Nursery Rhymes 4 Dead Children (14 page)

“Is it any wonder why?”

“What?”

“She’s standoffish. She doesn’t let people near her. I’ve always wondered why that is.”

“It’s part of her personality.”

“Maybe.” Connie sighed and I could picture her in her kitchen, looking out over the alley that ran next to the pizza place, where me and Wylie and Mike used to sit and smoke cigarettes while our father prepared a sermon or cheated on our mother. “What happened to Wylie, John?”

“I’ll tell you later. I have a ton of stuff going on. I think I’m in major trouble. I don’t know if praying helps. But say a prayer for everyone.”

“Tell me what—”

“I’ve got to run to the hospital and see if Cat and Ethan are there. I love you.”

“John, I want—”

I hung up and grabbed the phone book from beneath the kitchen cabinet, carried it out to the Jeep and flipped through it until I found the number for the State Police Station. I hoped that Duncan didn’t think that I was trying to dodge him, avoid showing him where his little girl’s body lay shattered.

Chapter 21

Nurses bounded down the halls past me. Their eyes looked dead, faces grim, so used to death and heartache. I didn’t know how long someone could handle the pressure of other people’s pain or if it could transfer over, make your own life hell. I didn’t envy them.

I asked after Cat at the emergency room desk. An older woman in a purple smock checked and shook her head. When she leaned forward, her thick lips parted and she put a hand over her chest, glanced over my shoulder. I looked behind me and saw Duncan’s daughter, the other three girls behind her, brows knitted. The old woman hit the floor in a heap, a soft, fleshy slap, a crack of bone. It seemed she’d seen the dead as well, and she’d fainted, but her fall looked nasty. Someone yelled down the hall and rushed toward her; a black man in a similar smock, his blue, tight around his shoulders. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a black man in Division. The orderly scooped his hands under the woman’s armpits and sat her in the chair behind the desk. He threw me a look, brow knitted like the dead girls’ and shook his head.

I cleared my throat and asked if she was going to be alright. The orderly nodded without looking at me. I asked him, “Do you know Catherine Edmund?”

The man held onto the woman’s shoulders. “If you hold on a minute, sir, I’ll find someone who can help you. You wanna hand me that phone there?” He pulled one hand off her shoulder and pointed. I moved around the desk and pulled the receiver free, handed it over. “You wanna hit extension three for me?”

It was clear that the guy couldn’t reach it and hold the unconscious woman at the same time. I wanted to leave them to their own problems and find someone who would know if Cat was in and where I could find her. But I pushed the buttons. The black man nodded. “Thank you.” He spoke into the receiver and I stepped back onto the main floor, looked up the hall into the heart of Our Lady and saw Mike pacing back and forth in front of his mother’s room, dressed in a black suit coat, like he’d come to a church, or the parlor of the dead.

I stared at Mike’s designer clothes, realizing the outfit probably cost more than my furniture. It could drive you crazy sometimes, envying your friends—what they have and you don’t. I took a deep breath, let it out.

I waved, expecting him to be as happy to see me as I was him.

Mike stared, frowning.

The man hung up the phone and said, “Who you looking for?”

“Catherine Edmund. Have you seen her this afternoon?”

“No.” He pointed his chin at the front entrance. “Try the main desk.”

I nodded, thanked him, and pulled the fear back to look at what lay beneath. I kept seeing blood on the forest floor, blood on the house door, smoke in the cemetery, darkness in the manor.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I think so.”

I glanced over my shoulder. The poor, beaten dead were gone. I let out a long breath. My mind turned over an image of Angela rising like mist from the ditch outside Pat’s house; a flash of blood on the doorstep of my own. I wondered if Angela had left it there, if it was supposed to mean something significant, part of whatever game she played. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, thirsty. “I think she saw a ghost.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I waved a hand at the man. “Thanks. I hope she’s all right.”

The orderly’s lips parted, eyebrows bunched, the look on his face saying,
I doubt you wish it at all.

I let it go and walked down the hall to where Mike waited, leaning against the wall, tapping his fingers against his thighs. Stopping alongside him, eyes averted from the closed door, I shook my head, coming to grips with what I really feared. That Cat had left because of how I had been acting lately. Stepping into her shoes and taking a hard look at myself, I leaned farther into that assumption. It didn’t explain the drops of blood. I chewed on it. “You seen Cat here?”

