Dancing With the Devil (13 page)

Mac looked down and saw she was wearing a suit of armor. She tried to take a step toward her father, but the metal was heavy, and her legs wouldn't budge. She started to reach for Lily as her father walked past, but she wasn't strong enough to lift her arms. She was encased in the armor and couldn't move.

Lily looked at Mackenzie and began singing.

My little princess,

You can go anywhere you want to go

Above the rain, beyond the snow,

Below the sea, just come with me,

And we can be our own royalty.

Her dad walked past the stairs, still carrying Lily, and smiled straight at Mac. He said, “You're not my princess. You're a knight. Maybe we could have one more knight visit.”

Lily's dress began to bleed. The polka dots exploded like fireworks, and a million red dots dropped like tears, flooding the floor. Mackenzie tried to reach for Lily, but her fingers only grazed the dress. With all her might, she stretched out to her, using every ounce of strength to lift her arms. After what felt like hours, blinded by sweat, she grabbed Lily and hugged her. She opened her eyes to look at her sister but instead found herself shivering and naked, trying to wash the bloody dress clean of its awful memories.

“Miss? Hello? Wake up. We're here,” the taxi driver said.

Mac opened her eyes and sat up. She was still holding Lily's gift, the box splayed open in her lap. She tied the ribbons back up.

“I don't have enough money for a decent tip, but please, give this to your little girl, okay?” Mac tossed the box into the front seat where he caught it with one hand. He gave her a halfhearted wave with it like he knew a kid wasn't good for a tip anyway.

As he drove off, Mackenzie realized she didn't even know which airport he'd taken her to. She looked up and saw a big sign for Burlington International. Mac prayed she'd be able to get home in time.

The place was already awake with people streaming in, and she made her way to the door and went straight to the closest ticket counter and got in line. How could there already be a line at this hour?

The dream she'd had in the cab bubbled to the surface, and for the first time, Mackenzie wondered how she was going to “save” Lily. What would she do when she walked into the house? Tell Barb what her father had done to her all those years? Kidnap Lily? Confront
him
? As hard as it was to believe, she suspected he didn't really think he'd done anything that bad. He always said he was the only one who could love her right. Could he actually fool himself that much? And if he didn't believe he'd done anything bad, how could she get anyone else to believe it? Why would they accept the word of a teenage girl over a town leader? A respected businessman?

She couldn't prove her accusation. Mackenzie thought of Charlie. At least he had evidence. He had fresh proof almost every day. He should tell.
I'd go with him
,
Mac thought. Ironically, she couldn't
want
proof, because that would mean he'd gotten to Lily at that very moment, while Mac was on her way home.

Mac shifted her pack to her other shoulder and peeked around the guy in front of her. They hadn't moved an inch. The lady at the front wouldn't shut up. What was she talking about anyway? How cute her dog was?
Let's GO, people.
Then Mac remembered it was Independence Day weekend. The news was always filled with reports about how packed the airports and highways were at this time of year. What if she couldn't get a flight? What if her father had left early to avoid the traffic jams?

No, she'd get there. They were not leaving until lunchtime at the earliest, she was sure of it. Dad wouldn't hit the road before then, since he's always trying to find the best route with the least traffic. “After lunch, people will already be at the beach and enjoying their independence,” he always said, thinking he was the funniest guy on earth. “Their independence from
work
, that is,” he'd finish, laughing his ass off. Same stupid joke every year.

She would get there in time, and she'd figure out what to do when she arrived. She was too tired and too scared to figure anything more than the next step in getting home. Mackenzie would find an airline that would take her home. She had to.

The woman behind the counter at Blue Skies Airline looked as though she'd been up for hours, even though it was only just after seven a.m. Her hair was pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and her uniform was starched and wrinkle-free. She pecked at the keyboard in front of her like an impatient bird gobbling every available breakfast breadcrumb.

Mackenzie prayed this last airline would have something available. The woman looked up at Mac after examining her screen and said, “I'm sorry, but that first flight and every one after is completely booked.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me?” Mac gasped, more to herself than the lady. “What am I going to do?” She glanced up and realized the agent was going to think she was a big pain in her butt and shoo her along. Mackenzie cleared her throat and stood up straight. “Look, there's an emergency at home and I really have to get there. Please, isn't there some single seat, somewhere?”

The agent's expression softened a bit and she checked her screen once more, clicking and waiting, and clicking some more. Without looking up said, “You understand, it's a holiday.” She continued clicking her keys and added, “Everyone has their own little emergencies.” She looked up at Mac, her perfect eyebrows raised, probably thinking that everything was urgent when you're a teenager.

