Darkness My Old Friend

by Lisa Unger

  “Hmm.”

  “I know. Brilliant, right?”

  “Just be careful,” she said again.

  There was no answer at the door. Jones went around back through the heavy rain and was bold enough to walk up onto the deck, peer into the living room. The light was on over the stove in the kitchen. Nothing out of place, no furniture overturned, no blood on the walls. Good. Another light shone in an upstairs window. He tried the sliding glass door, but it was locked. Not that he’d have entered, maybe just called inside. He reminded himself that he had no right to be there. He was not a cop; he was a trespasser.

  He walked around the side yard. It was thick with trees, sparing him a little bit of the rain that fell. There were no cars in the driveway; he’d seen that on arrival. He cupped his hands and peered into the narrow window on the side of the house that looked in on the garage. There were no vehicles there, either-not the Mercedes SUV he knew that Paula Carr drove, not the old BMW the kid had with him, either. He didn’t know what Kevin Carr drove.

  He tried the knob on the side door, and when he found it unlocked, he pushed his way inside. He wouldn’t have done that as a cop, unless he had line-of-sight, meaning he saw something that looked incriminating or dangerous or had reason to believe that someone was in danger inside. Though he supposed he could make that argument if it came down to it. As a cop he’d always stuck to the letter of the law. Otherwise what was the point? As a private investigator, he wouldn’t have that obligation-he wouldn’t have to think about warrants and inadmissible evidence, cases thrown out of court because of evidence gained illegally. Of course, now he could also be arrested for illegally entering a home.

  The garage was organized and tidy. Bicycles hung on a wall rack, sports equipment-tennis rackets, boxing gloves, roller skates in various sizes and colors-all sat orderly on shelves. The floor was painted a slate gray, free from the dirt and dust that would have been normal. Jones felt his heart thump, bent down to see if the paint on the floor was wet. But it wasn’t. It was dusty, in fact, and dirtier than it had looked. He noticed that he’d left a trail of water from the door as the rain had sluiced off his jacket.

  When his phone rang, he practically had a heart attack, adrenaline rocketing through him. Note to self: When illegally entering a home, turn off the cell phone. He didn’t recognize the number.

  He walked outside to answer, started making his way quickly back to the car. The rain had let up for a minute, slowed to a fine drizzle.

  “Jones Cooper,” he answered.

  “Jones, it’s Henry Ivy.” He sounded upset. “Sorry to bother you, but we have a problem.”

  Henry told him about Willow Graves running off.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” Jones said. It wasn’t exactly true. There was no one home at the Carr house. He had no other leads on Paula Carr. He was at another dead end. At this point he’d go check on Elizabeth and then go home.

  “This is my fault,” said Henry. He’d lowered his voice, told Jones about his night with Bethany Graves and Willow’s unhappy response. As soon as Jones got back into his car, the rain started coming down hard again.

  “You think she ran off on foot in a storm like this?” he asked.

  “Maybe not.”

  “She has friends with cars?”

  Then Jones remembered that Willow Graves knew Cole. Cole had a vehicle, and he wasn’t at home. Jones wasn’t a big fan of coincidence, but here he was again. He was looking for the kid. It would be a good thing to find him away from the father, have a word with him in private about his mother.

  “Beth called Jolie’s mother, who said that Jolie was out with Cole Carr. We think they all might be together.” Jones heard Bethany say something in the background. But he couldn’t make it out. “We checked around at some of the local spots like Pop’s Pizza and the Hollows Brew. No one’s seen them.”

  “Okay,” said Jones. “You don’t think they’d have gone back there? To the Hollows Wood?”

  “Maybe, if they heard about the bones,” said Henry. “Bethany seems to think it’s possible. We’re headed there now.”

  “All right,” said Jones. He looked at his watch. It was still early, just after eight thirty. “I’ll meet you at the graveyard.”

  “Thanks, Jones.”

  “When did I become the guy to call?” Jones muttered to himself. Of course, if he was honest, he had to admit he liked it. Anyway, it was at least a detour from dropping in on the old crank. As he pulled out, he thought briefly about Eloise, her predictions for him. But he pushed them quickly and totally away. By the time he reached the main road, he’d forgotten about them completely.

  ***

  She was swimming, and the water felt good. When was the last time she’d been submerged in water? Dipped her body into crystal-blue pool water or tasted the salt of the ocean? She and Alfie used to take trips to the beach, lie on the sand beneath a big blue-and-green striped umbrella. They’d drink beer from the cooler and listen to the gulls and catch up on their reading. Then they’d jump into the cool, gray Atlantic waves. That was before the kids, when it was just them. When they could just sit and be quietly together.

  The water was cold, murky. She found that she didn’t need to surface for air, that she could just drift beneath, her fingers grazing against stones and drifting ribbons of weeds, branches. River water, that’s what it was. If clean had a feeling, light and cold against her skin… It had been so long since she’d done anything that gave her pleasure. Why had she been punishing herself all these years?

  The other psychic she’d known, the one who’d taught her everything, had warned her. You must not forget to live. Spending all our time with the dead, something about it drains the life from us if we let it. Be out in the world, Eloise. Don’t bury yourself for them.

