The Dark Light (3 page)

I groaned. According to Willie, all love was fated, and she was determined to prove this by matchmaking any single person who crossed her path. It had never made much sense to me. Fate is fate, right? It shouldn’t need a helping hand.

Of course, this grand view of romance didn’t apply to her own love life. Then she was more like, “That guy’s hot. I’m going to ask him out.” I’d never had that kind of confidence with guys. Nor did I believe in fate.

I hated to burst Willie’s bubble, but Andy and I getting together was a long shot. I really liked him, but a lot had happened since the last time we’d almost gone out. Andy could have any girl he wanted. He was unlikely to still be interested in me.

Kieran snorted. “Will they, won’t they? What does it matter if they put us under curfew? I mean, do you really think they can catch the guy in two days?”

“Dad has the whole town looking,” said Willie. “Seems Alex disappeared a little after nine last night. That rat-dog of theirs got out, and he went after it.”

“So he was close to home,” said Seth.

“Last seen heading behind the elementary school on Rowe.”

Andy forgotten, I straightened. “At nine last night?”

“Or thereabouts. Mrs. Dash isn’t in a state to remember much of anything.”

But I remembered. It had been at about nine when I’d seen the light in the same area. My heart kicked.

Maybe someone had really been there, someone with a flashlight, someone kidnapping Alex as I’d stood there and
just watched!
No. It was coincidence. Had to be. I couldn’t go to Sheriff Burkett with something like that. Had I even seen anything anyway?

I recalled how the moonlight had appeared from behind the clouds and then, nothing. No truck; no van; no hooded, cloaked shadow. Certainly no Alex Dash. But if that was where he’d last been seen . . .

I almost screamed when the bell rang for homeroom. Kieran and Seth had already wandered away.

“Relax, Mia,” said Willie. “There won’t be any curfew. I’d make Dad’s life too miserable being home every night.”

We grabbed our bags and entered the tide of bodies that streamed into the hallway. My mind remained fixed on the fields by Rowe.

“Since you mentioned the lake,” said Willie. “Does this mean you spoke to Pete?”

“Yeah,” I replied, though suddenly it didn’t seem so important. “He’s gonna stay with Jay. He even talked about taking him bowling.”

“Holy crap. Pete acting like a parent?”

I doubted Willie’s disdain for Pete would ever die. Sure, he wasn’t about to win any “Uncle of the Year” awards, but he’d stepped up when it’d mattered, and that meant more to me than him being there for bedtime stories and baking cupcakes.

“He’s doing his best, Wills,” I said.

Willie stopped, statuesque amid the jostling crowd. “Mia, why do you always defend him?”

I recalled Pete’s face that morning, remembering his concern about my grades and college. “Because he’s my uncle,” I said. “And if he hadn’t taken us in, I don’t know where we’d be.”

* * *

The Dashes didn’t come to Mickey’s, and the booth at the window stood empty all night. I caught Greg looking that way a couple of times during the shift. He shrugged and offered me a halfhearted smile.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Ten years old.”

Mickey’s was quiet all evening, but for the usual collection of waifs and strays who held court at the bar at the back of the restaurant. Thankfully, Pete wasn’t with them. He and I had an unwritten rule: He never drank at Mickey’s when I was on shift. Seeing him loaded with this crew would have been far too depressing.

By eight thirty, Rich Manning, who’d been Crownsville High’s homecoming king in 1982 or something, had had far too much to drink. He grabbed my arm as I passed the bar.

“Fetch me a beer, Mia.”

Getting stuck with Rich was the last thing I wanted. “You know I can’t serve beer. Greg’ll be back in a minute.”

“You look old enough to me,” he said. Leering, he patted the empty stool beside him. “Come on, I won’t tell.”

Gross.
Sometimes I had to remind myself why I worked here.

I glanced at Gus Mason, who’d been patiently listening to Manning for most of the night. Gus shook his head. “You’ve had enough, Rich. Let Mia get on with her work.”

“Used to be you didn’t have to ask for a fresh beer in Mickey’s,” grumbled Manning.

“Used to be you knew when it was time to go home,” Gus replied.

