Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

Brandy found a spot where she could see both the back door to the cabin and the Volvo. She hunkered unseen in the bushes and waited for Althea to lead her to Emily. Who loves you, Em?

Ten minutes later, Althea emerged with Pooh bear tucked under her left arm. In her right hand, she carried what looked like a gasoline can, the kind her dad used for his lawnmower.

Brandy breathed. Thank you, God. Thank you. Her plan was working. Maybe Emily was still alive.

Keeping a safe distance behind Althea, Brandy stayed out of sight. Music drifted from somewhere in the woods. As Brandy darted from the protection of one tree to the next, the music grew louder. An old-fashioned hymn. The Old Rugged Cross. Church music. The kind played at funerals. Brandy cringed, picked up the pace.

Finally, Althea stumbled into a clearing, Brandy a few paces behind. All around them, cedars, pines and spruce trees were decorated with golden stars, moons and angels. Two saw horses stood in the center of the cleared woods. A white fabric box trimmed in gold sat on top of them. Beneath the box, a fireplace grate was filled with kindling and stacked logs. Sprays of spring flowers, daffodils, forsythia, lilac and tulips, stood on green metal legs. Candles burned in a circle around the scene.

Brandy took it all in. Her heart pounded, as if being chased from side to side by something she didn’t want to imagine, but couldn’t shut out. Something unthinkable. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

It wasn’t an ordinary box.

It was a coffin.

A small child’s coffin.

Fear rushed into Brandy like air into a vacuum. This was a funeral pyre, like the ones she’d studied in her world religion classes. The kind used for cremation of the dead in the Hindu and Sikh religions. What if Emily was inside that coffin? Her mother. That long-ago vineyard fire.

* * *

When they’d passed the edge of town, Detective Radhauser and Officer Corbin raced toward Talent. They had to get there fast. Radhauser couldn’t survive another child dying because of his negligence. And what if Brandy had figured this out—what if the lead she’d discovered was Althea Wineheart? What if he lost both Brandy and Emily?

For safety, he drove an unmarked patrol car, radioed in their location, the time, and his odometer reading, then turned onto an unfamiliar road that stretched out like an asphalt ribbon, black and empty.

The car phone rang. Corbin picked it up. When he hung up, he turned to Radhauser. “Althea Wineheart owns ten wooded acres. I’ll call for backup.”

“Tell them to hold their damn sirens,” Radhauser said, thinking about Tyler Meza. The way his kidnapper had strangled the boy just as the police closed in. Radhauser should have gone in alone and kept the kidnapper from panicking. He should have ignored protocol and acted upon his first suspicions. “We could be all wrong about this. But just in case, call for a bus. Tell them to turn off the siren and the lights before approaching.”

He thought about the Ziploc bag of ringlets they’d found at the prayer vigil. The accident that had scarred Brandy’s face when her hair got caught in the escalator steps. The kidnapper had wanted the Michaelsons to know she’d cut Emily’s hair to keep her safe. That’s why she tied Emily’s sneakers into double knots before tossing them into the creek at Lithia Park. All doubt left him. Althea Wineheart had Emily. But where?

* * *

Brandy watched as Althea placed the gasoline can on the ground, then stood in front of the pyre, opened the coffin lid, placed Emily’s Pooh bear inside, then reclosed the lid.

Her fingernails bit into her palms as she stepped closer. She couldn’t catch her breath. She wheezed, a soft choking sound. Emily is in that coffin.

Frantic, Brandy lunged toward Althea.

She grabbed Brandy by the shoulders. “Don’t touch her. She’s almost there.”

“Where?” Brandy said, struggling to move closer to the coffin. “Almost where?”

Althea let go of Brandy and smiled. “To Heaven. With God. While she’s still perfect.”

“No,” Brandy screamed as she raced across the clearing. “You can’t take her away from me.”

Althea grabbed her arm. “God is waiting.” She tried to pull Brandy away from the coffin.

Brandy flipped around, punched Althea in the mouth with all the strength she could muster, then shoved her to the ground.

She yanked open the casket.

