 
## Lucid

Author: Brian Stillman

Cover Artist: Jenny Dayton

Copyright 2016

Distributed by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Connect With Us
Chapter 1

The first hint of the trouble ahead arrived when I was 14, flying back from my older sister Maddy's wedding.

She'd been married at a mansion in Pacific Palisades. The bedroom I'd stayed in had a fountain on the balcony. If I walked past the naked baby angel and the burbling gush of water out to the balcony rail and looked west, I could see the Pacific Ocean stretching on out to the horizon.

My new brother-in-law was one of the biggest box office draws in the world. He was barely taller than me. He had a strong handshake. He looked me in the eye when he spoke. The next time I visited them, when he wasn't dealing with the 1000 wedding guests, Jack Ford promised I could take his Lamborghini for a test drive. He knew a guy with his own driving course. Speed limits didn't apply there.

Throughout her high school years, Dad had never approved of any of Maddy's suitors. They were all going nowhere. He could tell. Jack's movies had grossed over a billion dollars worldwide. He'd been nominated for a Golden Globe. He donated money to charities worldwide. He spoke out on international issues. Had shaken the hand of at least two presidents.

Dad hadn't liked Tate Ruchert, high school quarterback hero. Dad didn't seem very taken with Jack either.

Right after the pilot announced we were flying over Lake Tahoe it happened.

At first, I thought Dad pounding the armrest was something related to flight stress. Mom had said she'd have to spike his coffee before ever getting Senate McCall onto an airplane.

A thin band of wet worked out the corner of his right eye. His lips puckered. The couple in the seats across from us were asleep.

McCall men didn't cry. We'd buried my grandma and grandpa and my mom's stepbrother Clark. We'd buried Mom. Dad hadn't cried. Uncle Bob hadn't cried. I was still a kid all those burials. Only 11 when Mom died, and I hadn't cried either, at least not in front of anyone. There wasn't shame in it for a girl, but Mom had told me I always looked like I'd bit into a sour apple when I cried. She'd smiled, one of the last times she did, admitted she was trying to keep me from sobbing at her hospital bed.

It was giving away his daughter finally catching up to him I thought.

"How could I let it happen," he whispered.

"Let what happen? Dad? Are you ok?"

He wiped his face with the heel of his hand. He sniffled. A flight attendant walked past us. It felt intrusive to look at Dad. I looked past him, out the window at the plane's wing. It was the third flight I'd been on in my life. First being the Horizon flight between Ashmond and Seattle four days prior, second being Seattle to L.A. that same day.

"Lucy." Dad leaned his head near me but didn't look at me. "That wasn't Maddy. That wasn't your sister. That wasn't your mother's daughter we just left behind."

I shook my head. I wasn't hearing him right, I figured.

"I didn't recognize that girl. Maddy? No," he said. "I don't know that person we handed over to that...Man. Looked and sounded like Maddy, but not her. No. Not by a long shot."

The day before I'd been at what the press christened the wedding of the year if not the decade. A full orchestra played the wedding march. Dave Matthews performed solo at the reception. Queen Latifah had stood in line behind me to get some punch, and I handed her the cup I'd poured for myself. She'd laughed and thanked me for the punch. Touched my arm and smiled and told me my sister was beautiful. Jack had introduced me to a prince from Spain. A prince with bodyguards. And Jack just called him Tony and told Tony this here was Lucy, his new sister-in-law. The prince kissed the back of my hand and smiled at sight of the blush breaking out all over me.

Maddy and Jack were honeymooning in Buenos Aires. Then after that Maddy was going to start shooting her new movie. I'd met the director at the reception. He told me I should maybe think about acting, too. I looked like a young Sigourney Weaver he said, tall, athletic, a bit of a tomboy, but soft where it counted. Feminine. Later when Dave Matthews covered the song from Maddy's high school prom, I saw the director dancing by himself, wine glass in hand. It looked like the gopher dancing from _Caddyshack_.

"We've got to help her," said Dad. He rubbed at his chin like when he was trying to figure out how the washing machine had stopped working.

He didn't say anything else. It was sunset when we landed in Seattle. It was night when we landed in Ashmond. We drove home to Eaton in the same car Dad had owned since before Maddy was Maddy the movie star.

Maddy looked the same and sounded the same. She actually seemed to like me more than when we lived under the same roof, but I took it that came from being trained by a publicist or maybe a side effect of being in the constant presence of Jack's million-dollar smile.

The thing bothering Dad was Maddy was now a member of Jack's church - Lucentology. It didn't play a huge part in the actual wedding ceremony. The man officiating hadn't whipped out a copy of _Forward_ , the church's manual, and made the bride and groom swear upon it or chant or anything.

But everyone who practiced, most everyone who attended meetings in L.A., wore a necklace with a blue 'L' pendant, or a bracelet. There were even earrings. The head of the church had been at the wedding. He had a ring with a big glittery blue 'L' inset in the band. Looking around the reception, it seemed every fifth person in attendance sported a blue 'L' one way or another.

When Maddy and Jack had started dating, she'd sent us all kinds of Lucentology material. Dad had trashed all of it. I'd salvaged a copy of _Forward_ and the DVD series _The Program –_ the primer for the believer ready to enter the 'Becoming' phase of church life.

I thought it was all a little weird, but I didn't see the threat so obvious to Dad's eyes.

When I went to bed, he was still pacing the house. I was exhausted.

I dreamed of the wedding, the exchanging of vows. As Maddy talked, the words ran together until it was gibberish. The gibberish turned into a call and response with the guests, and the guests began to glow the same blue as the 'L' pendants around some of the necks. And then it was all the necks. Even Dad wore a glowing 'L.'

Soon the blue obscured everything except Maddy's face, and then even that began to disappear, feature by feature like she was the Cheshire Cat, vanishing from view.

Her mouth was the last object to go, and then the chanting stopped, and then there was nothing but blue.

Chapter 2

The phone rang minutes after Dad had left the house for work Tuesday.

"It's me," he said when I picked up. "Don't worry about the woman. You'll see her when you come out to wait for the bus. And I told her it's all right to park in our driveway if she wants."

After a few moments of silence he asked, "You there, Luce?"

"Yeah. Who...What are you talking about?"

"You'll see." The smile in Dad's voice audible. "She's all right, okay?"

I started to ask what that meant, but he'd hung up.

Maddy's new movie, _Small Town Girl_ , premiered Friday. It didn't officially open until the following weekend.

The role seemed tailor-made for an actress born and raised in a small town. Someone at the studio publicity department had come up with the keen idea of doing the premiere in a small town and in fact, why not Maddy's? Problem being, Eaton didn't have a movie theater, but that was easily worked around.

Ashmond was only 11 miles west of us and compared to Los Angeles, its population of 35,000 is still teeny tiny, still home-town values, know your neighbor, all that, at least if you discounted the semi-regular eruptions of gang violence.

Maddy and company were slated to arrive on Thursday. Maddy and Jack, still in the upper echelon of world famous movie stars, were slated to stay in the house. There'd be an assistant or two and security outside at all times.

It sounded like a logistical nightmare, but Jack and Maddy's handlers had gotten the two in and out of famous international hot spots on a honeymoon and several vacations. Popping in and out of Hicksville, Eastern Washington ought to be a snap in comparison.

I couldn't figure out why Dad agreed to it. It was two years after the Hollywood wedding extravaganza, and he still held the opinion that Lucentology was damaging Maddy.

Plus he'd told me we ought to plan for the fact that the house might get bugged. Every thing we said, on the phone or otherwise, or anything we did on the computer, it was all up for grabs surveillance wise until after the premiere. I understood the reason for his obliqueness on the phone that morning.

I brushed back the living room curtains and looked out beyond the yard to East Jennings Road. A figure was just getting out of a sedan parked near the intersection of driveway and gravel county road.

She's all right.

Whatever that meant.

*

House locked, backpack over my shoulder, I walked down the driveway to the gravel road. Getting close I saw the sign resting at the woman's feet, and I got an inkling of what Dad had meant.

The sign read 'Kip Arnett Was Murdered.'

Kip was one of the tens of thousands of hopeful actors and actresses who populate Los Angeles, looking for the break that catapults them from obscurity to the spotlight.

She'd been found starved to death in a Hollywood apartment. She had been battling a drug addiction, but more interesting was the fact she was a practicing member of Lucentology.

The press spin on the tragedy was that instead of going through detox or getting herself to a rehab facility, Kip had tried to tough it out using Lucentology methods to make herself clean and pure. According to the literature, Lucentology Centers were always available to help anyone – not just members – deal with addictions, but it could become costly. Just because anyone was welcome didn't mean it was free.

Kip had appeared on one of the videos for _The Program_ , the series for people interested in becoming Lucentologists. Just a quick appearance, but the press had used it as fodder for stories after her death.

The woman on the shoulder of the road was a cute, short blonde, almost a perfect copy of the relatively unknown comedienne who'd been found weighing 66 pounds, her face partially eaten away by a housecat.

The woman waved at me. She wore sunglasses tipped up onto her scalp, a green jacket, and parachute pants with pockets up and down each leg.

I waved back.

She looked both ways and crossed the road, gravel crunching under her heel.

"You must be Lucy," she said. "Your dad said you'd be out here shortly."

She put her hand out.

"I'm Ruth. Arnett. I know," she said. "It's a little weird. I'm not a zombie though, I swear. I'm Kip's twin sister."

The protest sign leaned against her backpack on the road shoulder.

Pointing back across the road she said, "You see I've obviously got something to get off my chest and I'll tell you what I told your dad. I'm not trying to make trouble for you guys. I think you guys are in the same boat I am. You have a loved one involved in something that isn't healthy. You want to make sure they're all right. You know, Kip thought she knew what she was doing. She didn't. And there's gonna be people out here, there's going to be church members out here, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to speak up for Kip. These people are trying to forget her, trying to make the world forget her, and it's bullshit."

I nodded. I didn't talk much mornings. Ruth rolled right on along.

"Since the movement started, back in the '60s and '70s, there's always been something nasty about it. These people aren't saints, much as they think they are or much as they might make you think they can make you. There are a lot of spent shells, ok? Bodies at the roadside. Griffin Sharp. Selkie Rosenfeld, ok? Right out of the gate. Those two, waaaay back when. Most people don't know who they are. Horace Walton does. You know who he is, right? Head of the church? Ok. Good. Oh, boy does Horace know. And people like my sister, well, she found out how nasty it can be, too."

She'd flung her hands about, making her points. She trembled slightly, the blood rolling around inside her short body.

"And if you don't know who Griffin is, if you don't know who Selkie is, I could tell you. Horace Walton could tell you. Well, he could tell you his version. _His_ version. I know what the real version is."

She smiled.

"Sorry. I get worked up a little. Probably a little more in your face than you're expecting just going to school, huh?"

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"But this. You know. This-"

She angled her right arm up vertically, hand in front of her face, and laid her left arm flat so the tip of her fingers touched the right elbow.

It was an 'L.' Imperfect if she did it or if I did it, but the intros to all the Lucentology videos and the cover of _Forward_ , the Lucentology guidebook, featured a slender, genderless figure whose arms were positioned so that the 'L' their arms made looked comfortable, not too bendy or painful, the way a normal person would manage the position, sockets and joints being what they are.

That 'L,' right hand hitting the head, left elbow near the heart, the only supplies you needed to change and move forward into the person you were meant to be. To become 'lucid.'

"I get sick. So sick of it. The last picture Kip took of herself she was doing this. This. The last goddamn picture." Ruth dropped her arms. "I see someone do that I just go—"

Momentarily she stuck her tongue out, both hands displaying an extended middle finger. She stared at the ground and then looked back at me. She smiled her tired smile.

"All right. I'll leave you alone. Oh. Hey." She held her hand out. "Let's make it official at least. Ruth."

"Lucy."

We shook.

"You're a big kid." She smiled. "No offense meant."

"None taken."

"You must get asked this a lot, but you play basketball?"

"Long distance."

"Ah. I can see that. You've got the legs. And I've got the legs of a munchkin. 'What's it like working at the North Pole?' I get that a lot."

Walking back towards her side of the road she suddenly spun on heel, arms out from her side like she was going to throw laser bolts from her hands.

"Let me ask one thing."

"Ok."

"Does your sister keep telling you she's fine? Not fine like she's hot but fine like she's ok? Nothing to worry about?"

"Maddy usually complains when I talk to her."

Ruth laughed.

"Sorry."

"No, it's ok." I smiled. "It's fine." She nodded in appreciation of my using the term. I asked, "Why? I mean was that what your sister did?"

"I'd ask if she was ok. Like right before she... And she'd say she had a really bad flu, that's why she sounded so tired and so out of it. But she'd be fine. She emphasized that. 'I'll be fine, Ruthie. I promise. I swear. Fine tomorrow and fine the day after.' And then she stopped taking my calls. And then they found her."

Just as she got back to her backpack and her sign the school bus swung around the corner and headed towards us.

I usually rode in the row of seats behind the driver. After we picked up the one other rider beyond the house and came back headed for Eaton, I made sure to look out the window and wave at Ruth. When we went by she was head down, fully engaged in texting.

It was only upon entering town that I started wondering how long in advance Dad had known Ruth Arnett was coming to town.

Chapter 3

The drawing taped to my locker was done in black ink on a sheet of notebook paper. The fringe on the spine stood at sharp angles to the paper's edge. Chunks of fallen-off fringe lay scattered on the hallway carpet below my locker.

In the drawing, a UFO was abducting a cow. The cow was levitating off the ground towards the UFO. The cow had udders. The cow said, "Moo."

The UFO was the standard UFO disc shape, the command center encased by a transparent bulb.

The UFO controls were under the direction of a man and woman. They wore unitards. Each unitard featured an uppercase 'L' on the chest.

The man said, "Ok. But remember this time I get to do the anal probe."

The man grinned a semblance of Jack Ford's worldwide famous grin. The woman didn't really resemble my sister, but who else would be flying a UFO with Jack other than Maddy McCall?

Both of them had antennae. Behind them stood an alien with a potato-shaped head and antennae. The alien held a copy of _Forward_ , the guidebook for practicing Lucentologists like Jack and Maddy.

I crumpled the drawing up. The hallway was full of between-class activity.

Every day for a week straight someone had put drawings up. Someones. Too prolific to be one person. The art styles seemed too different for it to be one artist, too.

I glanced around, but no one looked at me and then looked away, blushing, indicating guilt.

Whoever was doing this was just going to keep doing it until all the hubbub died down.

"Another one?"

Sherman Blackwell looked at the balled up paper in my hand.

I nodded.

"Only be a couple more days, Lucy, and then it'll stop. Probably."

I glared at him. He shrugged.

"I'm not saying it doesn't suck." He pushed his glasses up his nose. Held out his hand. "Let me see."

I handed it to him. He uncrinkled it and laughed and quickly put up a hand to still my anger.

"Now, not Jack or Maddy. I'm laughing at the cow. See?" He pointed. "The one still on the ground. It's looking up at the one going to the spaceship, and it's got its head tilted like-" he tilted his head to the side, "'Duhr?'"

He waited for me to smile. It used to come automatically almost. But then earlier this year Sherman had made out with SharDi Leasey at a party. He hadn't even meant to go, but his pal Neal had talked him into going. Sherman had downed a beer out of boredom. Just wanted the party to end so he could go home and it wouldn't end so he had another beer and then another beer and the next thing he knew...

He was sorry. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. All that happened was some kissing and some light groping. He tried to convince me that the fact that he came to me with the admission before someone else told me counted in his favor.

We hadn't kissed or hugged since. He'd written a song called 'The Makeup Song' and put it up on his Facebook and YouTube. It was kind of good, in a bad- _American-Idol_ -audition-kind-of-way.

"You know when you get pissed you look almost like your dad."

"That's what I've heard. That's what my mom used to say."

That shut him up. Sherman tiptoed ultra-carefully around the subject of Mom. Especially since he'd pledged to take care of me before she died. He pledges to her and the next thing you know he's got his hand up SharDi Leasey's tank top.

Sherman's face went white. Even before I turned to follow his look I could guess SharDi Leasey was walking down the hall. I'd developed an ability to tell which Eaton High beauty was in the vicinity just based on Sherman's bulging eyeballs and gaping mouth.

There hadn't been drama between SharDi and I. I barely knew her. She hadn't tried to steal my guy. My guy had just been kind of dumb and drunk and she had a weakness for nerdy looking guys.

Walking past, she smiled at me and nodded at Sherman. Then went right on along with her business - being pretty and built and enjoying all the benefits therein.

Sherman stared at the floor. He looked hopeful some sort of exit would appear. Maybe a slide all the way to China.

Blushing he said, "I looked. I tried not to."

"It's okay. I'm used to it," I said. "You're really weak, and her shirt was really tight."

*

At the start of 4th period, I got to tear another cartoon off my locker.

Chapter 4

We lived outside of town, but we didn't live on a farm. The house was a white two-story Victorian without much flair. There was a small amount of lawn that needed mowing, but most of the property consisted of a dirt driveway that easily transformed to a muddy, shoe-eating mess.

The remnants of a little barn sat on the edge of our backyard. It'd served as a kind of workroom for Mom when she started to get into sculpture. She didn't get very far. She got sick more or less at the same time. A couple of her works were still out in the barn, unfinished.

Dad's brother Bob had a farm about a half-mile from our place. Bob had a couple of hands that helped him work it, and every summer harvest I drove a truck loaded with his grain into town to the grain elevators. Uncle Bob never had married, but the way they talked about their youth, he'd had any number of possibilities before settling on the bachelor's life.

Except for the odd occasion of getting a lift from a car, I rode the school bus most every day. For a time Sherman had been giving me lifts, but that had come to a halt, post-cheating incident.

The bus riders' pattern was more or less the same as it'd always been. Little kids in front. Boyfriends sat with girlfriends. The kids who read hunched down and pressed their legs into the seatbacks in front of them. The coolest kids had the seats at the very back. At least one in the back - blond as sun fed hay - thought he was African-American, baggy everything, do-rag, lips pursed, rural Washington's very own Eminem.

Nick Verney and Geoff Tyco sat together two rows up from the very back. They were in my class. Nick still wiped boogers on people and found gags like pushing his behind into a girl's leg and farting the height of entertainment. His older brother Tyler had practically stalked Maddy when she was in high school. Tyler lived in Oregon now. Balding and married last I heard.

Eaton was a small community. Total the town and the immediately outlying community, and the population added up to a whopping 2433.

Any town with a prodigal daughter coming home for a visit and movie premiere would be hub-bubbing. Given the rural scale of Eaton, Maddy and Jack's Thursday to Saturday visit was like royalty plus the president stopping in.

Two middle school aged girls sat across the aisle from me. One was a McKean. All the McKean kids looked the same. Solid, healthy, with wide faces and bright eyes. The other looked like a Betsy.

My mom would name people.

A guy in glasses was a Dilton. A girl with long blond hair was a Betty. Any girl with short hair was a Betsy.

They kept looking at me, talking under their hands, giggling.

"Ask her," said Betsy.

"No."

"Ask her."

"No!"

"LUCY!"

"Ohmigod!" The McKean girl covered her blushing face. She cried out as Betsy tried to pull her hands away from the blush.

"Is Jack Ford really going to stay with you?" asked Betsy.

I nodded.

"Really?"

"Far as I know," I said.

"Is he nice?" asked Betsy.

"Yeah, hey Lucy," yelled Nick Verney. "Will you have to give him and your sister a special bed to fit their antennae in? So they can talk to the mothership and shit?"

"Shut up!" yelled the McKean girl.

Nick made antennae with his fingers. Geoff picked up the gimmick and while waggling antennae they made noises like babbling monkeys. Nick looked toward the back and babbled. In reply, the would-be Eminem summoned up a look even sourer than the one already on his face.

"I don't know what he's talking about," sulked Betsy. "I love Jack Ford. I love your sister, too, Lucy. Madeline McCall? Ohmigod. She's just..."

"She's so-" said the McKean girl.

"Pretty."

"Pretty, right-"

"Die to have her hair-"

"I know! Her hair is-"

"And she's SO skinny."

"I know! SO skinny. Ohmigod! I wish I was that skinny. I'm so fat."

"Me, too."

The girls started discussing in detail all the other fat girls in their class.

In the seat in front of the girls sat Kitty.

When I got off the bus every day, Kitty was the last rider. East Jennings continued past her place, and looped, turned into West Jennings, and then headed right back into the west side of Eaton, passing a few houses, including Uncle Bob's place.

A spit wad shot over the back of Kitty's seat and splattered against the seat back in front of her.

Kitty looked up and looked over her left shoulder toward the back of the bus. A port-wine stain tattooed her forehead, slipping out above her right eyebrow just from beneath her hairline. Another splotch coated the skin beneath her right ear.

Nick laughed. He'd put his antennae away and picked up his spit wad straw. Geoff looked like he wasn't too happy with his seatmate, but not to the point of telling Nick to cut it out.

Kitty and I made eye contact. She gave me a look like I was partially to blame for the spit wad. Then she turned and sunk back down, out of my view except for her black jeans and her sneakers.

Nick was prepping the next spit wad when the bus came to a stop.

I don't mean the driver signaled and pulled over. I don't mean he hit the brakes and threw us all for a violent rattling around in our seats. The bus came to a gradual halt. The driver shut the engine off. Then he stood up, straightened the knee brace over his left knee, and walked down the aisle to the back of the bus.

*

Pat Corley stopped alongside Kitty's seat and took a sidelong glance at the spit wad fallen onto the floor.

Pat scratched his chin. He had a perpetual five o'clock shadow. Done scratching, he inspected his fingernails as if expecting to have collected residue. He mumbled something to himself and straightened the Seattle Mariners cap on his head. He put a hand on top of each of the seats closest to him and patted them.

"I don't know if you guys know," he said, "but all the bus drivers touch whatever is left behind on their buses. I drive this bus. I clean this bus. Part of the deal. Your personal effects and my skin can share intimate moments. Your candy wrappers, your pieces of paper."

He looked at Kitty and smiled.

"How you doing today, Kitty? No problems? No? Huh." He looked around and rolled his eyes toward the bus ceiling. "Where was I? Oh. That's right. Cleanliness."

He squatted down with a groan, and he groaned as he stood back up. Pinched between his index finger and thumb was the still fresh spit wad. He held it like a science teacher would hold a specimen mid-lecture.

"I don't do bodily fluids." He looked at the spit wad. "Spit especially."

He looks directly at Nick and Geoff.

"Anybody back here want to walk the rest of the way home?"

The chorus was a meandering "No."

"Wow," he said. "You guys really left the enthusiasm in the classroom, didn't you?"

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head and turned and started walking back toward the front of the bus.

Nick lifted his hand and gave Corley the bird. Geoff looked shocked. But in a heartbeat he got over it and tried to laugh at the same moment he tried not to laugh. What came out of him was a squeak sounding like something an inmate at a mental hospital might let out.

Corley stopped walking. His back straightened.

Nick's hand descended with assistance from Geoff, but from the look on the bus driver's face as he turned and took the two boys in, it was clear no amount of denial would change the facts of what had occurred.

*

As the bus left them behind, Geoff punched Nick's shoulder as though he could've expected leniency for keeping company with an idiot. Corley wasn't really making the boys suffer. They were faced with all of a 15-minute walk to their respective homes.

Strangely, Kitty looked a little sad at what had happened, almost like if you spun it a certain way it was all her fault.

I didn't know much about Pat Corley. Sherman's grandpa owned a bar in town. Pat frequented it and several times had acted as an impromptu bouncer. He had some military tattoos on his arms. Today's ESP exhibition wasn't the first time Corley had displayed knowing all and everything that happened on the bus. Only a dummy like Nick would mess with him.

By the time everyone had been let off the bus except Kitty and me, I got up from my seat and moved into the seat right across from Kitty's.

"You shouldn't pay attention to those guys. They're jerks to everyone, not just you."

She turned her head a little towards me, but not so much I could see any of the port-wine stain.

"If you need any help with them or anything, just let me know. Nick has been scared of me since 6th grade. He knows I can make him cry. Easy."

Staring at her knees the side of her mouth curled in a smile.

I hadn't expected her to say anything. She was super quiet and shy.

We went down and up the dip and started around the corner. I held onto the seat through the turn. The road sloped a little towards the ditch, and the turn always seemed dramatic on the bus, even though you wouldn't notice it riding in a car.

Out the window, I could see a news van parked on the road at the head of the driveway. I didn't see any sign of Ruth Arnett or her blue sedan. Maybe the news crew had run her off. Maybe she was fetching them doughnuts.

I stood and hefted my backpack closer to my right shoulder and started walking towards the front of the bus.

Pat said, "You realize you're not supposed to be walking while the bus is moving, right?"

Stopped behind his seat I said, "I'm trying to figure out if I need to run when I get off the bus."

"Oh."

Corley slowed the bus down as it approached the mouth of our driveway. A cameraman and a brunette took a step away from the E! news van towards the bus.

Corley dipped his head and squinted, taking in the brunette.

"If it were me, I'd be running towards a woman looked like that, but it ain't me, now is it?"

"No."

He turned on the flicking lights and the STOP sign hinged out from the side of the bus.

"It's like the philosopher says, isn't it?" He yanked the handle and the door at the bottom of the steps opened. "Hell is other people, or, other people that want to bug you because your sister is a movie star."

Out on the road, the reporter was positioned to swoop and cut me off from making a clean break down the driveway.

Grinning, Corley looked at me like I was a friend of his, but a friend he always looked forward to seeing get taken down a peg or so.

"Have a lovely afternoon, Lucy."

Chapter 5

The bus pulled away, and I stood in the wake, watching the pretty dark-haired woman smile and wave her hand all over, feigning gagging on the smell of exhaust. When we'd been to L.A. for Maddy's wedding, I'd never gotten used to the smell of 8 million people commuting and living so near one another.

"Lucy? Hey. Thanks for stopping. I'm Jamie. Jamie Jane."

"I know."

She smiled. "You watch E!?"

"My dad does. I mean...We have a TV. We come across the channel now and then."

"Well color me flattered."

The big bear of a cameraman mumbled something about the 'world famous Jamie Jane,' and she laughed like it was an ongoing joke between the two of them.

"Look. I don't want to pressure you, all right? In fact..." The gravel crunched under her heel, and she turned and faced the cameraman, sliding her index finger under her throat, making a 'kill' sign. The big bear grunted and lowered his tool.

"No mic, no camera, right? I don't want to make you feel like you're under the microscope or anything."

I nodded.

She smiled and wiped stray hairs off her forehead, bright pink fingernails flashing. Her makeup seemed out of place so near ruts in the road and dried out cow flops.

"E! has a good relationship with most celebrities. We're fair. We're not going to focus on personal lives of the stars if that's not ok with them. Ok? We don't do that. I don't do that."

I nodded.

"Look, I'm not one to judge anyone's personal beliefs, but the fact is Lucentology has a bad rap. Some people say it's the best thing ever, but then factor in the negatives like that poor lady that died last winter and...You know who I'm talking about, right?"

I nodded. I didn't bring up Ruth. I wanted to get away and to the safety of the house.

Jamie shook her head.

"Stuff like that is harsh, and we won't blatantly ignore it, but we want to make Madeline and Jack look good. Jack is great. The best, easiest interviews I have are always with him. And Maddy is great. Or seems great." She laughed. "I don't know. I only talked to her once on the red carpet for one of her movies, but you know, for 30 seconds she was pretty nice. And see, Lucy, you could help them. You're a nice looking kid. Clean cut. You want to help your sister, right?"

"Look, I've got chores. I'm sorry."

"That'd actually be awesome B-roll. Milking cows, chickens—" She laughed. "Oh my god. 'Milking chickens.' I'm a city girl if you couldn't tell."

I didn't correct her assumption that the single ramshackle outbuilding housed a Noah's ark worth of livestock.

"Look," I said. "I can't. I can't talk right now. I'm sorry." I started down the driveway, head down, trying not to break into a sprint.

"Ok," called Jamie. "But think about it. We just want to help." After a moment she added, "And thanks for watching!"

Chapter 6

Still agitated from talking to Jamie Jane, I was filling a cup with water when I looked out the window above the kitchen sink and saw the vehicle parked beside the decrepit barn.

The SUV was glossy like after driven down the gravel road and parked behind the house it'd been washed and dried and waxed.

Dad was still at work. And even though I'd just interacted with the two people from E!, and knew they were out there, I felt like I was by myself out at the house.

We'd started locking our doors years before most people out in the countryside. Not long after Maddy became a movie star, someone had come into the house through the unlocked back door and gone through her room, made off with some of her clothes even. Before departing they'd masturbated onto her bed. The violation was a first lesson in some people's need to get ultra-near their beloved celebrities. Dad bought a gun. I knew how to use it. I was wondering whether or not here was the instance where I'd have to put that knowledge to use.

A tall, bald man exited the barn's open doors. Following him was a shorter individual, a dark-skinned woman, her hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Both in black suits with blue shirt collars. I exhaled.

If you watched E!, or any news footage of Jack, Maddy, or any celebrity who embraced Lucentology, somewhere nearby would be a grim face in a dark suit and blue collar.

Most of the Lucentology media – books and books on CD and DVDs – featured the color blue. Lucentology's Los Angeles headquarters featured a giant blue 'L' affixed to the building side facing Wilshire Boulevard.

The big bald white guy I'd never seen. The woman had been at Jack and Maddy's wedding, her eyes hidden the entire time behind a pair of curvy sunglasses that made me think of the sunglasses everyone sports in _The Matrix_ movies.

The woman nodded her chin toward the house, and the tall bald guy followed the motion indicating someone inside was looking out at them.

I drained the cup of water and momentarily froze up, wondering if I should call Dad, but the chance that he might fly off the handle and recklessly drive out here at light speed convinced me to just go through this, whatever it was, alone.

Uncle Bob's dog Mojo was a mix of Australian Cattle Dog and Border Collie. She had one gray eye and one bright blue like the color they use for oceans on globes.

Mojo was smart. Soon as I got off the bus, she would've indicated someone was waiting behind the house. We didn't have a Mojo. Dad didn't care for dogs and he was allergic to cats. The pet options were a little limited.

I opened the back door and walked out onto the back porch. I waved at the two intimidating figures.

"Afternoon," I said, trying to smile.

The bald man hovered in the background while the woman walked towards the base of the porch steps.

"Lucy McCall," she said in a humorless tone. I half expected her to follow the pronunciation of my name with the announcement of charges the state had brought against me.

"I'm Lucy, yes."

The woman stopped at the base of the steps. The sun gleamed off the dark blue 'L' pinned above her left breast pocket.

"We're with the organization. We're running reconnaissance ahead of your sister's arrival Thursday. We'd like to come inside the house and take a look around if that's all right."

"Did my dad know you guys were coming? He didn't say anything about it to me."

"Maddy's assistant, Aster Cupps, was supposed to call ahead and arrange it."

I shrugged.

It deflated the woman. Her shoulders slumped. I didn't figure she'd show any sort of emotion, but she'd reacted like Sherman in every recent instance I'd reminded him his SharDi-kissing lips were still serving penance.

She turned on her heel and called back to the tall bald man.

"Trent. How long ago did she say it was set up? Aster?"

He scratched at his shiny scalp. Shrugged.

Turning back around, the woman said, "Last week," to herself. She started rubbing a finger into her brow. Probably right where the headache was making itself most known.

"I mean," I said, "I know who you are. I recognize you from Maddy and Jack's wedding. Dad probably just forgot to tell me. Between work and...I don't know. He spaces things sometimes."

"You sure you don't want to call your sister first? We have her number. Her personal number, not just Aster's line." She paused after the 'just' like she had to summon the will to say 'Aster' rather than whatever swear word might suffice in its place.

I'd barely met Aster. She was thin and birdlike and very high strung. I could remember her having some near meltdown the day of the wedding because the caterers hadn't brought the exact brand of caviar she'd assumed would be available for guests. Apparently, there was a titanic difference between caviar packaged in New York versus that packaged in Boston. When she'd finished insulting the head caterer and steamrolled on out of the courtyard, the man looked after her, stunned that so much venom could be spent on something that would ultimately prove trivial given the momentousness of the occasion.

The two security people roamed the house. The woman insisted I trail them, especially when they popped into my bedroom and looked down at the yard and the weeds and the gravel road and the E! news van beyond.

I kept trying to think of the woman's name. I'd told her I recognized her and now she probably thought that meant I remembered her name, too. I got so lost in trying to drum the name loose I didn't quite notice they were done looking around in the room.

I made myself thin as I could in the doorway as Trent stepped out the room ahead of the woman. I was the tallest girl in my class, but my head didn't even crest his shoulder.

When we started going downstairs, I asked them what they were looking for.

"Nothing in particular," said the woman. "It's more a matter of knowing what we're going to be facing logistically."

Off the stairs, she walked towards the front door and pointed out the window.

"All you have out there right now is the one news van. Two days from now it could be a mob. It probably will be. In fact, I tried to convince them not to come together. Maddy would be bad enough on her own, especially here, in her home town, but Jack, too?" She shook her head. "It's going to be a headache."

Trent came to rest at the door. He stared at the woman, his arms loose, his hands crossed one over the other, the model of patience.

"Truthfully," said the woman, "we think we've got a handle on what might happen, but you never know. Isn't that right, Big T?"

The bald man's mouth flexed in as close an approximation to smiling as he could get.

"Whatever you say, Dina."

Silently I cried victory. Now at least I wouldn't have to embarrass myself, asking for her name.

I followed them outside, glancing towards the gravel road, trying to imagine a massive crowd of people all hoping for even a glance of a Hollywood star. I also wondered what they'd do face to face with one Ruth Arnett. If it ever got physical, I couldn't see things ending well for Ruth. Trent looked capable of chopping down trees with the side of one of those flapjack-wide hands.

The side and back yard weren't much. The grass just kind of coming to a halt along the dirt driveway that curved around the front yard and lead to the back.

The SUV was parked with the front bumper already oriented towards heading out from around the back of the house.

Trent got in the driver's side of the vehicle and started the engine.

Dina had already reached the front passenger door when she hesitated.

"We saw the work inside the barn there. The sculpture. That you?"

"My mom."

"It's good," she said. "She had talent. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

She nodded and got in the SUV.

I watched the vehicle turn right onto East Jennings Road and accelerate, the afternoon sun glimmering off the rear window and the black frame.

When she talked, Dina seemed nice enough. Trent creeped me out a little. Even if he wasn't big as a Sasquatch, he still would've left that impression.

I could swear that when he'd moved past me in the doorway, he'd taken a deep inhale like there were flowers blossomed on the top of my head. Or maybe my room just stunk and he was drinking in the fresh air in the upstairs hallway. Either way, it wasn't a sound I ever wanted to experience alone.

Chapter 7

Dad admitted he'd agreed to let Maddy stay with us before really thinking things through.

But it was a favor his firstborn was asking for. She was in a time of need, although when you looked at the reasons, looked at them from the point of view of being an ordinary person living an ordinary life, Maddy's labeling her career as being in crisis might've been a little hasty.

_Big Girls_ , the first movie with her name featured before the credits, her first starring role, grossed $80 million. Her next movie had been another romantic comedy, _Just The Three of Us_ , and it'd made even more, topping out domestically at $115. Then she'd had a role in a military drama called _For Love of Country_ , one of the very few Jack Ford movies that didn't break the $100 million barrier. Jack had said he was satisfied with how the movie had been received, but most of all he was ecstatic about meeting his future wife while working on the film.

Since then, Maddy had been in a horror movie, _The Devil In the Details_ (earning $33 million and bad reviews), and _Panda_ , a kid's movie starring a CGI magical bear (earning $45 million and really bad reviews).

Maddy had always considered herself a real actress and couldn't quite stomach bubbly romantic comedies, yet her first two movies were of that genre and her new movie, _Small Town Girl_ , was a return to the winning formula.

The whole career-in-crisis thing that didn't make sense to me was that even though her last couple of films had made less money than her first couple, her salary had kept going up. An on-line article detailed how Lucentologists with studio ties always made sure other members of the organization were well compensated even for participating in underperforming projects. Like most things on the Internet, I knew I should take the information with a grain of salt. There was another story on TheBigScreenTattler.com detailing how Daniel Craig and Daniel Radcliffe were secretly lovers ("Harry Settles For a Double-Oh-Muggle!").

The last time I'd talked to Maddy on the phone she seemed a little depressed. She'd apologized for it. Blaming herself for letting her body negatives accumulate when it was so simple to purge them. She didn't feel like purging them. She felt like eating a lot of ice cream in bed.

That was part of the Lucentology thing. They had a lot of names for things like 'body negatives' and a lot of ways of dealing with those things.

I thought that maybe what had convinced Dad that Maddy was being mind controlled was that during our LA stay he'd overheard her talking with another Lucentologist, talking the talk they used with one another, and it sounded like alien babble to him.

He was convinced Maddy was in some sort of trouble. I don't think he cared about her career, her opening weekend gross. More her soul. Add in the promise he'd made at Mom's deathbed to always take care of us, and he was going to do all he could to free Maddy of her wrong-headedness.

*

Soon as he knew the two security people had been in the house, Dad went from zero to furious in no time flat.

Mom used to calm him down those times steam shot out his ears. Even once she took sick she had to remind him that her doctors were doing all they could to try and battle back the cancer. It served no purpose to threaten them. In fact that only drew upon reserves they needed when it came to focusing on her care.

When she locked into her mode of calming Senate McCall, it was like some forest maiden singing a song that slowed the hot blood of a vengeful demon whose twisted form eventually returned to that of a man.

Dad slammed a fist into the dinner table.

"What are they doing? In our house even!"

He hit the table hard enough the ceramic bowl at table center had vibrated slightly.

"Dina said they have to plan ahead. I think she was onto something. If both Maddy and Jack are going to be out here at the house, it might get a little weird out there on Jennings. There might be a lot of people."

He was still dressed in his post office work clothes. He mostly worked the desk in town, but sometimes drove a route if they were short. Over the years there'd been openings for the postmaster position, but he'd never applied. Too stressful a job, he'd said.

After losing the income Mom brought in, Dad had started looking to buy cheap local properties and rent them out. So far there was just the one, the Winks place on West Jennings Road, past Uncle Bob's and located just before you got back into town. Some couple was supposed to be moving in at the end of the week, right when Maddy arrived, complicating things just a little in case they needed Dad's assistance with things.

Dad wouldn't take Maddy's money. We were in agreement though that when I started college, I'd be the one taking a loan from my movie star sister, not Dad. It was one of the few times he'd quickly retreated from an issue. The stark reality of college tuition might've played more a part in his retreat than my insistence it was my life and therefore my call.

"The guy was named Trent. I couldn't remember that lady's name at least at first. She's Dina. She was at the wedding. She's black, or, African American I guess I should say. She always wears sunglasses, or I guess glasses with tinted lenses. You remember her?"

Dad shook his head.

"They just want Maddy to be safe," I said. "You remember how creepy it was when someone broke into the house that one time and...You know, did what they did to her bed...She's a movie star, Dad. And Jack's going to be here, too. Crazy people are attracted to celebrities. Even sane people turn a little crazy if somebody like a movie star or something suddenly shows up in their midst."

Dad stared at the table. When he was still, reflecting on something, it added a bunch of years to his face.

"Dina said she was concerned about getting in and out of here. She said if there isn't much crowd control it could be a bottleneck. Like all those fans and whatnot will just be compacted right where we're trying to get in and out of."

Dad sighed.

"If anything," I said, "at least it means I might not have to go to school."

I kept smiling until he looked at me. All he did was grunt.

Chapter 8

After dinner, I enjoyed the silence. There was only a little bit of evening light remaining. The E! news van had disappeared, and Ruth Arnett remained MIA.

Digging around on the Internet I'd found her tribute site to her sister. Kip co-starred in a couple of videos on Funny-or-Die.com. Ruth linked to them from her site. Watching the videos, the sisters were at least physically indistinguishable.

I tried to find information out on the two people Ruth had mentioned. Griffin Sharp and Selkie Rosenfeld. Just trying to correctly spell Selkie's name was an issue. They were barely mentioned in the Lucentology Wikipedia entry. Selkie an actress, Griffin a member of the movement's executive board.

The car pulling into the driveway and parking outside the house was an unmistakable sound in the silence that often enveloped the countryside.

Heart racing, I got up from the kitchen table and the laptop and looked out the window.

It was only lifelong Eaton resident Carla Griggs bearing a plate of baked goods.

When I opened the door, she kind of thrust the plate at me, stating in her bright sunny way, "Brownies!" like Dad and I had just been discussing how to solve the world's crises and were stumped on what would act as a big fix. Oh. Brownies. Of course. Thanks, Carla.

After Mom died, Carla was a fixture in the house, for a brief interval at least.

Dad and Carla hadn't dated, I don't think you could call it that, it was too soon after Mom died, but Carla was the one who refused to allow her friend's now widowed husband to sink into himself.

She was a tall, almost always smiling brunette, older than Dad, all three of her kids fully grown. Carla shared the peculiarity of having an unwanted small-town spotlight aimed upon her.

Her ex-husband had worked as the City Engineer for ages. When I was in 3rd grade one of our class field trips was to City Hall and Mr. Brunner was one of the employees who smiled and shook all our hands and answered our questions about what a City Engineer did and what would happen if there was an earthquake or a meteor strike, valid issues for a gathering of squirmy 9-year olds.

When the Brunner kids were still in high school, the scandal broke.

Another city employee borrowed Mr. Brunner's computer, created a file and promptly lost it on the desktop. Searching for the newly created document, they found instead a file full of downloaded images of child pornography.

When the cops got to the Brunner's home computer, they found even more. Altogether it was somewhere around 1500 photos and videos.

One of the Brunner girls turned ghost, hardly ever seen until she graduated, while Carla and her two youngest went on a mini-offensive, vouching that Daryl was a good dad and had never ever molested the kids or any kids, far as they knew.

Her local church embraced her, and her faith gave her the strength to weather the storm. Regardless, eventually, there was a divorce and a return to her original last name.

After Mom passed, Carla tried to steer Dad towards a stronger relationship with the Almighty, but he resisted. After a time she acknowledged his resistance, and they still saw one another now and again, but it was never a date. According to Dad, a little Carla went a long ways.

"Supplies, Senate," she said when he walked into the living room. The side of his mouth ticked up. He wasn't delighted at her dropping in. His face would contract similarly when Mom would drop a joke about her chemo treatments.

"Well, if they're as good as your brownies usually are, they won't last long," said Dad. I set the plate on the kitchen table and then turned back towards the two.

"Are you ready for your sister?" asked Carla.

She laughed when I shook my head.

"Someone in town was saying there were going to be news helicopters flying overhead like there were riots going on." Carla rolled her eyes. "I don't know where people get some of their information."

"I hope there aren't riots," I said, "but I guess we should expect a lot of people to kind of show up. We already had an E! news van out here."

"Shut your mouth! No! Really?" Carla acting shocked, but again, Eaton was so tiny, everyone probably knew they were here. I could probably ask Carla where Ruth Arnett was staying in town, and she'd know the color of the motel's pillow slipcases.

She asked a couple more questions about the movie premiere and if anyone was giving me too much crap in school about being sister to a celebrity, and then she got down to business.

"Senate, you know that when Madeline was growing up she went to church. So did Lucy."

If Dad were a porcupine all his quills would've snapped to a defensive position. Religion not something he cared to talk about. Pour Maddy into the mix, and it was near combustible.

Undaunted by the look Dad was giving her, Carla said, "Everyone in town likes Madeline, Senate. We do. But some of us I think are concerned about her choices, especially when it comes to her beliefs. The Bible talks about all the pitfalls facing those who'd follow a false god. I know she's a bright girl. She's a great girl, but this path she's on, it can't end well, Senate. When it comes to that day when she has to answer for how she's lived her life, I have to say I fear for her soul. I know you do, too."

Dad's right hand tensed, his fingers curled towards his palm like a cat prepping its claws.

"I'm not here passing judgment. I wouldn't do that. But what I'm saying is, if you want, you can tell Madeline that at any point while she's here, while she's home, anyone from the church she wants to talk to is available. I am. The pastor. The pastor might gawk at her a little, you know, major movie star and all," she laughed, "but ultimately we just want her to know we worry about her. About her choices. That's all."

Dad nodded.

"Well, I appreciate that. We'll see what happens once she gets here."

"That's all we ask."

Dad smiled. He took a step forward and pointed out the door, "It's nice enough I was about to go for a short jaunt. You wouldn't mind coming along, would you, Carla?"

She'd love to. On their way out, she waggled a finger at me, and laughing, made me promise not to inhale the entire plate of brownies on my own.

They walked out to East Jennings and turned towards Kitty's place and walked out of view.

It was near full on dark when they arrived back. I'd relocated to the couch, computer in my lap, textbook next to my leg. They hugged alongside Carla's car, and then from the porch, Dad watched her back up and drive down to the gravel road, and then turn, brake lights eventually going out of sight.

Back inside, Dad walked past the couches straight on back to the dining area. I was staring at some white space on a textbook page when he called, "You going to eat any of these, Lucy?"

"She puts in too many nuts," I answered.

I listened to the sounds of him walking into the kitchen, followed by the sound of a plate's worth of brownies going straight into the trash.

Dad walked back into the living room and looked out towards the road like after all our unexpected guests today, there had to be at least one more, surely.

"You think she puts in too many nuts, too, huh?" I asked.

He didn't look at me. Still looking out into the dark he nodded.

"You didn't throw the plate in, too, did you?"

"No I didn't throw out the plate. I'll get it to her at some point."

"You going to tell Maddy she's going to hell?"

He actually laughed. Just a bark. But it happened nonetheless.

Before Mom got sick, Dad would often disappear when it was time for bed. One of his little quirks, just tiptoeing away when it was his bedtime. Now that it was just the two of us he'd always say goodnight.

"That's enough for me for one day," he said, approaching the couch to maybe ruffle my hair or kiss the top of my head.

I held up a note and handed it to him.

I'd written:

Do you think they bugged the house today? Do you think the second walk through they did with me was just for show – that is – they'd already been in before I got home and set up whatever cameras or microphones they wanted?

He looked over the notebook paper into my eyes. He nodded, but then he pointed at his head, and tapped, like I was thinking like I should. Then he gave me one of those few real true Senate McCall smiles.

Chapter 9

The picture taped to my locker at the start of 2nd period Wednesday featured Jack and Maddy leading a one-eyed tentacle baby through a zoo. As well as several of the zoo patrons, a rhinoceros and a giraffe gave the Cyclops baby the stink eye.

The ends of two tentacles featured mouths. They were clamped to Maddy's chest, nursing. Dark ink like blood pooled and soaked into her blouse.

"He's our son. He is your god," proudly proclaimed Jack.

I tore the drawing off and crumpled it.

Someone laughed. I scanned the between-class crush. I wanted to hit someone. Nick. Geoff. Any one would do.

"Lucy! Oh, Lucy!"

Mr. Pederson negotiated the mass of students. He held his hand up and had on his perpetual smile, matching his clown suspenders in wattage. He taught music and drama and art, the incredibly difficult to fail classes.

Sherman was in band and had taken drama. He said Pederson was such a nice guy that when he had to send someone to the office, he always did it with a tone of voice indicating getting that deep into a disciplinary issue might actually keep him up at night with worry. Fortunately, he didn't have to deal with too many unruly students.

Mr. Pederson wore Viking-like long dark thick hair always rolled up into a ponytail. He also had a big bushy mustache perfectly trimmed, so not a single hair thrust out of place. His shirts were always colorful, sometimes pastels, patterns that would look at home on a tourist. They seemed about to burst, stretched across the arc of his barrel chest and big but solid belly.

Wednesday it was a purple long-sleeved shirt, clown suspenders, and black slacks.

"This is why teachers avoid the halls between classes," said Mr. Pederson. "Hoo. The crush of humanity. Hey, Lucy."

"Mr. Pederson."

"How you holding up?"

"Sir?"

"I mean with all the attention," he said. A girl called out his name. He waved. "Hey, Bonnie." A second later another girl hugged him. She pressed her face into his elbow. That was as high up on him as she could get.

"The shirt, Claudia. You're ruining all my ironing." She released him with a giggle. "I'll see you in class," he called after her. "Hugger."

He looked at me. "Hugs. Another reason teachers never come out into the hallway between classes."

"Hazardous to your health, huh?"

"Yeah. But what about you? What with Maddy about to show are you suddenly making a lot of new best friends? You getting any hugs?"

I shrugged.

He waved his hand. "It's all right. Perry is anti-hug, too. One day he was all about them, then boom, he turns 11 and he doesn't care for them. It's no big deal. Dads adjust."

