by Lisa Unger
“Are they still with you?” Eloise asked. “Do they still talk to you?”
Finley looked down at the table. “No,” she said. A pause. Then, “No.”
Agatha and Eloise exchanged a look in the mirror. Behind them, Eloise saw the woman in the black dress. She was pointing again. But Eloise realized that she was pointing at Finley.
• • •
Later that night, the woman in the black dress woke Eloise with her relentless pacing up and down the hallway. Eloise got out of bed and pulled on her robe, walked out of her bedroom, only to see Finley walking out of hers. The woman in the black dress was gone.
“Did she wake you?” asked Eloise.
But Finley didn’t answer Eloise, didn’t even seem to hear her. The girl was dressed, wearing her jacket and carrying her helmet. She walked down the stairs and headed out the front door without a word.
“Finley,” said Eloise, following. “Where are you going?”
Finley opened and closed the front door, and Eloise ran to catch up with her. But the girl was already astride her bike, gunning the engine.
“Finley,” said Eloise again. “What in the world are you doing?”
It was nearly one in the morning. The girl took off down the street. Eloise waited a moment, considering what she should do. Finley was an adult; she could do what she wanted. But Eloise’s heart was beating hard with fear. The woman in the black dress was standing on the porch, with her clenched fist of a face and her pointing finger. Eloise didn’t have to be told twice. She ran back inside for her purse and keys, then got in her car, still in her nightgown, robe, and slippers. Like a crazy woman, she followed her granddaughter.
After awhile, Eloise thought she’d lost Finley. But finally, she came across the girl’s parked motorcycle. It stood tilting by the edge of The Hollows Wood. Eloise knew precisely where Finley had gone. It did not come as a surprise at all.
She pulled her car over, got out, and started hiking through the trees. She knew these woods, had trekked through them all her life. She was not afraid of the dark or the trees. There was far more to fear from people than from whatever might be out here. Usually.
It didn’t take her long to get to the graveyard, but her slippers were soaked through with damp, and she was covered with leaves. Imagine if anyone saw her out here like this in the middle of the night. What a mess she was.
She’d been here before with The Burning Girl. The tiny church was just a ruin, little more than two jagged stone walls. It was covered with graffiti. The small, weatherworn gravestones tilted among the wildflowers and tall grass. Finley knelt among them, whispering.
Eloise was angry at herself for letting Finley’s tough-girl act fool her. The girl was every bit as delicate and sensitive as her mother; Eloise should have seen it. The Three Sisters had their hooks in her because she’d been vulnerable. An unhappy home life, a mother who wanted her to hide and suppress what she was, a grandmother too far away to help her. There were plenty of dark places inside Finley for the sisters to find a home.
Eloise summoned her inner resources.
“Finley Montgomery,” she said, in her deepest, sternest voice.
Finley turned slowly around. Her eyes were blank, her face slack. She didn’t even look like herself.
“Finley Montgomery,” Eloise said again, lower, deeper.
The girl stood then, shaking her head. Then she pressed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. It was clear she was disoriented, like someone waking from a very deep sleep.
“Finley,” said Eloise more gently.
“Mimi,” she said, looking up. It was just a whisper. “What are we doing here?”
“You tell me, dear,” said Eloise. “I followed you.”
“I was dreaming,” she said. Finley looked up at the sky, around at the trees. It was a lovely night, cool but not cold, with a gentle breeze. The Whispers were strong here. Eloise listened.
“Patience wanted to show me this place. They want to be buried here. But their ashes were fed to dogs. Can you believe that?”
Eloise wove her way through the overgrown weeds and the gravestones toward her granddaughter.
“Dogs were believed to be the familiars of witches in the late 1600s,” said Eloise, with a nod. “It was not an uncommon practice.”
Ignorance and fear were responsible for so much horror in the world. All the most heinous acts throughout history could be linked to those demons.
