The Door to January

by Gillian French

  Natalie shut her eyes and lay there, her pulse gradually slowing.

  The footsteps continued on, but then, more curses. Both sets of footsteps circled back now, as if they were chasing each other.

  Peter’s voice, hitting the flat, bleating note it did when he was denied something: “Why not? You’ve had it the whole time. Come on. Just give it!”

  Scuffling sounds. Swearing, a thud as someone hit the ground—and then the shot.

  Natalie didn’t have time to cover her ears. She was deafened by it.

  Then she was up and running, flying forward before the echo had even faded. They could see her now, for certain, and she waited for the next explosion—the one that would bring her down.

  CHAPTER 26

  Lowell came through the Grill doors as Natalie was heading out back.

  “You’re early,” she said, stopping. “And dirty.”

  He looked down at his dusty LaBrie Landscaping T-shirt, the knees of his tan Carhartts soaked through with damp soil.

  “I’m not off work yet. I know we were planning to get together later, but I’ve got to go to a house we’re working at in Bar Harbor to drop off some rosebushes.” He jerked his thumb toward the parking lot, where his pickup sat, the bed loaded with bushes. “Last job for the day. Wanna ride along? It’s pretty out that way.”

  Cilla was off making a bank run, so Natalie glanced over at Delia, who raised a hand. “Your shift ended three minutes ago.” She added sternly, “Be safe, you guys. Remember. No extra stops.”

  “Damn,” he said, “guess that means no Make-Out Point.” Delia showed him her fist and he grinned. “We’ll be good. Promise.”

  Natalie glanced at Teddy, but he kept his eyes on the table he was clearing and wouldn’t look up long enough for her to wave good-bye.

  She got into Lowell’s truck and found her sneakers were resting on a floor mat. “The maid’s been in,” she said. Even the dash had been wiped clean.

  Lowell tapped the new pine-tree air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Classy with a capital C.”

  She made an effort to put thoughts of the house behind her, and was successful for the most part. The memories would torment her tonight as she tried to fall asleep: Irene’s fragile hope for a release that never came, Edith, dressed in red velveteen with blood trickling through her hair. And then the dreams of that day in the woods, dreams of Peter, so real and close that she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten how he used to sound. But this was her life, right now, her afternoon, and she was going to enjoy it. She could have one little ride this summer that was all hers.

  Lupines were in full bloom, pink and purple spears jutting up from roadsides and gardens. Lowell seemed satisfied not to talk, which was good, since Natalie wasn’t up for making dazzling conversation, either.

  He turned the radio on, and she hung her arm out the window, letting her fingers slice through the air.

  It was a green day for the ocean, reflecting a deep emerald shade. LaBrie was landscaping for the owner of an enormous McMansion, the house a jumble of architectural styles, monopolizing a wide expanse of waterfront view.

  Lowell worked in the side yard with three other guys while Natalie sat on the tailgate of his truck, swinging her feet and watching as they planted the bushes in twenty minutes flat, collected their tools, and split off for the day, the other guys casting curious looks back at her.

  Lowell smacked his gloves together and tucked them into his back pocket, looking at the house. “Cozy digs, huh?”

  “If you like that sort of thing. You know, six bedrooms and the ocean in your backyard.” She started sliding out of the bed and was surprised when he took her hand to help her down. It wasn’t a long drop—she was almost as tall as he was—but she held on all the same.

  “Not me.” He walked around to the driver’s side. “I’m gunning for a double-wide with a couple of pink flamingos by the door.”

  “Reaching for the stars, huh?”

  He smiled a little. “Anyplace that’s mine is all I need.” He noticed her half-smile. “What? Do I sound like a loser?”

  “No. You sound like Teddy.”

  Lowell laughed shortly. “Really? When I see him, I get the feeling he’s trying to set me on fire with his mind.”

  “Probably.” She hesitated. “You guys gave him a lot of shit in school.”

