussions, leads, names, times and dates. He couldn’t explain why there was nothing in the computer system regarding the Grenier case, nor a box in the evidence locker. He figured, one mistake was possible, but two mistakes was tough to swallow. He could not explain his fondness for Julien Grenier either, but he knew, going back to the precinct and mentioning any of this to his lieutenant, would cast a deeper investigation and possibly focus their suspicions back onto Julien, which Ed still felt confident was unwarranted. He would head back to the office and find out more about Rachael Grenier’s suicide attempt before mentioning any of this to anyone.
Julien parked in front of the Victorian. Snow, now three inches thick, blanketed the property, and in it, two clearly visible tire tracks, ending beneath his vehicle at the base of the porch. He left the SUV and walked around to the steps where the snow had also been disturbed. A depression, clearing the snow down to blades of frozen grass, formed a large circle, three feet around. The dog’s paw prints were everywhere. He looked for more, but saw nothing else out of place. He approached the door to the house and turned the knob. It opened.
Arlette parked the car and tied her scarf over her hair before heading out into the snow. She walked around to help Jessica out of the car. The snow was coming down harder now. She unbuckled the little girl, who stepped out, just as the front door to the house opened behind them and Carl appeared on the porch.
Arlette could see by the look on his face that something was terribly wrong. She stopped dead in her tracks, still holding tight to Jessica’s hand.
Carl’s voice reflected his nerves, “The father. He’s here.”
He looked back into the house and Sarah stepped out beside him.
Arlette let go of Jessica’s hand. The little girl stood motionless as Sarah moved down the steps toward Arlette. They stood looking at one another; it had been so long.
Arlette brought her arms up, placing one hand on Sarah’s shoulder and, with the other, she backhanded the girl’s cheek with great force, sending Sarah tumbling to her side in the snow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Arlette caught the hood of Jessica’s jacket with two fingers as she attempted to run after Sarah. She jerked her back and grabbed the little girl’s arm to keep her from toppling over. With an unforgiving grip, she shoved her up the porch steps, past Lind and into the house.
Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you want me to go after her?”
Arlette continued to wrestle Jessica over the threshold.
“Don’t bother. She’ll be back.” Arlette gave Jessica a final shove, knocking the child down on the floor. “And close the damn door, it’s freezing out there.”
Julien entered the Victorian more shaken than he cared to acknowledge. The house was dark and he held up his Zippo, surprised to find his hand trembling. He gave it a fast flick and ignited the flame. He looked down at the floor ahead of him then turned to illuminate his surroundings. He stood in the small foyer area, just off the living room, feeling an odd familiarity. His chest tightened and the room began to spin again. He closed his eyes to ward off the dizziness but, in his mind, he reached out for the carcass clamped in the dog’s snarling jaws; its growl, muffled slightly by the bird it refused to surrender. Julien reached for it then felt the warm grease seep from its meat as his fingers dug deep into the disintegrating roast. He tried to wrestle it closer; the dog’s hooked fang sank into his hand as his fingers tore through the glistening flesh.
Julien shook away the vision and raised the lighter higher into the air as he searched for a light switch. He found one across the room and moved toward it as quickly as he could, desperate to make the shadows around him disappear.
The lights came on and he flipped around, pressing his back to the wall and scanning the room, positive someone would be there looking back at him. He saw nothing but dust covered furniture; the shadows now gone. He took a moment to breathe, remaining safely against the wall where he could see everything around him. To his left, a long staircase led to the second floor.
Not yet...
He turned to his right and entered the kitchen. It troubled him that he seemed to subconsciously know where everything would be. It felt different, more distant than revisiting a place he hadn’t been for several years. More like another world or lifetime. Driven by something subliminal, he had only an eerie, muddled recollection he could not identify. He slid his hand up the wall with confidence and flipped a switch, bathing the room with light. If he could just relax and stop over thinking, he felt he could walk the house blindfolded and describe each room as he came to it.
He stood looking around the kitchen. His vague dreams, now brought to life, had replicated the room perfectly. He walked further in and peeked through a door at the mudroom. Now empty, all but a long worktable pushed up against a wall. Looking around the room, he could hear Rachael’s voice. He thought back on those first weeks in the Victorian; a gift, after a long period of tragedy and sadness. His wife had been whole again and they were off to a fresh start. He could see her sculpting at the table. He remembered watching her there, her back to him in deep concentration with her art. So content, so at peace, then his memory switched gears and he saw her, manic beneath the art room table. He turned away from the room, yet again disappointed that peace never lasted fo
r long, if even in his thoughts. He left the kitchen with his fear replaced by resentment. Now he felt ready.
