CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

It was nightmarish. The town, the familiar shops, the quiet street that Ari had grown up on looked completely different. In eighteen hours it had become ominous, even though it was the middle of the day, as if she were seeing it through filmy black gauze. The distance between her house and Lynn’s seemed insurmountable; the bushes and thickets of trees, places where evil and evil-doers could hide.

Something was wrong with her eyes. It was as if she were looking down a long dark tunnel, and sometimes there was a disorientating shimmer, like a heat haze. She stroked her bracelet. Maybe she could send a telepathic message. And Lynn would somehow know that Ari needed her.

Lynn, she whispered in her mind, wanting to see her friend so badly but knowing she wouldn’t be able to make her legs walk all that way, unsure if she could even find the words to make a phone call because the telling would unbottle the tears inside and she was scared they might split her open. Shock. Traumatic injury. Concussion. Her body was betraying her.

If things weren’t so completely fucked up with Tallulah’s death and the aftermath, Lynn would have been waiting for her on the front steps, her arms opened wide, ready to give and receive a hug. But she wasn’t.

“Ari,” her mother said gently. Ari refocused her eyes—she’d been staring at the beige back of the car seat—and realized that her mom was just standing there holding the door open and had maybe been standing there for a long time, saying her name over and over, if her stricken expression was any clue.

On feet that seemed miles from the ground, Ari left the warm safety of the car and went into the house.

She felt frayed, as if the fiber of her being were unweaving itself. Twice on the way home she thought she’d seen Sourmash, his bearlike bulk leaning against a tree and then standing on the corner of an intersection, hot eyes blazing, a rifle in his hand. And a few times she’d caught a glimpse of Stroud’s bright-red jacket hurrying down a side street, only to blink and look again and see nothing. Could she trust her eyes?

“I’ll just get you a glass of water, honey,” her mother said. She caught the murmur of her parents’ voices as they walked toward the kitchen.

She heard the words side effects, PTSD, darkroom but the rest all sounded like feedback to her. She curled up on the sitting room couch, piled the pillows around her body like a fort. Stroud, she thought. The last time she’d seen him alive had been in the grove. She was positive she had seen him in the cabin, no matter what the police said. Round and round flew her thoughts, making her feel as if she were trapped on a carousel, with the speed and music cranked up to ten. Stay on and ride, or jump off and risk breaking something irreparable? Was her brain completely and truly fucked? What was real and what was not real?

“Mom, Dad,” she called.

Her parents appeared in the kitchen doorway. They looked guilty, and she knew they’d been discussing her.

“Can you try to find out about Stroud? See if he’s come home? If I just knew—for certain…” Her voice cracked.

“Of course. We’ll make some calls,” her father said.

“You should get cleaned up. Change out of those clothes. You’ll feel better,” her mother said brightly, handing over a glass of water. “Let me run a soothing bath for you.”

“A bath sounds good.” Ari took a sip and put the glass down. Her tongue felt like a slab of something dead in her mouth. Just forming words seemed impossible.

She got up, her wobbling legs like jelly. Her stomach was rolling and she was worried she might spew jerky again. Her dad hurried forward to give her his arm. “I’m fine,” Ari said.

She dragged herself upstairs, her mother one step behind as if she was afraid that Ari might fall backwards. They parted in the hallway and Ari went to her room and shut the door. Her parents’ hovering was totally freaking her out.

She wished she could hear their familiar brusque voices, the fond but abrupt things they shouted over their shoulders as they passed each other in the scant minutes between rushing to their jobs, on quick visits to the refrigerator, the last thing at night; small snatches of conversation, blunt words of love that rang true.

She realized she’d been walking around her bedroom in overlapping circles. Just like back in the well. “Get a grip, Ari,” she said with force. She was too anxious to sleep, too wired to read or listen to music. She needed an anchor, something to root her into her life. That was Lynn. Reflexively she reached for her cell phone before letting her hand drop, empty. The cops hadn’t found it in the cistern or the surrounding area.

Maybe if she screamed loudly enough, gave voice to the fear festering in her belly, Lynn would hear her and come running. But no, she was sick of screaming. Instead she went to the window, threw open the sash and leaned out, perched on the sill. From here she couldn’t tell who was home at Lynn’s. The driveway was empty, the yard silent, the windows like empty sockets. The world seemed too big. It scared her. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she told herself that it was over. Sourmash was dead. They’d arrested Rocky. But Stroud? Dead? Alive? She remembered the clammy feel of his cool cheek. Could it have been a hallucination? Could hallucinations be sensory or were they always just visual?

Post-traumatic stress disorder. My mind is playing tricks on me and I can’t trust it. What I think I know, what I think I see might not even exist outside my mind.

“You hurt your head, honey. It’s no wonder you’re confused,” her mother had said in the car on the way home. “And the horror of driving that truck! It’s no wonder you’re traumatized. Give it time and let us look after you.”

“You’re safe now,” her dad said firmly, as if by saying so he made it true. “Just take it as easy as you can.”

