“It's fall,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself.
I walk over to the shack.
“Yes, it's fall...” I say, hesitating at the door.
“What's in there, Jake?” she asks, coming up beside me. “What's in the shack?”
“It's me... and Robbie.” I look her in the eyes. God... I remember Robbie, now. I really remember Robbie.
“I don't understand,” she says.
“Robbie and I came in here the year after, when we all spent Thanksgiving up here with Mrs. Stewart. Do you remember?”
She nods and we hear raised voices inside the shack.
“You're angry at each other. Why are you fighting? It's not over Janelle, is it?” Her hands are still gripping her arms.
“You're dating my sister!” I hear young Jake scream. I shake my head and open the door. “Plus, I told you before, Robbie, I don't like you like that!” Sixteen-year-old Jake screams, backing against the bench inside. Robbie is standing in the center of the shack; his sweater is lying in the floor.
“Well, I do! I love you, Jake! Don't you understand that?” Robbie reaches out, scoops young Jake into his arms and kisses him on the mouth, long and hard and with every ounce of passion in him. It takes my younger self a moment, but he wrenches free.
“Just... leave me alone!” Young Jake screams, tearing from the shack.
“Jake!” he yells after me. In the clearing beyond the door, my younger self stops. “Jake!” There are tears in his eyes, as he walks right through us and stands in the doorway. “Just promise you won't say anything!” he begs.
The scene dematerializes and we're transported into the spacious dining room at Colcott. It's been hours since the encounter with Robbie. I'm sulking at the far end of the table. Janelle is sitting beside me smiling, blissfully ignorant of what happened. Rosy-cheeked Mrs. Stewart is carving the turkey. Plates are being passed around. Everyone is happy but me.
I remember it all now... everything.
“No wonder you were so quiet that Thanksgiving,” Lisa says, picking up a mini-quiche from a tray on the table. She munches on it.
“Robbie...” I say to myself, shaking my head. “He was so confused. What was weird is that he kept dating you for a year after that happened.”
“I wish you would have told me,” Lisa says perturbed, her mouth full of cheese and egg.
“I thought it was just a phase,” I say, staring at my younger self. “I never felt right about hanging out with him again. The next year he just stopped coming around.”
“That was strange,” Lisa remarks as she finishes off her dainty.
“Who wants pie!” says a voice from the kitchen entrance.
“What the hell!” I yell, stumbling backward through the open doorway and into the foyer.
Carmen stands holding a steaming apple pie.
The figures at the table dissolve into a mist. Ms. Andrews stands, wearing a pretty dress with an apron over top, giving me a sidelong glance.
“Doctor, would you like a slice?” she asks, holding out the dish.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, utterly bewildered.
She gives me a warm smile, the look becomes her. “I must be on your mind,” she says plainly. The walls age, crumble and yellow around me. When I turn to look for Lisa, she has disappeared.
“I'm so confused,” I say. “This dream is fucked up. I'm never drinking again.”
She smiles again, maneuvering the rotting floorboards. She wraps her arms around me.
“I don't think I mind this part...” It hardly matters that the house is falling to pieces around us, I'm happy. She presses her lips to mine. It's strange what my brain invents for the feel of her kiss. It feels familiar, and I imagine it's just copying a kiss I've felt before with another woman. Either way, it's nice. “We should get out of here,” I suggest, wrapping my arms around her waist.
“I can't go,” she says, her intense eyes looking softly into mine.
“Why not?”
“I can't leave until you come get me.”
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP! BEEP, BEEP, BEEP! BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!
What? Who?
I reach out and slam my hand down on my alarm clock to silence it. The sunlight streams in my bedroom window, burning into my eyes and bringing on the worst headache ever. I groan and roll over, burrowing under a pillow.
Five minutes later the snooze alarm goes off. Frustrated, I roll over, yank the alarm clock and its plug from the table and throw it across the room. I stick my face back in the pillow cave.
Never drinking again. Never.
My phone starts ringing.
Really? What now?
I feel around my sidetable for my phone, and realize it's ringing in my pocket. I slide it under the pillow to join my head.
“Hello?” I ask groggily.
“Dr. Weller, this is Detective Helms.”
“How can I help you?” I ask, attempting to sound sincere.
“The pictures from the camera we found in the vehicle have come back.”
“Was there anything interesting on there?”
“Remember a few weeks ago, when you gave me the piece of paper with the Shakespeare on it?”
“Yes.”
“There was a woman that came in after and I left. There were pictures of her on there. Do you know who she is?”
I sit up, despite the pain in my head. “Yes, that's Carmen Andrews. She's a patient of mine.”
Oh, God! Carmen!
“We believe she's in danger, but we've been unable to locate her at her apartment.”
“She was staying at a hotel as far as I can remember. She didn't feel safe at home because someone tried to— Oh, no...”
“What? What is it?” asks Helms.
“Someone tried to lock her in the studio down the street from my office building. We thought it was just a prankster with impressive metal-working skills.” I sit on the edge of the bed, my back to the window, hunching over and rubbing my forehead.
“Do you know if she has any family or friends in the area?” he asks.
