Two corpses.
A man and a small child, curled on the floor.
They’d been dead a long time. They were dry as leaves, almost mummified, and there was something wrong with their faces—
The sense of a presence behind her grew suddenly intolerable, as if it were just now leaning over her shoulder, its big chin almost resting on her collarbone, its breath on her neck.
“ONE MORE STEP.”
A whisper—she jolted so hard it was more like a convulsion. In a mindless panic, she ran from the house. On the lawn, she fumbled for her phone, gasping. No service.
The house is doing it, she thought hysterically. Whatever’s in the house. It’s that strong, it’s jamming the signal.
She was halfway up the street before she got any bars.
The sheriff’s name was Drew Eastin. He was a skinny, thoughtful-looking forty-ish man with deep crow’s feet and a calm half-smile. On another day, she might have found him attractive.
“Stay here,” Eastin told her. Two more squad cars were pulling up. That was probably half of Rexford’s police force. “We’ll go in and see what’s what.”
She waited, numb, by the police cars. She kept hearing that voice in her ear, the raspy whisper. A man’s voice, rough and insistent. The sheriff went into the house with a few deputies. One came back out. His face was ashen and gleaming and he kept rubbing his mouth.
When Sheriff Eastin emerged, he wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked older.
“Like you said,” he told her. “Two bodies. State crime lab’ll tell us for sure, but I think it’s Frank Weaver and his son Todd.”
“I don’t understand it. Why didn’t Lucas tell anyone?” Julia said.
“Probably scared the county would take him away. Probably seen it happen to other kids down here.” He looked around. Some residents were outside, watching the police cars. “I’ll get Kenny to go by the Laundromat, pick up the kid.”
“Okay,” Julia said. “I’d like to stay here until they find him, if that’s all right. Do you have any idea what happened? How they died?”
Eastin sighed. “If I had to guess, I’d say Frank killed his boy, maybe fed him rat poison—there’s a big box in there—and then killed himself. What happened after that, I don’t know. It looks like nobody’s been in there for a year. Jesus.”
“What about the crying I heard? And the person I thought I saw moving around?”
You didn’t think. You saw it.
Eastin gave her a strange look. “There’s nobody else in there. We looked all over. Only place we haven’t been yet is the basement.”
“Why not?” she said, uneasy.
“It’s locked. Heavy door. We’re looking for a key. We’ll get a locksmith to come if we can’t find one.”
“Could someone be down there?”
“If so, they’re keeping quiet.”
He shook his head again, slowly exhaled. “What?” Julia asked.
“I’ve been a cop for 25 years. I’ve seen a few people who died younger than they should. But in there… something’s not right.”
She nodded. She knew.
ONE MORE STEP
Eastin went reluctantly back to the house. A coroner’s van arrived. Two men in white uniforms carried out the body bags.
They were loading the second body bag—the little one—when footsteps came up quickly behind her, soft and crackling. She cried out as she turned—
It was Lucas. He had come out of the woods up the street; he must have taken a shortcut, and the police had missed him. Clutching his bed sheets, he stared with horror as the bodies were taken away.
“What are they doing?” he asked in a high, shaken voice.
“We found your father and Todd,” she said gently. “We know you’ve been on your own. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to—”
“What are they doing?”
“Lucas, how long have you been living like this, by yourself?” she said. “Can you tell me that? When did it happen?”
He didn’t seem to hear. He took a few tentative steps, staring with what seemed like disbelief at the small black body bag being loaded into the van.
“They took them out?” he said. “They’re taking them away?”
“Lucas,” she said, “they’re not going to take you away. Someone’s going to—”
“They can’t do that!”
The look on his face was heartbreaking. A look of despair. Of someone who has no choices left.
No kid should have to feel that way.
She stood in front of him to block his view. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” she told him. “I know this must have been hard—I can’t imagine how hard—but I’m here for you. That’s a promise. Do you understand?”
His state of shock seemed to subside, and a flicker of comprehension came into his eyes. He nodded.
“That’s a promise,” Julia said again.
Very quietly, he said, “I’m scared.”
She hugged him. She couldn’t help it.
Julia spoke quietly with Eastin, out of Lucas’s hearing. The sheriff had tried asking the kid a few gentle questions, but barely got a response.
“What’s going to happen to him?” Julia asked.
“First thing, we need to figure out the relative situation. Maybe he goes to live with an aunt or grandma.”
“What if he doesn’t have one?”
“Well,” Eastin said uncomfortably, “then we see what the other options are. There are good foster families out there.”
“What about this weekend?” Julia asked. “Where’s he going to sleep?”
It was clearly a question the sheriff had not considered yet. “Well,” he finally said, “I don’t know that even if we drove him to Morgantown they’d have a place all set up for him tonight. I’ll… I’ll see if I know someone who can—”
“I can,” Julia said. “He can stay with me. I rent the cottage behind Elaine Fielding’s house. There’s room.”
“Well, good,” Eastin said. “I mean, you’re his teacher.”
She drove Lucas to her cottage. The whole ride, he stared out the window, scanning the trees like he was looking for something. Very faintly, in the distance, there were sirens. Rexford was in a valley, and sound carried.
“Do you want to listen to the radio?” Julia asked, because she didn’t know what else to say. What could you say to a kid who’d been through what he had? All you could do was try to make him feel safe for the moment.
No matter what I do, he’s gonna need a lot of therapy.
Lucas didn’t seem to hear her. He just kept looking out the window. Now and then he twisted in the seat to look over his shoulder, as if something might be following them down the road.
Elaine, her landlord, was retrieving the plastic refuse bins from the end of the driveway when they got home. Elaine was tall, with short grey hair, a husky laugh, and a serene, absent-minded smile. She was smiling now, wiping one hand on a faded t-shirt that said Vandals, which Julia was pretty sure was an old band. She was also pretty sure Elaine smoked a lot of weed. Elaine leaned down to the window to say hi.
“Hey, who’s this?” she said. “One of your students?”
“This is Lucas,” Julia said. “He’s hanging out this weekend. Right, Lucas?”