Little Whispers

by Glen Krisch

  “The man who put the charm in the pile of stones in the first place?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “He did it, didn’t he? He … killed them.”

  Poppa nodded. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, but he didn’t cry. He didn’t look like he still possessed the ability to do so.

  “Did you think I would find bones at the end of the map?”

  He stammered and his eyes widened, as if he just realized how young she was. “I … I don’t know.”

  “And how … how did you know this man?” Clara asked.

  Poppa looked away, but not before she noticed deep remorse twisting his features.

  “Poppa …” she whispered, but he wouldn’t face her. “Poppa!” she shouted. “You know who did this? Who killed Melody and Breann? It’s Edgar Jenkins, isn’t it?”

  He shot a glance her way. “How do you know his name?”

  “Am I right?”

  She would never forget the name her mom had mentioned on the drive to the summer house. The man who was also the reason she had never returned until this trip.

  “Yes,” he said in a low whisper.

  “Who is he?” she pressed.

  “He’s a monster.” Poppa rubbed his eyes and groaned. “He’s a monster who took children. Some from here in Michigan. Others in Wisconsin, and most likely in Indiana and Illinois. He hurt them, let them die slowly.”

  Bile rose in Clara’s throat. “How did you have his map?”

  “I always wanted to know where to find Breann. I … I started writing a book, hoping I could use it to be able to see him face to face. After months of pleading and negotiations with his attorney, I was granted an interview. This led to eight visits to the prison where he’s to live out his life for killing three other girls. So he dictated the map to me. He told me it would lead to Breann. He told me it would set her free …”

  Poppa closed his eyes and his chest hitched.

  Clara sat on the bed and placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her with agony, guilt, and remorse. She nodded, imploringly, hoping he would continue.

  “I wanted to know … why them? Why here? ” he said. “But also, I wanted to figure out what would make someone do those things in the first place.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I found a monster doing monstrous things for no other reason than he was acting within his nature. Just like a coyote taking down a lame fawn. And I was never able to learn … I was never able to bring home your mother’s friend. Breann …”

  So many things suddenly made sense, even though Poppa had never found Breann.

  Poppa, his face an utter ruin, looked beyond the breaking point. His bulging eyes shed a single tear that trailed down the crags of his withered face. He nodded, and the tear fell from his chin to the sheet covering his lap.

  She didn’t know what else to do, so she climbed onto the bed and snuggled next to him.

  “Poppa?”

  “Yes, Clarabelle?”

  “Why didn’t you ever follow the map? Even when you weren’t … sick, even then you could’ve followed it.”

  He took a ragged breath before saying, “I just couldn’t take any more pain. Looking back, I can see how selfish that sounds. What’s my pain compared to the ongoing pain felt by Breann’s family?”

  “Where are they? Her family?”

  Poppa clutched Breann’s heart charm against his chest until his knuckles turned white and his hand trembled. While Clara wanted to show her mom the charm, she wanted to bring it to Breann’s parents, no matter where they were located.

  “I lost track of the McCorts after they moved, a couple of years after Breann disappeared. They’d only bought the neighboring house after one of Brandon’s investments in a tech upstart netted a big return. Unfortunately, their luck didn’t last, and it didn’t take long before they struggled paying for both their house in Indianapolis and the summer house here on the Little Whisper. Even after they moved away, I couldn’t escape the idea I could’ve done something more. That I could’ve stopped him before he took her. I’ve been so tempted to track them down, just to hear their voices, to hopefully hear healing in their voices.”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Poppa. That was so long ago.”

  “You sound just like my Francie.” He chuckled. “I hear your words, Clarabelle, but hearing and doing don’t always follow one after the other.”

  “Can you at least try?” she asked.

  “I guess I can try. For you.” He held up the heart charm, smiled sadly as he stared at it.

  “What are you going to do with it?” she asked.

  He pursed his lips. “I’m not exactly sure. Like I said, I don’t know where the McCorts are, and I don’t know if sending this necklace would do more damage than good.”

  “What about giving it to Mom?”

  “I’d rather not waken any more pain. Those memories are old, but still raw. I can see it in her eyes.” Poppa undid the clasp. “How about you become its caretaker? You’ll take good care of it, right?”

  “Of course. But why me?”

  Even though she was uncertain about wearing Breann’s charm, Clara leaned forward, almost subconsciously.

  Poppa placed it around her neck and refastened the clasp.

  “It just makes sense, right?” Poppa said.

  Clara didn’t reply, the charm resting below her collar bones. It felt substantial, and in some fashion, alive.

  CHAPTER 25

  When Krista left the graveyard, she noticed Clara cutting along the side of the yard, heading for the back of the house. She looked filthy and tired from her hike, and in a hurry.

  At least she’s okay.

  Krista clutched Poppa’s binder against her chest, giving the forested walkway a couple of glances as she went across the lawn. She saw no evidence of Breann—either in her youthful, wholesome appearance, or her bloody, decayed incarnation—as she neared the house.