Switching gears he said, "Look, I know Maddy isn't going to want to stick around school all day Friday, she probably wants to get in, do that assembly and get out as quick as she can, but if you could ask her, for a favor, a little itty-bitty favor to her former band and drama teacher, to just stop into one of my classes..." He held up a finger. "One small class...The kids would dig that. I would dig that. Then they'd think I might actually have had some small part in Maddy's being, you know, Madeline McCall, movie star. I know. I'm using you. And I apologize."

"Did you try and get her or her office? Her assistant?"

"I think so."

"Did you talk to Aster?"

"Aster?"

"Aster Cupps. Her assistant."

"That sounds right, but I'm not sure."

I didn't tell him that if Dina and Trent were telling the truth yesterday afternoon, Aster might not be the most adept personal assistant in show business history.

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

"Yes!" He pumped his fist. "Thank you, Lucy. I swear if I had you in any of my classes you could take the rest of the semester off."

"Sure."

"Thank you. You want a hug?"

"I'm good."

Grinning he squeezed my arm and walked down the hall, occasionally laughing, or pausing to get accosted by loving students.

I grabbed my books and shut the locker and turned for class and almost ran into a 7th grader in alien head deely bobbers.

The top of his head came to my nose. My face reflected in the silver balls bobbing on the curlicue stems.

"What?" he asked.

I stepped around him, and marched toward class, steam rolling from my ears.

At the end of the day, I was one of the first to board the bus.

There had only been one more Maddy as alien comic taped to my locker, and it was just a photocopy of the earlier tentacle baby theme.

The anonymous artist's creative well must be close to being tapped out, I thought. I even left the comic on my locker. I figured if I seemed like it didn't bother me, maybe that would help finish off the harassment.

There'd been no sign of Ruth Arnett this morning. No E! van or trucks of any kind set up in front of our place either. Maybe everyone was wrong. Maybe no one would show up just to stare at the house holding two movie stars. Maddy's star was on the decline, plus the last production update I'd seen on _Small Town Girl_ regarded post-filming re-shoots. At one point, Maddy had told me if the movie's done, if it's officially wrapped, but they're doing reshoots, it's kind of the kiss of death.

All of a sudden my breathing ratcheted up and I felt scared and nervous, my mind blanking. It was an anxiety attack. I even smiled a little to myself, thinking, oh, it's an anxiety attack, but the ability to step outside the attack did fat little to exhaust its fuel supply.

This attack wasn't quite the same as the ones occurring around the time of Mom's illness. Those were more of a sustained ditch of normal. This sudden bout was like a rocky, jittery plummet towards the unknown.

I had my phone out, trying to decide whether or not to call Sherman, ask him if he was still on the school grounds and could he give me a lift home. Completely totally out of his way, but I figured there was still moo juice to squeeze out of the udder called 'being a boyfriend in the shithouse.'

When I looked up it was right towards the mirror above the driver's seat. Pat Corley stared at me. A real laser lock, in fact. I thought he might ask me if it indeed was anxiety making my eyes buggy and skin clammy, or more to his style, just snap at me to get over the triviality of the whole situation. By this time next week, no one would even remember the build up to Maddy and Jack's visit. What did I have to be so worked up over?

Kitty boarded the bus and sat in the row ahead of me and then seemed to snap like a rubber band, from the seat across the aisle to the seat right in front of me.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

She sat with her left side facing me. The side without the port-wine stain.

"You all right?"

"I'm trying," I said. "Long day. Stress."

She nodded. Then looked at me.

"Your..." She'd been staring, a rarity for her, and as fast as she'd locked on, she looked away, trying to dip her head down so I couldn't see any part of the right side of her face.

"What?"

"Your eyes are a little buggy."

"Probably."

"Sorry." Like she'd made them buggy all on her own.

Strangely enough, Nick and Geoff coming on board helped eradicate any long-term effects. Nick sauntered down the center aisle, lip curling at sight of Kitty. Then when he looked past her to the person seated behind her, he checked the look of superiority. I must've somehow funneled the anxiety into a rocking look of anger.

It worked its magic, and I was spared having to hear one word from him until we neared the stop for Nick and Geoff.

"Hey, Lucy. Lucy!"

"Jesus. My ear is right here." Geoff had a finger plugged into his now-wounded ear as I turned and looked back towards Nick's call. Nick sat next to the window, Geoff next to the aisle.

"What do you think the movie's chances are?"

"What movie?" I asked.

"What movie do you think? Jesus. _Small Town Hurl_. Or _Girl_ , I guess."

"I don't know."

He looked at Geoff, and his lips curled. Geoff looked like he was replaying some horrible moment in his life for like the millionth time. He looked at Nick, and I swore I could see his lips form 'Nick. No.'

Nick cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm betting, not that I'm a betting man, but I bet you a date, me and you, that the movie...bombs."

"Bombs."

"Yeah. The movie...bombs."

"What would we do on a date?"

He laughed. It was a despicable laugh like he'd studied Disney movie villains for an indication of how he ought to laugh.

"I can think of some things," he said. "Easy," chuckling, little putt-putts of chuckle that it wouldn't have been surprising to witness accompanied by exhalations of greasy black fumes.

The bus had gotten quiet. I could picture Pat Corley's eyes locked onto the mirror above his seat, looking towards the back of the bus.

"I'm up for it, well, I guess I would be..." I said, "but I have this rule about not dating total fucking assholes. And I just don't think I should make an exception."

Geoff made an 'oh' with his mouth and it tremored like it so wanted to break and become a laugh.

Nick glared at me.

Almost immediately the bus pulled to a halt, right where two roads branched off of East Jennings, one path to Nick's, the other to Geoff's.

Geoff walked past me. When Nick did, he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Bomb, baby. Like Hiroshima."

At the front of the bus, Geoff vanished down the steps, but Nick held up, gesticulating, telling Pat Corley that I'd sworn on the bus. It was hard to hear the argument for the bus's idling engine, but whatever Pat said stirred Nick up and up until he shouted, "You didn't hear her call me an asshole?"

Pat turned his shoulders to square up and look directly at Nick, and Nick immediately backed away and started down the steps.

Before the doors closed behind him, Nick yelled, "What a load of crap."

Once the bus started moving, Kitty, apparently forgetting she needed to hide at least part of her face, turned in her seat and grinned at me.

"That was awesome."

"He's a prick," I whispered.

She nodded. "Geoff's not so bad."

I shrugged. "When he's not hanging out with Nick. But he's usually hanging out with Nick."

Sighing, she set her chin against the back of her hands, eyes kind of going off into space like she was ruminating on the topic.

The bus made the sharp left turn through the dip and once in the straight stretch immediately started to slow.

"Hey McCall," Pat hollered. "You might want to get a load of this."

I slid to the aisle edge of the seat and looked down out the windshield to the mass of people and machine in the middle of the road.

Kitty saw it, too. I heard her say, "Wow," then, "Luce. You okay?"

I'd gone all buggy again.

Chapter 10

The E! news van had reproduced.

There were satellite trucks for three local network affiliates parked alongside the road, one with the satellite array dispatched up towards the sky. In addition to cars and trucks and a few more vans, one lonely county sheriff's car was parked on the same side of the road as the other vehicles, the north side, opposite our driveway.

It wasn't like there were hundreds of people in the middle of the road. There were a couple dozen, and once you separated the regular people from the crews, it wasn't all that an impressive showing. The thing of it was that there ordinarily weren't any people in the middle of East Jennings Road. The most feet that ever trod upon it was when a farmer might be moving cattle from field to field and used the road as a shortcut for just a bit.

A couple of signs were held up. The ubiquitous reference to the book of John, another regarding the Apocalypse, and then the newly familiar one, calling for remembering Kip Arnett.

Ruth stood back from the crowd, well off the road, stationed on the incline on the field belonging to Skinny Arbogast. A few lawn chairs and backpacks belonging to others sat on the field, too.

The bus braked to a full stop.

I was already standing right behind Pat's seat.

No one made a beeline for the bus. It would only take one person though. All that held them back was a single solitary deputy.

"You might want to look out," drawled Pat. He pointed at the various reporters and their cameramen. "They look like they've been salivating a while."

I looked at the driveway. There were two rigs parked off the road and on our property. The closest to the road was Ruth Arnett's sedan. Parked in front of that was the glossy black SUV. Both Trent and Dina stood at the mouth of the driveway, arms crossed, looking ready to deal with whatever the crowd might throw their way.

Pat Corley motioned towards the two motionless figures.

"You got security guards, huh?"

"Something like that."

He cleared his throat. "Jesus. They look like they're packing." Looking at me he said, "Guns I mean, you know?"

As I shrugged, I felt someone poke into my shoulder.

"Lucy. Don't forget."

Kitty held my backpack out to me. I was so stunned by the mass of activity I would've walked right off the bus without it.

I thanked her and hooked a strap over my shoulder. Appraised the unholy mass of people. The deputy had his hands up, doing his best to keep the crowd out of the road and away from the bus.

"You ready?" Pat asked.

"Not really."

"Just don't stop moving," he said. "Even if you get locked into place and it seems like you can't move right then, that moment, keep moving on your heels at least, you know, bouncing." He actually bounced back and forth in his seated position. "Soon as you get an actual opening," he clapped his hands, "just go like a shot."

I nodded. He wrenched on the handle, and the doors opened.

"Bye." Waving, Kitty looked like she was witnessing a departure that would meet an assuredly sad end.

Both Mom and Maddy shared the Engler genes. They were small and bird-boned. I was McCall all the way through. Tall and big-boned. My size gave me confidence when physical activity was the call of the day, but right then, I could make do with being small and bird-boned. Actually just being the size of a bird, winged like a bird, would've been preferable, darting through and away from all the strangers.

Coming around the front of the bus I heard what seemed like a hundred strangers calling for my attention. The sun glinted off the windows of news vans, and the white glimmer off of sunglasses in the crowd made me think of people crowded together in a bright desert, beholding some super-shiny partially uncovered UFO long buried in the earth.

I kept moving towards the driveway. I didn't want to sprint, not with cameras recording. Part of me hobbled that need, not wanting to look scared, not wanting to look like the stuck-up celebrity by default of having a celebrity in the family. But oh, did I want to sprint.

A scream ripped through the air.

A man had bolted from the crowd, the deputy reaching for him, but it was too late.

The man had wiry black hair, glasses, and his hands were stuck straight out in front of him. A spiral bound notebook was clutched in his right hand.

His legs did a funny kick step thing like his legs were partially restrained by leg braces.

I slowed down. I couldn't help it.

The man muttered to himself. The tongues of sticky notes stuck up off the notebook pages. He was an Elliot. Like Mom called that class of healthy blondes Betty's and cute short brunettes Betsy's, nerds were all Elliot's. Skinny or overweight, male or female, tall, short, whatever, an Elliot was pretty easy to pick out. Mom knew them pretty well, being a self-confessed Elliot herself.

This one had a red face and looked incensed like I'd broken a promise or his heart and every transgression was noted in the blue Mead notebook, the especially egregious examples marked by a sticky note. There were a lot of sticky notes.

For a moment it seemed I'd be face to face with him and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

One second, Dina wasn't there, and then she was.

She didn't tackle him or punch or throw herself into him. She snapped into place like one of those full-sized criminal or civilian targets cops use on the practice range.

She talked to him. Anytime he looked around her towards me, she dipped her head in response, cutting off his view of me. He wanted to look, he could look, but all he got to look at was her face.

I couldn't hear what she was saying. Only the Elliot could. He seemed to be calming down when he rolled his head back and shouted to the sky, "Oh come on!" Some horrible sound like an emptying garbage disposal issued from his throat and then he chuckled. She held something out to him. A small Lucentology blue colored card like a business card. He took it from her.

Dina looked over her shoulder, at the bus, and nodded her head to the right, toward the north side of Jennings, not quite touching the man, but her hand getting awful close to him, close enough that he followed the body language and moved with her, allowing the bus to keep on with the last delivery of the day.

By the time the bus disappeared on the horizon, the Elliot had merged back into the ranks of the crowd. He was famous all of a sudden. Encircled by the news crews. He held the notebook aloft. At first, I thought he was making pronouncements, but then it looked like the news crews just wanted a good shot of the notebook for any sort of story that got filed.

Dina walked towards the driveway. Later on, I'd see why the reporters didn't pester her for a word about what had just taken place.

The news footage, depending on which you chose to see – there were a couple of different angles - showed the Elliot (actually named Wilson Plass) closing on me. Dina didn't run to intercept him. She hadn't had to. Just as soon as it was obvious the deputy wasn't going to be able to rope Plass in, Dina started moving. It looked cool and efficient and like some robot programmed to move, programmed to predict other's behavior.

"Thank you," I said. Dina nodded. "What was that you gave him?"

"My business card. I told him if he wanted to he could give us his...document. And if that wasn't doable, I told him if he wanted he could send me a photocopy of his...work."

"The notebook?"

"Uh huh."

"What's in it?"

"He said only Maddy or her sister could possibly understand it."

"I don't know who he is," I said. "Does...does Maddy?"

"I think we'd know about him if he'd ever made any kind of contact with your sister," said Dina.

"Aliens." Trent's first word of the day. Maybe his only word for the entire day.

I looked at him. Back at Dina. She nodded.

"It usually is with the...Well. With those kind of guys, it just usually is."

I walked the rest of the way to the house.

Staring out at the mass of people on Jennings got to me. Problem was, it seemed so long as I was in the house that was all I could do. Stare. Wonder. Play over and over in my head what would've happened if Wilson Plass had gotten to me and started going on and on about aliens.

On the brink of another anxiety attack, I did something I never thought I'd do.

I pulled a Maddy.

Chapter 11

If you followed the loop - East Jennings transforming into West Jennings - the road would take you to Uncle Bob's, but the patchwork of properties forced the road to meander quite a bit before arriving at that destination. The other way, much more direct, was to go through our back yard into the fields.

The first hill back of our yard was full of weeds and some desiccated trees. At the base of the hill was a draw cantering southwest. The draw had once been a creek. Where it started to angle north you continued southwest and went up a farmer's field, growing wheat around this time of year, and then into another patch of unused land, only a slight rise, treeless and barren but for tan grass and rock. Over that and through another field of grain, mostly on a down slope, you'd hit Jennings again and Uncle Bob's place just to the west a half mile.

Turning south on West Jennings right there, you'd eventually pass the Winks place, the property Dad had renters moving into by the end of the week.

When Maddy was in high school, there were a couple of occasions where she went all covert either getting to our house or getting out of the house.

One time it involved her friend Caitlyn who'd asked Maddy to please come with her to the Planned Parenthood in Ashmond, after which several tedious return episodes including a minor car accident left Maddy getting home way later than she'd anticipated.

Several other times it involved heading out late to meet a boy or friends who had come into possession of beer.

Each of those times she used the shortcut to avoid coming home in the obvious way, which would likely include a sit-down face to face with either Mom or Dad.

If her bedroom window were left propped open, you could hop up on the back patio railing, scamper up the inclined roof over the laundry room, and one heft of body weight up the eaves and a scamper up the main roof later, you were practically in the house.

Or out of it.

I could go out the back door, but something was curled in my consciousness, a niggling insistent worm, compelling me to do it the old fashioned Maddy-way. For the longest time, I stood in Maddy's room, her window open, trying to summon the courage to slip out on the roof and down to the porch. Maddy was lithe and quick. I wasn't uncoordinated, but I kept imagining shingles slipping out of place beneath my body weight.

Eventually, the temptation, the temporary madness, dissipated and I just left the house by the back door. Much more sensible. Dad would have a fit if he came home and found me out back, twisted and broken for trying the oddest of physical feats.

Halfway to Uncle Bob's, I realized I didn't have my phone. I hadn't called Dad, warning him what to expect when he tried to get home. I'd just call him once I got to the farm.

Having Dina and Trent parked in front of Ruth's car confused me. Did they show up at the same time? Did they know it was Ruth's car? Did Dad know they were essentially blocking the entrance to our house?

Dina hadn't saved my life, but she'd definitely come up big in that moment. Everyone else seemed frozen in place. The little conspiracy theory node in my brain glowed red hot for a moment, trying to convince me Wilson Plass was in the employ of Lucentologists and his ambling towards me had all been staged, something to help make me and Dad think better of Dina and Lucentology. I let the possibility roll around my skull, and once the heat left it, I let it go to dust.

Scuffing dirt on the decline towards the place in the road where Jennings hooked and snaked south, a chill enveloped me, imagining Wilson Plass getting close enough I could see the smears on his lenses, the notebook falling from his hand, revealing a kitchen knife he'd been clutching all the while. The knife the information he needed so desperately to share with Maddy or me. In her absence, the sister would do. The sister would do just fine.

I looked over my shoulder just to still the notion that the heavyset man hadn't evaded Dina and picked up my trail and was in pursuit.

*

Mojo ran up to meet me. Mojo wasn't much of a guard dog. She'd run up to just about anyone, panting, her fluffy white and gray butt wiggling, waiting for pets.

Uncle Bob was a real farmer. Horses, cows, at least one pig and several fields of wheat and barley.

Beside the hay barn was a garage big enough for at least two full-size trucks. The beat up red truck Uncle Bob had driven as long as I could remember was parked outside the garage. One of the garage doors was down. Revealed by the rolled up door was another truck, hood up, undergoing surgery inside the garage. A radio played country music. A tool kit sat on a wheeled metal cart in front of the truck's driver side headlight.

Approaching the place, I'd heard a motor try and try to catch, then kick over and start, and the putt-putt of a motor seem steady up to the point it abruptly ceased. Then what sounded like a door slam. Other than the crunch of gravel under my foot, those were the only other sounds out in the countryside. It was doing me good, the sense of solitude, after the festivities of arriving home.

The shadows inside the garage were made darker by the bright sunlight outside. Bob didn't come into view until he was practically parallel to the front passenger side tire.

He always wore a denim baseball cap and one of a series of button-down western shirts, most bearing grease stains, or a combination of grease and dirt. His face was usually tanned, whiskered, and depending on the time of year, darkened by grime from working on engines. He kept talking about selling the farm and just becoming a mechanic, but he'd been talking like that since I was in 2nd grade.

Uncle Bob squinted at me. He waggled the socket wrench in hand at me and took a step out of the garage onto the gravel.

"What's going on, Squirt?" His nickname for me persisted, probably would into my adult life.

"Just felt like going for a walk."

"Right."

Without his asking me to, I immediately told him what had happened once the bus had dropped me off. I was babbling. I couldn't stop even though I knew what I was putting him through.

Finally done, Mojo nudged me like she could tell I was still upset, still anxious. I scratched her ears. Uncle Bob looked out towards the mouth of his driveway, methodically brushing the knuckles of his right hand into his chin.

"Yeah," he said, "I noticed that the bus went by here a little later than it usually does. Thought it just meant that the driver had to pull over and take a whiz or something."

He cleared his throat and spat to the right.

"He came out here?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I thought he turned around when he dropped off Kitty."

Uncle Bob grunted and shrugged. He spit again.

"Pardon me, Luce," he wiped his chin. "You all right from all that excitement?"

I nodded. "I think so. It was just a little unexpected."

He laughed.

"Your dad's gonna have a fuckin' fit and a half, pardon my French. I mean not just the crowd, well, mostly the crowd, but you saying them people, the Hollyweird people, are acting like they're protecting the place?"

"Kind of."

"Oh, shit on a stick. Senate will lose it. Absolutely lose it. Guaranteed."

He scuffed a boot toe into the dirt, a smile on his lips, amused at the image of his younger brother.

I said, "I'm just having a real hard time imagining getting Maddy and Jack through that mass of people. Let alone in and out, especially on the day they're coming to school and all."

"Put 'em on the bus."

I smiled. Imagined how freaked out everyone would be, especially Maddy, the disconnect from her current station in life when thrust up in stark contrast to the small town life she'd endured not all that long ago.

"Helicopter," said Uncle Bob. "That'd be good. That'd be smart. Airlift 'em in and out. That's what I'd do. No muss no fuss."

"It might come to that."

He laughed. "That'd be something." I kept expecting him to make a crack about how they could just employ one of those UFOs all the Lucentologists believed in, but he didn't.

"You planning on going to the movie premiere?"

He made a face like he'd bitten into a pancake and instead tasted cow flop.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" I said.

"No, and hell no. I hate movie theaters." His head bobbed forward on 'hate.' "You know, it's not movies. I like movies. I love Clint Eastwood, you know, but it's being in the darkness with a bunch of strangers. I just get to feeling cramped and if someone starts coughing and someone else starts blowing their nose and then someone else starts babbling away I just..."

He shook his head back and forth, staring out into the space in front of his eyes, overcome by the sheer awfulness of the very prospect.

"But you'll see her while she's here, won't you?"

He shrugged. "If I do, I do. If I don't, oh well. She knows what I look like."

"If you try to see her maybe you ought to just use the shortcut."

"The what?"

I told him about the Maddy shortcut, how she used it when she was even younger than I was.

"If you keep getting idiots out in front of your place that might be the only way to get in and out of Fort McCall," he said.

Mojo had flopped at my feet and was gnashing her teeth at whatever nasty little bugs were digging in under her fluff. Part of her lay on my feet. I could feel her jerk a little each time she renewed the attack. Most of me was far away though, thinking.

"You ok there, Squirt?" asked Uncle Bob. "You look a little confused."

"No," I said. "I just thought of something though." I smiled. "Uncle Bob, how many horses do you have that take to being ridden by strangers?"

Chapter 12

I didn't talk to Dad but left a message regarding the mess out in front of the house on his cell. On top of people moving into the Winks place and Maddy's imminent arrival, I didn't want him to worry where I might be. I threw Mojo's tennis ball for her until my shoulder started getting sore, and after telling Uncle Bob I'd see him later, I started back home, making sure to get going before dusk potentially masked a gopher hole or some other nasty hazard just waiting to bust my ankle.

Walking into our backyard, I could hear the buzz of noise from out front. Tension returned almost like I'd tripped a wire and caused it. I walked around the west side of the house, keeping close to the wall in case I felt a sudden need for retreat.

Beyond the hackberry tree in the front yard, I could see the news vehicles and now two county sheriff rigs, the new arrival an SUV. The number of people looked smaller, but I couldn't tell for sure. The deputies might just have them pushed back into a smaller area, or they might be spread out on the field.

I crept up along the edge of the front porch until I could see the driveway and Dina and Trent's rig and Ruth's car parked behind it. The angle didn't allow sight of either one of the security people.

For the sake of my own nerves, I intended on walking the entire house, maybe even going so far as checking cabinets and the washer and dryer, before thinking of home as safe, Wilson Plass-free. I entered the house through the back door and almost the moment the door was shut the kitchen phone started ringing.

Once Maddy became 'Maddy the Movie Star,' we'd changed our phone number and kept it unlisted. There were very few people who knew the landline number.

One of the trusted few had been Sherman.

"Jesus," he said into my ear, "I've called like a thousand times." He sounded exasperated.

"Ok. Well, you don't have to yell at me," I said.

"Sorry, sorry, Luce. I'm just...I mean...I got worried."

"About what?"

"The dude. The dude that like tried to attack you."

"What-"

"It's on the news. I saw that, and I fucking freaked out, Lucy. I swear, oh my god, I swear I nearly had a heart attack."

"It was on the news?"

"On the Internet. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm totally fine."

He sighed. "Good. It looked so bad. I mean, I know he didn't, but I mean, what if he'd had a gun or something?"

I didn't know what to say to that. It lingered in the air between us.

"Sorry," said Sherman. "I don't mean to make you worry. That was a stupid thing to say. Pretend like I didn't say it. Besides, I haven't seen that guy. I guess he might still be out here, but I don't see him anywhere."

"Wait. What do you mean 'out here'?"

"I'm out here. On Jennings. Fuck, everyone else is out here, why shouldn't I be?"

I smiled. I nearly started walking towards the front of the house so I could look out the window to try and see his car, but the cord on the rotary only went so far. Sherman still cared for me. I knew he did, but I still wasn't about to let him off the hook. He could've jumped out of nowhere and karate chopped the theoretical gun from Wilson Plass's hand and I would've treated him like a hero, yet the next time I spotted SharDi Leasey and her notoriously braless upper torso in the school hallway, the lingering resentment would've returned full force.

"You didn't need to come out," I told him.

"I did. I had to. I couldn't just stay in town. I was too freaked out."

"Well. Thanks. I guess."

"Yeah. You're welcome."

I could picture him squinting and pushing glasses up his nose, his usual nervous tick when receiving a compliment.

"They're going to need more cops," said Sherman. "I mean if there's already this many people out here and Maddy and Jack aren't even here yet..." He whistled.

"Pretty ugly?"

"Hella and a half."

"Did you figure out the artist yet?"

"Artist..." like he couldn't remember what that meant.

"The Maddy cartoons?"

"Oh! No. Not yet. They're pretty good, you know? Art wise."

"I know."

"But I'm not the one that keeps getting them taped to her locker, so I'll shut up."

"It's okay," I said, letting him off the hook a little.

I told him about Nick's assertion that _Small Town Girl_ was going to bomb.

Sherman said, "He put that on his Facebook, too."

"He did?"

"Yeah. You didn't see?"

"I didn't...I'm not friends with Nick, not in real life, and definitely not on the Internet either."

"Yeah," Sherman said, "he like linked to a story, not a story, but to the website for the movie, and then put in a little thing where he typed that the movie would bomb. For sure."

I sighed. "He might be right."

"Yeah?"

"Maddy seemed kind of scared about how good the movie was going to be. At least the last time I talked to her for all of 5 minutes. But who knows? Maybe it's good. Maybe all this promotion stuff will pay off."

Sherman grunted. "The one thing about it though, about the post Nick put up, there's no immediate ass licking from Geoff."

"Do I even want to know what that means?"

"It's like they're sitting next to each other and whenever Nick posts something, the second it's up, Geoff hits the 'Like' button or comments on it, good little ass-licking Salacious Crumb he is. This time, at least so far, he hasn't done it."

After a moment he asked if I knew what a Salacious Crumb was. I assured him I did without mentioning that during high school one year Maddy had dressed up as Slave Princess Leia for Halloween. I didn't want to break his teenage boy brain.

*

Soon as we hung up, I walked the house. I clamped down on my anxiety enough I didn't check cabinets or the toilets, but I did take the opportunity to make another circuit with an eye toward discovering any sort of camera or microphone Dina and Trent might have put in place.

The potential for the intrusion was upsetting, but at the same time, I could kind of understand it.

A mansion or a bank, any place valuables were stored, would be monitored.

Starting tomorrow and through Saturday morning, a man whose movies had earned over a billion dollars worldwide and his wife, also a movie star, would be staying here. They were valuable. A private security force would be on the ground 24/7, but an extra layer of eyes and ears couldn't hurt.

Despite her intrusion the other night, I wished Dad hadn't tossed Carla's brownies. I wanted at least a little comfort food, and I wanted it made for me. My level of twitchiness was high enough I might be able to boil water and dump in noodles, but prep above that level seemed far too ripe an opportunity for me screwing up.

Dusk was falling when Dad got home. He smiled coming into the house, weird in and of itself, but then, come through the living room door, looking at me, he laughed, a short burst concluded by his looking at the ceiling.

"Did you make it in ok?" I asked.

He nodded.

"There still a bunch of people out there?" I asked.

He pointed at me.

"Yes."

The look on his face indicated that he had more to say, just give him a moment to arrange the words right before they came spiraling out of him in a jumble.

"They have tents."

"Tents."

He nodded. "Skinny Arbogast is charging people money to use his property." Dad pointed the direction of East Jennings, Skinny Arbogast's land just the other side of Jennings from our place.

"Why-"

"All the motels in Eaton are full. Most the motels in Ashmond are full. Media and then the curious. The celebrity curious. So what happened some point today, Skinny drove out here, just right out here, saw all the people, and his entrepreneurial initiative kicked in full force. He told folks they could camp out on his land and keep an eye on our house around the clock for a fee."

"Ok."

"A hundred bucks a head or fifty. I'm not sure which. I heard conflicting amounts all day long."

"Are you going to call him?"

"And do what? Congratulate him on striking the iron when it's hot?"

"I don't know."

"He even has some Honey Buckets coming out." Dad searched my face for recognition. When it didn't come out he said, "Porta Potties."

Dad walked over and sat down in the armchair. Hunched forward, he rubbed his temples and stared at the floor.

It was a reminder of his pose waiting in the hospital when Mom was sick. The thing of it was, if I went to him and tried to rub his back or hug him, he wouldn't react. He'd remain locked in the pose. If anything, he might retract from the touch. It was like he needed to cut himself off; even his own family sometimes couldn't help soften the blows he endured.

When it got dark, I stood in my bedroom and looked out towards the mini-camp. Flashlights and lamps and the tiny blue bobbling shapes of phones and laptops and pads floated like neon vessels.

The sound of the crowd washed towards the house and a large portion of the noise failed to penetrate the wood and glass, but still, some managed to seep inside. Not only had Dad brought dinner (burgers and shakes from the local drive-in), but he'd stopped at the hardware store and asked for the earplugs carpenters used, the kind that would really do the job and keep noise out.

Things wouldn't get too loud out there. A deputy remained posted. The news vehicles had left for the night. Ruth Arnett's car was gone, but a black SUV remained in our driveway. I couldn't tell if the duo down there was Dina and Trent or their replacement men in blue and black. Dina I could imagine needing to go to the bathroom and eating and sleeping. I didn't know about Trent. There might be a cord attached to him that he slipped into an outlet to recharge every now and then.

I lay on my bed in the dark and tried to imagine the crowd out there getting even bigger. And then at some point, something triggering them, like a noise or signal, and the crowd ran down the driveway, swarmed the guard, and the fans, the raving mad and the simply curious, washed up around the base of the house, like flood waters reaching a house without crashing through. Whoever was in the home couldn't leave. Wouldn't dare it. Not with the water at its doorstep. The hazards the water presented too stark.

Then Sherman showed up, parting the crowd, getting me to safety. I smiled at the image, at the merging of imagining the crowd and water, Sherman arriving at the house in a boat of some sort. I was trying to reconcile the mash-up of images in my tired, exhausted brain when sleep rolled me up into her arms.

Birds tweeting, the sky a murky predawn white, I woke on my side, the unopened package of earplugs near my hand.

Chapter 13

Thursday morning Dad offered to drive me into town, but I declined. He looked haggard. He hadn't slept nearly so well as I had and not only was his room in the back of the house, but he'd used the earplugs. Problem being, they kept out noise. Not stress.

He was working half the day, then coming home to wait for Maddy and Jack.

Sherman had told me most people would've skipped school if their movie star sibling were coming to town. I'd pointed out that was exactly why I'd be going to school as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. I didn't want people to think that I assumed some heightened sense of being above everyone else from the blind luck of having a famous sibling.

Through the simple misfortune of my personality being tuned to a moderately introverted station, that was already the case. I knew people thought I was stuck up. I didn't need to make matters worse.

Walking to the mouth of the driveway, I could see the people camped out on Skinny Arbogast's land notice me, visibly react to my presence. A couple aimed their phones, and at least one had an actual camera. Several people were asleep, sitting in fold out chairs, wrapped in blankets.

The two security personnel weren't Dina and Trent. Two others with the blue L pinned above their breast. Both humorless white males with thick necks, one of them with a Bluetooth device notched in his ear. They both nodded when I said good morning.

I'd walked past them toward the end of the driveway, and that was when Ruth drove up, slowing her car and signaling to turn in and park behind the SUV. She smiled and waved driving past me. She hadn't come anywhere near colliding with me, she'd hit her brakes early enough, but still, the proximity of the car turning so near to where I stood set my nerves on edge.

Getting out of her car, she called to the two security men.

"Morning, Sam. Morning, Other Sam."

Shutting her door, she dropped her shoulders and exhaled.

"Come on guys. That's the point where one of you says, 'Morning, Ralph.' Didn't you guys ever watch Warner Bros. cartoons, for Pete's sake? You know which one I mean, the one with Wile E. Coyote and the sheep dog? No? Fine."

All that as she pulled a backpack and her sign out from the car trunk and slammed it shut. She walked towards me. Behind her, Sam and Other Sam exhibited Trent's patented bloodless stare.

"Hey, Lucy."

"Hi."

"How's it going?"

"All right I guess."

"Waiting for it to get over?"

I nodded.

She looked across the road at the camped out contingent.

"No way."

"What?"

"Honey Buckets."

She pointed it out. Two portable outhouses erected towards the back of the gathering. Dad was right. Skinny must have had them brought out last evening sometime.

"Well, that makes sense. Actually, that's awesome. It almost makes me want to go back to the motel and change out of my diaper." She ticked her head right, indicating Sam and Other Sam. "Diapers. Those guys know what I'm talking about."

She grinned, waiting for me to return her smile.

"But no. That is so awesome. I was starting to wonder what all these people were going to do if they had to go the bathroom. I mean for me, the simple facts of holding a sign for hours on end...If there's no easy way to take a bathroom break, you do what you have to. You invest in some Pampers. You do. You think I'm joking, but no. Ohhhh, no."

The eerie thing was how her voice and face matched that of her dead sister in the _Funny-or-Die_ videos I'd seen.

She started across the road and then stopped and walked back towards me.

"I keep forgetting to thank you. I mean I already thanked your dad for letting me park on your guys' property, but I need to thank you, too. It means a lot. Like I said, Kip was a story, and people went 'Awwww, how horrible,' and then when the next news cycle started 5 minutes later, they all forgot about her. So thank you."

I shrugged. "I don't know what I did."

"You let me try and make people remember what happened to her. What can happen to anyone who strays a little too close to the malarkey Horace Walton and his church try and pass off as being life changing. Life changing..."

She stepped to her right and looked past me to the two security men and shouted, "More like life ending!" Her face twisted up, aging her, and then just as quick she relaxed, went back to looking cute like a curly blonde squirrel in glasses.

"Have a good one, Luce."

"You, too."

She started across the road, hustling like it was more than the 25 feet away, looking back over her shoulder at one point and smiling at me as she said, "Honey Buckets!" like it was too, too unbelievably cool.

*

"FYI. Curtis and George keep putting those up on your locker," said Sherman.

I'd just torn the day's first editorial cartoon off my locker and bunched it in my fist.

Cartoon Jack and Maddy and Lucy stood on some farmland. Jack knelt down beside a bale of hay. He appeared to be giving it a rectal exam.

Grinning he said, "It's only a personality test."

Cartoon Lucy held her rear end. "My butt hurts," she said.

I uncrumpled the cartoon and showed it to Sherman.

"Their drawing is getting a lot better," I said.

"Really? I'd say worse. Your sister's boobs...One is as big as her head and the other one's tiny."

"Still. Like I said. Better."

Sherman nodded. He looked anxious like he awaited a reward for figuring out the identities of my tormentors.

"Do you want me to do anything?" he asked.

"About Curtis and George? I don't think I even know who they are."

"They're in 7th grade."

I laughed. "Of course they are. Yeah. Sure. Beat 'em up."

"Jesus. You're not serious, right?"

I shook my head. I motioned for him to get close to me.

Whispering, I asked, "Is that Facebook post still up?"

"What Facebook post?"

"Nick's. The bombing one?"

He nodded.

"Can I see it?"

He brought it up on his phone.

On the ride into school, anytime I'd looked at Nick he'd had this smug little look on his face. I didn't know what it meant. The fact that he wasn't babbling like a jackass – in other words acting normal – had me concerned.

Like Sherman had pointed out last night, Geoff still hadn't commented or liked Nick's prediction. A cursory scroll through Nick's Facebook page revealed Geoff almost always acknowledged Nick's imminent wisdom or incredible sense of humor. No matter how mean-spirited or poorly spelled Nick's update, Geoff was always there, ready and willing to lick his master's boots. But not in this instance. I didn't know what that meant. Geoff hadn't ridden the bus this morning. Neither had Kitty, an occurrence that seemed to piss off Pat Corley a little more than it warranted, not that he'd had a normal morning, dealing with the mess in front of my house.

Waiting in front of the Ferguson's, the bus idling, he'd even yelled back to me and asked if I knew where Kitty was. The way he swore you'd think it actually was my job to keep abreast of her activities.

I handed Sherman his phone.

While I'd scrolled, Sherman had been studying the morning's cartoon. He frowned.

"They might be getting better, but these guys still kind of suck. It doesn't even look like you. It could be any girl with a ponytail."

"Wait." I put my hands on my butt and made a face.

Sherman laughed. He snorted. I laughed right along with him, something that hadn't happened in a long time.

*

At lunchtime, I decided to walk to the football field. It doubled as our track. I felt like walking a couple of laps. I wasn't hungry, and the thought of a noisy cafeteria seemed less attractive than normal. Eyes all seemed to be focused on me.

At one point, Mr. Pederson had seen me in the hall and he seemed to deflate a little when I told him I hadn't talked to Maddy about his request. In fact, I'd forgotten all about it. After seeing how crestfallen he got, I'd snuck into the bathroom and called myself, leaving a voice message to do just that. As I left the stall, two senior girls at the mirror looked at me like I was the world's weirdest high school sophomore, hands down. I could only wonder what rumor might spring from their overhearing me mumble from a stall.

Headed down the long main hallway toward the school's front doors I heard voices coming from the direction of the administration offices. The group walked out into the hall. I put on the brakes at sight of them - Principal Colan and Vice Principal Nelson and their two guests.

Dina and Trent.

The group paused at the end of the hall in front of the doors to the foyer. The principal and vice principal kept talking to Dina. Trent looked right at me. He didn't smile. His cool blue eyes made me think of something reptilian floating inside a specimen jar. Something biding its time. Waiting for the perfect moment to turn the tables on its captor.

The principal noticed me and called out. I forced myself to walk over to them.

"Young Miss McCall herself," said the principal. "We were just going over the security matters for your sister's appearance here tomorrow." He smiled at Dina and Trent. "These two seem amply professional. You've nothing to worry about."

He clapped me on the shoulder. The vice principal couldn't stop smiling. Trent and Dina stood silently while the principal spun off my many virtues other than being the younger sibling of the most famous person to ever live in Preston County. It was like he was trying to sell me.

I blushed. If you look embarrassed, people will make fun of you, but they won't expect you to talk.

When the principal ran out of material, the four of them walked into the foyer, headed for the front doors. The principal pointed out the trophy case like Dina and Trent would give a damn, but I took advantage of their momentary lull and trotted down the steps to the doors and pushed through to the sweet freedom of fresh air.

I didn't look back. I didn't want to scratch the itch, find out that it wasn't just my nerves, that Trent was still watching me, all my weaknesses imprinting upon his reptilian brain.

Chapter 14

Just before the last class period, I checked my phone. Dad had called while I'd been in Chemistry.

All he said in the message: "They're here. Jennings is an absolute mess. Plan accordingly."

After that, and although she was one of my favorite teachers, I didn't retain a single word Ms. Watkins said that entire last period of the day.

Sherman offered to give me a lift, but I told him what Dad had said. Sherman insisted he didn't mind, and he was being sincere, but I didn't need anyone thinking I considered myself too good, too special to alter the regular course of things.

I rode the bus home on Thursdays. That was the plan, and I'd stick to it, come what may.

When the bus had unloaded everyone else and was down to Nick and me, I looked back at him. He wasn't staring or gloating or in general looking like a turd, but instead had his eyes closed, his head leaned back on the seat rest, iPod ear buds in his ears.

The assembly for Maddy was tomorrow. Then _Small Town Girl's_ premiere was late in the afternoon, the post-premiere party at the Ashmond Country Club slated for the evening.

Nick's older brother Tyler was infamous for a couple of things, beyond practically stalking Maddy when she was in high school.

His hairline had receded so much that he looked almost bald by graduation. He could burp the alphabet. He'd gotten thrown out of a school dance for threatening to head-butt one of the chaperones (not that there weren't mitigating circumstances – in short, his date for the evening, Missy Good, had been flirting with the chaperone to the point the poor man forgot himself and accepted Missy's request for a dance).

And most notably, although it had never been proven, Tyler had covered one of the teacher's cars in manure. Not at school, but on the street in front of the man's house. Coated it. Even got the side view mirrors thick and gunky. The incident reportedly stemming from Mr. Kirk's telling another student to keep away from Tyler and his like, unless the kid wanted to end up pitch forking hay and kicking cow flops the rest of his life.

Tyler did it stealthily and in the middle of the night. Rumor had it his little brother helped him out, either driving the truck or helping Tyler dump bucket after bucket of manure on the car.

At least two of our teachers were under the impression that Nick, with two years of high school to go, had already superseded Tyler for the mantle of most troublesome Verney brother.

Nearing Nick's stop, I got up out of my seat and sat down next to Nick. He didn't open his eyes until I nudged his shoulder with mine. He looked at me, dreamily, and then ducked his head back like I was threatening to daub his nose with something foul.

He reached up to pull the ear buds out, and then changed his mind. I wasn't worth that. Instead, he just thumbed the music off or probably simply paused it.

"What do you want?" Crabby. Maddy used to be that crabby if you tried to wake her up before she was good and ready.

"I'm just wondering what you have planned."

"Planned?"

"I've heard things," I said. "Around school. What plans you have for the assembly tomorrow."

He laughed. I'd heard him laugh like that before. A big old honk of a laugh, it usually permeated his mouth if someone got hit especially hard during prison ball. If they were out of shape or wearing glasses, he really made a noise.

He looked at me, his mouth shut, almost a sneer.

"It really is all about you, isn't it, McCall?"

I held his eye. He made a little 'puh' sound with his lips.

"Let me clue you in, ok? Just because my brother liked your sister, doesn't mean I give two-" he lowered his voice in case Pat had an ear out "-wet and bloody fucking farts-" holding my eye and waiting a moment to go back to his normal speaking voice "-about your crummy movie-star sister. I know. You have tunnel vision. It's difficult to imagine that anyone that lives in this town doesn't think about anything other than the fact that the great and awesome Maddy McCall comes from here."

We were getting near his stop.

"That's not what I think," I said.

He threw it right back at me, but at a higher pitch.

"I will tell you something, McCall, something that no one has probably ever told you because you are who you are and I am who I am. A Verney. A no one. Ok? The reason my brother was 'stalking'-" – he put his fingers up in air quotes – "-your sister is because she liked it. She led him on. Remember when she got in trouble every now and then and had to stay after school in Mr. Luoto's class? Well, sure, Tyler was in there sometimes, too. Do you know what she did? Did she share with you what she did for fun? To pass the time?"

He leaned in and whispered, "She flashed him. I'm not talking about bra, Luce. No. Not bra. The whole deal. The full deal. On more than one occasion. I know what you're thinking, 'but Luoto was probably in the classroom.' You think Luoto would notice that? Would he? Think about it."

Mr. Luoto was an ancient teacher. Cross-eyed and mumbling and unaware of his surroundings. He'd already been fully ensconced in that mode before I was even in middle school. Maddy and her friends had nicknamed him The Turtle.

Pat Corley signaled and pulled to the side of the road. I got up out of the seat and hadn't even sat down completely as Nick passed me. Only as he passed he suddenly turned on heel and gripping the seat in front of me lowered his face right into mine.

"You want to know what I have planned while your goddamn sister is here? Jack. And shit. I know. It's hard to believe that I don't use my talents to make her stay more memorable, but I actually have a life...Lucy Goosey."

"What does that even mean?"

"Lucy Goosey?" His features hardened, and an evil that alcohol and loathing would coax out in the years ahead permeated his features. "Means when you two idiots do it Sherm the Worm is like a worm dangling over an open pit."

I think what he wanted was tears or anger. I started laughing. He didn't know how to deal with that.

He pushed off the seat and stomped down the aisle and thundered down the steps to the road. If there'd been a door to slam, he would've slammed it, guaranteed.

Pat shut the door and looked back at me.

"You okay?"

"He was just trying out some new material."

"All right," he said.

He put the bus in gear, and we rolled forward.

I didn't look out the window to check to see if Nick was walking to his house, to Geoff's, or mooning the bus and me.

For reasons I couldn't quite label, I felt guilty and at fault and if he'd been wiggling his white rear end at me in disdain, I can't say as though I would've blamed him.

Chapter 15

Pat Corley said, "Oh shit."

He'd started slowing down as we pulled near the driveway.

Dad was right. It was a mess.

There looked to be more news vehicles, more fan vehicles, and maybe three sheriff rigs parked alongside the ditch on the north side of Jennings.

As the bus rolled ahead slower and slower, people started coming down off of the Arbogast property into the road. And not just onto the road, but towards the bus.

It was just a handful of people, and then it turned into a flood.

Homemade signs were held up _. Love you Maddy, Love you Jack. Eaton's Hometown Girl! Marry Me 2, Jack!_

Mixed in were signs featuring headshots of Jack and Maddy. Drawn on antenna sprouted from the top of their heads. Other signs featured pictures of UFOs. Someone had that sign with the Biblical passage. Another just a sign that read _Hollywood = Road to Hell._

I sat behind Pat. I'd moved up, planning to launch out of that seat and down the steps to the road as quick as I could.

Three people pressed themselves against the bus exit. The rubber stoppers on the door flaps moved inward, and we could hear them calling for Jack and Maddy. Fists started hammering on the door.

Zombies. Just like zombies looking for brains.

More people pressed in against those three. The people in front of the crowd were close enough to the vertical strips of glass framed in the bus' exit doors their breath fogged the glass.

Out the front windshield, I could see deputies looking at each other, shrugging, trying to figure out how to rein the people in. One of the cops grabbed a megaphone from his unit and started ordering people to fall back.

A dry 'thwock' noise came from the rear of the bus. Through the begrimed glass of the emergency exit, I could see people pressing hands and foreheads into the glass, trying to glance in and get a view of who might just be inside the bus.

Pat turned and looked at me. His eyes widened. I knew I was shaking.

"Goddamn you're pale," he said.

He turned back, laid on the horn, started swooping both his arms around like he was trying to convince someone to get out of the water and come back to the beach. Instead, he was trying to convey to the people in front of the bus that they needed to get out of his way.

"No? You don't want to get out of the way? Then let me give you no choice."

He let up on the brake, and we started rolling forward just a little. Just enough to make people realize he meant to keep going forward whether they liked it or not.

The window alongside his head snapped on its runners as he popped it forward with the side of his hand.

"You! Security guy! Yeah, you. Or any of you! I'm driving to the house. You got me?" He pointed. "To the house! Move it or lose it. I got the kid with me, all right? Lucy McCall. I am driving her to the house. I ain't making her wade through this bunch of fucking loony tunes."

Pat hit the left turn signal. He patted the bus horn and then laid on it.

He started a slow motion turn. It took what felt like forever for us to make any forward progress. Pat kept saying "Come-on-Come-on-Come on" under his breath as though speaking it could work a spell on the crowd.

Out the windows, I could see Lucentology security and deputies grabbing fans and shoving them out of the bus path. Wilson Plass started yelling at one of the Lucentology guards, and the big mountain of flesh grabbed Plass right where the neck and shoulder met. Plass' chin jerked skyward. Teeth bared he looked like the world's biggest meanest mosquito had just sunk its beak into his shoulder blade.

I kept imagining someone was going to get shot. Or have a heart attack. The people that had been pressed up against the bus exit doors were overweight. All the people in the crowd looked dulled and incapable of any measurable movement unless compelled. They were being compelled. Grabbed, shoved, whatever accomplished the job.

"We got this," said Pat. "We got this. We got this. We got this." Chanting for himself, for me, as second by second the bus straightened in its turn and then miracle of miracles, straightened out all the way and started moving forward without the threat of potentially rolling over some slow moving fan.

Pat put his arm up in the air and made a noise not dissimilar to those produced by an excited football fan.

"About time," he said.

One person ran up the driveway, trying to chase the bus. He held a sign in his hands. One of the men in black chased him and grabbed him from behind. The sign popped out of the fan's hand and hit the ground. After pulling the man's arms behind him and turning him around, the security guard marched him back towards East Jennings. Another guard retrieved the sign from the ground.

Pat peered at the sequence of events in the side view mirror.

"Should've dropped the sign, sport," he drawled.

The things yelled at us from the crowd surging around the bus remained echoing in my skull.

"Are you excited your sister is coming-"

"-having Jack's baby! His baby!"

"Lucy! Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!"

"-feel like to be the sister of a movie whore-"

"-room are they sleeping in-"

"-members of the Church of Lucentology-"

"-will raise his sword and strike down the false god-"

Pat coughed.

It snapped me out.

"There'll be cars in the back," I said. "SUVs. Dad's car, too, I think. You might want to turn around here in front."

Pat grunted. "Good to know. Good to know. Thanks there, Luce."

I nodded limply. I had no idea how I'd been able to rise above the twitching and be that coherent.

Right where the fence stopped moving parallel with the driveway the road widened and partially turned into a broad dirt enclosure leading up to the front lawn.

