What's Done in Darkness

by Laura McHugh

  “We’ve barely had a chance to talk,” she said. “And we’re about to be family. Stay for a glass of tea, at least.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer before fetching the nearly empty pitcher. What was left in the bottom looked dark as tar. She took an old-fashioned metal ice tray out of the freezer and whacked it on the counter to loosen the cubes. Amid the cracking ice, I heard something else. Footsteps coming down the hall. I’d hoped to get out before Pastor Rick showed up. It wasn’t the pastor, though, who appeared in the doorway. I froze.

  “Noah,” Minnie said. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

  He stared at me, his neck reddening below the beard that covered much of his face. I wasn’t sure why I’d ever thought he resembled Albert Ingalls. He looked nothing like Albert aside from his suspenders and the dark mop of hair. He was more of an Isaiah Edwards, burly and moonfaced, his blue eyes brooding. Then his lips parted, and for a moment I was back in the church basement, desperately trying to decipher whatever wordless message he might be trying to send me. I forced myself to look away. That was the distant past. Noah was no longer a boy I had a crush on. He was a grown man about to marry a sixteen-year-old girl—my little sister—and as much as I hated that for Sylvie, I had no desire to trade places with her.

  “Where are your manners, son?” Minnie said.

  He nodded at me. “Hello, Sarabeth.”

  I nodded back.

  “We were just about to sit down and have some tea. Your father should be home soon. You could join us, if you’d like.”

  “No thank you,” he said. He sounded agitated, almost angry, and my stomach twisted. “I stopped by to talk to you about something.”

  Minnie pursed her lips, the ice tray dangling from her hand. “Surely it can wait.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, grateful for an excuse to escape. “I need to get going anyway. Thank you again. It was…nice to see you, Noah.”

  Minnie hurried after me and caught me at the door. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow night to pick up the dress,” she said. “I’ll have it all pressed and you can try it on one last time to make sure it’s just right.”

  It was nearly dark as I walked to my car. Across the garden, I saw what looked like a scarecrow in front of the old farmhouse, dressed in a flannel shirt and straw hat. As I opened my door, I heard a whistle and turned around. The scarecrow had moved closer, almost to the edge of the garden. I jumped as its arm rose up and a familiar voice called my name.

  “Sarabeth. Hey.” I kept my hand on the car door, bracing myself as Ronnie Darling jogged over to me.

  “I thought it was you,” he said. He took off the straw hat and raked his hand through his hair. “Saw you drive by with Sylvie the other day.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s me.”

  “Been a while,” he said. The corner of his mouth turned up in a coy smile, but he maintained eye contact, not dropping his gaze to scan my body like he used to do. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good. How about you? I heard you’re working for the Blackburns now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded soberly. “Helping out with the ministry. Finally found my calling.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “What do you do, exactly? Tom said you’re selling dogs.”

  He chuckled. “That’s part of it, yeah.”

  “Why dogs, though? How does that fit with the ministry?”

  “Money,” he said matter-of-factly. “To keep the whole operation running. Pastors don’t make much, and donations only go so far. Gotta come from somewhere.”

  It felt strange to be having a normal conversation with him. I remembered what Tom had said, that Ronnie was putting on an act, that he didn’t buy his transformation. It was too soon to tell, but there was definitely something different about him. Maybe it was partly because the dynamics had changed. I was no longer at his mercy, enduring his taunts and innuendos. I didn’t have to suffer quietly if he tried to intimidate me. I could say something. I could leave. I was wary of him, but that only made me more curious about what he was up to. If Sylvie was going to be joining the Blackburn family, I wanted to know what kind of business they were running.

  “I love dogs,” I said. “I’ve been thinking of getting one. Could I see them?”

  “We don’t usually take people back to the kennels.”

  “It’s just me,” I said sweetly. “Us.”

  His eyes narrowed as he gauged whether I was flirting or not. If he’d changed, he hadn’t changed that much. I looked up at him, wide-eyed and expectant.

  “All right,” he said. “Just for you.”

  “Get in,” I said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, drawing out the words. He bit his lip and I wondered if it was killing him not to make a dirty joke. I knew how hard it was to keep up the appearance of being something you’re not.

  I could feel him watching me while I drove. “So what else do you do here?” I asked. “You said the dogs are just one part of it.”

  “Lots of things. Take care of the property, handle the guesthouse.”

  “Guesthouse?”

  “The old farmhouse.” He gestured behind us. “That was their house up until a few years ago, when they built the new one. Now it’s part of the ministry. People stay there sometimes, folks the Blackburns are helping out.”

  “So…the dog money paid for their new house?”

  “I guess. But anyway, the main thing I do is the websites. Separate ones for Holy Rock, the ministry, the dogs. Go on and pull up by the trailer,” he said.

  I parked next to his pickup and we got out. The air had cooled off since dark set in, and my arms and legs prickled with goosebumps. There were no lights on in his trailer, or outside the buildings. Ventilation fans hummed, blowing air in and out of the kennel. They weren’t loud enough to drown out the barking.

