I’M NOT SURE how I ever got through that night. My mind raged with horrible dreams and more than once I woke myself up wondering if my fantasy screams had actually been heard by anyone else in the house. When no one came to check on me, however, I drifted back off again, only to be plagued by a new set of phantoms—Micah wielding a rusty knife—Seth watching impassively from the shadows—Franny screaming and going up in flames—and through it all, the grotesque face of a scarecrow coming at me with a horrible painted grin and blood seeping from its empty eye sockets.
Long before dawn I finally got dressed and went down to the kitchen. Rachel was surprised to find me there when she came in, and I pitched in eagerly to help her fix breakfast, painfully aware of the empty chairs where Micah and Franny normally would have sat. I didn’t know how much Rachel knew, whether Seth had told her anything at all about last night, and so I decided not to bring anything up unless I was specifically asked. As we chatted, I was glad I’d kept quiet—it was obvious to me the longer Rachel and I talked that she was innocent of the night before. And when Seth appeared for breakfast, Rachel dished up his eggs and asked again if he was taking me with him to the bottom acre.
“She can do what she wants,” Seth replied, without so much as a look my way. “It’s no concern of mine.”
“Oh, Seth, talk her into going,” Rachel urged him gently. “I know she’d love it.” Her calm hand descended to my shoulder. “What is it, Pamela? You look upset. Is there some reason you don’t want to go?”
“I…just wouldn’t want to miss Dewey,” I said now. “I really have to get home—”
“Well, bless your heart, when Dewey gets here, I’ll send Girlie to fetch you, and that’s a promise. No need to wait around here all day.”
“Well, all right then,” I finally conceded, forcing a thin smile. “If you’ll be sure and let me know.”
“Good!” Rachel looked extremely pleased, but Seth left the table without a backward glance. I pushed back my chair and saw Girlie staring at me thoughtfully.
“Wouldn’t anybody else like to come?” I asked hopefully.
“Mercy, no, we have all this ironing to get done.” Rachel wiped a damp rag over Girlie’s chin. “And I’d like to keep an eye on Franny.”
“She’s feeling better then?”
“Yes, thanks to Girlie. She’s just tired, is all. All that working herself up.” Rachel shook her head with a tolerant smile.
“And where’s Micah this morning?” It came out before I could stop myself, but Rachel looked into my eyes smoothly.
“I reckon he just wasn’t hungry this morning. He’ll probably be a bear by dinnertime.”
What did you expect anyway, a true confession? I felt ashamed of myself, trying to trap her that way. “Will I be able to see Franny later?”
“Course you can,” Rachel beamed. “I’m sure that would cheer her up.”
“Well…good-bye.”
I went out the back and saw Seth swinging a huge sack and a shotgun up onto his shoulder, then he took off through the treeline as if he didn’t care whether I followed or not. I kept a safe distance behind him the whole way, which seemed more than agreeable to him. He never looked back or spoke, and I took my time walking, being careful just to keep him in view up ahead.
Rachel had been right—it was beautiful out here—but my mind was too shaken, too preoccupied to enjoy it. I couldn’t forget the near-tragedy of last night, and my memory reeled with unasked questions. How could they go from day to day, pretending that everything was so normal? Raising Girlie in the same house with a murderer? Keeping Micah hidden from the authorities? I felt more terrified than ever—how could they all act like nothing was wrong?
As I trudged after Seth through the stubbled fields, we finally entered the rain-drenched forest, an unending maze of russet and brown and gold. Between the webwork of overhead branches the pale-washed sky was swirled with clouds. Every footfall brought a squelched echo of wet leaves, the snap of nuts bursting from their shells, the sodden crunch of damp earth and fallen twigs and the tangled aftermath of lost summer. Once or twice I saw a flash of scarlet among the trees, heard the quick piercing call of a cardinal. A fat brown rabbit froze upon a log, quivered at us, then sped off again into the underbrush.
I don’t know how far we walked that morning—it seemed like forever. By the time the sun had climbed midway in the sky, I was getting hungry, and spying a creek off through a little clearing, I went over and knelt down to take a drink. Seth, striding far ahead of me, looked back over his shoulder and slowed down at last.
“You needn’t stop,” I said wearily. “I can catch up with you later.”
When I didn’t hear an answer, I looked up to see him watching me, his body poised, every bit as stalwart and sturdy as the trees closing us in. I avoided his eyes and scooped another handful of water, patting it over my face, gasping at the chill of it.
“The fence is just over the next ridge,” Seth said. “I’ll be over that way.”
“Fine.”
I watched him walk off, wondering why I had even bothered to come. Last night we had been on the same side for a change, and now, not even twenty-four hours later, we were strangers again. Maybe he really didn’t intend to tell me anything, I realized now; maybe he felt embarrassed about last night, about letting his guard down and being halfway civil; maybe he’d agreed to my coming along just to please Rachel.
