The Thirteen (23 page)

Esme said, “Marla?”

“Be quiet for a moment,” Marla said. “I’m thinking.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Rowan? Is she watching TV?”

“Rowan isn’t here,” Glory deadpanned from a chair.

Marla looked at Paula. “You didn’t bring her?”

Paula shook her head. “She wasn’t feeling well. What’s this about my mother? What does she have to do with this?”

“Oh,” Marla said. She seemed to ponder that.

“My mother, Marla. What about her?”

Esme poked Marla in the side. “Quit thinking so much. Find out where Rowan is, and let’s get on with things.”

Marla turned back to Paula and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She closed it again.

“What’s going on, Mars?” Paula said.

As if the childhood nickname had upset her, Marla let go of Paula’s hands and shook her head.

Esme groaned. “Marla, get out of the way.”

Marla stood. To the room she said, “I’m sorry, I’m just so tired. The kids haven’t been … right.” She tried to smile.

Esme sat down where Marla had been. “Paula, all you have to do is join us. We’re like a club. A women’s club. It’s no big deal. You simply join and then you’ll have everything you want. Everyone will be fine. Your mother will be fine. Just nod.”

Paula was watching Marla, who was backing away from them all. “Mars? Are you okay?”

“Paula, you’ve got to concentrate,” Esme butted in. “We know all about your life in the city—it’s shit. Room for improvement! We’re proposing that you join us as we are, and then your life will be better. Okay? Done. There, now let’s get going.” She stood, yanking Paula to her feet. Paula squealed at the suddenness of it. So did several of the women.

“Join you in what? What
are
you?” Her thoughts felt fat and sluggish.

“Honey, it rhymes with
bitch,”
Esme said. There were surprised snickers from the others.

“Huh?” Paula was trapped between Esme, the sofa and the table.

“Well, what rhymes with
bitch?
Let’s see.” Esme pretended to ponder this as she held Paula upright. “Ditch. Kitsch. Pitch.” She grinned with those unnaturally white teeth. “Rich. Switch. What else, Paula?”

Paula’s mind was too slow for this. She shook her head.

Glory yelled, “Witch!”

Everyone erupted into laughter. Paula looked around at Marla, who wasn’t laughing.

“Witch?” she said, uncomprehendingly.

Esme nodded. “That’s right—witch. It’s no big deal. You don’t have to grow a wart or anything. You just have to come with us.”

“And tell us where we can pick up the kid,” Bridget said, close to Paula’s ear.

Esme patted her on the back and then smoothed Paula’s hair off her shoulder. “It’ll be great. You’ll love it. Your hair will be thicker, your skin so clear and smooth.”

Bridget grinned. “You’ll tan without burning, and your whites will be whiter without bleach.”

Esme slipped a hand under Paula’s jacket and ran it delicately over her too-soft belly. “This will go away. And your mother’s punishment will be over. Don’t you want that?”

“What has this got to do with my mother?” Paula tried to shift away, but Esme wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace. Bridget grabbed her hands.

“Let me go, guys.”

“Sorry, we can’t,” Bridget said. “I’m afraid we need you.”

“Need me for what?”

“Honey, we
need
you. You’re an alumna—”

“What?”

“Ever heard that expression ‘blood is thicker than water’? Audra’s one of us. You’re Audra’s daughter, and that makes you an alumna. Blood—it counts for a lot with Him.”

The others nodded.

“Your mother’s being punished. If you cooperate with us she’ll be well again. We all will. Be a good sport, Paula. We’re running out of time,” Bridget said.

“My mother’s one of—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her head was spinning from the wine and the nonsense. It
had
to be nonsense.

“She is,” Esme said. “She’s. A. Witch.”

“My mother is not a witch!” The sentence sounded crazy coming out of her mouth.

“We need that little girl.” Ursula waggled a finger in Paula’s face. “You could have saved us a lot of trouble if you’d just brought her with you. She was
expected
. Now we have to go through a whole rigmarole to find her.”

“Marla? What’s going on?” Paula’s voice rose in panic.

“Paula, I’m … sorry,” her friend said. “My children are … in trouble. You knew me before. Before I was—”

“Stop fussing,” Bridget said firmly.