“You haven’t introduced me to her yet. I don’t even know what she looks like. Is that why you’re up here?”

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ve been busy the last couple of days.”

Mike shrugged. “You’re not the only one.”

“Have you been in to see your mom yet?”

“No.”

I wanted to ask him why not, what son stood outside his mother’s door as she neared the end. Looking back at our childhood, I glimpsed fragments of a deeper sadness—Mike left to tend to himself by his mother’s distractions. It reminded me of Father and all he’d preached and failed at. As a parent, as a husband, as a man. “I understand. You’ll go in when you’re ready. I couldn’t find you last night. What did you need to tell me?”

Mike pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket. “I’m not so sure I want to. You wanna take a walk?”

I looked at my watch and realized I had a pistol strapped to my hip. It brought back Pat’s house. I smelled cordite, burned flesh. “I have to meet a state boy. Wylie had a bad situation earlier. If you’re going to be around later…”

“I’ll ride with you.”

I considered it, not sure if I could fill Mike in on the girls, the forest, my brother, Rusty—all of the pieces that lay like shards at my feet—in the five minutes it would take to drive back to Pat’s house. A shiver broke through me, a sickness at the thought of me and Wylie in prison. “I’ll be out a while. I might not even come back.”

“I need some fresh air. And we need to talk about some things.”

Angela whispered in my head, snippets of our conversation earlier, something about Mike’s secrets, lies, fate. I shook my head as if to clear it and stuffed my hands deep into my pants pockets. Mike slapped my arm. “There is so much I need to tell you. But I’m afraid that you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

I cleared my throat again, my body tense. “I’ve been feeling that way about myself for the past couple days. Now I think…” I couldn’t complete the sentence, afraid to look into what I most feared. Inside, my heart struggled against the easy path. “Cat is wonderful, but I think she’s gone. I think she left me. I’ve been a bit loopy lately. If she did, I can’t say I blame her.”

Mike touched my shoulder and we stood there in the hall as people moved like ants, carrying out their duties, eyes glazed by sorrow, compassion, numbness. I wondered if Mike felt the same, wondered if feeling numb and ignorant was sometimes easier. My oldest friend kneaded the sore muscles above my collarbone. “I’m sorry to hear about Cat. If she’s smart, she’ll come back. If not, you don’t need her. Trust me. You’ve met Angela, right?”

“A few times. I just dropped her off at your place.” I rested my hand on the butt of the pistol and shifted my weight to my left leg. “She’s been following me around. She was there when the madness broke loose at Pat’s.”

Mike looked at his watch. “The clock is ticking, there’s no stopping it.” He turned his head, left, right, and lowered his voice. “We’re getting into something I wish you weren’t part of.”

I nodded. “She’s not normal. I’ve noticed that.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve been seeing things every since Mark died. Cat says I’m sleepwalking a lot. She wants me to seek professional help.” I dug my fingernails into my palms unsure why it made me so angry to admit it. “I don’t know where she went if she’s not here. Part of me is afraid she met someone here, someone she works with and she’s with him. And Angela… she’s messing with me, I think.”

A nurse walked by, shoes squeaking on glossy tile. She smiled at us and Mike raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. Once she was out of ear shot, Mike said, “You can tell me everything while you drive. I’ve got a lot you need to know, too. But I don’t have all the answers. Only assumptions, a little experience.”

I scratched my chest, felt a bit of scab break free. I jerked my thumb at the door. “Do you want me to go in with you, so you can see her before we leave?”

“No. And I don’t know if I will at all. It feels like I should, just out of obligation, because she’s my mother, but she’s caused me a lot of pain. I’ve spent my whole life trying to forgive her. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

“I understand.”

“Because of your dad.”

“Sure.”
And because of Mark
. “We better get going, even though I’m not looking forward to showing a cop where his daughter is buried.”

Mike raised his eyebrows, slapped me on the shoulder. His surprise passed, a smile on his face. I had never understood how Mike’s attitude could change so quickly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too. Sometimes I fear we’re not the same little kids we used to be.”

“We’re not. It’s been too long though. I’m sorry I’ve never called. I’m not going to be able to leave now. Not with Angela here, not with the veil tearing.”

“What veil?”