Gus had been in Crownsville since, I don’t know—the Stone Age. He lived on the river near Old Man Crowley. Gus ran a ferry along the river in summer. It was popular with hikers who came to walk the woods along the Ridge. Willie and I would sometimes jump on for a couple of bucks, but I don’t think Gus made much money at it. It was just something he’d always done.

“Whole place is going to the dogs,” said Rich. “Whole town. Whole country!”

Glad to get out of his reach, I headed for the nearby wait station where I began to fold napkins for the weekend. Rich continued to gripe.

“Used to be everyone knew where everyone’s kids were. Not now. It’s the lights, Gus. Nothing good ever happens when the lights come to Crownsville.”

As soon as Rich mentioned lights, I looked across to the bar. Don’t get me wrong, Rich Manning wasn’t what I’d call a reliable source of information. But still, I kept my ears open.

“And what lights would that be?” asked Gus.

“You know the ones. Up on the Ridge, out on the river. Saw ’em myself a couple of nights ago.”

“Is that a fact?” said Gus. “From what I heard, you was in here a couple of nights ago. No wonder you saw stars.” He glanced in my direction, just as I stifled a smile. He winked.

“It’s the aliens, Gus. Feds know all about ’em. I bet the Feds know what happened to those kids.”

“That must be it,” said Gus. “Aliens.”

“I’ve seen the lights on the Ridge.”

Gus set down his beer. “Rich, you haven’t seen anything more than a bit of Saint Elmo’s fire or will-o’-the-wisp. Maybe you set fire to your own fart but were too drunk to realize it.”

I covered my mouth, struggling not to laugh out loud.

“UFOs,” Rich continued, undeterred. “Coming here from New Mexico. CIA’s got files on it. Ask the CIA what happened to those kids.”

“I’ll be sure to,” said Gus. He yawned. “When they’re next in town.”

As pathetic as Rich Manning was, I thought about what he’d said for the rest of my shift. Whatever it had been, I had seen
something the night before. Maybe it was something important. With Alex still missing, it was time to come clean.

At the end of my shift, I called Willie.

“Is your dad home?”

“Just got back. Missed dinner and everything. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“About what?”

“Willie, I’m not even sure, but I’ll bring chicken.”

“Then I guarantee you’ll have his undivided attention. I’ll tell him you’re coming over.”

Willie was looking out for me when I pulled up on her family’s driveway. “What’s the big news?” she asked, as soon as I left the car.

Not convinced I knew anything helpful, I shrugged. “It’s just something I saw last night. It’s probably nothing.”

The Burketts lived close to the center of town in Crownsville’s “Historic District,” which was basically one long, tree-lined street. Dreaming of central air and her own en suite bathroom, Willie had been begging her parents to move to the new subdivision they were building to the west of town. I preferred this house with its overgrown trees, brick front, and lavender shutters. Over the years that Willie and I had been friends, it had become my second home.

She led me to the kitchen where Sheriff and Mrs. Burkett
were seated at the table. As soon as the sheriff saw my box of chicken and potatoes, he gestured me over.

“That’s the kind of girl I love. Come sit down.”

The sheriff was a man’s man—tall and athletic like Willie but, unlike Willie, blessed with a healthy dose of good sense. He doted on Willie, and doted on
me
as if I were a long-lost daughter. No amount of wish fulfillment could ever make me imagine that my dad could be anything like Sheriff Burkett. When I thought of the sheriff, I thought of barbeque, touch football, and good-natured lectures about boys and speeding. When I thought about
my
dad, I pictured weasels.

Mrs. Burkett fetched plates, squeezing my shoulder as she passed. She was as unlike Willie as the sheriff was Willie’s double. A little over five feet, she was fair-haired and soft featured. A real country mom.

“So what’s this about, Mia?” asked the sheriff, putting some chicken on his plate. “Not Pete, I hope. He’s been with us looking for Alex all day.”

I glanced at Willie, sitting expectantly beside me. “It’s not Pete,” I said. “But it is about Alex. I think I saw something last night. I’m not really sure what it was, so I didn’t know if I should say anything.”

“Always speak out,” said the sheriff. “And, believe me, we need all the help we can get. Kid just about vanished into air.”

In my mind, I tried to rehearse what I wanted to say, but whichever way I looked at it, it still didn’t make any sense. “I think I saw someone on the land behind Rowe,” I finally blurted. “Someone with a flashlight. It was difficult to tell. I know Alex was last seen over in that direction. This was about the same time.”