Wiping my face on my shawl, I pushed through the last of the trees and came out immediately onto a small flat ledge that sloped steeply to a wide field below. There was a shack down there, nestled in a clump of trees, and Seth was just coming out, dragging a roll of fencing wire and some tools. I descended carefully, slipping over rocks and patches of mud, and when Seth saw me coming he straightened up and wiped his hands on the legs of his jeans.
“You hungry?” he asked me.
I looked at him in surprise. “Yes, a little.”
“Sit down then. I brought us some dinner.”
He waved one hand vaguely in the direction of the shack, and I eased myself down onto the ground with my back against one of the rough-hewn walls.
“Did you build this?” I scanned the neatly notched logs, the dried mud in the crevices, the door that stood open revealing a planked floor inside. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Too far to have to haul stuff when things need fixing.” Seth passed me a sandwich. “I’ve got…oh…about six others around the place.”
“I’ve always loved log cabins,” I said lamely. I inched the bread apart, finding thick slabs of cold meat. “Brad and I were always going to—” My words froze, sticking to the roof of my mouth, and I gazed down at my sandwich. “I…”
Raising my eyes I saw Seth watching me, emotionless. “Brad…your husband?”
There was a lengthening silence. From somewhere deep inside me the words struggled out, falling cold and lifeless on the chilly air. “Yes. My husband.”
Everything blurred for a second. When it shimmered back into focus, Seth was finishing his sandwich, reaching for another. “No wonder you want to get home. He must be worried about you.”
“He’s dead.”
An unpleasant tingling sensation went through my fingers. I dropped my food and put a trembling hand to my throat. “He’s dead, you see,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes, and still they wouldn’t flow, still they wouldn’t release me. “My little boy, too. They were killed in a car accident nearly a year ago.” But how many more days than just nearly a year ago, for Christ’s sake, I don’t even know what day it is—“Both of them are dead,” I finished stupidly, and a sob started up from my chest, strangling me before I could get it out,
“Here,” Seth said quietly, “drink this.”
I felt his arm around my shoulders, the other tipping a cup to my lips, and then a trail of fire scorching its way to my stomach. I coughed, my body jerking convulsively, and I pulled away, making a face.
“What is that?”
“Whiskey.”
I shook my head violently to get the taste out of my mouth, and when I finally looked up, Seth was leaning back on his elbows, watching me, again. I picked up my sandwich and held it uselessly in my hands.
“I’m sorry,” Seth said.
“I’m just not used to alcohol, I guess,” I mumbled.
“No, I meant about your husband. And your little boy.”
“Oh. Well…” I took a deep breath, not wanting to talk about it anymore, wishing I had never said anything at all, and my next words burst out before I could stop them. “How can you stand it, living this way? With Micah? Why haven’t you turned him in to the police? They’re bound to find out, sooner or later.”
“How?” Seth turned away, matter-of-fact. “No one could find anyone here. You’ve heard of people disappearing into thin air?”
“Yes.”
“Well…this is it.”
“Please don’t talk like that…like I’m never going to get home again!”
“I told you before, you can leave anytime you want. You’re not a prisoner here.”
“But you lied to me about the road. And it’s miles to the nearest neighbor. I thought Dewey would be here by now.”
Seth paused, a line creasing his brow. “So did I.”
Something in his tone alerted me. I peered urgently into his face. “You’re worried, too, aren’t you? You don’t think it’s normal either, for him to be so late in coming. What is it? What are you thinking?”
He was silent for so long that I began to feel panicky. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“You know you can’t make it. Even if you try, you’ll never get away on foot.”
“Why are you saying that!” My voice stretched as tight as my nerves. “Don’t you think Dewey’s coming? Is it something about Micah? What?”
“I’m saying I don’t know,” Seth responded calmly, pulling up a dead weed, peeling it away layer by layer with his long slender fingers. “I’m saying that after what happened with the scarecrow yesterday, I’m not sure about things.”
I stared at him, his meaning sinking slowly into my brain. “You said last night that you didn’t know if you could stop it now. Are you trying to tell me that Dewey’s not being here is somehow related to Franny’s scarecrow? That the scarecrow caused it all? That just because it wasn’t burned with the others—”
“I’m telling you what I told you before. Betrayal can’t exist in our world.”
He flicked his breadcrust into the dead grass and rose to his feet. His face was unmoved as he gestured to me to get up.
“You asked me last night about Micah,” he said. “All right. It’s time you knew the truth.”
I searched his eyes, his expression, for some clue as to what I was about to discover. How could I really trust Seth, who until now had been so adamant about guarding the privacy of his family? But as he moved off behind the shack, I found myself reluctantly following, my curiosity winning out.
We cut across the field, plunging into a rocky expanse of forest. Almost at once the hills changed to sheer bluffs rising up on either side of us, slashing a jagged path through the trees. Still, Seth kept on doggedly, never looking back to see if I was behind him, and as I was finally forced to stop for breath, I saw that the sky had gone dangerously dark. The ugly cliffs above us seemed alive as a growl of thunder shuddered through them. I felt the first icy drops of rain and ran on.
