Abby didn’t go to the east part of town often. None of her friends lived there, and the one park and handful of small businesses it housed weren’t as good as the ones closer to Abby’s home.
The plants all seemed thinner and sicker. Dark, brittle branches encroached on the pathways, threatening to scrape her skin if she walked too close. Street signs listed, and the names were faded so badly, they almost missed their turn.
The path they walked down felt darker and colder than the main roads. Brick fences ran along the edge of the sidewalk, occasionally interrupted by rusting steel gates or open driveways.
They stopped in front of a house that stood set back from the road, almost as though it wanted to hide. Its windows were dark. A frosted glass pane in the front door should have given them a glimpse inside but only reflected the outside world back at them.
Tarnished numbers on the mailbox read 26.
“This is it?” She asked it as a question, even though she knew the answer.
Rhys gave a short nod without taking his eyes off the frosted window.
Alma had only been able to give them a name: Bridgette Holm. Rhys had torn though the house’s cupboards until he found an address book that looked at least two decades out of date. They’d knelt on the floor, flipping through the thin pages, until they found her.
The address was in Doubtful. And it was only a twenty-minute walk from Alma’s house.
“She might not be there any longer,” Rhys had cautioned.
Alma had made a faint noise in the back of her throat. She sat under the window, faded light streaming over her as she watched them, her cereal sinking into the milk. “She’d still be there. She never left.”
Abby had lifted her head. “How have I never heard of her before?”
“People don’t like talking about it, I suppose.” Alma had narrowed her eyes as she stared into the distance. “It caused a big stir when she came back, but almost as quickly as people started talking, they stopped. I suppose… People feel like it’s dangerous to speak about it too much. Like it might draw it to them.”
Abby knew what Alma was saying. A lot of people didn’t want to be around someone who’d come so close to the Stitcher. As though it tainted them by proximity. As though being too near them might draw the Stitcher’s attention, somehow.
Rhys had felt that acutely. No matter how many jobs he applied to, he was never called back. People he’d never even met would stare at him on the street. Once, years before, he’d thanked Abby for staying his friend, and she’d been shocked by the idea that he’d thought she would ever stop.
Abby had been spared a lot of that. Her father was only missing, not a body in a coffin. People didn’t picture the remains when they looked at her.
That might change now.
She’d grimaced, clenching her hands until her fingernails bit into the skin.
She couldn’t think like that. Hope was going to come home, and come home intact. She just needed more time. And more knowledge. And she hoped Bridgette Holm would be able to give that to her.
“I’m here!” Riya called. She ran toward them, a backpack bouncing on her shoulders, and by the sheen of sweat coating her, Abby knew she’d been running for a while. She slowed down at their side, breathing deeply as she stared at the house. “This is it? This is Bridgette’s?”
“We hope,” Abby said.
Despite what Alma had said, she couldn’t stop the doubt. A lot could change in two and a half decades.
“Any news?” Rhys asked.
“Connor’s still watching the Stitcher house. He keeps stressing me out by being late on his check-ins.” She frowned, downing gulps of air between words. “I already dropped him off some food, bottled water, and a battery pack for his phone, and he says he’ll be okay to keep watch for a while longer.”
“You’ve been busy,” Rhys noted.
“You have no idea.” Riya pulled a towel from a side compartment of her bag and used it to wipe down her face and neck. “Let’s do this.”
Abby had already begun moving forward. She was terrified of what might be on the other side of that door. Answers. Or emptiness. She ran the final steps to the door and lifted the heavy knocker, slamming it into chipped wood three times before taking a step back.
Something moved behind the frosted glass. Three painful heartbeats of silence passed, then a woman’s voice called, “Who is it?”
“Ms. Holm?” Abby clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides.
Another pause. “Yes.”
Relief beat itself to life in Abby’s chest like a frantic bird. “My name’s Abby Ward. Last night, my sister was taken by the Stitcher. I… I heard something like that happened to you, once, a long time ago, and that you survived. I need you to help me.”
The dark shape beyond the glass shifted out of view. Abby waited, her breath held. The silence stretched, and stretched, and stretched, and still no answer came.
Tears built a horrible pressure behind her eyes. “Please. I haven’t got much money, but I’ll give you everything I have. I just want to know what happened, and how you got away. Please.”
Still silence.
She turned to Rhys, and saw her own desperation reflected in his eyes.