Glory moved in and grabbed Paula by the upper arm. “Another finger coming loose,” she said to no one in particular.

“Marla!” Paula was pleading now.

“Crackerjack,”
Marla said, in a deep voice not her own. A man’s voice. The man from Blondie’s. Paula screamed.

“Remember?
Crackerjack,”
Marla said sadly, in the same voice. Then in her own voice, “Paula, you knew me before I was … evil.”

“All right, all right,” Esme said impatiently. “Stop making this like a crime movie where everyone explains everything in the final scene. I
hate
that. Let’s go.” She yanked on Paula and Paula stumbled after her.

“They do that on
CSI
too,” Joanna volunteered.

“We have to get moving.” Bridget was looking at her watch.

“Road trip!” Sharie shouted, clapping her hands together. “Paula, thank you so much! Auditions are next week—I’ll get my leg back!”

Paula dug her feet in and yelled, “Let me go!” She tried to pull her hands away from Bridget’s, who held fast.

Glory’s weirdly gloved hands wrapped tighter around Paula’s right arm, pulling it down. “Don’t!” she screamed. “My fingers are falling off!”

“Okay, wait. This is stupid. Somebody just
do
something to her.” Bridget said.

Paula tried to jam her elbow into Glory, but she was holding back, still unable to accept that this was happening. Her rational mind just couldn’t believe it.

The women looked at Marla. Esme said, “Do something. You’re the best at this.”

Marla shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You have to, Mar,” Esme said.

Marla shook her head again.

“You fucking crone, get on it!”

Paula couldn’t believe her ears.
Crone? Rhymes with witch
. She said it out loud. “You’re really witches?”

Esme grinned. “You’re catching on. Practically one of us. Here’s a tidbit for you. You know what I hate?” she said, getting in close to Paula’s face. “I hate when they add a ‘k’ to
magic
. New Age bullshit—I hate that.”

Paula laughed. “You really think you’re witches? That’s hysterical. C’mon, you guys, joke’s over. What is this, really?”

Esme ignored her. “Marla, come on. Now she’s insulting us.”

“What are you going to do, burn a candle and tell me my fortune? This is ridiculous. Let me go. I have to get my daughter.”

“We know where she is,” Joanna said with menace. “We really do. You had a barbecue there the other night.” Suddenly she sounded the way she did on TV. “We’ve been watching you. And we’ll be seeing her soon.” She turned to Bridget. “Someone has to text Izzy, tell her what’s going on. Who’s going to get the girl? I go fucking
national
in a week!”

Paula’s eyes grew round and the next laugh died in her chest. Her mother? Rowan? What did they want with Rowan? “This has gone far enough,” she said.

“You’re being selfish,” Glory hissed. “Think of your mother! Don’t you think she wants to go back to the way she was? This would do it—”

“Leave her out of this!” Paula yelled. “And stay away from Rowan! Marla …”

“Marla, come on, fix her up here,” Joanna said.

Marla slowly came towards Paula, who struggled futilely against the women holding her fast. The look of betrayal on her face stopped Marla in her tracks.

“My husband won’t stop working. My children—” she choked. “My children … Paula, maybe I’ll do this badly too,” she whispered. She put her hands on either side of Paula’s face and said, “I’m sorry, but my babies—”

“Marla, don’t.”

She held Paula’s face still and looked into her eyes, compelling Paula to look back. The heat from her hands was penetrating. Soothing.

soothing

“Paula, see me. Look at me.” Marla held her hand in front of Paula’s face, her fingers pointed downwards. She wriggled them, as supple as worms. Then she said, “You. Are. Weak.”

Paula swooned, the energy draining from her muscles, her legs collapsing under her, her head lolling. The women stumbled under her weight.

“Ew, she’s a heavy one,” Bridget sneered.

crackerjack bitch

witch

crackerjack witches

before I was evil

Wind tunnelled through Paula’s head, spinning everything in it together. Far away someone said
call Bella and get them on the kid
.

Paula tried to scream, but what came out of her, exhausted and breathless, was “Rowan. Don’t. Not Ro—”

“Let’s get her to my car,” Esme said. “We’re running late.”

