Deep in the lobby the main hallway branched. On our right, we spotted Jack standing with Aster. The walls were stained wood and the hall floor was carpeted. Beyond Jack and Aster, at the end of the hall, a security detail duo stood outside two big closed wooden doors.
Jack looked drained. It didn’t seem possible. In his movies the characters he played always had their blue periods. Beaten down only to rise again. Right there and then, he looked exhausted, like a man that hadn’t slept all night and crawled from bed straight into a hip black jacket and gray pants that probably cost five times more than my dress and heels combined.
“Maddy?” asked Dad.
Aster looked at Jack. Jack, eerily, was unresponsive.
Aster said, “She’s in a consult with Horace. In the library.”
The security detail all seemed to straighten up and stare even more menacingly at us at her words.
Consults. I’d read up on those. A consult was when a member of the church, dealing with something really bad sat down with their Chosen Elder and talked and talked their problem over until, essentially, their soul was all shiny and new once more.
Dad said, “I want to see her.”
“Once a consult is started it can’t be interrupted,” said Aster. “Jack couldn’t even go in there right now.”
“Bullshit.”
“Senate,” said Jack. Whispered it. “Mr. McCall. It’ll only be a few minutes more. I promise. I want to be in there with her right now, too. But I respect her need to consult with Horace. It wasn’t forced on her. This wasn’t Horace’s idea. It was Madeline’s.”
Dad’s lips pulled back, and he flashed teeth and gums.
“I’m her father.”
“And I’m her husband. She didn’t ask to see either of us.”
The two held each other’s eye. Jack blinked first. He sighed.
“In the past,” said Jack, “I’ve found a consult to be-“
“I’m not asking for a goddamn sales pitch!” Dad shoved past Jack, and headed right for the library doors and the security detail.
The two barely moved. One might have flexed his jaw slightly.
Almost on top of them, Dad threw his hands up in the air and announced himself and his intention to see his daughter. Now. Neither of the black suited men budged.
I started walking towards him. Not because I thought I could add anything to his insistence, but because I thought he might wear himself out.
Dad jabbed a finger in the shorter guard’s face.
“Son,” he said, “one of us is gonna find out real quick the answer to that goddamn question about the immovable object and the irresistible force. Want to place a bet?”
I grabbed Dad’s elbow. He jerked his arm out of my grasp and I stumbled. I squeaked. Dad grunted and saw me. It took a moment for the cloud to clear and he returned at least a little to his senses.
“Lucy…”
“Dad.” I spoke in a hushed tone, imagining an upset Maddy on the other side of the doors. “Come on. Please. Please.”
I held my hand out and he grabbed it. I led him like a mother leading her upset child away from a fight. Matching my stride we walked past Jack and Aster, Dad not looking at either one of them.
Chapter 27
The consult lasted only a bit longer than Jack predicted. Even after it ended and Horace Walton was out of the country club library, walking his big skull head around, Nawzat at his beck and call, Maddy remained out of sight, secluded.
Dad went in to see her for a bit. Jack was at her side constantly now, Aster wandering in and out of the library and taking a look as guests continued to arrive in their finest wear. It was like she was taking a headcount. She’d count people, go back and report the number, and at some point, Maddy might magically appear, tears and fears forgotten for the opportunity to wow the crowd.
“Not good.” All Dad had to say when I asked him how she was doing. The problem being, Mom had the magic Maddy touch. She did that for Dad and I, too, raising low spirits, but Maddy had been our sphinx. If she was pissed or just having a clouds over her particular spot of life day, Mom could usually ferret out the best way to move her eldest out from under the clouds. Her touch was sorely missed.
The sun set and as black replaced the remaining blue in the sky Sherman and I retreated outside to the hedge lined pool.
Sherman kept checking his phone for Facebook updates from Nick Verney. He also texted Geoff, asking him if he knew if his cohort in crime had anything to do with the ‘Royal Disaster’. So far there didn’t seem to be acknowledgment that Nick was responsible for ruining the premiere, but he was such a little attention hog I couldn’t imagine the night would end without some sort of gloating verification of his misdeed.
“I haven’t seen Dina,” I said. “Have you?”
I sat on one of the pool side chairs, turned towards Sherman. Mimicking a pose often applied in his bedroom, Sherman was splayed out, flat on his back, neck supported by the chair headrest, his phone balanced on his chest, the blue screen glowing in reflection off of his geek boy glasses.
When he didn’t acknowledge me I leaned towards his chair and popped him in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he said, though still incapable of peeling his eyes from the tiny, attention-locking screen.
Now and then guests would venture out to poolside, but wouldn’t stay long. Most seemed much more interested in the tables on the patio across from us. It was closer to fresh drinks and food and the music and possible spotting of celebrity.
Every few minutes a Lucentology security person would wander passed the pool, always the same guy, always going the same direction when he passed us.
