Don’t Close Your Eyes

by Carlene Thompson

  After giving the dog her treat, Natalie wandered into the living room and turned on the television. Kenny used to annoy her by flipping from channel to channel. Now she did the same. Fifty channels and she couldn’t find one program that interested her. She was too restless to concentrate.

  The phone rang. It was Nick calling to tell her Jeff Lindstrom was Constance Farley’s nephew, but he hadn’t been seen since Nick chased him down after Tamara’s funeral over sixteen hours ago. Alison had been missing almost as long. Maybe a coincidence. Hopefully a coincidence. “I’ll be working all night,” he said tiredly. “Mrs. Collins is thrilled.”

  “And Paige will be just as delighted to be spending the evening with her” Natalie pointed out. “I have an idea. Your daughter doesn’t go to bed early, does she?”

  “Only under duress. I don’t worry about it too much when she’s on summer break from school. I guess that’s lax of me.

  “I never had a set bedtime.”

  “And just look how you turned out,” Nick said dolefully.

  “You are a laugh riot, Sheriff. Anyway, I promised Paige a guitar lesson. Since I’m alone and she’s probably bored, how about my giving a lesson tonight?”

  “She’d love it. And I’d love knowing you were with her. With everything that’s going on . . .”

  “There’s safety in numbers,” Natalie finished for him.

  After they hung up she called the Meredith house and got a busy signal. Ten minutes later she tried again. Still busy. Probably Mrs. Collins. She decided to simply get her guitar and go.

  Blaine watched her rummage in a storage closet for the first guitar she’d ever owned—a Yamaha compact classic. Kira had given it to her for her sixth birthday. She’d been thrilled, so thrilled she not only practiced constantly but actually tried to sleep with the guitar. Her talent and devotion to the instrument pleased Kira. “Yeah, it pleased her so much she took off five months later,” Natalie muttered, then forced her thoughts away from her mother. She scribbled a note for her father and grabbed her coat. Blaine drooped behind her to the door, gazing at her with tragic eyes. “Okay, Sarah Heartburn,” Natalie laughed. “I have no idea how you and Ripley the cat will get along, but I guess we’ll find out. Besides, I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone in this house again.”

  Blaine immediately perked up at the sight of her leash and trotted happily to the car. Natalie felt as if she’d always owned the dog, and Blaine acted as if Natalie had always been her mistress. But she had placed the lost dog ad less than a week ago. Someone could call tomorrow and reclaim Blaine, Natalie reminded herself. Could she bear to give her up? If this were a beloved dog that had gotten lost, she would have no choice. But if she sensed the dog had been dumped . . .

  “If you were dumped, the person who dumped you won’t call,” Natalie said as they drove toward the Meredith house. Blaine cocked her head as if she understood every word. “And if you merely got lost from a loving home, I don’t think you would have bonded to me so quickly.” She sighed. “You’re a mystery, Blaine, one of many lately, and I’ve found out they’re more fun to read about than to live.”

  Lights glowed in the picture window and one upstairs window of the two-story Meredith house. Natalie knew the place had been vacant for nearly three years before Nick Meredith bought it. The former owner had demanded an unreasonable price and refused to negotiate until his business hit a giant snag and he needed the money. Nick had made a few repairs to the place and added a fresh coat of white paint, but the shrubbery and flowerbeds needed work. That might be a project for her and Paige as the summer wore on.

  Natalie stopped abruptly on the sidewalk leading to the porch. A summer project? She had a job in Columbus she’d return to in a week. She also had a relationship to work out. After all, in spite of what had happened between her and Kenny, he was more important to her than a precocious kid, or the precocious kid’s attractive, dominating, funny, workaholic father. Wasn’t he?

  Enough of this ridiculous thinking of summer projects, she told herself sternly. She walked determinedly forward, rang the bell, and looked around the porch. Two green plastic lawn chairs and a pot of bedraggled geraniums. In a town where people took pride in creating lovely porches, Nick Meredith wouldn’t win any awards. The house had the air of a stopping-over place, as if no one meant to stay. Or maybe it simply lacked the touch of someone who thought of it as a true home.

