The Summer We Lost Alice (38 page)

"I'm sorry, too," Miss Lilian said to Myer, "but she wouldn't have gone along with what comes next."

"No mother would," Myer said.

They turned and headed for the door.

ETHAN AND HEATHER were laughing as they pulled up to the house in the rented Mustang. They'd driven with the top down. Heather's hair was blown into a ragged mess, but she didn't care. The sky had grayed over and the temperature was dropping. Ethan felt pretty sure that the cold air blowing past his ears had given him an earache. Basically, neither of them cared about anything except that, through a bizarre set of circumstances, they'd found one another and were embarking on a great adventure called "the rest of their lives." Even the skeptical voice inside Ethan's head that had tried to interject legitimate concerns had been shouted down by the voices of exuberance and optimism. Admitting defeat, it retreated to some disused corner of Ethan's brain to sulk in silence.

They marched into the house eager to announce their engagement. I
n a moment, their moods turned black.

The air was thick with an unfamiliar scent. The house was eerily silent. Boo, who should have been yapping and bouncing around their legs, was nowhere to be seen.

They peered into the living room to see Cat sprawled on the sofa and Flo slumped on the end, head back and mouth open. Both women were either asleep or dead.

"The kids," Ethan said, and Heather ran down the hallway to the kitchen. Ethan hurried to check vital signs on Cat and Flo. He was relieved to find pulses, then alarmed when no amount of shaking and yelling could rouse them from their deep slumber.

His own eyelids were growing heavy when he noticed the candle. He stumbled toward it and blew it out. He grabbed it, staggered to the front door, and threw it onto the lawn. He drew in several deep breaths to clear his head. It worked. He rushed back to throw open every window as wide as it would go. He found the thermostat, notched it all the way down to fifty degrees. He was gratified to hear the blower kick on.

Heather called to him from the kitchen.

He ran to the kitchen where a similar tableau presented itself. Matt and Boo were fast asleep. Heather was already dealing with the candle. She'd blown it out and was tossing it into the freezer. Ethan noted that her instinct had been better than his. What if it was poison? He'd have to get the candle off the front lawn where some dog or kid might happen upon it.

"Where's Brit?" he asked. Heather shook her head.

"Call 911. Open the back door. Air this place out.
Brittany!
" he yelled.

He took the stairs two at a time on his way to the kids' room.
He threw open the door. No one inside. He checked the master bedroom, Alice's room, and the bathroom. He barreled back downstairs to check Flo's bedroom and the downstairs bath. All empty.

He ran into the backyard and called
Brittany's name. No one answered. He banged on the Clements' door. No response. He thought about kicking it in but stopped himself. He realized that he'd lost perspective. He was in denial. Brittany wasn't inside. She wasn't anywhere near.

She'd been kidnapped.

He ran back to the house, pausing only to pick up the mysterious candle. Heather met him in the hallway, the question written large on her face. He shook his head.

"She's gone," he said.

"Sammy's coming, and an ambulance. Matt seems to be okay, he's breathing fine, just heavily sedated. Cat and Flo, too."

Boo staggered into the hallway, wobbling on his long legs. His front legs splayed out and he bent down his head. He puked. He gagged a few more times and walked up to Ethan and licked his hand.

"Eeuw," Heather said.

The moment took a chip out of Ethan's mounting panic. He began to catch his breath
. He forced himself to think. He already knew where the candles had come from. It was the witch, Miss Lilian. And now he knew where Brittany was—the nursing home. The only question left in his mind was what he was going to do about it.

"Where did Uncle Billy keep his gun?" he said.

Heather's mouth cocked into a lopsided smirk and she said, "How would I know?"

"You don't. Alice does. Think. He would have kept it somewhere he could get at it, but away from the kids. Alice would know where it was."

"How do we know Flo even still has it?"

"We don't. But if she does, where is it? Where did Uncle Billy keep it?"

"I don't know!"

"Think!"

She tried to open her mind, to let the memories flow in without consciously thinking about them. She knew it was pointless. It wouldn't work, it couldn't work.

Quit thinking like Ethan!
she told herself. Instantly the memory popped to the surface.

"The closet in the master bedroom.
Top shelf, in the back. There's a lock box," she said.

Ethan ran to the stairs, took them three at a time,
then halted abruptly.

"A lock box, you said. I need a screwdriver or a hammer or—"

"Oh-eight-oh-five," Heather said. "It's Flo and Billy's anniversary date. If he forgot it, she'd know it." The presence of Alice was strong in her now, in crisis. Maybe with Alice's help they'd get through this.

* * *

Ethan tore through the boxes and piles of stuff in the upper left-hand corner of the top shelf in the master closet. He found nothing. He raced to the other end of the shelf and did the same. There it was. The box. He grabbed it and fumbled with the combination. Oh-eight-oh-five. He tugged at the lid. It opened, revealing Uncle Billy's old Army pistol, a .38 revolver. Loaded.

Ethan wondered how long ammo lasted. In England, they still worried about unexploded bombs from World War
II. Then again, it didn't really matter. He didn't plan to shoot anyone, only threaten them. Even if it did fire, it wouldn't be any good against the evil, not if it was anything like Miss Lilian had described.

He stuffed the pistol in his pants and pulled his shirt over it. It wouldn't do for Sammy to see it. If he could get away before Sammy showed up, so much the better.

He ran downstairs and quickly told Heather where he was going. She'd already come to the same conclusion about Miss Lilian and the nursing home, but she wished he would wait for Sammy.

"No time
. He might even detain me," Ethan said. "Stay here, tell him what's going on. I'll be back. Call me when they wake up."