Mac tried to look serious and mature, despite the fact that she hadn't showered in what felt like weeks and was wearing her kit shammy that had BIKE GEEKS emblazoned across the chest. “I do understand that, yes,” she replied. She wanted to scream at the woman.

The clerk seemed satisfied and looked back at her computer. “There is one seat left on the second flight out, at nine o'clock this morning. However,” she paused and clicked more keys, “it's in business class.”

“How much is that ticket?”

“That would be $970.” When she saw all the color go out of Mackenzie's face, she added, “But that's including all airport taxes and fees.” When Mac still didn't respond, the agent said, “I suggest you make a decision. Since this is the last seat available, it could be snapped up at another counter.” She tapped her long, manicured nail on the edge of the keyboard. “Or online. At any minute.”

Tap tap tap.

Of course she'd spend almost $1,000 on a plane ticket to save Lily.

How could she not?

Mackenzie paid the woman and went through security and on to her gate. Her stomach rumbled, but since she was worried about her budget, she limited herself to an orange, looking longingly at the $7 croissant behind the glass at the food stand.

Her hands still smelled like citrus by the time her flight was called. She got in line and waited while the passengers ahead of her boarded. It was a small plane, and they were taking everyone's carry-on luggage and loading it below. Mac got worried, since she had wads of cash hidden all over her pack. If they took it, how was she going to fish out all the money without everyone seeing?

She stepped up, and before she handed her ticket to the attendant, the woman said, “I'm sorry, miss, you'll have to—” she stopped as she read the ticket. “Why don't you give me that pack and I'll put it in the closet right up front?”

Going Business Class clearly had its perks, Mac decided. She settled in the second row and fell asleep before the plane left the ground. Mackenzie didn't wake up until all the passengers had disembarked and the flight attendant was shaking her shoulder. She rose up from the depths of a deep, deep sleep. She did not want to wake up and face her day.

Mac slogged through the airport, holiday travelers rushing past her in both directions, trying to get to the nearest beach or pool, and fast. She understood why after she left the air-conditioned sanctuary of the terminal. As the automatic double doors opened, a whoosh of hot air hit her, and she felt like she'd walked into a solid wall.

Plodding over to the taxi stand, she glanced at the bus waiting to leave for Westchester County and the giant sign that announced the cheap $42 fare
and
the millions of stops it'd make. Mac looked away. She needed to get home as fast as possible and couldn't risk getting there after they'd left for the Cape. She got into an air-conditioned cab and sighed with relief. It seemed everyone must've gotten to their barbecues or beach spots early, because the Whitestone Bridge was clear. The parkway traffic wasn't too bad either, and they made it to Wheaton in record time. Ninety minutes after deplaning, the cab left Mackenzie standing in front of her house, wondering how the hell she was going to save Lily.

She went to the front door and turned the knob. Locked. She walked to the kitchen entrance, but that was locked too. Leaning down to the fake rock that hid the spare key, she could feel her heart pounding. She was scared, but she also realized it was a different kind of fear.

She wasn't scared for herself, or what her father could do to her. And she knew she'd fucking
kill
him if she found him with Lily. She wasn't scared about that at all.

She was terrified that she hadn't been paying attention, and
she
was the reason he had gotten to Lily. She could have so easily prevented it! How self-involved and selfish would she have to be to not even notice her father visiting Lily's room at night? There's just no way she would've ever let that happen to Lily. Was there still a chance she was wrong?

Mackenzie slid the key into the door, her stomach flipping over and over. She took a deep, steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and walked in.

“Hello?” she called, dropping her pack on the floor. “Anyone home?”

No answer. The house felt empty, closed up, with everything put away and shut down. Mackenzie felt her stomach lurch again.
They couldn't have left yet. Not yet. Please, no.

Trotting back out the kitchen door, she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered in through the garage window. It was empty.

Mac felt her panic build. She tried to convince herself they hadn't left.
They probably just went to the market, loading up for the ride.

She punched in the code on the keypad and rocked from side to side as the giant door took its time opening. She rushed to the cabinets where they stored all the summer gear. One by one, she flung the doors wide to find the goggles and fins missing. The beach toys were gone. The towels had been cleared out.

Her trot became a run as she rocketed back into the house and took the stairs two at a time, frantically looking in all the bedrooms for any sign that they hadn't left. Mackenzie scanned Lily's room and stopped at her bed.

The Brat went nowhere without her ratty old blankie. The spot she kept it was empty. Mac went downstairs, her mind whirling. She would have to get to the Cape. Before that night. Before Lily's bedtime.

She ran to her room and pulled her top dresser drawer open so fast it almost came off the roller and fell to the floor. Her phone was buried at the bottom under her socks. Dead. She grabbed her charger and ran back downstairs trying to figure out how she could possibly get herself to Cape Cod.

