The Dark Light

by Walsh, Sara

  “I promise.”

  It was an easy promise to make. I had no intention of returning. There was still a piece of the puzzle to solve, the huge question that had kept me awake all through the night. And as soon as Pete left, I headed out to get some answers.

  * * *

  I dumped my bike on the track outside Crowley’s. I had only ever seen the house from the river, but from where I stood it appeared to be in an even worse state than I’d imagined. Only an undiscovered law of physics could explain how the structure survived. The dilapidated roof sank to the right. The tiny windows were crooked. If the storm season didn’t finish it off, then the overgrown yard would soon envelop it.

  I walked the dirt path to the door, passing a garage and outbuilding, both as ruined as the house.

  I knocked.

  Crows squawked in the trees. Squirrels bounded through last year’s fallen leaves.

  I knocked again.

  I’d been so focused on confronting Sol that it hadn’t occurred to me that he might have left for school. The house looked as empty as always. There was no sign of the blue truck.

  Willie’s words echoed: I haven’t seen Old Man Crowley for ages.

  Neither had I.

  I knocked twice more.

  I sidled to the window. Cobwebs and grime covered the glass, inside and out. I rubbed away what I could before peering inside. Beyond was the living room with a fireplace and hearth. Paper had peeled off the walls, exposing rotten boards blackened by mold. Two folding lawn chairs faced the fire with an upturned crate forming a makeshift table between them.

  There was no TV. No pictures. No rug.

  I stepped back and glanced up at the second-floor window. The drapes were drawn.

  Something was wrong here. Did Old Man Crowley really live in a house with foldaway chairs and a crate for a table? And where exactly was he? He could always be seen on Main Street, grumbling to himself as he bought junk at the hardware store or buckets of rusty nails from the flea market on the edge of town. Whatever the weather, he was always scurrying somewhere in that long black coat he wore. But not recently. Not since Sol had arrived.

  The smart thing would have been to turn tail and get the hell out of there, but since the moment I’d seen the lights from my bedroom window, smart had been low on my list of priorities. Jay couldn’t wait for the smart, sensible, and rational thing to do. He needed help now.

  I checked behind me. All clear. Then I crept to the rear of the house.

  That’s when I saw Sol.

  He sat facing the river about halfway down the sloping yard, his knees up and his arms draped across them. Chances were he hadn’t heard me knock, but I wasn’t convinced. I fought through the brambles, stopping about ten feet away.

  “I had a feeling you’d come,” he said. He didn’t turn around. His feet were bare, the bottom of his jeans wet from the dew-covered lawn.

  I’d been adamant that whatever Sol was hiding couldn’t be as dramatic as Kieran had surmised. Now I wasn’t so sure. There was no good reason for Sol to have lied about what he’d seen on the Ridge. Unless he was involved. Unless he knew the identity of the man beneath that cloak.

  “Then you know why I came,” I said. My stomach churned, but my voice remained steady and strong. No matter how I felt inside, I couldn’t allow any hint of weakness to surface. Not if I was to stand up to Sol.

  Sol rose slowly, his long limbs unfurling until he stood at full height. Physically, we were no match; if he wanted to, he could overpower me in a second. But that wasn’t my concern. Sol’s real power lay in his eyes. Commanding. Controlled. A barrier to rival the wall Willie was convinced I’d built around myself. With Jay’s life on the line, I was determined to break through it.

  “Why did you lie?” I asked. “You were right there. You saw the light.”

  The muscles in his jaw tensed. “I told the sheriff,” he said, “and I’ll tell you now: I was walking, I heard shouts. I came over, I found you. That’s it.”

  “You’re lying.”

  As soon as I said it, he flinched and looked away. A weakness. Brief, but visible. I seized the advantage.

  “Sol, my brother is missing,” I said. “If you know anything . . .” I trailed off.

  Sol’s lips were clamped together, his frown deep. He knew. I could see it all over him. “Mia . . .”

  Everything fell silent and still.

  Sol closed his eyes, chest expanding as he drew a deep breath. His tormented expression vanished. He looked up, chin raised, again in control. He’d never seemed so gorgeous.