Pat swung the wheel wide to the right and then wide to the left, positioning the bus in such a way that its front passenger side tire went up on the lawn, but just a little, and just enough that he could keep turning left and get started back down the driveway head first, rather than having to back out.

People had come out of the house.

They walked down the lawn and towards the bus.

Pat looked from them to me. Reaching for the pull handle on the door he said, "Don't worry. These ones look all right to me. They won't eat you."

"Promise?"

He laughed.

I was still in my seat when Maddy walked up the bus steps.

Pat said, "Ma'am," then nodded towards me. "This one belong to you?"

"Ha." Throwing her perfect smile at him. She struck a pose, her right leg cocked on the top step into the bus. Looking at me, her right eyebrow ticked high up her forehead.

"How you doing, Squirt?"

I shrugged.

She sighed. She looked down the length of the bus and out the windows towards the mess of people on East Jennings. The deputy with the megaphone kept up requesting that people maintain themselves in an orderly fashion.

"My world, Squirt," Maddy said. "My world. Welcome to it."

Chapter 16

Dad, Maddy, Jack, and I visited in the kitchen. Dina and Trent stood guard out in front and the back of the house respectively. Just in case someone somehow slipped past the three guards down at the end of the driveway.

From the kitchen table, I could see Aster Cupps on the living room couch.

She was totally engaged with her iPad, pushing things around on the screen, managing all aspects of Maddy's life. Her hair was up, and she wore thinly framed glasses. She looked delicate, bird boned. Even prettier than Maddy, but in a different way.

Maddy you could imagine outside on a cold winters afternoon, sledding, building a snowman, flopping to the ground to make a snow angel. Aster would remain indoors, in a turtleneck sweater, swaddled in blankets, and even sitting near a roaring fireplace, she'd remain chilly.

Her hand had shaken mine limply.

"Do you use Lucy or Lucille?" she'd asked. Barely smiling when Maddy interjected that I answered to 'Squirt' and nothing else.

Maddy and I sat at the kitchen table while Dad and Jack stood. My hand still throbbed after getting the Jack Ford handshake on the porch, just a preliminary to the Jack Ford hug.

"Lucy. It's great to be here. Really. I appreciate it." The way he'd said it you'd think I'd just pulled every member of his family out of a burning house.

Dad smiled. He looked like he wanted to be nothing but accommodating. I wondered how he was doing really. Mom was the only one of us that could ever accurately read his emotional barometer. He was in his home, hosting the enemy.

The boards on the front porch squeaked. Whenever the sound hit my ears, it reminded me that Dina was out there, watching Jennings. Watching the fields west and east of us. I could imagine another of the security people staring at the sky, and another with their eyes peeled to the ground just in case a rabid fan went all Bugs Bunny and tried to pop up on the property via tunneling.

"Hello?" said Aster. Still seated, she tilted her head to the side, her hand lightly pressed against the Bluetooth device in her left ear. She started in on a conversation.

"Don't worry," said Maddy. "You don't have to whisper or anything when she's on that. She has the volume cranked. She's taken calls when we've been on a helicopter."

"Aster never sleeps," said Jack. "She's like, oh, damnit, what is it? From Star Wars. I think _Empire Strikes Back_." He snapped his fingers. "Mads. What's that guy's name? Lando's right-hand man. Bald. He's got the big electronic things on his ears?"

Maddy shook her head and looked at him like he'd mistaken her for someone else.

"How would I know that?"

Jack snapped his fingers. "Lobot! You know, he just stands there, stands still, when Lando needs him, the big ear muff things turn on, just-" he made the appropriate bippity-bippity sound to accompany a bunch flashing colors and lights, "-and Lobot just, bammo, moves into action."

"Bammo?" asked Maddy.

"Bammo."

"Nerd."

He grinned at her.

"Maddy?" Aster stood, the iPad in one hand, the other holding in place the device plugged into the right side of her head.

Maddy sighed. "What?"

"Nawzat says Horace changed his schedule slightly. His meeting in Seattle was canceled, so he'll actually be arriving here earlier tomorrow."

"How much earlier?"

"Nawzat?" Aster looked ceiling ward as she spoke. "What's Horace's ETA for Eaton?" She nodded. Looked at Maddy. "Probably 1, maybe 2 pm."

Maddy shrugged.

"Whatever." She looked at Dad. "What do you think? You think you could be accommodating to Horace Walton if he shows up here tomorrow?"

"Um..."

"I know you don't like him, Dad. I know you don't, but if you could just..."

"I didn't say I didn't like him."

"You don't know him. Once you know him, you know he's a good guy. I trust him. I trust him as much as I trust Jack." And a moment later, as an afterthought, like through some invisible device plugged into her head she'd been advised to add it, she said, "As much as I trust you and Lucy. Or Mom."

Dad stared at her. He made a fist and just as quickly released it.

"I told you before," he said, "I'm happy to welcome you and everything attached to the movie star life while you're in town. If that means, whatever that means, whatever that entails, I'm happy to do it, Madeline."

"Thank you," she said.

Jack and I shared a look. He looked uncomfortable like he'd just witnessed the countdown on a bomb with the timer frozen a second shy of detonation.

A snort sounded from the living room.

Aster still on the line with Nawzat. Her shoulders hitched, and a breathy laughter sounded.

Her arms were preternaturally skinny. A long slender hand rest at the base of her throat, the chain on the bracelet with the luminous blue 'L' dangling down her forearm towards the elbow.

Maddy didn't wear a bracelet or necklace like that. Neither did Jack. I wondered why but didn't ask. Probably because they were the walking talking advertisement for the movement. Any jewelry would be overkill.

At the issuance of more breathy Aster laughter, Maddy sighed.

"Assistant humor." Then to Jack, "They're probably talking about you."

"No, when it's about me Aster snorts."

As if on cue Aster snorted.

Jack clapped his hands, dimples deepening, perfect white teeth on display.

Everyone smiled, too, even Dad, but it didn't creep up toward his eyes. Not even close. A wall repelled it, but I seemed the only one who could tell.

Chapter 17

Jack said he'd make dinner.

Out camping with his father and a brother and an uncle, a young Jack hadn't quite taken to shooting animals, but he still made himself useful. He learned how to make eggs a variety of ways and how to make soup from nothing but potatoes and celery and best of all, 'drop biscuits' (called drop because it looks like the dough was thrown on the ceiling and then dropped down onto the pan – out of the oven the surface of a drop biscuit wasn't necessarily pretty, but your stomach didn't mind).

Pretty quickly after my arrival from school, we'd determined that trying to go into town for dinner would cause headaches. Accidents even.

"Carla helped me get some groceries today," said Dad. "Right after work I ran to the grocery store, and she showed me what a fella with visitors ought to stock up on."

"Who's that?" asked Maddy.

"Just a...A lady I know. She was that friend of your mom's. Works at The Nookery."

I was mystified how Dad could be getting help with groceries from Carla so soon after the contempt he'd shown her brownies if not the woman herself the other night.

"Wait," said Maddy. "Is she the one that brought the preacher with her every time she came to visit Mom at the hospital?"

Dad sighed the sigh of a man that knew the sign of incoming artillery fire.

Aster was outside, wandering the backyard and smoking. Jack was just getting fresh air before hitting dinner. He'd giggled before going out, telling us he was going to see how far along he could string Dina, make her believe he totally intended on crossing East Jennings and wading into the ocean of fans and protesters.

Amongst his staff Jack was notorious for doing the unexpected, sometimes showing up and shaking hands and signing autographs out of the blue. He'd walked up and down the line of moviegoers in Westwood Village for the Thursday midnight sneak showing of his recent hit film _Quantum 2_. Maddy said the staff called such heart stopping unpredictable quirkiness from Jack 'Going Bono', after the U2 lead singer's penchant for similar rubbing-shoulders-with-the-fans behavior.

Maddy gave up on Dad's silence.

"Am I right, Lucy? This Carla?" she asked. "Is that who we're talking about?"

I nodded.

Maddy leaned against a kitchen counter. She tipped her head down and pressed her index fingers into her forehead.

"Are you dating her?"

Dad said, "Maddy."

"Are you dating her?"

"No."

She looked up. Looked at me and asked, "Is he dating her?"

"He just told you, Maddy."

"Anyone except her."

Dad folded his arms over his chest in almost a perfect mimicry of his eldest daughter's pose.

"'Anyone except her' what?"

"She made Mom worse. I mean, Mom was so sick, so, so sick, and she just humored that lady. She just..."

"She meant well."

"She shoved something into a sick and dying woman's face that that woman – your wife, my mother – didn't need."

"Last time I checked, young lady, I'm well on my way towards 60. I can date or not date or go to the grocery store with anyone I feel like. Even people you disapprove of."

"You have freedom," said Maddy.

"Yes, I do."

"You want to talk to me about freedom, fine! That's what my beliefs are all about. Let's take her belief system and put it in the ring against mine. Christianity, Catholicism, it's all about having a crutch and looking forward to life after death when you can throw the crutch aside. Me? My beliefs? Dad, it's about freedom. The freedom to live life without being suffocated by self-doubt and depression. Freedom from psychiatrists. The addictions the pharmaceutical companies depend on. The freedom to think for myself – my true self – not the self that's been mangled and maligned by doubt, not the self that gets off on the need to scare someone so they do something I want them to do.

"That woman – she basically told Mom she could convert or go to hell. She did it with a smile, but that's what a manipulator does. He - or in this case she - dangles the goods in front of your face like a friend."

Along the way, Maddy had started jabbing her finger at Dad while making her points.

"Unbelievable." Dad hit every syllable like he'd been getting coached on enunciation.

"What? What are you going to do? Tell me to go to my room? I have a room, Senate. I have an entire fucking mansion full of rooms, thank you very much."

Unlike Nick Verney from earlier, Maddy had the option of a door to slam. And on her way out the back, she made use of it.

Dad kept still in the aftermath. I vibrated. Jack stood in the living room. He'd come back in at the sound of rising voices. He looked stunned. Maybe he'd never witnessed Maddy unleashed. Maybe the return to familiar territory stirred it up in her.

Dad wouldn't meet our eyes.

I mumbled, "I'll go see if she's all right," and gingerly pushed through the door onto the back porch, and gingerly closed it behind me, just in case the hinges needed time to heal from the slamming.

Trent didn't acknowledge me. He remained motionless as I moved past.

I thought of Jack talking about Lobot, the half man and half machine perpetually in wait for the command to turn on and follow directives.

*

Maddy moved across the field in a southwest fashion, almost like she was checking out the route I'd taken to Uncle Bob's the other day.

Aster looked towards Maddy and the field and the dead trees. I pulled up beside her. She turned and looked at me, a cigarette between her fingers. A light breeze tugged at the places where her long curly hair, pulled up into a bun, dangled from off her head.

"She told me to mind own my own fucking business."

She said it with the same shock of a roly-poly puppy having just received the first nose smack of its otherwise perfectly roly-poly life.

"She got into a fight with my dad," I said. "It was going to happen."

The frown line in Aster's forehead deepened.

"I'll get her," I said. "I'm used to her yelling."

Aster looked back towards Maddy. I thought of patting her arm or otherwise consoling the personal assistant, but I thought it might bruise her she was so skinny.

*

Watching Maddy move through the field I wasn't worried about losing sight of her. Given the difference between the length of her legs and mine and Maddy's life long indifference to physical exercise, I had an inkling I'd catch up, no problem.

Not far from the snags of dead trees Maddy slowed down. She looked back and saw I was on her trail. I could see her smile just a little. She checked the ground like she was looking for the best spot to sit down on and she did exactly that.

Yelling at Dad, she'd used words and phrases common to the Lucentology literature.

Freedom. Suffocation. Manipulator. Self-this. Self-that.

The man and wife that had formed the religion were both passed away. The wife had outlived the husband by a good quarter century. Horace Walton had been her right-hand man for years, and when she passed away, to no one's surprise, Horace picked up the baton.

Younger - there were plenty of pictures of the one-time aspiring actor on the Internet - he didn't look weird or anything. I thought he looked a little like a real world version of Jimmy Olsen from Superman comics. Older now he looked a little too skull like. I thought it was kind of icky. But I didn't know the man. Maybe he was awesome once you got to know him.

TMZ had gotten a hold of a motivational video available only to Lucentologists. It was part of _The Program_ set I had stashed in my bedroom closet.

It featured Maddy talking about her life before and after joining the movement. She'd been caught up in 'the lifestyle' – partying, drinking, dabbling in drugs, and then after she met Jack and he introduced her to Horace she started to question, really seriously question what she wanted from life. Started to think about the fact that life was basically all those moments outside of the high points. You remember the high points – the good and the bad - but that was like 5% of life. The rest of it, most of it, was all the other...laundry, dishes, going to the bathroom, waiting in line...and there had to be a way to make even those most mundane moments matter. And having a head full of recreational drugs wasn't going to help. Being hung over wasn't going to help. Trying to fit notions from thousand-year-old texts into a modern context wasn't going to help.

Lucentology was all about the now. About what happened five seconds ago. About this moment. And about what happened five seconds from now. Being aware and being aware of being aware.

Several online articles had argued that the more tangled up Maddy got in Lucentology, the worse her movies had become. One had posted the oft-repeated rumor that any screenplay a Lucentologist agreed to make into a movie went through an assembly line of advisors, asking for changes until the finished film would adhere to church values.

*

Maddy sat waiting for me, knees bent, her arms wrapped around them.

"I think that was a record for me to start yelling at Dad."

I sat down alongside her.

"I don't know," she muttered. "Maybe it's a record."

Her last visit home had been when Mom had finally lost the battle. We'd all been so thrashed by that there'd been no yelling at all.

I'd seen her sparingly since, the wedding, then visiting her on set for a few days while she'd been in Vancouver, B.C. shooting _Panda_. Her hair had been lopped off and turned a curly platinum blonde for the role. I'd lied to her at the time and told her she looked fine that way.

"Carla stopped by the other night, Maddy. She was trying to convince Dad that he ought to get you to talk to her preacher. She, um, she brought brownies with her. For some reason. Right after she left Dad threw them out."

She smiled.

"He did?" Chuckling.

"Yep."

She sighed and said, "Well, why didn't he tell me that?"

"I don't know."

"But then-"

"Why would he turn around and be grocery shopping with her?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"It's a small town," I said. "You know what it's like. You've got to be civil most the time."

She looked out towards the next field over, the slowly growing stands of wheat. Still looking away from me she asked, "Is he mad?"

"I don't know. A little. I think we're all stressed out. I am after today. Even before the whole thing with people trying to stop the bus, I mean, people have been asking about you and Jack, and I've been getting these stupid cartoons put on my locker every day."

"What cartoons?"

I sighed. Oops. She wasn't going to like this. I described them. Watching her, the little frown point in between her eyebrows thinning, thinning, waiting for her to hit the point where she exploded. When I told her about the one where Jack was pregnant with a space alien baby, she started laughing. She laughed until she almost cried. Maddy didn't get going like that usually. When she did, you couldn't help but laugh with her.

Catching breath, she continued to smile.

"Do you still have them?"

"No."

She play slapped my leg. "Damnit, Luce."

"Sorry. I just kept throwing them away. I know who did them. Sherman found out. Maybe we could get them to redraw it for you."

She nodded. She looked towards me, but not at me.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

"What?"

Holding my eye now she said, "I'm pregnant. About a month."

"Maddy. Wow. That's awesome. Does-"

"Jack know? No. The space aliens do."

The frowny face I made reignited her laughter.

"Sorry. Yes. Jack knows. Mr. Ford is well aware of what he did. And just a couple of other people know."

"Aster?"

She put her head back and laughed kind of a sad note. "She made a face when I told her. I don't think babies and Aster are a happy combination."

"You're going to tell Dad?"

"Yes. I'll tell him. I think I have to pick a good moment to do it though. When there aren't people around. I don't know, but I think he might cry. I wouldn't want him to get all embarrassed."

"Just-"

"What?" asked Maddy. "Go for a walk? Where?"

"Out here."

She pointed back towards the house.

Trent watched us. You could barely see him for the hills decline, but it was his baldhead. He didn't have a pair of binoculars on us, but for all I knew the inside of his sunglasses were chockablock with computer information kind of like what Tony Stark saw when he was flying around as Iron Man.

Maddy saw the look on my face.

"It's what they're paid to do, Lucy. I feel safer with them around."

"Sure. I guess."

By the time we crossed from the field to the backyard, Trent had retreated to the back porch. Aster had gone inside or was smoking out on the front lawn maybe.

"I'm going to be an aunt," I said.

I'd stopped walking. Maddy looked back at me. The look on her face put me to mind of Mom. Someone that would be there for you rain or shine, and might get pissed at you, but if that happened, it was for a reason.

"Aunt Lucy. Pretty exciting, huh?"

I nodded.

Walking towards the house, we heard Jack's blast of laughter come through the window. Then another sound right after that. Probably Jack clapping his hands - really, really tickled by something yet again.

Maddy sighed at the sound of Jack's hysterics.

"Man. I sure hope the baby isn't going to as retarded as her dad."

I stumbled over my feet, inelegant as ever.

Without missing a beat, Maddy said, "Or her aunt."

She squeaked when I poked her in the ribs. Then she started to chase me around the backyard like the last few years of life and death and celebrity had all been a flight of imagination. I was 6, and she was 17, and when she caught me, she was going to tickle me to the brink of peeing myself.

Whether Trent approved or disapproved I didn't look, and I didn't care.

Chapter 18

Sherman had called my phone and left several messages. It was well after 9 PM before I called him back.

He'd seen me on the news again. Several of the people that had stormed East Jennings and surrounded the bus had been arrested. I told him about seeing Wilson Plass get grabbed and get his neck pinched.

"Nick hasn't updated anything. Twitter. Facebook. Nada," Sherman said. "That can't be good."

"No?"

"If he so much as farts he lets the world know about it."

"I kind of got him riled up. Maybe he couldn't let it go, and he was such a jerk to his parents when he got home they cut him off."

"Like that'd stop him. He's too much of a creep. 'A creep always finds a way.'"

"What was that?"

"What?"

"The British accent."

"That was my Richard Attenborough. You know, from _Jurassic Park_. 'Life finds a way.'"

I grunted.

"You like it," he said. "You just don't want me to get egotistical. And I appreciate that, Luce."

To end the silence he said, "Sorry. I overestimate my entertainment value. I'll shut up."

"No. It's just...How likely is it that Nick and Geoff would do something really stupid? And I don't mean ordinary 'time to pants a 7th grader' stupid, but let's do something that ruins the assembly or something like that. Do you think they would?"

"Nick, yes. Geoff...I don't know."

"Should I tell-"

"What?"

I'd been pacing my bedroom. I sat down on the edge of the bed and then just flopped onto my back.

"I don't know. I'm just wondering if I should tell someone what might happen."

"Like who?"

"The security people that are here."

Sherman laughed.

"If your house is bugged, and your phone is bugged, then they already know, Lucy."

"Right."

After a moment passed, he said, "We probably shouldn't have said any of that, right?"

"Probably not."

Another intrusion of silence. Usually, we rattled right along or had been, with increasing distance from the SharDi incident.

Finally, Sherman said, "Well now I'm just waiting to see if I can hear someone busting into your room and your screams as they drag you away."

"Funny. That's the same thing I'm doing."

He laughed.

I told him I'd see him tomorrow, but I ought to go talk to one of the security people. I didn't mention that the only one I felt comfortable talking to was Dina. But that was the truth. All the others were carbon copies of Trent, the only variation being some had hair. The basic intimidating upper torso thing held true for all of them, Trent to Sam (or Other Sam).

Walking downstairs I ran into Aster coming out of the guest room. She had a bag in her hand.

When the guests first arrived all the bags went into the guest room – what had been and for at least a couple days would be Maddy's room again.

Then once they'd arrived Dad insisted Aster take his room. He'd sleep on the couch. He'd done it a hundred times before he insisted. Not a problem.

"Getting a bag," said Aster. "Didn't move all mine out yet."

"Oh right."

I motioned she ought to go down the stairs ahead of me. She smiled and started down.

"Hey, Aster? Do you...Is Dina still here?"

"She should be. I think it's getting close to when she and Trent leave for the night. She'd probably be just down in front, talking to the night shift, giving them their marching orders."

*

There aren't lampposts out in the country. Dark is dark. Alternatively, when they're there, lights stick out against the black background like a fully lit baseball stadium.

From the front porch, you could see the light show. The satellite relays on some of the news vans protruded upwards, and lights came from inside the vans. And one or more of the tents set up on Skinny Arbogast's land featured a generator of some sort. Multiple sedentary lights glowed from within tents, distinguishing themselves from the flashlight glow and the headlamps floating in orbit around the makeshift camp, squatters doing their best to navigate the lumpy earth.

Earlier in the evening, we'd watched a news report on 'Camp Maddy' and one of the people from the camp, a Lewis, had told the reporter he was just going to screen Jack and Maddy movies on his iPad while waiting for the chance to actually see them live and in person. The reporter had asked him what he'd do if that chance didn't materialize.

"Not gonna happen," said Lewis.

"You're going to see them."

"Absolutely."

"Meet them? Get an autograph?"

"Don't need it. Maddy's already signed my heart a thousand times every second of one of her movies. She's the best." The fan turned to look at the camera and then directly at the camera. His left eyelid drooped. His face was sunburned. And he had a pronounced gap in his teeth.

"We love you, Maddy," said Lewis. "We love you."

Watching that, and given my exposure to Sherman's sense of humor, I'd totally expected Jack to start laughing his signature laugh or Maddy to kick into high school Maddy mode – denigrate the poor soul on looks alone. She was sitting on the couch next to Dad. Waiting for her to turn evil I'd been surprised when instead she made noises like Lewis was a helpless kitten or an old and kind of sad dog.

"What a sweetie," she'd said.

Jack and I had shared a brief look that seemed to say the same thing: let's see how sweet Maddy thinks Lewis is after he's had her alone in a room for 5 minutes.

Later, when I followed Aster downstairs, Dad and Jack sat in the living room, Dad providing color commentary while Jack looked at old photo albums. From the way Jack laughed and the way Maddy playfully glared at the two, I could guess at whose expense the commentary came.

Since returning from our walk, Maddy had been on her best behavior. She'd hugged Dad and apologized and then even helped Jack make dinner, the two insisting as guests their hosts couldn't help.

Outside, just like Aster had predicted, Dina had gone down to the end of the driveway to leave instructions with the night shift. Waiting for her to come back up to the house, I wondered if Lewis was still awake at the camp. What movie he was watching right now, 60 autographs a minute forming on his heart.

I'd rather have had Jack or Maddy act as intermediary with Dina, but I didn't want them to know one of my classmates might try and foul up their visit.

Our porch light was strong enough a figure coming up the driveway was recognizable long before pulling alongside the house. When I saw Dina, I was relieved Trent wasn't with her. I guessed he might be in back, getting their SUV ready to go.

I stepped off the porch and headed towards her. Looking right just to make sure Trent wasn't looming in the dark, waiting for her.

"Hey, Dina."

She stopped walking.

"Ms. McCall."

I felt nervous. I looked back towards the house and then at the shadow the moonlight daubed onto the lawn at the side of the house. I imagined Trent would find out even if I swore Dina to secrecy. I kept having horrible visions of Trent picking up Nick and Geoff and snapping both boys over his knee effortlessly. I wanted Dina to be the only one to know.

I told her about Nick's prediction that _Small Town Girl_ would bomb and how he'd said it and what a jerk in general he was and then also what he'd posted online. After I was done, I waited for her to respond. In the silence, it felt like suddenly I'd made a horrible mistake. I was wasting her time or worse, she'd go tell Trent they had two fires that needed to be put out, now, before they turned into blazes.

A smile formed on her face.

"He sounds like kind of a jerk."

I nodded. "Yeah."

She sighed.

"Sorry. I'm tired. I'm not supposed to say I'm tired. But I am. This has been a long day."

"You guys have a lot to deal with."

"Mm." She nodded. "Trent, the others, we put up a good façade, but underneath it...It's just been a long day."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to add to your stress."

"Absolutely not. Intel is good. It makes the job easier."

"I don't have Nick as a friend on Facebook. My friend, Sherman, he does. If you want, I could probably get him to give you his log in info, and you could look at the post."

"Let me think about that." She yawned. "I'll let you know. But I might ask you tomorrow, before the assembly, to point out this Nick character."

"Sure. I have a yearbook lying around somewhere. I'll try to find that."

She thanked me once more then walked off to the back of the house. Just a minute later one of the SUVs pulled out from behind the house, drove down to Jennings, and signaled and turned right, back towards town.

Chapter 19

Friday morning, just a little after 6 a.m., Aster paced the front yard, wearing moccasins, a short skirted bathrobe with a Chinese dragon motif, and a towel wrapped around her freshly showered head. She was smoking. She looked tense like movies always make expectant fathers pacing outside delivery rooms look tense.

She looked at me. Shook her head. Went back to concentrating on her pacing and smoking and occasionally looking down the driveway towards Camp Maddy.

"They've been down there for 20 minutes already," she said as I walked up alongside her. "He wants the stress to kill me. He does." She continued to pace. "I have a Master's in International Business. I do. Really. And the stress is going to take me out. I'm going to die because he has a genetic need to be the nicest person on the planet."

Staring at Camp Maddy, she drew on the cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke.

"Asshole," she said.

Soon as I'd come downstairs Dad had told me that Maddy couldn't stop Jack from 'going Bone-Oh,' and she'd decided to join him rather than stay in the house and fret.

Later on, the news reports would say that Jack shook everyone's hand and both he and Maddy fulfilled every last autograph request. Even the people that had signs claiming Lucentology led to deviltry seemed star struck. And as a bookend to the previous night's story, Maddy not only met Lewis, she gave the guy a hug. He looked about to burst into tears. In almost every shot of Maddy and Jack meeting people at Camp Maddy there was a security person just at their shoulder, as attentive as a president's security detail.

Maddy had also told Dad to tell me that my plan was still a go.

Just to make sure that was going to play out the way Uncle Bob and I had planned it, I left Aster and walked around the house and ran from the backyard through the field behind the house far enough until I could see down into the draw.

Sure enough, there was Uncle Bob on a horse, and one more horse with him, covered with a blanket big enough to seat two riders. Mojo had come along with Uncle Bob. She barked happily at sight of me and started to run up the hill towards me until Uncle Bob called her back. I waved at him and headed back to the house. I'd wolfed down breakfast by the time Jack and Maddy returned from their surprise meet and greet.

"That was fantastic," said Jack. "Those were the nicest people you could hope to meet."

Maddy stared at the back of his head like he was nuts.

"If you say so."

"What? You're just not awake enough Madeline."

Headed for the coffee maker and yawning she said, "I'm plenty awake."

Dressed, Aster hovered at the edge of the dining area. Her eyes remained slightly bulged out.

After swallowing a sip of orange juice, Jack ticked his movie star chin at the assistant and asked, "Is that a new blouse, Aster?"

Her brow was squeezed tight above her disbelieving eyes.

"It looks nice," Jack said.

"You have to clear that sort of thing before you do it, Jack."

"What sort of 'thing'?"

She tipped her head back and made a sound half sigh half laugh.

"What else could I possibly be talking about right now?"

"Dina wouldn't care."

"You did it because she isn't here yet," said Aster. "Why didn't you wait and clear it with her?"

"We have a schedule to keep." He pointed at me. "If we're going to keep to schedule, if we're going to do what Lucy came up with, then what I did, what Maddy and I just did makes sense.

"One, I'm always happy to meet fans. There is now practically zero chance that when what looks like a convoy carrying us heads for town that any of those people are going to try and block the road." He pointed at Aster. "You don't have to worry about that now. You'll get to town and the school free and unfettered.

"Two, no one will suspect us of having an alternate route planned. At this point, I don't think we even have to take an alternate route to get into town. But I think we should for no other reason than Maddy likes horses, I like horses, we both like riding horses, and both Lucy and her uncle have gone to all this trouble."

It almost felt like watching him in his _Quantum_ movies, playing the commander of a special operations unit, explaining some plan to break into a high-security complex. He finished the orange juice and made several yummy noises.

"I think this is the best orange juice I've ever had." He washed out the glass and set it inside the dishwasher. "Tastes so fresh. It was amazing. Thank you, Senate."

"Yeah," said Maddy. "Dad bought it fresh from the grocery store cooler. Probably shook it up fresh from the refrigerator this morning and poured it fresh into your glass."

Jack walked over to her and smooched her cheek.

"The acid tinged remarks, I swear, that's what keeps our marriage alive."

Grunting, Maddy shook her head as Jack clapped his hands together. Looking directly at me he said, "Now who's up for a little horse riding action? Saddle up!"

I couldn't help but smile, mostly because over Jack's shoulder Maddy continued to look so sour and Aster, maybe drawing on skills imparted by her higher education, looked like she was trying to make Jack's head combust through sheer will power alone.

Chapter 20

Horse riding had always been more a thing for Mom and Maddy. Maddy even rode a horse in _For Love of Country_ playing a farm widow whose soldier husband was killed in Afghanistan.

I rode with Uncle Bob while Maddy and Jack rode the other horse. Mojo would run off ahead of us and then run back, occasionally trotting on behind the horses, barking, some of her cow dog genes flaring.

Both horses were older and hard to spook. I spent the ride listening to Jack pepper Uncle Bob with questions about his farm and the country. Maddy seemed content to simply ride.

A green Honda Civic was parked at Uncle Bob's. The car had been rented in Ashmond by one of the security personnel late Thursday. The keys were hidden under the driver side sun visor.

Jack and Mojo became instant best friends once we arrived at Uncle Bob's. Mojo was in heaven because in Jack she'd found someone who would seemingly never tire of throwing the increasingly slobbered upon tennis ball the length of the lot.

The truck Uncle Bob was working on was still in the garage bay. I offered to help put one of the horses in a stall, but Uncle Bob said he had it.

As we got ready to leave, Uncle Bob shook Jack's hand as Jack thanked him for the use of his horse. Uncle Bob and Maddy hugged. He told her he might show up for her premiere, but not to count on it. He wasn't sure how he felt about the prospect of managing the crowds.

Per usual he didn't make much eye contact with his niece. It didn't even matter that he'd known her since she was in diapers. She was a fully- grown woman, one of those creatures he couldn't quite bear to look at straight on.

Maddy used her cell and called Dina. Let her know we were getting into the rental and leaving. At the same time, two SUVs would drive out from behind our house and turn down East Jennings towards town, allowing the news vans and any other sort of on-looker or well wisher to follow, thinking they were right on the tail of Maddy and Jack.

I got to drive. Maddy was too dreamy having just gotten off a horse, and Jack wanted to look at the scenery.

One of the films he was considering doing had a rural setting. After the school events, they were going to spend some time location scouting, returning home with enough time to prep for the premiere.

If Jack did the film, Maddy might potentially play a part and Jack might potentially direct. He'd thought of directing before, but nothing had gelled. That was kind of the name of the game when it came to the movies, he said. A lot of things got thrown into the maybe pile and the actual number of things acted upon was teeny tiny.

"I could spend days out here in this country," said Jack. "It's so peaceful. There are so many pretty spots I could put in the movie. Don't you think so, Mads?"

"Sure."

Her lack of enthusiasm didn't derail him.

"All of this would be perfect." He nodded. He even did that thing you saw actors playing directors do – held up his hands and framed the view, looked out at it like it was the dimensions of a movie theater screen.

The car got quiet.

Out of sheer nervousness, just to think of anything other than the probability that I might wreck, either out of my own stupidity or the sudden appearance of a suicidal squirrel, I just flat out asked, "So did you guys ever know Kip Arnett?"

In the resulting silence, I wished I could step back and remove the query. But it was out there. I'd thought of it earlier when Jack and Maddy were pressing the flesh. I couldn't imagine Ruth Arnett not looking Jack right in the eye and asking him where was justice for her dead sister?

"Kip Arnett..." Jack said it like he'd heard the name before, but it was long ago.

"Why?" Maddy didn't sound happy about it.

"Her sister's been here. Did you see her this morning? I mean, when you guys went out to where, to, um, Camp Maddy, I mean."

"Do you know everyone in your class?"

"Wait. No. What do you mean?"

"You probably know the names of everyone in your class, right?" asked Maddy. "I mean of course you do. I did. Eaton's too small for you not to know everyone's name. But you don't know everyone. So if you take that as an example, and then think of Lucentology and all its members, its tens of thousands of members, its sheer dumb luck that you'd know everyone. Say Kevin Costner was a Lucentologist. He isn't, but let's say he was. It doesn't matter. That doesn't mean I know him. It's not like we have a cathedral or anything. I mean the press loves to point out which actors and actresses and writers practice the religion. So what. We practice it to varying degrees. And all over the place, not just L.A. And wherever we are, it doesn't mean that we meet once a week and jabber over a potluck afterward."

The wheels left gravel and started driving over asphalt as we entered town from the northwest.

"What happened to Kip Arnett was...horrible," said Jack. "It was a tragedy. But if I'd known what she was going through, if any of the elders had known what she was going through, there would've been some sort of response. I guarantee that."

"Her sister said every time she's tried to talk to somebody about Kip she gets brushed off," I said.

"Well, that's because she's aggressive about it." Maddy leaned forward so her chin was practically resting on the back of Jack's seat. "She's gone to the main offices on Wilshire several times and been asked to leave several times. I mean," she laughed, "Horace is terrified of her."

"He is?" asked Jack.

"Totally. He met Kip during her Becoming. That's it. So what? He meets everyone during their Becoming."

She was really getting worked up. She flopped her hands around when that happened. They were flopping right now.

"He meets her once," said Maddy. "That doesn't mean he had anything to do with her after that. But that woman, her sister, zeros in on him. It's his fault her sister lost the plot. His fault. Lucy, she could've decided that it was my fault. Or Jack's. Just because we were members before Kip. I don't know why she blames Horace. Horace says he didn't know Kip beyond that one meeting at the Becoming. If Kip blew it out of proportion, then that's what she did. She could've told her sister anything. Obviously, she was delusional to a degree. I mean look at what happened to her, sad as that is. In a lot of cases..."

She sighed.

"When Mom died, I wanted to find a bad guy. I found a lot of bad guys. I lost my shit last night over that Carla lady. I don't like Carla, I never will, but I can't blame her for Mom dying. I think maybe that might be what Ruth is looking for. She has to go through Hell before she can move on. Or alternatively, she might never move on. Sometimes the body negatives they just...They screw people up. She might like it in Hell. Some people get used to it. They just do."

"Is that it?" asked Jack, pointing to a graveled lot and a gray building.

"That's the beast," said Maddy. "You can tell it's a school all right. It throbs with that certain evil. Or maybe it's just the indifference."

I pulled into the lot and parked, amazed that listening to Maddy somehow I'd managed to keep track of where we were and what streets I needed to go down to get to the school. It all seemed surreal, the whole morning, an impression enforced moments later when the SUVs and the trailing news vans rolled into the parking lot en masse like tanks and Army vehicles showing up in a town suddenly beset by an unknown threat.

Chapter 21

We got out of the car and headed for the lawn in front of the gym.

When the E! van drove down along the sidewalk Jamie Janie peered out the rolled down window smiling at us and waggling her finger like she knew we'd pulled a fast one.

"Eaton High," sighed Maddy. "Are the walls still the same depressing shade of puke green that I remember? I bet they are."

Jack squeezed my shoulder. "Thank you for driving."

"Sure."

A sidewalk running along the gym linked the gravel parking lot to the school. Students headed towards the main building were slowing down as they saw the three of us.

Jack and Maddy held hands. The heels made her noticeably taller than her husband. Jack greeted every single person he made eye contact with. Dina and Trent and two other security people moved towards us from the parked SUVs. They didn't run, but they moved quickly. Dina looked grim like she'd heard about the mornings 'Going Bono' meet and greet.

At the main entrance, Jack held the front doors open. He held it for Maddy and me and then a dozen more kids. He smiled the whole time.

"How are you...Good to see you...That's a great shirt...Good morning to you, too..."

Given the sheer wattage of the grin, the lurking Dina and her trio were almost surely non-existent entities to the people walking passed the $25 million per picture doorman.

Word traveled at the speed of a text message. Kids already in the halls jetted for the foyer. Quickly a crowd formed. Mr. Pederson waded through and made a high pitch sound and embraced Maddy. Soon the foyer saw the principal and vice principal and other assorted support staff appear. The crowd size swelled. A trophy case stood along a wall. It felt like if one more person packed into the foyer, the crush would crack the glass.

Jack had relinquished his doorman duties. Maddy and Jack were talking with Mr. Pederson and other teachers, getting their mouths extra close to ears and half shouting to be heard. The principal was part of the circle, too. Dina whispered something to Jack, and he nodded. She then whispered into the principal's ear, and he nodded.

Dina and Trent got in front of Jack and Maddy, and the two other security men got behind them, and they slid through the press of gawkers like a snake oozing out between closely hewn rocks. The principal walked on ahead of them, crying out, "Clear a path," in his slightly nasally twang. What seemed like a hundred phones recorded every second of the slow motion escape, paused here and there by Jack breaking rank to play guest star in a student selfie. Finally, the six-headed creature exited the foyer and made an abrupt left into the administrative offices.

Outside at the curb, parallel to the main school entrance, Jamie Jane and another reporter were setting up with their respective news crews.

Students outside stared numbly towards the reporters while others seemed excited by all that had been going on. I saw at least one kid that had shaken Jack's hand then stand in place with a dreamy look in his eyes while his friend told a couple of others what had just transpired.

Around me were bright eyes and happy faces. I was told how cool Jack was. How pretty Maddy was. They were so cool coming to the school. They were the best. I was so lucky. Eventually, the crowd dispersed as students lodged up near the mouth of the hallway, people trying to peer through the window to the office to catch a glance of the star power.

Mr. Pederson remained in the foyer up on the patio that overlooked the trophy case and the two vending machines. I approached him sheepishly like Mojo with her head down when she'd been extra bad and knew it.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so sorry. I completely blanked on asking Maddy to come to one of your classes."

He'd narrowed his eyes. He looked upset. Mr. Pederson upset was like seeing Mr. Rogers or Kermit the Frog upset. Even though he had all that size, he still radiated this non-threatening quality. Usually. Today it suddenly seemed different. With the bushy mustache and the barrel chest, it was like approaching a Greek god who had been wronged.

"What's your middle name?"

"My what?"

"Your middle name?"

I couldn't even fathom why he was asking, but I stumbled out with, "Catherine?"

"You sure?"

My mouth moved like a fish out of water gaping.

He laughed and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Sorry. That was mean. My point is...It's okay. Right now, with everything going on that's going on, if I was you, Lucy, I don't think I'd even remember how to tie my shoes. Or my middle name. It's all right. I begged and pleaded with her myself. She agreed."

He took his hand off my shoulder and shook his head.

"Lucy. I could not begin to comprehend the strain you're under right now. I saw what your place looks like. It's like Woodstock out there. Just promise me you'll take care of your sister while she's here. She means a lot to us."

"Yeah. Yeah. I will. Sorry."

"Don't be." He straightened his bow tie and thrust out his chest. "So by virtue of having your sister stop into my drama class should I let the kids suddenly thinking I'm the greatest teacher ever go to my head?"

"Yes."

His response to that was lost from all the high pitch shrieking come from the hall. The response was overblown. The door to the office had opened simply to let out a teacher that had been making photocopies. Several students laughed at the girls that had overreacted.

Mr. Pederson rubbed a knuckle into his ear.

"Wow. I think I just lost an ear drum."

*

The assembly was scheduled for 2nd period. Maddy and Jack being here was too big a distraction to try and do the assembly any later in the day. After the assembly and Maddy dropping in Mr. Pederson's 3rd period drama class, Jack and Maddy would take off and drive towards Dayton and Waitsburg, two other small towns nearby, location scouting for the movie Jack might make.

There were no cartoons on my locker for a change. People were glancing at me, and talking if not about me then about the two famous people in the building that I'd brought along. I felt a little like I was standing outside myself or like I'd shrunk a little and the outside of my body was a distant husk.

"Hey." Sherman leaned against the locker left of mine.

"Hi."

"You made it."

I nodded.

"He took it down."

"What?"

"Nick. He took down the Facebook post where he said the movie was going to bomb."

"Oh. Huh."

"You okay?"

I shrugged. It would be hard to summarize how I felt right then. It wasn't another one of the panic attacks. Everything just seemed so weird like the quiet before the storm rolls in.

At least part of me was firing on all cylinders.

"Is he here?"

"Nick?" Sherman looked around. "I don't know. I saw Geoff earlier. I saw him and Kitty, but that was about it. Nick, you usually notice. He has that inverted asshole halo, you know."

"I told," I looked around - suspicious someone might overhear - and leaned in close to Sherman. "I told one of the security people about Nick."

"Jesus. Maybe that's why he isn't here. They already got rid of him."

"Don't say that."

"I'm just kidding."

"I know. Still..."

"Ooh." He motioned with his chin. "Speak of the devil."

Nick walked down the hall. He walked right past us, making a point of not altering his head of steam and still glaring at us with some teeth poking out from between his lips.

"Wow," said Sherman, directing it at Nick. "The mobile-snarl. I think your brother did that better. But good try, buddy. Kudos, even."

"I don't think he heard you," I said.

"Sure he did. Didn't you see me cup my hand and project like I've been taught by Pederson?"

"'Kudos'?"

"I don't know. It seemed appropriate."

He grunted when I smooched his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"I don't know," I said. "Nerves probably."

He nodded like he was down with that.

Chapter 22

"MAD-DY!" came a scream from the gym bleachers. Stirred by just one shout, the assembled crowd roared.

Principal Colan gnashed his teeth.

"She hears you," he announced through the microphone on the stand.

A wheeled podium had been rolled on out towards center court. He shook his head. I don't know how he expected kids to control themselves. There were adults acting just as immature on East Jennings. Something about celebrity mashed down on the civilized part of a person.

We were at mid-court. Eaton Middle and High School were located just the next block over from Eaton Elementary. The grade school had marched over from Hawkins Street into the gym, joining the middle and high school students for the assembly.

Aster sat on the front row bleachers, her Bluetooth in her ear, and a smartphone in hand. Her hair was down and it made her look somewhat different. More approachable. Not that she was, fully plugged into the digital realm. I thought of Jack talking about the Star Wars movies. If Dina's nickname for the assistant was Disaster, I wondered if Jack's might not be Lobot.

She stared into the crowd, maybe at Mr. Pederson's choice of bowtie. Maybe just at the giant of a man and the ensemble of loving students.

The deputies and the security team situated themselves, equally spaced around the out of bounds perimeter. If trouble headed for Jack and Maddy, they could squeeze in on upon it from all sides.

Another random voice shouted out, "I love you, Jack!" I twitched at the volume, the echo of it.

Waiting for an introduction Jack and Maddy were standing just inside the tunnel between the gym and the boy's locker room.

At the sound of that last crowd eruption, Jack popped out of the tunnel, hands around his mouth.

"I love you, too!" he shouted.

Girls screamed. Boys screamed. I was pretty sure at least a couple of teachers screamed.

Jack disappeared back inside the tunnel. Principal Colan probably would've told anyone else to quash the encouragement, but this was Jack Ford and Jack Ford was probably about to donate a significant chunk of change to the school, a necessary chunk of change in the time of a state budget crisis.

Principal Colan called for everyone's attention. Murmurs persisted. He whipped out the standard discontented promise that he could wait all day for everyone to pipe down.

The random 'shhs' sounded like air brakes. Peer pressure worked to kill the multiple conversations until the gym turned tomb silent.

Most of what Principal Colan said slipped by me. Dina and the three other security people plus the deputies were going to keep order. Still...they hadn't been able to keep order out at the house. All those people had swarmed the school bus.

I heard Principal Colan say "--her younger sister, Eaton High's own Lucy McCall!"

Applause broke out. A few people called out my name. One person hooted, probably Sherman.

Principal Colan stepped away from the microphone and motioned it was now my turn.

Distracted by everything else I'd forgotten my dread of this moment.

I could barely speak in front of a classroom let alone a gym packed full of people. My public speaking achievements consisted of re-enacting bits of scenes from Shakespeare for English class and staring at the carpet and occasionally at the prompts on my index cards in speech class. The index cards always shook in my hand. I always felt like I might faint. Fainting in front of the entire Eaton School District would haunt me far longer than it would take the resulting bruise to heal.

I cleared my throat. I was taller than Principal Colan, or Jack, or Maddy. I hunched down to be able to talk into the microphone. If I tried to adjust it up high enough to my mouth I knew instead I'd only knock the entire stand off the podium and onto the gymnasium floor.

I noticed the kids manning the camera for the school's official tape recording of the event, and the cameraman for the one local affiliate lucky enough to have been chosen to cover the event.

At least Trent wasn't staring at me. The last little bit of moisture in my mouth would've evaporated with his attention stacked on top of everyone else's.

"Everyone here probably knows who my sister is. And my brother-in-law. I guess you would unless you've been living under a rock."

I paused. There was some laughter. I smiled. And on the taped recording that smile makes me cringe because I look like I'm certain I'm delivering some real killer material.

"Anyways, even though she's a big time movie star nowadays, um, she's never forgotten her roots or the town that she's from. She might live in Hollywood, but trust me, Maddy McCall is Cougar to the core."

There were shouts and applause. Boys thumped their feet against the bleacher foot wells.

It never fails. Mention the sports mascot and people eat it up.

Figuring it was better not to let the momentum ebb, I raised my voice just a bit to be sure I could be heard over the subsiding noise and said, "Ladies and gentleman, my sister and her husband, Maddy McCall and Jack Ford!"

People in the crowd jumped to their feet. The noise filled the gym. It was like a Presidential candidate walking out to speak to the party faithful at the nominating convention. Maddy hugged me. Jack hugged me. Then they shook hands with Principal Colan as though they hadn't already spent part of the morning with the man.

Maddy smiled and waved. Jack did the same.

While the crowd was still going wild Jack and Maddy tried to figure out who should talk first. She'd point at the microphone. Then he pointed at it.

I heard him say, "Ladies first."

Maddy hollered back, "Age before beauty."

He liked that. He clapped his hands together he liked it so much.

Edged up to the podium Jack waited for people to settle down. They did although a few people remained squealing as everyone else got quieter and quieter.

Jack almost got started. The crowd had nearly quieted down completely when it happened.

Because he was standing close enough to the live microphone just about everyone heard Principal Colan say the 's' word. It was plenty loud in the lull, a moment of weird quiet where everyone was simultaneously shocked to silence.

The boys and girls locker rooms were located against the south wall of the gym. Attention had shifted from mid-court to the south wall of the gym.

Aliens had walked right out of the girl's locker room.

Their arms were up, sticking out like the Frankenstein monster at his stiffest. The aliens wore silver robes. Their heads were gray with large black eyes and lizard like recessed noses.

They were walking across the gym floor, walking for center court, for us.

*

It resembled a moment from a movie trailer.

Jack stepped in front of Maddy and stared straight at the approaching menace.

The robe hems dragged across the floor. There was a lot of slack in those robes.

One alien stepped on the robe excess and stumbled, wind milled its arms, and grabbed for the mask thrown askew by the lack of coordination.

The moment of consensual silence burst into laughter and faked screams.

At the same time, the assembled security for the honored guests shed their moment of immobility and snapped into action.

Dina and Trent grabbed the alien that hadn't stumbled and threw him onto the floor. A deputy and one of the Lucentology security people wrestled down the stumbling alien.

Teachers and deputies and security joined together to do a walk through of the locker rooms to ensure no more surprises.

The aliens were hoisted to their feet and just like in a Scooby-Doo cartoon, the masks came off.

Curtis and George.

The two cartoonists turned performance artists.

The muttering amongst the crowd peaked at revelation of the identities.

Someone yelled, "I love you, Curtis!" People laughed.

Dina kept her grip on Curtis' shoulder. Principal Colan, reddened and angry as just about anyone could get was contributing to Curtis' paleness. Dina's fingers pushing into his flesh might've contributed even more.

Jack walked over to the two in custody and totally in it up to their noses would-be-assembly-crashers.

"Do you know them?" Maddy asked me.

"Yeah." I pointed. "George. And that one's Curtis. They've been putting drawings up on my locker."

"Drawings?"

"I told you about them. Just stupid stuff. Just really juvenile."

"Did you tell anyone about the drawings? You didn't, did you?"

I shook my head.

"So now this happened. Thanks in part to you."

"I'm sorry."

She repeated one of the tenets in the Lucentology literature. "Action is always necessary, Lucy. Always. Inaction leads to trouble. To this."

Her face twisted up, sour like her teeth and tongue were all tart.

A murmur worked through the crowd.

Jack walked towards us. He had his arms around Curtis and George. Both boys had their masks in hand. Standing around the gym floor, the Principal and Dina and the other security people looked confused.