TWENTY

R
OWAN HAD HEARD THE NASTY
crack of bone, the
thud
of Mr. Keyes hitting the landing, the air whooshing out of him. Now it was quiet, and she hoped

(hoped)

that he wasn’t dead. Or unconscious.

“Mr. Keyes?”

No answer.

Rowan kept listening for Mr. Keyes as her embarrassment struggled with her need to help him. She took the toilet paper off the holder and rolled it around and around her hand and wrist, making it look as much like the pads on TV as possible. The wad she ended up with was too fat but it was long, and she thought that might be a good idea. She cleaned herself up as well as she could and then stuffed the makeshift pad between her legs and pulled her panties and jeans up over the whole thing. It felt strange and uncomfortable.

Sanderson heard Rowan call him, heard the water running, heard her call him again. As if from a great distance—he was entirely preoccupied with his ankle. He bit his lip and struggled to a sitting position, trying to keep his foot still. But it shifted, and the pain was a snakebite, a fire bomb. He rested his foot on the stair while he caught his breath. It was broken, he was sure of it. He leaned forward and eased his pant leg up. Even through his sock he could see the swelling.

Gusto wouldn’t stop fussing around him. “Gusto, sit.”

The beagle briefly dropped his ass to the floor, just to be obedient, then was back up and nudging Sanderson.

He heard Rowan calling, “Mr. Keyes? Are you okay?”

“I’m on the landing,” he managed, and suddenly she was there.

Her hands flew to her face. “Oh jeez! Mr. Keyes, did you break your leg?”

“My ankle. Rowan, you’re going to have to get help.”

She nodded, her face grave.

“The landline is fuck—Sorry.” He grimaced in pain. “The phone’s out. And I can’t get a signal with the cell. You’re going to have to go the neighbours, okay? But first help me take a look at what I’ve done here.”

At his instruction, Rowan peeled the sock off his foot, Sanderson gritting his teeth. “God, Mr. Keyes, that looks awful.”

There was no bone showing through, but the ankle was twice its normal size and already turning a very wrong shade of indigo.

“I’ll go get some ice.”

In the kitchen he could hear her opening his mostly empty freezer. Thank heavens, he’d bought a bag of ice, just in case Paula wanted a real drink and not a beer. She came back, carrying a tea towel full of cubes. “Did you get my mom?”

“She wasn’t at Marla’s. The line was so bad I couldn’t tell what the woman was saying. Do you know Izzy Riley?”

“Ugh. Yes, my grandma’s friend.”

“Before the line died, all I got was her name. Sorry, kiddo …”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. We have to get you to the hospital first.”

Sanderson gingerly held the ice to his ankle. Its weight hurt so much his eyes watered. He needed a cast and some antibiotics for sure. He had to get to the hospital. Those were facts. But something else was wrong. It might be stupid to feel so sure, but inside him was a sense of terrible urgency. He just knew something was wrong with Paula. They

(he)

had to find her.

“Rowan, go to the neighbours and call 911. Then call your mom, okay? Find out where she is.”

She nodded briskly. “I’ll be right back.”

The girl ran out the front door, the dogs following her. The door bounced once in the frame.

The house was suddenly silent. His ankle was throbbing and the pain went all the way up to his knee. He tried to move his leg. It shrieked agony, so he stopped.
Shit
.

Sanderson spotted his cell on the floor about six feet from where he sat. The screen was dark but the green light indicated the power was still on. Useless. Even if he stretched as far as he could, it would just be out of reach.

There was no sound from outside, no rush of neighbours through the door, no sirens in the distance. There was something uncomfortable about the silence.

To hell with being helpless. Sanderson leaned and leaned, stretching in the direction of the phone, until he fell over—s
hit, that hurt
—stretching in the direction of the phone.

“Ahhhhhhrrrrrrrr—
”

With the ends of his fingers he could just touch the casing. Pausing to breathe, he then used his good foot to push himself away from the bottom step. He got two fingers around the phone, and then his thumb, and he had it.

He propped himself up on one elbow, ignoring the drumbeat of misery in his lower leg. He closed the phone and opened it again. There was a full set of bars.

Redial. The phone rang and rang on the other end. He hung up. He checked the bars—still full—and punched in 911. The phone lost its connection. “Fuck!” What was going on?

