“It just all seems a little over the top. A little theatrical,” Dr. O. said about Phoebe’s weekend adventures.
“I agree,” Phoebe said. “Whoever these people are, they have a flair for the dramatic.”
“This is like one of those crazy Missing Persons stories from TV,” Franny said. “A woman disappears for fifteen years, only to return and send everyone’s lives spinning out of control.”
“But not many missing people claim they were living in the land of the fairies,” Phoebe said.
“I don’t know about fairies,” Franny said, “but something weird is going on in those woods. A whole town disappearing like that all those years ago. Plates of food on the tables. Cows unmilked in the barns.”
Dr. Ostrum shook her head. “That’s not what happened,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Phoebe asked.
“I’m afraid it’s not the story of intrigue people like to believe. If you really do the research, you’ll see that the truth is the town dried up slowly, like any other. People packed up and left to go where the work was. They moved closer to the railroad, the quarries, better pasture land for the animals. But that’s dull and doesn’t make for a good story. So over the years, people embellished it, turned it into this eerie legend. The mysterious disappearance of the town called Reliance.”
“But Sam’s mother said that’s what happened. Her grandfather was found out there,” Phoebe said.
Dr. O. shook her head. “Come on, Phoebe. What’s more likely, that he was left by fairies—fairies!—or that he was a child someone had out of wedlock, maybe an orphan, a regular old abandoned infant in the days before access to birth control, much less safe, legal abortion? Stories passed down in families aren’t always the truth. You know that.”
“I still say there’s something creepy about those woods,” Franny said. “And what about the Lord’s Prayer carved into the rock on the way into town? I heard the guy who did it was trying to protect Harmony from what was out in those woods.”
Dr. O. shook her head, laughing. “Just another story,” she said. “And even if it’s not, the man who did it was obviously too caught up in the stories himself.”
“What about all the fairy stuff?” asked Franny. “And what about Lisa? A little girl doesn’t just vanish like that.”
“No,” Dr. Ostrum agreed. “Of course not. Someone—some real, tangible person—took her. No doubt someone who took advantage of her gullibility and superstition. There are evil forces at work here, but I’d say they’re definitely the human kind—as much as that lacks romance. I think the best thing you can do, Phoebe, is leave all of this alone. Tell the police about the note, the phone call, the impostors at the cabin, your stolen things, all of it. Let them sort it out—that’s their job. Someone’s playing games with poor Sam, and it’s not right. But the longer you play along, the harder it’s going to be to extricate yourselves.”
Phoebe nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
“Oh, almost forgot, here,” Dr. Ostrum said, handing the little velvet bag of teeth to Phoebe. “I took another look. Horse. Definitely horse.” She put on her coat and headed for the door.
“Thanks,” Phoebe said, tucking the little bag into her purse next to the unopened pregnancy test.
They called their good nights to each other, and Dr. O. made her way across the parking lot and started her Saab. As Franny was about to go out the door, Phoebe called out, “Wait a sec, would you?”
“What is it?” Franny said, turning back.
“Have you ever done one of these before?” Phoebe asked, holding up the pink and white cardboard box that held the pregnancy test.
Franny’s eyes grew wide and her mouth made a little O shape, but no sound came. Just her breath, which seemed strangely loud.
“It’s just that I never have and I’m a little freaked out,” Phoebe said. “I was hoping you would stay.”
Franny dropped her jacket and purse, bolted the door, and flipped the CLOSED sign. She came behind the desk and enveloped Phoebe in a big hug. “Let me see that thing,” she said, reaching for the box and reading the instructions. “Can’t get much more simple. Pee on the stick, wait three minutes. If a plus sign shows up, it’s positive.”
Phoebe nodded, taking the box back. “I guess I’ll go take care of step one, then.”
Franny held on to her arm. “Are you sure, Phoebe? Wouldn’t you rather do this at home with Sam? Does he even have any idea?”
Phoebe shook her head. “No. I need to know for sure before I say anything.”
Franny nodded. “Go pee, then come back out here. We’ll wait together.”
It was the longest three minutes of Phoebe’s life. “Is it time?” she kept asking.
Franny stared down at her watch, refusing to let Phoebe peek until the time was up. “Now,” she said at last, and they hurried, jostling against each other, into the bathroom where the plastic stick rested on the back of the toilet. And there, like crosshairs in the little window, was a bright blue plus sign.
Phoebe got home at six after stopping at the grocery store, where she discovered she’d somehow lost the list. She had to muddle her way through, relying on her Swiss cheese memory. (Was it eggs they needed or milk? She bought both. And ice cream. Three different kinds. She thought about adding a quart of pickles to the cart, bringing it home and making her own special sundae in front of Sam, telling him that way.) While in the store, she wandered down the baby aisle, studying the diapers, creams, wipes, spoons, bottles, formulas, and little jars of food. As she looked at the stocked shelves, she realized how totally unprepared and clueless she was. Who even knew there were special brushes for cleaning bottles? Or at least seven different kinds of formula to choose from? Was soy-free better? And who gave their baby goat’s milk formula? ORGANIC, it said. That would definitely be Sam’s choice. But wasn’t breast-feeding better than all of that? She was suddenly aware of her own breasts aching, feeling huge and swollen. A mother. She was going to be a mother.