He returned to the living room and stood looking up at the landing above the staircase. Just the idea of going up to the second floor gave him pangs of claustrophobia.
If you are upstairs…
No doors…
You cannot get away.
He gripped the banister and felt a rush of pain resonate through the bones of his leg. He closed his eyes and drew a long breath; the pain dissipated. He stepped onto the first step clutching the railing tight. Another memory came at him and he paused on the stairs. He felt himself falling then saw his wife’s lifeless body lying beside him on the floor. A thudding sound echoed, footfalls coming down the staircase as he lay winded at the bottom. He opened his eyes fully expecting his father to be looking down upon him, but no one was there. He glanced around the room confirming he was alone before completing his ascent.
At the top, he flipped another light switch and moved down the hallway over creaking floorboards. He stopped at the room he remembered to be the nursery. Now empty, as it had been when they first moved in, he walked away, moving slowly toward the master bedroom. The second story windows were not boarded shut and although the sky was gray; snow falling heavier by the hour, there was enough light to see the room. Nothing in it had changed.
Julien entered the room and looked down at the bed. He placed a hand on the mattress and felt his anxiety rise. He pulled his hand away from the bedding and took a step back, but the memories flooded so quickly, he hardly had time to make sense of them. He saw the girl wringing a rag over a basin of water, and then his father, looming over him. The girl cleaned gangrenous wounds, rotted flesh peeling away from bones he knew were his own. He felt unbearable heat course through his body and although the bed was the last place he wanted to be, he braced himself against it and sat down. He saw himself pleading with Lind. He saw the dog leaping on the bed then the girl on all fours kneeling over him as he lay powerless to stop her, and then he saw Rachael, hanging dead in the widow’s walk.
Julien tried to open his eyes. He tried to shake away the vivid revelations, but they just kept coming, one after another and with rapid fire pace, yet as fast as they had come; all at once, they ceased. His mind fell quiet as he sat dizzy at the foot of the bed; his face in his hands.
Why am I here?
Where do they have my child?
This cannot be good...
I should not be here…
Why is this happening?
How is this happening?
What have we done?
He thought of Rachael hanging directly above him as he laid suffering in the very bed he now sat on. How, at the time, he believed Rachael had abandoned him, when in reality she had been dead.
What did we do to bring this upon us?
How could this be?
It cannot be real…
And if it is…
How do I stop it?
He sat for a while, thinking about his insistence on moving them to the country and feeling tremendous guilt. He reached into his leather jacket and removed his Zippo and smokes, lighting one and taking a slow drag.
How did this start?
Did it start with the rape?
…the house?
…the game?
Julien had been awake for too long; his thinking, jumbled by fatigue.
If I go back to the day…
To the anniversary…
Maybe to start over…
To do it right.
The thought of playing the game again sent a chill down his spine. Nothing good had come of the years between their time in Kings Hollow and today. Julien blamed himself. He got up from the bed and was immediately sorry he had left his cane behind. He entered the bathroom and flipped the light switch, but there was no bulb. He tossed his cigarette into the commode and turned back. He had to sleep, at least for a few hours. He knew there was no way to locate Jessica tonight.
Ed Bale knocked on Julien’s apartment door for a third time. There was no answer. He wanted to talk to him about Rachael’s attempted suicide and now he wondered if Julien had returned to work—your child goes missing and you go to work the next day? Would Julien do that?
Surely, sitting around, doing nothing, and just waiting for news, was too difficult for someone like Julien Grenier. In Bale’s career, there had been many missing kids. There were parents who insisted upon intense news coverage and press conferences, and then there were parents who did not; though no one heard much about those families, who opted for a more private investigation, for fear of fueling an abductor’s quest for fame. It was not as uncommon for families to go on about their daily lives, as one might think. Especially if the family had a good idea of the child’s whereabouts or that they were in the hands of someone they knew. Jessica was too young to run away and if she had, she would have been picked up within hours; such a young child, with a disability, wandering the streets of New York City alone. If Julien had an inkling as to who had the little girl, that was not the same as saying he was responsible for the crime, but it might indicate why Julien had immediately returned to work, if that was, in fact, where he had gone.