Althea babbled something Brandy couldn’t understand.

Somehow, Brandy held back another scream and stood frozen for a second.

Emily’s short hair clung to her head like a curly wet bathing cap. She wore a pink dress with puffed sleeves and rosebuds on the yoke, and a lace pinafore with satin ribbons woven through the eyelets.

A satin blanket covered her sister’s legs. Piglet, Tigger, Roo, Kanga, and Eeyore nestled at the foot of the coffin, along with a prescription bottle and a jar of half-eaten applesauce. Emily’s eyes didn’t open.

Brandy was too late. Emily was dead. Oh, please, God. Please, God. Please. Don’t let her be dead.

Her tiny hands were folded over her chest. A thin trail of something, probably applesauce, dribbled down her chin. Brandy lifted Emily to a sitting position. Her skin felt warm to touch. She checked the side of her neck for a pulse. It was weak. Tears of hope rose.

When she smelled gasoline and heard the crackle of wood burning, Brandy stuck the prescription bottle in her pocket, grabbed Emily, limp as a rag doll, and ran into the woods, Althea a few steps behind them.

“The dream-stealing pills,” Althea screamed. “I need them. I have to go with her so she won’t be afraid.”

Sunset faded, and at the other side of the sky, darkness rose. Brandy ran like a blind person, pitching forward, grabbing at saplings in an attempt to keep her balance. She could smell the smoke from the fire Althea had set. As Brandy bolted down the pine-needled path, tree branches scraped across her face. She tried to convince herself Emily would be fine. Althea must have given her sleeping pills. What if she never wakes up?

Near the main cabin, Brandy spotted the ambulance. A long sigh of relief rushed from her lungs.

A paramedic took Emily from Brandy’s arms. Someone turned on the lights, and their swirling cast surreal blue and red shadows onto the fence.

And then Radhauser stood beside her.

Officer Corbin had handcuffed Althea and was leading her toward the police car. He held his hand over her head as he helped her into the backseat. Big white clouds of smoke floated above the trees.

The paramedic found Emily’s pulse, slipped an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. “She’s alive,” he called out, the excitement in his voice palpable.

Brandy handed him the prescription bottle.

“It’s an antipsychotic,” he said. “We’ll call the poison control center. They’ll be ready when we get her to the hospital.”

Brandy’s tears rose, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from falling now. She crumbled to the ground behind the ambulance, dropped her face into her hands, and sobbed.

Corbin turned to Radhauser. “I’ve called the fire department.”

Radhauser helped Brandy to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. She cried into his shoulder. “Althea is my mother.”

When she stopped crying and backed away, he took off his Stetson and bowed. “You’re a gutsy kid,” he said, then helped her into the ambulance.

* * *

In the waiting area outside the emergency room, Brandy listened to the sounds of her dad and Christine running down the tiled hallway. When they hit the carpet, the thumping noise stopped, but she heard their panting as they came closer, a kind of frightened anguish in their breathlessness.

As the stainless-steel doors swung open, Brandy spotted Emily’s pink sleeve, the eyelet woven with satin ribbons, reflected in the bright steel surface. When the doors closed again, she leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. Exhaustion clung to her like cobwebs.

Time passed. It could have been fifteen minutes or an hour.

Someone called out her name. In the instant it took for her to recognize the voice, her dad stood in front of her. Brandy leaped up, then stumbled into his arms and tried to find enough words to form a sentence.

He hugged her to his chest, rubbed his open palm against the back of her head. Her hair was sticky with sweat and matted from the tiger head. “They’ve taken her off the respirator,” he said. “Emily is breathing on her own.”

As if someone had unhooked a belt cinched way too tight, Brandy felt the air surge into her lungs and flow back out. She wanted to tell him then, to let him know how she’d been changed. But there wasn’t any need, because he knew. So, she stood hugging him, not thinking about anything except Emily.

“They’ve pumped her stomach,” he finally said. “She’s being moved to pediatric intensive care.”

“Intensive care?” Brandy said, fear rising again. “Do they think she’s going to die?”