The guy was handsome and young. He definitely stood out from the rest of them.
I’d thought about being playful and upon each of his appearances let him know the water wasn’t any warmer than the last time he’d been by, but to check back in another 5 minutes.
To fight sheer boredom I finally acted upon the impulse.
Besides Dina he was the first guard to actually break character and smile. Also, unlike most the guards he didn’t have his hair shaved down to the scalp. He had dimples. Very nice dimples.
Right after his most recent circuit - he’d literally just vanished into the darkness west of the pool and directly behind the main building patio - there was a noise behind us.
Sherman didn’t even look up from his gateway to the Internet. Looking back over my shoulder I got to see a tiny blonde in a blue dress and low-slung heels walk out from between two ornamental hedges.
Even outfit in the high society swag and without the glasses, Ruth Arnett was fairly recognizable.
Squinting at me, she stopped walking.
I waved.
“Crap,” she said.
With a sigh she raised a hand and put her glasses back on.
“Well at least that crushes my illusion that I’m unrecognizable without specs.”
The persistent murmur of hubbub slipping from the main country club building momentarily spiked with laughter.
“Whoa. Someone’s had too much,” she said.
“How did you get here?” I asked.
“Sparky.”
“”Sparky?’”
She pointed into the dark.
“Silver Ridge. The retirement community over that-a-way. There’s a mall, too. Right next door to this place. I played worthless dog owner and convinced some guy with a golf cart in front of his place that my pooch had gotten away from me. Nice old guy. He knew how to get in without using the front door, so to speak. Kind of sorry I used him, but…”
Ruth walked closer to us. I pondered introducing Sherman to her, but she smiled looking at him, her investigative mind seeming to size him up already.
“I’ve come to cause trouble.” Ruth eyed the patio entrance to the main building like she expected a guard to
pop up amongst the seated guests any moment. “Not for your sister. I’m sorry her thing got ruined. That was asshole whoever did that.”
“Yeah…”
“Is Horace here?”
“Yes. He did a consult with Maddy earlier.”
Ruth produced a squeaky ‘hmmmm’.
“Nothing wrong with those. That’s what Kip used to say.”
“What are you planning on doing?”
Ruth smiled at me.
“Part of my trouble is planning. I didn’t expect to get this far so…”
She shrugged. Walking past me and around the far end of the pool she said, “If I’m killed or taken prisoner, my backpack is behind a tree a couple of golf holes back. I think I saved you a granola bar, if you want it. Well, at least half.”
She picked up speed going up the steps to the patio, and by the time she closed in on the doors going into the country club ballroom she looked to be flying.
My stomach flip-flopped right after she’d vanished from sight. I figured there’d be immediate reaction from the Lucentologists. Horace screaming maybe.
I held my breath and heard blood in my ears. Nothing seismic occurred. The guests at the tables next to the doors continued gabbing and drinking.
“I hope she’s ok,” I said.
Quicker than I’d expected, Sherman said, “Awww, she’ll be fine.”
“Do you even know who that was?” I asked.
He opened his mouth, but I never heard the answer.
There was a loud pop sound. Then a series of them. And then before I could process the sound of explosion, I watched a ball of fire rise above the country club roof. It was black and musty orange. Dirty.
Some people at the tables on the patio stood, looking towards the roof. More than one pointed. Another screamed. There were screams coming from inside the country club.
I’d gotten to my feet.
Sherman remained on his chair, but I couldn’t blame his shock, his immobility. Neither one of us had ever witnessed an explosion of such magnitude before, or any kind of explosion, outside of experiments gone sideways in Chemistry.
I gaped at the sky and was just beginning to realize the blast might’ve done something to the front of the building and any people inside the building when something stung me.
My hand went back to my shoulders. A moment later another object bit me. And right after that, another at the base of my neck.
Sherman contorted. Spasmed. He was on his own. I couldn’t help.
A figure stood near the hedges where Ruth Arnett had slipped into view only minutes before.
I don’t know what I said, if anything. I remember falling and bouncing on the pool side chair and then off of it to the cool cement.
Boots approached me.
And then everything went black.
Chapter 28
When she was getting chemo, Mom said she felt epically lethargic in the days immediately following treatment, while the poison spread through her body, seeking cancer cells.
It was the most exhausted she’d ever been besides giving birth and the experiences were divided by the fact that giving birth filled her with joy.
The chemo left her feeling like she might sink into the ground.
I woke in the dark.
I felt like I had the flu or had taken the nighttime version of a flu drug. Mom had said that was somewhat similar to how the chemo left her feeling.
I thought I was still near the pool. Just now it was night. Absolute night.
Turning my head didn’t provide much different a view than looking up. Black just as black. I went out of consciousness somewhere in between turning my head and finishing turning my head.
I woke. I settled back on my elbows. I was on a bed. There wasn’t a bed at the country club, not poolside, not that I’d seen.