  “What kind of dog you thinking of?” Ronnie asked. “We got some coonhounds we mostly sell to people around here for hunting—blueticks, walkers, redbones—but we make more money off the little prissy ones. Ship ’em all over.” He pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the door. The dogs yipped and whined. When he flicked on the light, it revealed rows of stacked wire cages, dogs of all sizes squirming inside. I was used to animal smells from working at the shelter, but even with the fans going, the stench was overpowering.

  “There’s so many,” I said. “More than I thought.”

  He seemed to take it as a compliment. “Business is growing. Trying to keep up.” He stripped off his flannel shirt, revealing a thin T-shirt underneath. He had a new tattoo since I’d seen him last, a thorn-wrapped cross on his forearm. The dogs whimpered and writhed and cried, rattling their cages, and I wanted to cover my ears.

  “How much for a little one?” I said.

  “You can get a cripple for cheap—bad leg, whatnot. Healthy ones go for a grand, maybe more. Depends which breed.”

  “Guess I’ll have to save up.”

  “Let me know if you’re interested,” he said, moving closer. “Maybe we can work out a deal.”

  I didn’t flinch. I clenched my jaw and tried to smile just right, not too much, not too little. “You’d do that for me?”

  “I might.”

  He was close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. I wanted to bolt for the door. “I better get home for now,” I said. “But I’ll be back.”

  “You know where to find me,” he said.

  My hands were shaking when I got in the car. I dug out the card Melissa had given me, the one for the animal rescue group. When I reached the gate, I texted the tip line and dropped a location pin, hoping it would go through. Gated property, road forks to the right, livestock barn full of caged dogs. If animal control showed up, the Blackburns would know it was me who’d turned them in, but I didn�
�t care. They deserved to be shut down. I wondered if Sylvie had been inside the kennel, if she thought the abuse was justified to support the ministry. She always had a soft heart for animals when she was little. Maybe that had changed. I couldn’t be sure anymore.

  I pulled up my notifications. There were seven missed calls, all from Farrow, and one voicemail. I pressed play. As usual, all he said was “Call me back,” but I could tell from his voice that I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  CHAPTER 24

  SARABETH, THEN

  AGE 18

  My head buzzed, like my brain had been scoured with sandpaper. I couldn’t begin to guess the day. Time had stretched like taffy, folding over itself, melting back together. He was in the room again, but something was different. A sense of urgency. He did the bucket routine first, with less patience than before, and I began to worry that whatever was going to happen would happen soon. I was weak and desperately thirsty, but I knew if he knocked me out again, any hope of fighting back would be gone. He removed the bag from my head and pressed the bottle to my cracked lips, and I twisted away. He grabbed my jaw to force me to drink and I let out a jagged scream, using all my strength to thrash my body. It startled him and he jumped back. The bucket rattled and the bottle dropped to the floor, and I felt something soaking into the blanket beneath me, wetting my slip—water or urine or both.

  He made a grating sound in his throat and the blanket was wrenched out from under me. Cold metal touched my wrist and I heard a click. A searing pain blazed through my arms and down my back as he released me from the wall and cuffed my hands together in front of me.

  He yanked me to my feet and I stumbled and fell, my ankles still shackled and my legs weak and unaccustomed to standing. He got me upright again, more carefully this time, and half dragged, half carried me through the doorway. I tried to scream again, but my throat was raw and all that came out was a strangled wheeze.

  He secured the handcuffs to something just above my head, and then I heard water running, splashing, gurgling down a drain. A bathtub, or a shower. There was a metallic scrape, the sound of scissors opening, and he grabbed the back of my slip, pulling the fabric taut like he had done when he cut me out of my dress. As the blades closed together, they caught in my hair and he sliced right through. I could feel a section come loose. That seemed to anger him and he started chopping, the soft weight of my hair falling away in hunks. I thought of how Mama would line the three boys up outside for haircuts. My little brothers would worry because Grams had told them if a bird uses your hair to make a nest, you’ll get a headache.

  Tears tracked down my cheeks. I didn’t care if he cut off all my hair. It was heavy and hot and I wouldn’t miss it, but I had dreamed of going to Cathy’s Corner Cuts in town like a normal girl, putting on a plastic cape, sitting in front of the lighted mirror, Cathy freeing me from my hair, releasing me like an animal from a trap. It was one more reminder of the life I wanted and couldn’t have, the life that had been stolen from me because my father lusted over a truck-stop waitress and my mother couldn’t bear it. I’d been waiting for years to turn eighteen and reclaim my life, and I hadn’t come so close just to die in this basement.

  He was right behind me, holding on to my hair, and I did the only thing I could think of. I gritted my teeth and whipped my head back, my skull cracking against bone, and he gasped. He clutched at me and we fell together, the force of it ripping down the bar I’d been tethered to. The scissors clattered to the floor. Bright stars of pain strobed in my head and I clawed at my blindfold as I rolled off him, but it was taped too tightly and there wasn’t time. I scrambled for the scissors before he could get up, knowing it could be my last chance. I swept my hands over the floor, and there they were. I looped my fingers through the handles, and as he tried to snatch them away from me, I held tight, blades closed, and stabbed blindly. He let out a guttural wail and I stabbed him again and again until his fist rocketed into my face.