  Natalie was raising her hand to ring the bell again when Mrs. Collins’s broad face peeped through the sheer curtains. She looked blankly at Natalie. Natalie smiled encouragingly. “I come in peace,” she felt like yelling. Mrs. Collins blinked a couple of times then pulled away from the window. At last the door opened slowly.

  “Hello. Remember me? Natalie St. John. I stayed with Paige the other evening.”

  “I remember you.” The woman flushed. She probably also remembered Nick chewing her out for discussing the murders of Charlotte and Warren in front of Paige. She looked at Blaine, then at the guitar case. “Did you want something?”

  “I promised Paige a guitar lesson. Sheriff Meredith said tonight would be fine.” She paused. “He also said I could bring my dog.” A lie, but she didn’t think the woman was going to let them both in.

  “Well, I guess it’s all right if the sheriff said so. I try to take very good care of Paige. I treat her like my own daughter, but my girl was more manageable. Less sassy. Paige was born in New York City, you know.”

  Apparently Mrs. Collins thought being born in New York City explained any undesirable personality traits Paige might exhibit. Natalie and Blaine stepped past her. The woman continued to stare inhospitably. “Paige is here, isn’t she?” Natalie asked.

  “Of course she’s here!” Mrs. Collins burst out. “Where else would she be? It’s night!”

  “I just thought she might be sleeping over with a friend.”

  “With a murderer on the loose?” Mrs. Collins demanded. “Besides, she doesn’t have any proper friends. Just that young Jenkins hooligan. His mother should keep a closer eye on him and the sheriff should forbid Paige to see him. If she were my girl—”

  “Is she upstairs?” Natalie interrupted to stem the flow of unwanted opinions.

  “Yes. In her room.”

  “I’ll just go up then. Second room on the left, right?”

  She dashed up the steps, Blaine trotting behind her. She really shouldn’t have come here, she thought. Clearly her visit annoyed Mrs. Collins, and even though Paige didn’t have a set bedtime, she was probably getting sleepy by now. A guitar lesson might simply be disruptive. She’d been thinking of herself when she came, not what was best for Paige. Maybe she wouldn’t be any better at mothering than Kira had been. She’d make the guitar lesson short.

  Natalie tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door. Her knock went unanswered. She tapped again. Nothing. Could the child already be asleep?

  She turned the knob slowly and swung open the door. A small lamp glowed on the nightstand providing the light Natalie had seen from outside. A flowered quilt stretched over a small form whose auburn hair spread across a pillow. A pair of luminous green eyes stared from atop the chest of drawers. Ripley.

  Something didn’t feel right. Didn’t Nick say Paige didn’t go to bed early? And hadn’t Paige told her that Ripley always slept on the bed with her? Maybe the cat left the bed after Paige went to sleep and she never knew it. Or maybe he was spooked by Blaine and had jumped to the safety of a high place. But he didn’t look scared. And the auburn hair on the pillow had the metallic sheen of artificial hair. She walked over and pulled down the quilt.

  Mrs. Collins had followed her up the stairs. “A doll!” she screeched as if saying, “A body!” Ripley stiffened, his tail snapping around to firmly cover his paws. Natalie walked to the window, which was raised. An arm’s length away hung the sturdy limb of an oak tree. “Looks like Paige has escaped.”

  “Oh, my! Oh, Lord! Oh, gracious! Heaven help me!” Mrs. Collins bleated. “Th
is is not my fault! It’s not my fault! It is not my fault!”

  “You were supposed to be watching her,” Natalie said harshly, galled by the woman’s concern for herself rather than the missing child. “How long has she been gone?”

  “I have no idea.” She met Natalie’s incensed stare. “Well, I can’t keep my eyes on her every minute!”

  “Especially when you’re spending all your time on the phone.”

  “I wasn’t on the phone!”

  “I tried to call twice before I came by. The line was busy and clearly Paige wasn’t tying it up because she wasn’t here. Now when was the last time you saw her?”

  Mrs. Collins threw her a venomous look before her eyes filled with tears. “You’re right. I was on the phone much too long. I just never thought she’d do anything like this.”

  “I understand,” Natalie said in a milder tone. Soothing the woman was necessary to make her concentrate on what was important. “Calm down and try to remember when you saw her.”

  Mrs. Collins took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s see. We ate dinner at six. She went up to her room for a while, then she came back down and watched something on television. I don’t remember what. Then she went back up. That must have been around seven-thirty.”

