55

Sylvia

I woke early the next morning to the sounds of birdsong and threw open my window.

Two purple martins were playfully splashing around in the birdbath, the water sloshing to the ground, washing away the fine mist of yellow pollen that coated the patio. My honeysuckle was beginning to bloom and the wind picked up and carried its candy scent straight to my window.

Slipping on my house slippers and robe, a sense of rightness and relief washed over me—somehow the full night’s sleep had worked everything out in my subconscious and everything was clear: I was meant to be relieved of that job. I could’ve never kept working under Dr. Marshall after that—and anyway, my real mission now was to find Delia. I wasn’t even worried about the money—there was enough now. I had been putting most of my paycheck into savings.

I was just coming down the stairs when the phone rang, yanking me out of my reverie. I answered the lipstick-red wall phone on the landing. It was Hattie; she had just gotten home from her shift.

“Sylvia,” she started, her voice full of concern, “I can’t believe that man fired you. We can do something about it, we can take some kind of action.”

“I don’t care about that, I really don’t,” I said. I didn’t tell her about the meds and how Laverne had ratted me out.

“But Sylv—”

“Hattie, I’ll be fine. But listen, I was going to tell you all of this last night before he fired me, but I drove out to Omen Road yesterday and found the cemetery.”

“You did?” she asked, her voice full of surprise, splitting the word did into two syllables.

“And I saw everything that Delia had told us about—the fire ring, the stone circle, all of it, Hat, it was just like she said. I know they still have her. And I thought, if we both went out there and took some pictures, and came forward, together, that maybe somebody would listen to us.”

But Hattie got all quiet on the other end, so quiet that I could hear the dramatic organ music from Days of our Lives, her favorite soap playing in the background.

“Hattie? We can still save her.”

“I don’t know about all this anymore,” she said in a deflated voice. “I have a family, Sylv.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I thanked her for checking on me and promised to come out to her place for lunch soon.

I placed the phone back on its cradle and sat on the steps for a while, watching the sunlight stream through the candy colors of the small, round stained-glass window.

The next night was a Friday, the night they had their rituals, and Hattie or no Hattie, I was going back out there.