  “I don’t know what happened to your brother, Mia,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  But not half as sorry as me. In the second it took him to say those words, I’d already formulated the next part of my plan. This wasn’t over. Not by a long way. Not until I’d uncovered the reason why Sol was lying.

  EIGHT

  I’d never before done anything this risky, so when I returned to Crowley’s that evening, I was so nervous I almost puked. But I was determined. Sol had been close to telling me something, of that I was certain. With no trace of Jay, I had to find out what that something was.

  I dumped my bike far from the house and hiked the remaining half mile. Sol’s truck was parked outside. The occasional shadow moved through the living room. Crouched, I waited.

  Sol left at eight. I lingered for ten minutes, zippered up my jacket, and then got to my feet. I was going in.

  The house loomed in the dusk, like a wicked witch’s lair in a kid’s fairy tale. With no notion of what I might find, I pictured children’s bodies, cages, ropes.

  And Old Man Crowley? The only thing I knew for certain was that OMC was no longer here. Where he’d gone was a mystery.

  I battled the undergrowth to the rear of the house and tried not to think about Sheriff Burkett and all of his “talks” that Willie and I had endured over the years. Somehow, we’d never covered breaking and entering. I tried not to imagine his look of disappointment if I were found here. It was reason enough not to get caught.

  The back door was locked, so I trampled rampant ivy to the window. I placed my hands to the glass and immediately noticed a creak as the window shifted. The frame had warped and was only wedged closed.

  I pulled. Damp, musty air hung inside the house. Scrambling up, I heaved my body through the gap and into the kitchen. A board rested between two cabinets beneath me. It swayed as I lowered myself down. I caught my breath. I said a prayer. The counter held.

  I took stock as soon as my feet hit the linoleum floor.

  Okay, I’d hardly been raised in a palace, but the place was a dive. There were four rickety cabinets with paint peeling from their doors. A sink with a single faucet. Two electric rings for cooking. No oven. No fridge.

  I opened one of the cabinets. The shelves were lined with damp, peeling paper. There was a bowl inside, two cups, and a stack of paper plates. A can of soup. A wholesale box of Snickers. A bag of trail mix.

  Palms clammy, I closed the cabinet and headed deeper into the house where stairs led off a narrow hall. The living room was to my right. To my left stood a closed door. I gently pushed it open and peered into the room beyond. Hampers, boxes, and crates filled the space, haphazardly piled like a life-size game of Jenga. If I’d pushed my luck with that makeshift counter, then rifling through these cardboard towers was tantamount to suicide. But somewhere in the house there had to be a clue.

  I had just pulled back from the doorway when my phone beeped. A brief heart attack followed. I searched through my pockets. It was a text from Willie.

  I’d dodged her calls all day, but sent a message that I was fine and that we could talk tomorrow. She’d left a voice mail earlier with an update: Still nothing of Jay, no trace of the man, no trace of anything but the trampled path we’d made through the Gartons’ fields. Hang in there, Mia. Dad’s gonna find him.

  I checked her text. It was two words: “Luv ya.”

  I sank onto the bottom of th
e staircase and stared at the screen. A second ago, I’d felt like the world’s only living person, creeping like a criminal through Old Man Crowley’s home. Now I felt Willie beside me. I knew exactly what she’d say: We should check upstairs. Find out what he’s up to. You go first.

  “Luv you too, Wills,” I whispered.

  I switched off my phone and began a slow climb to the upper floor.

  I headed for the bedroom at the front of the house. The curtains I’d spotted earlier had been opened. I peered through the window. There was no sign of Sol’s truck.

  “Don’t do this, Mia. It’s crazy.”

  Maybe so. But Sol had given me no choice.

  Crumpled sheets covered a cot beneath the window and there was a long, low chest beside it. On top of the chest sat a glass, a flashlight, and a loosely rolled scroll of paper, about a foot in length. It was caught beneath a pile of clothes—jeans, T-shirts, hoodies. Sol’s clothes.

  Taking care not to disturb the pile, I inched out the scroll, marking its position so I could put everything back just right.