“No. She swallowed some pretty strong pills. We have to watch for seizures and make sure her liver is okay.”

He tightened his arms around her. Beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, she heard his heart beating.

After a moment, she backed away. “What’s going to happen to my…to Althea?”

“I don’t know. That will be up to the District Attorney.”

Brandy sat on the edge of the sofa, testing the weight of that new burden.

Her father’s face looked stricken and empty of defenses. He took a step toward her. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I—”

“Don’t,” Brandy said, holding up a hand to stop him. She didn’t know anymore if truth was something worth pursuing at all costs. She’d discovered there were many—an assortment of diverse truths going on inside different heads and hearts at the same time.

Her dad tried again. “Listen, I don’t know how to say this. But I have to. What you did was brave and selfless…” Again, he hesitated. “You saved Emily’s life.”

When the heat rose in her cheeks, Brandy looked away. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ve been pretty busy, and I didn’t know what else to get you for your birthday.” She shrugged.

He smiled, then looked at Brandy as if he were seeing her for the first time, looked at her in a way that made her want to cry. “My daughter the actress. Radhauser told me everything. How did you ever figure it out?’’

“Remember all the problems I had with fractions? It was like finding the common denominator. And I couldn’t have done it without Detective Radhauser. He trusted my instincts.” She thought about the tattoo on his wrist. “He wanted so much to find Emily alive.”

Her dad hugged her again. “I feel responsible. If only I’d…” He held Brandy by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. He wiped her cheeks with his fingertips. “I’m so sorry, Cookie.”

“I want to see Emily,” she said, already headed toward the stainless steel doors.

* * *

Christine sat in a straight-back chair beside the metal crib. She stroked a small patch of skin on Emily’s calf just above the ankle, her eyes fixed on her child’s face. When she saw Brandy, she leapt up.

A quiver of anxiety coursed through Brandy. She took a step back.

But Christine lunged forward, grabbed Brandy, and pulled her to her chest, hugging her hard. It was as if all the warmth and love inside Christine transferred into Brandy, and her whole body heated with her stepmother’s touch.

After a moment, she held Brandy at arm’s length so they could make eye contact.

Brandy saw the pressure of tears building behind Christine’s eyes. She pressed her fingertips hard against the skin of her temples as if she could force the tears to stay inside. “I’ll never forget what you…”

She looked into her stepmother’s eyes and saw the regret—the terrible fear that had lived inside her chest since Emily disappeared. She put a finger to Christine’s lips to silence her.

“I mean it,” Christine said. “I was a horrible bitch to you. But you never stopped searching for Emily. I blamed you so I wouldn’t have to blame myself. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m asking for it.”

Brandy glanced at her dad, then down at Emily. “She’s my sister. And I love her,” she whispered.

Emily’s eyes were closed. The ER staff had cut off her clothing and she wore a tiny hospital gown printed with puppies. Her breathing was quiet and regular. A plastic bag of fluid hung from a metal pole, and a clear tube ran from the bag to Emily’s right hand.

Christine returned to the chair beside Emily’s bed. “Why doesn’t she wake up?”

Her dad placed his hand on Christine’s shoulder. “She will.”

Christine seemed to shrink away from his touch. Her gaze shot up to his face and hardened a little. “Why didn’t you tell me Rose was mentally ill?”

Her dad stared straight ahead, his shoulders jerking as if he were cold. Incongruously, he made a sound like steam escaping. “Because I didn’t want it to be true.”

Brandy thought about the way a person’s life could change in an instant. She thought about her mother as she’d stood helplessly by while the escalator mangled her daughter’s face. And then her father when he learned his beloved Rose was mentally ill. She thought about the split-second decision she’d made to park Emily’s stroller in front of the bathroom stall. And what might have happened if Radhauser hadn’t phoned for an ambulance and shown up when he did.

Emily’s eyelids quivered and her left hand, lying outside the sheet, reached for a handful of air. Brandy moved closer to the bed.

Emily’s eyes opened. “Band-Aid. I yost you.”

Brandy hugged Emily to her chest and whispered in her ear, “That was some game of hide-and-go seek, Em.”