The Way to Yesterday (11 page)

Daniel stood abruptly and walked to the windows overlooking downtown
Savannah, making himself concentrate on the traffic and not the fear in the
man's voice, because it made his own far more vivid-and too real. For a while,
he'd almost convinced himself that he and Mary had overreacted last night. But
this put a whole new color on the incident. If Reese Arnaud was interested,
Hope might really be in danger.

'Just tell me what you want and it's yours," Daniel said.

'I need to talk to Hope, but I don't want to scare her. Do you think it
would be all right if I came over after school? I want to bring
a's
ketch artist with me. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s
more than we’ve had in days.”

“Yes, sure. I’ll call Mary”

“Good, I’ll be there around four, OK?”

'We'll be waiting."

'Don't say anything to Hope about my coming by," Reese added. "She
left a jacket at
m
,. house the last time she spent
the night. I'll just bring it by and then go from there."

'Yes, okay ...I see what you mean."

'This may be nothing," Reese said. "You need to know that at the
outset. But I've got two sets of grieving parents who want to know where their
babies are, and if Hope can help, I can't pass it up."

"I didn't sleep last night, either. I kept going into Hope's room time
and again, just to make sure she was safe in bed. I can't imagine the horror of
not knowing where she was or what had happened to her. Bring your sketch
artist. Stay as long as you need."

*

Howard Lee stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel to dry himself
off. He'd just gotten home from his shift at the hospital and not for the first
time, it occurred to him that working the midnight shift was not conducive to
parenthood. He didn't like leaving the girls alone after dark, but at the
present time he had no choice. And, until they settled down into the adoption a
little better, he could hardly send them off to school and trust them to come
home.

He finished drying and then reached for his pajamas. anxious to get in bed.
Even though the sun was up and the day was promising to be wonderful, he had to
get his rest.

He walked out of the bathroom, then paused, staring down at the throw rug
beside his bed. He thought of his girls and wondered what they were doing. His
eyelids burned from lack of sleep, but his conscience tugged. A parent should
spend quality time with the children, no matter what the cost.

With a heartfelt sigh, he kicked the throw rug aside and then unlocked the
padlock on the cellar door.

The hinges squeaked a bit as he raised it up, and he made a mental note to
oil them. He heard a series of scuffling noises and then nothing.

'Girls ... do you want Daddy to come down and play for a while?"

There was a long and pregnant moment of utter silence, then what sounded
like a muffled sob. He frowned.

'Stop crying, damn it!" he yelled, and slammed the door shut with a
bang, then locked it and kicked the throw rug in place.

He yanked back his covers and crawled into bed, too tired to deal with the
situation. The sheets were clean and cool, just like his mother had always
insisted they should be. It prided him to know that he'd kept the house in the
same condition it had always been when his mother had been alive.

Despite the sunlight beaming through the curtains, he closed his eyes and
slept.

Justine
Marchand
had turned seven two months ago,
but she was small for her age. She had straight, dark hair, big brown eyes and
a slight pout to her rosebud mouth. There were exactly four tiny brown freckles
on the bridge of her nose and she liked Mickey Mouse and the Power Puff girls.
When she grew up, she wanted to be a nurse.

And somewhere between the morning she'd left for school and before she'd
gone home, she'd been thrust into hell. She didn't understand exactly what was
happening, but she wanted to go home. When the cellar door had opened, she'd
grabbed Amy Anne and crawled under the bed. Even though she knew the man would
eventually make her come out, it still seemed plausible to resist in every way
she dared. She wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, but she was stuck with
him, just the same.

However, he hadn't come down as she'd feared, and when he yelled at her and
then slammed the door, she went weak with relief. She didn't care how loud he
yelled, as long as he stayed away. He smiled too much and was always touching
her face and her hair.

As soon as it was quiet, she crawled out from under the bed, pulling Amy
Anne with her, then smoothed the hair away from the other girl's face.
"He's gone now," she said, and led Amy Anne to the little table in
the middle of the room. "Want to color in the color books or watch
TV?"