Rowan ran to front door of the house next door and knocked hard. What could she say that would create the maximum amount of urgency?
My mom’s friend broke his ankle—

My mom’s friend is having a heart attack—

is dying—

My friend—my Daddy is badly hurt—

No one came. Rowan knocked again and then rang the bell for good measure. Still no one answered. Gusto was sitting on the step beside her, but Old Tex was on the sidewalk. She wondered if someone was looking out and was afraid of the dogs.

“Go home!” she loud-whispered. “Go!” Old Tex turned reluctantly and went as far as the tree in front of Mr. Keyes’s house, where he sat down. Gusto looked up at her, but then went to sit beside his friend.

She waited a few seconds more, then gave up and cut across the front yards to the house on the other side of Mr. Keyes’s, where she repeated her actions. No one answered there either, even when Rowan pulled open the screen door and knocked hard on the inside one. Surely that would wake someone up if they were at home in bed. No luck.

So she went to the house next to that one and saw that it was dark inside too. Just for a second she thought,
Everyone’s dead
, before she pulled herself together. Big deal—a bunch of the neighbours were at some football game or something, Bingo night, some stupid art thing like they had at St. Mary’s every year and hundreds of people came and it raised tons of money for blind people or something.

Rowan turned around to face the street. As if ticking off items on a list she looked at every house in viewing distance, one after another,
tick tick tick
. And every single house was dark. Deserted.

Frustration welled up in her and she clenched her fists and yelled, “I hate this place!” It echoed impotently up the street … 
this place … this place
.

Her hand went to her neck and she felt for her stupid cheap plastic Jesus on the candy-pink crucifix and she couldn’t help it; she wrapped her fingers around it and prayed. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our—”

That’s when a car turned onto the street, driving slowly, the lights bouncing.

Rowan waved her arms in the air. “Stop! Stop!” she yelled.

The car slowed down and stopped in the middle of the street. A city girl from way back, Rowan didn’t get close to it.

A woman rolled down the front passenger window. “What is it, dear? Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “No, my friend is hurt. He needs an ambulance—” she gestured to Sanderson’s house. “And I have to find my mother. She’s at her friend’s house. I have the street number …” She dug around inside her pocket. “Do you have a cell that I can use? The phone’s not working and none of the neighbours are home.” Rowan’s face twisted up and she gulped air for a minute to ward away tears.

“There, there. Oh dear. Oh my. We don’t have a cellphone—we’re old ladies. Let us take you where you need to go. Would that be all right?” She opened the car door and struggled to get out. A tiny, round lady, leaning on a cane. Rowan could smell the woman’s perfume, which reminded her of the scent worn by the grandmothers who came to St. Mary’s on blind-people benefit night.

Gusto and Old Tex moved to flank her. Old Tex put his head down and growled, and then he barked. It echoed up the empty street and sounded so
loud
.

“Shhh, Tex,” Rowan said. “Go home.”

“That’s okay, he’s just worried for you. Animals are very sensitive and you’re obviously upset. You poor thing.”

Rowan swayed in the old lady’s direction. “I’m not supposed to go with strangers.”

“Of course you’re not,” she said. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Aggie. If you peek in the car, that’s Bella driving. And in the back is our good friend Tula.”

Tula ducked her head as Rowan bent to see her.

“Hey, I know you,” she said. “You’re the nurse from the hospital.”

The driver waved, smiling kindly. “You poor dear,” she said, leaning towards the passenger side window. “Come on and we’ll take you where you need to go.” Three old ladies. Not exactly serial killers. She didn’t like Tula, not one bit, but she was in a spot. And really, what was Tula? Not exactly a monster

(but creepy)

Aggie opened the back door and Tula shifted over to make room for Rowan. Still the girl hesitated.

Aggie said gently, “Your friend needs a doctor?”

Rowan decided she had no choice. She got into the back seat. “He broke his ankle. Can you take me to a phone? I need to call an ambulance.” And then she burst into relieved tears.

Aggie clucked in sympathy and under her breath said, “Poor thing, poor thing.”

The car door was shut with a bang and Aggie got back into the front seat. They drove away. The dogs barked and chased the car.