The Mustang screamed away from the curb just as the ambulance arrived. Sammy's cruiser wasn't far behind. Ethan reached under his shirt and pulled out the pistol. He set it on the seat beside him and steered for the nursing home. He mashed the accelerator to the floor.

HIS TIRES crunched on the gravel drive. The Mustang slid to a stop and Ethan jumped out. Remembering the pistol, he reached across the open window and grabbed it off the seat. He tucked it in his pants.

The front door was unlocked. Ethan strode in. He buttonholed the attendant, a young volunteer. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the gun under his belt.

"Don't make me use it," Ethan said. "Where's Miss Lilian?"

The attendant stammered out, "I
... I don't know!"

Ethan grabbed her roughly and marched her upstairs to the main office. Empty. He dragged her from room to room, checking every one.

"I told you, she isn't here!"

"The attic," Ethan said. He tried to keep his voice calm, knowing that already he sounded like a maniac. He felt sorry for the girl. She could press charges. He could go to jail for this. It didn't matter.

"Mister, please," the girl begged. The prospect of the attic terrified her. A wild-eyed stranger ... a gun ... the attic. She knew what would come next. And Ethan knew she knew, or thought she did.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.
Of course. That's what they always say.
He led her to the doorway to the stairs that led to the attic. The door was sealed with a padlock, locked from the outside.

"There's nothing up there but junk!" the girl said.

Ethan looked at the padlock, then at the pleading eyes of the girl. No, if Miss Lilian was up there, the door wouldn't be locked from this side. There were more rooms to check. The kitchen, the basement. He couldn't do that to the girl, drag her down to the basement with him. She'd figure she was dead for sure. Besides, he believed her. Miss Lilian wasn't here. Of course not. It was too obvious. Whatever she was up to, she'd taken Brittany somewhere else. Out of state, maybe. Not here.

If someone else had seen him manhandling the girl—a nurse, even a patient who still possessed his faculties—they'd have called the police by now. He listened for the sound of sirens in the
distance, decided he had to get out while he still had the chance.

"Come with me to the front door," he said. He led the girl back downstairs.

"Where are you taking me?" she said.

"Nowhere."
He stopped at the door and loosened his grip on her arms. She backed away, terrified.

"I won't tell," she said. "Don't shoot me, please. I promise not to call the police."

"Call them," he said. "It's okay. I deserve it. I'm sorry to put you through this. Call them. I'm sorry."

He ran for the car.

* * *

He drove, heading for the highway. When he reached it he turned the wheel and let his instincts guide him. Miss
Lilian could have gone anywhere. By now Sammy would be on the case. He'd issue an all-points-bulletin or whatever in the hell they did. Ethan would probably be on the list himself, especially after the stunt he pulled at the nursing home. That poor girl! No matter how things turned out, Ethan was headed for jail. Dragging a girl from room to room was kidnapping. He was as guilty of a crime as Miss Lilian was. Sammy would have his head on a pike.

T
hose were his less-gloomy thoughts. His darker thoughts dwelt on Brittany and whatever insane ritual Miss Lilian had planned or, God forbid, was already performing on her. He thought about virgin sacrifice. He thought worse things. He couldn't stop the onslaught of hideous images from assaulting his imagination.

It was downright cold now and beginning to drizzle. When he stopped—
if
he stopped—he'd have to put the top up. He thought about just going until the gas gave out and then shooting himself in the head. He couldn't save Brittany, he'd effectively thrown away his life with Heather, he might as well end it all cleanly.

When he saw the golf course appear on his right, he changed his mind. Minutes later he pulled into Agent Myer's driveway.

Myer, yes. Yes. Myer would be able to help him.

* * *

Myer took in Ethan's disheveled appearance with a glance. He invited him inside.

Ethan was glad to see that, this time, Myer was cold sober and wearing pants. He'd expected to find him three sheets to the wind by late afternoon.

Myer offered him a drink, which he declined.

"But feel free, yourself," Ethan said.

"No, not today. It pays to sober up on occasion. So, Ethan Opochensky, what can I do for you?"

Ethan brought Myer up to speed as quickly as he could. Brittany's life was on the line. Every minute she went undiscovered brought her closer to a fate he was trying hard not to imagine.

Myer sat back, pulling at his chin. He spent long moments in thought, moments that could make all the difference in the world to Brittany.

Ethan tapped his foot impatiently. He didn't have time for this.

"Well?" he said.

"Frankly," Myer said, "I'm having a hard time believing that Miss
Lilian would do such a thing. She's a good woman. Eccentric, given. She has some strange beliefs. But you know, she was a great comfort to me and my mother. A great comfort."

"Your mother was in the home."

"Yes, for several years. Miss Lilian's medications helped her over some very rough patches. Unconventional, yes. But as effective, I'm sure, as anything spewed out by a pharmaceutical company.

"Now you tell me she's kidnapped a little girl? I frankly don't believe it. What do Cat and Flo say? Can they verify any of what you're alleging?"

"They were still asleep when I left. Heather was going to call me when they woke up."

"Has she?"

"Not yet. The dog came out of it, but I think he was an accidental victim. The candles weren't meant for him. Apparently, Miss Lilian was immune."

"You don't even know it was the candles, though, do you?"

"I felt the effect myself!"

"Or the effect of seeing your family in such a state.
It could have been a number of things, Ethan. Carbon monoxide poisoning—"

"It was the damn candles!"

"Maybe Brittany wasn't even home when it happened. Maybe she's at a friend's house."

"No! There
... there was a plate set for her at the table! Half-eaten cake—why are you grilling me?"