“Come on. We’ve got a lot to do.” Mike took off at a brisk pace, headed for the emergency room doors, always the one to take the first step where weaker men hesitated. I caught up to him, my guts tied in knots as we stepped into failing daylight.

“I hope Cat comes back tonight.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

We looked left and right, crossed the parking lot. “I don’t want to think about that. Either way, I’m gonna sleep like the dead. I’m so exhausted my bones ache and my arms feel like jelly.”

Mike stopped at the Jeep’s passenger door. “You aren’t going to get much rest, man.”

“I will if Duncan arrests me.”

“The State cop we’re going to meet? For what?”

I walked around to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. I rested my hand on the keys in the ignition for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, figure out where to start.

Start at the beginning.

Mike pulled his seat belt on.

I turned the key and the motor started. Tears stung my eyes and I opened my mouth and couldn’t shut it for the life of me. “My brother used to touch me.” A sick dread swelled inside my chest with the admission. “When we stayed up at your house. On top of that, my dad cheated on my mom with several women from his church, girls really. He baptized us in the river and we were all supposed to be made new. When Mark came around last week, after being out west forever, he told me he was sorry, but he wouldn’t say for what. But I knew what he was talking about. He was drunk in the canoe, I guess that’s what it takes to pour your sins out at God’s altar, at your broken brother’s feet.” I ran my hands back through my hair. “I hit him in the head with the paddle and he fell out. He drowned because he tried to apologize, and because I couldn’t accept it. My dad has never apologized to anyone. He carried his self-righteousness around like a banner. I think they both fucked me up. I know they did my mom. She never calls. I guess she’s moved on. But I’m left with an ache that never ends. I thought Cat was going to change it, fill it, something, I don’t know.”

I wiped my eyes and stared at the dash, the hood, where pieces of Pat had hardened. “Uncle Red tells me not to blame myself. But he doesn’t know the rest of it. I’ve seen Mark’s ghost. And someone butchered four teenage girls and left a message out by the Devil’s Garden. For me or for someone else, I don’t know. But this was left in place of one of their hearts.” I pulled the onyx key free of my shirt and held it out. It cast a shadow over Mike’s hand like a brand. “Pat, the mayor, Rusty Wallace, they buried the girls, claiming to protect my family name because they thought Mark did it, because of this fucking key. I let them bury the pieces. Didn’t stop them. Then I watch Pat shoot his wife in the face and Wylie in turn blow a hole the size of a baseball in Pat’s head. I didn’t want Wylie to go to prison so I told the state cop that I shot Pat. But Wylie had already told him the truth. Then Angela brings out this book a while ago, at Pat’s house, and it’s got these girls’ photographs in it. The cop’s daughter is one of those some monster left written in blood and bone on the forest floor. And Brandy was attacked. I feel torn in a dozen directions. I want to believe that Pat did it all. But that leaves a lot left unexplained. And my gut tells me that there is a lot more to this.” I popped the glove box and grabbed a napkin and blew my nose. I wondered if my friend saw things in a new light, saw me as a different person. When I met Mike’s gaze, I couldn’t hold it, and part of me felt shattered.

Mike tapped the gun at my hip. “I hope you’re not thinking about eating that.”

I shook my head. “I’m not a coward. I’m just lost. Overwhelmed. And now I don’t know what the hell is happening between me and Catherine. A week ago we planned on getting married. Now, she thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am.”

“You’re not the only one who hides secrets, John. But you’re doing the right thing. Let’s go show this cop where his daughter is. At least someone will have some peace. We can work everything else out together.”

Hearing him say it brought a glimmer of hope, a lightening of the endless burden. I nodded and threw the Jeep in reverse, backed out of the parking space. I wiped my eyes again, sick of crying, sick of talking, sick of feeling so weak. But it’d felt good to talk about it even though my lips felt swollen, numb. “Do you know who Angela really is?”

“I don’t know who. But I know what.”

“And whose side is she on?”

“The side of redemption. That’s her burden.”

* * *

I watched Duncan tremble, standing next to a woman in an olive skirt, white button up shirt. A black attaché dangled from her left hand, Morgan from her right. Mike went quiet as I parked behind the state boy’s car in the drive. The man, woman, child, all stared at us with tight faces. Morgan held a doll—the same one Angela had kept her distracted with—pinned beneath her right arm and ribcage. I got out and Mike sat there a moment, studying everything.