Amy Anne didn't answer. Justine wasn't even sure she could talk. She hadn't
said a word since she'd been here. She didn't even know if the girl belonged to
the man, or if she was lost, too.

'We'll color," she said softly, and sat the little girl in a chair.
"That way we won't make any noise and wake him up."

She opened a coloring book for herself, then opened one for Amy Anne.

'Here," she said. "You can have the blue crayon and I'll pick
red."

She put the crayon in Amy Anne's lifeless hands and waited for her to move.
It didn't happen.

'It's okay," she finally said, and patted Amy Anne on the head.
"You can watch me, instead."

She picked up the red crayon and then started to cry, softly, so that no one
could hear.

'I want to go home, Amy Anne. I don't like it here."

Chapter Seven

Mary had started out dusting the bookshelves in the living room, but now the
dust cloth and furniture polish was sitting idle on a nearby table and she was
cross-legged in the floor with a picture album in her lap. Nothing could have
prepared her for what she'd found inside, not even the wildest of dreams.

The first pages were devoted to the first year of her and Daniel's marriage.
She remembered those times and the pictures being taken. The pictorial mementos
moved from there to Hope's birth, and then the first three months of her life.
Most of them consisted of pictures of Daniel holding Hope, or Daniel's parents
holding Hope. The images were burned in her mind.

But then she'd turned the next page and faced a truth that was impossible to
deny. Page after page, year after year, were pictures of Mary with Hope, and
Mary with Daniel, physical proof that she'd been present during all these
events. They were nonsensical pictures, the kind that were precious only to the
people taking them, ranging in ordinary diversity from braiding Hope's hair to
building a sand castle at the beach. Pictures of Christmases past and the f
i
rst
Thanksgiving in their new
house, her thirtieth birthday and Daniel giving her the keys to her new car.
The more she looked, the more it seemed she remembered. But it made no sense.
How could she remember something that hadn't happened? Then she sighed and
rubbed the worry spot
be,ween
her eyebrows. What on
earth was she asking? This had to be more of her increasing insanity. More than
once during the past twenty-four hours she'd wondered if she was actually
locked up in some hospital somewhere and only living out this fantasy in her
mind. It made more sense than anything else she could think of. Then she looked
back at the pictures.

It just all seemed so real.

Many times over the past six years she'd wished for the ability to turn back
time-to relive that moment when Daniel had put Hope in the car and then started
to back out of the driveway into the path of that high-speed pursuit. She'd
relived that horror over and over every time she'd closed her eyes, but it had
always been the same. The fight-Hope crying-Daniel leaving in anger-and her
watching them driving away without trying to make him stop. The flesh suddenly crawled
on the back of her neck. It had always been the same.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday in the antique store she'd had the same dream, and it had not
changed-until the point where Daniel started to back out of the drive. This
time she'd thrown herself on the hood of the car instead of watching him drive
away. This time she had screamed for him to stop, then begged him not to
leave-and for the first time since the nightmare had begun, he and Hope had
lived.

She closed her eyes, remembering the ring that she'd found in that old scrap
of lace-and the odd little man who'd looked at her with such sad, sad eyes. The
ring had been so small and yet it had slid upon her finger as if it had been
made to fit. She took a deep breath, making herself calm and trying to re member
what had happened next.

Oh yes-the scent of dust was in the air and another, more subtle scent of
faded roses. She'd started to feel faint and reached out to steady herself
against a counter.

Mary's heart started to pound. Even now she could feel the heart-stopping
panic of knowing something had been set into motion that she could not stop.
She vaguely remembered how her head had started to spin, as if everything she
was looking at was turning backward.

Backward!

She gasped as a new thought occurred.

Backward?

No. Not that.

It wasn't possible.

There was no such thing as going back in time. But she couldn't turn loose
of the notion. What if that last dream she'd had of their fight had been real?

