WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (17 page)

As they reached the doorway, Liz saw Nancy glaring from her station, as if she’d somehow defended the library’s sanctity against the wife of a murderer. Liz swallowed as they passed through the doors and went out into the parking lot, where she saw why the guard asked her to follow him.

The front window of her blue Honda Odyssey had been spray-painted with red lettering: “
MURDERER!!”
it said.

* * * *

CHAPTER 7 — Jon Conway Part 2

Thursday afternoon…

There were parts of Hamilton Island, and Washington State, that were as beautiful as anything else on the planet, and Jon had definitely spanned more than his share of the globe, but most times, the weather was cold and windy. Though the Northwest had a reputation for constant rain, that was
a bit
of an exaggeration. Mostly, it just seemed as if it was always
about to rain
. Hamilton Island seemed to be in a perpetual state of gray gloom.

During his time away from the island, Jon had been spoiled by the clear blue skies and crisp, dry yearlong weather of California.

Occasionally, the sun would sit in the sky just right, showing the nonbelievers just how gorgeous the island could be, with glistening forests of Hemlocks, Spruces, Maples, Firs, Cedars, and every other tree that made the area look like a Christmas card. As much as Jon hated the weather, and his family, the island still held a nostalgic beauty of a slice of his youth when he was still happy.

At least it’s not raining now,
he thought to himself as they walked the streets of Vivian’s neighborhood.

Jon was walking with Cassidy and her neighbor, Mrs. Lindley, Vivian’s best friend and fellow soldier in the Infantry of the Slightly Insane. She was batty as Bruce Wayne’s basement, but unlike Vivian, Mrs. Lindley didn’t pour her crazy from a bottle. She made it all upstairs in the wacky whatever that seemed to hold court in her head.
 

Vivian was staying home in case Emma returned, or someone came with news of finding the girl, which was just as well so far as Jon was concerned. He’d never much liked the woman, and she sure as hell hated him and his family, with a venom unlike any he’d ever encountered.

“I really like the headband she’s wearing in this picture,” Mrs. Lindley said, gesturing toward the photo of Emma. “Makes her look like
Punky Brewster
with all the colors. Do you remember
Punky Brewster
?” she asked Cassidy.
 

Cassidy said no. She also didn’t point out that the poster was black and white, or even turn to face Mrs. Lindley as she stapled the MISSING poster onto the weatherbeaten telephone pole.

“I liked that show,” she said. “I thought Henry was so handsome, though he was a bit old for me then.” She suddenly lit up like New Year’s. “He’s perfect for me now, though!” Then she frowned. “Unless of course he’s dead.”

Mrs. Lindley had lived next door to Vivian forever, ever since she moved to the island from Aberdeen after her husband passed in a logging accident. She took the life insurance and decided to live on an island like she’d always wanted to do. Island living turned out nothing at all like she expected, she often said. Jon had found her amusing more often than not when he was a kid, but the odd bird had definitely grown odder since he’d left.
 

Mrs. Lindley’s company wouldn't have bothered Jon so much, except that he needed to get Cassidy alone so he could find out more about his family’s involvement in keeping Emma secret and breaking he and Sarah up. Cassidy had said he wouldn’t want to know, and that she couldn’t tell him. Little did she know that he wouldn’t leave the island without getting to the truth.
 

As they searched and knocked on doors, asking questions, Jon kept flashing back to talking to Emma at the funeral as she stuffed cookies into her tiny purse. She was so adorable. So much like her mother. That was, of course, when he got the first hint that she was his daughter.

Why had Sarah kept her a secret?

What could his family have done to prevent her from telling him?

And who in his family had done the deed?

He suspected Warren, but he couldn’t rule out his father. The old man had become a recluse of late, but that wasn’t the case so much a decade ago, when he had a firmer hand on the company . . . and the family. His father had often scolded Jon for associating with the Hughes girls, saying they were nothing but trouble. “That whole family is bad news,” his father had once said, suggesting that there must of been some bad blood between his dad and Vivian, perhaps.

Jon wasn’t sure how, but he was certain that he’d make whoever was responsible for the deception pay.

Looking at Cassidy, Jon wondered how much he’d be able to get out of her today even if Mrs. Lindley wasn’t there. She seemed distracted, far off. Probably because her niece had gone missing, that was certainly understandable, but it seemed like there was something else, too. Something beneath the surface.
 

He wondered if she was using again.
 

From everything he’d heard, Cassidy had gone clean, and she looked fine at the memorial, albeit beat to hell. If you were anywhere near the edge of the wagon, though, losing your twin could give you a helluva nudge off it. Especially if your twin was someone like Sarah.
 

Jon had known stronger people than Cassidy relapse over far less than that, though it did seem as though Cassidy had kicked it the hard way, rather than checking into some bullshit facility like
Crossroads, Betty Ford, Promises Kept
, or any of the other posh thousand dollar a day or more revolving door “treatment” centers most of the people he knew had gone to, where they focused more on meditation and yoga than shoving a pillow on the face of addiction.
 

Mrs. Lindley said, “Did you know I had a dog once? His name was Bobby and everyone said he was half giraffe.”
 

Neither Jon or Cassidy responded. He couldn't see her face, but Jon wondered if Cassidy ever answered Mrs. Lindley’s more obvious crazy with a smile. He would have liked to see, just to satisfy his curiosity, but he was mostly happy to stare at her back.
 

No matter how different Cassidy and Sarah were on the inside, and outside to those who knew them best, Cassidy was still close enough in appearance to Sarah to make him feel as if he were walking with a ghost. It wasn’t just the way she looked, it was the way she moved, too, as though the shadow of impossible was given every shade of reality.
 