  He was quiet. “I said I was sorry for that.”

  “I know you are. Teddy doesn’t.”

  “You’re saying I should apologize to him? He’d want that?”

  “No. I don’t know.” She rubbed her face and sat back. “I don’t know what the right thing is.”

  They didn’t speak again until they passed a sign for a roadside takeout. “I know we said no extra stops, but I’m starving,” Lowell said. “What do you think? Let me buy you supper?”

  “Hmm . . . if you throw in a chocolate shake.”

  After they ordered, he backed the pickup to the stone embankment so they could sit in the bed and take in the view, a rocky ledge tumbling down to woods and then the ocean.

  “So this is the famous Make-Out Point.” Natalie took pity on him and laughed when he started to deny it. After a moment, she said, “I was wondering . . . why did you try so hard to make peace with me when I came back to town?” She watched him carefully. “I didn’t make it easy for you.”

  He rested his forearms on his thighs. “Because. I hate what happened that summer before you left. I hate the way I used to treat people. And I hate that a screwed-up kid like Peter had to die for me to see what a complete waste I was.” He looked down. “I like hanging out with you. I don’t know many people I can really talk to.”

  She said in a tone not quite as casual as she’d intended, “What about Delia? You talk to her.”

  “Yeah. She’s not going to stick around here long, though. She hasn’t found her thing yet, but she will. Art, design, whatever. When she does, she’ll move on and we won’t see her again.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.” She tilted her head to catch his gaze. “You don’t have to stay in Bernier, either, you know.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “What do you mean? You’ve got plans for school and everything.”

  “Yeah. Commuting. I mean, you live around here long enough, you start to recognize a lifer. It’s like they’re asleep inside. My dad. He’s one. My uncles. Jason. The old fogies you see in the Grill, day after day.”

  “And you, too? Come on.”

  She waited for him to laugh it off; when he didn’t, her gaze dropped.

  “It’s because of what you said about the hearing, isn’t it? When you decided that it didn’t matter what happened to you anymore.” She put her hand on his shoulder and shook it gently. “You don’t give your whole life away over one mistake.”

  There was a burst of static as their order number was called over the loudspeaker. When Lowell returned with the tray, Natalie ate for a while before saying, “What if I told you that I’ve been having dreams about that day in the woods?”

  “I’d say you’re not the only one.”

  “I mean dreams that feel like memories. I think they’re real.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “That day, after I ran away from you guys in the clearing . . . All I could remember were trees. On and on, forever. Something always felt weird about that, sort of . . . hazy. I figured my brain checked out for a good reason. Trauma, whatever. But there’s more than that.” She closed her eyes. “I remember hiding now. I heard people coming, so I crawled into some bushes. I heard Peter talking with somebody, saying Teddy and I had probably made it home and he wanted to give up the search. Then I heard him asking for the gun, like he wanted a turn holding it. Then there was the shot, and I ran.”

  Lowell stared at her, his burger forgotten. �
��You saw who shot him?”

  “No.” He was waiting, and at the last second, something kept her from saying But the dream isn’t over yet. She knew what finding an eyewitness could mean for Lowell. Suppose it didn’t go that far? Suppose her memories cut off as suddenly as they’d begun, leaving him with nothing but more questions? “No, I didn’t see. I ran.”

  They ate in silence, only broken when Natalie offered him some of her shake.

  When Lowell spoke next, his usual warmth and his grin were back.

  “Hey. You’re leaving this weekend. I probably won’t see you again.”

  She started to argue, but he stopped her, wearing his slantwise smile.

  “Can I ask something, then?” She nodded. “Can I kiss you?”

  She made a sound of disbelief. “Seriously?” Heat washed over her, and then her argument with Teddy in the kitchen came back in vivid detail. “Why?”

  “You really need to ask?” Lowell continued looking steadily at her.