“They’re so tired,” said Finley. She looked up at Eloise. Finley looked exhausted as well, and very sad. “They want to rest.”
Eloise looked around for the sisters, but apparently, they were only for Finley to see.
“Let’s see what we can do to help them,” said Eloise. She reached Finley and put her arms around the girl, and held on tight.
“I’m tired, too,” Finley said into Eloise’s shoulder. “Does it get any easier?”
“It does,” Eloise said truthfully. “When you learn to set your boundaries, when you get right with yourself, it’s a lot easier.”
Eloise didn’t want to tell Finley that it took her nearly twenty years to do those things. And she didn’t even want to tell her about the failures. Eloise carried those around with her like a sack of boulders. The graveyard made her think of Ella, the child she hadn’t been able to save. Eloise took her granddaughter by the hand and led her out of the woods.
Back on the road, Eloise made Finley ride in the Prius.
“What about my bike?” asked Finley. She looked at it with worry.
“We’ll come back for it in the morning,” said Eloise. “It’ll be fine there.”
Eloise hoped that someone would steal it. But they couldn’t get that lucky. It stood there shining in the scant moonlight, taunting Eloise. The woman in the black dress stood beside it.
“Let me ask you,” said Eloise. They were on the way home. “Who really wanted that bike? You or Abigail?”
“Me,” said Finley without hesitation.
“Why, Finley?” Eloise asked, unable to keep the exasperated worry out of her voice. “It’s so dangerous.”
“It’s the only place I can’t hear anything,” said Finley. “It’s the only place I can be alone with my own thoughts. I can’t hear The Whispers. No one can visit me. It’s quiet.”
Eloise could feel her despair; she knew it too well. “I understand. Let’s work on finding you other quiet places, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
• • •
After Finley was asleep, Eloise called Jones Cooper, even though it was an ungodly hour. He never seemed to mind. In fact, she suspected he missed those late-night calls from his days as a cop. She told him about where they’d left the motorcycle.
He intuited immediately what she was asking without asking. “You want me to take care of it?”
She had a momentary pang of guilt. “I do,” she said. “Just temporarily.”
“I’ll have someone bring it to my place,” he said. “Until you figure it out. Don’t report it stolen, though.”
“No,” she said. “I won’t.”
She’d figure something out, but Finley was not getting back on that bike until Eloise understood what the woman in black wanted.
“About the other matter,” he said. “Did you get anything?”
Eloise told him about her visit with Michelle. Jones listened.
When she was done, he said, “I was thinking you might want to take a drive with me tomorrow—well, today. In the afternoon.”
“Sure,” she said.
“I’ll pick you up around two,” said Jones. “Get some sleep.”
When she hung up, she was alone. The woman in the black dress was gone. There was no sign of Michelle Asher. Even The Whispers were quiet. She was done for the night at least. She went upstairs to bed and slept soundly and long.
&
nbsp; • • •
“Alex Dahl was accused of date rape in college,” said Jones. He was a careful driver, hands at ten and two. “But eventually the girl changed her story, said it was consensual after all. Later, when he was in his early twenties working as a personal trainer in Manhattan, he filed charges against a woman who he said was obsessed with him. Turns out, she loaned him several thousand dollars and was trying to get her money back.”
“Hmm,” said Eloise.
“When he was questioned for Michelle Asher’s murder,” said Jones, “he claimed that she, too, was obsessed with him, chasing him all over town, showing up at his apartment. His new girlfriend even claimed that Michelle was threatening her.”
Eloise and Jones were up by the high school, where a big new gym had been erected, The Hollows Athletic Center, or HAC, as the locals referred to it. There were tennis courts and a pool, personal trainers, massage therapists. It was a gleaming glass-and-metal structure as out of place in The Hollows as an alien spaceship. During the week, the parking lot was always empty. But the city weekenders packed the place, the lot full of their late-model Land Rovers and BMWs.