The sour look on Maddy's face morphed into confusion, too.

The trio passed Maddy and I. Curtis kept his eyes on the floor. George stared wide-eyed at Maddy. He lucked out. Her husband was the focus of her attention otherwise she might've directed her venom at the would-be-aliens.

The gym was almost completely silent.

Jack and the boys stopped at the microphone. He told them to put their masks on. They did. He put his arms around them both and spoke into the microphone.

"Ladies and gentleman," said Jack, "I'd like to introduce you to my sons."

Laughter exploded from the crowd. People applauded.

Jack continued. "The rumors are right. Maddy and I have produced two lovable tentacle babies...We love them both very much. We just don't kiss them because if those suction cups catch hold of your lips..."

He sucked in his lips and popped them, a perfect imitation of a suction cup pop.

"It would be disastrous...So..."

Maddy and Aster seemed the only two people who abstained from joining in the laughter and applause. Maddy looked livid. Like if it were up to her Curtis and George would be marched to the nearest guillotine.

Jack walked the boys toward the sets of bleachers on either side of the gym so people could take all the pictures they wanted to with their phones. Jack even put on the alien mask for a few moments. At Jack's urging, Maddy joined them. She smiled in the pictures, but the smile went off and on easy as a light under the sway of its switch.

If his sense of humor wasn't enough to win over every last person in the gym, what happened next cemented his good standing. Jack and Maddy had started an organization donating money to schools to help with creative arts programs. Times were tough. They knew that. So they were more than happy to give the Eaton school district a check to help fund the arts and after school programs.

"You'll receive an annual check. A check," Maddy announced, "for $750,000."

It took a moment for the weight of the six-digit donation to resonate. Then it hit. The adults started the standing ovation. Principal Colan wrapped me up in a hug. Jack extended a hand to the Principal and seemed not put out one bit to instead get a hug.

Out in the bleachers, Mr. Pederson, the big bear, had his face in his hands, trying to keep the tears out of sight. The two students hugging him and patting his shoulders seemed to be telling him it was all right to let the tears flow.

Chapter 23

After Maddy and Jack left, most teachers admitted defeat. A few soldiered on and were met with resistance in the form of starry-eyed teenagers drained from the adrenaline rush of the assembly.

Before last period someone stopped behind my shoulder as I stood at my locker. I'd been getting well-wishers all day.

"How does it feel now?"

The voice not quite as cheery as others I'd received throughout the day. Closing my locker, I wasn't surprised to see Nick glaring.

"How does what feel?"

"When those two kids came out and interrupted the assembly you thought it was me, didn't you? You thought one of them was me. How does it feel to be wrong?"

"I didn't think one of them was you."

He hissed.

"I saw you in the bleachers," I said.

"Sure you did."

"And earlier this week Sherman told me Curtis and George were the ones that kept putting cartoons on my locker."

"Whatever. You gonna sick those Loonytology cops on me? I've seen them on the news. Tasering people."

"Nick."

He took another step in, his nose getting perilously near the tip of my nose.

"I saw that one bitch. The black one? She gave me the stink eye. Yes, she did. I wonder why she did that?"

"Nick."

I didn't say 'step back.' My tone implied 'step back.'

He jabbed a finger at me.

"No. Shut up. You're as much of an idiot as your sister was to my brother. You make me sick. I swear-"

"How you doing today, Nick?"

The deep, unmistakable rumble of Mr. Pederson made Nick's eyes bulge.

We both turned. He smiled down at Nick.

"You just thanking Lucy for having her sister and brother-in-law donate all that money to the school?"

Nick smiled. It looked like it caused him pain.

"You know it. Cougar pride." He waggled the already pointing finger. "Whoo-whoo."

He turned and beat a retreat.

Mr. Pederson smiled watching him go.

"I was so happy when that kid's older brother graduated. And now, I miss Tyler. You know what I mean?"

I smiled.

"I was thinking the whole time the assembly was going that if anyone was going to cause problems it'd be him," said Mr. Pederson.

"That's kind of what we were talking about just now."

"Nose to nose?"

I shrugged.

"If he threatened you, Lucy..."

I shrugged again. "Nothing I'm not used to. Just Nick being Nick."

Mr. Pederson laughed. For such a big man with such a deep voice, his laugh was tinged with a surprisingly high pitch. It could just be the day. All of us were floating a little still from the star wattage. Seen through the right kind of visors we might glow like people exposed to radiation.

"Here." Mr. Pederson thrust an envelope at me. "This is for Maddy. Bunch of the kids she met put together a thank you card of sorts. If you could get that to your sister, we'd all appreciate it."

I took the envelope from him. "Sure. No problem."

"I mean," said Mr. Pederson, "I'm totally planning on going to the premiere this evening, got my pass and everything, but I'll totally blank on getting that to her, and then the kids will never forgive me. I'll go from hero to zero just like that."

"Consider it done."

"Awesome. Thank you so much." Turning away from me I heard him mumble, "Nick being Nick. Lordie lord..."

*

Sherman gave me a ride home after school. I didn't think about feeling guilty about it. In terms of getting home quick and getting changed for the premiere in Ashmond, it made sense.

Usually, Sherman talked a mile a minute. He was strangely subdued as we rode up East Jennings towards the house. I didn't ask him what was up. I felt drained myself. I could totally picture falling asleep during the movie. I just hoped I didn't sit next to Maddy. She would have no problem jamming her elbows into me.

Turning onto the straight stretch of Jennings that went past the house Sherman said, "Wow. It's like the day after Woodstock."

Camp Maddy had been abandoned. Two folding chairs sat on the grass, surrounded by take-out bags and several newspapers and magazines. A soft breeze flipped pages of a thrown open magazine. Apparently, Skinny Arbogast hadn't included people cleaning up after themselves part of the deal.

The two Honey Buckets stood untouched like everything else on a parade ground had been broken down and trucked away, and now they were waiting their turn.

Ruth's car was gone. Only a single black SUV was parked at the mouth of the driveway, and the security guard gave us but a cursory glance as Sherman made the turn.

Up at the house, another black SUV was parked behind the house. Another guard stood in front of the house. He pushed a finger into his ear like he was trying to hear whatever info was coming in through his wireless ear bud.

Sherman parked in back, getting his car oriented for a swift departure once I was out of the car.

"Thanks."

"You bet." He still seemed nervous. I thought maybe it was all the black SUVs. Another security person watched over the backyard from the perimeter of the field. I was confused. I thought for sure at least a couple vehicles would be traveling with Maddy and Jack while they scouted locations for the farming movie.

I opened the passenger side door.

"Hey, Luce."

I looked back at him.

Sherman dug his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a small white box. He held it towards me, his hand shaking.

"This is for you."

"What is it?"

"An empty white box. No. Just. You don't have to open it now. Just." He exhaled. "Just take it okay?"

"Okay." The box weighed next to nothing in my hand. He flicked his eyes onto mine and just as quickly looked away.

I swiped my finger into the indentation right above his upper lip.

"Yaaaah." He recoiled.

"Sorry. The sweat makes your one whisker stick out. I just wanted to see what it felt like. Manliness, I mean."

"Jesus." He cupped a hand over his mouth like I'd plucked out the solitary strand and now it stung. "You're weird."

"Sorry," I pushed the door open and slid out. "Impulse. See you tonight."

"See you tonight," he said through his hand.

Walking up to the back door I rattled the box in my hand. I didn't wear jewelry. He knew that. Sherman's car turned and disappeared down the side of the house.

I was focused on trying to imagine what was inside the box when I opened the back door and walked into the kitchen.

Dad sat at the table.

"Well, look there."

I froze at the sound of the voice. And then at sight of the small man in the blue suit and blue dress shirt standing up from a chair near Dad's.

Thinning copper hair lay across Horace Walton's skull. Liver spots dotted his high tan forehead. A dark-haired woman with dark skin stood in the living room looking towards the kitchen as her boss walked towards me, grinning his skeletal grin.

"You're taller than your sister. You're taller than Jack." He laughed like it was one of the funniest things ever. Lips pulled back it showed off gums.

Just skin and bones he walked up to me, and I could imagine him wrapping me up in an embrace that would feel in league to those last few times I'd held Mom and her depleted, cancer ridden body.

He must've read my mind. He halted halfway through his step and all impressions that he was going to hug me disappeared.

He stuck his hand out to me. A ring on his left finger caught the natural light, the band copper, the stone a luminous blue shaped into a capital 'L.'

"Horace Walton."

"I know."

I shook his hand. He squeezed and kept smiling like recently risen from the dead he hadn't quite relearned the social niceties of short handshakes and brief eye contact.

*

The assistant, Nawzat, followed me to the bathroom. She thanked me and then before disappearing behind the door whispered, "You have no idea how tiring it is to listen to two men talk about nothing but sports for an hour." She rolled her eyes and sighed.

Common ground had been found between the post office employee and the leader of the Lucentology church in the form of football.

They'd had the same coach apparently, a man named Tom Hogan. He'd been an assistant coach at the small California college Horace Walton had attended, and years later, Hogan had been the head coach at Washington State. Dad was never a starter except for his last year when he played special teams. Hogan appreciated the way a young Senate McCall could throw a block during a punt or a kickoff.

Upstairs in my room, I could hear Horace's laugh break out regularly. On its own, it wasn't so bad. Attach a visual, and it made me uneasy.

Inside the box from Sherman was a simple gold bracelet. Around the time of the SharDi Leasey incident, Sherman and I had killed time before a movie at the Ashmond mall window-shopping. I'd mooned over a bracelet. It was an impulse mooning. I'd had a lot of sugar earlier that day and wasn't quite in my right mind. I'd have to ask him when he'd bought the bracelet. I could imagine he'd bought it months ago and was waiting for a good moment to give it to me, and then the whole drinking and groping thing happened, and he'd been sitting on the bracelet ever since.

I was still trying to decide which of my handful of dresses to wear to the premiere when I heard the rigs outside start up and pull away from the house.

Dad knocked on my door. I opened it up.

"He's gone."

"The Emperor?"

He laughed. Then he looked at me. Lucy McCall in a dress was a rare occasion. He made a little choked off noise and his mouth crumpled up a little like a Muppets.

"I look ok?"

"You look great."

"You ok?"

He pointed at me. Just a flick of his finger like he was pointing at a chore that needed to be done.

"Your mother would be knocked out by how pretty you are in that dress."

"It's one she got for me. She guessed my growth spurt would top out before too long. She said it'd be a good one to wear to prom."

"Yeah. I think I remember her giving it to you. And you said 'Prom? Ick.'"

We both laughed.

"She knew you didn't like anything too...elaborate."

"Well if you think I should wear it..."

"You should."

I raised my right wrist and waggled it around.

"This is from Sherman."

"What do you kids call it? 'Bling'?"

"I call it a bracelet."

"Well, it looks good, too." After a moment he asked me, "You all right?"

"Why was he here?"

"'The Emperor'?"

I nodded.

"Man had nothing better to do I guess. He's a...He's got a lot of stories he'll tell you. I'll give him that. He's not a one-note man. That's one of the things that always kept me away from religion. People that can't let it go even a little and get in your face with it all the time."

"You talk about Maddy?"

"Strangely, no. I wouldn't know what to say to him. Especially not on the topic of Maddy. I can guess at the answers to just about any question I'd ask him. It'd all be bullshit."

"You still think she's..."

He nodded. He didn't say brainwashed. Or cult member. He'd said close enough to those things previously. Nothing she'd done since being home had changed his opinion.

"You've got her here and now. You could still talk to her about it," I said.

He stared at me. Then at the floor, modeling the usual pondering, impenetrable gaze.

I sighed. "I guess I'm ready when you are."

He nodded. He started towards the stairs, pausing one last time to tell me how wonderful I looked.

Chapter 24

Royal Cinemas was the local theater chain. There was a Royal Cinema in the Tri Cities, one in Walla Walla, and one as far west as Sunnyside.

It was located at Ashmond's major strip mall. There were several freestanding box stores in the lot in addition to the retailers inhabiting the actual mall spaces.

A long interior corridor provided access in and out of most of the mall stores. There were several exceptions. The movie theater could only be accessed from an exterior sidewalk. Same for The Wagon Wheel restaurant and bar located next door. The one time Sherman had taken me out for a proper dinner date, it'd been to The Wagon Wheel.

The crowd from Skinny Arbogast's field and the satellite news vans had all migrated to the mall parking lot.

They swarmed around the entrance to the movie theater. Stanchions bordered a real red carpet rolled up to the entrance. Police directed traffic, cars moving at a snail's pace, peppered with frustrated motorists hitting horns.

Dad swore at sight of the mess and drove around the far edges of the mall parking lot, and around the Shopko on the farthest east end of the structure, hoping to find a spot around back. A Ford truck with a stuttering muffler pulled out of a space on the farthest reaches of the back lot just as we drove up. Dad swung into the open spot, the first we'd seen, killed the engine and sighed.

"Hopefully just finding parking is the only stressful part of the night," I said.

He nodded. He didn't look like he bought into it though.

In order to meet local demand for the premiere, every single screen at the Royal Cinema would be showing _Small Town Girl_ at 6:00 pm. Only those with a special pass would be admitted to the main theater where Maddy and Jack would sit. The post-premiere party would be held out at the Ashmond Country Club. Though invitations to the latter were hard to come by \- and I'd rather skip seeing people try to look elegant while sipping champagne - several charities would benefit from the party proceeds.

Conveniently, The Wagon Wheel was open for lunch and then closed until dinner. It'd been 'rented' out for our purposes until 6 pm although we'd all be inside the theater well before the top of the hour.

Dad and I walked up to the restaurant back entrance. Dad knocked on the door. Nervous, I looked around, wondering what anyone would think seeing a silver-haired man in a suit and a girl in a green dress knocking on the back door of a restaurant that everyone knew wasn't open to the public for another hour.

Dad took a step back as the door opened. One of the Lucentology security personnel glowered out at us. Other Sam. He ticked his head on his thick neck, taking in sight of both of us.

Inside the restaurant Aster and Nawzat stood side by side, talking intimately, soldiers in arms. The Wagon Wheel owner was easily recognizable. He was in all the ads for the restaurants. He sat at a table, seemingly gobsmacked to be sharing a booth with Jack Ford. Horace and a younger man, the spitting image of the owner's thick neck and receding hairline, also shared the booth.

"Where's Maddy?" I asked Dad like he had intel different from mine.

Dina approached us. She looked me up and down and smiled slightly like she couldn't believe it possible I cleaned up even half this good.

"Madeline is in the rest room."

It was like she read our minds. She'd been too far away to have heard me ask Dad. She must've just seen us looking around and interpreted our looks.

Dina leaned in closer to me and added, "She's been in there for awhile."

I took it as a cue. I looked at Dad, and he nodded at me like I should definitely go and see how Maddy was doing.

*

The only movie star Eaton had ever produced stared at her reflection in the ladies room mirror. Her eyes were red, and the tears she'd produced had worked in recognizable tracks the length of her face, cheeks to chin.

At sight of me, she wiped her nose, snuffled, and said, "Hey, Squirt."

I raised my hand and wobbled it back and forth in greeting.

"Wow." Maddy turned and looked at me. "Wow. Look at you in that."

She walked up to me and grabbed my shoulders and then turned me around like a designer checking out her work on a model.

"I don't have the legs to make that dress work. You definitely do."

"Thanks."

She laughed. "Did Herman see you in the dress?"

"Sherman?"

"Sorry."

"No. It's all right. And no," I said. "He hasn't seen me yet." I held out my arm and waggled it. "He did give me this."

"Nice. Sparkly."

I dropped my hand and stepped closer to her.

"Are you all right?"

She smiled.

"You mean other than the crying? And missing Mom so much it feels like I'm all hollow inside?"

More tears threatened to fall, but she tipped her head back to keep them at bay.

"It's so unfair, Lucy. It's so unfair. She should still be here. Dad needs her. I need her. I mean that's the thing. That's the thing that I never tell you two. Not visiting you, it's not because I don't want to see you, but I have such a hard time dealing with her not being here. I mean we stopped at the cemetery, coming back from the scouting, and I was fine. I was. And then we got here and..."

She sighed.

"I'd give up everything. I mean everything and work some shitty job at the Orange Julius for the rest of my life if it meant she was alive. I'd trade anything for that. Anything."

"She wouldn't want you to do that."

She nodded.

We both heard the door open. Aster walked in and said, "It's almost 5:20."

Maddy sighed. Looked at her reflection.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't put on much makeup today."

Aster walked over to the counter. She set a small bag on the counter and unzipped it and started detailing the contents.

"Lipstick. Blush. Eyeliner."

"You got a kitten in there?" asked Maddy.

Aster's brow tensed. Silently castigating herself for not foreseeing Maddy's need for a kitten.

"Next time bring a kitten."

Aster looked up from under her brow with a lot more life in her face than I'd seen previously.

"I can always borrow the kitten Nawzat keeps for Horace."

That did it. Maddy laughed. Full out tipped her head back and bellowed at the ceiling. Aster's mouth pinched up in her version of a smile, something an old time school teacher or spinster librarian might model once a year when no one was looking.

Battery fully charged, Maddy smiled at me. The Maddy McCall smile. The one we'd see minutes from now, on the red carpet, and then, on the big screen.

Chapter 25

Getting into the same Royal Cinema theater as Maddy and Jack for the premiere was like winning the lottery. The studio had distributed passes to TV and radio stations, and the school had held a raffle, too.

The lucky few seemed so excited about sharing the cinema and spotting the celebrities most didn't seem to notice the security personnel posted at the entrances, and those standing near the front row, watching each person wander down the aisle to find their seat.

I envisioned cameras arranged strategically inside the theater, someone in a black SUV nearby poised before a monitor, scanning faces as they walked into view and relaying the info through those wireless earbuds.

Maddy and Jack and Dad and Aster sat in the center row, Horace and his assistant Nawzat, too, with Trent on one end of the aisle, Dina on the other. I sat right behind Dina, the seat to my left open, waiting for Sherman to show up. He'd texted me a couple of times saying he was en route and the last I'd heard from him he was trying to find parking. Keeping in mind the sheer luck that had freed up a spot for Dad and me, I simply texted Sherman 'good luck.'

By the time the lights dimmed and people applauded, Sherman still hadn't appeared. I felt my stomach spit acid, thinking of him at the entrance, his pass left back at the house, his explanations to an usher or one of the Lucentology guards, those placid, robotic faces, all of it playing like some silly character defining moment in – irony of ironies - a romantic comedy.

In _Small Town Girl_ Maddy played Michelin Belle, a stressed out and manipulative executive, the kind who'd do anything to get ahead. The company she worked for was looking to partner with a Google-like tech firm and build a massive server farm in a dinky little town in Oregon. It just happened to be the same town where some of Michelin's hick relatives lived, and where years ago a teenage Michelin had spent a summer and fallen in love with a boy. Once she went back home for school, the passion cooled, and the two lost touch.

Michelin tried to talk her boss out of handing off the assignment to her. The boss was from India. Part of the humor was supposed to play off of Michelin's inability to understand everything the boss said – she had an app on her cell phone that would translate the words the accent hid. The rural audience ate that right up.

Incapable of persuading her boss, Michelin was coming to terms with her assignment, speaking via Bluetooth to her current super snobby boyfriend as he worked out at an exclusive Manhattan gym, running on a treadmill and checking out his abs in a mirror.

Staring out over the city skyline from her high-rise balcony Michelin said, "I don't like small towns, Bailey. They're creepy."

And that was the exact moment the movie screen went black.

*

Even before the house lights were up, Dina had left her seat. She stood in the aisle, doing a visual sweep, a full 360, and it was not lost on me that her right hand was tucked inside her suit jacket. Probably exactly where a holstered gun would ride her rib cage.

Over all the murmuring voices I heard her say, "This is Dina. Nothing." She said it so quiet most people couldn't hear her. "Rocco, report."

The crowd murmurs continued. I heard Maddy say something, the exact words lost, but her voice didn't sound pleased. A man walking down the aisle on the other side of the theater caught Trent's full-attention.

Trent moved so quick and swift I thought he was going to body tackle the man. Instead, he held up and leaned down as the man, moving his hands urgently, whispered. Trent nodded. The man continued down the aisle towards the screen.

Trent whispered into his suits left cuff.

"BT?" said Dina. She sighed. She caught me looking right at her, but if there was a need on my part to calm down or oscillate up into full on panic, she didn't provide clue one.

"Excuse me. Everyone. Sorry. Pardon this."

The short man in the suit now stood down in front of the first row of seats, facing the audience.

"My name is Roy McKenna. I'm the manager of this Royal Cinema. I apologize for this interruption. And I don't mean to alarm anyone. I really don't, but a few minutes ago we received a bomb threat."

There were gasps in the crowd. The gasps outnumbered by the number of people that tagged colorful nicknames to the character of the threat maker.

"As a precaution, we're clearing out all the theaters. I know. I know. I'm so sorry. This was a special night. It was my great honor to host it, I mean, we all love Maddy, and again, this was a great honor, but...This is the best thing we can do to make sure everyone is safe. So if you could all form some lines," he pivoted and pointed to the glowing green Exit signs book ending the screen, "your best bet are these exits here. Trust me. If you head for the lobby, it's going take you all night to get out of the building. Already out there it's-"

He blew out his cheeks and waved his hand weakly like forget it, those people were lost to us.

*

Outside, Dad checked on me before cutting through the crowd. Two SUVs waited in the narrow lane behind the theater and The Wagon Wheel. The front bumpers on the idling vehicles pointed opposite the flow of the foot traffic. Jack and Maddy had been escorted into them promptly. I'd come out the theater exit only a step or two behind them and the SUVs were already there, engines running, waiting to whisk the movie stars away from the bomb threat.

I moved across the lane and as far away from the movie theater as I could, and watched people stream out the theater and turn for the corner where they could head back towards the rest of the mall. No one seemed scared.

Dad backed away from the lead SUV. The second he was clear, the back door slammed shut, and the two vehicles pulled away. He joined me, and we watched the two vehicles drive down and eventually turn left around the far end of the mall, out of sight.

Just about then the few remaining would be premiere attendees exited the theater. The doors slammed shut. Then two ushers shoved their respective doors open, looked at us, and let the doors close again.

In the relative quiet, I heard my cell phone buzz inside my purse.

I answered it and heard: "Jesus Christ, are you ok?"

Sherman.

I told him we were fine. A moment later we saw him come stumbling around the same side of the theater that all those people had been vanishing around just minutes ago. He ran the few feet and was pale and breathing harshly. You'd think he hadn't seen me in years rather than just a couple hours.

Reality settling in, he'd given up finding convenient parking and out of the car, sprinted several blocks, nearly getting run over in the process

Sweaty and breathless, he was trying to convince the idiot in the ticket booth that the pass in his hand was actually the right kind of pass to gain admittance when the ticket taker was drawn away from the window.

When the ticket taker reappeared, he told Sherman about the bomb threat.

After that, dealing with the shock, Sherman waited outside the theater entrance, hoping to see me in the crowd as it oozed on out steadily.

When I didn't show and didn't show he finally wised up that there was a stream of people coming around the side of the theater.

The narrow lane behind the theater widened into the actual rear parking lot. The three of us walked towards Dad's truck. Before the SUVs took off, Jack had told Dad he thought they might just go home. Maddy had been barely speaking, muffled by shock or rage.

We slowly walked towards the truck, all a little quiet, thinking how awful this all was. How pissed and sad Maddy must feel.

"I looked for Nick," I told Sherman. "When we got here I looked for him. I didn't see him anywhere."

"I didn't see him either. I mean I didn't think to look for him, but...He's such an asshole."

"Who's this?" asked Dad.

"Nick Verney. You know. Tyler's little brother?"

Dad made a face like a full decade on he still hadn't quite got the taste of Tyler's exploits out of his mouth.

"You said he took that post down," I said.

"He did," said Sherman.

"Maybe he did it so there wouldn't be a trail. Evidence."

"You mean brag about it, but then try and not brag about it right before you do it?"

I nodded. "Something like that."

Dad's phone rang. He stopped and pulled it out of his suit jacket.

While he talked – it sounded like he might be talking to Jack – Sherman leaned in near me and whispered, "I know this probably isn't the best time, but can I tell you how nice you look?"

I blushed.

"You should wear dresses more often, Lucy McCall."

"I don't know about that." The compliment and the resulting blush had stirred up nerves. I played with my hair, incapable of looking at him. I did think to waggle my wrist and the bracelet at him.

"It's probably just this." I pointed at my face. "It averts attention from this." He started to protest.

Dad hung up and put his phone back in the suit jacket.

"They went to the after party," he said.

"The what?" asked Sherman.

"The post-premiere party. At the country club."

Dad looked downcast.

"Did Jack say how Maddy was?"

"No," said Dad. "Not well is my guess."

The plan was Dad would drive Sherman to his car, parked four blocks away from the mall. From there Sherman and I would drive to the country club.

Sitting on the seat in between Dad and Sherman while Sherman gave directions, I wondered what would happen to Nick if Dina got a hold of him. If Maddy got a hold of him. I knew I could bloody his nose. That hesitation even a jerk like Nick Verney would have about hitting a girl would totally give me the opening I needed.

He'd done it. He'd phoned the threat. There wasn't a doubt in my mind, and I hoped when karma came looking for him, and found him it was in a foul, foul mood.

Chapter 26

Before full-blown movie stardom, but after Maddy became kind of semi-famous, Mom and Dad were invited to join the Ashmond Country Club. They actually went to a dinner for prospective members, just to see what the experience was like.

Mom had said the women were blue-haired plastic surgery survivors meaner than a one-eyed alley cat with an anal fissure. Dad was the only man there that didn't make her want to "sew it up and forget I had one to begin with."

Mom.

Once she got on a roll, she could kind of take your breath away.

Too worried about Maddy in the aftermath of the bomb threat I didn't drink in all the country club opulence, at least not in grand detail. Tall hedges sectioned the parking lot into three rows. Dad parked near the parking lot entrance. Sherman parked just a few spaces closer to the main building than Dad. Walking towards the entrance, Dad told Sherman he ought to park closer to the exit like Dad had. Avoid the rush come the end of the night. He didn't push it once Sherman's teenager's indifference became evident.

Those familiar black SUVs were parked near the entrance to the main building, probably for the purpose of loading up the celebrities quickly for getaways.

Walking towards the main doors, the smell of recently mown grass floated on the air. The sun was setting in the west, to our right, and the outer fringe of the golf course, the grass, and trees, were painted a slight golden cast. Copper statuary lining the steps acquired a molten quality under the light from the sun slipping low on the horizon.

Indoors were the expected posh highlights. Chandelier, check. A lot of windows in ornate frames, check. Golf course and swimming pool visible out back, check.

The man in the tux checking invitations in the foyer looked down his nose at Sherman – outfit in a gray suit jacket, black t-shirt, and no tie. The man's facial spasms mimicking those of a snobby waiter in some Hollywood movie where high class and no class clash for 90 minutes.

The country club was pretty empty, but we were pretty early. Food was still being set up on tables, and the brass band hadn't arrived, but their seating arrangement was in place.

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 head count. 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 on 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 the 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 the 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 in 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 other than 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 around 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 other 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.

Right across the street from the athletic field was Eaton's dinky sized golf course. And across from where the street curved past the swimming pool was the lot for all the city's trucks - recycling and garbage and the combo sand/plow truck.

In the immediate area, the residential houses were few.

In other words, a good spot to drop someone off if you didn't want any witnesses.

The cops figured I'd been dropped off near the swimming pool.

My heels were on the ground near the pool's fence. Either tossed out of a vehicle or handed to me and I'd dropped them at some point in my zombie-like forward motion.

While the cops were slowly, tenderly asking me questions, the trackwalker stood away from us down on the track. A cop stood with her. She started crying. She apologized. Said she didn't know why she was crying.

The way she looked at me and then away from me, it was like she knew I was going to die.

Chapter 30

Dad, a nurse, and a female doctor – Dr. Hunt – were in my hospital room. Dad looked like he hadn't slept in days.

The nurse and the doctor both had these practiced looks on their faces that Mom said they must teach at the medical school. Calm, reassuring, hiding something. That's what those practiced looks said. Something awful has happened, and we're going to tiptoe around it for as long as possible.

First, they told me that I'd been drugged.

But I was going to be ok. I should just take it easy for a few days. They'd taken some blood and were running tests on it just to be sure I hadn't contracted anything via the hypodermic needle.

Second, Dr. Hunt told me that they'd checked me out for signs of sexual assault. The tests had come back negative.

"Why did you check for that?"

Dr. Hunt looked at Dad. He nodded.

The doctor said, "You'd been abducted and drugged, and your father and the police had reason to believe there was a chance some sexual assault might have occurred."

She paused for a moment before saying, "But it didn't. Ok, Lucy? It didn't. If it had we would have found some evidence. We didn't. We found nothing to suggest any sexual assault. The thing you should focus on is rest. You were given a tranquilizer and then pumped full of sedatives over a short course of time. You're going to be fine. But you need to take it easy. Ok?"

When I nodded, I could feel the purpled bruise the size of a half dollar lurking above my left eyebrow. It was tender. About the only good thing to come from its presence was touching it woke me up. I felt groggy. I felt like I might feel groggy for the rest of my life. When I pressed the bruise, I could feel a charge radiate up into my scalp and down into the back of my eyeball. My left elbow and both knees felt like the nerve endings were more or less exposed. Plenty of places letting me know I was still alive.

They'd checked me for signs of sexual assault.

I didn't remember being assaulted. Of course, I didn't even remember being checked for evidence of it here in the hospital.

"We'd advise you to stay for observation, but that decision is up to you."

After the doctor and the nurse and their reassuring looks left the room, Dad sat down in the chair next to the bed.

The last time he'd looked this drained had been right at the end of Mom's battle with cancer. I couldn't be sure, but I thought he looked worse right now.

"Where's Sherman?" I asked.

"He's fine."

"Is Maddy still here? It's Sunday. I know that. I know she was leaving Saturday."

Dad nodded.

"Dad."

No response.

"Dad. What's going on?"

"Maddy..."

"Is she ok?"

He exhaled and sat forward, put his elbows on his knees.

"Dad," I whispered. "Tell me she's ok."

He looked up at me from beneath his brow line.

"They took her, Lucy. First, they kidnapped you, and then they took her. We don't know..."

He shook his head and put a hand up to cover his eyes, trapping those tears to the inside of his eyelids before they dared drip out.

Chapter 31

SUVs rented and driven by the Lucentologist security detail had exploded outside the Ashmond Country Club Friday night.

Two initially exploded. Eventually, it would be determined that those two had been driven to Eaton Middle and High School earlier Friday. No one had kept an eye on them while Maddy and Jack were inside at the assembly.

The explosions were powerful enough they consumed the two SUVs parked next to them and damaged another half dozen vehicles parked in proximity.

Given the property damage – miraculously - no one was killed or injured by the blasts with the exception of a couple of smokers standing outside the front of the country club. One got hit by burning fragments of metal.

Attention drawn to that violent event, no one out on the country club patio noticed really when Sherman and I were attacked. I got hit with tranquilizers. Sherman was Tasered. Sherman was left at poolside. I was grabbed and ferried into the dark.

Tire tracks on the golf course led the police to the gate between the grounds and Silver Ridge. A golf cart belonging to the country club had been abandoned on the Silver Ridge side of the gate. A garage on the country club property had been broken into. The cart used to transport my unconscious body taken from the stable of golf carts.

They didn't know who had taken me. Or why.

The reason came to light when a ransom demand was made early Saturday morning, right after midnight.

The call was made to Dad's cell phone.

The voice was distorted digitally. The distorted voice informed Dad the signal was being rerouted to several cell towers. In other words - untraceable.

Everyone was still at the country club. The kidnappers told Dad to find someplace he could talk in private. Away from the cops. Maddy noticed Dad's look and followed him.

Dad used the library, the very same room Maddy and Horace had employed for the consult.

The kidnappers wanted cash. It would be in the neighborhood of a million. Maybe more. Maybe less. They were still crunching numbers, deciding my value.

The caller promised convincing evidence that I was being held.

Two photos had been sent to Dad's e-mail.

He was fluent enough in using his cell phone he brought up the e-mail and looked.

They were pictures of me.

The first was a close up of my face, eyes shut, my hair still in the same style from when I'd been at the country club.

The second was a bird's eye view, me on my back on a bed, still asleep or at least out of it. My green dress was pushed up around my throat, my bra undone, exposing my breasts, and my underwear pulled down around my thighs, exposing pubic hair.

A follow-up call reinforced the initial call's insistence that the cops be kept out of the situation. If not, I would not be coming home. The caller told Dad to imagine the sort of things that could be done to a young woman held hostage. They would be done if instructions weren't followed. A record both visual and audio would be made while those things were done. Dad would have a permanent record of my painful last hours of life.

Maddy told Jack and Horace and Aster what was going on. Dad seemed too out of it to argue with her.

Jack thought ahead. Being one of the few people on the planet with a net worth in excess of $100 million, he had a personal banker available 24/7. He put in a call and had $2 million cash withdrawn from his account and packed and placed on a personal jet near Los Angeles. It would've been even more, but he'd topped the limit. 12 hours from now he could get a second $2 million, need be.

The jet was in the air and headed north before the kidnappers called Dad shortly before 1:30 a.m. Saturday and told him they'd decided they wanted half a million, cash.

First, they wanted Dad to bring the money.

Minutes later they called and said instead Jack had to bring the ransom.

Five minutes after that, they called and said it had to be Maddy.

Maddy had to bring it, alone, or I'd suffer. First I'd suffer. Then I'd be killed.

*

At a certain point past Kitty Ferguson's where East Jennings Road starts to loop and turn back towards town, one of the roads out to the woods begins.

About a half mile north of Kitty's place, Old Man Road starts thickly graveled then as it straightens and starts to rise up into the hills, the gravel thins and it turns into a dirt road. The higher in elevation you go, the more ruts show up in the road. It gets very bumpy very fast. About 5 miles from our house, a side road off of Old Man cuts north into the trees and leads you to a cabin partially visible from the main road.

The cabin wasn't used. Ownership was up in the air due to a contested will. An elderly rancher's widowed wife, his second, 35 years his junior, was battling the dead man's children for control of the estate, including the cabin.

This was the designated drop.

Maddy knew where it was. Back in high school, she'd been out to the cabin for underage parties. At parties, Tyler Verney had hit on her mercilessly, but usually by the time he worked up the courage to hit on the prettiest girl in his class he was only minutes from puking and passing out, sometimes in that order, sometimes not.

The kidnappers told Dad Maddy had to bring the money, alone. She couldn't have a cell phone with her. The car couldn't be outfitted with GPS. There could be no sort of radio transmitter enclosed with the cash. The bills could not be marked.

The kidnappers would know if their rules had been broken. If the rules were broken, I'd die.

*

The local cops didn't know about Dad's contact with the kidnappers. Just like they'd insisted, he played dumb. He was in enough shock from my disappearance the cops bought it when he said he hadn't heard anything. Told them all the incoming calls he was getting were from friends of the family. People concerned about my well-being.

During one of the phone calls to the house during that long dark Saturday morning, the kidnappers asked to speak to Horace Walton.

The voice told Horace they knew he had friends in high places.

Friends with airplanes and friends that might be able to track the movements of anyone picking up what Maddy was dropping off.

Any sign that those friends had been contacted by Horace and were setting up a sting of any sort and Maddy's sister's spilled blood would be on Horace's hands.

In fact, the voice promised, carved somewhere into my dead body would be the words 'Horace Walton did this.' Photos of the grim carving would be made public.

There was little in life that threw the head of the church into a panic. Belief in the dictates of the church and the exercises believers performed eradicated the possibility of panic. Once you were Lucid, 100% Lucid, panic, fear, anger, all those common traps were impossible to fall into.

When Horace handed the phone back to Dad, he didn't look panicked unless panicked meant looking white as a sheet and incapable of blinking and incapable of acknowledging voices asking him if he was all right.

*

Maddy was late returning from the drop.

Then she was really late.

The kidnappers said they'd call once they had the money in hand. Instructions on my being handed over would follow.

Shadows elongated, and the sun began to drop in the sky.

Incapable of standing the wait any longer, Dina and Trent and Jack and Dad loaded up into an SUV and sped out to the long unused cabin.

The rental car Maddy had driven out was parked at the cabin. There was no sign of Maddy or the money. The cabin was locked. They hollered Maddy's name. There was no response.

There was no sound out in the woods, but for the wind and occasional groan from the tall hundreds of years old trees, tilting rhythmically, far outside the worry and pain and confusion of the intruders on the ground.

*

There was no further word from the kidnappers.

There was no sign of Maddy or me the rest of Saturday, not until early the following morning when I appeared next to the bleachers, interrupting the trackwalker's morning exercise routine.

Chapter 32

Dad stood up from his chair.

"What are you doing up, honey?"

I shrugged and walked past the living room towards the kitchen. I'd put on pants and sneakers before coming downstairs.

If I was in a robe or pajamas, especially in front of guests, I felt near naked. Given the description of the one photo taken of me while kidnapped, I wanted to feel as far from naked as possible for a long time. I'd already showered once since being discharged from the hospital. If I pondered the circumstance of the photo, wondering after being still and unconscious while some stranger disrobed me, partially or wholly, a second shower didn't seem out the realm of possibility.

I'd already talked to the cops. Told them as much as I could remember about everything since Friday night. The deputy was nice and a young guy, too. Deputy Llewellyn. Warmed me up to the awful questions by stating his younger sister was still in school – some 7th grader. I'd lied and told him I'd seen her in the halls at least a couple times.

I was careful in my answers, not giving a hint that I'd turned up, but now Maddy was gone.

No one knew but us. None of us wanted to take the chance that involving the cops would get Maddy killed.

It wasn't like we were without resources. The security personnel were all ex-military or ex-law enforcement. They were looking for Maddy.

Dad asked, "Do you need anything?"

"I got it," I said.

"You sure?"

"Yep."

Dad sat back down into the aged living room armchair. It possessed an identifiable squeak at this late point in its existence. Aster remained on the couch, her tablet in her lap. She'd looked up from it briefly. She seemed to have jumped from having a librarian with a bug up her ass mode to full out brittle old lady in just a couple days time. The shock of Maddy's disappearance couldn't help but affect different people different ways, none of them good.

Aster's eyes and cheeks looked pink and sore.

I didn't drink much coffee. Or pop. Our long distance coach drummed into our heads that caffeine and sugar could be the enemy if we didn't walk a fine line. Your body was an engine. You poured in too much crud, that engine would perform poorly. I wasn't up for walking fine lines. I was in stumble mode, pure and simple.

While the coffee started to percolate, I stared out the window over the sink towards the backyard. A column of clouds marched across the sky, none too close to the one in front or behind, like a great big sky cowboy was herding fluffy formless cows on over eastern Washington.

Jack stood out there alone. One SUV remained parked in the backyard in case he needed it. Dina and Trent were elsewhere. There was no sign of Horace and Nawzat. Neither Dad nor Aster had offered up an explanation of where they were or what Horace might be doing to get Maddy back. It could just be they were waiting for me to wake up a little so I could comprehend anything they were saying.

I'd looked at my reflection before coming down. I looked like my Aunt Beverly in the mornings. Her excuse was being on the brink of 60. Post-breakfast and 10 minutes in the bathroom she shed about a decade and a half.

For me, it'd been a busy Sunday.

Found at the track.

Checked up on at the hospital.

Checked out of the hospital.

Promised at the hospital that I'd have no trouble getting plenty of rest once I got home.

The doctor didn't know about Maddy though.

After that, home, and an attempt at rest, and then the deputy showed up.

Our story was this – Maddy, glad that I was ok, was gone back to LA for shooting on a movie and seeking some high powered PI to help look into the whole kidnapping of her little sister issue. Jack was hanging out doing some location scouting and would leave sometime soon.

It kept the questions at bay. We hoped.

The deputy met Jack, and was pleasant enough, but didn't seem overwhelmed. Jack turned on the charm. If he had worry it didn't show. Jack told the deputy how much he enjoyed meeting law enforcement. He sometimes thought he'd have ended up a cop if the acting thing hadn't worked out.

The deputy told us not to worry about any news vans coming out to bother us. Sheriff Younger had made it known they'd need public assembly permits if they wanted to park on the county roads like that. Fun time was over. Fun time was last week, pre-kidnappings and cars blowing up at country clubs. Moving forward, a permit would be needed. It was awful hard getting a permit on a Sunday.

Once Deputy Llewellyn was gone I went back up to my room. There was e-mail and Facebook messages to check, but I ignored them. Dad said Sherman had called numerous times. Kitty, too.

It was too much.

It was like Rip Van Winkle. I'd been hit by tranquilizers and fallen out of consciousness in one world and woken up in another.

It was possible I'd fall asleep, and wake-up and in that world Maddy would never have even existed. Or was living that life she said she'd gladly settle for, schlepping shifts at the Orange Julius, content.

I'd lain in bed and finally given up after a whole 15 minutes of trying to rest. With thoughts of Maddy running rampant, there was little chance I'd get to sleep anytime soon.

*

Outside, Jack walked a few steps and stopped. Looked out over the field. Walked a few more steps and stopped. Repeat.

When the beat up truck drove into view a chill coursed through my bones.

One second it wasn't there, the next it was, filling the kitchen window.

It sounded unhealthy. The engine and muffler sounded at the brink of disintegration.

A furry cow dog shape ran back and forth in the truck bed until Uncle Bob came to a full stop. Then Mojo went berserk, barking, waiting for her owner to get out and open the tailgate so she could jump down to the ground. The tailgate down offered a more merciful height obstacle for her aging doggy bones.

I went outside. Mojo's butt wiggled. At sight of me, it wiggled even more. It nearly wiggled enough to make me forget everything.

"Aw, Jesus, Lucy. I'm glad to see you." Uncle Bob hugged me his usual quick hug and then started focusing on Mojo rather than look at whatever people might be standing right there with him. He was always a nervous guy, more so with women than men, the chief complaint of the few lady friends he'd ever managed to make.

Mojo hadn't brought her ball, so I told her to go get a stick.

"Stick, Mojo, stick." She ran off at full speed. Those sticks didn't have a chance.

Jack and Uncle Bob waved. Jack remained at the property line, pacing, occasionally picking up rocks and tossing them. It reminded me of a scene from one of his least successful movies, _Utterly Devoted_ , a romantic comedy made prior to his run of action movie successes. He played a doctor whose dad, a former US Senator, is battling Alzheimer's, and while dealing with that, Jack manages to fall in love with a leukemia patient at his hospital. Jack's character was big on beach walks and flinging rocks into the waves. All that we needed here was transforming the scrub grass to the Pacific Ocean.

"Jesus Christ," muttered Uncle Bob. "Poor son of a bitch." He knew about Maddy vanishing.

Dad came outside.

"Senate," said Uncle Bob. "I don't mean to bother you, but I was wanting to talk to you about the folks moved into the Winks place."

Dad's brow cramped up. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It'll just take a minute." He smiled at me. "Sorry. It seems trivial I know with all the horrible things going on here, but..."

Dad walked and pointed at the same time like they should move off away from me before getting into it. I was too fragile to hear about unhappy renters.

Mojo, stick in mouth, scooted over the dirt, hurtling towards me at something approaching warp speed. She dropped the stick at my feet and then stared at me, imperceptibly moving, like the stick throwing about to occur had to be studied carefully.

Dad and Uncle Bob continued moving to the far corner of the yard, moving slowly, Bob occasionally looking back towards the house like he was waiting for someone to come join him and his older brother in their discussion.

"Go get Jack," I told Mojo. "Go get him." I threw the stick in Jack's direction, but it wasn't quite the same as throwing it at or to him. Mojo had come up with a pretty skinny and light piece of kindling. It could only go so far even if I muscled it.

Aster came outside, her right arm sticking out ahead of her, a cell phone grasped in her hand. Her eyes briefly shifted to Mojo. Aster made a face. I swore Mojo kind of returned the favor.

"It's for you. Dina."

Aster handed me the phone and immediately turned and headed back inside the house. She moved quick like she feared Mojo might try and get her to throw the stick.

Dina and Trent were back up at the Ogden's cabin, looking for clues to Maddy's disappearance. Supposedly Horace knew an L.A. based high-powered investigation agency. A team was on its way here, but they wouldn't arrive until sometime early tomorrow. Until then, Dina and Trent were taking a crack.

The phone connection wasn't the greatest. I had to shout to be heard. I imagined Dina doing the same on her end, probably giving squirrels and owls cause for concern.

She asked me what I remembered about the room. We'd gone over it before. I remember the darkness, being on a bed, some noises, and no real memorable or clue worthy odors.

"There's no evidence of anyone using the cabin," said Dina. "No food other than a few canned items. There's no electricity. There's a generator in a shed, but it doesn't look like it's been run in years."

"You got in?"

"Yes. We got in."

I was awake enough to understand it probably meant they'd broken in.

"You don't think I was held there?" I asked.

"I don't. But I'm not an expert. The team coming tomorrow might have a different opinion."

"How long are they supposed to look?"

"As long as it takes."

"What about Maddy?"

A pause.

I said, "What's happening to her the whole time the 'team' is looking and maybe looking for nothing that ends up being usable evidence? I mean..." I sighed. "I don't know. I'm worried."

"I know."

"What's the cut off for going to the cops? There has to be one right?"

Jack was walking towards me. Mojo, massively pained by my defection from stick throwing, nabbed her toy with her teeth and scooted for Jack.

Dina said, "I don't know. Soon."

"How about now?"

She sighed. "I don't think it's that easy."

"Because Horace doesn't want to?"

"Because we haven't heard from these people since Maddy went missing."

Jack knelt and scratched Mojo's ears. She dropped the stick and Jack picked it up and flicked it to his right. Mojo lunged and ran right over the stick before correcting course, turning and scuffling back to nab it with her teeth.

"But you're right," said Dina. "I don't think we can wait much longer."

She'd hung up by the time Jack was almost right next to me.

He asked, "How you doing?"

"I'm worried about Maddy."

He nodded. Mojo barked. Jack held her stick, and hadn't made to throw it in a little over five seconds. Mojo had rules. Jack spun on heel and fired the stick back the way he'd walked.

"She shouldn't have gone," I said. "None of you guys should have. But especially not..."

"Hey, Lucy, don't say that. She jumped at the chance. She loves you. You're her only sister. She'd do it again in a heartbeat. I guarantee that."

Mojo came back, and Jack threw the stick again.

I felt like crying, just thinking about Maddy taking it upon herself to do what the kidnappers demanded. Making Jack stay. Refusing the security details insistence, they bug her or the car, somewhere, anywhere.

She sacrificed herself. For me.

Dad and Uncle Bob kept conversing. They'd moved even further away from the house. Dad jabbed a finger emphatically. Making some sort of point. I didn't know what those renters had done or were asking for, but the message Bob was supposed to take back to them would not be pleasant.

*

Back inside the house, I used the bathroom upstairs and wandered back into my room. I'd decided it might be time to check in with Sherman. And Kitty. It felt like weeks since I'd seen her. Remembering my coffee, I was about to head back downstairs when Uncle Bob turned over the truck engine.

It wasn't his normal truck. It was the beater he'd been working on.

I felt tingles spread over my arms and up and down the back of my neck.

I stood in place until I could hear the truck had turned out of the drive in the back of the house and was now bumbling down the driveway towards East Jennings Road.

The whole time I'd been held by the kidnappers was mostly a haze, but there were those few things I remembered.

An engine sound in particular.

Uncle Bob's truck, the gurgling clinging to life muffler, matched the sound I'd heard.

Not like a faint sound passing a half-mile away, but like the sound of an engine warming up right beside the dark room where they were keeping me.

Chapter 33

Sherman's phone was busy.

I could guess the content of the messages he'd left for me. I'd rather hear it all from him live rather than listen to the recording. Plus, he tended to ramble. Cute if he was in my good graces, not so much post-SharDi.

Waiting to try and call him again I listened to the first message Kitty had left for me on Friday.

First.

Several more were left on Friday and Saturday, probably stopping once word finally leaked I'd been kidnapped.

I knew Kitty, but we weren't close. I didn't see her outside of the school halls and riding the bus. Earlier in the year we'd worked on a school project and shared our cell numbers with one another.

One call from her was weird enough. I didn't know what to make of the sudden onslaught.

Lucy. Lucy. I've got to talk to you. Right away. I saw...I don't know...I don't know what I saw. Lucy. Please. Call me as soon as you can. Please. This is important.

The second Friday message had been sent 12 minutes later. She sounded very much like she was crying.

Lucy. Lucy. It's me again. Lucy...Nick's dead. Oh my god. Lucy. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. Please, Lucy. Please call me.