By bike? Her old one wasn't ready for a long trip, and besides, it was way too far to ride, particularly by nightfall. Train? She rushed to the phone and called Amtrak, but the trains only went as far as Boston, and then she'd still have to find a way out to the Cape. And forget about the bus. It would never get her there in time.

Mac checked her phone. Plugged in, there was enough juice to make a call. At least she could try to call Barb. Maybe at least see if she was with Lily and not in Canada. But just as Mac almost pressed the send key, she realized if she didn't reach Barb, she couldn't leave a message—that would only worry Barb more. And then she'd see the missed call and wonder what was going on. She knew Mackenzie didn't have her phone on the trip with her. Mac would just have to get to the Cape and then call or wait to find out if Barb was there or not. She couldn't even
try
to call her until she was at least closer.

She sat down on the floor and dragged her pack over. The skin on the backs of her hands scraped as she quickly dug in and out of all the mesh pockets, zippered compartments and hiding places she'd stashed all the money. She counted what was left and got out the phone book and dialed the local cab company.

“
Chello
?” The man who answered sounded as though he were clearing his throat instead of greeting a caller.

“Is this the Westchester Cab Company?” Mackenzie asked.

“Jes. Meh I help you?”

“I need a cab to go to Cape Cod.”

“Kep Cot? Where dis is?”

“In Massachusetts. You know,
Cape Cod
?” Mackenzie's patience was threadbare.

“Ah, different state,” the man said. “Then we do it by mile. Two dollar, fifty cent for a mile.”

Mackenzie threw her head back and closed her eyes. It was definitely over 250 miles to their beach house. She went to the pantry to see what she could scrounge together for the long drive.

Turned out Harry, her latest cabbie, was a roadie too, and Mac was distracted enough not to keep checking the time. Two and a half hours later, Harry and Mackenzie had talked about cycling until they had covered every ride they'd taken, every bike they'd owned, the Tour de France, and the latest doping scandals. He distracted her rising panic when they hit pockets of holiday traffic as they passed through New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island and, finally, into Massachusetts.

Her whole life, whenever they drove out to the Cape, Mackenzie searched for the familiar markers signaling the finish line to the seemingly endless ride. It was always a relief knowing she was about to be released from the prison that was her father's car.

Now, as they passed the billboard for the Massachusetts Maritime Academy, four miles before the Bourne Bridge, it felt more like a danger sign. She still had no idea what she was going to do when she got to the house.

They swirled around the traffic circle that leads to Route 6, and Harry saw the same Dunkin' Donuts where her father always stopped for a bathroom break.

“I know you're in a rush, but I gotta make a pit stop.” Harry asked. “I'll get us some Munchkins, too. My treat!”

He pulled off the roundabout and parked. As she waited for him to pay for the donuts, Mac's mind wandered to Charlie, when they were still on the bus, and recalled how excited he got about going to the Dunkin' Donuts Center in Providence. It seemed so long ago. So much of what she felt and thought had changed since then. She didn't even consider Charlie an asshole anymore, she realized. And if he did act like a jerk sometimes, who wouldn't, getting beaten every day? It occurred to her that if she believed him, maybe someone would believe her, too. But who could she tell? What if Barb wasn't there? What if she had to face her father alone? What if he was with Lily?

They filled up on coffee and donut holes as they drove, whizzing past the scrubby pines toward the Sagamore Bridge and Mid-Cape Highway. When she saw the big green exit sign for Brewster/Chatham, she knew they were getting closer, and Mackenzie felt the donuts in her stomach weld together.

She still had no plan, and though it wasn't dark yet, Mac knew she had to figure this out sooner than later.

Finally, they got to her exit. By the time they pulled up to the house the sun was almost gone. Golden beach time, her dad called it, when he and Barb would be breaking out the plastic cups and wine.

If they were here.

If Barb were here.

“Could you wait and just make sure I get in okay, Harry?”

“Not a problem. It's not like I'm dying to get back on the road on the Fourth of July. Take your time,” he said.

Once again, Mackenzie stood in front of her house, this time smelling the sea breeze coming from down the sandy lane. A sign with a mermaid with a cartoon bubble announcing, “The Douglas Family,” hung on the fence right in the middle, advertising a normal, happy home. The whimsy and scrolling vines proved it; the flowers punctuated their joy.

She opened the latch on the fence and headed up the walk. The grass was lush, and the garden around the front had been weeded. She squinted against the bright white of the house. The front door had gotten a fresh coat of red, and it coordinated perfectly with the roses growing up the porch posts. It looked so pristine.

She reached for the knob, knowing it wouldn't be locked, and opened it, peering into the cool dimness. “Hello?” she said. Clearing her throat, she raised her voice and called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

No answer.