There were a few cars in the lot as Jones pulled his Explorer in and found a spot toward the edge, under the shade of a big oak tree. There was a good view of a shiny black Charger, a big muscle car.
“He likes to play games,” Eloise said.
There was a photo of Alex Dahl on the seat between her and Jones, a candid shot of him walking down a city street. He was tall and svelte, with a powerful jaw and bright green eyes. There was a swagger to him, the confidence of the young and beautiful. There was a blankness, too, a strange emptiness. When Eloise looked at his photograph, she felt a kind of emotional vertigo, as if she were peering over the edge of some precipice with no choice but to imagine falling to her death.
“He’s an emotional predator,” said Jones.
Eloise couldn’t disagree with his assessment.
“But is he a killer?” asked Eloise. “Did he kill Michelle Asher?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any history of violence?” she asked.
“What do you think?” asked Jones. He liked to test her. It didn’t bother Eloise. She knew it was about him, not her. His desire to test and probe drove his wife Maggie crazy, though. Eloise should tell him to stop doing it.
“I’d say not,” she said. “He’s too careful.”
“No,” said Jones. “There’s nothing. No physical assault. Even the date rape—there was no evidence of force, or anything rough. No stalking, threatening, menacing. Nothing like that.”
“It doesn’t mean things didn’t get out of hand with Michelle.”
“No,” agreed Jones. “It doesn’t.”
Alex strode out of the athletic center looking flushed and healthy, a bounce in his step. He moved quickly to his car, opened the door, and climbed gracefully inside. The engine came to life with a deep rumble, reminding Eloise of the motorcycle. Jones waited briefly before pulling out after Alex, then followed at a distance.
“What are you going to do about that bike?” Jones read Eloise’s mind sometimes, without being aware that he was doing it. She was starting to think he might be a Sensitive after all.
“I don’t know yet,” said Eloise. “I gave her my car for school today. She didn’t ask too many questions. I think she was a little shaken after last night.”
“When she’s ready for it, send her to me,” said Jones.
That sounded like a good idea, even though Eloise wouldn’t have been able to say why. She was in the business of following her instincts. So she nodded her assent.
“It’s in my garage,” he said. “Maggie thought I was having a midlife crisis.”
“Another one?” she said mildly.
He gave her a surprised smile. “Was that humor? You must be mellowing in your old age.”
Eloise laughed a little; she did that sometimes when Jones was around. It was another reason she didn’t mind working with him. They moved through the town center, then turned onto the state road that led to the outskirts of The Hollows.
“He’s working as a personal trainer at HAC,” said Jones. “He’s been here for a month. He’s already seeing someone.”
“Of course he is,” she said. “He can’t be alone for long.”
She hadn’t intended to say that, hadn’t even been thinking it. But as soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew it was true.
“He’s empty,” she said. “He’s looking for a certain kind of woman.”
“What kind of woman is that precisely?”
“Someone broken,” she said. “Someone wanting to be fixed. Someone who will give herself over to him.”
“Was Michelle Asher broken?” he asked. “She was beautiful, successful, financially independent. She had a loving family, good friends.”
“Broken is on the inside,” said Eloise. “It doesn’t have a lot to do with externals.”
“Hmm,” said Jones. “Her depression, anxiety disorder.”
“She was vulnerable,” said Eloise. “Love is an anesthetic. It can help us forget our pain—at first.”
“But it wears off,” said Jones.
“And then the pain seems worse than before.”
The Charger had picked up speed. Alex seemed to be enjoying the winding roads. What was it about young people and speed?
“I had to tell Roger Asher last night that I didn’t think I was going to get anything on Dahl. I’ve been tailing him for a week. I’ve talked to his ex-girlfriends. I’ve talked to a few of Michelle’s friends, been through all her computer files. It’s clear that the guy is a user, a player. But there’s nothing for me to give to the cops. He has an alibi for the night she died. He was at his new girlfriend’s place—the doorman saw him come and go. There’s supporting video footage.”