  But she hadn’t listened, had she? She pitied Ray for giving up everything for their work. She thought because she’d already lost everything that she had nothing left to give. But she’d given herself, all of herself. She used to love to garden, to feel her hands in the earth, to bring fresh flowers and vegetables into the kitchen. She used to read. And knit. She’d made almost every blanket, scarf, and hat in the house. When was the last time she’d made anything? She didn’t even cook anymore, living on salads and cans of tuna fish.

  Ahead of her, she saw the reedy form, long and black, floating. She swam faster, but the form floated away just as quickly, as though her own movements were pushing it farther from her. She fought harder, and found herself against a swift current. Now she was getting breathless, her chest tightening, painful.

  Eloise could see her then. It was just a girl, her hair spread around her. A mermaid with opalescent skin, long arms spread like wings. It was just a girl, so young and pretty, just like her girls had been; prettier yet because they didn’t know their own beauty. She was still-eyes sleeping, mouth slack.

  It’s just a girl. There was that voice in her head. That’s why. He’ll have no choice but to save her.

  She felt afraid then, personally. She’d inexplicably come to like Jones Cooper. And he’ll die saving her? she asked without speaking. She had never asked anything of the voice before. She’d asked things of the dead who came to visit. But never of the voice in her head. And now she knew why. It didn’t answer. It would never answer.

  She woke up drenched in sweat, sitting in a bathtub dry of water. How she’d gotten there she didn’t even know. The last thing she remembered was saying good-bye to Ray.

  She lifted herself from the tub and headed downstairs, took her raincoat from the closet, took her purse from the table by the door. She walked out into the rain.

  chapter thirty-three

  Bethany felt numb, even as beneath that numbness there was a whirring panic, like a siren in the back of her head. She didn’t know why Willow punished her like this. She could hardly love her child more. True, she’d made mistakes. Even now Richard was calling and calling on her cell phone, after she’d ask
ed him not to. She’d alerted him on the off chance that Willow would go to him, knowing that the stripper had left him. Why can’t you keep track of her, Bethany? he’d asked. It was cruel, ridiculous. How could she ever have married someone who would dream of saying something like that? She’d hung up on him.

  “It’s okay,” Henry said. “We’ll find her.”

  They saw the Beemer sitting by the side of the road, the headlights burning. For a second she thought they were all sitting in the car. And she nearly fainted with relief. But they weren’t. Henry pulled over, and they both got out in the rain, started shouting.

  “Willow!” Her voice broke, and she started to cry. She remembered that night still so vividly, racing around New York City, looking in Willow’s favorite places, calling her friends. She’d been so frantic she’d felt unhinged. But this was so much worse somehow. Willow gone in this dark, wet place where the rain took Bethany’s voice and the beam of Henry’s flashlight was eaten by the impenetrable darkness.

  She wouldn’t hate herself for inviting Henry to dinner, even for springing it last minute on Willow. Her mistake here was that Willow thought she had a right to act like that, to abuse Bethany and then to run out into the night. Bethany had been too soft on her, too yielding and ready to take blame for Willow’s unhappiness. That was going to change.

  She didn’t realize until Henry came up and put his arms around her that she was sobbing. They were both soaked to the skin. The wind had picked up, but she leaned into him, was grateful not to be alone this time.

  “We will find her,” he said. She let herself believe him.

  The lights of an approaching car had them both moving toward the road. Bethany saw Jones Cooper in the driver’s seat as he brought his SUV to a stop. He stepped out wearing a dark raincoat that was already wet.

  “Mrs. Graves,” he said. That natural air of authority had put Bethany, irrationally, at ease. “I’m going to ask you to wait here with the car.”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t just sit here.”

  “Someone needs to be here if they come out of the woods,” he said. He put a soothing hand on her arm.

  “Mr. Cooper-”

  “It’s just that Henry and I grew up here,” he said. “We know these woods. It’ll be faster if we go alone.”

  She wanted to argue, but he was shepherding her toward the car, telling her to keep her cell phone on her lap. They’d call as soon as they found anything. “Lock the doors. If anyone but the kids approaches the vehicle, call the cops and lean on the horn.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “Like who?”

  “Like Michael Holt.”

  Bethany took a deep breath and did as she was told. She watched Henry through the window. He lifted a palm in an “it’s okay” gesture. Then they were gone, swallowed by the trees. The wind was picking up, bending the tips of the pines against the night sky, whistling around the car. Bethany wished she were a religious person. She wished that she could pray.

  ***

  The clearing at the Chapel was empty. The crime-scene tape around the hole had blown away and wrapped itself around a nearby tree. They walked the perimeter, calling out for the kids. But only the wind answered them. Henry returned to Marla’s grave, stood at the edge peering down into the emptiness. It looked to him like the loneliest, coldest place on earth. Jones came to stand beside him.

  “I heard tonight that the ME confirmed the bones were Marla Holt’s,” said Henry.

  “I heard, too. On the radio,” Jones said. “I wish I’d known back then. I wish I hadn’t let her lie out here all this time.”