  With the slightest hesitation, she kissed him first, not feeling the full shock until her lips were on his. His hands slid over her back, one running up under her shirt and pressing against her skin, and she moved into him. He smelled of sweat and cut grass.

  When it ended, she leaned against his chest for moment, finally lifting her eyes to meet his, the tips of their noses almost touching.

  “I guess I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he said, brushing her curls away from her brow. “How about you and me going to the fireworks on Friday? We can wait until then to say good-bye.”

  Her answer was a kiss.

  Later, the frigid breath of the house unfurled from the back doorway as she and Teddy stopped together on the step.

  “It could be him, you know.” His voice was flat.

  She looked at him, somehow sure that he knew, could see Lowell’s kiss printed on her. “What?”

  “You don’t know for sure that Lowell didn’t shoot Peter.”

  “Yes, I do, actually. You haven’t talked to him like I do. He hates what happened to Peter. He could never keep a secret like that.”

  “He could be trying to find out what you remember from that day.”

  “So which is it? He’s using me because I’m a girl, or because of what I know?”

  “Any reason it can’t be both?”

  “Okay. We need to stop talking about this now. It’s none of your business.”

  Teddy snorted, held up his hands. “Fine. Believe whatever you want.”

  “Thanks for your permission.”

  For once, she was almost glad to step into the cold and leave him behind.

  #

  Winter 1948

  Dreams allowed Edith little rest. The walls of the tiny space closed in, breathing like bellows. Hands strained for her in the darkness, small, girlish hands, longing to make contact. She always cried out right before the fingertips touched her face.

  There came the rattle of the lock, the scrape of a hand against wood. She was fairly sure she was awake—or was it another bad dream?

  A square of light expanded in the wall, and she knew he was back.

  Edith screamed as he dragged her forward by her ankles, hefting her up and over his shoulder. He carried her down a flight of stairs now, jouncing her. Edith fought, tearing at his neck with her fingernails.

  Door hinges squeaked. They stepped down, and the temperature dropped sharply. They were moving through a dim passageway of rooms that smelled of sawdust, firewood.

  Edith groaned. “Let me go . . . put me down, goddammit . . .”

  He took her out a back door into the cold, fresh air. Snowy fields stretched out to the left; beyond that, woods. They were skirting along the rear of a big connected farmhouse, and the barn loomed ahead. He edged down a slope to the back of the barn, where he finally dropped her.

  She scrambled back in the snow. He watched her, hands resting on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath, his great coffee-brown eyes shiny and intent. A dark-featured, husky fella. When she looked at him, he smiled.

  A brief struggle; she tried to get away, he dragged her back.

  “I see you,” she shouted as he grabbed the front of her dress, pinning her to the ground. “I see you now, you sonofabitch!” She hit and kicked him anywhere she could as he took a key from the pocket of his tartan coat to open a lock hanging from the sliding door to the barn basement.

  Stench gusted out. Old manure ran beneath a sharper, fouler odor. He pushed her inside, shutting the door as she attacked it. The lock snapped into place and she stopped, swaying, as his footsteps faded away. “I’m gonna kill you!” She punched the door once, sobbing.

  She turned to face the darkness beneath the barn floor. The basement ran the length and width of the barn itself. Light seeped in through the spaces between the planks above the stone foundation and she could see that there was junk everywhere, old barrels, busted blueberry baskets, rope.

  Edith shivered uncontrollably. Think. Cold wasn’t so bad; hunger, either. Maybe this was only a punishment, something to break the fight in her. Couple hours, he’d be back.

  “Smarten up,” she whispered. “Think about what you need.” Water, for one. She’d never been so thirsty.

  Edith stumbled over the other girl, who lay nearby in a fetal position.

  The girl had been so cold in the end that she’d drawn her arms inside the bodice of her dress and dragged her skirt down over her knees. She remained frozen that way, cocooned. As Edith stared, her vision adjusting to the darkness, the contrast of the girl’s pale dress seemed to glow like phosphorescence. The girl’s eyes were partially open, opaque as dusty stones. Most of her upper lip had withered away.