Floorboards inside the house creaked, and it sounded like the old building was sighing. The blurred shadow shifted back into view. Then a lock clicked open, followed by a second and third lock, and finally the scrape of a latch, and the door crept open a few inches.
Abby strained to see Bridgette Holm. She was tall and thin with curling black hair pinned back from her face, and her large eyes traced over them, as though measuring them up.
“Your sister,” she said. “Taken last night.”
“Yes. Hope. She’s only fifteen.” Abby clenched her hands together until the knuckles turned white. “If you can tell me anything, Bridgette, anything at all—”
The door opened further, just barely wide enough for a body to step through. “I’m not Bridgette,” the woman said, her voice low. “I’m Vivian, Bridgette’s sister. She’s agreed to talk to you. This way.”
Sisters. They still lived together, even decades later.
Abby had to turn sideways to slip through the barely open door. Rhys and Riya followed, introducing themselves in muted voices. Something about the house seemed to call for quietness. Inside was dim and dusty, the furniture all made of dark, scratched wood, and the walls decorated with heavy peeling wallpaper. It made the space feel more cluttered and crowded than it actually was.
Vivian didn’t speak but led them to the right. There was a room there, decorated in the same dark, muted shades of reds and browns. A woman sat in a chair beside the window. The resemblance was immediate: dark, curling hair, and dark eyes that turned down at the outer corners.
Based on the timeline Alma had given them, Bridgette would have been just shy of forty, but she looked at least a decade older. Her skin was turning thin and crepey, especially around the hollows beneath her eyes. She wore a thick cardigan despite the mild weather, and a thick blanket was draped over her lap, trailing down to the floor.
Bridgette had been reading, but placed her book on a side table that already held a mug of coffee that looked to have gone cold. Her lips seemed bloodless. She didn’t smile, but she nodded toward the faded couch opposite her chair. As they sat, Vivian disappeared deeper into the house.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” Bridgette said. Even her voice sounded husky and cracked. “But the kindest thing I can tell you is to give up now.”
Abby swallowed around the lump in her throat. She leaned forward in her chair, reducing the distance between them. “I can’t do that.”
“No,” Bridgette agreed, and her eyelids fluttered down. She had very long lashes. They, along with the downward turn of her eyes, gave her the impression of being eternally sad. It was only balanced by the hardness and durability carved into the creases across her face. “Not many people can. But whatever path you’re trying to follow is only going to hurt you and everyone you love. It’s important you know that.”
Riya shifted uneasily at Abby’s side, but Rhys was as still as a rock. Something small and pale moved across the room. Abby was mesmerized by Bridgette, and only tore her eyes away when the small shape wove around her legs. It was a cat, its long fur a pale moonlight color. She reached down to stroke it, and as it lifted its head she saw it was missing both eyes. Skin filled the concave hollows of its eye sockets.
“Newborn animals come out wrong when the Stitcher surfaces,” Bridgette said, her voice cold. “Most people have them put down immediately. I take whatever ones I can. People are scared that getting too close to those touched by the Stitcher will expose them to the so-called curse.”
“There’s no curse,” Abby said reflexively.
Bridgette’s bloodless lips twitched into something like a smile. “No. There’s no curse. Leaving those offerings won’t save you, and living with those who have been touched won’t harm you. When the Stitcher decides to take someone, it’s all empty, hopeless luck.”
Abby nodded. She’d known that for a while. But, still, people would hold on to whatever superstitions they thought could spare them from the nightmare.
“I want you to tell me everything you can,” Abby said. “Do you remember where he kept you? How did you escape? Did the police ever interview you? Why wasn’t he arrested?”
“He…” Bridgette murmured, and Abby felt like she’d said something wrong. Then the smile cracked Bridgette’s dry lips again. “Yes. I suppose it is a he, isn’t it?”
Abby didn’t know what to say. Her hand was still reached downward, and the blind cat pressed against it, asking for attention.
“I’ll tell you what happened to me,” Bridgette finally said. She laced her hands over the blanket covering her lap. “And I’ll tell it as completely as I can. You can do what you want with the information, and after this final warning, I won’t try to influence you again. But, if you have any sense of self-preservation left in you, grieve for your sister. Build a little monument for her in your yard and place flowers there and tell yourself she died quickly and made it to heaven. Don’t try to get her back. Don’t go digging. Because there’s no good outcome for you if you do.”
“I understand,” Abby said, and her blood was ice in her veins. “Tell me what you know.”