  The scroll was thick, crumpled, and worn. I unrolled a couple of inches, just for a quick look. It was constructed from two sheets; some kind of vellum had been taped across the top edge of the lower sheet, forming a transparent overlay. On the lower sheet was a map.

  I took the flashlight from the chest, placed the scroll on the bed, and fully unrolled the papers.

  The bottom map showed Crownsville, with Onaly to the north and west. Not quite a street map, but detailed enough. The vellum overlay showed something quite different: Patches of dark shading that, when placed over the map, covered most of the two towns. And there were randomly dotted stars, too, at least fifteen or twenty in number. A dense cluster of tinier stars formed a line close to the center of the map, where there was no shading. I smoothed the vellum and the map of Crownsville popped into focus. What lay under the vellum’s starry line became clear: It was the Ridge.

  I lifted the overlay to ensure I’d read it right. There was the river. The woods. If I followed it just an inch, I could put my finger in the exact spot where I stood.

  I replaced the overlay and tracked the path of the other, larger, stars. There were a couple in Onaly, right in the middle of a shaded patch. There were four or five in the middle of nowhere, most close to the river. But then one, over the dark area on Crownsville, caught my eye.

  My fingers skimmed the vellum. Along Rowe to the elementary school. Along Route 6 from town. Between them empty land. And on the empty land . . . a star.

  My throat dried. My scalp tightened. There was only one other location to check, but I was beginning to guess what those stars meant. And there were two of them, right on the land by our house.

  Barely breathing, I glanced around the room. A pair of mud-stained boots lay beneath a wicker chair that was nestled between the eaves of the sloped ceiling. A second pile of clothes lay on its seat. A swath of dark fabric was draped across the back.

  I abandoned the map and grabbed the flashlight, shining it into the corner of the room. Whatever hung on the chair was long and black, just like the cloak I’d seen in the light.

  The walls closed in. I’d come this far. I had to know.

  I tucked the flashlight beneath my arm, darted for the chair, and then reached for the fabric.

  The first thing I noticed was the weight. It had to be twenty pounds. The same mud I’d seen on the boots was daubed across the hem. Sleeves slipped from the folds as I held it up.

  A collar. Cuffs. But no hood. It wasn’t the cloak I’d seen on that figure.

  Had I really thought it might have been Sol beneath that hood? That he’d conjured some elaborate light show by which to snatch Jay? Anyway, it could never have been Sol. He’d been with me when I’d seen that hooded man.

  But how to explain the map? Alex on Rowe. The lights in the cornfield. Jay on the Ridge. All covered with X marks the spot. Still I needed something more. Proof. Solid, undeniable proof. I put the coat back, and then shone the flashlight once more around the room.

  There was a trunk close to the door. Long and deep, it was carved from a dark wood. Thick metal bands crisscrossed the lid. There was no keyhole. No padlock.

  I looked through the window again. No sign of Sol. There was time.

  I crouched in front of the trunk and threw back the lid. Clothes and blankets covered the contents. On top of them lay a sword.

  I’d seen swords before. Sheriff Burkett had a few on the wall in his den. But they were fancier, elegant, I guess. Not this one.

  First, it was huge. It ran the full length of the trunk. Secondly, it was plain. No etchings or scrolls decorated the blade like the ones at the Burketts’. The only ornamentation was a thick band of worn brown leather on the grip. It was brutal-looking, a weapon designed for one purpose: running something through.

  I reached for the sword, my fingers curling around the hilt. It was heavy, like, really heavy, heavier than the weights Willie and I lifted during circuit training in the gym. This was a real, solid, blood-and-guts weapon.

  I plunged my hand down the side of the trunk and rifled to see what was hidden beneath. There was a handgun. A box of bullets. More clothes. There was a deep green shirt of linen or hemp, embroidered with tiny silver stitches. Another, heavily woven in the deepest of red. And then other things, things I’d never seen before. A marble-sized glass sphere inside a tiny box. A pouch that jingled as if filled with coins.

  I eyed the T-shirts and jeans beside the bed. It was the uniform of every guy at Crownsville High. Not like the clothes in the chest.