What if she really had been given the opportunity to change their fates?
What if she had saved their lives and changed the future?

She shoved the picture album back on the shelf and got to her feet, then
went to the phone, picked up the receiver and dialed the operator.

“Operator, how may I help you?"

“What's today's date?"

“I'm sorry?" the operator said.

“Please," Mary pleaded. "Just tell me. What's today's date?"

“September 26th."

Mary started to shake. She'd walked into the antique store on October 2nd. She
took a deep breath and then asked.

“What's the year?"

“Ma'am, are you ill?"

No, but I may be crazy. "No, just please tell me. What year is
this?"

“It's September the 26th, 2002."

Mary replaced the receiver without acknowledgment of the operator's last answer.
What was there to say? Oh, by the way, I think I've traveled backward in time
and don't want to be late for dinner?

Before she could follow the thought any further, the phone rang. She jerked
back in reflex, half expecting to hear the operator's voice telling her to get
ready for a permanent trip to the funny farm.

‘Hello?"

“Mary, darling, how are you?"

'Phyllis?"

Phyllis O'Rourke laughed. "Yes, it's me. Surely it hasn't been that
long since we talked."

Only six years... but who's counting. "Sorry, I was sort of
preoccupied."

'I certainly know how that is," Phyllis said. "As for the reason
I'm calling, it will soon be Hope's birthday. I wanted to know if you'd made
any special plans, because if not, Mike and I would love to have all of you
over for dinner."

'That sounds wonderful," Mary said. "I'll check with Daniel and
get back to you, okay?"

'Great! I wasn't sure if you would be having a party for her or not, and
certainly don't want to intrude."

'Grandparents never intrude," Mary said. "You're a dear,"
Phyllis said. "I'd love to chat longer but Mike is waiting for me. Let me
know about the dinner later. Bye-bye."

'Yes, goodbye," Mary said, and hung up, amazed that the conversation
with a woman who had once hated her guts seemed so comfortable and warm.

She started back to the photo albums when the phone suddenly rang again.
This time she was a little more composed.

'Hello?"

'Hey, good-looking... it's me."

Relief washed over her in waves and sent her moving backward toward a chair.

'Oh...it's you."

She heard amusement in his voice.

'Who did you think it would be?"

'I just finished talking to your mom. She invited us to dinner for Hope's
birthday."

'What did you tell her?"

``That I'd get back to her later after I talked to you."

'Whatever you want is fine with me," Daniel said. "Are you
busy?"

'Not really. I was looking at old photo albums when Phyllis called and was
still standing by the phone when it rang. It startled me."

He chuckled. "Hey, honey ...I don't have long before I have to be in court,
but the reason I called is that Reese Arnaud telephoned. He wants to talk to
Hope about the man who approached her at school yesterday."

'Reese Arnaud?"

Daniel frowned. These blank spots in Mary's memory were beginning to trouble
him. "Molly's father? Hope's best friend, Molly? He's a detective with the
Savannah P.D., remember?"

Mary's stomach knotted. "The police. Oh God... yes ... of course, I'd
forgotten he was with the police. Oh Daniel, do they think-"

'They don't think anything right now, honey. They're just covering all the
bases. With those two little girls still missing, they can't afford to ignore
anything, even if it's a long shot, okay?"

'Yes, of course. What do I do?"

`Pick Hope up from school as usual, then go straight home. He's coming over
at four on the pretext of bringing back a jacket that she left at their house
the last time she spent the night with Molly.

He's bringing a sketch artist, too, but let him handle all the explanations.
Hope won't think anything of Reese coming there, and he knows how to talk to
her without frightening her."

Mary's voice was shaking. She knew it, but she couldn't make it stop.

'Will you be here?"

'You couldn't keep me away." Mary sighed. "This is awful, isn't
it?"

'Yes, but not as awful as what the parents of those two missing children are
going through."