Ari had just stared at her black-stained fingertips. The last thing they’d done at the police station was take her prints. “So we can eliminate you from the investigation,” Officer Tremblay had said. Eliminate me like Sourmash tried to. Make me cease to be.

There was so much she couldn’t remember. She felt like she was standing on an ice floe in the middle of the ocean. How had she gotten from the library to Sourmash’s cistern? Why would she go anywhere with him? It didn’t make sense. She was missing some fundamental piece of information. Something was deeply wrong. It just was.

She needed Lynn’s strength and help. The methodical way she always attacked problems. She would believe Ari, and together they’d figure it out.

“Does Lynn know what happened to me?” she’d asked when they had arrived back at the house.

“I talked to her mother but Lynn was out. I’m sure she knows now,” her mother had replied.

“Why isn’t she here?”

“We asked people to give you room. A little quiet today. Time to heal.”

“Lynn is not people. She’s my best friend. I need her.” Ari’s voice cracked. Her head was spinning.

“She can come tomorrow,” her dad had said. “We’re sorry, Ari, but the doctor recommended a peaceful environment. We have to keep a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.”

Her mom knocked on the door and stuck her head in. Ari jumped, hitting her head on the window frame.

“Oh, honey,” she said, worry quirking her eyebrows. “I thought you were going to soak in the tub. I ran it for you. Nice and hot. It’s full now.”

Ari looked down at her hands. They lay limply in her lap like dead fish. Right. She’d come upstairs to take a bath. Somewhere along the way she’d spaced out again.

Ari focused on her breathing. She imagined she was on her back in the water looking up at the shimmer of lights high above, everything around her made of cool blue. Quiet.

Her mother’s voice brought her into the present. “Honey. Please.” Her attempt at a smile was ghastly. It didn’t jibe with the deep grooves in her forehead and the purple bruising under her eyes.

“Go soak in the tub. I’m making real macaroni and cheese for dinner. With extra cheese. And we’ll eat early.”

Ari couldn’t bear her mother’s stricken expression. She forced a smile. The longer she allowed it to remain in place, the less fragile it seemed. She took a deep breath. “My favorite,” she said. Her mom smiled in response as she eased the door shut, and Ari felt as if she’d really accomplished something. Something normal.

She stood up, stripped her clothes off and kicked them into a heap in the corner of the floor. Her worn terry cloth robe was rough under her scraped-up fingertips and heavy on her strained muscles. She felt unclean, like she’d been touched by something perverse, as if everything bad had forced itself under her skin and now rotted there. Who knew what Sourmash had done to her while she was lying at the bottom of the well? He could have climbed down. He hadn’t raped her but he had put his hands on her. She remembered them now, reaching for her as she dodged around his truck—broad and hairy, muscular with sinew. And then sheathed in black gloves, pushing her into the well as she plummeted, screaming. The two images shuddered in her brain as if she were seeing with doubled vision. She couldn’t just sit in the bath, she needed a shower first, hot enough to scour a few layers of skin off.

The bathroom was steamy. The mirror fogged. She was glad of that. She knew she’d look different, changed at some deeply personal level, and she wanted to fool herself for a little while longer. Keeping her bandaged head clear, she stood under the shower with the dial cranked all the way around until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Then she climbed into the bath.

Slowly her taut muscles relaxed. She added more hot water over and over again and stayed in long after the water had cooled down, her toes wrinkled, unidentifiable bits of scummy stuff floating on the surface. It wasn’t until she stood up, muscles like strings, that she realized she’d completely forgotten to use any soap. Tomorrow she would clean herself properly. She’d change the gooey bandage on her head. Tomorrow was another day. When she finally got out of the tub, there was a thick ring of gray sludge left on the porcelain. She lacked the energy to do anything about it but she was certain she’d get a pass.

She heard the phone ringing and froze, hoping that it was Lynn and she’d hear her mother calling up to her, but there was nothing.

“Brick by brick, Ari,” she told herself.

She slipped on the robe again, tying it tight as if it could keep her from falling to pieces, and went downstairs holding on to the banister like an invalid. She made a detour into the hall and picked up the phone. At first she couldn’t remember Lynn’s cell phone number. She was so used to just pushing the “1” button. She focused and entered the digits. The call went straight through to voicemail. Either the battery was dead or Lynn had turned off her phone. She did that sometimes—declared she was going to be a Luddite and give up electronics.

Ari couldn’t verbalize a message. How could she sum up all that had happened in one snappy voicemail? Instead she just said, “It’s me, Ari.” She didn’t care what the doctor or her parents said; she needed Lynn. Lynn would bring her back to normalcy. Lynn was all the good stuff in her life.

Her parents sat stiffly at the table. She looked at the wall clock. It was barely 4:00 p.m. She wanted to get into her bed but she was scared of night falling, terrified of waking up in the middle of it. The darkness would transport her directly to the well.

“Sorry,” she said. “I took too long.”