  CHAPTER 25

  SARAH, NOW

  I was back on the road when I got through to Farrow.

  “Where are you?” he said.

  “Driving.”

  “So am I. Heading your way, actually. Do you think you could meet me at the Shell station in Lead Hill? I need to talk to you in person.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I guess so. It’ll take me at least twenty minutes to get there.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”

  He hung up before I could ask him any questions, and I spent the drive searching for radio stations amid the static, trying to keep myself from cataloging all the different kinds of bad news he might bring. When I arrived, I found him in the dark parking lot, leaning against the Tahoe. It was covered in dust, as though he’d taken the back roads.

  “Sarah,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “What happened? Did the blood tests come back?”

  “No. They found Destiny,” he said. “Or at least they think so. Her remains. They haven’t been able to get a positive identification.”

  “What?” An icy numbness spread across my chest, down my arms to my fingertips. I’d known all along it was a possibility, that we wouldn’t find her in time, but I didn’t want to believe it. “Where did they find…was it the same place? The rest stop?”

  “No.” He exhaled heavily, his breath shushing out through his lips. “No. At the farm. She was never taken. She never left home.”

  “At the farm? But…the cadaver dogs were there. They searched everywhere. The sheds, the fields, the woods. They would’ve found her.”

  “The dogs didn’t find anything because she…her remains were so badly burned. There was barely anything left—bones, teeth, nearly everything was broken down. They can’t even ID her because there’s nothing to test, that’s why it hasn’t been confirmed—burned too long and too hot for DNA. They found a bit of molar, a few larger pieces of bone. All they can say for sure is the remains belong to a human female, likely someone in her teens.”

  An old pickup pulled into the lot, jolting over potholes, its headlights briefly blinding me before they shut off.

  “How was she found, then? If there was nothing left?”

  “Trina went to a clinic the next town over to see about a skin infection. Remember how she was wearing long sleeves in the heat? Her arm was blistered up. Told the nurse she got burned using gasoline to get that big signal fire going for Destiny. While she was there, she tried to get a refill on her Ambien, but she’d just gotten it filled back home, the week before. Nurse thought something was off and called in a tip, and the sheriff decided to go back and sift through the ashes. They found a metal button from a pair of jeans. Called in forensics.”

  “But…Trina—what did she say?”

  “Not much. She hasn’t confessed to anything. Vance had deleted texts on his phone from Destiny’s number. Doesn’t appear to be anything inappropriate, but my guess is Trina found out. Maybe she worried her daughter was getting to be competition for her boyfriend, or maybe she was just pissed that Destiny disobeyed her—that she was hiding a phone, texting boys without permission. You remember what Destiny’s friend said, what happened last time Trina got mad, threw her phone in the pond. I don’t know. Sheriff didn’t find any Ambien at the house. They’re speculating Trina drugged her at dinner and put her in the firepit that night. The sleeping pills wouldn’t have been enough to kill her.” Farrow looked away, his face lost in shadow. “So she was likely still alive when the fire started.”

  “Oh, god. Trina said it was a signal fire. To light her way home. The prayer vigil—”

  “Yeah. She kept that fire going for days. Destiny was there all along, right in front of us. People singing and praying while her bones burned down to ash.” He cleared his throat. “For now, they can’t prove it’s Destiny, but they have the circumstantial evidence that could implicate Trina or Vance or maybe both
of them. I don’t know.”

  “I can’t stop thinking of that camper. It was awful, but it was her room, and she had her poster, and her stuffed animals. She was looking forward to making a new dress for the dance. She just wanted a phone to text her friends, like a normal kid.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know. I’m sorry, Sarah. I never should have gotten you involved. I pushed you into it for selfish reasons, and I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake. The whole thing was a mistake.”

  “No,” I said. “I wanted to help. I still do. Abby’s still out there.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I was wrong. About the connections. I was looking for things that weren’t there, ignoring what I didn’t want to see.” He was silent for a moment. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, but I need you to understand why I did what I did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s…I’m not on Abby’s case. There is no case, not officially.”

  “I don’t get it. She’s not missing?” I remembered googling missing girls with her name, not finding her.

  “No, she is, but…I never had the authority to drag you into this,” he said. “My motivations were personal, and I should have told you, right from the start.”

  “What motivations? Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “You remember the story I told you, at the cabin? About when I was a kid. About my baby sister.”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t tell you her name,” he said.

  For a moment I wasn’t certain that he meant what I thought he meant, that despite the look on his face, I might have misunderstood. I had to say it out loud to be sure. “It’s Abby.”

  “Yes.”

  I thought back to what he’d said at the river, wondered how I’d missed it. He’d wanted to find her and apologize to her. He blamed himself for not taking better care of her, for their family splitting up.