Bale sat in his car, thinking about the Grenier case for a time, and then headed for Madison Avenue.
Ed signed in at the lobby desk and rode up to the penthouse office of the ultra-modern building. The elevator doors opened and a pretty receptionist flashed a practiced smile.
“I’m here to see Julien Grenier. Detective Ed Bale,” he introduced himself.
“Oh, about his daughter? I’m afraid Mr. Grenier isn’t in today. I’m sure he’s at home.” The girl’s forced smile dissipated and was replaced with a genuine expression of sorrow.
“No, I just came from there. He wasn’t home. You must have a way to reach him. Can you try contacting him for me? Just tell him I need a little more information.”
As the receptionist reached for the phone, the elevator doors opened.
Matt approached the counter and placed a bag on the desk then acknowledged Bale with a fast nod.
“Hey, Caroline, in about an hour, my wife’s stopping by for this bag. I’ll be in the Webber meeting by then. Can you make sure she gets this?”
The receptionist smiled and took the bag as she launched into a message on Julien’s voicemail, “Mr. Grenier, it’s Caroline at the office. There’s a detective…” She looked to Bale apologetically.
He repeated, “Bale…Ed Bale.”
“…Bale here, to speak with you. Could you call us when you get this message, please? He needs some information from you,” she paused, unsure of what to say and feeling on the spot to offer some sort of appropriate regard, “both you and Jessie are in our thoughts, Mr. Grenier.”
Matt turned to Bale, “You’re looking for Julien?”
“Yes, and you are?”
“A good friend of the family, Matt Dwyer. My wife and I are very close to Jessica as well. We’re all sick over this.”
Ed shook Matt’s hand, “Detective Ed Bale, Mr. Dwyer. Would it be possible for us to talk for a few moments? I’m sure you’re very busy, but anything that can help us find the little girl…”
Matt glanced at his watch, “Sure, follow me.” Matt led the detective back to his office.
“To be honest, I’m not sure how much help I can be,” Matt admitted as he shuffled some paperwork to the side then took a seat behind his desk.
“What makes you say that, Mr. Dwyer?” Bale waited for Matt’s signal to sit then rearranged a chair, dead center to Matt across the desk. He sat at the edge of the chair and discreetly removed a small pad and pen from his jacket pocket, holding it low in his lap.
“Well, I haven’t spoken to Julien since all this hit the news. Can you believe we had to find out watching television? What a shock. You hear about this sort of thing all the time, but never do you imagine it will be one of your own.” Matt shook his head, “He left me a message this morni
ng, Julien, early, but I haven’t been able to reach him since, and he really didn’t say much, just that he was sorry he missed my calls.”
Matt sat back in his chair and continued, “Julien’s not exactly the type to call you when he has a problem, even of this magnitude.”
Bale agreed, “Yeah, Julien’s a tough nut to crack. I like the guy…a lot. I’ve known Julien for about six years, actually. Acquaintances, not a friend of the family or anything.” Bale watched Matt’s guard drop and his body shift from interview to conversational posture.
“One of the best guys I know. Doesn’t deserve all the crap he’s had to deal with.”
“Crap? Like what?” Bale leaned back.
Matt shook his head in disgust, “Eh, one thing after another… I’m sure, with the investigation you’ve got going on, you guys must know about his wife?”
“Rachael Grenier? The suicide attempt?”
“Yeah, Rachael and my wife are best friends. Well, they were. Great gal, Rachael. Fun, bubbly…hot as hell,” Matt smirked then fell serious again, “it’s a real shame.”
“Your wife being so close to Rachael, do you mind me asking what you think sent Rachael into such a state? Attempting suicide…?”
Matt paused and his posture shifted again, “I kind ‘a feel bad, talking about Julien’s personal life like this.”
“Well, like we said, Julien isn’t the fastest to open up. I want to find his little girl, Mr. Dwyer, and the last thing I want to do is bring up the suicide attempt with Julien. I do have questions though, and if you can answer them, you can keep me from having to do that, at an already difficult time for him. Ya never know what information can help a case, and it’s clear you care a lot about this family.”
WISHBONE II: ...Some Wishes Should Never Be Made Page 8