Something covered my eyes, about the size of a handkerchief.
When I reached up to investigate what it was, I sat back, and discovered my ankles were tied to the end of the bed. Just sitting forward and touching the bindings exhausted me.
I almost called out.
I thought better of it.
I might be able to get out of the situation, but letting them know I was awake would be a mistake. They might put me back under if they knew I was awake.
Trying to guess where I might be, I drifted off.
The next time I woke, my wrists were restrained, pulled up behind my head.
In and out of consciousness I heard yelling.
Someone calling someone Grizzly or Gristly.
Someone saying they wouldn’t settle down.
And then grunting like they’d been struck.
Someone poured water into my mouth.
Then told me I could do it myself.
They talked through an accent. Like they were trying to be funny, pretending to be Asian, a non-native speaker of English.
It sounded like Nick, only older.
I took the water.
Drank.
They asked me if I’d had enough. I nodded. They took the bottle.
They told me to raise my arms. They were going to secure my wrists.
I said wait. Could I have more?
They sighed. Said they’d be right back.
I touched the back of my head.
The blindfold had an ingenious knot tied into it.
I played with it, the back of my head, the knot never loosened.
It was like the tail of a face hugger in an Alien movie. Touch it. Indicate you were trying to remove it and it only tightened its coil round the throat of a victim.
I could mess with it for another week and still make no progress.
The situation seemed so ridiculous I couldn’t help but laugh. And laugh.
I knew I approached the moment where the laughter might lose its authenticity and became panic or hysterics.
I had great luck instead. Laying there waiting for the appearance of more water I fell asleep.
Later, I was aware of a motor.
A car outside. Or truck.
A motor, put-putting through the walls.
I tried to edge closer to the wall to better hear the motor. Edging closer a matter of centimeters.
Next thing I knew I was going to the bathroom.
I’d been helped off the bed. The hands on my arms strong, masculine.
For all I knew, someone stood in front of me, watching me go. The owner of the strong hands, watching me pee into a toilet.
I tried to hear breathing.
I nodded off on the toilet.
I woke up back on the bed.
I felt a needle go into my arm.
Right arm.
The spot felt cold and wide as a penny like a crater had formed. A deep one. Flesh and bone visible.
I heard a man’s voice.
He said, “What are you doing asshole? Don’t watch her. What’s wrong with you?”
At one point during the cancer fight Mom told me she sometimes felt stranded on a rock where it was always night. Like her rocket or her tiny single occupant craft had crashed and she’d survived the wreck reasonably intact.
Rescue attempts were underway, this abandoned Dorothy McCall suspected, but she didn’t know that she had the energy to survive to that magical moment when a bright star might descend from the night and pick her up and return her to any semblance of normalcy.
I felt like I might be on the same rock, but I couldn’t be sure.
Never awake long enough to sort out the surroundings.
I called for her.
I tried to imagine what my own bright descending star might look like.
I tried to convince myself that we could both escape this place.
I tried not to notice my own odor.
The metal around my ankles.
The sounds coming from the ot
her room.
The possibility it had been days or weeks since the dark had welcomed me.
Chapter 29
The white-haired woman ringing the Eaton High School track Sunday morning wore black sweats and a peach colored top. She listened to her iPod, a gift from her grandchildren. So far the only music downloaded onto it were tracks from Loretta Lynn and Kenny Rogers.
The sky was cloudy. The humidity already high. The gravel around the bleachers dark from a recent rain.
A dog barked from one of the neighborhoods adjacent to the track. Fearful of deafness, she always kept Loretta’s voice low enough she could hear the dog.
Approaching the point where she’d be parallel to the foot of the bleachers, the trackwalker’s pace slowed. Then altogether stopped.
Later, she’d tell the police vehicles passed the field semi-regularly, but married to her task, focused on the walk, the vehicles were simply movement in her peripheral vision. Same thing with pedestrians.
Standing in place on the track she breathed heavily and removed the ear buds.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
No answer. Then she looked around for the phantom walking partner or any other witness who might tell her where the visitor had come from and if it was safe to approach them.
Standing at the base of the bleachers was a girl in a green dress.
The two stared at one another. The trackwalker reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell phone.
Without warning, the girl’s legs went out from under her.
The green dress bunched around her legs, shielding the skin from gravel. Her left elbow bounced off the bleacher seat and she came to rest, arm bent on top of the cool metal. The way her hair flopped across her face only added to the impression that this was the morning after an elaborate evening that had started lovely, but ended roughly.
The cops would canvas the surrounding blocks and ask neighbors if they’d seen a vehicle drive down the street and drop off a dark-haired girl in a green dress.
East of the athletic field was the Eaton Community Pool. Closed for the season. The pool and athletic field shared one length of the chain link fence encircling the field then the pool had its own fence on each other side, tinged around top with barb wire to keep out those more enterprising small town juvenile delinquents with too much time on their hands.