  Natalie glanced at her watch. “It’s 8:48. Over an hour unaccounted for, but I’ll bet she didn’t scoot out that window until nearly dark. It’s been dreary all day, darker than usual . . .” Mrs. Collins nodded in vigorous agreement. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

  “The Jenkins house?”

  They looked up the number and called. A harried Beth Jenkins told Natalie she hadn’t seen Paige for days. Was Jimmy home? Natalie asked. Beth dispatched her husband for a five-minute search that included a few gusty bellows of “Jimmy, where the hell are you?” Another child wailed in the background. They couldn’t find Jimmy, Beth finally said. It was summer and he was always running around, but she was sure it wouldn’t be after dark with a little girl. After all, Jimmy wasn’t some kind of pervert. Is that what Sheriff Meredith thought?

  Natalie assured her Sheriff Meredith liked Jimmy. She liked Jimmy. Jimmy was a fine boy. Natalie grimaced as she spent more time reassuring than gleaning information. When she hung up, she checked the time again. Nine. Far too late for Paige to be wandering around without adult supervision. “I’m going to look for her,” she told Mrs. Collins. “You call Nick and tell him she’s gone.”

  The woman shrank. “Oh, no! I don’t think we have to tell him yet. She could walk in that door any minute.”

  “Or she could not walk in all night, and then what would the sheriff do if no one had told him his daughter was missing?” Natalie asked severely. “You must call him. Now.”

  The woman sighed shakily and plodded toward the bedroom extension as if headed for the guillotine. Natalie looked around Paige’s room, then picked up an errant sock peeking from beneath the bed. Mrs. Collins was meekly asking to speak with the sheriff as Natalie left the room with the sock in one hand and the dog’s leash in the other.

  Natalie sat in her parked car, her hands on the steering wheel as she stared ahead, thinking. “Where would an eleven-year-old girl go on a summer night?” she asked Blaine. “Lily and I used to walk on the shore and go sit in The Blue Lady. A big, deserted place. Very daring of us, we thought.” But The Blue Lady was three miles from the Meredith house. Quite a distance to cover on foot or a bike. And Paige was probably with Jimmy. No doubt because she was the relative newcomer to the town, he’d taken her somewhere familiar to him. But where would that be?

  Natalie closed her eyes to concentrate. Where did Jimmy live? Across the street from Tamara. Natalie remembered the night she’d watched Jane Eyre with Paige. “Jimmy thinks Ariel Saunders’s house is huge” she’d said, “but it’s nothing compared to Thornfield Hall.” Beside Tam’s house ran Hyacinth Lane, which ended at the Saunders house. Paige had seen the house and Jimmy had been her guide.

  “I’m having a brainstorm,” she said to the dog as she turned the key in the ignition. “Ready for a trip to your old stomping ground?”

  Blaine panted. Clearly a yes to her brilliant idea. Her only idea.

  Natalie took a shortcut to Hyacinth Lane, one that cut the trip to less than half a mile and one she was sure Jimmy knew. She turned onto the lane, not looking at the darkened windows of Tam’s house. Too depressing. Halfway up Hyacinth Lane the ruts and potholes threatened to knock the car out of alignment. She stopped. “Rest of the way on foot and paw, Blaine.” She opened the glove compartment and withdrew a flashlight. Then she picked up Paige’s small sock and held it under Blaine’s nose. The dog sniffed obediently and thoroughly. “Okay, girl, show me what a good tracker you are,” Natalie said. “Find Paige.”

  She unhooked the leash and opened the car door. Blaine jumped out, looked around, then loped a few feet in the direction of the Saunders house before looking back at Natalie as if to say, “Well, come on!” Natalie followed, careful to act calm and be silent so she wouldn’t distract the dog. Disappointed, she saw that Blaine did not sniff the ground. She acted as if this were merely a casual walk. Maybe it was useless. Perhaps the dog did not track. Perhaps Paige had not been on Hyacinth Lane.

  Natalie caught up with Blaine and held the sock under her nose again. She sniffed. She looked around. She ambled forward. Then, abruptly, she dipped her head, touching her nose to a fallen leaf. Her ears perked up and she galloped forward.