I played the message back just to be sure I'd actually heard her words right.

She didn't answer when I called her.

Figures.

She can't reach me when she needs to, and I can't reach her when I need to. The universe remaining ever in balance.

I woke up the computer and looked at the _Ashmond Tribune_ online. I dialed Sherman at the same time.

Dad had stopped getting the local paper. Problem with that being the _Tribune_ 's online content was only available to subscribers. Some of the articles were available to anyone though.

I saw an article on my being kidnapped as well as an update that I'd been found.

Nothing about Nick Verney being dead.

Googling him brought up nothing except for his Facebook account and some Nick Verney's that weren't the jerk that I knew.

Or had known.

I gave up on reaching Sherman and killed the phone.

I checked Facebook. I could see some of Nick's account, but since I'd never marked him as 'Friend' what I could see didn't amount to much.

There was nothing up that confirmed Kitty's message.

My phone went off. I nearly knocked it to the floor trying to grab it.

"Hello."

"Lucy." Sherman sounded relieved.

"Nick's dead?"

It caught him off guard. "Um. Uh. Yeah."

"When?"

"Friday night."

"How?"

"I don't know. I mean they haven't said."

I stood and started to walk around the room.

"Kitty called me. Where's Kitty?"

"Home I guess, I don't know."

"She left a message for me. Do you know what happened?"

"Not really."

"Was anybody else...I mean was it just him? Was it Geoff? Nick's family?"

"No. Just Nick."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know."

"But you've heard. You've heard all kinds of things right?"

Silence.

Finally, he said, "Someone beat him to death." Another silence. "I mean someone just beat him up to the point he...I don't know. That's what I heard."

"Because of the bomb threat?"

"I don't know."

"You haven't talked to Kitty?"

"No."

I did the math in my head.

Kitty called when I'd been at the country club. I couldn't be sure, but she might've called right around the time I'd been shot and knocked out and dragged away. Maybe if I'd had my phone with me and been talking on it, it would've given the kidnappers pause. Uh huh. Probably a fraction of a fraction of pause. They'd taken me with Sherman right there and a bunch of witnesses nearby.

I tried to remember if I'd seen Trent at the country club and if I had when.

Dina knew. I'd told Dina about Nick's threat. His prediction.

And then a bomb threat was made at Royal Cinemas.

And based on the information I'd given them, they went to talk to Nick. Or confront him.

And he was dead.

But killing him...Who would give that order?

Maddy? No. Never.

Jack. No.

Horace. Mr. Skull Face?

Sherman said, "Are you all right?"

"Come get me."

"Oh. Sure."

"Now," I said. "Right now. As fast as you can."

*

Waiting for Sherman, I realized I hadn't asked how he was.

He hadn't been kidnapped, but he'd been Tasered. And for a day or so he'd worried about me. At least I presumed he had.

If the relationship demerits against Uncle Bob were lack of eye contact and near legendary shyness, then mine consisted of poor to staggeringly poor communication. It was another McCall trait. At one point Grandpa had said he blamed it on the sheepherders in the bloodline. Bloody buggers never spoke a word but to their flocks. The habit passed down the line, and so the rest of us paid a price.

Downstairs I told Dad that Sherman was coming over. Dad was staring off into space intently.

I thought about asking him if he was all right. It would seem a lame question. What parent would want to endure what he'd gone through since Friday evening?

I hugged him. Just lunged at him and wrapped him up so he couldn't get up from the chair even if he wanted to.

"We'll find her," I said. "You found me."

He smiled at me, but by the time I'd made it to the door to wait for Sherman outside, the smile had receded. It was like a cloud swimming out from in front of the sun and that moment of daylight almost immediately brought to closure by another cloud clicking into place.

*

I waited down at the end of our driveway. Soon as Sherman pulled into the driveway, I waved at him and got him to pull over to the side of the driveway, about where Ruth had parked her car during Camp Maddy.

I saw his arm work the lock and then I got into the passenger seat.

He stared at me. He put the car into neutral and stared at me.

I said, "Hey."

"Hey."

"Could we-"

He grabbed me. His glasses jammed into my cheek, and he smooched my cheek, my nose, that spot right above my upper lip, my other cheek, and then he got his head tilt just right and applied ample pressure to my lips. No tongue. He was too excited for tongue.

He put his head against my forehead igniting the tender spot. It hurt, but I didn't let on.

"Sorry."

"It's ok."

"I just got. I thought-"

"'Oh, shit. If she's dead, I'll never get that _Game of Thrones_ book back?'"

He laughed. He sat back and looked at me.

"No. Well."

"Maybe."

"Maybe, yeah."

His eyes took in all of me, and kind of jiggered about like he wanted to make sure all the pieces were there. That I wasn't like a NanoLucy and the bits might alter and skitter away all of a sudden.

"You're ok?" I asked.

He nodded. "More or less."

"Did it hurt?"

"The Taser?"

I nodded.

"It was not good."

He sighed. He put his hand on my arm.

"Just making sure you're here."

"I am here. At least I think I am."

He sighed.

"Is it going to upset you to ask for a favor?"

"Name it," he said.

"I want to go see Kitty."

"Sure." He started to shift the car gears.

"We should go...I should tell Dad first."

"Yeah. Ok." He shifted into drive, and we started towards the house. "How's Maddy?"

Oh.

Shit.

I forgot about Sherman not knowing.

I sighed. I pointed towards the steering wheel.

"First things first, you might as well kill the engine. Yeah. Here's good. Yep. Right here. Pull over. And just stop the car."

He did. He looked at me expectantly.

I knew I ought to ask Dad, but I didn't want to bother him with it. One more weight, one more thing to consider.

Chapter 34

When I got out of the car at Kitty's, I got an even bigger hug than Sherman had supplied - although you had to factor in his angle of attack had been impeded by a gearshift.

Kitty's mom was out back weeding the garden. Kitty had been helping, but her mom had excused her once one of Kitty's frequent headaches reached pounding status.

She didn't think her mom would be upset, coming to the conclusion that Kitty had faked the headache, knowing people were coming over. Unlike Sherman's mother, Mrs. Ferguson didn't have a long history of lies crafted by offspring coloring her perceptions.

Kitty had taken some Ibuprofen and was fine so long as she could rub her temples. She sat on the couch in the Ferguson living room and worked at those temples. Sherman and I watched.

She smiled.

"Nick would see me doing this sometimes," she said, "like if I got a headache at school and he'd tell me I was going to rub the stain off onto my fingers."

She looked away from us, embarrassed like maybe she thought it in bad taste to speak of the dead.

She whispered, "He'd say that I was going to get bloody fingers. Like I was having my period."

"Classy," said Sherman.

She shrugged. Then she started to tell us what had happened.

*

Kitty and Geoff had a thing.

They kept it quiet, mostly because if Nick knew, he'd never let Geoff hear the end of it. Nick would be cruel about it. He'd make even more fun of Kitty and her Port Wine Stain than he already did. Secretly, Geoff thought Nick went after her because Nick wanted her.

Despite downplaying their attraction, Nick was already beginning to suspect things between Geoff and Kitty were serious.

On Friday afternoon they'd all three gotten off the bus at the stop serving Nick and Geoff's.

Friday Nick's dad let him have the afternoon and evening off. Once summer rolled around and harvest started, Nick would have to revert to his sunrise to sundown work schedule, all seven days a week. Even that Friday reprieve would dissipate.

Perhaps adding to Nick's disgust with the whole Maddy situation was his folks were attending the _Small Town Girl_ premiere. His dad could care less, but it was a social event, and his mother loved the social events.

Mr. and Mrs. Verney had already left the house by the time the kids arrived in the afternoon. Shopping in the Tri-Cities would be capped off by swinging into Ashmond, and attending the premiere and then the post-premiere party at the country club.

Over at Nick's, they sat around and listened to music – rap, Nick's favorite – and talked. Nick farted. Nick told Kitty some dirty jokes he bet she hadn't heard. Nick kept talking about the movie premiere. How lame the assembly had been. No one in their right mind went to see Jack Ford movies anymore. He brought up how his brother had practically been stalked by Maddy while they were in high school. Unearthed the senior year annual and showed them Maddy's picture. Nick flipped it off. Called her a 'real show biz cooze' if ever one had lived.

He kept telling them how he intended to bring all that premiere horseshit to a halt.

Just wait. He knew the right time to do it, take a dump all over the morons in attendance, including his parents.

Around ten minutes after 6 PM he pulled out what he said was a disposable cell. He'd bought it using cash. He used the phone and called the Royal Cinemas in Ashmond. At least that's whom he said he was calling.

It was quite the restrained performance. Leading up to the call he'd insinuated he might use an accent – either that of a gang banger or Middle Eastern terrorist. Instead, it was pretty much his voice, a slight nerdish tilt tossed in.

Threat finished he hung up and put his arms in the air and yelled, "Advantage Team Verney!" He turned the stereo volume up to ear bleed levels and danced around the Verney home to Kanye West.

After that Geoff lost interest in hanging around. Said he was hungry. Nick had food, but nothing Geoff wanted to eat. When he left, despite Nick's protests, Kitty left with him. Geoff just shook his head as Nick hollered after the two, how sad it was they didn't want to chill with the baddest motherfucker Eaton High School would ever produce. Crossing East Jennings to get to Geoff's they could still hear the stereo thumping from Nick's.

Over at Geoff's, they talked for a bit. Geoff said they could go into town and eat if Kitty wanted to. That's when she realized she'd left her jacket over at Nick's. Managed to grab the backpack, but not the jacket.

She might not otherwise care, but her phone was in the pocket. She had a knack for losing her phone. Geoff started to laugh at her and then realized he shouldn't since he'd lost his phone earlier in the week and wouldn't be getting a replacement anytime soon – not until he could pay for it himself.

She told Geoff she'd be right back. He offered to go over with her, but she wasn't scared of Nick. Free of an audience he was low-key. She'd caught him looking at her every now and then in that certain way a girl knows means someone likes them. He kind of excited her, but at the same time, he repelled her.

It'd already been an hour since they'd left Nick's.

The music had been turned down. Way down. She couldn't hear it crossing East Jennings or even starting to get near the front yard.

Two big picture windows bordered the front door. Either one offered a view into the front of the house.

Kitty slowed down at sight of what lay on the porch. It looked like her jacket. Halfway across the yard, she knew it was her jacket.

Stepping up on the porch she knelt and picked it up and felt around, sure enough finding her phone in a pocket.

Maybe Nick got pissed off and just threw the jacket out on the porch.

About to knock on the door and ask what was up with that, she heard a noise from inside the house.

Glancing through a window, she saw Nick being dragged shoulders first from the living room down the long hall into the back of the house. Sunlight shooting through the kitchen briefly illuminated him. Blood covered Nick's face. The figure dragging Nick had hold of him under Nick's arms.

Kitty wasn't quite sure what she'd seen. Or who. She'd focused on Nick, not the person dragging him.

She dialed Geoff. Realized that wouldn't do her any good. Plus she didn't know the landline number to Geoff's either. Then she thought of me. I lived nearby. She called and left a short message.

A door on the back of the house slammed shut. She froze in place. Footsteps on gravel in the back. A car door opened. Shut. Footsteps across gravel a second time. The back door opening and the screen door slowly squeaking to a close on its hinges.

Kitty had decided to just run for it when the person came back out. She froze on the porch, listening as the person got into their vehicle and started the engine.

She couldn't stay on the front porch.

Driving around the house and starting up the driveway, all the person had to do was look left at the right moment and they would see her.

Kitty snuck to the edge of the porch and climbed the railing and hopped down to the yard. She edged up the side of the porch and stuck her head out around it, watching the car speed up the Verney driveway towards East Jennings. It turned right onto Jennings and vanished fairly fast, accelerating back towards town.

The front door remained unlocked.

Inside the house, she called out. The power to the stereo was still on. The speakers turned so loud she could hear them, the static, even though no music played.

Trickles of blood on the kitchen floor led Kitty to the door to the back porch and then through it.

Cows in the pasture seemed content. The same for the pigs in their pen and nothing seemed weird in the henhouse out back.

At sight of Nick, Kitty puked.

His face had been pulverized. The top of his skull had been crushed. His brow line and his face were skewed off the skull like the cheese slopping off a still hot slice of pizza.

He didn't look like he was breathing. She had to hood her eyes with one hand, keeping the face from out even her peripheral vision, reaching out towards his chest with the other to check for a heartbeat. There was none. She drew her hand back from his chest, convinced one of his hands would snap up and snag her wrist while his misshaped face attempted to say something to her. Just her name, riding around in his throat like a weathered door creaking on hinges in a doorway.

She sat hunched on the back porch listening to the cows and the pigs make the occasional sound.

She heard a car engine, and she froze, waiting for it to turn into the Verney driveway, but it just kept moving down Jennings.

She called 911. Then called me and left the second message.

Chapter 35

Kitty felt like a disappointment to the police.

She hadn't seen the killer or processed the make of car or even retained partial license plate information. Too scared for the brain to let any of that sink in. It'd skimmed off like raindrops.

And then Geoff had totally freaked Kitty out by insinuating that if the cops started poking around, whoever had killed Nick would come looking for potential witnesses, seeking to silence them before they told too much.

He wasn't a very good almost boyfriend.

I told both Kitty and Sherman as much as I could remember from my whole ordeal leaving out the nude photo the kidnappers had sent Dad.

Telling her tale had settled Kitty down. She'd halted rubbing her temples. Listening to me she looked bored or had just spaced out a little, trying to process it all.

She pointed at me and said, "Grizzly."

"Or gristly." I'd told them some of the things I thought I'd heard from the dark room. The engine noise, that rumbling muffler, I'd left out the fact that it sounded a lot like Uncle Bob's junker truck.

"So like a name?" asked Kitty. "Like someone's name?"

"I guess so."

She looked like she knew something and wanted to share, but was unsure of the consequences.

"There was this one time when I was on the bus, I mean at school, after school, you know, and there weren't that many people on board yet, and some guy showed up like he got on the bus and knew Pat Corley," said Kitty. "Started talking to him. It was like they knew each other and everything. And at some point, he called Pat 'Grizzly.' Like, 'see you around, Grizzly. Have fun driving the bus.' I remember all that because the guy was really big and kind of scary looking. I mean even bigger than like Mr. Pederson. Not as, um, not in as good of shape I guess is what I mean. And he had a high pitch laugh. I mean it really didn't fit. That laugh with how big the guy was."

I asked, "Is he from here?"

"Who?" asked Sherman.

"Pat."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. My brain's half asleep," I said. "But...If it's a nickname, maybe it's some sort of sports thing. Are any of the mascots around here the 'Grizzlies'?"

Our knowledge was weak. With the exception of my involvement in long distance all three of us were in the ranks of the non-athlete, the non-cool.

"Hold on. I think I know who we could ask about Pat." Sherman had his phone out and was dialing already.

"Who are you calling?"

"My grandpa." Once Grandpa Blackwell picked up, Sherman stood up and started walking around the Ferguson's house.

The bar was called Blackwell's. People made fun of it a little, but it wasn't the establishment so much as the clientele. They did have good food. On some of our dates, Sherman would call ahead and swing in real quick, get us each a salmon sandwich along with some spicy fries.

Newsworthy or rumor-worthy fights, arguments, and relationship disintegrations seemed the order of the day at the bar. One of the biggest put downs among boys seemed to be insinuating that your friend or enemy could only ever get laid by picking up some chick down at Blackwell's.

Last summer's marquee bar drama had involved a guy driving into the bar, right through a wall. It was 3 a.m. when the accident occurred. The driver hadn't been a patron earlier that morning or during the prior nighttime hours. However, at the time of the accident, he was, of course, plastered.

Once the insurance money was in hand, a carpentry crew assembled from the ranks of regulars tackled the repair. Pat Corley was a semi-regular. Sherman remembered his grandpa mentioning Pat when he'd been telling Sherman's mom about the guys helping out.

After ending the call, Sherman told us, "It's a tattoo."

He reached up and patted at his shoulder blades. "Like right back here."

"Of a grizzly bear?" asked Kitty.

"Of a grizzly bear. When they were fixing the bar, it was kind of hot. Pat worked shirt free a little bit."

That information settled down on us.

"Lucy, when you were being...When they had you... Did you hear a weird high pitch laugh?" asked Kitty. When I didn't react, she replicated the noise as she'd heard it.

"Stoner's laugh," said Sherman. "Totally."

"No," I told Kitty. "Not like that. Not quite like that."

Still, I concentrated, just trying to make sure that I hadn't. If I sorted through the memories again and again, I might see one of the impressions a little bit different, just different enough that it might lead us to Maddy.

I didn't want to unearth too much and come across memories best left buried. I was afraid of remembering hands working at my bra or pulling my dress up. I asked Kitty if I could use their bathroom.

Behind the closed door, I sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared at the sink, repeating the moments the doctor had said there'd been no sign of sexual assault.

I wanted to take a shower. At the same time, I doubted I could scrub enough. It'd be like trying to clean an oil spill. The obvious parts of it might get cleaned up, but there'd always be more, it'd always be present, somewhere, under the water, always wrong, always changed, little globs of it washing ashore when you least expected it.

Back in the living room Kitty and Sherman waited.

Sherman asked if I was ok. I told him I was just tired.

Once I sat, Sherman said, "He was in the military."

"Pat?"

Sherman nodded.

"He's older, you know, so it was like the first Gulf War, not the 9/11 thing, but he went over and fought that. And then I guess my grandpa was saying that after that Pat kind of did private security work for some companies. Like military companies and all."

"Like Quantum," I said.

Sherman gave me a look and shrugged. He continued. "He's not one of those guys that bellies up to the bar and brags about that shit. He kind of keeps it quiet. Grandpa likes him. Or I don't know. Likes that he isn't a total butthole, I guess."

We all looked at each other. I laughed.

"What?" Sherman grinned at me.

"It's just...It's...This is kind of ludicrous. I mean, yeah, there's that, the whole military thing, but why would...I mean you said that was..."

"'91 was the Gulf War. Well, Gulf War 1.0."

"There were two," I said. "You got hit by the Taser. I got tranquilizers shot into me. Then I got taken away."

"Right. And then when they took Maddy that had to be at least two guys, too, right?"

Soon as he said it, he made a face. And swore.

Kitty's eyes bulged. She looked at me.

Too late. She'd processed his revelation.

"Sorry," Sherman whispered.

"It happens," I sighed. "I guess."

Chapter 36

Kitty's mom had worked several jobs, from the grocery store to the hair salon to volunteering for the meals on wheels. She had a rough idea of just about where everyone in Eaton lived. She knew where Pat lived. Mrs. Ferguson also knew that Pat's aunt Ellen lived in town on Lemon Street.

Once we ventured outside to pester Mrs. Ferguson Kitty's headache returned. She wasn't one for the sun when a migraine was at full force. The last I saw of her Sunday she was lying down on her bed and thanking me for setting a towel next to the bed just in case she really did have to barf.

Sherman and I drove into town with a plan. We'd go past Pat's house. If the Jeep was there, then it'd serve to defuse the growing concern that he'd had some part in everything going on since Friday.

I'd seen him drive up to school in his Jeep before, arriving for work while I was jogging with others out to the track during last period gym class. It was red, not bright red, but fading with age. If the weather held steady, he left off the canopy.

Pat's house was set right in the middle of the block. There weren't any trees around it. People out doing yard work up and down the street. Plus there were kids out in one of the lawns next door playing.

It didn't seem very likely he'd be holding Maddy hostage there. Or that I'd been held hostage there either.

No Jeep parked in front of Pat's. I knocked on his door. Blushing, feeling like the whole world was watching I walked around to the back of the house and tried the doorknob. Locked. Peering into windows revealed only the stillness inside.

Two little girls and the little boy playing on the lawn next door didn't know if their neighbor had been home today or yesterday. I asked if their parents were home. Their older sister was.

At my knocking, a sullen 12-year-old in a checkered shirt appeared behind the screen door.

"I'm looking for Pat Corley. Your neighbor. Have you seen him at all this weekend? No? Do you know if he's even been home at all? No. Ok. Thank you."

She hadn't spoken a word. Just moved her pinched, glaring head on her neck to answer my questions. Perfecting her teenage Maddy impression.

Walking away from the house back to Sherman's car something shattered inside the house like the sullen girl had randomly murdered a vase purely on impulse.

*

Pat's Aunt Ellen lived in a yellow-shingled single-wide trailer enclosed by a chain link fence. The location was fortified by at least two small incredibly yappy little dogs. I could hear them as soon as I'd closed the gate behind me. Curbside, Sherman waited in the car.

The roof extended out into a kind of carport that wasn't a carport since there was no car there, only traces in the grass indicating where there'd once been a driveway.

The concrete steps leading to the door were coated in a green felt like substance decaying with time. Even before I knocked the two little bodyguards were at the base of the screen door, hopping and snapping and clawing at the mesh, trying to get through to get at my shins.

A couple of prolonged plunges of the doorbell produced Aunt Ellen. A normal looking brown-haired woman with a normal enough scowl. It wasn't for me though. She yelled at Tiny and Shooter, and they beat a retreat into the bowels of the trailer.

At sight of me, a normal enough looking teenage girl, Aunt Ellen pushed the screen door open, asking me just what it was I wanted like I could only ever be up to something pleasant like selling cookies or signing people up for a pledge drive.

On the drive over, Sherman and I decided I should go for dumb rather than slutty. Most good decent people had an aversion to slutty. Plus I didn't know how to convincingly play slutty.

I'd almost asked Sherman, "You think I could do it if I channel my inner SharDi Leasey?" but left that one chambered.

The switch from one approach to the other consisted of this - instead of trying to find out where Pat was because he owed me money, I went with I needed to find Pat because I owed _him_ money. Sherman had handed me a wad of bills to clutch in my hand for a prop.

Smiling at Ellen Corley, I said, "I don't mean to bother you and all, but I need to get some money to Pat Corley. I thought I knew where he lived, but there wasn't anyone there when I knocked. No car either. You're his aunt, right?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Oh good," I said. "Is he in town right now? 'Cause I told him I could pay him back this next week, but my folks told me if I borrow money from someone I got to get it back to them as soon as possible." I waggled the hand clutching bills about. "So I got it, so I got to get it to him I guess. He, uh, he heard me saying I needed the money to get my boyfriend a birthday present and he loaned it to me." I smiled. "That Pat. He's a great guy."

It felt like too much padding. For all I knew, Pat and his aunt hated each other's guts, but ultimately all she said was, "I don't think he's back yet."

"Oh. He's out of town?"

"He's out of- Well he told me he was going out of town this weekend – He and his friend Arlo – Is that right? That's right. Arlo. Pat said they were going out of town to a gun shoot."

"A gun shoot?"

"Mmm-hm." Nodding her head. "Pat's a member of one of the gun clubs in town. I don't think it's an official shoot. Just a chance to go drink beer and show his stuff with a gun." She laughed. "Hopefully not in that order." She laughed again, and I smiled to help her enjoy her joke.

"Well, darn. Do you know when he's supposed to be back?"

"Oh," she said. "Sometime tonight I would imagine."

"Right." I sighed a mighty sigh. "Well, does he have a phone number you know of? I mean, if I could at least call him and tell him I had his money then I could at least tell my folks I'd done that much."

"I have it written down. Let me go check."

"Sorry for the bother."

She made a little noise and then stutter stepped a turn around and went back inside the house, the screen door shutting behind her. Her body widened amply at the hips. The grunts accompanying the stiff movements she seemed barely capable of left me feeling guilty.

Number in hand she returned. Once she opened the door to pass the sticky note to me the dogs chattered at her in yips and she called them bad little boogers, barking at a perfectly nice girl.

Back at Sherman's car, we pondered what to do with Pat's phone number. We guessed he had caller ID. So if he had a hand in taking me and then taking Maddy, how would he react to getting a call if the caller implied they knew what he was up to?

My phone rang. We both jumped a little. I checked caller ID. It was Dad.

"They didn't find anything," he said.

"At the cabin?"

"Nothing. At least nothing they'll tell me."

"I'd imagine they'd tell us if they had."

He grunted a little disbelief. "You all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm with Sherman."

"All right."

"I'll be back before dark. We might get something to eat. Or something. I don't know. Do you want me to check in before then? Just so you don't worry?"

He sighed. "If you want to."

"I can. I will," I said.

"You sure you're ok being up and running around?"

"It's better than just sitting there."

"Ok."

"Ok," I said. "We'll find her. They'll find her."

He didn't reply. I said, "I can hear you nodding." I heard him grunt.

"Love you, Dad."

"I know. Love you, too."

Hanging up, I stared out the windshield at the street.

I didn't know what good it would do to tell Dad about this string of thought we were following. I didn't know if we should tell Dina or Jack. Not after what happened to Nick. What if they were responsible for killing Nick? Would the same thing happen to Pat? And what if he had nothing to do with Maddy and me getting taken? I didn't want to do anything to get him killed. I didn't want anything to do with getting anybody killed.

Something sparked in my head. I called Dad right back. I asked him if he had Ruth Arnett's phone number. He didn't ask why I wanted it, but he let me have it. I thanked him and hung up.

Sherman was thumbing his phone, browsing the Internet.

"Where's the shoot?" he asked.

"What shoot?"

"You said the lady said Pat was at a gun shoot."

"I don't know."

Looking at his phone, he said, "The Ashmond Gun Club holds shoots once a month. Every third Saturday of the month."

"You're on their website?"

He looked at me. He started to say something, but I cut him off. I said, "This is, I mean, yesterday was only the second Saturday of the month."

"Right."

"Maybe they changed it. Or maybe it's the Eaton Gun Club. Maybe that's the one he's a member of."

"I looked. Eaton doesn't have a gun club."

"Maybe they just don't have a web site."

"Everyone has a website, Lucy."

"Do you have a website, Sherman?"

"I have a Facebook page. Oh shit, that's a good idea. Hold on." His thumbs ran furiously. Shortly he said, "And so does the Ashmond Gun Club."

He kept thumbing the phone and then stopped. He said, "Shi-it," and turned the phone so I could see the screen.

The Facebook page had pictures from gun shoots. There were also photos from what looked like a dinner. Two older men held up a check either from the NRA or to the NRA, I couldn't quite tell. It was a prop sized check, and even so I couldn't really make out the dollar figure. I didn't recognize either man.

However, standing near the two men, his eyes red from the camera flash, was Pat Corley in a pair of jeans and a yellow button down shirt.

Chapter 37

Ruth's intentions Friday night had centered on unsettling Horace Walton.

Made up, showing some major league cleavage, her disguise seemed to be working. Once she'd left us poolside and made it inside the country club none of the Lucentologist security personnel appeared to be making a move towards her.

She'd spotted Horace holding court with some local country club luminaries and closed in on him and his assistant, Nawzat.

When the latest local dignitaries turned from the head of the church, Ruth swept in, right in Horace's face.

He was in automatic mode. Greeting mode. Everyone coming into contact with him was blowing smoke up his ass. He'd gotten used to it. She said she waited for that moment where the plastered smile started to waver, where he recognized her.

"Evening, Horace. Sure is a swell shindig. Hey, by the way. Did you know Selkie Rosenfeld kept a diary?"

Pinched between two fingers of her right hand was a folded over piece of paper. She more or less forced it into his hand. And was waiting to look at his face as he unfolded the paper and looked at a photocopied page from the diary.

Seconds later things started blowing up in the country club parking lot.

The rush of people, all in full out panic mode to get away from the entrance and the balls of flame, pushed her away from her intended target.

In the aftermath she just kind of wandered, trying to reconcile her aims at the party with what had just happened. Dina had slid up to her at one point.

"She said 'I'm going to bet, Ms. Arnett, that you had nothing to do with what happened here tonight, did you?' And I was so out of it, I don't know what I replied. But whatever it was it seemed to satisfy her. She left me alone. She must've told the other black suits to leave me alone, too. Although," Ruth sighed, "I've no doubt they ran my prints against the SUV wreckage. Whatever bits of the bombs they were able to discover in the aftermath."

Ruth sat at the table in her dim Eaton motel room. Sherman and I sat on the edge of the bed facing her. The rest of the bed covered by notebooks, a backpack, a flung open suitcase.

A bottle of Scotch sat on the table, and a quantity of the amber liquid was freshly poured into a disposable plastic cup. Several blank journals sat on the table. A pen jammed into the pages of the journal on top like a bookmark.

Ruth played with a cup, spinning it between her fingers on the tabletop.

Before Saturday, she'd been over in an Ashmond motel. After Friday, the influx of out-of-towners had dissipated enough she'd been able to get a room in Eaton.

Sneaking around the country club before making her entrance poolside, Ruth hadn't seen anything that struck her as odd. She'd seen a golf cart rolling around the grounds, but given the brouhaha, she figured that was expected.

I told her about Pat Corley. She stopped playing with the plastic cup and squeezed the tip of one of her right fingers with her left hand as she listened. She nodded along but didn't say anything. No insight. I wondered how long ago the booze had traveled out the bottle and into her small frame.

"Why are you still in town?" I asked her.

"They're still in town. I don't know if Horace is, but the things I've heard are that Jack is still here. I don't know. I figure if Jack's still here then maybe Horace might still show up. Pop up like Vincent Price in some old scary movie."

She sighed.

"I was so close, Lucy. I was so close to him on Friday. I handed him that piece of paper. He was going to read it, and it was going to be like a punch to his head. I knew everything I was going to say. I had backup things I was going to say in case he tried to weasel out or throw one of his Ray Ban wearing pit bulls my way, and then-"

She silently mouthed 'boom.' She reclaimed the plastic cup. Eyed its contents.

"Maddy's missing," I said.

"'Maddy's missing.'"

I nodded.

"When she dropped off the money, they took her. Whoever got me. Whoever Tasered Sherman. They took her, and they took the money. We haven't heard anything from them. Not since yesterday."

Waiting for her to reply I looked at Sherman. He looked a little out of it. I thought he might be a little scared of Ruth. Meeting, shaking her hand she'd squinted, looked up into his face like she was trying to remember whether or not he was friend or foe.

Looking towards the floor, she said, "They took her," and nodded, like that made all the sense in the world.

"I saw on your blog," I said, "that you've heard that they put chips in some of the higher ups. I mean for the Lucentologists. That that was something you'd heard of them doing."

Ruth shrugged.

"Kip heard that. One of the girls she was in the Becoming phase with told her that her Counselor had mentioned that. How some of them, like the important ones, the important church members, someone like, I don't know, a Jack Ford, had a chip implanted on them that was like a GPS kind of thing. So if they went nuts, you know, off the reservation, they could be found. Or so if something silly like all of this happened, they could be tracked. Or found. I think, or at least Kip thought, the Counselor had been full of shit. Like he was trying to impress the newbie."

"Do you know where they'd put the chip?"

"You know, probably someplace easy to get to. It's not like they would crack open someone's skull, you know," she smiled and swiped hair from her eyes, "but probably most likely I would think, it'd be the shoulder. Someplace like that. Someplace easy to get to."

"So if these people took Maddy. And they knew about the chip-"

"Would they take it out?" Ruth interrupted, finishing my thought. She finished the last bit of Scotch in her cup.

"They could. I mean even if it existed. Again, I got my intel from Kip. God knows the mental state of the person that told her. I mean anyone that gets into Lucentology is kind of screwy to begin with. Forgive me for saying that. I know you probably love your sister. God knows I loved Kip, but..."

In the silence I could picture some small metallic nub of a device, like a fingernail clipping, being exposed in bloody flesh, being extracted with needle nose pliers, Maddy twisting and screaming as the steel touched nerve endings.

Ruth closed her eyes. She almost looked she might be tipping over into sleep. I looked at Sherman. He shrugged like he didn't know what to do if she suddenly started snoring.

"Can I ask one thing?" Apparently, she wasn't slipping into sleep.

"Sure," I said.

Her eyes were open. "How much money was it?"

"The ransom?"

"Yeah."

"Half a million. But Jack got a lot more than that ready to pay, I mean, he had $2 million ready to hand over if they asked for it."

The information landed on her skull and slowly seeped in. She set the cup on the table.

"That's all?"

I nodded.

Ruth leaned forward. She threaded her fingers and looked left, towards the head of the motel room bed, whispering the dollar figure to herself.

"See that doesn't make sense."

"Why not?"

She stood up. Stepped over the motel room's single window and brushed the curtains back and looked out at the quiet Sunday afternoon street.

"Jack makes 20 to 30 million a movie. Maddy makes what, 5 mil, 8 mil, something like that. So if you're going to take someone hostage – like they did with you – why not hit the people paying the ransom for a titanic amount of money? You said Jack could get $2 million, fine, then go and demand that amount. But they didn't demand that amount. Or twice that amount, you know, figure if Jack could get that, so could Maddy. That's $4 million right there. Four million. They didn't ask for that. It's like they didn't do their homework. It's like they were guessing or – and here's the thing – like they didn't give a shit about the money. The money's just part of it, part of the package. That's how they treated the whole thing. Like 'well, we're doing a kidnapping. Let's go down the checklist. Oh, part of doing a kidnapping is asking for money, der-der-der-der...' But these people aren't 'der-der-der-der.' They're not morons. Those were military grade explosions, Friday night. Taking you, and vanishing like that, that was a military grade exercise. And Maddy's gone without a trace. Again. These are pros. What if they didn't care about the money to begin with? What if the whole time all it was about was getting Maddy?"

She'd let the curtain slip back into place. She looked right at me.

"They haven't gotten back to you guys, right? No demands of any sort. And it's been what, a day now that they've had her? Look at all the work that went into the plan. They did some fine planning. Ballsy, smart planning. They blew things up. Distracted people. Nabbed you. Worked the whole psychological angle on a crowd. That took tactical knowledge. Someone knew what they were doing. Crowd logistics, okay? They really, really knew what they were doing, right? You can't have that much know-how, that much smarts, and not apply it to the entire operation."

A chill worked up and down my scalp. I knew I was breathing heavily.

Ruth sat down. Looked at me.

Quietly she said, "So the question is...What do they want with her? And who wants her? And what do they do with her when they're done?"

Chapter 38

Driving back up East Jennings towards the house I was staring at my lap, on the brink of nodding off when Sherman asked if I was all right.

"I'm fine."

"Ok."

"I lost the bracelet," I said.

"Huh?"

"I don't know where, but I lost it."

He shrugged.

"I don't think you could help losing it. Not with everything going on." After another moment he added, "It's cool. Don't worry about it."

They'd found my heels at the swimming pool. Maybe the thin gold band was somewhere in proximity. Tossed inconspicuously upon the gravel lining the chain link fences.

Just past the turn offs to the Jackson and Verney places Sherman pointed out the windshield. A black insect shape rose into the sky. A helicopter. It looked to have risen from our house.

In the deepening evening sky it swung to the right like all the weight shifted to one side of the craft then it continued through an inexplicably wide and dangerous looking turn, accelerating northwest towards the tree covered hills rising in the far distance. By the time we drove up to the house the helicopter was a blot headed for the mountains.

Dad and Jack were in the backyard. The single SUV remained unmoved from where I'd last seen it. A patina of kicked up dust coated its exterior.

"We saw it coming up Jennings," I said. "Who has a helicopter around here?"

"Florence Lancaster's," said Dad.

"Who's that?"

"She owns some property out here. Out around Sunnyside. She also owns about 30-35% of Clear Channel. Something like that. She's rich. She knows Horace."

"They're looking for Maddy?"

"They're looking for Maddy. Just took Dina and another one of them up. Fresh eyes. Guess they think they can get something done before it's full on night."

I remembered Ruth's quip about 'pit bulls with Ray Bans' and pictured a helicopter literally full of pooches. I was a little delirious, but I still almost smiled.

Dad ticked his chin at Sherman in greeting.

"Sir," said Sherman. He'd never called Dad anything other than 'Sir.' He didn't know how to greet Jack, didn't even try.

"I saw Ruth," I said.

"And what did she have to say?"

"She said a lot of things didn't make sense."

"No?"

"She said the kidnappers didn't ask for enough money. Not nearly enough. Not with what Jack and Maddy had access to. She thinks Maddy being taken was the point the whole time. They just wanted her. I didn't matter. The money didn't matter. And whoever took her, whoever has been doing all of this, they know what they're doing. I think she was basically saying these people are ex-military."

Jack nodded, processing that contention. Dad ran a hand over his face.

"I think Pat Corley might be involved."

Dad stiffened. He cleared his throat.

"The bus driver?"

"He's not in town, Dad. No one knows where he is. He was in the first Gulf War, and then after that, I guess he did special operations stuff."

"And he's got the tattoo," said Sherman.

"Right. He's got a tattoo on his back. It's a grizzly bear. When I was being held, I mean I was out of it most of the time, but one of the times I was awake I heard someone say 'Grizzly' like it was a name."

Jack looked like someone had plugged him in. He'd gone from sleep-deprived actor to Quantum the super spy in a matter of seconds.

"Who came up with this?" asked Dad.

"Me. Ruth. Sherman."

"Honey, I know you want to find Maddy. So do I. But you can't accuse people out of the blue..."

"I'm not accusing. I'm just saying he might be involved. I'm not saying he's the guy, he's the one, I'm positive so go sick Trent or Dina or whoever on the guy. I'm just saying...maybe."

"Maybe you should tell the cops about Pat," said Sherman.

"No," snapped Dad. "Absolutely not."

"Dad."

"You shouldn't even know about this." He pointed at Sherman. His hand trembled. "We're talking about my daughter's life. Understand? My daughter's life! We don't know what these people want. What we need to do to make sure she gets home alive. You can't say anything about this to the cops. To anyone! You understand me? Huh? Because I swear to god if she gets hurt, if they do something to her because of something you let slip, I will-"

His lips peeled back and twitched around the teeth and gums as he searched for the threat. It didn't come. Not in words. His head vibrated, balanced on a neck displaying branching veins.

Sherman backed away, his hands up like he was trying to prove he wasn't a threat.

As fast as he wound up, Dad deflated. He let his gaze drop to the ground and walked back towards the house, looking at none of us. He didn't slam the door behind him. He walked inside and merged with the shadows.

Jack approached me. His face looked older shadowed by incoming beard. There was the slightest hint of a pimple coming in at the side of his mouth.

"Did this woman, this Ruth, have a theory as to why they'd take Maddy?"

"She didn't."

"I wish I could go back. Change her mind. Even though they said she needed to be the one to bring the money...It should've been me."

"You didn't know."

"That's not it. There are some times when even someone as ornery as your sister needs to be told what to do. I knew that. I just didn't act like I should've. And I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm sorry. But I'm not giving up. I'm not going to rest until we have her back. I promise."

His brow knotted up. His gaze shifted to the ground. While he served up self-recrimination, I looked back towards the house. Aster stood out on the back porch. She had a blanket wrapped around her arms. Our temperature at this time of day seemed plenty warm but cooler than what her skinny frame was used to.

Sherman remained stunned by Dad getting in his face.

"You ok?" I asked.

He looked at me and shrugged.

*

The black helicopter brought Dina and Sam back shortly after sunset. Or Other Sam. I'd lost track of the differences between Sam and Other. Soon as they were clear, the chopper rose up into the air and headed west towards Florence Lancaster's Sunnyside property.

The two briefly conferred with Jack and Dad and then got into the SUV and drove away. From the manner in which Jack's shoulders drooped, I knew all I needed to about how productive the helicopter surveying had been.

I called Kitty and asked her if she was going to school tomorrow.

"I think so. My head's better." She laughed. "Unfortunately."

"Do me a favor."

"Sure."

"Let me know who's driving the bus."

"You're not going?"

"No."

"Yeah. That makes sense," she said. "But you want to know who's driving?"

"Yes."

"O-kaaay..."

"It relates back to what we talked about earlier today. That thing you can't tell anyone about."

"Right. Right. I won't. I swear. Not even to Geoff."

"Good. Thanks, Kitty."

When I ate dinner, Dad was nowhere to be found. He'd gotten in the car and driven away shortly after Dina and the other security person had left in their SUV.

Aster came into the kitchen, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and told me Jack was in the guest room doing his meditation thing.

Her hair was frazzled. She kept stroking the touch screen on her iPad like it was a learned behavior, something that served to soothe her nerves. Her other hand served the skin around her fingernails up to her teeth. She gnawed compulsively, spitting out the tiny flecks of flesh like sunflower seed shells.

"Are you ok?" I asked. "Do you want me to make anything?"

"No. I'm fine." She stared at the screen. "I've got Skittles."

Finished washing my dishes I turned to head out of the kitchen.

Aster stared at me. With that long neck and the manner her hair rode her head she looked regal, she looked like some pretty spinster older sister that had never had much luck in love and instead buried herself in a job or in books.

"I had a dream earlier today," she said. "I don't normally remember my dreams, but I don't usually dream during the day either, so maybe that's why I remember it. But I saw Maddy in the dream. She said she was all right. She said everything was happening for a reason, but it would all be all right. She said we'd see her soon. She promised."

The way she said it, it was like she wanted to hear it, more than she needed to say it. The kitchen could've been completely empty, and she still would've served up the same words. When I walked past her and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulders, she'd already returned to looking at the tablet's glowing screen, a smile on her face like we were only minutes away from Maddy's return.

*

Just after 10 PM Sherman called my phone.

"Pat's still not back. No Jeep."

"No lights on?"

"In the house?"

"Yeah."

"No lights on."

"Shit."

"Yep."

"Where are you?"

"Across the street from his house."

"When do you have to be home?"

"I told my mom I was with you. She's kind of flexible with when I have to be home if I'm busy holding the hand of a kidnapping victim."

"Right."

Dad had come home a little after 9. He'd told me to please apologize to Sherman for flying off the handle earlier. He knew they hadn't unearthed any information from the helicopter fly over, but tomorrow might be different. He seemed chipper. I asked him if he was going to work Monday. He said he should. Carla had called and bugged him about taking care of me, but he'd softened her take on how fragile I was. That's where he'd gone, he said. Into town. Defusing Carla. I told him I wanted to stay home tomorrow. He thought that was a good idea. Let people calm down some from everything that had happened.

I brought up my dad.

Sherman said, "I thought he was going to kick my ass."

"So did I. It'd probably be good for you."

"You're still just pissed about SharDi."

"And I always will be."

"Even if I saved you from the kidnappers? If I risked my life and all, got shot at and shit, you'd still be pissed about SharDi?"

"Yep."

He sighed. "Wow."

"Sorry. It's like radiation. It takes a long time for the radiation signature to decay once you've been exposed."

"So it takes a long time for the SharDi exposure to decay, too, right?"

"Pretty much."

"Ok. I did get Tasered."

"I know. Doesn't change where your hands were on her body."

"Harsh. Very, very harsh."

We were quiet. I wished he were there, in my bedroom. We'd fallen asleep together a few times. Nothing had ever happened, nothing serious, no swapping of body fluids, much as he'd like, much as I'd thought about it. There were more people in the house than normal, but even so, it felt empty. A little Sherman for cuddling purposes sounded like a remedy for the long night ahead.

When he called an hour later, he apologized if he'd woken me up. I didn't tell him I was wide-awake. I didn't want him to worry.

The last report of the evening was the same as that prior.

No signs of Pat Corley.

Chapter 39

I took a flashlight, but I didn't turn it on until I was down in the draw. The still, silent house quickly receded behind me, finally vanishing up on top of the hill.

It was nearly 1 a.m. when I snuck out. I knew where all the potential squeaky floorboards were and avoided stepping on them.

I wore a sweatshirt and jeans and sneakers. I'd paused in the kitchen and again on the back porch and waited for sign I'd woken someone. Dad continued sleeping on the couch. Aster and Jack in their respective rooms. The guard was down at the end of the driveway, a dark shape walking back and forth.

Somewhere coyotes called one another under the quarter moon. Soon as I stepped off the last step of the back porch, I sprinted across the backyard and headed for the field and the back way towards Uncle Bob's.

That sound. The struggling puttering engine sound. I couldn't get it out of my head. It was like hearing someone say 'Grizzly.' I was sure of it, as sure of it as though I'd heard a recording of it, not just what bobbed up from memory.

There were other reasons.

I'd looked at Facebook. And seen something that didn't make sense.

I had over nine hundred messages from people congratulating me on being freed from the kidnappers. I didn't know most of the people. Of course I didn't. That was the magic of the Internet. Someone half the world away could contact you whether you wanted them to or not.

I'd clicked on Carla's message (she had me in her prayers). The link took me to her Facebook page. I'd added her as a 'Friend' awhile back. She was one of those people that would be offended if you didn't add her.

She had an update – time stamped just 3 hours ago or 10 p.m.

" _Back from Pendleton – FINALLY!!! Roadwork on a Sunday???"_

Dad had said he'd gone to see her. Talked to her at her house.

The prior Facebook message said it had been sent from her phone.

" _A sea of taillights on a Sunday night. Lord give me the strength to not lose my mind:)"_

Dad had said he'd gone to see Carla in town.

He couldn't see her in town if she was stuck in traffic on the highway in Oregon, a good 50 miles away from Eaton.

I didn't know what to make of that. How to process that.

And then I started thinking about Uncle Bob coming over to talk to Dad about the renters at the Winks place.

How pissed Dad seemed.

And the sound of the truck as Uncle Bob left our house.

Dad had lied about seeing Carla.

Dad had screamed at Sherman.

And he'd seemed so defensive of Pat Corley. So sure we were in the wrong.

I had to stop about halfway, right in Mr. Slaybaugh's field, incoming wheat silvered by the moon, swaying in the trickle of breeze, and take in air. This was bumpier ground than a course for long distance running. I shrugged out of the sweatshirt and bunched it up in my fist and then kept on running. I only stumbled a few times. There were a few patches of field thick with gopher holes and rain caused depressions, but using the flashlight, I managed to avoid them.

As soon as I came out on Jennings at that corner east of Uncle Bob's I started walking rather than running. As the blood rushing in my ears ceased the silence of the countryside rose up in prominence.

Approaching Uncle Bob's place I wished I'd sent Sherman a message. Let him know what I was up to.

Uncle Bob had a gun just like Dad. A rifle and maybe more.

The lights in Uncle Bob's house were off. The garage with the two bays dark, too.

Loose gravel crunched underfoot. In the quiet, it sounded loud as glass breaking. Walking down the slight slope towards the garage I'd halt every few steps and listen for any answering noise like I could hear the bed springs squeak, Uncle Bob rolling out of bed, stabbing his feet into slippers, and reaching for a rifle on the rack bolted to his bedroom wall.

Both trucks were parked outside the garage. The old blue truck, nose pointed towards the garage. The beater with the muffler issue had its front bumper pointed towards West Jennings. Staring at it, I kept moving forward and froze when a motion sensor went off, and bright white light flooded the lot. In the aftermath, it took a moment before I could breathe. The light was high and bright, and the things visible seemed somehow derelict of color and the shadows deep and foreboding like if you passed over them or walked into them, you'd never find your way out.

A shape slung low to the ground shot out from the direction of the house, slid to a halt ten feet from me, and head lowered, began growling contemptuously.

From this shape, that sound, and that display of aggression seemed as foreign as having seen Dad scream at Sherman.

It took a moment before spit formed in my mouth.

"Mojo," I said. "Moj. Silly girl." I knelt and put my hand out. For a moment I wondered if I'd even be able to get that hand up and try and protect my throat should she lunge from her position. My imagination allowed for thinking of the flashlight rolling around gravel spattered in blood freed from my throat.

With a squeak, Mojo waddled towards me and snuffled my feet and my hands. Happy panting dog sound came from her as my hand sunk into her white and black speckled fur.

I whispered, "Good girl. Good Moj. You were going to eat me, weren't you? Eat your Aunt Lucy."

She buried her muzzle in the crook of my arm. Then just as quickly pulled away and darted off into the shadows as though she'd heard a whistle sound from their depths.

The door on the far right side of the garage was locked. I paused and wondered if I shouldn't try and get inside the cab of the truck Uncle Bob had been driving. Look for clues. Like my missing bracelet was just lying right on top of the dashboard, glistening in the moonlight. I was betting both truck doors were locked, and if not, the hinges scream would result in a light coming on inside Uncle Bob's house.

I turned the corner and started down the rear of the garage, flashlight illuminating my path.

The amount of walking space was sparse, bordered on one side by the back of the garage and on the other by coils of wire, stacks of fence posts and rebar, burn barrels, rail road ties, and bricks.

I heard something shifting around inside the stables back of the house. I'd probably woken up the horses we'd ridden Friday morning. A million years ago.

I pressed my face against the window in the back of the shop. Half the window was obscured by the supply shelf shoved flush against the shop's back wall. My view into the shop lost to boxes and plastic tubs containing nails or other supplies.

From where I stood, flashlight aimed inside, I could see a vehicle inside the shop.

A single blind eye stared back at me, seeming to hang suspended in the air.