  I lifted the embroidered green shirt. Sol’s scent rose from it, like the woodlands alongside a river. It was the outdoorsy scent of Sol’s truck that I recognized from when he’d driven me to Mickey’s.

  As I carefully replaced the shirt, I tugged at the spine of a book, wedged down the side of the trunk.

  Symbols in Legend and Mythology.

  The dream bird book. As I pulled on the spine, the book caught on something beneath.

  “It can’t be . . .”

  I reached in, and then slowly withdrew my mom’s necklace.

  With all that had happened, I hadn’t given it a thought. Now I remembered. Almost twenty-four hours ago the necklace had been around my neck. I’d worn it when I’d taken off after Jay. I saw myself in the kitchen with Pete and the sheriff, standing outside Jay’s room, lying in my bed. I hadn’t been wearing it then. I was certain.

  It was definitely the same necklace; only the clasp was broken. A long strand of chocolate-colored hair was tangled in the links.

  Images flashed. Sol bowled into me from behind. Was that when he’d taken it? But why? I didn’t feel it fall. Because it hadn’t fallen; the broken clasp was evidence of that. It had been torn from my neck.

  The light brightened in the room. Necklace tight in my fist, I sprang to the window. Sol’s truck pulled up outside.

  My feet barely hit the stairs as I bolted for the kitchen, every nerve in my body on high alert. How long did I have? Minutes? Seconds?

  I hurtled into the back door. The necklace snagged in the latch as I battled to slide it free. The harder I pulled, the more the latch refused to budge. Footsteps approached outside.

  “Come on. Think!”

  My gaze swept down and relief followed. The bolt was pushed down in its cradle. It slid effortlessly when I lifted it. Cool air rushed inside.

  I’d barely cleared the lawn when Sol shouted. The darkness between the trees beckoned. It was like last night all over again, only this time I was the one pursued.

  I heeded no obstacle, barreling through branches and brush, darting between the never-ending trunks that threatened to block my path, fleeing from that sword and the map and a truth I was no longer certain I wanted to know.

  All the time, Sol drew closer, the sounds of his pursuit echoing through the wood.

  On and on. Like an out-of-body experience, I saw myself as if from above. Only the biting p
ain from the necklace, tightly crushed in my fist, anchored me to my body.

  My pace slowed as the land rose. I didn’t look back. The river on my right kept my path straight. Rocks appeared beneath my feet. I approached the Ridge.

  Head down, I powered up the final rise. Any second I’d burst free of the trees and could turn for the road and pray that someone passed. Maybe the officers and deputies were still out searching for Jay. The thought spurred me on. A hundred feet. Fifty. I neared an opening in the trees.

  Only seconds passed before I lunged out of the shadowy darkness and out onto the Ridge. The final tips of sunset faded out to the west. The moon hung low in the east. But there were no officers, no sheriff, nothing to mark this as the place where Jay had vanished.

  I’d barely cleared thirty feet from the trees when Sol bolted onto the Ridge.

  “Mia! Stop.”

  “The sheriff’s on his way,” I yelled. I continued to run, panicked, picturing him seizing me and hurling me into the river.

  No reply came.

  Hoping the threat would make him flee, I veered toward the track that led back to the road. Leaves rustled to my left.

  Sol emerged, lower on the slope—he must have ducked back into the woods and swerved around. He stood within paces of the path, my only route to the road. Flight or fight governed my response. I turned and fled back toward the Ridge.

  His heavy steps followed as soon as I moved. “Don’t! Mia.”

  I spun around. Sol had stopped, a safe distance away. He watched me intently. His shoulders and chest rose and fell with his rapid breaths. He reached out his hand. “Come down, Mia,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Mia.” Sol took several steps.

  I stepped back, inching closer to the edge of the Ridge and the forty-foot drop to the river.

  “Mia, don’t.”

  I glanced behind me. The drop was less than twenty feet away. “Don’t come any closer,” I warned. “I’ll jump.”

  With hands raised, Sol approached slowly.

  “I’m serious.” I cried. “I’ll jump!”

  My eyes darted left and right, frantically searching for escape. With Sol’s hands still raised, I imagined them around my neck, him squeezing just like when he’d twisted the wheel in his truck.