  “Hey, Krista, you okay?” Leah called out.

  Leah was gathering the croquet equipment as Trev and Robby raced to grab the last few wickets.

  “Yeah, just …” She couldn’t help it. She looked back at the graveyard one last time. “Never mind. I’m just feeling a bit sad.”

  Krista went up the porch steps and was somewhat annoyed when Leah followed her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’re going to see Poppa, right?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess. I also wanted to check on Clara. She just got home.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen Poppa since this morning, so I’m going to see if he needs anything.”

  Krista rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  When they reached Poppa’s door, Krista wasn’t sure if she should knock, in case he was sleeping. She set Poppa’s binder on the floor and opened the door as quietly as possible.

  Poppa turned, smiling when he saw the two of them enter. He didn’t look to be in much pain, just exhausted.

  Clara was curled up at his side, asleep.

  “Is she okay?” Krista asked.

  “More than okay,” he whispered. “She’s exhausted from a grand adventure.”

  “Okay.” She wanted to confront him about what she’d learned in his manuscript. Wanted to know more than anything why he’d kept so much from her. But his tired, satisfied smile held her back; that, and the gruesome sight of Breann decaying before her very eyes.

  She shuddered at the memory.

  She watched her daughter’s posture, an echo of all those glorious years spent at the summer house. Poppa had always been there, not only for her, but everyone in their family. He had been there to comfort and console, to teach and impart wisdom. If there had been anything important to convey to her, he would’ve done it. Now, without question, she und
erstood.

  “Poppa …?” Clara said softly.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I love you.”

  “I never tire of hearing that. I love you, too. The both of you.”

  Krista and Leah stepped away from the room, closing the door behind them. Krista picked up the binder, finding unexpected strength from the words held within.

  “What was that about?” Leah asked.

  “What?”

  “You looked like you were going to rake him over the coals or something.”

  “I know he knows more about Breann than he’s letting on … but … I just couldn’t confront him about it.”

  “That’s probably for the best.”

  “But I also haven’t given up on finding Breann’s resting place.”

  “It sounds like you’ve given up on the idea that she’s still out there somewhere, living a regular life.”

  “I had to.”

  Leah looked at her sister closely, arching one eyebrow. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you? You’ve seen Breann?”

  “How … how did you know?”

  “It’s so perfectly obvious now. So it’s true?”

  “Yes. I saw Breann. She asked me for help. She told me only one person knew where she’s buried.”

  Leah gasped and fought back tears. “I think I knew in my heart the whole time … you know, that she was dead.”

  “I know, me too.”

  “So that one person, it’s not …?”

  “Yes,” Krista said. “It’s Edgar. I need to talk to him.”

  “How? He’s in prison. He’s never getting out, thank God.”

  “I’ll just have to visit him, then, won’t I?”

  Krista began formulating a plan as she made her way back toward the den. It was a crazy plan if she were to consider it with an unjaundiced eye. But it made so much sense.

  “What are you doing?” Leah asked as she followed a step behind.

  Krista found her purse on the end table and removed her cell phone. She pulled up the search engine and within a minute tracked down the phone number for Allen Dougherty, Esquire. It took another minute or two of hesitation, of beginning to dial and hanging up, before she finally let the phone make the connection.

  “I’m calling Edgar’s attorney.”

  “Now that’s a conversation I couldn’t have predicted.”

  “And that’s not the worst of it. I also have to figure out how to tell Neal I’m going to talk to Edgar.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Jack wondered that perhaps the ultimate twist of madness was thinking Nan had turned evil upon her death. How could he have believed that possibility? Nan was an angel, and only some outside influence could’ve turned her disposition so quickly on its head.

  He gathered a tackle box and fishing pole from inside the garage before cutting through the house to the back deck. From the dust and beginnings of rust on the equipment, Poppa hadn’t fished in quite some time.

  Jack would’ve expected advice on spiritual matters to come from Leah, not Krista. Leah was the sibling who saw auras, felt future turns of fate in her bones. Krista had always been the practical sister, the stay-at-home mom who married an on-the-cusp lawyer. Even so, Krista had opened his eyes. If Nan’s spirit had been corrupted in some nefarious way, then Jack might be able to save it as well.

  He stepped out onto the deck, his gaze frozen at the top of the stairs.

  A flash of memory: Nan’s outspread arms, Nan falling forward, Nan letting gravity take her in its grip. He had to look away to catch his breath.

  As he slid the door shut, sunlight poured into the room as someone entered through the front. Jack melted back into the shadows as Leah and Krista headed for Poppa’s room.

  He hurried past the spot where Nan had taken the plunge down the stairs. The metal spinners, antique cork bobbers, and hooks rattled inside the tackle box with his movements.

  Dark clouds rolled in over the wooded horizon. Rain was in the air, wet and warm.

  Jack swore under his breath when he reached the boat, realizing he’d forgotten about the oars. He gripped the lip of the boat and tugged up once, twice, and on the third heave the momentum tipped the boat right-side-up. He reached under the bench seat, fumbled around thick spider webs that broke under his touch.