“No worries,” her dad said, pulling her chair out for her and awkwardly patting her arm. Her dad wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of a guy except for special occasions—birthdays and holidays—but ever since the hospital he’d continually reached out for her, as if he were reassuring himself that she was still there. Ari didn’t know if she was there. It felt as though some part of her had been left back in the cistern and the cabin. Her sense of self was shattered, leaving just a shell.

“Perfect timing,” her mother said, sounding like she was talking to a guest. Ari wondered how long they’d been sitting at the table waiting for her, heads turned toward the ceiling, listening to the water running.

The big casserole of macaroni and cheese was covered with a glass lid. Condensation had formed on the inside, and when her mother served, she shoveled out congealed wedges of glued-together pasta. Clearly the food had been ready half an hour ago.

“Who was on the phone?” Ari asked. “Was it Captain Rourke? Did they find Stroud?”

Her mother froze in the middle of serving and exchanged a glance with her dad, who carefully unfolded his napkin, clearly stalling for time.

“No, it was Carl from work,” her father said.

“The police may not need to talk to you again, Ari,” her mother said.

Ari’s mouth fell open. “But I might remember something else. And Captain Rourke said he’d let us know when they find Stroud and what’s going on with Rocky.”

“There’s been no time for anything new in the investigation.”

“Try not to think about it anymore,” her dad said. “Let the police do their job.”

She stared at him. How was that even possible? “Not think about it?” She knew she was shouting but she couldn’t help herself. “I want to know. I need to know. Everything. So I can understand what happened to me.”

She stabbed at her macaroni with her fork.

Her mother’s voice gentled. “Some things don’t make sense no matter how hard you try. They just don’t.”

Ari’s mouth was dry. She swallowed a gulp of water and spluttered as it went down the wrong way. Her father leaned over and rubbed her shoulders.

“I can’t just be a victim. I can’t let Sourmash do that to me.”

“You’re not a victim. You’re strong, so strong. You saved yourself, Ari,” her dad said, putting his water glass down forcefully.

Ari hung her head. That was the thing. She felt like it was her fault. As if she had asked for it. What was it about her that screamed victim? Was it a weakness that predators could sense?

“Okay, Ari?” her mother said, sliding the salad bowl across to her. Her expression was pleading.

Ari nodded, not wanting to upset her any further.

As her parents tried to change the subject, she listened to the buzz of mundane conversation without really paying attention. This was how normal people dealt with trauma, but Ari was beginning to think she would never be normal again. By moving her food around and forcing down a few more tiny mouthfuls she made enough of a dent in the huge mound to soften her parents’ worried faces. When she put her fork down, they both exhaled, although she didn’t think they were aware of it. They likely had no idea that their concern felt like even more weight on her; the stress of having to pretend that she was all right or would be all right soon, as if there was an ETA for recovery.

“I’m tired,” she said, pushing her chair back and feeling guilty for not being able to absorb her parents’ worry.

“You get some sleep,” her mother said, getting up to give her a hug and a kiss. Her father embraced her too and dropped a kiss on her forehead, something he hadn’t done since she was young. She felt the scratch of his unshaven chin through her hair when he tucked her under his chin. She bore it for as long as she could, but she could barely stand the pressure on her skin. It reminded her of the doctor prodding and poking at her. Mumbling an apology, she fled upstairs.

Ari sat on her bed, clutching her pillow. The sun was going down. The shadows lengthening. The tree outside her window sent long black fingers creeping into her room. She had never felt less tired. She needed to talk to someone about all the crazy feelings she was having because otherwise they would swallow her up. Like the bottom of the well, like her darkening room, turning into a vacuum of nothingness, a vast pit of despair, the world as she had known it disappearing around her.

She snuck downstairs and called Lynn’s cell phone but it went to voicemail again. She tried the landline. The recorded message came on, Mrs. Lubnick’s brisk inflection and some childish ruckus in the background, but Ari hung up without saying anything. The black hole got bigger. Where the hell was Lynn? Lynn had borne witness to all of Ari’s freak-outs over the years, had talked her down from numerous ledges of anxiety and fear of failure. Ever since she could remember, they’d seen each other daily, or spoken at least twice. There was no way Lynn would abandon her now.

Up in her room, she logged onto her computer and started typing.

From: Ari <O2BASparrow@onederkind.com>

Subject:

To: Lynn <sassyfreakingass@hottamale.net>

For a long moment she looked at the blinking cursor, tears blurring her vision.

Please come over right now.

Ari

She went back to her open bedroom window. Lynn’s house was dark. Ari reached out and hooked up her pirate flag, closing her window behind her. She tugged the curtains closed and sat at her desk, tapping her fingers nervously on its surface.

The notes she’d taken at the library were piled in a heap. She spotted the name Dahmer, with all its evil associations, and pulling open a drawer, she swept the papers into it. God knows what she’d been thinking! Sourmash had been a sick fuck but he hadn’t had some grand plan. She pushed the drawer closed and leaned against the desk. After a long moment she began to pace.