Grim (4 page)

Shawn nodded and clipped the photo to an envelope. “Remember how Meg forgot where she hid Mom's gift, and we ended up quietly tearing the house apart at two a.m.?”

Rebecca took a chipped ceramic cup from the drainer and filled it with water. While the microwave buzzed in the background, she rummaged for creamer and instant coffee.

Finally, she said, “Yeah. Of course.”

There were lines being drawn, and both Shawn and Rebecca could feel the boundaries ink themselves in. They were agreeing on distance. They were agreeing not to say “Mom,” not to connect her to the body on the coroner's table, not to hurry back to those images, now that they'd survived the first round. If things were calm until the funeral, then they could grieve.

Rebecca took her cup of hot water out of the microwave and spooned in coffee powder.

“Shouldn't we plan the service before the obituary?” she asked.

“It's done.”

“What?” She set the mug on the counter, making a crisp
click
against the tiles.

“What did you think I was doing all day yesterday?”

“Getting high? How should I know? Shawn, you knew that I wanted to do this.”

“You can do flowers. Talk to the priest. I just chose the casket and time. The funeral home is preparing everything today. I thought you'd be relieved.”

Rebecca stared down at her swirling coffee, lips pressed into a thin line. “When is it?”

“Friday.”

“Tomorrow? It's so soon.”

Shawn didn't look at her. “Like you wanted,” he said, tapping his pen against the paper. “Don't tell me that we don't have enough time.”

Rebecca turned away from her own point. She stirred her coffee and picked up the bottle of creamer.

“Matt took me downtown yesterday,” she said, sounding distant. “There's a will, did you know that? Dad wanted them each to have one.”

“Oh?”

“The accounts are ours now.” Shawn nodded along. Rebecca cleared her throat. “The house is his.”

Shawn felt his stomach clench. “Matt's?” he asked, his voice spread thin.

“Dad's.”

“You're lying.”

Rebecca didn't even have the heart to be rude. “You know that I'm not,” she said. “She never changed it after the divorce.”

“He'll come and take it from us. You know he will.”

“He wouldn't do that, Shawn. He's not as bad as you think he is.” Rebecca dropped her spoon into the sink. “He's really upset about all of this.”

Shawn laid his hands flat against the counter. “You talked to him?”

“They loved each other once,” she said. “He deserved to know. I invited him to the service.”

“He won't come.”

“He said he'd think about it.” Rebecca sipped her coffee. “Look, Shawn,” she said. “Believe what you will, but you don't know everything.”

“I'm not letting you introduce him to Megan.”

Rebecca frowned but said nothing. Instead, she took a handful of gingersnaps from the cookie jar and left the kitchen. Her brother had drawn just one more line and she knew that whatever she said, this one would never change.

 

Erika and Jeremiah walked in silence for a long time, but dusk stayed draped around them. Erika had adapted to the twilight here, and the odd way it lit itself without any stars. She kept hoping to see the sky brighten with sunrise. Her imagination had always been quick to add extra eyes and teeth to the black-and-white sweep of midnight. Ever since childhood, she had found daylight an escape.

They reached another clearing, where a line of downed trees edged out the woods like a flood levee. Jeremiah touched Erika's arm to slow her. She glanced up and saw, for the first time, a ripe moon beaming down from that blank, slate-colored sky.

Ahead of them, the smooth forest floor began to break up, fading into a path and then a patio of weather-beaten stone. A low wall, netted with the dry, twisting stems of wintering vines, served as a border between earth and stone.

A lake lapped at the eastern edge of the terrace while a shuttered cottage marked the other side. Between them stood a trio of statues, all spaced along a weatherworn pedestal sixteen inches high. The stone extended out into a smaller platform in front of each statue, with shallow steps to lead the viewer up.

Jeremiah climbed over the downed wood and into the clearing. Erika followed, cautious as they approached the statues.

“Aren't they beautiful?” he murmured.

Erika kept her eyes on Jeremiah. “They're stone,” she said.

Jeremiah smiled.

They were women in the refined style of ancient Greece. All three were draped in robes that curled along their arms and fell in waves at their feet. Bursts of lichen bloomed in the hems of their dresses, and in the folds of their fingers and hair. Their heads were tipped forward in mourning. The first had her palms pressed against the hollows of her eyes. The second was the most serene, her hands buried in twists of perfect ringlets, her face stoic. The third clutched her mouth, as if to stifle her own weeping.

“They're creepy,” Erika said.

“Lonely,” said Jeremiah. “Sad.”

He turned to her. “You need to be very quiet for now,” he said. “You'll be my ears for a little while. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He walked up the steps of the second pedestal and ran a thumb along the curve of the sculpture's closed eyes. “Don't be afraid, Erika,” he whispered. “They're here to help us over.” He pressed his mouth against the statue's parted lips.