  Edith howled. She threw herself against the door, bounced off, and lunged again. This continued until she passed out.

  #

  CHAPTER 27

  Natalie ran for miles through the woods, cutting through the wilderness along the town line. Fear and shock drove her on as she stumbled over fallen trees and roots. They’d shoot her any moment now. They were right behind her.

  She emerged into an overgrown field and stopped, gasping, sick with exhaustion, disoriented with panic. Insects droned. There were no cars, no sounds of human life.

  A house and a barn stood on the hill across the road, crumbling and surrounded by a dark mass of brambles. She recognized it, yet still didn’t fully grasp that she was on Morning Glory Lane now, way across town from home. What she saw was a hiding place. She ran for it.

  Thorns scratched and prodded her. She could smell the old house stink from outside, mildew and wet rot. Someone was whispering to her on the wind again. Natalie looked up to the attic windows. The sunlight winked there, viciously, hurting her eyes.

  Natalie went around the house (worlds away, her sleeping form shuddered, resisting, trying to wake up) and looked at the back door. A padlock hung from the latch. She kept circling the building, pushing through the weeds.

  A door in the lower half of the barn stood open. As she looked over at it, she understood at once that this was where the whispering was coming from. Deep down. A soft, imploring call—not a voice, exactly, more an impulse. As if a good friend were waiting inside, peering out and wishing she’d come in so they could see each other better.

  She went over, standing at the doorway for a moment, head cocked, listening. The expression on her face was smooth, disconnected. She went inside.

  Natalie snapped awake to late-night TV.

  She sat up on the couch in the dark living room, running her hands through her hair. The gaping barn basement still yawned in her memory, a black maw, inviting her in. And she’d gone in. God, had she forgotten that she’d been inside that barn, of all places? Not possible. The memory had been taken from her, somehow, stripped away like old paint.

  She registered Teddy’s form in
the easy chair. They’d stayed up late, talking about Irene. Maybe Vsevolod had choked her first and thought she was dead before he hid her away, but she wasn’t. Or maybe he didn’t care. They talked about everything but Lowell, a subject that was now most definitely off limits. They both must’ve dozed off.

  The TV flashed as a commercial began, filling the room with light. Teddy was awake. His eyes were wide, and he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard the fabric was bunched between his fingers. His gaze was fixed on a space above her head. She looked up.

  Three balls of brilliant light hung in the air. She shrank back. The lights moved with her. Hovering, blinking softly. Waiting.

  Teddy’s mouth barely moved. “Hold still.”

  After a moment of apparent indecision, the lights drifted, scaling the wallpaper and then the ceiling, twining around each other. They were hot white at the center, with auras of blue. They sank down in front of Teddy. His stunned expression was bathed in their glow.

  The lights arranged themselves in a circle and spun above his nose, casting reflections in the TV and the glass face of the clock on the wall. This went on for an unknown period of time, the whole room charged with something like ozone. The air crackled with it.

  Then, with sudden purpose, the lights rose. They merged, joining into a single pulsating globe. Something old and craven stirred in Natalie. She knew what came next. God help her, somehow she did. She cringed against the couch cushions with a shriek as the light shot forward, heading straight for her.

  The overhead lamp burst on. Teddy stood at the switch plate. “Are you okay?”

  Footsteps thudded down the staircase. Cilla appeared in her robe, her eyes swollen and bewildered. “What’s wrong?” She ran to the front door, peering out through the curtains. “Is somebody trying to get in? Did you see somebody?”

  For a second, neither of them could speak.

  “Everything’s fine,” Teddy blurted. “We were horsing around, and Natalie yelled. Sorry.”

  Cilla took one last look at Natalie, who couldn’t summon a response at all. “Oh. Well.” After a long moment of consideration, she turned and went upstairs again, pausing once to glance back. “Keep it down, okay?”