“I don't think so,” I say. “I know she has a friend named Kyle, but I don't know how close they are. I'm sorry I don't have more information.”
“Any last name for this 'Kyle' person?”
“No. I have no idea. She had his name in her phone, but I didn't see a last name.”
“We'll see if we can contact him. We'll also check the hotels in Beaverton. If we have any information, we'll call.” Helms hangs up.
I drop my phone on the covers. It beeps but I ignore it.
The weight of my realization drops on me fully, threatening to split my mind in half.
Robbie. Robbie is the link. My dreams showed me that—all of them! That's why I'd felt a connection to the carriage driver. He's the one that “picked up” Janelle from her apartment. Why didn't I remember him sooner?
But why now? Why would he come back sixteen years later?
I stand bolt upright. I grab my keys and realize my car is still back at The Royale. What a waste of time! She could already be dead!
I pick up the phone and redial Helms.
“Helms.”
“Detective, I have a lead! I just realized who it might be. Look up the name Robert Graham. He was a childhood friend of all of ours. I think he has Carmen!”
“Where?”
“I don't know. I have no idea. Look, I'm on my way to you.” My phone chimes. 'Battery low' the screen reads. “I'm sorry, I have a low battery, so if I cut out, that's why. Just look up Robert Graham and find him. Wherever he is, that's where Carmen will be.”
I hear no answer. I look down at my phone. The screen is black.
“No! Damn it!” I throw the phone at the bed. It's a good thing that I fell asleep in my clothes, because I don't have the time to change.
I spring for the door and let myself out. As I lock it, I see a slip of paper taped over the peephole. I snatch it up and open the folded note.
/> 'This only is the witchcraft I have us'd:
Here comes the lady; let her witness it.'
God damn it! He did take her! That bastard! I shove the paper in my pocket and use the neighbor's phone to call a cab. It doesn't arrive fast enough for me. I keep worrying that Robbie's already done his worst. When we arrive at The Royale, I pay the driver so fast his head spins. It's the middle of the afternoon, so the lot is empty for the most part. I run to my car and struggle with the keys.
“Is everything okay?” I hear from behind me. I spin around, my heart beating fast.
“Kyle! It's you! Why are you here?” I ask. He pales, looking flustered at the question.
“I work here,” he says matter-of-factly. “Are you alright?”
“Do you remember when you came to my office and picked up a woman named Carmen?” he asked.
“Yes, we're friends. Why?”
“I think she's been kidnapped and I need your help finding her.”
“What? Kidnapped!? Let's go!” He goes around to the passenger's side and I unlock the doors, letting us both in.
“We have to check her hotel. Program my GPS,” I order. He begins keying it in as I pull out of the parking lot.
“Who do you think took her?” Kyle asks.
“I don't know. I'm hoping she's at her hotel. I hope I'm wrong.”
“I saw her last night,” he says. “I haven't seen her since she left.”
“Jesus. I should have known she'd be next.” The pangs of guilt and anxiety in my chest make my entire body hurt.
“I don't understand. What's going on?”
I brief him while we drive. By the time we pull into the hotel parking lot, he knows as much as I do. Kyle leads me to her room and we're lucky the maid is there cleaning, otherwise we'd have been sorely disappointed at not being able to get in.
I pick up a pile of her mail that sits on the sidetable. I sift through. It's all from two days ago. I stop on a slip of paper sitting in the stack.
'Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
Oh, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily.'
“God...he does have her,” I say dropping into a chair.
“What do we do?” asks Kyle, running his fingers through his hair.
“I don't know.”
“Well... think. Where did this all start?” Kyle takes the slip of paper from my hand and reads it.
“Where it all started...” I say to myself. The house. The shack. “There's a place we used to meet when we were young. It's the only place I think he would have taken her. I was there a week ago, thinking someone might still be living there.”
'You just have to come pick me up...' I hear her say from my dream.
“I think we should go there,” Kyle suggests. “If you think she's there, the least we can do is try.”
I nod. “I agree.” I stand and set her mail down, holding my hand out for the paper. I read it again, before sticking it in my pocket. “We should call the detective that's been handling the case, first. Let me borrow your phone.”
While we drive I make the call, giving him the address.
“Detective Helms says he'll meet us there.” I say, hanging up. I pull onto the freeway and floor it.
“I hope she's okay,” Kyle says, taking his phone from me.
“This is all my fault,” I say, smacking the steering wheel. “All of it.”
“Now is not the time for feeling guilty,” he says. “Look, what do you plan on doing when we get there? Do we wait for the police?” he asks.
“I don't want to, but I don't have much of a choice. I don't have anything to overpower him with. Who knows how big this guy is?”
“At least there’re two of us,” Kyle chimes in.
“What if he's armed? That won't help us much.”
“We're armed,” Kyle states frankly.
“We are?”
Kyle reaches under his jacket and pulls out a pistol.
“Jesus Christ!”
“I have a concealed weapons permit. I got mugged last year and never looked back,” he says, examining the firearm.
“Jesus! Do you know even know how to use that thing?” I'm still stunned that this kid carries a gun. “Are you old enough to own a gun?”