The white walls, the rim on a spare tire, the spare tire mounted on the back of a somewhat familiar red Jeep.

Chapter 40

A door slammed. Someone had come out from Uncle Bob's house.

I fumbled with the flashlight like I'd suddenly slipped on a pair of giant goofy clown gloves before trying to shut it off. Light extinguished, I froze in place. My heart thumping, wondering if the flashlight beam had been visible from Uncle Bob's vantage point.

Or Pat Corley's.

Footsteps mashed into gravel and then came to a halt.

In the quiet, I could hear someone talking to Mojo. Maybe they'd trained Mojo. Now she was a killing machine. At the speaking of a single word her programming would kick in, and she'd seek me out, her loving memories of me buried beneath a new initiative, an efficient, fur covered killing machine.

Someone burped. Moments later it was followed by the sound of gravel being walked over, but the sound moved away from my position, back towards the house.

The yawn of hinges sounded a second time followed closely by the sharp thud of a door banging against its doorframe.

I knelt, set down the flashlight, and took out my phone.

I thought if I spoke I'd be found. I imagined Pat was here. He'd snuck out on Uncle Bob's heel and stayed in place outside the house once Uncle Bob went inside. Pat was just waiting for me to make any sound at all, and before I could react, he'd be on me, gun to my head, hand around my throat. That's what they'd trained him to do.

I texted Sherman. _Pat Corley's Jeep at Uncle Bob's!_

I realized I hadn't killed the ring tone. Swearing, suddenly outfitted with those clown gloves again, I fumbled around with the phone until I shut the ring tone off and set it to vibrate. I stared at the phone, waiting for vibration, for Sherman to get back to me, but he was asleep. If I wanted him awake, I should've called him hours before I left the house.

When I stood up, I remembered something from a while back. Being here, daylight, Dad with me, Uncle Bob getting something out of the shop, the locked shop, and talking at us, and at the door, not getting a key from his pocket, but reaching up and sliding a key from the top of the doorframe. The spare key.

I walked back to the corner of the shop and hesitantly tipped my head around the corner. It took forever, but finally, the house was in view. Pat Corley was not standing on the gravel in between the two buildings.

I stared at the house a long time, forever maybe, until it felt like no one was moving inside there. I walked out of the safety of shadows and pressed up against the shop door, tilting up on my toes and reaching way up, fingertips searching for something the shape and size of a key.

Miracles do happen. Found, I didn't knock it to the ground.

It slid in easily, and the knob turned easily in my hand. That having gone so well I totally expected a siren to go off once the door was all the way open. It didn't. I looked back at the house. Nothing going on, at least, not that I could see or hear. I slowly pulled the door shut behind me.

Enough light sourced from the moon-illuminated sky, filtering in through the back window, I could almost negotiate the shop floor without turning on the flashlight. Almost.

The shop smelled like oil and gas and metal. Tools. It smelled like tools. They were all over. A big table set against the wall in the corner and two big rolling trays in between the side door and the Jeep.

The Jeep. Maybe it was Uncle Bob's. Maybe he'd gotten sick and tired of fussing with the trucks. Just out and out bought himself a Jeep.

I snapped a photo of the Jeep with my phone. Checked it. Way too dark. It could be a picture of anything. I could've taken it at the bottom of the sea for all it showed definitively. Realizing I had a flashlight, I aimed it at the Jeep and took a much higher quality photo. Right after I took it, I stood still, listening for any sign of movement outside, or coming from the house.

Mojo had disappeared. Whoever it was had taken her inside.

To mask their movements. To keep me from knowing where they might be.

I swore.

I texted Sherman again. No reply.

I decided to try and look for something, some sort of evidence, and if it was there, grab it, and then I was going to get out.

I walked up to the Jeep, walking on tiptoe. The canopy was attached to the Jeep frame. The driver's side door was locked. I walked around to the passenger's side door. Locked.

I put my hands up against the window and tried squinting, like that would let me see inside better. I thumbed the flashlight on and looked inside the Jeep. The sweeping light revealed nothing of interest, nothing that cemented the facts of the Jeep's ownership.

I walked around the back of the vehicle. Rushing, I bumped into the Jeep, the big spare tire in back, and my hold on both the phone and the flashlight loosened. In a moment's decision, I chose to save the phone. The flashlight hit the floor and rolled towards the back wall, up against the base of the supply shelf set in front of the window stationed dead center in the shop's back wall.

Kneeling down, I had my hand on the flashlight when the beam from another flashlight covered me. Like a dummy, for a moment I thought, oh, I'd somehow turned the flashlight on, and the beam was reflecting back on me.

Then the overhead lights snapped on. They were hooded fluorescents, hanging from the ceiling. They began to buzz almost the moment they came to life. All the shadows in the shop fled.

Uncle Bob stood with his upper torso leaning into the shop from behind the open side door. His hand had left the light switch already. It had the flashlight in it. He continued to push the door open, and once he was inside far enough, in his left hand, I saw the unmistakable black shape of a handgun.

*

Missing his signature baseball cap, and kind of squinting at me, either from the hour or being perturbed, he didn't look quite himself. He didn't appear as seriously pissed as Dad yelling at Sherman, but he didn't look thrilled to see me, not in these circumstances.

The gun certainly wasn't helping either.

"Lucy? What are you doing here?"

I was still crouched down.

Uncle Bob looked around like he half expected even more unwelcome guests to be standing around inside the shop at this time of night.

"Does your dad...Your dad doesn't know you're out here now does he?" he asked.

"He's asleep." Almost whispering it.

"Well now," he said, "well now why don't you...Why don't you get up and we'll...I'll, I'll take you back home, ok?"

He turned a half turn back towards the door.

"Yeah. We'll just...I'll just take you back."

He tugged at his pajama top jammed errantly into the waist of jeans.

I stood. Pointing at the Jeep I said, "Whose Jeep is this, Uncle Bob?"

He turned and looked at me, his head thrust out at an angle like he hadn't quite heard me correctly.

"How's that?"

"Whose Jeep is this?"

"It's mine." Snap. Automatic.

"It is?"

"It is."

"Since when?"

"I just...Had it a couple days now."

"You didn't have it on Friday."

"Well, you know, I bought it, but I had to have it, uh, looked at. Detailed."

"I didn't think you liked Jeeps."

"I like them fine. I mean," he tried to say with a laugh, "with all the trouble the trucks have been giving me, only a crazy man wouldn't think about trying some other vehicle to get out and about."

The smile on his face faded at sign that I wasn't so easily cheered by his realization.

"Why does the muffler on your truck sound like the muffler I heard while I was being held by the kidnappers?"

He tapped the gun muzzle against the length of his thigh. He looked into the space immediately in front of him like the lights were reflecting off some bubble of air visible only to him and the answers to the question were there, he only had to interpret them right then share his knowledge.

"I heard it when you came over today. When you drove up to the house, I wasn't sure if that's what I was hearing. I wasn't sure if when I was kidnapped I heard anything. But I think it is. Why would that be? Why would you be so close to where I was being held? That doesn't make sense. That doesn't make sense at all. Why is Pat Corley's Jeep here? Don't tell me it isn't his. Please don't. And if...And if you...And if you and he had something to do with me being...Then where's Maddy? What did you do with Maddy? Where is she? Where's Maddy?"

When I reached up to brush my nose with the back of my hand part of me seemed surprised that tears now wet my cheeks.

He continued ticking the gun muzzle off his leg.

When he took a step towards me, I backed away.

"Lucy." He whispered. "Look."

He knelt and set the gun on the shop floor. Standing he held his hand up, the fingers spread like that made the gun even more out of his hand than it already was. He stepped towards me.

I turned and hurriedly walked around the back of the Jeep and down the passenger side towards the rolling garage door.

Grabbing for the skinny bar slid through the vertical track I managed to drop the flashlight. It clattered on the floor. I struggled with the bar. It was like it'd been soldered to the frame. I stood and put my weight against the door, trying to push it down so the vertical bar would wobble in the slot and I could yank it out, get the door open, get out of the shop, and get away from here.

Uncle Bob walked down the passenger side of the Jeep. He still had his hands up, showing me his palms. He kept saying my name. Kept saying it and he kept getting closer.

I screamed and jerked on the security bar. It finally snicked out of the frame. I shoved it so viciously the arc my hands followed whacked my knuckles off the vertical track.

I grabbed the handle and shoved the door up. I ducked down and smacked the back of my head on the bottom of the rising, rattling garage door.

I saw darkness. Freedom.

I ran right into the person standing outside the garage door.

I bounced off them and screamed, screamed because I figured it was Pat Corley, screamed because it might be my last opportunity to try and get someone's help.

I fell on the ground, bounced on the gravel. I looked up.

Jack Ford stood illuminated by the shop lights.

He looked at me, and then he looked at Uncle Bob.

Jack looked pissed.

Chapter 41

Jack had followed me from the house.

Earlier in the day, he'd bottomed out. He hadn't slept since Thursday night. First, he had stayed up for hours, worried about me, and then stayed up ever since Maddy had been taken.

Around the time Sherman was driving me to see Kitty, Jack had collapsed and taken in a good 4 hours of sleep.

He needed it. He needed to be refreshed, to be able to think, be at the top of his game. He didn't need a lot of sleep to maintain that. Just enough.

He'd heard me sneak out of the house. He'd allowed me to get a good lead and then ran after me, through the dark.

Several times he'd dropped low to the ground, anticipating when I might pause and look back at the fields I was walking across. It was the training from the action movies that'd made him a worldwide movie star. The training served him. Informed not only his roles but his entire life.

Jack offered me his hand. I took it, and he helped me up.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing," I said. Scared of getting in trouble for some reason.

"Lucy," said Jack. "You're shaking."

Uncle Bob said nothing when Jack glanced at him.

"You were yelling," Jack said to me.

"He's-" I said. "He knows something. That Jeep. That's the bus driver's Jeep."

Jack looked like I was sputtering absolute nuttiness. He looked at Uncle Bob.

"She's upset," said Uncle Bob. "You know. From the-"

"Jack. He was out where I was being held by the kidnappers."

I'd grabbed his arm. Squeezed it to capture and hold his eyes.

"When I was held, I heard the truck. That green piece of shit over there. I heard that truck. I know I did. I know it was his."

Jack looked from me to Uncle Bob.

Jack had this look on his face he'd used sparingly but effectively portraying his best-known role, Quantum. He looked like Quantum had just been given some seriously concrete intel that shed unflattering light on someone he thought he could trust. Someone he now knew had lied to him, lies with catastrophic results.

He took a single step towards Uncle Bob and Uncle Bob backtracked as though he were facing a man with a knife in hand.

"I don't know what she means. Look. I know. She's upset, all right? She's upset. I get it. We all are."

Jack asked, "Whose Jeep is that?"

"Mine." Saying it emphatically. Without a doubt.

Jack walked past Uncle Bob into the shop. He looked at the Jeep. Then to his right. He walked out of view. I could hear him moving tools around somewhere behind the still rolled down garage door.

He walked back into view with a seriously long handled axe in hand.

"I'm guessing the Jeep is locked, yes?"

I nodded, and mouthed, "Yes."

Jack walked around to the passenger side door, seemed to mentally measure the placement of his blow, turned the axe so he'd be leading with the meat, not the blade, and then wound back and with a single stroke shattered the passenger side window.

*

There was no wallet or license or registration inside the Jeep. There was a duffel bag crammed down behind one of the front seats, mostly empty except for a pair of handcuffs and a roll of duct tape.

Inside the jockey box, underneath a sealed packet of Kleenex and a roll of Chapstick and several stray sticks of Big Red chewing gum, was a pamphlet for the Ashmond Gun Club.

Chapter 42

Confronted, Uncle Bob shut down.

Frustration mounting, I thought Jack might grab him and shake him or just decide to beat a confession out of him.

"Bob," he said, "if you know where Maddy is you need to tell me. She's my wife. She's my wife, Bob. I need to know where she is."

Bob looked rattled. His eyes bobbled about like inside his skull, one by one, doors to rooms were slamming shut.

Without a word he turned around and walked for the house, gravel crunching under foot. The screen door closed behind him, but he didn't shut the main door. Mojo woofed. I could see her shape moving behind the screen door.

Jack said, "We need to get moving on this."

He looked at the house.

"He doesn't have a gun does he?"

"He set it down inside the garage."

"Does he have two?"

We looked at each other, and then both ran to the house. We both clicked to the same mental image. Bob with a gun didn't present danger to us. Only to himself.

Mojo was super excited to have people in her house. She woofed at us, her fuzzy rear end twitching back and forth faster than ever before.

Uncle Bob stood in his living room, still, quiet, his face not unlike that you'd imagine coming upon seeing the survivor of some massacre or any near incomprehensible tragedy.

Jack pulled out his phone.

He hit speed dial. Looked at me. "Dina," he said then tilted the phone back up around his mouth. Moments later Jack spoke into the phone.

"I need a pick up. Lucy and I are at Bob's. Right. Uncle Bob's. I'll explain once you get here."

Done. He hung up. A little past 2 a.m. now. Didn't matter. Dina was turned on just like that. Jack's personal Lobot.

"Why?" he asked me. "Why take you? Or Maddy? Money?"

To Uncle Bob he asked, "Do, do you need money? Is that it? I don't understand this. I don't get this."

Uncle Bob said nothing.

"No," I said. "Not money."

"Then what?"

I couldn't get it out of my chest at first. My face crumpled up and I hated it. I didn't want to cry in front of people. I looked so ugly crying. Maddy looked beautiful, but Maddy looked beautiful tying her shoes or wiping her nose. It was too much of the McCall DNA in me. I'd seen my aunt sobbing before, and I knew that's what I looked like when I got down to participating in a tear fest.

"It's you," I said. "And Horace. And Lucentology. It's the religion. Dad didn't want you to, to...He thought Maddy was..."

Jack's brow crumpled.

"It was Dad," I said to Uncle Bob. "Wasn't it? Dad did all of this. You're just part of it. Dad did all of this. He took Maddy. He got you and Pat to..." I shook my head.

The only sound in the house those produced by Mojo, her muzzle buried against her back right leg as she did battle with fleas. She sneezed several times and minutes later, at the sound of the SUV pulling into the driveway, she abandoned her battle to hop up and look through the screen door outside, woofing, tail end whipping back and forth in anticipation of a stranger's pets.

Chapter 43

Dina called my uncle Mr. McCall as she ushered him into the SUV backseat. She didn't seem the type to call him Bob.

When Dina arrived at Uncle Bob's house her hair was pulled into a short ponytail, and she still had on the black suit jacket and button down shirt, but she wore a pair of parachute pants, pockets up and down each leg. I could imagine each pocket bearing a clip of ammunition, handcuffs, maybe even some sort of grenade.

Dina didn't argue when I said we should take Mojo with us. I knew her. I knew she'd freak out without someone at the house with her. Mojo happily hopped up onto the lowered SUV tailgate. Inside, she worked her muzzle into the back of Uncle Bob's head. He was still zoned out. I called Mojo over and the length of the trip she bellied up behind the backseat and stayed underneath my hand, receiving a steady course of ear scratches.

When we pulled into our driveway and parked in front of the house, I opened my door in the backseat and would not have been surprised to see steam roiling off the vehicle.

I remembered Jack's open invitation from the wedding to hop into a Lamborghini on his friend's private track. I couldn't imagine the experience being all too different from witnessing Dina's handling of the SUV.

The headlights illuminating the gravel road, the dashboard lights, it was like being in the cockpit of a spaceship hurtling through the unknown.

Driving fast as she had been, Jack talked to her the whole time, filling her in on what we knew. When she asked questions, she asked in a hushed voice. Low key, in control. You might've thought it was sleepiness keeping her so reserved, but then a glance at the speedometer would've retired the notion immediately.

Uncle Bob stayed in the SUV. Mojo snuffled her still zoned out master and then promptly forgot all about him as I told her to come on out in that tone of voice that promised a ball or stick was about to be thrown.

The sky that night was clear. The stars were out in force.

The house was dark.

Dina asked, "How do you want to do this, Mr. Ford?"

"I don't know."

He dug the point of his shoe into the ground.

"Do we wake him up?" asked Dina.

"No," I said.

They both looked at me.

"If anyone should go in there it should be me."

Jack nodded. Dina stared at me. I didn't know if one of the things she'd asked Jack had been could they trust me. If the father and the uncle were in on it, why not the younger sister? The photograph flashed through my head. My unconscious body. Maybe that convinced her. Or maybe that made her even more wary of me, that I was willing to play along, go that far to make Maddy's abduction appear more legitimate.

I still didn't know her participation level in Nick Verney's murder. Or if she'd even had a part. Now wasn't the time to sort all that out.

"It should be me." I said it already moving past them towards the front door.

Walking up to the house, digging my keys out from my pocket, I didn't look back at them. I let the front screen door close in its normal stages, the hinge closing-closing-closing then finally shutting all the way.

Upstairs, Aster snored from the guest bedroom. The noise penetrated the closed door and came all the way down. She was sawing logs, as Sherman would say. I wondered what he'd say if I laid it out for him. This is who kidnapped me. This is who took my sister. He'd get his patented confused Sherman look like when I showed him how to solve a Precalculus problem.

I wondered how it would all fall out, once everyone knew, from Carla to Kitty to Sherman's little brothers. I tried to snap back, focus on what was important. How could I be caring about people saying shit behind my back or to my face when Maddy was still missing?

The last time I'd interrupted my parents in the middle of the night I was probably about 4. Either a nightmare or a stomachache forced the intrusion.

I could see his back turned to me as I reached to the lamp on the side table and tugged the pull chain.

The light flicked on. I had to say his name several times before he turned and looked towards me. He wore a white tank top and boxer shorts, all the blankets shoved into a mountain range at the foot of the bed. One of the windows was nudged open, just a bit, letting in cool air.

He squinted at me. Senate McCall looked old. He looked about 20 years older than he actually was. The Senate McCall his grandchildren would know.

"Luce..." The sleep still heavily upon him. He struggled to sit up.

"Where's Maddy?"

He shook his head. Looked at me and asked, "What?"

I swallowed and this time projected my voice.

He shook his head. Looked at the bed and I could see he was trying to summon something to ease me back from this precipice I'd wandered upon.

"I was at Bob's. I saw the Jeep. I saw Pat Corley's Jeep. Uncle Bob's here with us. We know. And you didn't see Carla tonight. She was still coming back from Pendleton. I know. We know. Dad. What did you do? What did you do to her?"

He kept his eyes down. His hand tensed and tugged back on the bed sheet like a claw tightening.

"Dad?"

"Lucy. I don't know what you-"

"WHERE IS SHE?"

In the quiet right after I yelled, yelled louder than I'd ever yelled my entire life, just under the rush of blood in my ears I could hear floorboards creak outside. Jack and Dina, on the porch. They were trusting me to get Dad awake, but they thought I might need some back up.

His eyes were wide open. If he wasn't awake before, he was now. I imagined Aster thrown from sleep after my outburst.

"It's over," I said. "Whatever you think you were doing. Whatever...It's over."

"I'm sorry."

"Where is she?"

"I'm sorry, honey. I thought...I thought..."

"She's pregnant."

The way he looked at me. He didn't know.

"She was waiting to tell you. She was waiting for the right time to tell you. Would it have made any difference?"

He put his hands to his face, covering his eyes. I could see his mouth pinch up and tremor in those sad, spastic, all too human movements native to the shedding of tears.

"It wasn't supposed to. They weren't. That picture. Of you. It wasn't supposed to. It wasn't supposed to."

He shook. He shook like Mom had just died again, right under the touch of his hand.

I walked up to the bed, and quietly, doing my best to do it quietly, asked him once more.

*

I ran outside. Ran past Dina and Jack and onto the lawn.

"The Winks place," I said. "I can show you where it is."

Outside Uncle Bob had gotten out of the SUV. We ran past him like he was a stranger.

Dina turned over the engine, backed up, then shifted into drive. Moving away from the house the SUV taillights lit up Uncle Bob standing in the driveway. Mojo running around near him. Tail wagging.

The light in the living room remained on.

We turned left onto East Jennings, and Dina hit the gas. We slid into a thick river of gravel and just as quickly slid free. If anything, she was driving faster now, and calling someone on her phone.

I looked over my shoulder at the lights on in the living room. I looked at them until I couldn't see them anymore.

Chapter 44

The Winks place was nestled right past the point on a map that looked like a narrow waist, where drivers could look and see a vehicle on either side of the East and West Jennings country spanning loop. Not quite close enough to make out someone waving from a car, but close enough to see the shape of a car.

On the way back towards Eaton, West Jennings made a sharp jog west, running parallel with a slope above a narrows filled by scrub brush. Our science teachers explained that a glacier had formed that deep trench millions of years ago. What nature wrought was now a gouge in earth peppered by cartons for beer bottles and a smorgasbord of fast food bags and wrappers.

The trench ran several hundred yards, and at its eastern zenith, it bent south suddenly, leaving a semi-steep hillside face near the edge of the property Dad had bought for cheap, the place still called the Winks place although the Winks in question had long since departed eastern Washington for parts unknown.

What the geography meant was that the Winks place was fairly isolated, and you could only approach it - easily at least - by West Jennings.

*

Dina had pulled to the shoulder and parked. Headed towards us from town, its headlights extinguished, another SUV showed up minutes after we'd parked. The SUV parked on the opposite shoulder, and the driver got out of the rig and walked towards us. Just one person. The driver walked passed what was the turn off down a steep driveway to the Winks place, and slowed, looking down into the darkness.

Dina made a noise, a sigh of sorts, as though just the look the figure had made would spook the horse, jinx the entire operation. Nimbly, light as a feather on the gravel, the driver headed for us, grouped behind the SUV.

It wasn't Trent, but one of the other security personnel. The guy from Friday night. The one walking a route past the pool right before everything changed. Dimples.

He had some sort of goggles tipped up on the top of his head. He handed Dina a pair of the same sort of goggles. She shrugged out of her jacket and set it through the rolled down driver's side window into the rig.

Slipping the goggles onto the top of her head she said, "Rocco, you know Ms. McCall. Lucy, this is Rocco."

We nodded.

"I want this to go to smooth."

"Yes, ma'am," said Rocco. He followed her lead. Speaking barely above a whisper.

"Lucy," she finished messing with the goggles. It totally looked like some headgear Luke Skywalker would've sported on Tatooine helping his uncle farm. "Rocco is an expert shot. He's the best I know. That's why he's here."

"Ok."

"Mr. Ford here already knows that. He already knows how much I value Rocco. I don't have to butter Rocco up for him."

Rocco smiled. He had dimples and a chin cleft that was just about perfect where it was positioned. Up close he seemed about my age. He was handsome. The kind of guy Sherman naturally hated.

"We're going into a live situation. You remember what that means, Lucy?"

I did. She'd told me on our way over.

Dad had given me his phone and his code word. The code that would instantly bring the operation to an end. The people holding Maddy would only answer a phone call coming from Dad's phone. If they answered a call and heard the word, the operation would be brought to an immediate end.

The code word: Dorothy. Mom's name.

Driving to the Winks place I'd called the number Dad had on his phone.

No one had picked up. It wasn't a service issue. That was cause for concern.

Watching Rocco walk from his vehicle to ours I'd called the number one last time and received the same non-answer.

Dina touched my arm. I wondered if she could feel my bones vibrate with the violent pounding of my chest. She knew I had questions.

She said, "Once we get down there if it moves it's a target. Maddy is the only exception. Ok?"

"Ok."

"You do know what Madeline McCall looks like, don't you, Rocco?" asked Dina.

"Ma'am."

She nodded.

Dina slid the goggles over her eyes. Rocco did the same. Dina took her sidearm out of the shoulder holster. Looked at the weapon. Checked the clip. Slid it back in. She nodded.

He fell in behind her. Walked behind her and it was almost like their limbs were connected by invisible ropes, arms and legs moving in seamless concert.

We watched them walk across the road and down towards the head of the steep driveway. They vanished.

Jack sighed. He looked at me when I sniffled.

"Lucy."

"Yes."

"Could you do me a favor?"

"Uh huh."

"Could you hold my hand, please? I'm so scared right now."

I produced a slight laugh noise. Jack. Mr. Action Movie Star. Scared. I finished wiping the tears off my face and then onto my leg and then took up his hand in my own.

We held hands.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For not saying everything's going to be all right."

"I was waiting for you to say it."

I laughed then put my hand over my mouth, remembering I needed to be quiet.

I listened to the quiet roll back in around us. Then I whispered, "When my mom was sick I remember being told, or, I guess, being comforted by a nurse. She told me it was going to be all right. It'd be all right. And I was so tired at that point, tired and scared, and I didn't call her on it. On her bullshit. How could she know? How could she guess how things were going to turn out and just tell me something she didn't know, but something she could say to ease her mind? Just tick it off her checklist for the day and get on with her...It made me mad. It made me so mad. I hated that woman. I swore if I ever saw her again I'd..."

A wolf called. It sounded very far away. So far away I couldn't tell if the tenor of its call was informational or emotional. Maybe both.

Jack said, "At least we know we aren't the only ones awake at this hour."

"Yeah."

It was Monday morning.

Jack and Maddy were supposed to have flown home a day and a half ago. Life was supposed to be returning to normal. I should be asleep. Getting plenty of rest in preparation for cartoons on my locker and jibes from behind me on the bus and who knew what epic altercation with Nick that might end with blood from his nose spattered onto my knuckles.

"I should've guessed earlier," I said. "I'm so dumb. I didn't...I put some of it together, but I didn't put it together all the way. I bet this is where they held me. I bet you anything. I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry I didn't think clearer."

He shook his head, and his thumb flicked against my palm, right back and forth. It made me think of Mojo. Snuffling and licking my hand to make me feel better.

I wondered what Dad and Uncle Bob were doing. If Dad had realized his brother was outside the house. What they had to say to one another if anything.

Jack's phone rang. We looked at each other. He let go of my hand and drew the phone out of his interior jacket pocket.

He answered. Motioned with his finger for me to lean in. He put the phone between us, and we leaned our heads in to listen.

"Mr. Ford," said Dina.

"Yes."

"We're clear down here. It's safe," she said. "You both better come down here."

Chapter 45

Jack and I sprinted down the driveway. Near the house, it curved and flattened. Gravel flew from out our heels the entire way.

A car was parked outside the house, backed up to the garage, nose facing the exit out.

Hedges hid a good portion of the front windows and the front door. Light glowed behind the windows and from the partially opened front door.

I'd been out here only a couple times. It was one of Sherman's go to make out spots once we'd gotten serious. He'd insisted he'd brought no one else out to the spot. It surprised me to see the lights on for once.

Inside Dina stood at the rear of the front entryway. Her night goggles were shoved back on top of her skull.

As we approached she put a hand up. Not a stark, stiff motion, but an indication we should pause.

"She's not here," said Dina.

Neither Jack nor I spoke. In the quiet, we could hear one another's breath start to wind down after the mad sprint from Jennings down to the house.

"We don't know what happened," she continued. "There are bodies. The bodies have been dead for a while. Maybe a few hours. Someone else was here. Clearly."

She waited for the information to circle our skulls and then roll down the drain. Sink in. "Do you think you can handle that?"

"Yes," said Jack. He brushed past Dina and I and turned into the living room. When I made the same turn moments later, I saw Jack looking down at the body of Pat Corley.

The living room was waiting for furniture. Occupied only by a dead body and a spray of blood coloring the carpet. The ceiling fan whirled. I assumed Dina had turned it on to try and mitigate the scent of death.

Pat Corley had been shot in the throat and the forehead. His left eye partially closed, the right open and dull, all the moisture seeming to have run back into his skull.

"That's Pat," I said, for Jack's benefit. "That's Pat Corley."

He gave no indication of hearing or caring.

Footsteps echoed off linoleum and Rocco appeared in the doorway at the other end of the room. His goggles pushed back up on his head, too. His gun holstered.

"The other one is downstairs," Dina said. "Rocco?"

He nodded and turned like we ought to follow him, go see more death.

Entrance to the basement was through the kitchen. The kitchen lights were off. Living room light seeped into the kitchen. There were pizza boxes and Gatorade bottles on the countertops. Light from the basement spread towards the top of the stairs.

Jack and I followed Rocco down.

There were two rooms in the basement, a main room like an entertainment room, and then a small bedroom.

There were chairs in the center of the main room. One standing, one knocked over. Severed coils of rope hung off the back of the standing chair.

On the floor next to the wall lay a mangled pair of glasses. Stepped on.

Significant amounts of blood had dried down here. On the walls. On the carpet. All of it seeming to have sourced from the face of the man dead on the floor.

He wore a short sleeve green shirt. A small spiral bound notebook slipped part of the way out of a breast pocket. He wore brown corduroy pants and loafers. The smell coming off of him was like walking into a Honey Bucket on a warm summer day.

Rocco walked up behind us and then around us. He pointed to the black as red could get mar soaked into the carpet.

"He was face down when we got down here. We rolled him back."

The man's left shoulder was frozen, hitched up towards his head and his head tilted towards the shoulder, and what of his face you could make out for the bruising and erupted crimson seemed to tell that he was in significant pain in his final moments. The angle of his head seemed unnatural to his neck like the grooves at the base of the skull didn't conform to the grooves at the top of the neck. Unable to screw one onto the other properly, someone had just jammed the two pieces together.

"There's no other wounding. Not that we can tell without stripping him down. They beat his...They beat him. Far as we can tell. They just beat him to death."

Jack walked over to the standing chair. Knelt down and looked at the rope.

"Was she in this chair?" he asked.

Rocco shrugged.

"Could be. DNA tests would probably tell you that. Off the top of my head, sure. I'd say she probably was."

A handrail ran the length of the stairs. I walked back towards it. Blood spatters had dribbled onto the end of the handrail, and on the bottom steps of the stairs, too.

Jack and Rocco went into the second room, the small bedroom. Rocco came out with a blanket in hand but remained standing part of the way in, part of the way out, looking back at me, and the man's body. Probably wanting me to feel like I wasn't alone with a corpse. Taking a deep breath, I walked past the body, over to the bedroom. Rocco backed out of the way so I could get in.

The bed had sheets and blankets. There were also wrist restraints and restraints down at the base of the bed. All four mounted on the metal bed frame.

I couldn't remember if this was where I'd been held. I snorted a little laugh. Maybe if my uncle's faded, elderly red truck was parked near the house, motor running, then I'd be able to tell.

Jack stared at the bed. He looked like if he concentrated, somehow, he might summon Maddy from wherever she was. I started to leave the room, then paused and turned back.

Jack remained silent as I looked under the pillows. My finger nearly touched the wrist restraints, but couldn't quite bridge the last little gap.

I hunched down and looked under the bed.

The head of the bed was shoved into a corner of the room. If I were lying on my back on the bed, head on the pillow, my right arm would be at the bed's edge.

If I could find the bracelet, it'd be a minor amount of control I'd regained. I really wanted a minor amount of control over the universe. But it just wasn't going to happen, not right then.

*

Out in the main basement room, Rocco had draped the head of the body in a blanket.

He pointed down at it and said, "We've already trampled who knows how much evidence. Just leaving the blanket like that so the cops don't lose anything more."

"Right."

"Or," he said, "maybe I just made it worse for the cops. Shoot. What do you think?"

I shrugged.

"You ok?"

I nodded.

"I wasn't thinking Dina would call you guys in."

I stared at the dead man. Somehow it seemed worse now that he had some measure of anonymity. Like we'd abandoned him. He was so still. It was like he was a statue or a mannequin being moved someplace and it'd gone for a tumble to the floor. All he needed was for us to pick him up, make him right.

I could hear myself ask Rocco, "You guys didn't do this, right?"

He took a deep breath. Let it out.

"No, no we didn't, Miss McCall."

I think I nodded.

"It, um," he looked up the stairs and then snuck over to me. Like he wanted to make sure teacher didn't catch him whispering in class. Just to make sure Dina didn't come down and catch him he angled himself so he could see the stairs.

"It's odd is what it is. To have the two guys killed like this. It'd make more sense for the one upstairs and the one down here to be done the same way."

"Does that mean it was two people?"

"Not necessarily."

"And none of the blood...None of it was Maddy's?"

"I don't think so. It's all too contained down here. You saw the stuff. On the railing, on the steps, but it ends upstairs. Before you get upstairs. It's like whoever did it, and went back up, they had something to wipe the blood off onto. I don't know. I don't watch enough of those crime investigation shows." He smiled a low wattage smile, dimpled. "We'll know more later."

A vehicle pulled into the driveway. Tires on gravel. A car door shutting, muffled, but definitive.

Head tilted like he had x-ray vision and was checking it all up top while it happened, Rocco said, "Stay here."

Gun unholstered, he ran upstairs.

Moments later, muffled, from upstairs, I heard someone say, "Jesus."

Jack came out of the tiny bedroom and stood beside me as Dad walked down the stairs.

He'd put on clothes. The same things he'd worn earlier Sunday.

He clutched the handrail. His descent paused at sight of the two of us, then he continued down, eyes locked on the blanket, the dead man beneath.

Rocco came down the stairs behind Dad. He stopped about midway down. The gun was still in his hand.

Dad made a face. The smell. He made a move like he wanted to brace himself against the wall, then he saw the blood on the wall. He held off from leaning. He looked towards the bedroom.

"She's not there," said Jack.

Dad opened his mouth like he was going to snap at Jack, but he thought better of it. He rubbed the back of his neck. Looked at the mangled glasses, looked at the dead man. Dad sighed. He chucked his chin at the body.

"Name was Lloyd Passman," said Dad.

"You know him?" asked Jack.

Looking at me Dad said, "Carla. Carla knew of him. He's not from here. Think he lives in the Midwest, if I'm remembering right. He specializes in cults. Deprogramming people that have been, well, programmed by cults."

"Carla?" I said. "Does she know that you took Maddy? That you had them take me?"

He shook his head. Saying "No" before I could ask him all of it.

Behind him, Rocco disappeared, and Dina appeared on the stairs.

Dad said, "No. Not at all. All she knew was that I needed someone I thought could sit down with Maddy and talk her out of..."

He moved his hand around, the generic roundabout way of indicating, you know, this thing we're talking about.

"And he was ok with someone being kidnapped?"

"So many times, he told me, he said, so many times families had to kidnap a loved one, drag them kicking and screaming back home, or someplace they couldn't be gotten to, in order for Lloyd to start working on them. Get them in working order once more."

Dina ask, "Who else knew?"

Dad turned and looked at her. He shrugged. "Pat. Lucy's uncle. That's it."

"You're sure?" I asked.

"Yes." Dad scratched his chin. "And he isn't the type – wasn't – the type to want too many people knowing his business. He told me he could handle all this on his own."

Dina's phone rang.

She answered, started walking upstairs, talking low so we couldn't hear her.

The three of us didn't seem to want to look at each other. We'd rather look towards the blanket-draped body of Lloyd Passman instead.

*

Dina's phone call was from Rocco.

He'd gone outside, just to make sure no one else was coming to crash the party.

The doors on the car parked at the Winks place were unlocked. The trunk had been looked into.

Moving his goggles back down over his eyes, night vision bringing things to light in a weird green glow, he'd looked into Dad's car. Looked up towards West Jennings and then walked towards the driveway's eastern edge, where it quickly dropped off towards that trench the glacier had cut out the earth all those years ago.

He looked down the slope.

A pair of boots greeted him.

The soles of a pair of boots.

The owner of the boots was unresponsive to Rocco's calls.

Gun held out, peering down at the figure, Rocco saw the remnants of a somewhat beefy figure. A gunshot had blown through the dead man's chest, shutting down his circuitry and allowing the lifeless body to tumble off the driveway lip and onto the incline. Out of reach of the still and cold hand was his firearm, a semi-automatic rifle whose trusty performance had earned its owner 2nd place at last fall's PeaShooter Xtreme shoot.

Had she been there, Kitty could've taken a look at the body and confirmed it as none other than Arlo, Pat "Grizzly" Corley's friend.

Chapter 46

Dina drove me home. She held back and didn't drive at light speed this time.

The police were on their way to the Winks place. Dad would tell them everything. He no longer had control. There weren't "kidnappers" to concern ourselves with anymore. Now there was a separate entity at play. People had been murdered. Maddy had been kidnapped from the kidnappers. Something Dad and Pat could never have conceived.

Everyone wanted me outside of the situation as much as possible. Leaving the Winks house, I didn't say bye to Dad. Didn't hug him.

It was like I didn't know him. Like he was a stranger to me.

Dina pulled into our driveway and parked, the motor still running.

Uncle Bob and Mojo were nowhere in sight. I thought it possible he'd just taken the shortcut back to his place, Mojo scooting on out before him and then running back, circling, unaware of how messed up things were for the people she knew. I wondered how long it'd take him to get home. If he would or if he might not wander, be found days from now, Mojo still with him. She had that kind of loyalty. Unquestioning. The kind that Uncle Bob had towards Dad.

"Get some rest," Dina said.

It must've been the sleep exhaustion. Something. Boldness I didn't ordinarily possess surfaced. I looked at her and asked, "Did you guys kill Nick Verney?"

Dina turned the engine off.

Instant nighttime quiet. Just the ticking of heat from the hood.

She turned the keys in the ignition far enough the dashboard lit back up. She pressed a control, and the driver side window rolled all the way down. She turned the light show back off.

"No," she said.

"I just," I said, "I told you. I told you about what he was saying. And then the very next day..."

I sighed. The adrenaline was steadily leaking from out me. The way it was going I didn't know if I'd even make it from the SUV to the house before deciding to lay down on the lawn and sleep there.

"My friend Kitty saw someone. At Nick's. She was there for part of it, part of...And the way she described the person she saw at Nick's, it made me think of Trent."

"When was this?"

"Friday."

"This was Friday?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"During the...I think during the premiere. Or I mean after. After."

"After the premiere was canceled?"

"Yes."

She sighed like the cool air was permeating her skin.

"From that moment on, the bomb threat at the theater, Trent has been with Horace Walton. Ever since the bomb threat, he's gone back to being Horace Walton's shadow. He's with him now."

"I didn't see him at the premiere party."

What of her face I could make out in the dark retracted and rose in what must've been a smile.

"Trick of the trade. You ever look at news footage of Jack or your sister at some event, you shouldn't see me either."

I nodded. I didn't point out I did, but most people wouldn't be looking for the security detail.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm having trouble...I'm having trouble believing anything anyone tells me all of a sudden."

She let me cry without patting me or shushing me or telling me it'd be all right.

Eventually, I trusted my voice enough.

"Is my dad going to get arrested?"

"What do you think?" Not like it was a dumb question. But what did I think even in the best of all possible worlds would happen? I knew. I already knew.

"Fuck," I said.

I opened my door. Before shutting it, I thanked Dina for the lift.

Inside the house, I moved around in the dark.

My eyes had gotten used to it at this point. In my bedroom, I realized I hadn't heard the SUV engine turn over. I hadn't asked if she was going back to the Winks place or what she was doing. I looked out my bedroom window down to the front of the house. The SUV remained down there. Dina was outside the rig, walking slowly, her head down. She'd stop. Look towards East Jennings. The fields. Take a few more steps.

Walking back to my bedroom I could hear Aster, still snoring from Dad's room. I wished I could be so blissfully oblivious as the universe sustaining me took direct hits and began to bleed.

I left my door open.

I fell asleep.

I woke to a changed world changed even more.

Chapter 47

The sheriff was a portly older man. Up to his late fifties Will Younger kept in shape, then his knees went bad, his tinnitus started acting up and the medicine he took for it – a natural remedy – had the unfortunate side effect of increasing his appetite. But it worked. The ringing in his ears subsided mightily and kept him sane. Sheriff Younger always had enjoyed his wife's cooking. She liked making the food for him. A little weight on his frame wasn't the worst side effect a man could suffer.

"Balance," said Sheriff Younger, chuckling, flopping his snap-brim hat off his knee while sitting in our living room.

He'd told me his recent history. Warming up, I bet, to what he was really going to say.

First thing Monday I'd called school and told the office helper I wasn't coming in. There was always some student volunteer helping Mrs. Collar at various points during the school day. Thankfully. I wouldn't want to speak to Mrs. Collar if I could avoid it.

The girl sounded surprised that I was calling. She told me to have a good day, though the way she said it made me feel for sure that I'd been through a war and somehow survived although all that was left of me at this point was just a head and feet and hands, a sort of Mr. Potato Head Lucy McCall.

God never gives more than we can shoulder. I remembered Carla saying that at one point. I couldn't remember if that was before or after my mom passed away.

And today, I'd been given headlines. Headlines to shoulder courtesy the Internet and on TV. I was mentioned in one of them.

"Her Dad Did It!"

"Maddy Missing."

"Hollywood Star Kidnapped...By Father!"

"Small Town Girl, Big Time Trouble."

"Maddy's Sister's Shattered Life!"

When I woke up, several news trucks were parked along the road. Dandelions, I thought, they're like dandelions. Then I shuddered, realizing there was no one at the house with whom to share the joke.

Dad had never come home. Dina wasn't outside.

Aster was gone. All the items in the guest room that belonged to anyone from Hollywood were gone, snuck out while I slept.

I felt like going down to the news people and telling them there was no story here. I didn't know where Jack or Horace or Maddy or Dad were, but they weren't here. There was nothing here but me, boring 16 going on 17-year-old Lucille Catherine McCall.

This time though, Sheriff Younger promised me, if the news vans didn't disperse, they'd be fined and told to move on. If they didn't abide by the vagrancy law, they'd be arrested. First thing he told me at the door, pointing back at Jennings, even before he'd asked if he could come inside, wanting me to know I didn't have to put up with being harassed if I didn't want to.

Sheriff Younger looked around the living room. The ceiling. The walls. He kept messing with his hat. He'd accepted a glass of water from me. Set it on a coaster on the coffee table and promptly forgotten it.

"This used to be Ed and Eileen MacKay's if I'm right. That sound right to you, Lucy?"

"I'm not sure. Dad would know."

"Oh, I see, I see," he said so quiet-like I didn't even hear all of it. Read his lips to get more of the message than hearing would allow.

"Did you come to tell me my dad is in jail, sir?"

He plucked at some invisible blotch upon his hat, and the smile flickered and died on his lips.

"Your uncle, too, Lucy."

I nodded.

"This is-" Sheriff Younger cleared his throat. "It isn't though. It isn't like anything we've ever had here long as I've been the sheriff. To be frank, I'm glad the FBI is on the way."

"Are they?"

"Bound here. Should be here before late afternoon I was told."

"And I'm guessing you don't know more about Maddy then what we knew last night."

He gave me a look. I thought 'oops.' He might've been told I'd not been over to the Winks place. I didn't want to get anyone in more trouble than they already were.

"No sign of her. We're looking everywhere we can think. Part of the reason I'm here."

He took a spiral bound notebook from his breast pocket. Withdrew a pen from the center of the spiral and clicked the nose of the pen out.

"You mind if I take some notes?"

The image of Lloyd Passman's spiral bound notebook hovered in my head. His mashed in face.

"Lucy?"

I shook my head. "Fine. Sorry."

He asked me the last time I saw Maddy. If I could think of anyone who she might go to – in case she got free of whoever had her. After a few questions he said he hoped would "loosen up my brain," I gave him the chronology of what had happened since I'd been found outside the football field and track.

I laughed at one point. Told him how I couldn't believe that had all just been a day ago.

He didn't waggle his finger at me. Tell me to come to the cops the next time something wholly unsuspected fell into my lap. He quietly collected his notes. Thanked me for my time.

Standing he said, "You're still a minor?"

"I'll be 17 in July."

"I see."

He rubbed his chin.

"Any family in the area?"

"Other than my uncle? Nope."

He nodded.

"When I get back to the office, I'm gonna have my secretary check into social services. Child – sorry for that, you're obviously not a child, but a young woman, but they don't call it Young Woman Protective Services. Child Protective Services, though. Might need to check in with them. Just to make sure we're dotting I's and crossing T's, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not making a powerful fast move on that. This is...We'll move about fast as you want, all right, Lucy? You seem a fine capable young woman. You let me know. And that's how we'll play it."

"Thank you."

Out on the porch, he paused before taking the steps down to the lawn. Pointed at the news vans.

"I'm gonna call one of my deputies from my unit. He will be here in 5 minutes," he said. "Now on my way out, I'm going to tell them news folks same thing I told them on the way in. They gotta disperse. I know them. I know their type. They think an old man like me is all bark no bite. Wellll...They have until Deputy Llewellyn gets here. And then the arresting will begin."

He smiled. He looked pleased at the prospect. Tipping his cap, he told me to have a good day and wobbled on down the steps towards his unit.

Once he started driving up towards East Jennings, I walked off the porch. Looked skyward. Clouds had come. Not enough to make me think it'd rain anytime soon. I watched Sheriff Younger pull up alongside the news vans and get out. Point at the house. Used his hands a lot. I liked him. The kind of man Mom would call a hoot.

When I turned to start inside I saw Mojo.

She sat on our lawn, looking at me, her tongue hanging out.

I called her. She trotted over to me. I got down on my knees and hugged her. Working over her ears, I asked her how she'd managed to get here. I wondered if she'd ever left.

For a moment I felt creeped out like Uncle Bob might show up, more zombie than even before, but if Sheriff Younger said he was under arrest, that seemed like the best bet as to his current circumstances.

Still, to calm my nerves, we toured the back of the house and the decrepit barn.

Convinced we were on our own, I let Mojo inside the house. Filled a bowl with water and set it on the floor. She drank from it then looked up at me, wanting some kind of acknowledgment for how good a dog she was, drinking water like she'd done every day for half a dozen years now.

"I hadn't even thought about what would happen to you with Bob in jail," I said. Her tail whumped. "Sorry, girl. Hey? Do you want to be my guardian? Do you want to do that?"

Her tail beat a steady rhythmic 'yes.'

At the front of the house, I looked out towards East Jennings.

"Son of a bitch," I said.

Sheriff Younger had worked his magic. All the news vans had moved on. A deputy car drove slowly down Jennings, parallel to the house. Like a shark I thought. A shark patrolling waters freshly fled by fearful suckerfish.

Chapter 48

Sherman had texted me throughout the morning. All I'd sent back was enough of a digital murp to let him know I was awake and ok. I thought about calling Ruth, but I didn't know what I'd say to her.

I wondered if Kitty and Geoff had sat together on the bus. No longer needing to worry about Nick's derision. How Kitty wouldn't be surprised to see a substitute bus driver. Now probably the regular bus driver.

Showering, I thought about Dad in jail. If they'd confiscated his phone. If it'd be the local cops or the FBI that would come across the picture of me, unconscious, naked. I tried to snap out of thinking only of myself, but it was difficult.

On my bedroom dresser, I found the envelope Mr. Pederson had handed me on Friday. Set there as I'd started trying to decide on a dress for the premiere.

I was making room for Mojo. She could sleep on my bed anytime if she wanted. I tossed some socks on top the dresser, and one landed on the envelope.

Bed cleaned off I patted and patted the foot of the bed. Mojo cocked her head and looked at me. Such a smart dog. Knew she wasn't supposed to hop up, spread dirt and fur all over.

I picked the envelope up off the dresser and started telling Mojo the normal rules no longer applied to us. My cell phone rang. A '323' area code. California. I set the envelope on the nightstand and picked up the phone.

"Lucy? Jack."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Where are you guys? I woke up and..."

"Aster didn't leave a note?"

"No."

A long pause. Really long. I thought the signal had fallen off.

"Jack? You still there?"

"Sorry. She said she'd left a message. A note."

"Maybe she did. I might've looked right at it and not seen it. I'm not all here right now, you know?"

"Yes. I do."

"Are you still in town?"

"I'm at the police station. Sheriff Younger's office I guess I should say."

"Right."

"We needed a command center. We didn't want to make it the house. At this point...We're not on our own. We're working hand in hand with the authorities so...We thought it best to keep you separate from that. To...to give you some space to catch your breath. I'm sorry we didn't tell you when we made that decision."

"That's ok."

I could hear him draw in a deep breath.

"Lucy," he said, "I offered to bail out your dad and your uncle. They refused."

I nodded. That sounded right. That sounded like Jack. That sounded like Senate and his older brother Bob. Dad knew he'd done wrong. A price had to be paid.

"I just thought you should know that."

"Thank you," I said. "I guess I should probably go and see him."

Jack didn't respond. I couldn't imagine him wanting to talk more about my dad than necessary.

I asked, "Any word on Maddy?"

"No."

"Shit."

"Yes," he said. "That. Definitely."

I'd sat down on the bed. Mojo had come over and helped disperse my stress level, providing her ears for scratching.

"Do you need anything?" asked Jack.

"There's a sheriff's deputy cruising Jennings every couple minutes. The doors are locked. Mojo's with me. I'm ok right now I guess."