“Seth? Where are you?”
And then I saw him up ahead, waiting for me by the cave.
It was practically hidden by a screen of trees and a low overhang of rock, but there in the side of the bluff I could see its black, gaping entrance. Seth clambered over a pile of fallen boulders and reached out a hand to help me. I froze where I stood.
Something terrible was inside.
“Come on,” Seth ordered. “In here.”
I felt myself being pulled along, away from the air and the light. A wet, stale smell rose around us, and as I hung back, I could hear Seth’s footsteps crunching over gravel and dead ferns, echoing on cold, solid stone.
“Back this way,” he called to me, and other Seths called, all their voices alike, reverberating through the hollow hills. I couldn’t move. He came back and grabbed my arm, and I panicked as the darkness grew more complete around us, the strange, foul smell intensifying.
I knew it was close now.
Horribly, horribly close.
Seth dropped to his knees, forcing me down beside him.
“This,” he said, “this is what Micah can do.”
And I saw the rocks then—where Seth was kneeling—the neatly piled mounds of them, all in a row, the graves going off into the total blackness.
“No,” I murmured, “please, no—”
But Seth was already digging, flinging rocks off the first narrow pile, his fingers probing, deeper, deeper, and the look on his face so furious, so sad, so full of pain…
“Stop it!” I cried, but he didn’t listen, didn’t care—only drew back for the briefest instant, staring at me—
And pulled someone’s hand from the grave.
I screamed, the terror of it all stabbing into me, flinging me down, so that I grappled with him and tried to push him away, to make him stop, but he shoved me aside, and there was an arm on the end of the hand—an arm!—and a shoulder stuck with matted hair, and then I was running, running, through the cave and away from the horror, away from the line of graves—it could have been me! me!—and the path was an endlessly twisted haze of gray, and my unshed tears were hurting, hurting, and suddenly his arms were around me, stopping me as I tried to thrash my way free, and my head snapped back and forth, him shaking me, shaking me—
“Nobody knows about that cave, and you can’t say anything, you understand? Not to Franny, not to Girlie. And especially not to Rachel. Only I know. Only me. And now you.”
“I don’t believe it!” I wrenched free of him, running, running, and by some miracle there was the shack just ahead—through the blinding torrent, the ground like quicksand beneath my feet.
“Pam! Wait!”
He called out through the rain, and I stumbled, fell, crawled, my clothes dragging me down, hard to move, to breathe—oh, Brad, Brad, save me, I want to be with you, I’m so afraid, so afraid!—and I fell into the cabin, into the corner, huddled against the wall, as Seth’s body filled the doorway, shutting out the light.
“I don’t believe it!” I screamed at him. “I don’t believe Micah could have done that—”
“Do you see now why I didn’t want you here?”
I was shaking so violently my teeth chattered, I could barely speak. “How could he have? Oh, my God—”
Seth slammed the door against the pelting rain, darkness closing the space between us.
“How could he?” I said again. Oh, Brad, what am I going to do—and Seth’s hands were suddenly on my shoulders, pulling me toward him. “I don’t want to stay here anymore, I’m so scared—”
“You should never have come…never…” And Seth towering over me, blocking out the storm, the wind, the rain. “Never…”
And Brad had never smelled this way—not like the land I was smelling now as Seth leaned closer—the strength, the roots, the dirt and sweat and endless toil—the very earth, the life I was smelling as he lowered me beneath him, his body pressing mine to the floor—
“No!” I screamed, even as Brad flashed through my mind, the joys, the memories, the aching, endless loss—“No! No!”—and Brad’s face fading into that overpowering scent of rain and sky and autumn as Seth pinned me relentlessly, my arms in grips of cold steel, the rip of cloth as my blouse came apart, my breasts spilling out into his hands, his mouth, my skirt falling away, heaped about my bare feet, bare legs, deeply, deeply into the shadows, the wooden floor hard at my back and Seth above me, consuming me, and “Stop!” I screamed, crying, begging him even as the tears ran down my face at last, “Stop it! Let me go!”
And it was over, as quickly as it had happened, and I was outside in the rain, trying to run up the jagged incline of the hill.
“Pam!” I heard his voice, ghostlike, angry—“Pam! Come back!”
But I raced on through the darkness, great sobs wracking my body like convulsions. I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t care—I just knew that I had to escape at the cost of everything else, and I plunged ahead in an insane oblivion, crying and fighting my way through the night.
Without warning my feet slid out over nothingness, and I dropped and rolled, landing with a thud at the bottom of a ravine. Moaning, I tried to stand up—put out my hands—saw the copperhead snake coiled to strike.
The shot came out of nowhere. It cut off my shriek of terror and flung the snake back, lifeless, into the brush as strong arms lifted me, struggling, into the air. I writhed and twisted against him but it was useless. He carried me back to the shed, my body limp now, my voice silent. He lowered me into a corner, his eyes burning down on me as he shut and bolted the door.
“I told you you couldn’t do it,” he said. “I told you you couldn’t get away.”