Good thing they sounded nothing alike. While there were similarities in their tone, Sarah’s voice was sweet – French to Cassidy’s German. Cassidy’s language was gruffer, far more profane, though maybe it was just because she hated him. There had been a time, years ago when they were all kids, that he actually liked playing with Cassidy more. Cassidy was the fun sister, one of the guys, who wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. Sarah was the more reserved, cautious, shy sister. The one who won Jon’s heart.

Mrs. Lindley drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “It’s gonna rain,” she said, looking up at the sky. “Are we gonna be out here much longer, ya think?”
 

Cassidy said, “Just till we get to the center of town. I’d like to put the rest of the posters up at the post office.”

“Where’s Vivian?” Mrs. Lindley held her hand out for another stack of posters, then crossed the street toward the intersection of Lighthouse and Main. “Shouldn't she be out here with us?”

Cassidy shook her head. “She had another one of her headaches. She wanted to come but would’ve been miserable, and we would’ve, too. Plus we needed someone to stay behind in case Emma came home.”
 

“The migraines?” Mrs. Lindley shook her head. “Seems like she’s getting them even more than she used to.”

Cassidy looked far off, barely whispered, “Yeah, a lot more.”

Mrs. Lindley said, “Blue marbles aren’t any sort of gumdrops.”
 

Cassidy looked back at Jon, almost smiling. He smiled back. The two of them quietly laughed as they crossed the street.
 

Ten minutes later, the two of them were standing in the center of town. Mrs. Lindley went to the small laundry over on Grover to see if anyone had left any quarters in the change machine, while Cassidy went to drop off a few flyers at the Stop and Shop, then the rest at the post office. Jon said he’d hang his final few posters on the two light posts, then on the bulletin board in front of the community center.
 

When Cassidy returned, Jon was staring at the bulletin board with his mouth open wide. There were 14 pictures on the board, five in color and nine in black and white. Eleven adults and three children – all missing.
 

Jon turned to Cassidy, shaking his head. “Hamilton Island isn’t that big,” he said. “Missing people shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Cassidy looked up at the board like it was graffiti in her own ghetto, then back at Jon. “You can’t find people if they don’t want to be found, or if they’re dead. Most of ‘em probably ran away, and a bunch of them are probably suicides, or falls, off Tanner’s Pass.”
 

Jon just kept shaking his head. “That can’t be,” he said.
 

Cassidy laughed, but there wasn’t any happy in the music. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jonny Conway. Wearing your rose-colored Armani, Bono-looking glasses. You don’t remember how depressing this place can be, or maybe you never had a clue to begin with, living up in the Gardens and all.”

Jon ignored her. “If these are suicides, or even runaways, the numbers are still big enough to make the news. In Seattle, at least.”
 

He looked around at all the CCTV cameras hanging from light posts, off the corners of buildings, and pretty much anywhere you could put a camera. There were enough cameras on the island to shoot the most invasive reality show ever. Cameras installed by Paladin, via his family, to keep the family safe during a time that crime was starting to rise on the island 10 years ago.
 

“All these damned cameras, and they can’t keep people safe?”

Another cracked laugh from Cassidy, then, “Ha, no one gives a shit about the dirt on the island.”

Words stuck in Jon’s throat as a thick, sickly mucus made its way into his mouth. He didn’t know what to say, wasn’t even sure
what
to think, but a creeping horror had wormed its way in his head and was now slithering through his body.
 

Jon held Cassidy’s eyes as the wind tousled his hair, staring into their bottomless depths with a sudden craving to know everything she knew.
 

“I found .50 cents!” Mrs. Lindley yelled, running toward them.

“We need to talk,” he said.
 

“We need to find Emma,” she said.

The gray in the sky turned black and started to pour down on them.

Jon wiped the rain from his face, then followed Cassidy and Mrs. Lindley back toward the house. As they walked, Jon couldn’t help but feel like they were being watched.
 

* * * *

CHAPTER 8 — Milo Anderson Part 2

4 p.m.

Milo woke up pissed.

He was angry at Alex for coming over. They would talk someday, probably, but not for a while – not before the sun had set on the horrors of what happened. When every thought of Alex made Milo think of Jessica, even the daylight was dark. Alex’s dad murdered the light.
 

He was also pissed about the “Cody” guy who was winding him up online, talking like he knew something and saying Manny was in danger. And then, when pressed for questions, the fucker stopped talking. Yet another online troll just looking to mess with people. It was one thing to fuck with people who deserved it, but why would you mess with grieving people. People who had lost friends, loves, family?

Asshole.

More than anything, though, Milo was pissed at himself for missing Jessica’s funeral, just like Other Mother said he would be. He supposed he knew he would be, too, somewhere deep in his heart. But the pain of seeing Jessica’s lifeless body was something he couldn’t bear.
 

Perhaps today he could find some closure, and pay his respects at her grave.

He looked outside his window. It looked like rain, so Milo put on a sweater, grabbed a chocolate-colored hoodie from the closet, then went downstairs and opened the garage, figuring he’d work up the courage to visit Jessica’s grave along the way.
 

Milo rode his mountain bike up the long and winding trail leading toward Oxley Cemetery, pumping his legs at the top of the mountain, feeling his heart gain a hundred pounds or so with every few hundred feet he pedaled closer to Jessica’s grave.
 

Knowing he’d turn himself coward about 500 yards before he did, Milo made a long circle around Oxley, then stopped pedaling as his bike careened dangerously fast down the hill toward the bottom, where Hamilton K-12 had sat without incident for 42 years. He pedaled past the front lawn, hating himself for being so weak.