There was a heartbeat of silence and then, with a sigh of stone scraping stone, the carved fingers slid away from their bed of curls. The statue moved slowly, her hands splayed like starbursts. Ropes of hair snaked between the thin fingers that she slipped over Jeremiah's skin.

Erika held her breath as she watched, transfixed and terrified. Her own hands pressed hard against the stone wall, her knees locked straight to keep herself from falling. She thought about running away, but realized that she'd become too dependent. This man, or ghost, or demon, was the only one who could tie her back to something she actually understood.

Jeremiah held still until the statue drew back, hair tucked cleanly behind her ears and a half smile on her mouth. Her hands hung in midair, poised as if in conversation.

Jeremiah turned to Erika, sharing the statue's vague smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“What just happened?” Her voice came out a little desperate. With every passing hour, the world that she had always known was breaking to pieces in her hands.

Jeremiah looked at her a little while, silent, and then put a finger to his lips. He led her to the shore of the lake and untied a small wooden boat that waited there. She held tight to his hand as he helped her step offshore. The boat reminded her of the fishing trips that her ex-husband had been so fond of. They had never ended well.

Jeremiah took the oars and pushed away from the beach. Gentle swells fanned out behind them as he guided the boat farther and farther away from the shore. Above them, the moon sat bright and full in the sky. Its twin laughed softly in a bed of rippling glass.

It was a small lake, almost a pond, the surface littered with dark flecks of dead plant life and beetles. The spines of reeds and cattails ringed the shore, straight and sharp like quivers full of arrows. The only things alive were moonflowers that pushed down close to the water, blossoms clustered thick and brilliant white through the dark, mouths open and trumpeting to the twilight sky. Behind them marched the trees, bodies straight and slender in their sheer moonlit robes.

Erika turned away from the shore and stared at the water, her expression blank. She felt so drained, as if all of the sleep from before no longer mattered. Her shoulders sagged and she felt something like guilt and grief surge up from the bottom of her chest. It caught in her throat and settled there, heavy enough to make her sick. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and hunched down, breathing deep and trying to control herself. Jeremiah didn't seem to notice.

But of course he didn't notice, Erika thought. He knew exactly what was happening, even if he wouldn't tell her, so no panic pressed in to suffocate him. She turned over this idea, wondering why she wasn't more upset by his secrets, and tried to make herself angry. Anything to take away the nausea that came from thinking about her children. How long had she been gone? How could they possibly find her?

Across the shore, where the bones of more water plants split the surface of the lake, came a quiet splash. Erika rested her forehead against the back of her hand and tried not to dwell on the image of her own fingers, pale and slick, grabbing Shawn's collar and dragging him to the bottom of a bloody lake.

Jeremiah closed his eyes and kept rowing. His movements were steady, and the gentle pull of the water gave Erika a rhythm to focus on. Each stroke came like the rock of a cradle, smooth and easy, and brought back snatches of lullabies and sleepless nights. A mother's memories. Erika tuned every sense to the physical presence of the boat. She forced her breath to come slowly, regularly, and forced her mind away from her children.

They bucked forward. Erika's head snapped up. Jeremiah nearly dropped the oars.

“I told you to listen!” he yelled, tightening his grip, and tried to row faster.

A pair of thin, water-pruned hands slammed against the edge of the boat. Erika screamed, drawing back. She kicked at them and the fingers flew up, joints locked at odd angles.

“Don't touch the water,” Jeremiah said sharply. He threw himself into his work.

The surface of the lake burst as if boiling, but the water that slapped Erika's face and arms was cold enough to hurt. She clenched her teeth and held tight to the wooden seat as the boat continued its erratic skipping. She felt it leave the water. Beneath them, the lake came alive. They splashed when they came back down on the frothing waves. Erika winced, her muscles so tense they burned. Jeremiah kept his head down and rowed hard.

The sun came out.

Erika squeezed her eyes shut when the light exploded around them, its arrival making her dizzy and confused. The world, so green and blue and brilliant after the dark of the woods, almost blinded her. The water continued to throw them into the air, splashing yellow-brown now instead of black. When Erika opened her eyes again, she could see something crisscrossing the lake bed: thin, black shadows streaking past like bullets.

They were nearly to the eastern shore.

Jeremiah got to his feet, knocking the boat into a sideways lurch. “Don't touch the water!”

He grabbed the coil of rope from under his seat and swung the looped end in wide circles above his head. A docking post stood onshore, short and squat and so far away. The rope rippled out from Jeremiah's hands. He watched it fly, desperately fighting for balance on the shifting floor.

He missed.

The rope flopped on the patchy grass, kicking up a fine breath of dust. Jeremiah's stomach jerked as he realized that he'd missed his only chance, and that he'd lost them both to the Weeper's lake. He could feel the boat tipping up at the bow, rising on the back of an unnatural wave. He hauled on the rope to pull it back, and hissed as the cord cut into his sweaty palms.