ELLEN SHUGHRUE reentered her own body at five minutes past ten on the morning her daughter returned home.
She would never remember the dream she was roused from. All that remained was a sense of darkness and the incessant fluttering of wings. And inside that swirling turbulence, her husband’s calm and ever-present voice:
Without without without . . .
She did not crack her eyelids. As usual, her eyes were already open. Ellen simply fled back into consciousness like a person flung out of a mine shaft. The sunlight streaming through the window was so powerful that she let out a pained hiss. She blinked—Mother of Christ, that hurt! Her eyelids grated against her eyeballs like fine-grit sandpaper, causing tears to flood down her cheeks. When was the last time she’d slept in late enough to have the sun wake her? It was her habit to be up before dawn. Had she had a few drinks with Micah last night? Her head throbbed like an abscessed tooth.
A wave of guilt swept over her: here she was lying in bed with a hangover while Petty was up and no doubt wondering why her mother was still lollygagging in bed. Didn’t they have something this morning? Ellen struggled to recall. A piano lesson, soccer practice, or—?
Her sister came into the bedroom. Sherri’s hands fluttered up to her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock.
Something was wrong. Ellen realized this all at once. Her sister shouldn’t look that damn old. Sherri, she . . . Lord, she was an old biddy. Her sister’s hands were bony, the skin stretched tight over the bones. The fine lines at the edges of Sherri’s eyes had become deeply trenched crow’s-feet.
“Are you . . . ,” Sherri said, awestruck. “Ellen, are you awake?”
Why the hell wouldn’t I be awake? I know I slept in a bit, but let’s not make a capital case out of it.
This was what Ellen was going to say. But when she tried to speak, her voice was a papery rasp. Her mouth was dry as dust. Her vocal cords felt rusty, a bit like an engine in a junkyard that had seized up from disuse.
She groaned and rolled onto her back. Oh! That hurt, too. Fuck a duck. She tried to sit up. Couldn’t. She nearly laughed—how weird. Her muscles were slack. She managed to lift her arm off the coverlet. She would have screamed, were she capable. Her arm was a fleshless stick—Christ, what the hell had happened to her? Who had stolen her life, her body?
“Calm down,” she heard Sherri saying. “It’s going to be okay.”
Hands shaking, Sherri picked up the phone on the dresser and worked the rotary dial.
“Doctor? It’s Sherri Bellhaven. She’s awake.” Shaking, nodding her head violently. “I don’t know—I just came in and she’s up. Okay, okay, okay-yup-yup-yup.”
She hung up. “The doctor’s going to be here soon. You need to keep your eyes open, El. Please, just keep your eyes open. Stay awake.”
What are you so worked up about? Ellen wanted to ask, resisting the urge to panic. I don’t feel the least bit tired. I’ve had a full night’s rest. The sleep of the damned, it feels like.
A twentysomething man came into the bedroom. Ellen wanted to snatch the covers up, feeling somehow naked, but her arms wouldn’t obey. The boy was handsome and trim with sandy hair. He was staring at her in disbelief.
“Aunt Ellen?”
No. It couldn’t be. Nate? Nate wasn’t old enough to drive a car or smoke cigarettes. This couldn’t be her nephew. It was someone else. An imposter. Someone was playing a filthy, mean-spirited trick on—
Ellen experienced a sickening whiplash sensation. Just how the hell long had she been asleep?
“The doctor wants you to sit up,” Sherri said. “Nate and me are going to help you up, okay? Now, this might hurt a little.”
Ellen managed to nod. Fear was crawling over her scalp now. Not fear of falling asleep—she wasn’t sure she’d ever fall asleep again—but fear at how much time was gone from her, this terrible sense of loss, of her life having been snatched away from her.
“What time is it?” she rasped at her sister. Then, suddenly terrified: “What day is it?”
Where’s Petty? Where’s Micah? Why weren’t they here?
Sherri gripped her right arm and shoulder; Nate gripped her left. As gently as they could, they sat her up and rested her against the headboard. The pain was monstrous. Her muscles were atrophied, her body horribly shrunken. She became aware of a fungal, unwashed smell; it took a few moments before she recognized it as her own. She boggled at the wrecked canvas of her body, the lower half of it mercifully hidden under the sheets.
Propped up, she could see out the window. The front yard with its barren flower beds. The sun glinted off the mailbox at the base of the long graveled drive. Squinting, she watched a car approach. A big bastard. Cadillac. Her chest jogged as she tried to laugh again. Had Micah bought himself a Caddy? That wasn’t like him at all. Next he’d be stepping out in rhinestone cowboy boots.
The car pulled into the driveway. Her heart took a funny hop as a vision flashed through her mind, impossible to grip—a premonition, the tarot card readers would call it.
Oh please, she thought as the car doors swung open. Oh please please . . .
MINERVA THREW THE TRANSMISSION into park. Petty remained asleep in the backseat. Her face was wrenched in a troubled expression, as if the girl was suffering through a night terror.
“Hey,” Minerva said, reaching back to give her a gentle shake. “Thanks for giving us directions. We’re home now, honey.”
The girl woke up. Her face smoothed out, serene. She rubbed her eyes and sat up.
“I was dreaming.”
“Oh yes?” Ebenezer said. “Not a pleasant dream?”
She stared at him in confusion. “I don’t remember.”
“Could be that’s your good fortune, my dear.”
The three of them sat in the car with the engine ticking down.
“Thank you,” Petty said finally. “For coming to get me.”
They opened the doors and stepped out. The day was warm, considering the season. Petty walked toward the house in bare feet, the hem of her nightgown swishing around her ankles.
“Are you coming?”
Ebenezer said, “In a minute, dear. You go on in. You have been missed.”
Petty turned back to the house. “Hey,” Minerva called to her. “You know how much your father loves you, don’t you?”
The girl turned again, and nodded. “Where is he?”
Minerva wondered if she was already forgetting, the same way Minerva had heard the survivors of Little Heaven had forgotten. Could be so. Maybe that was the best and only way of soldiering on.
“He’s coming, I’m sure,” Minerva said, meeting Petty’s questioning gaze directly. Was it a lie or a hopeful truth? She had no idea.
Minerva and Ebenezer walked toward the house in tandem.
She said, “You figure that was his intention all along?”
“Micah, you mean?” said Eb. “To have it just be him?”
She nodded. Ebenezer kicked a pebble.
“I have no idea. His aims weren’t always easy to assess.”
“He did save us.”
“Yes.”
“You figure we’re worth saving?”
Eb smiled. “Not really. But maybe he thought so. And his daughter was at stake, too.”
He was limping badly. Minerva slowed down to let him keep pace. “Do you think he’s dead?” she asked.
“After all that? I can’t see how it could be otherwise.” Ebenezer went silent a moment. “I hope so. I . . . I’ll pray it was so.”
Minerva nodded. “I don’t know if I can just leave him back there, though, Eb. Not without knowing for sure.”