“What were you doing out there?” asked Sheriff Burkett.

“Heading to the Bakers’ to pick up Jay.” I glanced at Willie. “It was while I was talking to you. That’s why I’d pulled over.”

“I wondered why you went all weird on me,” said Willie. “I thought you were mad about Pete.”

“Something was out there.”

The sheriff took a bite of drumstick. He wiped grease from his mouth. “The Bakers’. So you were on Route Six?”

“Yeah,” I replied, relieved he appeared to be taking me seriously. “Almost parallel to the elementary school on Rowe.”

“And you thought you saw Alex.”

“No,” I said. “Someone
else
.”

The sheriff leaned forward. “Someone with a flashlight.”

How to explain the light without sounding like Rich Manning? The holes in my story widened.
What exactly had I seen?

Pretty much zip.

“It might have been a flashlight, or maybe a flare.”

“What would some guy be doing out there with a flare?” asked Willie.

“It only looked like that.”

“Well, it’s something,” said the sheriff. “We combed that land pretty good today. Didn’t find a thing. I’ll send another team at first light.”

We polished off the chicken, talking of other things, including the infamous curfew, which the sheriff hinted might exclude the high school kids, at least for now. When I finally reached home, I was ready for bed.

I pulled up to find Pete on the porch swing, looking out over the Gartons’ fields, which backed up to our land. It was quiet, too early for the first of the season’s crickets. The house stood in darkness behind him.

“You’re late getting home,” he said.

“I swung over to Willie’s,” I replied.

“Then you must have heard the update on Alex.”

“Yeah.” I headed up the porch steps, unsure why Pete was sitting out in the dark. As with most things with Pete, it was better not to ask. “Rich Manning was in Mickey’s. He says it was alien abduction.”

“Rich Manning doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

True.
I smiled. “Jay home?”

“He’s in his room.”

I folded my arms and looked out over the fields, remembering Pete on the driveway last night. Whatever he’d seen wasn’t there now, no more than what I’d seen on the land behind Rowe. Just the moon, the stars, and the corn. Always the same in Crownsville.

“I’m gonna hit the sack,” I said, and headed for the door.

Pete just stared into the distance. He was poised, as if at any moment he might vault over the porch railing and hurtle off into the fields. He leaned slightly forward as I passed, and as the swing tilted beneath him, I saw something that confused me more than his late-night vigil. A dull shape, previously hidden by the shadows, rested on his lap.

It was Pete’s shotgun.

Frowning, I entered the house, flicked on the kitchen light, and sidled across to the window. All I could see was the back of Pete’s head, the porch and the driveway, and a thick wall of blackness covering the fields.

F
riday. One day until the Ridge. Willie was plotting again.

“Andy loves red,” she said. We sat on the lawn beside the gym during lunch, trying to avoid the chaos of the cafeteria. “So wear those skimpy denim shorts and a red tee. Gorgeous.”

I figured it best not to say anything about my reservations and just go along with Willie’s plans. Whatever happened would happen—probably nothing. I doubted a red T-shirt would make Andy collapse into my arms.

“Wills, you do realize it’s just an afternoon on the Ridge?” I stretched out on the grass hoping to catch a few rays, especially since it looked like I’d be wearing shorts this weekend.

“Just the Ridge?” she replied, outraged. “Mia, let’s wait and see.”

“Wait and see what?” Kieran slung down his backpack and dropped to the grass. “Heard about the new guy?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He lives on the river with Old Man Crowley. Didn’t we cover this yesterday?”

Kieran gestured for silence. “Apparently, he has a
huge
tattoo.”

“What?”
cried Willie.

Real news. I scrambled up onto my elbows, eager to hear more.

“Yeah,” said Kieran. “On his
back
. It’s massive. Mike Woolley saw it.”

Willie shook her head, clearly not buying it. I half suspected it was because she hadn’t been the first to know. “And how
exactly
did Mike Woolley see the new kid’s back?”

“In the locker room,” said Kieran. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Everyone except us,” I added. “Why are we always the last to know?”

“Beats me,” said Willie. “So does this tattooed new kid have a name? You know, I still haven’t even seen him.”

“Yeah,” said Kieran. “
Sol.
What kind of a name is that?”