  Henry was surprised to hear Jones say something like that. Henry turned to look at the other man. Rain was making rivers down his face. The wind was getting wild, whipping at their slickers.

  “I was her friend,” Henry said. “I should have known she wouldn’t run off on her children. I believed the worst of her, like everyone else.”

  Jones didn’t say anything, started to move away from the site. Henry grabbed his arm, and Jones turned back toward him.

  “I was there that night, Jones,” Henry said. He cast his eyes to the ground. The words felt like the release of a breath held too long. “I’m sorry I never told you, or anyone. I loved her.”

  When Henry could bring himself to look at Jones, he saw that the other man was staring at him. Jones Cooper had a chilly, assessing gaze that made people question themselves. What did he see when he looked at Henry? A coward, surely. A fool. Henry squared his shoulders, told him about the night and what had happened.

  “I never touched her, except to hold her as she cried that night. She told me that she was unhappy, that there was someone else beside her husband. Michael came home and caught us in an embrace. It was very awkward. I left.”

  Henry paused to breathe. “I never thought… she was in danger. I wouldn’t have left her if I had.”

  Jones glanced around the clearing, scanning the night with his flashlight.

  “Why now?” Jones said. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  Henry had a thousand answers. I thought she’d run off with someone else. How could I admit to loving another woman who would never love me? I was ashamed. I was angry. I never thought she’d come to harm. He issued some jumble of those things, couldn’t even bring himself to look at Jones.

  “It doesn’t much matter at this point.” Jones had to raise his voice over the wind.

  “But would it have mattered then?” Henry asked. He was practically yelling. “Would you have looked at her case differently had you known?”

  Jones rolled his head to the side, seemed to ease some tension out of his neck. “I might have looked at you a little harder.”

  “But not at Michael. Or Mack?”

  “It’s hard to say,” he said. Jones started moving back to the path.

  Henry followed. “After my run I went back. I saw Mack’s car in the driveway. Claudia Miller was sitting in her window, watching. Whatever happened that night, she must have seen it. Maybe she lied about the sedan.”

  “Why would she lie?”

  “That’s what I thought then, too. But who knows why we lie? A hundred reasons big and small.”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” said Jones. “We’re wasting time. If those kids are out here in this weather, we need to get them home.”

  Jones was walking more quickly now, with a sudden purpose.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the river.”

  “The Black River?” said Henry, even though there was no other river he could have meant. “Why?”

  “Don’t ask,” said Jones. “Just move faster.”

  Jones felt as if he were dreaming. Was he? A year ago he’d found himself in the woods on a night like this one. Back then he was trying to bury his past, to protect an awful secret he had hidden for decades. Tonight he was following the path of predictions he didn’t even believe. He could smell the rotting vegetation, slick in the rain, beneath his feet. The rain falling on his hood, the rushing river off in the distance, it all created a cocoon of sound around him. Even though Henry trailed behind him, Jones could believe he was alone in this place. He could turn around at any time, say to Henry that they needed to call the police, conditions were too harsh, the night was too dark. Those kids could be anywhere. And no one would have questioned that. But he didn’t. The irony, of course, was that if Eloise hadn’t come to him, it might never have occurred to him to check the banks of the river.

  The Black River wasn’t normally deep or fast. But tonight it could be, according to the news, a full two feet over its normal depth. The river worked its way through a glacial ravine lined with hemlock and pine, its rocky bed studded with boulders. Even in the summer, the water was cold.

  As Jones crested the rise, he saw that the river was high. And down below on the banks, he saw the beams of two flashlights bouncing like fireflies. The path before them, the one that would switch back all the way to the riverbank, was w
ashed away with rainwater. It would be faster, possibly safer, to cut down through the trees.

  But it would be treacherous; he thought about telling Henry to go back and call for help. But then he was making his way down the side, gripping onto wet trees, feet slipping beneath him. He crashed his knee against a rock. He heard Henry making a similarly graceless descent.

  The voices below, raised and frantic, carried over the sound of the river. But Jones couldn’t hear what they were saying. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled at them to stay where they were. But then he saw the flashlights start to move downriver fast. They were running.

  The bank of the river was gone; he had to make his way through the trees that usually stood high above. Up ahead he saw the flashlight beams bouncing, and he and Henry followed. Henry pulled ahead of Jones. He was lighter and stronger. Jones was already panting with effort, feeling the fact that he was as out of shape as his doctor kept telling him. Did you know, his doctor asked, that survival in extreme circumstances can come down to how long you are able to hold your own hanging body weight? How many pull-ups do you think you can do? Three, Jones could do three pull-ups, maybe four if he’d had a light lunch.

  As they drew closer, he saw the three slender forms. He heard Henry yell something, but Jones couldn’t make it out. And what happened next seemed like a memory, as though he had already been there so many times. And each time the events unfolded in exactly the same way, no matter what he did to try to alter them. He had the thought that maybe that’s just what life was, after all. Maybe you repeated it over and over again until you finally did the right thing-even though it was never really clear what the right thing was. He moved closer to them, called out to them again. But his voice was lost.