“How did Asher take it?”
“He took it hard. I think this was his last effort to bring this kid to justice, as Asher saw it.” Eloise could tell by the look on Jones’s face that the encounter had been ugly. “I felt bad for the guy. Talk about broken.”
The Charger turned onto a rural drive, and Jones pulled over to the side of the road.
“Then what are we doing here?”
“I don’t know,” said Jones. He rubbed the bridge of his nose hard with his thumb and forefinger. “I just thought I’d give it one more day, bring you out here, see if you got anything. For whatever reason, I’m having a hard time letting it go.”
Which was something. Because Jones, unlike some, was not a man to hold on to a lost cause. He wasn’t like Ray. Jones Cooper knew when to walk away.
“Why don’t we go talk to him?” suggested Eloise. She noticed that a light rain was falling. Jones turned on the wipers. Eloise looked up to see that the trees were glistening in the scant sunlight. It must have been drizzling for a while.
“And say what?” asked Jones. “Hey, buddy? Did you kill Michelle Asher? Come on, you can tell us.”
“We might learn something we didn’t know,” she said. “At any rate, you might feel better about moving on from Roger Asher.”
He considered it a moment. Then, without a word, he put the car in gear. They turned onto the drive and followed the Charger. Eloise felt a prickle of unease.
• • •
When they got to the clearing at the end of the road, it took Eloise a second to process what she was seeing. There was another vehicle there, too—a beat-up blue Toyota RAV. Standing beside it was a man who looked to be in his late forties, early fifties. He was medium build with a dark, receding hairline. But, at first, it was really only his face that Eloise saw. It was a mask of misery and rage. Then Eloise saw that he held a large semiautomatic weapon in two shaking hands.
“Oh, shit,” said Jones.
He stopped the car and leaned ove
r her quickly but not urgently to pop open the glove box. He pulled out his old service revolver, a Smith & Wesson .38 Special. He checked the chamber, then got out of the car before Eloise could stop him. “Stay in the car, Eloise.”
“Mr. Asher,” said Jones, opening the door.
His voice carried without being loud, bouncing off the trees. A crow flew off, cawing into the air. Jones stood behind his open door, his own gun concealed. “What’s going on here?”
Eloise got out on her side, also using her door as a shield (which impressed her as a good idea). Jones shot her an annoyed look of warning, which she ignored. What did he think? That she’d sit in the passenger seat working on her knitting while he got into a gunfight?
Alex Dahl stood frozen, slack-jawed. His arms were high in the air, and he looked like he might cry.
“I never hurt her,” he said. His voice was squeaky, faint. “I swear.”
Eloise was surprised at how young Alex looked and sounded. But he was young, just in his twenties. In the pictures, he looked self-possessed to the point of arrogance. There was none of that here. Fear was a good equalizer, took people down to the basics of their personality.
“You’re a liar!”
Roger Asher’s voice was a wail of misery. Tears streamed down his face. He kept lowering and raising the gun, as if it were too heavy for him. Or maybe he couldn’t decide whether to use it or not. The effect was unsettling. Jones jerked just slightly every time he did it. Eloise couldn’t take her eyes off of it, the gun. It looked so cold and unforgiving. With a gun in your hand, mistakes were forever.
“Hey, Roger,” said Jones easily. “Let’s think this through.”
“I have thought it through,” said Asher. “I have thought of nothing else.”
“I never hurt her,” said Alex. “I never did.”
Jones shot Alex a look, lifted a palm. “Just keep your mouth shut, son.”
Roger raised the gun again.
“You’re a user and a manipulator,” Asher said to Dahl. “You think I don’t know your type. Men like you have been sniffing around my daughter all her life. You only want one thing. You used her up.”
“Hey,” said Alex. There was a flash of something mean across his face. “At least I wasn’t pimping her out to modeling agencies from the time she was twelve years old. Talk about using her up.”