"I'll bring you lunch."

"Oh, you don't need to do that."

"It'd be good for me. Contrary to popular opinion I think better on my own. It'll give me an excuse to get out of here."

"Ok."

"Ok. I'll call you in a couple of hours."

"Thanks."

"You bet."

Hanging up, I wondered if I shouldn't tell Jack to contact Ruth. She was oodles insightful. She'd been right. The kidnapping had never been about the money. But that didn't seem a likely team up. Dina and Jack might get along with Ruth, but bring Horace into the mix and Ruth would only see red.

No one had mentioned Horace Walton. I wondered where he was.

Maybe damage control back in California. Maybe negotiating with some secret international security force to storm all areas near Eaton in a full on attack to find Maddy. I wondered about the people, the ones Horace had hired, that were supposed to show up today – if they'd been officially mothballed now that everything in all its horribleness was public, the cops and the FBI involved.

I checked my laptop. Carla's Facebook page displayed nothing. I wondered if she'd had Lloyd Passman listed as a 'Friend.' If that had been deleted anytime recently.

People continued adding messages to my page. Well wishes. Crazy one-liners.

I couldn't look at too much of it. I got up from the desk. Sitting on the bed, I reached to the nightstand and grabbed the envelope from Mr. Pederson's class to Maddy.

It wasn't intended for my perusal, but I figured seeing a bunch of thanks and well wishes from the students would be nice. I could somehow channel the karma to the universe, to the people looking for Maddy, to Maddy.

Nosey. Maybe bored. Definitely tired. Not thinking too straight, in other words.

I opened the envelope.

Madeline,

Where might we meet before your departure?

There is too much to say, and I cannot trust paper to adequately support all my heart holds.

Seeing you, touching you, smelling you, all was too much. All more than I could imagine.

You couldn't communicate in front of others what our secret words have meant.

But I understood.

It was delicious, holding back, knowing how it would decimate their minds, to conceive of what we hold together.

The girl I knew.

Now the woman, the most desirable woman, I desire.

Soon, my love, we will be the lovers we long have wished to be.

As always, in anticipation...

H.P.

H.P.

Hubert Pederson.

Mr. Pederson _._

Chapter 49

Tuesday Sherman was paged to the office. Per usual, several peers produced smart-ass comments as he rose from his desk and began the march of the potential doomed.

As the door to Chemistry closed behind him, a potential replacement for Nick Verney's crown of King of the Quick Wits called out, "Now be careful and don't get kidnapped, Shermie."

Several people laughed, the teacher snapping at all involved before the door cut off the abrasive sounds.

The hallway was empty. Sherman counted himself lucky, not having to look at anyone or talk to anyone. He wasn't in the mood. He was also feeling easily riled. Like just the right set of words or whispers and he was going to go for someone's throat. He could guess who'd made that last little jibe just prior to the door closing. Sherman wouldn't mind getting suspended giving a deserving shithead a bloody nose.

Sherman had told me he was one of those people that needed 8 hours of sleep. With everything going on since Friday, between Friday, Saturday and Sunday night he'd rolled up a total of 18 hours.

His mouth was dry. He was toe deep in a headache. By day's end, he sensed he'd be ankle deep.

In the office, the only person he had to look at was Mrs. Collar. She was cool and efficient. She'd outlasted twelve principals and five superintendents. Many thought she actually ran the school. Maybe she did.

Once upon a time, before the explosion of social media, she was the ultimate controller of who talked and who didn't talk to the high mucky mucks.

A chest level white counter wrapped around Mrs. Collar's work station. She looked a little like a musician in a pit an orchestra would play from.

Sherman approached the counter. Mrs. Collar pointed at the phone on the counter, facing him. A single green light flashed.

"Mr. Blackwell," said Mrs. Collar. "You have a call. Your cousin Ruth. She says it's urgent. I believe she's on line 1."

The look she gave him seemed to confirm what they both knew as fact. Sherman didn't have a cousin Ruth.

Reaching for the phone he hoped she didn't make too much of his bulging eyes or the blush he could totally feel climbing up the back of his neck, climbing his ears like mercury zooming up a thermometer in a cartoon.

*

"It's me," I said. "Cousin Ruth."

"Uh huh."

"Listen. This is important. It's weird, I know it's going to sound weird, but I want to know something."

"Sure."

"Is Mr. Pederson at school today?"

Silence.

"I think so."

"That's not. No. Do you know for a fact?"

He made the straining noise that came out when he closed his eyes, trying to remember some math or science homework problem. I called it his pooping face.

"Oh! Yeah. I did see him."

"How did he seem?"

"I don't know. Fine."

"Ok."

"Why?"

"I can't...I don't know. I think I know. But it's too weird."

"Huh."

"I'll tell you, but Sherman, don't look at Mrs. Collar. Look somewhere else. Otherwise, she's going to know something is going on."

He promised he would. Told me when he'd done it.

I told him about Mr. Pederson giving me the letter. What it was supposed to be. Who it was supposed to be from. I read it to him.

Then I read it to him again.

The bell rang for classes to end.

I asked, "Are you still there?"

"What does that all mean?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Wow. Wow. Maybe it's a joke."

"I don't think so. I thought that, too, but...I mean why go to the trouble of telling me it's from the class? If it's a joke, he'd be all 'give this to Maddy.' And that's it. That's all he'd say."

We were both silent for a moment.

"Do you think," I asked, "that he could kill people? Does he have a gun? Does he..."

"He used to bare knuckle box. He told us that one time in band practice."

"Jesus, Sherman. Could you say that any louder?"

He whispered, "Sorry."

After wiping away the mental image of Mrs. Collar giving him the death stare, another mental image rose.

The big bear sized Mr. Pederson and skinny scarecrow Nick Verney. Or the short kind of paunchy Lloyd Passman and Mr. Pederson.

No contest.

"If he took Maddy," I said, "if he took her and then somehow...See, but that doesn't. Where would he...His wife and son are..."

"His mom's."

"What about his mom's?"

"Mr. Ped-" He caught himself, Mrs. Collar's ears right there in proximity, and then he continued, whispering, "His mom had to be put in a home recently. Her, um, her house is, I mean I don't think, I mean I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure it's...Empty."

Empty.

"Where is that?" I asked. "Where is that house?"

"Colorado and like 3rd. You can't miss it. It has gnomes. Lots of gnomes. She likes gnomes I guess."

"I gotta go," I said.

"Ok."

"Thanks."

He got as far as "No pr-" but I'd ended the call.

I dialed Jack.

He didn't pick up.

I called Dina.

Dina didn't pick up.

Slipping on my shoes, Mojo's ears perked right up. She sensed I was about to leave the house. That could mean a walk. Walks were the best thing ever.

First I told her she had to stay.

Then I realized that I'd be better off with her. I told her never mind. She was coming with me. Her tail started to beat back and forth.

I ran out of the house, Mojo ahead of me, and the door slammed behind us.

I ran up the driveway to Jennings. The humidity was high. My clothes already trying to stick to me. The clouds thick enough in the sky rain seemed imminent.

I didn't see the deputy's unit. Probably on his way back towards the house or he'd just gone past and was turning around near the Ferguson's, looping back.

I called 911.

I started walking towards town. Mojo ran down the road ahead of me.

"This is Lucy McCall," I told the 911 operator. "Sheriff Younger said he'd have a deputy out at my place today. I'm on East Jennings. I'm headed towards town on foot. I'm wondering if the deputy could come get me. I need to do something in town."

A slow thin breeze ruffled grass on Skinny Arbogast's land. I wished Dina were here. Even Jamie Jane. She'd give me a lift to town, insisting her cameraman push the E! van to the limits, no questions asked.

I dialed Ruth.

She didn't pick up either.

"Son of a bitch. No one wants to talk to me, Mojo."

She brushed her head against my leg.

"You're right. I know. You'd always pick up."

She barked and shot out of ahead me, dog eyes picking up something of significant interest out there ahead of us.

Moments later a siren sounded from the west, back towards the Ferguson's. The unit approached, roof lights rotating and a thick tail of dust erupting into the sky from the tires.

I called Mojo. She obediently came over.

Deputy Llewellyn killed the siren and had the passenger side window rolled down as he pulled up next to me.

"Hi," I said.

He nodded. He looked younger than Rocco.

"I just need to get to town. Is that ok?"

"Sure."

"Can we take my dog? Sorry. Not my dog. I mean, my uncle's dog. She freaks out a little on her own."

He put the unit in park, got out and opened the door for Mojo. She hopped in the backseat. He shut the door on her and started to open the front passenger door for me.

"I think she'll like it more if I'm back there with her," I said.

"Oh. You bet."

After we were loaded in, the deputy got back behind the wheel. He put the unit in drive, and we started towards town.

"Anywhere particular you want me to drop you off, Ms. McCall?"

He looked at me from the rearview mirror. I held his eyes.

"Colorado. Colorado and 3rd. And if we could get there fast, that'd be cool."

He didn't have a problem with that. He said, "Yes, ma'am."

He pressed down on the accelerator. We left a trail of dust all the way into town.

Chapter 50

The brown house besotted by gnomes stood at the end of Colorado.

Perpendicular to Colorado, 3rd street stretched north and south, running pretty much to either extreme end of Eaton.

The few times any of Eaton's native sons had thought drag racing was a good idea, they'd used 3rd as their race strip. So far, there'd been no fatalities as a result of the misguided endeavor. The body shops had seen some business in the aftermath of the would-be speedsters overestimation of their driving skill.

Entering town, Deputy Llewellyn swung south onto 3rd and soon turned right onto Colorado. Mrs. Pederson's home was inundated. Ceramic gnomes cavorting on the front doorstep, dark red pointy caps popping up here and there through the landscaping, clutched to the mailbox post, every face leering and malevolent.

It wasn't until we were halfway down the block that my voice returned and I could call out and tell the deputy right here was perfect.

He slowed to a halt. I reached for a door handle that wasn't there. For a moment I thought he'd suddenly accelerate, look back and ask me how dumb I thought law enforcement around these parts could be. I was slated for a sit down with the Sheriff Younger and the FBI. My little dog, too.

"Hold on," the deputy called, popping his door open. "I'll get you there."

Mojo hopped out. I followed. Deputy Llewellyn shut the door and then kind of stared at me.

"Thank you," I said.

He stared at Mojo.

"You know, we got leash laws in town."

"Oh. I didn't...I didn't even think about that."

"Tell you what. I got a spare at my place. I'll go fetch it, bring it back. You're not going anywhere too far from here, are you?"

I shook my head.

"All right. It's cool. I'm going to grab some food while I'm there. It's a good excuse. Just don't tell anyone." He smiled, and I smiled. Then he pointed a finger at Mojo.

"You be good."

Pointed at me and with a wink said, "Keep her out of trouble."

At his unit, he opened the driver side door and told me he'd be back in a flash. I waved as he drove west on Colorado and hung a right up 2nd.

Someone's dog sensed Mojo and started to bark from a backyard. Someone else was weed whacking. Ordinary life.

I patted my thigh. Mojo trotted over, and we started down the street toward the house thick with gnomes.

"Lucy!"

Instantly goose pimples broke out.

Sherman ran down the middle of the street towards me, his hand up, waving, like he had to make sure and be seen.

I held in place. Sherman slowed, breathing heavily.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Not when Cousin Ruth is doing something potentially stupid." He smiled. "Or brave. Brave. Yeah. That's what I meant."

He'd parked on Colorado's south curb, back bumper to 2nd. Well distant from Mrs. Pederson's place, but the angle still allowed him to see anyone that might be heading towards the house.

We walked down the sidewalk towards the last house on the street. Mojo padded ahead of us.

Sherman said, "I nearly crapped when I saw the cop car."

"Yeah?"

"Totally."

"Why did you..."

"I came here right from the school office."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I thought about calling you. I was pretty sure this was where you'd come. I would've called but...I left my phone in my locker. Like a dumb ass. Didn't even think about it. Just got out of the office and went right to my car. I figured if I went out to your place I'd miss you. Have to come all the way back to town to catch up to you."

"Thank you."

"Uh huh."

A diesel rig drove down 3rd. The sound subsided, leaving the tiny dog barking continuously the major sound on the street.

A gray concrete slab driveway led to the garage door. Hedges between the house west of Mrs. Pederson's and her garage allowed for a slender passage to get to the back of the house. A row of bushes and weeds bordered 3rd on the east edge of the property. On that side of the house, there was a lot more walking room.

I looked at Sherman.

"You're already truant. Ready for some more criminal activity?"

"For you. No one else."

"Good." I stepped onto the lawn and started for the east side of the house. "Just keep those gnomes away from me. They are too creepy."

My phone started to buzz in my pocket.

I pulled it out. Stopped walking. Sherman looked back towards the street, making sure no one was looking at us and totally confirming we were totally suspicious just in case any onlooker hadn't arrived at that conclusion yet.

"Hello?"

"Ms. McCall. Dina."

"Hi."

"You called."

"Yes." I stared at the front door. "1650 Colorado Street. It's right next to 3rd Street. There are gnomes all over. You can't miss it."

A pause. Anyone else would've asked questions. Dad. Jack. Sherman. Maddy.

Dina said, "On my way." The line died.

I looked at Sherman.

"We're not waiting for her."

I walked past him and started looping around the side of the house.

"For who? Lucy..."

Sherman's voice muffled as I turned around the corner of the house into the backyard.

Chapter 51

He was a cheery, red-cheeked gnome. His mouth gaped open revealing a row of small teeth, too small and too white, eerie, like kernels of an albino corn. His eyes were shut in mid-song or mid-burp. Beer foam from the tiny mug in his tiny hand had stuck to his beard from one of his increasingly drunken draughts of the ale.

I hoped he'd had enough beer that he wouldn't feel the impact.

At the same time, I could care less.

On the first swing, the glass pane in the door between the back patio and the kitchen cracked and splintered. Dozens of future individual chunks of glass formed, ready to be popped free of their frame.

I checked the drunken gnome. He seemed to be holding together. This one not ceramic, but hefty, made of stone. I made sure my grip around his backside was firm, and I swung him into the glass a second time. A third.

Mojo barked each swing. Emotional support.

Chunks of glass fell from the window. Dropped onto the kitchen floor inside. I adjusted my grip and used the gnome's head to knock out big pieces of glass and then crush down the glass remaining on the bottom of the pane, grind it down so I could reach through and try and unlock the door without gashing my wrist open.

I switched the gnome from the right to the left hand and cried out.

"What?" Sherman tensed up.

"Glass." I pitched the gnome off the patio. Mojo followed the arc. "Mojo. No." She looked back at me and stayed in place. I studied my left fingertips. Beads of blood had formed on my thumb and index finger. I'd live.

I reached back through the windowpane and struggled with the doorknob for a moment. The little thumb sticking out didn't want to budge. Then it did. I drew my arm back out the freshly made gap and turned the doorknob. The door opened. I pushed it wide open. Looked back at Sherman. He was pale. His eyes seemed ready to pop. You'd think I'd been bashing his head against something.

Boxes were stacked in the kitchen. Black marker written on the sides. 'Utensils.' 'Plates.'

The kitchen counters were cleared off with the exception of a dish drainer tipped up onto its end, resting on the rubber mat once intended to catch the drips from drying dishes. White, it looked like the spinal column and ribs of some animal that'd died and then denuded braced against the wall.

The refrigerator hummed.

Through the kitchen doorway, part of the living room was visible. The windows covered by a curtain, the light dim. The front door leading to the flat recently mowed front yard.

"Maddy?"

Sherman pointed. "Where does that go?"

It was the door just the other side of the kitchen table.

"I don't know."

Sherman walked around the kitchen table and opened the door. It swung out into the kitchen. He looked into the dark. Looked at me.

"Basement."

"I'm going to look up here."

"Ok."

"Ok."

I left him to do whatever he felt like. We'd check the basement together if we had to.

Mojo whined. She stood on the steps leading to the back porch, head down, sniffing at the bits of shattered glass that had landed outside.

"Mojo. Stay."

Her eyes rolled up, her brow crimped. She looked ashamed like she'd had something to do with the glass breaking.

I jabbed a finger. "Stay. Stay."

Insistent. Hopefully, it took. To keep her from coming in I shut the door.

The living room was empty. More boxes assembled, stacked, some labeled, some taped shut, some with their flaps open.

A hallway on my left. Three rooms. All the doors open. The first, on the right, a bathroom. No boxes inside. The shower curtain hung from a rod, shoved back, revealing the empty tub.

The next, on my left, what looked like a sewing room, the curtains drawn over the windows creating a dimly lit hub for crafts and craft-making materials littered all about. I could recall Mr. Pederson wearing sweaters. I could drum up the vague memory of his stating they would've been easier for his mother to complete if her boy had been smaller in the belly and height departments.

The last room in the hall was on the right.

Nearing the room, I could see through the doorway, see more sunlight entering this room than any of the others.

On both nightstands bordering the bed were more gnomes. A herd. A gaggle. A murder.

The gnome nearest the bed crouched down, face wrenched to merriment, hand clasped to knee like he was slapping it, other hand pointing like he'd just seen his best friend or brother slip and fall or perhaps miscalculate the swing of an axe and instead of splitting a woodblock had sunk the sharp edge into a shin.

Ropes winched taut around bedposts encircled Maddy's wrists.

She was wide eyed. A slab of silvery duct tape covered her mouth.

I jumped on the bed. I rained kisses on Maddy. Her face, her hair.

"Are you all right? Are you all right?" asking her the same question a million times it seemed. She grunted. It sounded like 'get the tape off.'

It seemed to take forever to work the tape up enough there was an edge to grab hold of. I yanked it off.

Maddy made a face and then exhaled.

"I have to pee." Her voice rasped.

"What?"

"I have to pee. Really bad."

I looked around like there'd be a knife, there'd be something right there next to the bed perfect for slicing through rope.

"Sherman!" I yelled. "Sherman!"

I didn't want to leave Maddy. If I got up just to look in the kitchen for a knife it felt for certain I'd return, implement in hand, only to find her vanished.

No response from Sherman. He must've been in the basement. I got off the bed.

"I'll look in the kitchen. I'll go look. I'll be right back."

Maddy nodded.

I ran out of the room and started up the hall. And stopped.

The front door to the house was open.

Light spilled in, jabbing a blade of white intensity into the gloom.

At the other end of the hall, in silhouette, 6 feet and 4 inches and 200 plus pounds of imposing silhouette, stood Mr. Pederson.

Chapter 52

He'd thought he could wait until the last period of the day. His planning period. That'd be the perfect time to go and check on her.

On his Madeline.

Every teacher skipped out during planning now and then. They were supposed to remain on the school grounds during their planning period. But Mr. Manring constantly 'forgot' papers and ran home to get them...a few fingers of whiskey rolling down his throat prior to the return trip. And Mr. Willeford had used his planning periods to conduct an affair with a housewife and mother of one of his students. Conveniently, her house located at the other end of the block shared with the school.

It was a proud tradition.

Mr. Pederson found he couldn't wait. He had too many questions.

_She'd seemed confused and scared. Scared of him. It didn't make sense. He couldn't concentrate. 7_ th _period was farther and farther away._

He'd theorized. Maybe there was an internal head wound. Maybe she'd been roughed up before he'd rescued her from Corley, the others. She might need to see a doctor. That could be arranged.

When she'd been his student, and they'd staged Romeo and Juliet, he'd told her she could play either title character, so malleable were her talents.

He would harness it here in reality.

Take her to Ashmond or the Tri-Cities, disguise her some way beforehand.

Cut her hair.

Put some glasses on her.

That chameleon aspect had never been utilized to its fullest capability on film, not even in the horrendous Panda. The cinematographer on that disaster had made her look atrocious. Somehow he'd handicapped her beauty. It was a wonder. It was like removing the rings from Saturn. Seemingly impossible and then it was fact.

He knew the man's name, knew it wouldn't take all that much effort to find his home, inflict upon him what he inflicted upon precious Madeline. He'd considered the action but never pursued it.

His patience had reaped the rewards.

It was supposed to be perfect. Now it was supposed to be perfect, but she'd resisted him. Screamed when he'd touched her at the house out on Jennings. Screamed when he'd crushed the little man in the basement with his bare hands. Screamed at sight of the dead bus driver in the living room. Acted as though she had no idea what he was doing or why, didn't care when he explained how he'd seen Corley out in the fields, too near the McCall house a month ago. How the two men had chatted, and Corley told Pederson he was out testing some hunting equipment. A lie. Pederson knew right away. Pederson spent his life gauging truth and lies. Lies of his siblings. His students. His wife. His mewling waste of a son.

He'd kept his eye on Corley.

Seen the red Jeep parked out at the little house not far from Madeline's uncle's place. It was of a piece. Matters about Madeline. He was always hypersensitive to anything related to Madeline. Pieces always floating near the surface, but as the visit approached the surface, his every waking thought was Madeline, like one of those photographs of a face that's actually composed of thousands of smaller photos, like the president's visage formed from headshots of dead servicemen and servicewomen.

He'd nearly run her off the road Saturday. Headed out to the woods and then the cabin he had almost taken her before she was taken. Something stopped him. Thank god. It would've been a mistake. What actually happened was much better. Mythical. Movielike. To allow her to be taken and then to save her, rescue her, kill her kidnappers one after the next, it was brave. Heroic. He couldn't have scripted it better himself.

But she'd denied vehemently, again and again, his insistence that they'd corresponded these last few years.

He had the letters.

Hers.

Dozens. Straight from Hollywood.

Printed, yes, but signed in her hand. Her lovely hand, how he'd anticipated it running down his chest, through the curly black hairs, and down the barrel of his belly, and then, deliciously, down even further.

Before leaving the house this morning, before either Lois or Perry could've possibly been awake, he'd opened the safe in his office, removed the letters and placed them inside his briefcase.

The proof. The proof might jog free whatever blot had settled upon Madeline's memory, dissipate the cloud, the madness thrust upon her by the kidnappers.

Coughing up a storm, enacting a stuffed nose, he informed Mrs. Collar that he was headed home. Someone would have to cover 6th period.

Driving to Mother's, he hoped Madeline would be less hostile.

When she'd screamed, it'd troubled him to no end to punch her in the stomach. He'd had to. Neighbors might hear.

Those idiots. Those three holding her at the house on Jennings. They'd done something to her. Hit her in the head or scared her so badly she no longer could discern friend from foe, lover from enemy.

He'd held back and hadn't dissolved to tears in the aftermath of striking her. Not until he'd properly bound her to the bed, slapped the duct tape over her mouth, and fled, fled before the first crystalline drop slid down his cheek.

He had the letters. He had them. She'd understand. She'd remember.

He parked in the driveway. The neighbors now so used to seeing his car parked there or pulling into the garage. It was a shame how his mother's descent into senility had quickened these last few months.

But it was a guiding hand that had made that happen.

Like Madeline getting taken. It was awful. He couldn't believe such monsters existed as would take her, but then the universe placed checks and balances as needed.

Mr. Pederson had been the balance.

He'd found her. Killed the men. Shot two, but he'd enjoyed the last bit the most. Almost, though not quite as much as he'd enjoyed his interaction with Nick Verney on Friday.

Vengeance. He was an agent of vengeance.

Parking the car, getting out and shutting the driver side door, he laughed. He'd left the briefcase on the front passenger seat. Shaking his head, he opened the door and grabbed it, smiling at the foible. A marker. A forerunner perhaps of the senility waiting to roll over him in the years to come. If that was to be then every moment he got to share with Madeline in the present was the more precious.

He wanted to sneak up on Madeline. He could wait for her to wake up if she was sleeping. Sleep had to be good for her, all the stresses thrown at her over the last few days.

There was no screen door to contend with on the front porch. He slid the key in and turned the knob softly. For such a large man, he'd acquired and honed an ability to sneak here and there, tiptoe, like Sunday night. Leaving the house to go out to the country, to hike up the ravine to the house where he suspected Madeline would be held. Lois and Perry had no idea when he'd left, or when he'd returned, successful, exultant.

The shout from the back of the house terrified him.

Then the dog. Barking. He couldn't tell if the dog was inside or out.

But it was clear his presence was known. Just as well.

Mr. Pederson steeled himself.

His fingers squeezed the briefcase handle. He'd fling it. Or use it as a bludgeon. Whatever seemed necessary, whatever foe appeared at the end of the hall.

He was surprised at sight of Madeline's sister.

Surprised and delighted.

And then saddened.

He hoped it wouldn't come to it, but if Lucy, sweet, horse faced Lucy, gave him no choice other than to break her beneath the full force of his fingers, then fate would have it.

Chapter 53

I waited for someone to call after Mr. Pederson. Change the atmosphere of our stand off. Set me in motion.

I'd stood, frozen, and watched him walk out of view, and heard the front door close, saw the slash of light vanish.

I couldn't move. Locked in the same damn spot when he walked back into view.

"Hello, Lucy."

I thought about diving back into the bedroom. Trying to lock the door, brace it. I imagined his fists would break through the door with little effort.

The bathroom was probably the only door with a lock. That wouldn't do me any good. I might get in there, but that would leave Maddy out here with him.

"The cops are on their way," I said. "So is Dina."

He smiled. His lips split, moist teeth behind the wiry black mustache.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You weren't supposed to find out about us. Not now. Eventually, yes, but..."

"Lucy," called Maddy. "Is someone there?"

"It's Mr. Pederson."

Quiet. Then Maddy yelled, "Get the fuck away from my sister! You hear me! Get away from her! If you touch her, I will kill you!"

Mr. Pederson shook his head. Pinched his brow.

"She's not well." He stepped down the hall. His jacket brushed the wall. "We have to get her into the right environment. Get her well."

I meant to stand my ground. Mr. Pederson so big, so intimidating, my natural instinct was to flee. I took a step back. Another. If I took another, I'd be up against the wall. There was a white spot about head high on the wall, where a frame had come down recently, revealing a small brass hook. I could see Mr. Pederson hefting me up, slamming my head against the hook, hanging me there in the hall.

In the back of my mind, I realized Mojo was outside. Waiting like a good dog would. I thought about calling her. And then I flashed on the mental math. Mojo and the broken window in the door. Mr. Pederson and Mojo. Semi-giant versus cow dog. It didn't seem out the realm of possibility that he could pick her up and snap her in two.

I made fists. I hunched down, ready to strike low, fight dirty.

"Lucy..."

The sound in his voice like he'd obtained access to the most sensible solution to this situation, and was willing to share it.

"You'll have to kill me," I said.

His brow crimped. His eyes wet. He nodded.

"If need be, child. If need be."

He reached back and dropped his briefcase. Freeing up his hands.

Maddy swore. Her feet beat up and down on the bed, the mattress and spring squeaking, like it might somehow wither her restraints. She screamed. Her voice so dried out it seemed like the organ of flesh would tear and blood might start to boil through.

And the next moment, Mr. Pederson joined her, shrieking, his back arching, his hands reaching behind him to try and pluck out the pain.

Chapter 54

Taking a whiz, Sherman left the basement bathroom door open.

Daylight slipped through the basements ground level windows and provided enough light he didn't need to tug on the dangling pull chain and turn on the bulb screwed into the ceiling.

Doing the deed, he wondered how much trouble he might get into, ditching the last couple periods of the day. But if they found Maddy, saved her even, it didn't matter. He'd be a hero, or, at least he could say he was there while Lucy was being a hero.

He wanted to be her hero. He wasn't sure how. Friday, getting Tasered, peeing his pants, had been weak. He hadn't told her he'd pissed himself. Had no intention of doing so.

Zipped up, he reached for the toilet's flushing mechanism and held up. He hadn't heard anything but sensed something was different.

His Sherman sense was tingling.

Realizing flushing might clue someone into his being downstairs Sherman left the whiz in the bowl. What you were supposed to do, wasn't it? If it's yellow, let it mellow.

Outside the bathroom, he looked around one last time. He'd looked all the possible places Maddy might be down here. He wasn't about to start opening packing boxes looking for her.

Marched to the top of the stairs he heard voices. His skin prickled.

He had Mr. Pederson five days a week.

He knew what the man sounded like.

Someone started screaming. Maddy?

Sherman rocketed the last two steps, pushed the door back, and stepped into the kitchen and moved left, looked around the corner and through the doorway towards the living room.

Mr. Pederson's impressive bulk. Right there.

_He remembered attending one of Perry Pederson's birthday parties. Perry two years younger than Sherman. Sherman had been in 6_ th _grade, almost, but not quite in middle school, when there would have been not a chance in hell he'd attend a little kids birthday party._

At one point the kids had swarmed Mr. Pederson. It'd just started as a goofy thing, a couple little kids clasping his legs and he walked easily even with the additional burden.

Then kids grabbed the back of his feet. A kid climbed up on a picnic table and climbed onto the music teacher's back. Everyone laughing. Mr. Pederson pretending like the kids were impeding his march to get a slice of birthday cake.

Sherman imagined leaping on the man's back. He'd be like a backpack in Converse sneakers. That's about it. He could try and claw at Mr. Pederson's throat or eyes. All the gentle giant had to do was get hold of Sherman and squeeze. His bones would snap like a winter night's fire biting into sap coated kindling.

Sherman's eyes darted. Then settled on the kitchen floor. The base of the door. The work Lucy and the stone gnome had done on the glass.

He didn't think about the amount of noise he might be making. He just moved. Knelt and grabbed the biggest nastiest glass shard. Then back up on his feet.

Mr. Pederson had vanished. For a moment he imagined the man would suddenly appear in the kitchen doorway. Then he focused on all the noise coming from the other end of the house.

He crossed the length of the living room in a moment's time and started down the hallway just as Mr. Pederson flung the briefcase to the floor behind him.

He knew Lucy was at the end of the hall. He just couldn't see her for the bulk immediately in front of him.

The music teacher raised his arms. In a moment he'd be at the end of the hall, Lucy in his grasp.

Sherman took a step forward. Closer than close. Stopped and swiveled back and clenching his teeth, swung his fist and the hunk of glass towards the small of the large man's back.

Chapter 55

Mr. Pederson convulsed and simultaneously swatted at his back. It almost seemed a dance step.

He lumbered forward at the same time he tried to turn and look at whatever was tormenting him. I jumped back. Still, Mr. Pederson was too big. Too much up front. He brushed into me, pressing me against the wall.

Over his shoulder, I could see Sherman. A hunk of glass in his hand.

Maddy kept yelling.

Part of my brain reached out into the universe and prayed and hoped Deputy Llewellyn lived very close to Mrs. Pederson's.

Mr. Pederson roared and reached for Sherman. Sherman ducked and swung. He must've hit soft tissue. Mr. Pederson screeched. He wasn't only screeching, he was telling Sherman he'd die. He'd be dead. It was difficult to make out all the words. The ones staring with 'd' seemed to pop out with more significance than the rest.

One of Sherman's slashes went wide. Nothing but air. Mr. Pederson took the opportunity to close the gap. He grabbed for Sherman's scalp. His fingers went through the hair. He grabbed Sherman's glasses and threw them to the floor disinterested like prey in the wild attacking and retrieving something indigestible.

Sherman backpedaled into the living room. He tripped over the dropped briefcase and nearly fell. Mr. Pederson followed, kicking the briefcase aside.

Sherman found himself backed against the living room door.

He held the glass out. There was blood all over. Part of me processed that he was handling the glass barehanded. It was cutting him to shreds to handle it.

I knelt and grabbed the briefcase. I came up right behind Mr. Pederson. He only had eyes for Sherman.

"Get away from him," I yelled. "Mr. Pederson. Get away from Sherman!"

Mr. Pederson didn't answer. His shoulders rose and fell. His left hand formed a claw. Ready to clutch or palm something. Sherman's head his desired target, holding it steady while the right hand thumped into the skull until it was tenderized, an awful blood and brain leaking mess.

When Mr. Pederson stepped forward, I dipped down on my right leg and then sprung forward, swinging the briefcase into the back of his head.

The latches popped and papers flew all over. They were giant snowflakes, holding in the air, and then falling, falling, some hitting the living room floor the same moment as the briefcase hit the floor.

Mr. Pederson had stopped locking in on Sherman.

Instead, he took in the crop of papers sprouted all over the floor.

For a moment the only sound in the house was Maddy back in the bedroom, yelling.

Then loud knocks sounded from the living room door. From outside.

I locked eyes with Sherman.

He looked too stunned to join me in a duet. I started to yell. I yelled for both of us. And Maddy. I yelled as loud as I possibly could.

Sherman didn't even check to see who was out there.

He pivoted and grabbed the door handle with his left hand and tried and tried and kept at it and finally pulled it open.

The light thrown into the dim room woke Mr. Pederson from his paper reverie.

Deputy Llewellyn looked inside. At Sherman. Sherman's bloodied glass knife holding hand, Mr. Pederson, and me.

I pointed at Mr. Pederson.

"He's a killer! He's trying to kill us! Deputy! Help!"

In the moment the deputy took to catch up to where the rest of us already were, Mr. Pederson acted.

He grabbed for Sherman. Grabbed for him and succeeded.

He yanked on Sherman's neck and pulled him towards his torso and then just as quick released Sherman, springing him out towards the deputy and the front porch. Sherman thumped against the deputy, and the deputy dropped the dog leash. His right hand was busy, pulling a service revolver from out of his holster.

On his way towards the hall, Mr. Pederson grabbed me.

I fought him. I squeezed at his wrists. I bit at the flesh of his hands and knuckles. I tried to set both feet into the floor and not budge an inch. He wrapped his hands around my wrists and yanked me from where I stood. My feet thudded dumbly like I was a reluctant little kid being dragged somewhere my older siblings knew terrified me.

Maddy was still screaming. It was down to a hoarse gasp. It was all the noise she could make, but she was making it.

I just kept screaming No. Over and over. Like that would make him stop.

I was too easy to drag on my feet. I let my legs go loose and flopped to the ground. He didn't expect that. He nearly lost hold of me. Grunting, Mr. Pederson leaned down, swatted at my hands for an easy place to get a grip upon. His eye bulged. Didn't blink. His hand slid over my wrist. His hand wore a ribbon of blood, a smeary dark colored channel.

"Stop right there! Freeze. Let the girl go."

Hunched down, trying to get hold of me, Mr. Pederson's eyes rolled up to look at the deputy, now standing at the mouth of the hall behind us.

Mr. Pederson looked down at me. There was nothing in or behind the eyes that I could say resembled our school's performing arts teacher. This was the face of the other he'd lost a fight with, a very important fight, a fight that'd been waged quietly for a long time.

With a grunt, he grabbed my left wrist and pulled on me at the same time he swung his massive upper torso upright.

I started to yell.

A gunshot rang out. Then a second.

Mr. Pederson released my wrist. He backpedaled into the wall. Then he slid down it and slid into a seated position.

A stain grew near his right shoulder, right where the arm went into the socket.

Deputy Llewellyn talked into a walkie-talkie. Calling for an ambulance. Back up.

When he knelt down beside me and asked if I was all right all I could do was nod.

Mr. Pederson started to cry. Slid down the wall, his hair was now mooshed up above his head and into his face.

"Is there someone else here?" whispered the deputy.

"My sister," I said. "She's in that room."

He told me he'd be right back. He walked past Mr. Pederson, into the back bedroom. For a moment I'd fantasized Mr. Pederson grabbing the deputy, some fight left in him like the bad guy always does in a movie, but Llewellyn knew the giant wasn't going to pose any more trouble.

I remained on the floor, staring at the wounded giant when Maddy stumbled out of the bedroom, stumbled towards me.

She knelt in the hallway and covered me. Wrapped me up, her wrists still coiled in rope, kissing my head, and crying, and brushing my hair like she was soothing me, letting me know all of it was going to be all right now. The rope itched and felt like it rubbed my cheek face raw each stroke of her hand, but I didn't mention it. I didn't tell her to stop.

Gun holstered, but his hand resting on the grip, Deputy Llewellyn stood between us, and Mr. Pederson, staring at the shot man.

"I can't," he said, "I can't render assistance until I've got back up."

He said it like this sort of situation happened every day and it was wearing him down.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

More people and more people entered the little house, and some stepped around us, and when they tried to move me at first, I resisted. Maddy left my side, and when strange hands met my body, I think I screamed. Maddy reappeared at my side.

"They need to get to Mr. Pederson," Maddy whispered.

"Why?"

"To take him to the hospital."

"No."

"Lucy."

"No."

When she promised - whispering with the rough remnants of her voice - we would move together and come to rest the same, I finally got up, and let her guide me to the couches.

Sitting, I stared at the hallway, thinking I could erect some sort of barrier that would block the EMTs, keep them from getting Mr. Pederson out.

He needed to be left there until there wasn't anything left for them to save.

Chapter 56

Sherman and Maddy and Mr. Pederson were all admitted to the hospital.

Mr. Pederson's gunshot wounds were not life threatening. Post-surgery, an armed guard was posted outside his room, and inside. Rumor had his big beefy arms handcuffed to the hospital bed, even his right arm, attached to the newly operated on shoulder.

When Mrs. Pederson and their only kid, Perry, came through the hospital I saw them. The blank white faces on top their necks seemed to me an echo of what I must look like.

Right after Maddy got me up from the hallway and into the living room, Dina and Jack had arrived at Mrs. Pederson's. We'd driven to the hospital from there. The Ashmond hospital. Not the shack of a hospital Eaton's tax base could afford.

We had a police escort. Not Deputy Llewellyn. He'd remained at the house, trying to tell the sheriff and the FBI all that had happened.

He'd done one more nice thing before I'd loaded up into Dina's SUV.

He told me he had Mojo. She was in his unit, in the backseat. She wasn't happy, but she was safe. I thanked him. I hadn't even thought of her, not after everything going on.

Sherman came out from the ER ward with a mummy hand. A young intern in scrubs walked with him and made sure he sat down safely beside me.

A dozen stitches. He was numb from the sedative they'd given him. His parents were on their way. His mom would be crying he said. He couldn't wait for that.

Aster had flitted in and out of the waiting room, constantly shifting things around inside her shoulder bag. So out of it she even lit her cigarette inside the hospital. A nurse had looked at her do it, and seemed struck numb, dealing with someone so oblivious to a cardinal sin. Aster hadn't even apologized, just marched out of the waiting area. When she reappeared she seemed even more out of it and wobbly than pre-nicotine Aster.

Dina came and got me. She stopped so her back was to Aster. Looked down at me and asked me to come to Maddy's room.

"Is she ok?"

Dina nodded. Motioned with her hand. I got up and we abandoned Sherman and Aster, both about as spaced out as I'd ever seen either one.

Two Lucentology guards stood outside Maddy's room. One of them Rocco. He lightly dimpled at me as we entered the room.

Jack sat at Maddy's bedside. A tube ran into her arm, boosting lost liquids. Another device was clamped to her fingertip, monitoring vitals. She was in a hospital gown and looked tired and begrimed, but a smile played around her mouth, the skin in proximity still discolored from the square of duct tape Mr. Pederson had pressed upon there.

"Squirt." She mouthed it more than actually said it. I leaned down and smooched her forehead.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded.

"Good." I wiped my nose.

"She's a hero, Mads," said Jack. Whispering. "Your sister saved your life. No doubt in my mind." He looked at me. He looked spent. "Thank you, Lucy. Thank you so much."

Maddy teared up and reached for me. I sat on the bed and wrapped her in a hug. I'm not sure who cried more. 60/40, Maddy, I'd say.

Exhausted by the crying, I got up off the bed finally and saw Dina pull out the last of a handful of pieces of paper from her jacket pocket.

She handed them to me. They were letters.

Addressed to H.P.

Signed Madeline.

Dina had collected them from the floor at Mrs. Pederson's. In the tumult, the chaos, the dozens of law enforcement people trying to make sense of what was going on, Dina had been the first to actually kneel and try and see if the papers had any relevance.

At least one had some law enforcement official's boot print darkly grimed across it.

"Maddy didn't write these," said Dina.

I looked at Maddy. She looked at me. Jack clasped her right hand. His thumb stroked her wrist slowly. He seemed much within himself, but a quick flick of his eyes towards me indicated he was listening to us.

I said, "They're signed." Pointing out the obvious.

Dina said, "About 500 autographed photos of your sister are mailed to fans every month. The number she signs herself are negligible. Someone else signs them for her."

I stared at a letter.

At the signature.

I looked back at Dina.

She nodded when I spoke the two-syllable name.

*

Maddy didn't need more drama, but the waiting room was filling with people, several suspiciously looking like media types who didn't want to look like media types, attractive and perky in the Jamie Jane mold.

Sherman remained in his chair, looking out blurrily at the world. I leaned in and whispered to him I'd be back in a few minutes. Dina was already at Aster's side, asking her if they could go outside for a few minutes, talk something over.

Standing, Aster said something about having just been outside. Petulant. I was amazed Dina didn't grab the smaller woman by the arm and drag Disaster behind her.

Dina changed her mind halfway down the hall and suddenly pointed us into a vacant hospital room. She closed the door behind us. Turned on the lights. Then stood right in front of the door. I stood at her shoulder, facing Aster.

"How long were you writing letters to Mr. Pederson?" she asked.

Aster cocked her head. A pretty bird trying to make out something exotic and new.

"I have no idea," she said, "what that even means."

"He was under the assumption that he and Maddy were going to hook up," said Dina.

Aster laughed.

"Hook up," she said. Nodded. "The way Maddy is sometimes, I think a lot of men are under that assumption." She threw a quick glance at me, wondering how I might take that suggestion.

Dina took the letters out of her inner jacket pocket. Handed them to Aster.

Aster looked at them, skimmed them. Shrugged. Looked back at Dina.

"She fucked with him. She led him on. What do you expect?"

It was a different aspect to Aster's personality. Accusatory. Nasty. Even more than when she'd blown up at the wedding caterer. She always seemed so mixed up or kind of whiny, to have teeth like this seemed impossible like one of the personalities had to be an impostor.

"Everything you do, everything you have done, for Maddy or Jack, is backed up on a server," said Dina. "Doesn't matter if it's from a laptop or your tablet. You're still doing it on a server. It's like the ocean. Every ship might be different, but it's sailing on the same ocean."

Aster exhaled deeply. She blinked rapidly.

"I already have confirmation from LA that these letters were written and printed from machines only you use."

Aster laughed. Shook her head. Winched her jaw to one side and it tugged her mouth at an extraordinary angle like she was wearing down an apricot sized jawbreaker.

Dina waited. There was foot traffic in the hall behind us. Voices moving near and then far away.

"It didn't-" Aster started. And stopped. Her hands tremored. She let go of the strap on her bag and reached for her face, her forehead. The bag strap slumped over her shoulder, and then gravity took over, and her bag slumped onto the floor. The tremors worsened. Aster squeaked. Tears leaked from her eyes. She crumpled the letters in her hand.

"I didn't-" Spit and tears streamed into her mouth.

Dina seemed capable of only watching so much.

She walked over to Aster and gripped and squeezed her wrist and tugged the letters from the assistant's hand. Then she left the room. Her boot heels thudded sharply on the tile floor until the door closed behind her.

I stared at Aster. Her mouth open, her shoulders rose and fell like she was newly exposed to air her lungs couldn't quite adapt to and process.

Out in the hall, Dina walked with me back towards the waiting room.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"I needed a witness."

"Okay."

"Otherwise," Dina said, "I would've taken her head off."

She didn't add the 'literally.' She didn't have to.

Chapter 57

Mr. Pederson's fingerprints were found in the Verney house. Tracks from his car tires matched tracks around the Verney place. Later, guests would confirm seeing Mr. Pederson arrive at the premiere party in a timeframe that would've allowed him to head back to Eaton from Royal Cinemas and commit the crime and return for the premiere party.

Bragging killed Nick.

At the eventual trial, it came out that Mr. Pederson had tracked various student's Facebook posts via his son's account.

With that access through Perry, Mr. Pederson knew all about Nick boasting about _Small Town Girl's_ fate. When the bomb threat was called in, ruining the premiere, Mr. Pederson drove back to Eaton, to the Verney home. He used the excuse of a broken down car to gain admittance to the Verney household.

Tuesday, Mr. Pederson behind bars, a reporter at the news conference hastily arranged on Jennings outside the Verney driveway asked the bereaved father what he'd like to say to his son's probable killer. The farmer's brow crimped a moment before simply stating, "Nothing. Eventually, the devil will get his hands on him."

Nick's funeral was scheduled for Wednesday morning.

I didn't know that I should attend. I thought my attendance might be problematic, but then people would think ill of my not attending, too. Things were getting back to normal, a little, if the gossipy tongues of townspeople were becoming a concern.

*

Tuesday held distractions that shouldered Nick's funeral from being my chief consideration.

Maddy and I were supposed to meet at the Eaton County Courthouse. The sheriff's office and the jails were located there, too.

Several cop cars arrived at the house at the same time. The investigators were going to go over the house for evidence while I was out of the house, in town. Sheriff Younger had asked me if that would be ok.

Maddy had said she'd wanted to stay at the house with me, but logistically, the hotel in Ashmond was the better choice. Easier to plan around. Easier was the aim here on out until she flew back home.

They'd invited me to come stay at the hotel, too, but dogs weren't allowed.

Dad's car was impounded, at least until the investigators looking into the kidnapping and the murders decided it could be released. Until then I was bumming rides.

On Tuesday Deputy Llewellyn seemed surprised when I'd told Mojo to stay rather than hop into the back of the deputy's unit. Driving away from the house I looked back through the protective glass behind the front seats and the rear windshield. Mojo remained in the same spot.

"She'll stay. She's got to get used to staying at the house," I said, for my comfort, for the deputy's as well.

"Hopefully the guys actually do their job rather than play with her," said Deputy Llewellyn. "Some of them, sadly, are kind of easily distracted."

Maddy had been waiting a few minutes when I arrived in the lobby. She studied Wanted posters. Most the people in the lobby studied her.

She wore jeans and a dark silk sweater. Her hair was up, and she wore a baseball cap pulled low like that did any good around here to mask her too familiar face.

I looked around, but there was no Jack or Dina nearby. Maddy hugged me, but I could tell she was tense. We both were. We went up one stairwell and entered the sheriff's office. It was a relief when one of the cops almost immediately told us to follow her down a hallway. Opening the door ahead of us, she'd called it the interrogation room.

Once we were waiting, I muttered something about how I thought it'd be like the movies and we'd be talking through glass. Maddy just kind of grunted. When I asked after her voice she grunted, too.

Just said, "Lozenges. Lots and lots of lozenges."

Sheriff Younger opened the door, and Dad walked ahead of him into the room.

He wore a gray matched set, short sleeve top and pants, kind of like scrubs you saw on people at the hospital only the color of drier lint. He wasn't handcuffed or chained around the ankles. He looked at us, his sockets purpled, a few days worth of silvered beard growth coating his cheeks.

The sheriff indicated the chair opposite us as Senate McCall's destination. Dad sat. Sheriff Younger looked at him. Looked at us. He smiled.

"Ladies, if you need anything, we've got eyes and ears aplenty about." He tilted his head, eyebrows surging for the tip top of his balding head.

We both nodded. After giving Dad a look, the sheriff exited, closing the door behind him.

Dad sat forward. Rested his arms on the table. I hunched forward in my chair, my shoulders drooping. Maddy sat back in her seat, right ankle crossed over her left knee. She seemed stiff. Tense. Her jaw extended out like she was on the cusp of cussing someone out.

"Hi," I said when it seemed no one else was going to speak.

"Lucy." Dad whispered.

I looked at Maddy. She stared right at Dad. She didn't blink. The foot hooked over the knee jiggled restlessly. An indication of the lava primed to blow.

"Bob," said Dad, "said to tell you he was sorry. About it. It's not his fault-"

Maddy said, "Bullshit."

Dad swallowed. "Lucy, he asked if you could take care of Mojo."

"I am."

"Ok. Good. And I think he said Will Leasey was seeing to his place, so...That's taken care of."

He ran a hand over his face. The whiskers brushed roughly against his hand.

Staring at the top of the desk, he held a hand over his mouth almost like the lips were moving while he prepped his next words for issuance. He wanted to get them right before speaking them aloud.

"He said you wanted me to be free," said Maddy.

Dad looked at her.

"The dead man. One of the dead men. Lloyd. You know. Lloyd. He said I could call him Lloyd. Once I had stopped trying to fight them. Lloyd said that I was keeping dangerous company. That I couldn't think for myself. Not anymore. People were thinking for me. When should I eat? What should I wear? Who should I love? All of it. Out of my hands. And I'd gotten to this dangerous point where I wanted it out of my hands."

Dad looked at her.

"Between the dope in my system and the general feeling of fear," continued Maddy, "when Pederson showed up and just started murdering Lloyd right in front of me, I almost thought it was part of the exercise. Part of the process, you know, being cleansed. But then," she held up a finger, "but then, when Pederson came over and started getting me out of the chair I realized that it probably wasn't all that possible that the brains and the blood on him were faked. That...that was real. That Lloyd, well meaning Lloyd, the life just bashed the hell out of him, was done wearing smartly styled vests for this lifetime."