“I should have put the dogs inside,” Rowan said tearfully. No one responded. She wiped her face on the sleeve of her blazer, embarrassed that she’d let go like that. Tula nudged a Kleenex into her hand. She took it gratefully and wiped her eyes and then her nose with it.

In the front the driver, Bella pulled a soft pack of cigarettes off the dash and shook one out, putting it in her mouth. She pressed in the lighter.

“Oh jeez, the car is going to smell like smoke, Bella—”

“Just shut up. It already reeks of perfume. That’s terrible stuff.” The lighter popped and Bella lit her cigarette. Smoke filled the car.

At the end of the block the car turned onto a side street. They were going very slowly.

“Izzy—” Bella muttered under her breath to Aggie, gesturing to something in the old woman’s lap.

Aggie put her glasses on. From the front seat came the distinct and familiar sound of a cell dialling.
Pink pink pink
.

“Do you actually have a cellphone?” Rowan asked, leaning forward. “If you do, we can just call an ambulance for Mr. Keyes and we can call my mom. She’s—”

“There’s no phone, dear,” Bella said. “Sit back, it’s not safe.” She took the veiny hand with the cigarette off the wheel to wave her back.

Pink pink pink pink

Aggie leaned in closer to Bella and muttered low, “Are we going right to Chapman?”

Bella looked in the rear-view mirror before answering. Rowan kept her expression blank. Bella nodded.

Aggie cursed. “Shit, I can’t see a thing. My eyes are 110 years old. These glasses are shit.” She pulled them off her face.

These old ladies curse a lot
, Rowan thought.

“Use mine,” Bella said. “They’re stronger. The case is in my purse.”

“Did you say Izzy?” Rowan asked. “Mr. Keyes said my mom might be at Izzy’s. Do you know her? She’s Marla’s mom. Do you know Marla?”

Tula looked at her sideways.

“Hey,” Rowan said, “you know Izzy. You’ve been taking care of my grandmother. At the hospital. Remember me?”

Tula’s only response was to give her a quick pat on the leg. Then she winced. “Ow, my hands, my poor hands,” she said.

“Can you shut up about it, Tu?” the driver said.

Rowan persisted. “You’re her nurse—”

Bella said, “Shush, dear, you’re upsetting yourself.”

Something in the atmosphere of the car had changed. Bella stared straight ahead at the road, smoke from her cigarette curling up into the fabric ceiling. Aggie kept a smile painted on, her head turned partway towards the back seat.

“My mom might be at Izzy’s,” Rowan offered again. No one said anything. Bella smoked. They were nearly at the end of the side street. Rowan didn’t know where she was now.

“What’s Chapman? Is that where Izzy is?” Still no reaction.

There was a light of some sort up ahead, bright and artificial, from a gas station or store front. “I should get out. I can call from that store up there.”

Bella cleared her throat. “Dear, you should put your seatbelt on. It’s not safe, or legal. Strap her in, Tula.”

With a warning snort, Tula leaned to reach around her. “You be a good girl now.”

Rowan put her hand up to block Tula. “I’ll just get out—”

Tula grabbed Rowan and shook her. “You cooperate or I’ll pinch you!”

“Hey, don’t!”

Just then they slowed for the stop sign. Tula got hold of the belt and yanked it, catching Rowan on the chin with the clasp. Rowan hollered.

Bella waved a fat, wrinkled arm at them, her cigarette dangling out the side of her mouth like a cartoon gangster. “That’s enough! If I have to stop this car—”

But the car
was
stopped. Rowan, scared out of her wits, screamed once more, “Let me go!” She grabbed the handle of the door and it opened, swinging wide. She jumped out. As Tula shrieked angrily, Rowan ran. She ducked low and darted between the houses, each of them dark as pitch and silent as the grave.

Bella and Tula chased her as far as the second yard, but by then the girl was so far ahead it was ridiculous to keep trying. They hobbled back to the car, panting all the way.

“Shit,” Bella said. “Aggie just texted Izzy that we had her.”

“Well, we did. Shit,” Tula repeated.

Through the car window Aggie said, “Where’s she going to go? The boyfriend’s hurt and she’s got no idea where her mother is. We’ll wait outside the boyfriend’s place.”

The women got back in the car.

“I hate kids,” Tula said.