She kept her pack on. She wasn't ready to part with it just yet. It gave her stability, like ballast on a boat. She walked toward the kitchen but stopped mid-stride at the door to the basement. She looked at it, her head cocked, trying to remember something. Her shoulders shook, and goose bumps rolled from the back of her neck down her arms.

It was the dream from the cab in Vermont. It came back to her now, materializing in front of her eyes, as though she were watching a movie. Mac just stood there staring into space, actually seeing the past in her mind's eye.

She was trying to wash the dress. Definitely dream logic, right? Because … little kids don't wash clothes. They're not coordinated enough. They don't even know there's a special soap to use. Plus, they should be playing and having fun. Not … trying to get blood stains out of a dress.

The air squeezed her, like it had weight. She reached for the handle to the basement door, and even though it was hot outside, the knob felt cool in her hand as she turned it. It was muggy though, and the door stuck as she tried to open it. She yanked, and the rack attached to the other side clattered with all the spray cans and cleaning supplies stored there. She switched on the light at the top of the stairs. She hadn't ever been down there before. Had she? She couldn't remember. The darkness was lit to a yellow dinginess, yet she felt like it was where she needed to be. It was right. Not scary.

Mackenzie grabbed hold of the banister and went down the wooden stairs, her feet making a hollow clopping sound as she descended, like the pendulum of an old grandfather clock. But with every step, Mac was going back in time, remembering there had been another visit. Her first visit to the basement.

By the time she'd gone down five steps, the temperature dropped by ten degrees and the musty basement smell reached her nostrils. It reminded her of pennies. Or the coppery smell of blood.

At the bottom, she pivoted, her left hand still gripping the banister, and turned to face the back wall. In the dimness, Mac could see the washer and dryer. Side by side, now chipped and rusted, reminding her of two old loyal sentinels, guarding her past.

In slow motion, Mackenzie walked toward them. This was what she'd been trying to ignore. To get away from and forget. But it was part of her. It was like trying to run away from your arms or your legs.

If you can fly away, fly away,

Little princess.

Dream a dream with any scene,

My little princess.

You can go anywhere you want to go,

Above the rain, beyond the snow,

Below the sea, just come with me,

And we can be our own royalty,

My little princess.

She couldn't fly away, ignore what happened, ride fast enough, or pedal hard enough. And now, she didn't want to. Staring at the washer, she remembered. Mackenzie knew why this felt so familiar. She knew why she needed to be here. She knew what she had to do.

That night. The dress. She had wanted to fix it. If she could fix it, to make it clean again, the way it was when her mother gave it to her, maybe she could make everything the way it had been. It could go back to being the way it was.

She always saw the housekeeper coming up from the basement with a basket of clothes that looked brand new, all folded and clean, so neatly stacked they could've been merchandise in a clothing store. Mackenzie would make everything brand new again like the perfectly folded clean clothes. If she made it like new maybe even her mama could come back like when she gave her the dress—the last thing she had ever given her.

So after awhile, she got out of her bed, put on her footie PJs, and came down to the basement. She hadn't been scared. What could scare her in a basement? She had already seen the monster.

But the night of the Father-Daughter Dance, after his visit, when she got there she found
two
machines, not just one. She stood in front of them, trying to figure out which made everything new and clean and perfect. She didn't know! She couldn't see on top and there was nothing to climb on. She had stood there for a long time. But she was so little and couldn't figure out what to do.

Now, Mackenzie stood in the same spot, knowing exactly what she had to do. Sliding her pack off her shoulders, she let it drop to the tile floor. Bracing herself for what she was about to face, she leaned both hands on the machine, hung her head, and took a deep breath.
You can do this. You've been through worse. You're a kickass survivor.

A pump or battery or something turned itself on, making a loud grinding noise, and Mackenzie jumped. She stood still until her breath was even and steady again, then she crouched down, her right hand on the front of the first machine for balance. It was dark, she couldn't see anything, and didn't know what she would find. Would there be anything there
to
find? Would it help her at all? And if it did help, what would happen?

She wiped her left hand on her shirt and reached behind the machine, but yanked it back when her entire arm got caught in a tickly, creepy net of old spiderwebs.

She shuddered and peeled them off. Mac grabbed the machine for balance again. Once more, she stretched way back, groping the pipes and drain and other lines that led in and out, sluicing the water away. This time, she felt something else. It was wedged between two pipes. A small, bunched-up piece of cloth. She shimmied it free, pulled it out, and looked at it. Mackenzie no longer felt like she was in a parallel universe. Carefully, she tucked it into the front pocket of her pack, ran upstairs, and out of the house, slamming the big red door behind her.

She climbed back into the taxi. “Harry, could you please take me one more place?”

“Sure, kid, where to?”

“The police station.”