“Yes!” Kyle says indignantly. I don't push him. After all, he does have a loaded firearm. “Good, so we have a plan,” Kyle says.
“What plan?”
“We go in, and if he has her, we shoot him.”
“It's not that easy. Maybe we can get her without hurting him,” I suggest. Janelle and Lisa's faces come to mind. He never thought twice about hurting them. “If it comes down to it, I'll do it.”
“You? You don't sound like you know how to shoot a gun.”
“I've done it before at firing ranges. He killed my sister and my ex-girlfriend. If someone's going to put a bullet in him, it's going to be me. This isn't your fight.”
Kyle nods. “Okay.”
The drive goes remarkably fast. It helps that I'm going ninety miles an hour. The sun is setting as we pull down the driveway. I stop in front of the house, leaving the keys in the ignition.
“You stay by the car. If he comes out and we don't, you get out of here,” I say. “I don't want you getting hurt, because you came out here with me.”
“I'll go, but I'll wait at the main road for the police, and come back with them. You're forgetting, I care about her, too,” Kyle argues.
“Fine.” I hold my hand out for the gun and he warily removes the safety and places it in my hand.
“Be careful with it,” he says.
“I will.”
I leave the car and all of my senses go on high alert. I'm nobody special. I'm not a cop or a superhero. I'm just a man in love who feels responsible. I should have told someone about Robbie a long time ago. I hold the gun at my side, keeping my finger off the trigger.
I peek in all the first-floor windows, but for only a few seconds each. I don't want to be seen. I check the side of the house, but nobody is visible. I hear nothing except birds singing. I creep down the side of the building, pistol at the ready. I peek around the back. The old gardens are in ruins, another thing that breaks my heart about the rundown mansion.
I notice there's only one bush that's in full-flower. I stoop, and there's a trowel and spade at its roots. The grass around it is green, as if someone's been watering it. In the clusters of leaves there are black berries. I recognize them... nightshade. No wonder the girls tested positive for atropine. Its natural source is nightshade. The wind blows through its fragile boughs. My heart aches as I stand.
There's no doubt in my mind anymore, this has to be Robbie. It doesn't matter who it is anymore. They're about to die.
I take off down the path that used to be verdant and extended deep into the woods. It's a quarter-mile walk before one would reach the shack. The forest picks up again, when I near the edge of the Colcott plot. I run down the right path, slowing down when I come to the clearing.
Here's where it all started, right here. I hear some movement in the shack and I set my finger on the trigger. I edge closer, carefully pressing my ear to the door. I hear a muffled female voice. I take a shallow breath and hold it.
One... two... three.
I shove against the door with all my might and it gives easily.
A man flies around.
Carmen sits tied to a chair with her mouth taped over. She's slumped over, her eyes twitching.
“You! You motherfucker!” I scream, feeling tears of anger well up in my eyes. It's Robbie, alright. “You killed them!” I advance on him with the gun, but he hides behind the chair and pulls out a knife. I stop in my tracks.
“Hi Jake,” he says calmly. “Glad to see you again.”
“You fucking let her go, Robbie! You let her go!”
“No!” he cries out, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. He puts the knife to her throat.
/> There are circles under his eyes, ones so dark that it looks like he hasn't slept in a year. He's wrinkled, withered.
“You left...” Robbie whimpers. “I loved you and you left.”
“I didn't love you, Robbie!” I seethe. “Didn't you get it?”
“No, you did!” he shakes his head. “I waited for you. I've been with you the whole time,” he says, rocking back and forth. “Look, my fair Romeo,” he says.
“Your what?” I look around and there are hundreds of pictures of me plastered all over the walls. Some are old, some are new. In a corner, there's a pile of photos covered in feces, and I can see Janelle's face staring out from one of them. There is canned food and a camping stove in the opposite corner. Who knows how long he's been squatting here? “My God, Robbie...” I can't say much more than that. Anger boils in my veins. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill Janelle and Lisa?”
“They were in our way. They wouldn't have let us be together,” he whines.
“I never wanted to be with you!” I scream.
“Lies. You do but counterfeit,” he states, self-assuredly.
“Why do you keep—” I notice in the corner there's a pile of beautiful flowers, and on it is laid a large, thick book. In the dim light coming from the door behind me, I see the gold letters across the front, 'Shakespeare's Collected Works Anthology'.
“You stole my book... Where did you get it?”
“It was left behind, and I took it. You left it for me in the theater in rehearsal.” His hand is trembling around his knife. “You gave it me.”
“Rehearsals? You mean for Romeo and Juliet? That was seventeen years ago, Robbie! I never gave you that!” I say, still leveling the gun at his head. “You're psychotic!”
“Don't call me crazy!” he screams, pressing the blade against her throat. “PUT THE GUN DOWN!” he shouts. “PUT IT DOWN OR I'LL DRAIN HER BLOOD!” He yanks her head back.
“What's wrong with her?” I ask, trying to draw his attention from the gun in my hand and the knife in his. Her eyelids are still twitching. Once in a while, she whimpers.
“She is to die—” he says with a rotten smile. “—to sleep no more. I have given her the potion, by which she might achieve the sweetest repose.”
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