  Natalie picked up her pace. The gloom of the day lingered, dulling the night. A weak moon cast murky light on the rutted lane being strangled by flourishing honeysuckle vines and multiflora roses. Chills rushed down her arms and she wished she’d remembered to put on a sweater as cool lake winds whispered through the trees.

  But the whispering wind wasn’t the only sound in the darkness. Natalie slowed, feeling as if her own ears were perking up like Blaine’s. Music. Not the slow, haunting music that would be in harmony with the somber evening. Loud, rollicking music, electric guitars blasting into the darkness, powerful male voices wailing a warning into the night:

  Don’t close your eyes,

  He’s waiting for you . . .

  “What on earth?” she muttered, listening as the music rose, shuddering through the woods. Two birds soared in tandem, startled from sleep, and something rustled in the brush to her right. Her gaze darted sideways, expecting to see an animal rushing toward her. Instead the rustling moved in the opposite direction as she spotted moonlight shining on metal. She moved closer. Two bicycles. Her hunch had been right. Paige and Jimmy had gone to the Saunders house—the house from which rock music roared.

  Natalie’s breath came quick and shallow as she ran, keeping her gaze on the lane so she wouldn’t step in a hole and twist her ankle. The dog raced ahead with enviable canine speed. She tried to search for possible explanations for the music, but nothing would come except the image of two faces—Paige’s and Jimmy’s, both bright-eyed, eager, and inquisitive. Maybe too inquisitive. Maybe fatally inquisitive.

  No. She wouldn’t think that way. She would concentrate on her breathing, her footing—

  A high-pitched shriek froze her heart. She plunged forward, every ounce of her energy directed to her flight. Then she saw forms ahead on the lane. Blaine bouncing around excitedly. A boy saying, “It’s just a dog, Paige! Come on!”

  “Paige! Jimmy!” Natalie called breathlessly.

  “Oh, no!” Natalie heard Paige exclaim.

  “It’s Natalie,” she huffed. Blaine ran to her, then back to the children twenty feet away. “Are you all right?”

  “Natalie?” Paige wavered. “Is my dad with you?”

  “No.” Natalie stopped in front of them. “I went by your house and you were missing. I came looking for you by myself. What are you doing here?”

  “The killer is in the Saunders house!” Jimmy burst out. “We saw him before. It’s a great hiding place. We came back tonight to get a picture. And we did!” He wave
d a rectangle of paper in front of Natalie. “Look!”

  “The killer? A picture?” Natalie took the photo and flipped on her flashlight. She saw the blurred image of someone in a white robe. “What’s he doing?”

  “Dancing to that music! And it’s a she. Real long blond hair.”

  “Long blond hair?” Natalie repeated. “Is she young—”

  The booming music stopped so suddenly that all three jumped. The woods fell eerily silent. Paige tensed. “She’s coming after us! She’s gonna kill us!”

  A scream ripped through the night. Not the shrill yelp of surprise Paige had emitted when Blaine had rushed toward her in the darkness. This scream vibrated with pure, depthless terror. Another followed, then another, each more shattering than the last.

  Blaine barked. Paige clutched Natalie’s arm. Even the indomitable Jimmy quailed.

  “What’s that?” Paige whimpered.

  “Someone in bad trouble.” Natalie looked at Jimmy. “Grab your bike, go home, and call the police. Take Paige with you.”

  “What about you?” Jimmy managed.

  Another scream rent the night. “Just go! Now!”

  The children darted around her and pounded down the lane toward their bikes. Natalie hesitated. She should go with the children. Or stay where she was. God knew what was going on in that house.

  Another chilling, agonized scream. Blaine barked frenziedly and lunged forward. Without thought, Natalie followed.

  She hadn’t realized how close she was to the house until within seconds its bulk loomed ahead of her. Flickering light spilled from the windows onto the ragged growth that had once been a lawn. Candlelight. No. The light didn’t flicker, it leaped. Bigger flames than candles could create.

  Blaine was ahead of her, running back and forth in front of the house, barking wildly. Natalie hesitated again as the shadow of the house fell over her. Then she thought of what the children had said. The killer was a she with long blond hair. Alison. She knew it. But there had been the screams and now the fire. What if Alison wasn’t the killer but the victim?