  “Haha, yes.” He found two oars stashed beneath, both in good condition. “Good luck for once.”

  “Hey there, Jack,” Neal called out, approaching from the direction of the water. “I didn’t know you were heading out.”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d get in some night fishing.”

  “We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

  “That’s all right. I packed a sandwich.”

  “You did?” Neal looked inside the boat.

  “It’s in the tackle box.”

  Jack placed the fishing pole and tackle inside the boat. He hadn’t thought ahead about what he was doing. He hated lying to Neal, but he needed to do this alone.

  “Well, okay,” Neal said, looking concerned. “Give me a minute and I’ll grab another pole from the garage. We’ve been talking about taking the boat out since we got here.”

  “Maybe tomorrow? I need to …” Jack looked toward the water. His mind flashed to the sight of Nan’s spirit chasing him out to the anchored dock. Her and the dead children, glowing, their eyes vacant, all reaching for him. Out there, in the middle of the lake, was the strongest he’d seen her spirit; if he was going to make contact with her, deliberately, it would be out there. “I need some time to clear my head. That okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Just be careful. Looks like rain is coming in. If you see lightning, come right back.”

  “For sure, for sure.”

  Jack grabbed the rope and tugged until the boat slowly shifted in the sand.

  “Hold on.” Neal went to the back of the boat and gave it a push until Jack built up the momentum to drag it to the water.

  Jack waded in up to his mid-thighs. “Thanks, bro,” he said, and hopped inside.

  Neal smiled and gave a small wave, which did nothing to erase the concern Jack saw staring at him as he paddled away from shore.

  Jack barely had a game plan. The Nan he’d seen wasn’t the Nan he remembered long ago. She had changed. No, more accurately, something had changed Nan. Something vile and sinister. He couldn’t let it pass. He couldn’t allow her soul, her spirit, her whatever-still-lingered in this world, to be corrupted by something evil.

  Oars in hand, he braced his sandaled feet on the floor of the boat and leaned all the way forward before pulling back, slicing the water. He quickly put distance between him and the shore, even after his bum shoulder ached after only a dozen or so strokes. Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his back. It felt good to exert his muscles, to strain his body and see his efforts measured in the growing distance from shore.

  A steady wind braced his back, cold and portending rain and an early sunset. He pulled even harder on the oars, his momentum taking him easily past the anchored dock. When he reached the middle of the lake, his lungs burned. The boat drifted on the last of its inertia, twirling in a slow arc by the lake’s nearly invisible waves.

  “You didn’t fall, did you, Nan?” he asked the water, the lapping waves. “You threw yourself down those steps. You had that dead-eyed stare. That’s the worst part of it, you know, remembering how your eyes looked right before it happened. You threw yourself down those stairs, but it wasn’t you, was it?”

  Lamps blazed inside the summer house in the distance, shining like lighthouse beacons calling all to the safety of the shore. Trev would be tagging along with Robby and Leah. He pictured Leah raising his son, someone with a kind and generous heart and no ulterior motive. He closed his eyes, picturing Robby and Trev bonding like brothers. It didn’t fill him with a sense of loss; Trev would b
e better off living with his sister. Imagining him otherwise seemed wrong.

  “Whatever happens,” Jack said, “Trev will be looked after.”

  When he opened his eyes, the skies had darkened. Thunder rumbled. The chill wind heaved the storm through the surrounding woods, sending birds skittering aloft in search of dry perches. Rain pattered the far reach of the lake and expanded steadily across its surface, until he knew the second before it would touch his skin.

  “Nan, speak to me.” His voice strengthened against the building storm. The rain soaked his shirt within seconds. “I’m here. You know I’m here!”

  Jack again closed his eyes. He saw Poppa standing next to Nan’s coffin. The old man’s skin was tan, his cheeks no longer gaunt. He carried a good thirty pounds more than he did now. Looking both healthy and shattered, he placed his palm against the auburn coffin, and his tears, which had been under control for the last hour, came back in full force.

  Of course, Leah had been there to console Poppa. As the casket lowered into the empty grave, Leah turned him away and wrapped her arms around him. Poppa wept like a child.

  Jack could do nothing to help, and so he had backed away from the graveyard alcove. The dry rasp of dirt falling onto the casket lid sounded too utterly final.

  Later on, when the burial and brief service had ended, Poppa found him sitting on the front porch steps. Jack had wanted to run away, to hide, but the old man had already seen him.

  “Thank you for coming,” Poppa said, climbing the stairs and clapping him on the back.

  Poppa groaned as he eased onto the porch swing.

  Jack couldn’t trust himself to speak. His emotions would betray him. He would say something he wouldn’t be able to take back. He waited, hoping Poppa wouldn’t say anything.

  “Your Nan … you never saw her dark days.”

  “Dark days?” Jack turned to face his grandfather. “Nan was never depressed, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “She hid it well. Even from me. But as age caught up to us both, more of her days than not were bleak, governed by storms I could never see, let alone understand.”