She’d sobbed when she first saw the plus sign, then denial hit hard and fast. “Tests can be wrong,” she’d said to Franny.
“No,” Franny told her. “False negatives, yes. But it’s impossible to get a false positive with these things. Trust me.”
They’d sat down and talked it through. Phoebe was going to go home, cook Sam a wonderful dinner, and tell him.
“But he doesn’t want a baby!” she’d howled. “What if he thinks I’m trying to trap him?”
Franny reached over and stroked her hair. “Bee,” she’d said, “this is Sam you’re talking about. He’s one of the kindest, smartest, most understanding people I know. And he loves you like crazy. It’s going to be okay. Just go home and tell him. You’ll work it out together.”
So Phoebe stopped at the store to pick up ingredients for spaghetti and salad, one of Sam’s favorite meals. She threw a bottle of merlot into her cart, a couple of gold candles that seemed like good luck. She’d make a romantic dinner, give him a little wine, and tell him about the baby.
When she finished shopping, she was starving, so she went through the McDonald’s drive-through and scarfed down a quarter-pounder with cheese, fries, and a chocolate shake. It seemed crazy to eat when she was about to make dinner, but all she’d had for lunch were some saltines and a Granny Smith apple. She had to find a way to do better—she was eating for two, after all. Maybe she should have picked up some prenatal vitamins at the store.
She sat in the parking lot finishing the last of her shake with the motor running. Sam hated McDonald’s and was a vegetarian for the most part, so Phoebe kept these little trips to herself. She was always careful to throw away all the packaging so she wouldn’t get a lecture about how she was supporting an evil corporate empire intent on poisoning the world. When Sam did eat meat, he insisted it be organic, local, cruelty-free (a term that made no sense to Phoeb
e . . . they’d killed the animal, right? How was that not cruel?).
Sam’s truck wasn’t in the driveway. Balancing grocery bags, she unlocked the door and carried everything in. The answering machine was blinking and she pushed PLAY, still balancing the groceries in her arms. The first message was from Sam. The tree service he worked for was clearing a lot and he said he’d be home late.
The machine beeped a second time and Franny’s voice came on: “Hey there, Bee. I just wanted to tell you I love you and I’m thinking of you. If you need anything, just call. Oh, and I thought of something you might be interested in. There’s this girl, Becca Reynolds. She was in the same class as me and Sammy. I was kinda friends with her, but mostly because I felt sorry for her. Anyway, she and her brother lived two houses down from Sam and Lisa. They hung out a lot. They moved away just after Lisa disappeared, down to Massachusetts, I think. Anyway, I just ran into Becca the other day—she’s moved back to Vermont and is working in the floral department at Price Chopper over in St. Johnsbury. I thought maybe you and Sam might want to talk to her. Who knows—she might remember something from the time Lisa went missing. As I recall, she was all into the fairy stuff, went around telling everyone that she’d seen the Fairy King herself. Anyway . . . I hope everything goes well tonight. I know it will. Let’s get together soon, huh? Maybe Friday after work? Let me know.”
The third message was from Evie.
“Sam?” said a quavering voice into the machine. “They were here. My place is trashed. They hit me over the head. I’m afraid they’ll be back. I don’t know what to do. If you get this, please—” There was a little wheezing breath, then the line went dead.
Phoebe dropped the grocery bags, grabbed the phone, and punched in Evie’s number. She let it ring twelve times before giving up and trying to get Sam on his cell. It went right to voice mail. “Damn!” she said. Sam had either left his phone in his truck or was out where there was no service. She slammed the phone down and scrawled a quick note to Sam.
Gone to rescue Evie.
(Play phone message)
Love, Bee
CHAPTER 16
Lisa
JUNE 8, FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
A light bobbed down the path through the woods.
“Lisa? Lisa! Where are you?”
“Here,” she called, her voice small and flat. She clung to the damp stone wall of the cellar hole, watched as the light moved closer.
She’d been unable to move out of the hole since hearing the scream, terrified of what might be out there. But now they were coming to rescue her.
Suddenly the light was in her face. Bright. Blinding. Interrogation light. She put up her hands to shade her eyes.
“Are you okay?” It was Evie’s voice, wheezing and frantic. “We fell asleep. God, I’m so sorry! I heard you scream. That’s what woke me. What happened? Jesus, get the light off her face, Sam.”
Lisa listened to Evie try to catch her breath—she must have run all the way down from the yard.
“It wasn’t me,” Lisa said, putting her hands back down. She looked up and saw Evie and Sam at the edge of the cellar hole, two pale faces peering down, making her feel like a tiger in a pit at the zoo. “I didn’t scream.” Lisa saw that Evie had her hunting knife clenched in her hand.
“Well, who the hell did, then?” Evie asked, sheathing the knife.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell what it came from,” Lisa admitted.
She squinted past her brother and cousin, scanning the dark woods for any sign of movement.
“Fisher, maybe,” Sammy said. “Or an owl.”
“That was no damn owl,” Evie said, sounding a little spooked as she looked around the woods, then back down at Lisa. “Come on. Let’s bug out. Go back to the house.” She held out her hand.
“What’s that?” Sam asked. The beam of the flashlight was pointed at a little nest of cut ferns down in the cellar hole, right beside Lisa. In it, like a strange, misshapen egg, was a cloth bundle wound round and round with string.
“Give me the light!” Lisa said, reaching up.
She scanned the corner and saw that the plate of sweets was empty, the cup drained.
“Damn it!” she snapped. How could she have missed it? She couldn’t believe she’d let herself fall asleep.
She turned the light back down on the ferns and picked up the bundle. The cloth was worn and dirty—white or beige once, now stained brown. The string was thin and waxy.
“Bring it up here,” Evie instructed, holding out her hand to help Lisa out of the hole. “Lemme see,” Evie said, grabbing for the bundle, but Lisa held it tight.
“No,” she said. “I’ll open it.”
Tucking the flashlight between her tilted head and shoulder, Lisa went to work untying the string. Evie moved so that she was toe to toe with Lisa, her head bumping Lisa’s as they both looked down.
“Careful,” Evie warned. Lisa stopped what she was doing, suddenly frightened by what might be inside. More teeth? Some other body part?
What had the scream in the woods been? Was whatever it was still out there, watching?
Pushing the questions from her head, she went back to work untying the strange egg-shaped bundle.
Lisa finally got the string off and slowly opened the stained, worn cloth. Inside was a round silver medal with the words SAINT CHRISTOPHER PROTECT US around the edge. In the center was a picture of a man with a staff and beard carrying a child on his back.
“Is he stealing the kid?” Sammy asked, leaning in for a closer look.
“No, dummy,” Evie said. “That’s Christ. Look at the halo. He’s carrying Christ across a river. Don’t you know the story?”
Sammy shook his head.
“This guy, Saint Christopher, he’s the patron saint of travel. You’re supposed to pray to him and stuff when you take a trip. Carrying this is supposed to bring good luck if you get on a plane or a boat or something.”
“How do you know all this?” Lisa asked. No one in their family was even slightly religious. When she’d once asked if she and Sammy had been baptized, her parents had laughed like it was the most ridiculous question in the world. When she told them that Gerald and Pinkie said she wouldn’t get into heaven if she wasn’t baptized, they laughed harder still.
“Not everyone believes in God and heaven,” Da had explained. “The people who do tend to think that they’re right and anyone with different beliefs is wrong.”
“Well then, what do we believe?” Lisa asked. Da looked at Lisa’s mom, who smiled.
“That organized religion is the opiate of the masses,” her mom said.
“Huh?” Lisa said.
“That people should be educated enough to make their own choices,” Da said.
Lisa’s mom snorted. “Right,” she said. “I’m sure that’ll happen any day now, honey. And the sky will rain pink lemonade and we’ll have snow made of big, puffy marshmallows.”
Lisa looked down at Saint Christopher, then at Evie. “Well?” she said. “What makes you an expert on saints all of a sudden?” She hated when Evie knew something she didn’t. Lisa was the one who read all the time. Evie got F’s in school, never went to the library.
“I go to church sometimes,” Evie said at last, looking shy about it, like it was a secret and she shouldn’t have told.
Lisa stared up at her, perplexed. She didn’t know what was weirder—the idea of Evie going to church or the fact that Evie had kept this a secret from her.
“What, with your mom?” Lisa asked.
“No,” Evie said. “Don’t say anything to her, huh? She’d kill me. I go by myself. There’s one about two miles from our house. Sometimes I get on my bike and ride down. They have doughnuts after.”
“So what, you’re getting in good with God for doughnuts?”
As soon as she said it, she knew she s
houldn’t have. She was just pissed that Evie had kept a secret.
“Forget it,” Evie said. “Let’s just get back to the house.” She turned away and started toward the hill through the darkness. Lisa and Sam followed, Lisa holding the flashlight in one hand, the Saint Christopher medal in the other.
“Well,” Sammy said, as they walked along. “One thing’s for sure—if the medal is supposed to protect you when you travel, it was found by the wrong person. Lisa never goes anywhere.”
At that moment, from the dark woods off to the left, came another voice, a girl’s voice edged with panic.
“Did—did you see him?” They all froze.
Lisa pointed the beam of the flashlight toward the voice and spotted Pinkie, partially hidden behind a tree.
“See who?” Lisa asked.
“The bogeyman,” Pinkie said.
“What do you mean?” Evie asked, moving slowly toward Pinkie, who was cowering behind the tree.
“You stay away from me,” Pinkie said. “You busted Gerald’s arm, you know? We were at the hospital for hours. My mom’s real pissed—she had to miss work and everything. She might get a lawyer and sue your asses off.”
The Jennifer McMahon E-Book Bundle Page 88