"I'm sorry," said Dad.

"What would Mom say?" asked Maddy. "No. Strike that. How would you explain this to her? That's what I want to know. How would you make what you did sound sane?"

Dad stared at his hands.

"About a month - maybe two months ago - I got a phone call from Ruth Arnett." He paused to see what, if anything, Maddy would say at that. He continued.

"I'd sent her condolences for her sister way back last year. I guess what got her to come and talk to me was hearing about the plan to show your movie here. I mean she had her own agenda - wanting to get close to Horace, cause him some grief. She said there were things from his past that could he used against him. But mostly she told me about her sister in more detail. Told me about warning signs that she didn't pay attention to, that her family didn't pay attention to. It got me thinking. Got me worried."

"She's nuts," said Maddy.

"Her sister died. Where would your head be in that instance?"

Maddy smiled. "Well, I just almost got to find out, now didn't I?"

Dad quieted.

"You have such little respect for me, for my ability to make choices," said Maddy, "you can't ask me about my beliefs? You suppose. You listen to the words of a drunk grieving over her sister. You conclude. On your own."

He met her eyes and then looked back at the desk.

"I made a promise," he said.

"I know you did," said Maddy. "To keep us safe."

"That's right."

"Safe. Ok."

Maddy leaned forward, the chair scraping linoleum as she settled her elbows across the desk, looking Dad in the face.

"So. Explain how having them take Lucy and then having some asshole take pictures of her bound to a bed - and half naked - is keeping us safe. Tell me what Mom would say if you came to her and tried to tell her that step was necessary, absolutely necessary, in keeping your daughters safe."

Dad met her eyes briefly. He blinked and blinked and ran the back of his hand over his face.

"I didn't know that-" He swallowed. Cleared his throat. "Pat told me it might get rough. But that I could trust him."

"You had a code word? Right?"

"Yes."

"'Dorothy.' Mom's name. You call him. You say it. Boom. It's over."

Dad nodded.

"Then why," Maddy said, "the moment you got that image of my sister, of your daughter, bound, exposed, didn't you call him and give him the code word? How much more evidence did you need?"

Dad closed his eyes. Tears welled out either one.

"What more did you need? Did you need to see her getting raped? Did you need to see one of them on top of her? Fucking your daughter as she screamed, as she tried to fight them off?"

I made a noise.

Dad looked at me.

"No," he said. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't have..."

Maddy looked at her father and her sister with disdain. We were both crying.

"You have to believe me," said Dad. "If I'd known. If I'd known how it would turn out. If I'd known. If I'd known, none of it. None of it. I never would have, I never would have. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Lucy. I'm so sorry."

I got out of my chair and hugged him. I got down on my knees beside his chair and clasped his side. We sobbed and trembled.

At one point I looked across the table at Maddy.

She stared at us. She studied us dryly like we were specimen infinitesimal upon a microscopic slide, just colored blots, porous and all of a molecule thick.

*

Outside, at the base of the courthouse steps, she looked at me.

"If it were up to you, you'd let him walk out of there, free as a bird, even with all that blood on his hands."

"I don't...I don't know."

"If the baby," she smiled for a moment, "if it was going to be a boy, we were going to name it 'Senate.'"

She looked across the street. Her eyes moved with a car passing by before returning to look into mine.

"Now, it doesn't matter which sex it is. That name means nothing to me. That man means nothing to me. And I swear to you, I swear, when they're born, when it's born, he or she will never know that man. His voice. His face. His touch. His name. Nothing. Never."

Her voice had cracked. Before I could reach for her, she turned and walked down the street until she came to her car. She got in. She backed out and drove away.

Chapter 58

Sherman loaned me his car. Any interest he'd had in driving was stymied by the doctor's warning that infection might follow over use. Sherman had asked after the absolute worst outcome of infection. Amputation did sound pretty bad.

He drove out to the house Tuesday evening. Then we drove into town, and I dropped him off and drove myself back home.

Wednesday, right around the hour of Nick Verney's funeral, I drove through the streets. I'd laughed for the first time in days when Sherman had said he never thought he'd see the day that people would turn out in droves for the burial of a prick. Afterward, I felt awful, but I was happy for the temporary release.

The attempts to paint Nick in the colors of sainthood were annoying Sherman. Kitty, too. In the aftermath of his murder, he was being turned into a saint. Kitty couldn't quite run with it.

She said she wouldn't be attending the funeral if Geoff didn't seem to need the support.

A few blocks south of the cemetery I could see cars still filing in to find parking spaces near the cemetery. The rest of the town seemed pretty still. The mood at school, according to Sherman, was a little weird.

The house I was looking for shared a lawn with a number of trees. The trees tall and bushy enough they obstructed view of the house's second story.

The garage stood separate from the house, a white and blue trimmed wood structure, the track door pooched out a little like too much junk was crammed inside, and the door couldn't properly close.

Spray-painted across the front of the door – "Fucking killer" – in giant blood red letters, the 'F' high as my upper torso from waist to the top of my head. After I parked and got out of the car, I stared at the graffiti. There were plenty of houses and windows nearby. I wondered if anyone had seen the graffiti being applied or if it had happened in the dark or right out in the open.

A cat sitting on the front porch railing meowed at me as I walked up the steps. I said hello. The cat barely moved, drinking in the warmth of the sun that had settled in after the morning rain.

I knocked on the door. Waiting for the door to open I removed the floppy hat and the sunglasses. It was one of Mom's chemotherapy hats. I'd no business wearing it, but I'd no business being out like this while a classmate was going into the ground either. Twitchiness had set me off from the house.

A thin cloth window cover was shoved aside far enough a single eyeball could look out at me. Then the cloth was moved back into place. For several moments I didn't think the door would open, and several moments after that definitely convinced me that it wouldn't.

I headed back towards Sherman's car. I'd just stepped off the porch to the lawn when the lock turned behind me.

The door opened, and Mrs. Pederson looked at me.

Like most teacher spouses we didn't see too much of her. A glimpse of her at the premiere party had been the first time I'd seen her in months if not more. Maddy would've been used to seeing her, all the time drama students spent getting ready for productions, and Mrs. Pederson helping out behind the scenes.

I'd called Maddy earlier once I'd gotten the thought in my head of coming to see how Mrs. Pederson was coping.

"I can't," said Maddy.

"Why not?"

"One," Maddy in snippy mode said, "I'm in Oregon right now. We're still location scouting. Or Jack is. Two, I'm trying to move on."

I'd paused before saying, "Ok."

"It's a central tenet, Luce. It's...We're leaving tomorrow. We have to. The actual premiere is Friday. A real premiere. One that won't be interrupted by some shithead calling in a bomb threat. I just...I've got to keep moving. I can't keep thinking about all of this. I'll think about it while we're here, and once we're in the air, I won't think about it anymore. However the situation is left, it's left. I will move on. I will. I can't afford not to. And I can't afford to add to what's already on my plate. Going to see Mrs. Pederson is adding more to my plate."

I didn't know if Mrs. Pederson even knew who I was.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello, Lucy."

She looked beyond me, checking to see if I had accomplices. She looked so pale I imagined she hadn't left their house in a couple of days, even though I'd seen her at the hospital Monday and heard she'd gone to court for Mr. Pederson's arraignment.

The cat hopped off the railing and squeezed past Mrs. Pederson into the house.

"I don't know..." and then my tongue grew still.

I'd planned on pointing out we were in similar states of distress.

"Someone spray painted your garage."

She looked towards the building then looked at me. Nodded.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry that you're kind of...having to deal. I mean I was at home. I've been at home since everything kind of went off kilter...And I was trying to figure out what to do or, you know...I thought 'What would my mom do,' you know, because there's been so much..."

"Carnage."

I nodded. "Carnage. But I just got to thinking, my mom would've come and talked to you. Just see how you're doing. I mean, we're hurting, but you guys are really-"

A small blond-haired boy walked into view just behind his mother. He looked out at the world warily. Perry was only a couple years younger than Sherman and I, but he looked even younger, small as he was.

"Hi," I said.

Mrs. Pederson spoke softly to him, and Perry looked at my knees and said, "Hi."

I kind of looked at where my train of thought had scattered and couldn't think of how to hook it up again.

"Are you guys, ok? I mean do you have someone to take care of that graffiti?"

"I called," said Mrs. Pederson, though not specifying quite whom she'd called.

Perry started telling me about the graffiti. He'd get them. He wasn't going to hold back if the perpetrators returned and tried to dish out a second helping.

The way he called the faceless jerks 'not nice people' reminded me of the wrath I'd heard Mom invoke, calling cancer 'one evil motherfucker.' Delivery is everything.

I drove home. The funeral remained in service. The town still. A week later I heard that Mrs. Pederson and Perry had left town to stay with relatives out of state. The next time I drove past the house, the graffiti had been gone over erratically, but comprehensively with a paint that didn't quite match the rest of the garage.

Chapter 59

In middle school, I remember a classmate asked if animals could sense evil.

The way they asked was, "Would a cat let Hitler give it pets?"

Our science teacher, Mr. Dobbs, sighed before trying to answer. I could only see his shoulders rise and fall. I couldn't hear the sigh for all the laughs and the put downs directed the girl's direction. I can't quite remember which girl it was that asked. We had a lot of quiet girls that didn't venture out vocally. But Mr. Dobbs produced a really deep, meaningful, put upon sigh. The older he got, the more often he implemented the sigh.

His reply was with the exception of Hitler having wet hands, the cat wouldn't care.

Apparently, neither did Mojo.

*

Driving back from the Pederson's, I turned up our driveway and was greeted by the all too familiar sight of a black SUV parked in front of the house.

First I thought maybe it was Maddy. I honestly didn't know if she remained in the area. She'd seemed upset enough I could imagine her leaving town without telling me. She was upset enough the other day I could imagine her driving from the courthouse straight to Ashmond's airport for the next flight to Seattle or even Portland, whichever got her back home quickest. I could imagine her making that same decision to pick up and just go right after I'd gotten off the phone with her earlier that day. If Jack wanted to keep poking around locally, looking for locations, he could do it alone. Maddy needed to move on and do it ASAP.

Closing in on the house I could see a no neck pit bull in Ray Bans.

Trent.

Mojo trotted off the porch and down the lawn as I parked in front. Ordinarily, I'd be happy to see her. Instead, my heart had started to thump, and I'd tensed up.

Horace Walton sat on the top step to the porch.

He remained seated until I was out of Sherman's car and had shut the driver side door and was applying scratches to Mojo's ears. I knelt down, and Mojo snuffled my chin. Applied a quick, smelly kiss to my jaw. I heard a laugh. Horace entertained by the sloppy dog kiss.

The head of the church stood slowly and carefully almost like his legs might fold beneath him. Trent took a step towards his boss like he could imagine the scenario, but Horace made it to his feet on his own.

Walking down the steps towards me, Horace reached into a jacket hip pocket and struggled to extract an envelope, creased down its center.

"This is for you," he said. "Your sister gave it to me. Said she forgot to hand it over when she saw you yesterday."

Mojo remained at my side as I approached Horace Walton. Trent stood silently, his head angled towards East Jennings like he was watching for an expected guest.

I hooked the sunglasses over my back pocket and received the envelope from Horace's outreached, liver spotted hand. The envelope seemed empty.

Reading my concern, he said, "It's in there. You just have to look."

It wasn't sealed. I started opening it. He started talking to Mojo.

"You're a good girl, aren't you? Nice enough to let me talk to you while we waited for Lucy here, weren't you?" He chuckled. It was the chuckle older people always make, regardless of whether they're talking to babies or animals or anyone younger. A little bit of tease and a little bit of wisdom mixed together.

Inside the envelope was the bracelet Sherman had given me.

Tail wagging, Mojo got near enough Horace he could rub her skull. Looking at her he said, "They found it at, uh...the house. The other house. The one where they had your sister and you before your sister. The cops found it. Put it into evidence, and then I guess they asked your sister about it yesterday and she must've seen it on you on Friday. Told them it wasn't hers, but they gave it to her. She said she'd get it to you."

Looking at me he said, "She was too upset yesterday to remember to give it to you. Your father..." he sighed. "Sad."

I closed my fingers over the chain. The envelope remained in my other hand. I didn't know what to do with it.

"That's a hell of a hat," he said.

"It was my mom's."

"Reminds me of fishing. I used to go fishing when I was a boy a million years ago. Friend of my father's...His wife would come. Oh, she brought sandwiches. The best sandwiches, I swear. Egg salads, I want to say."

He pointed at my head and said, "That's the kind of hat she wore if I remember right. The exact same."

He held my eyes. I thought of Superman's pal, Jimmy Olsen. Jimmy weathered like an apple left unpicked or fallen off the branch, wrinkling and browning beneath the sun. A face you might see in a bad dream. But I still looked him in the eye. It was polite.

Trent must have made a motion or spoken a sound only Horace could hear. Horace looked to his right, and I followed the motion, looking back past Trent to Jennings and the appearance of a sedan, turning into the driveway and approaching the house.

Mojo barked. I shushed her.

Horace had forgotten about Mojo. About my hat. He seemed laser locked on the car pulling up in between the spaces left by the gleaming SUV and Sherman's car.

The sedan parked and the engine shut off.

"This wasn't my idea, Ms. McCall," said Horace. "Know that."

The driver side door opened and shut under Ruth Arnett's hand.

Grinning, she walked towards the house. She pointed at the middle distance between where everyone stood.

"Horace. Lucy. How's it going? I see you both decided to bring your guard dogs today."

Chapter 60

Ruth looked at my face. She kept smiling. I've seen photos of my face when I'm confused. There was no way she didn't know I had no idea what was going on. If Nick had gotten out of the car with Ruth, I would have looked no less blown away.

She held something inside a brown paper bag in her right hand. Horace fixed on it the way Mojo fixed on a stick about to be thrown.

Ruth stopped and sneezed. Mojo barked. I shook my finger at Mojo and told her to quiet down. Ruth opened her eyes wide like she couldn't believe she'd survived the sneeze. Pinched her nose like her sinuses hurt. I crumpled the envelope and slid it into my back pocket, just to get it out of hand.

"Hold on." Looking at Trent Ruth said, "Just setting the bag down, big guy. Then I'm going to get a handkerchief out of my pocket. It's not a gun or anything. You can't blow your nose with a gun. Least not that I know of so there's no need to tackle me or anything, ok?"

Bag on the ground, she drew a handkerchief out and blew her nose. Made a post-blow noise like it helped, but barely, then tucked the handkerchief back into her jacket pocket and picked up the brown paper bag.

"Ok. Whoo. Better."

Horace stared at her. His face looked forbidden to smiles and memories of old fishing trips and delicious egg salad sandwiches. He looked like he was having trouble swallowing something, his jaw moving around and around.

"First off, where's my money?" asked Ruth.

Horace said, "I need verification."

"You already have verification. You called and said you had your handwriting expert take a look at what I handed you Friday night and their reports came back glowing."

"I need," Horace's voice rose, "to verify that what you have is all of it."

"Every last word?"

"I don't like to have my time wasted, Ms. Arnett."

Ruth sighed. Looked at me. She looked highly amused whatever they were discussing.

"Fine. Here. You can check it for cooties first if you want." She put the bag in her left hand and held it out to Trent. He smoothly glided over and took the bag from her. He gave her a look like he was letting her know he was watching her even if his eyes were elsewhere, and then took the few steps necessary to hand the bag to Horace.

Horace pulled a book from the bag. He glared at Ruth and dropped the brown paper bag to the ground. He sat back down on the porch steps and struggled with a clasp on the book and might've broken it for all his haste. He got the book open. Started turning pages.

Ruth sneezed. Trent looked at her but mostly looked at Horace.

"Goddamn allergies," she said.

Horace kept turning pages. For some reason, it looked familiar to me. It wasn't a book like a novel or a non-fiction work. It was a blank book or a diary.

I knew where I'd seen one just like the one in Horace's hands. Ruth's motel room the other day. She had a good half dozen of them spread across the table alongside the Scotch.

I looked towards Ruth and I froze up.

She had the handkerchief in one hand. The other occupied by a pistol. It was aimed at Trent.

"Like I said," she said to Trent, "can't blow your nose with one of these, but one of these, can't blow a hole in someone either. That's why I carry both."

*

We put Trent in the trunk of Sherman's car. I didn't want to do it, but Ruth had the gun.

I didn't question the need to put him in Sherman's car trunk. I didn't ask why not put him in the trunk of Ruth's car.

Ruth headed off the potential inquiry, saying, "Your car's better. My car's a rental."

We had to move an empty milk crate and a stack of old vinyl LPs from the trunk first. I tried to apologize for the items in the trunk and muttered incoherently about how it wasn't my car. Mostly I was just embarrassed that Sherman had Motley Crue's _Dr. Feelgood_ right on top of the stack of LPs.

Trent knelt in the dirt, hands behind his head, waiting for the trunk to get cleaned out. He didn't bother dusting off the knees as he climbed in. Left the sunglasses on, too. Once she'd produced the gun, Ruth had him remove his jacket and his shoulder holster and fling them over the barbwire fence into the neighboring property, among the musk thistle. He'd marched over to the car hands behind his head. Small sweat stains had formed in the armpits of his Lucentologist blue dress shirt.

Once he was inside, I shut the trunk. Ruth tried the release and tried to just lift the lid. Nothing happened. She was delighted. Exactly what she wanted to happen. She rapped her knuckles on the trunk, lowered her head to tell Trent, "We'll be done in no time. Don't go anywhere."

Horace remained sitting on the steps of the house.

He just sat there, reading the diary while Ruth had forced his bodyguard at gunpoint to lose the jacket and the gun and then walked him down the lawn and forced him into the car trunk.

"Ruth. What's going on?" I asked.

She kept staring up at the house, Horace sitting there, paging through the diary.

"Ruth?"

"Look at him," she whispered, and I didn't know if she meant for me to hear or if she even knew I stood right beside her and could hear. "He's eating it up. He's eating it all up."

She bent at the waist and rubbed Mojo's head with her non-gun holding right hand.

"He's doing it." Her voice in a kind of squeaky leprechaun-like key. "Can you believe it, pooch? He's all over it like a bear and honey. Yum-yum-yum-yum."

Mojo's tail wagged, and she looked to Ruth in hopes of more pets to come, but Ruth was already walking back up the lawn towards the house.

Chapter 61

Horace flipped through the back pages of the diary at an ever-quickening pace. When he got to the end, he studied the backboard like he was waiting to see if more pages wouldn't spring out of the crease between pages and spine. He looked at Ruth.

"They're blank," he said.

"She didn't fill that one up, no," said Ruth.

"So that's it?" he asked.

"For that one."

He closed the diary.

"'One'?"

"Selkie left more than that behind. I don't have them all. I have several, but the whole library didn't travel to eastern Washington with me."

"Where did you find them?"

She smiled. "Secrets of the trade."

"Where are they?"

"Let's talk money," said Ruth.

"I want to know how many."

Ruth smiled.

"She wasn't very prolific, Horace. Around the time she knew you, she was prolific, but that's because she had so much going on and so few people to trust."

Ruth looked at me.

"You remember me telling you about Selkie. Selkie Rosenfeld." Pointing at Horace, "This guy's gal from long, long ago. She was this brunette-"

"Auburn," said Horace.

"Excuse me?"

"She wasn't brunette. Her hair was auburn." He said it like it was a color that described an entire season of the year.

"Auburn then. Fine. But just a kid that Selkie Rosenfeld. Not much older than you, Lucy. And there she was. In Hollywood in the '60s. All alone except for Horace here, a good dime older, trying to get in her pants, and then Griffin Sharp, Horace's best friend, a good dime older, trying to get in her pants. They're talking to her about Lucentology, this brand new thing, and clearing her head and how many body negatives she has and when they aren't spinning her around and around doing that, they're trying to help her make it in the pictures and when they aren't doing that, they're trying to take off her bra. It gave the girl fits. Fits and fits and fits and fits until she couldn't take it anymore."

She looked back at Horace.

"Isn't that it, in a nutshell, Horace? I mean other than the parts where you may or may not have driven a car off the road and killed your good pal, Griffin. Saw he was dead and then just booked, tried to get as far away from the scene as you could. There is that, isn't there? But of course, you couldn't take the blame for that. Plus it was perfect. Griffin gone, you moved up in the church. Plus, it was the booze that did it that night, not you. An over abundance of body negatives, not you."

He stared at the spot Trent had occupied.

"How long are you planning on leaving my bodyguard in the trunk of that car?"

Ruth shrugged. She aimed the gun at Horace.

"Long enough. Depends on how reasonable you're willing to be."

Horace raised his chin. Looked up from the gun right into Ruth's eyes.

"I was in the Army, young lady. It's not the first time I've had a gun pointed at me."

She pulled back the hammer. A shudder passed the length of his face, chin to eyebrows.

A car drove past on East Jennings, headed for town. I didn't recognize the vehicle. Even if they'd looked towards the house, they wouldn't have made out the gun in Ruth's hand.

"Ruth," I said.

She didn't acknowledge me. Continued staring at Horace.

"Aster told me all kinds of things, Horace. Before I put her on her plane the other night. That's right. I couldn't believe it either. Just hanging out at the hospital with what looked like the rest of the world and there walked Disaster. All upset. I got her though. I got her, I calmed her down, and greased her with a couple drinks, and wow, the things I learned.

"And actually, Lucy, you'll find this interesting, too. Aster said Horace didn't care if Maddy lived or died. In fact, he kind of hoped that whoever had taken her, made a martyr of her. She would be more valuable as a martyr. Like any dead celebrity. Elvis. Jimi Hendrix. Once they're dead, they're a commodity. Maddy's value as a living, breathing movie star was pretty much over. Isn't that what you told Aster? Soon enough she'd be doing TV. That's the gutter compared to motion pictures. That's why you didn't pull all those strings you said you'd pulled. There was no army from a private security firm coming to help look for her. You never made that call. Because dead, she'd become an icon of the church. It'd draw in some sympathy. And more important the insurance money would be helpful, that policy you helped Maddy agree to. And Jack would be malleable for some time, too. The weeping widower. You could direct him to sign over even more of his paychecks. In Maddy's memory.

"The thing that I still couldn't get straight from Aster, Horace, was whether or not you actually helped her write those letters to Mr. Pederson."

He didn't respond. He seemed to be staring at his kneecaps.

"Horace. Hello?" Ruth said it in a singsong voice.

Horace said, "I don't even know who that is."

"Who?"

"Pudderson."

"Pederson."

"Whatever."

Ruth laughed. She lowered the gun.

"Sadly, I believe you. You wouldn't. Nawzat would have to remind you. Where is she anyways? Or did you make sure this was one of those meetings even a big girl like her wasn't quite old enough for? It doesn't matter. What's important, what Lucy might not know is that Aster and you were an item for a while. That is, until you and Nawzat became an item."

Ruth looked at me. Her eyebrows up.

"Yep. Think about that. This old turtle and those comparatively young women. Kind of 'ewwwww,' isn't it? Nawzat's boyfriend has no idea. Or totally knows. I don't know. He's 'Becoming.' You swallow anything in that phase."

She laughed. Talking, she walked closer and closer to him.

"You rascally Lucentologists...I lose track of those regularly shifting boundaries of yours. What's right. What's wrong. Letting someone starve to death. Letting someone become a martyr. You were just going to give Maddy the 'freedom' to die, weren't you? Oh, Horace. You just kind of play it as it lays, don't you? Whatever keeps the dough rolling on in."

She stood right over the top of him.

She pointed the gun at his head.

He looked up at the barrel. His eyes almost crossed.

"My terms," said Ruth. "You can take every last penny your organization has, and you can burn it. You can turn it into slag, metal, fake metal, whatever it turns into if it gets hot enough. I don't want it. And not a lick of it brings my sister back to life."

"Kip was...unfortunate."

"You murdered her."

"How?"

"Sure as I'm standing here. Sure as you're sitting there, you're responsible. Same as you're responsible for Griffin, for Selkie, and you almost were for Maddy."

"Ruth," I said. "Ruth. Put down the gun. Please."

"Why? So he can keep doing it?"

Her hand shook. Close as she was to Horace it didn't matter. Once fired, a bullet would hit him.

Horace put a hand to his throat and cleared his throat.

He looked at Ruth.

He said, "Ignition."

A moment later, nothing seemed to have happened. Ruth started laughing.

"What was that? What the fuck? 'Ignition?'" She laughed. She sounded hysterical.

"Ms. McCall," said Horace. He looked at Ruth. "Ms. McCall, is there a bright red dot on Ms. Arnett's person?"

I didn't understand. But I looked. I didn't see it and then I could.

It barely moved, just beneath the spot where her head hit her neck. Tiny. Bright. Just like you see in the movies right before a gun starts shooting.

"Ruth," I said. "Ruth. There is. It's a dot. I don't know-"

I looked over my shoulder, to the driveway, to the slight rise on the other side of East Jennings to Skinny Arbogast's property.

"I don't see anyone. But it's there. It's like it's from a rifle. Like a laser sight."

I couldn't see Ruth's face. Horace stared up at her. He looked amused.

"There's one other word I can say, Ms. Arnett. And if I say it, you will lose your life. And Ms. McCall will have to see the police again and just when things were settling down in her life."

I very nearly said Ruth's name again, but then she finally gave in. She dropped her arm. Horace put out his hand. Didn't even speak. It was like a teacher indicating a kid should put the offending item in his hand.

She gave him the gun. He handled it daintily, like it was soggy and heavy, and set it on the steps beside his left hip.

He brushed his hands on his knees and then ran his palms along his thighs, smoothing wrinkles or getting the gun feel off his skin.

"I cannot revive your sister. For that I am sorry. I've said I'm sorry multiple times. Let this be the last. Now I am more than happy to pay you for the diaries you've in your possession. Right this moment it isn't necessary that you give me a dollar figure. Think on it. Formulate. You know Nawzat's number."

Horace stood. He handed Ruth the diary and seemed a bit put off that it took her arm so long to rise to receive the diary as it did.

"If it's real, I'm delighted. If it's a forgery, it's very well done. Either way, I have no issue with compensating you. You would seem to need money at this moment in your life to either burn through or to help put yourself back together. And though I know you find it distasteful, keep in mind, Lucentology always embraces lost souls. Whatever you've left, here, here," pointing at her head and at her chest, "there's still some hope you might move forward."

He walked past her towards me. He read the look in my eyes as he pulled up alongside me. He looked back at Ruth, the red dot glowing on the side of her head like it was the sole survivor on Christmas tree lights that had otherwise burned out.

"Yes," said Horace. "She is still in danger. If she's foolish enough to try and grab her gun, she will pay a price. I don't take chances where I don't have to even at this point in my life." He grinned at me. The old familiar skull smile.

"Come then, Ms. McCall, let's let Trent out of that car trunk before he passes out."

Horace walked ahead of me, and Mojo ran out ahead of both of us, a little disappointed once it became apparent we weren't going for a walk after all.

Ruth left right after they did. Silent. Running to her car part of the way.

Not until she turned out onto East Jennings did I notice the gun on the porch. Left where Horace had set it.

After setting the gun inside, I picked up the brown paper bag that had held the diary, intending to put it in the recycling, and hopefully help make all evidence of the near bloodshed disappear.

First I walked out across East Jennings, up the slope that had housed Camp Maddy a thousand years ago.

I looked and looked for any possible point a sniper or any one good with a gun could've mounted, waiting for Horace to give the word to end Ruth's life. I couldn't pick it out. I couldn't see dust rolling off anywhere indicating a vehicle had driven over fields, mission accomplished.

Dina had said Rocco was their best shot.

I headed back to the house. Mojo looked utterly betrayed when I yelled at her for getting underfoot, but it was the kind of mood occupying me. Minutes later I told her I was sorry. She nuzzled my hand, my snapping at her totally forgotten, and that just made it worse.

Chapter 62

The plan seemed brilliant. And it came to me suddenly, less than an hour since Horace and Ruth had left the property.

The very lightning strike aspect of the plan was evidence I should ignore it, but of course, I didn't.

The first step involved getting Jamie Jane's phone number. I got on my computer and went to the _E!_ website. I clicked around and found a link to the channel's 'Personalities' page, but the link only went to a page that told me I'd reached it in error.

Shit.

So I did what not too many other people in the world could.

I called Jack Ford.

My call went to voicemail. I immediately regretted making the call. I wished I could erase it, or go back in time and stop myself from making the call. My adrenaline rush from Ruth and Horace's face off began to finally ebb a little.

I froze up wondering what I'd do if Maddy called back or maybe Dina. Or Trent. Maybe he'd just breathe into the phone.

Jack called back. I stared at the phone while it rang. I didn't want to answer it. But I did.

He said, "Lucy. Jack."

"Hey, Jack." I could hear the hitch in my voice, trying to sound like everything was normal. "Where are you?"

"Hermiston."

"I kind of know where that is."

"It's great. Great small town. Oregon. Might be perfect for the project."

"Oh. Wow. Nice."

In the quiet, I forgot to speak, and how to think and then just like that I did a little reboot. My faculties available once again. Jack completely unaware of the emergency that had befallen me and just as quickly taken care of itself.

"Did you need something, Lucy?" Stated nicely like he'd been waiting for me to call and ask a question. Maddy would've sneered it like I'd committed a transgression she'd never forgive.

"Jamie Jane," I said. "The reporter. The E! reporter. She told me she was doing a story on siblings, you know, brothers and sisters of celebrities, before, I mean, you know, everything happened, and um, I, I mean, she gave me her number, but somehow I lost them. It, I mean. The number. I lost the number."

There was no response. I could visualize Jack staring at the phone in his hand like he'd somehow read my mind, and knew what I was up to.

"Hold on," he said. "I am talking to you and looking through my contacts at the same time."

"Great. Thanks."

I heard Maddy's voice, somewhere in the background.

"Lucy," said Jack. "I'm getting her some digits."

Maddy called out, "Hi Lucy," like everything was fine, like the meet up with Dad hadn't happened, like I hadn't seen Horace or Ruth Arnett nearly get killed an hour ago.

I called back, "Hi, Maddy."

Jack said, "Ok. Luce, I don't have her number, but I have the number for one of the producers at E!. Graham Scott. Great guy. Call him. Ok? He'll get back to you almost instantly. He's married to his phone. It's a little creepy in fact."

"Sure. I've got a pen and paper ready."

"Outstanding," said Jack.

Off the phone with Jack, I made a check of the Internet. Went to Ruth's blog. Found the link to the list of Hollywood Lucentologists. Checked it for Jamie Jane and then one Graham Scott. Nope. I said a silent prayer that the list had been updated ten minutes ago at the latest.

I called Graham Scott.

He called me back in 20 minutes.

It weirded me out that he was so trusting and so willing to give me Jamie Jane's number, but then I remembered caller ID. I gave him the same spiel I'd given Jack. Graham Scott kept saying 'sounds great' like he wasn't even hearing what I was telling him, he was just getting the call to the point I'd shut up and take Jamie Jane's number already.

It took Jamie a good hour to call back.

I used my downtime effectively. I looked at Ruth's gun. I looked at guns on the Internet. I was looking at an article on how to remove the clip from a handgun when the phone rang.

The first thing Jamie said was, "Holy shit! I nearly didn't check the message. I saw 'McCall' and the area code and thought it was a butt dial or something." She laughed. "Lucy! Wow. Long time no see. How are you? I mean, my god. You've been through so much, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Wow. Just...wow. Sorry. I was on the 405 for the last half hour. I think the car A/C froze my brain." She laughed.

"You know Horace Walton?" I asked.

For several seconds I thought she'd gone, but when she came back on, she sounded subdued, substantially less perky.

"I do. Wait. Hold on." I could hear a door close. I could hear her breathe as she moved back to her chair and sat down. "Ok. Yes. Horace Walton."

"He knew about the letters Aster Cupps sent to Mr. Pederson. The teacher that kidnapped Maddy, I mean, you know, kidnapped her from the kidnappers."

"Right."

"You know about that right? I haven't been following the news so much. I don't really know what everyone else knows."

"No. That's. People know. The teacher with the weird fascination. Yeah. People know. Um...I don't know that it's been confirmed who in the Lucentology organization might've been in communication with the teacher though, but-"

"Ok. Well, Aster wrote the letters. Horace knew what Aster was doing. He and Aster were kind of a..."

"Couple. Right. Got it."

"Did you know Aster got fired?"

"No."

"Aster got fired."

"Ok."

"She's back there. In LA."

"Ok."

"She could tell you about the letters. She could also tell you Horace didn't care if Maddy was found dead. In fact, he wanted a martyr. For the organization."

"Shit. Wow. Ok."

"He kept telling us that he had some private security thing, a company that was going to storm the town. They never showed up. I mean there was a helicopter at one point, but that was it. I don't know if they, the security thing, I don't know if they even existed."

"Lucy, can you hold on? Can I type this? I'm trying to write it down, but it's easier..."

"Sure."

I waited. I heard her sniffle. Mutter. Start to type. About a minute later she told me I could continue.

"Do you know Ruth Arnett?" I asked.

"No. Wait. Was she the blonde, the short blonde that-"

"Kip Arnett's sister."

"The twin. Yeah. I know her. Ok, well, o _f_ her."

I told her all about what had happened in front of the house.

Jamie Jane said 'Wow' and swore a lot. After I told her everything, she went back through her notes and asked me questions.

I emphasized she should talk to Aster. I didn't know where Aster lived in LA. Jamie Jane said there were people she could contact. The Lucentologists were a tight knit group, but even among them were those not above taking money for information. Also, there was a network for personal assistants. Jokingly the acronym for the unofficial group was NDA – Network for Disgruntled Assistants.

Jamie knew who to talk to. She'd find Aster. She'd get her to talk.

I told her about my fib to Jack and asked if Graham was ok to trust. She said no problem. Graham had probably already forgotten talking to me let alone giving out Jamie's number.

"If you can't find Aster, do you have enough information to make some sort of report?" I asked.

Jamie sighed.

"Honestly...I don't know."

"Ok."

"No. Lucy. It's good stuff. It's amazing. It's...It's, you should call someone there. Call the cops. That's. You nearly saw Ruth get shot. You nearly saw Horace get shot. That's not good, not for anyone, but even worse considering what you've been through."

"Yeah."

"It's like you're in a movie or something."

"Whether I want to be or not."

I could hear her smile. "Right. God. You poor kid."

She told me she'd call me before 11 pm and let me know what was up. Before hanging up, she thanked me for trusting her.

Chapter 63

Monday night, exhausted, I'd slept easily.

Tuesday night was different. Nightmares visited. I ended up leaving lights on downstairs and even turned on the upstairs hallway light, too. Mojo curled up at the foot of the bed until she'd get up and instead curl up on the rug in front of the front door downstairs. She just wasn't into curling up on a bed. Or maybe I was too twitchy for her.

Wednesday night, not even Wednesday, but early Thursday I woke up shaking.

I'd dreamed a hand had my dress bunched up around my face, another encircled both my hands, and another clutched my ankles, allowing someone else to pull my underwear down, and then a flashbulb went off, again and again, a voice hissing at me to lie still, lie still, even as cool, heavy fingertips traced an 'L' over my collarbone and then slid slowly down and traced another 'L' between and below my breasts and then the finger slid down my ribs and abdomen and then, even as I protested, even as I begged, the hand dove down between my legs.

I sat up in bed. I stared at the open door, the brightly lit hallway, anticipating some silhouette to lurch into view. Horace. Mr. Pederson. Pat Corley. However many sets of hands it took to make the dream a reality.

Mojo barked. She was downstairs. I froze up. Mojo kept barking and barking.

Ruth's gun was on the bedside table next to my phone. I could call someone. I could. I started reaching for the table. Mojo kept barking. I wanted to yell and tell her to shut up, but I didn't want whatever had made her bark to know I was here. Or awake.

My hand acted independently of me. It seemed to be angling for Ruth's gun.

The phone rang.

I cried out.

It took a moment, but I slid to the side of the bed and set my feet on the floor. Picked up the phone and checked the caller ID. I blinked at it and finally answered.

"Hey," said Kitty Ferguson.

"Hey."

"Did I wake you up?" I could hear a dog barking from near where she stood.

"Where are you?"

"Here. Outside. On your porch. I'm sorry. I saw all the lights on. I thought you were...I don't know. I didn't mean to make the dog bark."

After I exhaled, I told her I'd be right down. I hung up and sat there, not sure if the sound I'd made after killing the connection was a laugh or a sob or some forced marriage of the two.

*

With Kitty inside, I turned off some of the lights, leaving the kitchen overhead on while we sat in the semi-dark living room, Kitty on the couch and me in Dad's chair. I'd thought about bringing the gun downstairs but was pretty sure Kitty would freak a little. Mojo sat on the floor between us, optimizing the possibility of ear scritches.

Kitty had made a mistake.

She'd told Geoff something she now thought she shouldn't have. He was pissed. It wouldn't let her sleep.

Sometimes if she had insomnia, she would get out of her house and walk around a little. Tonight she'd decided to leg it, maybe go as far as Geoff's house, and probably just look at the house from the roadside or their driveway. She'd imagined knocking on his bedroom window, but doing that seemed impossible. She wasn't that brave.

Walking down the gravel road in the quiet and the coolness of a cloudless sky she'd seen our house lit up. Before she knew it, she'd diverted from her original intent, was lightly pounding on the door and listening to Mojo go a little berserk.

Not last Friday, but one of the previous times the trio of Nick, Geoff, and Kitty had been together, Nick had waited for Geoff to be out of the room and then he'd grabbed Kitty. Kissed her. Slid his tongue in her mouth. Cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb over her nipple. Told her anytime she wanted to hook up they could. And then by the time Geoff was back in the room, it was like nothing had happened. Nick playing it cool, Kitty looking a little freaked out, but everyone knew that was Kitty's default setting.

She'd told Geoff all about that after the funeral, at the wake at the Verney's house. The mood at the house was already weird enough. Nick's older brother Tyler back in town and unable to stop crying, and then she took Geoff aside, outside, and told him what Nick had done. He'd asked her why she was telling him. She said she didn't know. She just didn't want him not to know. He hadn't spoken to her since. Wouldn't even text her back.

I told her about visiting the Pederson's, about coming back home and everything that had happened. Knowing now that Tyler Verney was in town, I wondered if he hadn't been the one behind the garage door graffiti, crying the whole time he applied the spray paint.

Kitty stayed on the couch while I let Mojo outside to do her business. Outside everything was coated in the moonlight.

Thursday morning, the sun up, just hours away, the whole lot of Lucentologists would pack up and fly away.

One of their directives was to avoid carrying unnecessary weight. Weight impeded ever moving forward.

Maddy was trying to do that. She had to get home in time for _Small Town Girl's_ official Hollywood premiere Friday. She didn't want any more weight.

"I think she meant it," I told Kitty. "When she said she never wanted to see my dad again. Never wanted her kid to see him or even know about him. I mean, what if I tell her what Ruth said, about Aster, about Horace, and she decides to do the same thing to me? Disown me? Pretend for her kid that I don't exist, that I never existed. I guess that just means that I complete it in a way, you know? People will be able to be all, 'Lucy's got no mom. Her dad's in jail. Her sister hating her for the rest of her life. She lives in that house out on Jennings. Her and her dog. No one else'."

Mojo's toenails clicked on the steps as she trotted up from the lawn back inside the house. I took a long last look outside, making sure no shadow moved like a person sneaking up on the house. I checked myself over for the red dot from a rifle sight. Then I shut the door.

"I'm kind of the poster child for what happens if you don't keep your mouth shut," said Kitty. "At least right now. If it was me I'd...I don't know." And then a few seconds later she said, "I don't know," again.

Kitty offered to stay in the house if it helped me sleep. If she was going to be awake, she might as well be helpful. I told her we had plenty of beds to choose from. She said thanks, but the couch seemed comfy enough.

We both set our phones to have the alarms go off early enough in the morning I could drive her back to her house so she didn't get in trouble.

It was good thinking for two people operating on the vapors of coherence.

Kitty's alarm didn't go off at all. She was still knocked out on the couch when I came downstairs. She didn't move at all when I started coffee or went outside to the car. Back inside, she startled awake when I rocked her shoulder.

The moment my coffee was poured into a to-go mug, we loaded up in Sherman's car. Mojo's tail wagged slower and slower as she watched from the front lawn, realizing she had to stay.

I dropped Kitty off at her house, the car engine vibrating as I held down on the brake at the side of the road. Kitty hugged me and through yawns told me she hoped everything went all right. I told her the same.

She didn't look back as I continued driving west rather than turning around and zipping back past the house towards town.

There was no one at Uncle Bob's. No cop cars. No obvious sign of Will Leasey. No one but a couple of cows I could see in the field. I hoped Leasey was taking care of the animals. He was a nice guy, but everyone thought my dad and Uncle Bob and Pat Corley were nice guys, too. Nice guys didn't mean so much anymore, not to me.

I parked right next to the garage and killed the engine and got out. Driving up to the building I thought I could make out the shape of a Jeep inside.

The key remained on top of the doorframe. I slid it into my hand and opened the door. I paused just inside, staring into the dimness at the Jeep, wondering why it was still here. Sheriff Younger had said they were moving fast as they could on the investigation. Easier to impound our car for some reason I guess than make the trip out to Uncle Bob's and get Pat Corley's rig. Maybe it didn't matter so much since he was dead. They could take their time. I didn't care. At this point, neither did Pat.

The glass remained shattered from Jack's swinging of the wrench. I opened the Jeep's passenger side door and looked into the back. I reached back and grabbed the Army green duffel bag and ran my hand around inside, finally feeling duct tape and handcuffs.

I shut and locked the door behind me and got back into Sherman's car.

I drove fast enough a trail of dust rose behind Sherman's car all the way into town. My heart beat a little faster passing the turn off to the Wink's place.

Swinging through town to get to the highway and then the 4-lane to Ashmond, I glanced at the county courthouse and just as quickly let the fact of two of its jails current residents fall from my mind.

I had to focus. I had to clear my head. I had to get across to Maddy, be lucid, and if she chose to condemn me the way she had Dad, then that's what she did. She could leave me here to rot. At least I'd tried.

Chapter 64

Belknap Towers had once been called The Roosevelt Hotel. Its heyday peaked well before color television.

Local entrepreneur Henry Belknap had made millions from a wireless company and reinvested some of that money locally. He was part owner of a Seattle Mariners farm club they were building a stadium for out by Ashmond's community college. Wineries were big in eastern Washington. He owned one of the biggest. And at least two restaurants and one bar. And he'd built a house out in the country that cost almost $12 million if you believed the rumors.

His grandparents had been married at The Roosevelt and celebrated their 50th anniversary at the establishment. At that point, it was in possession of about its umpteenth owners. When he heard rumblings the building might get demolished, Belknap swooped in and tossed what for him was pocket change at the city, taking over the dilapidated structure with an eye on a sidewalk to spire top reboot.

The refurbished hotel had a display room on the ground floor holding his collection of antique motorcycles, and there was also an art gallery focused on local talent. His wife acted as the gallery curator - her other hobby when she wasn't sampling too much wine if you believed the rumors.

I'd parked in the underground garage and rode the elevator up to the lobby. To get to any floor above the lobby, you needed to be a guest with a card key. Before getting on the elevator, I'd looked around at the parked vehicles. I hadn't seen black SUVs anywhere, but there were at least two floors of additional parking below where I'd parked Sherman's car.

The lobby floor was red brick, and the walls were tan stone. A fountain placed centrally between the doors to the street, and the front desk gurgled. A man and a woman behind the front desk spoke to one another although the woman looked in charge. She pointed a jabbing finger at the man, and he took off, coming out from around the desk and walking like he had left a burner on at home. Still, passing me, he generated a smile and a good morning that rang authentic. He walked past the closed gallery and vanished down a corridor

The story leaked to the press was that following all the events of the last few days Maddy was resting back in Los Angeles. Home or at a hospital or a private retreat, depending on which interpretation of the official statement via her agent you subscribed to.

I hadn't heard back from Jamie Jane. I'd left one message and figured that was enough. I'd creeped myself out imagining her walking or paused at a traffic light, ignorant of the sudden appearance of a bright red dot on her forehead.

There were no plans for me to see Maddy before she left. And she wasn't picking up her phone, but for all I knew, she could still be asleep or eating breakfast, or she could be working out. A world-class fitness center was also one of Belknap Tower's advertised amenities.

I bet if I approached the woman behind the front desk and asked after Maddy it would do no good. Either the staff knew and were paid to act ignorant, or Maddy and Jack were checked in under assumed names. So it could actually make things worse. The woman might have a deal with some local reporter to call in whenever something odd occurred. I wasn't sure how anonymous I was anymore. If my face would open any doors or if it might be the lone pebble setting off an avalanche of interest in current guests.

For once I had my hair loose, falling across the shoulders of a bulky leather jacket I'd pulled out from Dad's closet. It had big pockets.

The door to the street opened, admitting a laughing voice. She was tall and blonde and wearing clothes that heightened your knowledge of her proportions. A more mature SharDi Leasey. Sherman would've approved.

The woman was carrying Starbucks in her left hand, her cell phone against her right ear. The woman behind the desk glanced up from her computer to look at the pretty blonde and then returned her attention to the monitor.

The pretty blonde called the elevator to the lobby, and by the time it arrived, I was standing right behind her, my phone out, my thumb moving over it like I was locked into texting, unaware of the world at large. Moving across the lobby to get to the elevator I'd taken one self-conscious glance back at the desk, but the hotel employee didn't notice what I was up to or just didn't care.

Once we were on the elevator, the blond grunted at me.

"Hey. Hey!" She thrust her chin towards the wall panel. "Key card. Could you-"

She sighed. Raised her occupied hands like I was an idiot for not noticing she was already multitasking.

She processed my sheer terror as further evidence of stupidity.

"Whatever. Here."

I took a step back as she wrestled the key card out from the collar of her shirt. She had it on a lanyard. She caught the lanyard between thumb and coffee and hunched over, swiped the reader. Hit her floor choice. I went for the top floor. The blonde squinted like she couldn't quite believe someone with needs great as mine could occupy that esteemed floor level.

After she vacated the elevator and it continued ascending I wondered how exactly I planned on getting down to the lobby if no one I knew was on the top floor. Or, how I'd ever planned on poking around any of the other floors without a keycard.

The top floor hallway paintings featured wheat fields and then a lot of abstract stuff. I stared at the violent splashes and scribbles, trying to figure out how long it would take to knock on all the doors until I was greeted by Maddy or Jack. I was scared to use the cell and call and either get no answer or be told they were all already at the airport. Sorry, Luce. Just missed us.

I dialed Maddy's number and held my breath.

"No shit!" was how Maddy answered her phone. She sounded energetic. Enthusiastic. She told me to stand where I was, and in seconds flat the door to room 1210 opened.

Once Rocco waved at me there was no going back.

"Hey," I said walking in.

Rocco dimpled.

"How you doing, Lucy?"

I didn't tell him the truth. I didn't want to ruin the dimples.

Chapter 65

Jack seemed back to normal Jack setting. He nearly crushed my ribs with his hug.

"Hold on, Steven." He spoke into a hands-free device. "Just hugging my sister-in-law." Letting go of me, he looked right at me but was still talking to the caller. "She is. She is a lovely young lady. Hold on. Lucy? Steven thinks you're a lovely young lady, but more importantly a very strong person. Wait." Jack put his hand to the Bluetooth. He clapped his hands and let loose a Jack Ford laugh. "And he said you have to be to survive a goon like me for a brother-in-law."

Jack ruffled the top of my head like I was 4 and walked towards what looked like a bedroom. He turned into the room, and I could hear him calling Maddy.

I looked around. The foyer was at an angle to the living room. Rocco stood back in the foyer, out of sight. The hotel room seemed giant. The size of our living room and dining area and kitchen put together, and that was before factoring in the balcony let alone the size of the bedroom and bathroom.

A tray with juice, glasses, toast, and jams sat on top of the coffee table, surrounded by a couch and a couple comfy looking chairs, the setting just a couple wide steps down from the rest of the room. A flat screen TV hung on the wall facing the couch.

Once you stepped up out of that area, there were more chairs and tables along the floor-to-ceiling high windows, and a door with a gleaming metal handle opening out to the balcony.

The sun came through the glass unimpeded by clouds. The sun hit the carpet in big yellow wedges I suddenly desperately wished to curl up in and then eventually wake, back in my bed, on my own or by someone gently rocking me awake, anyone with the good news that any and all things that had happened of late were one big bad dream.

"Here she is, bright eyed and bushy tailed," announced Jack, walking into the main room ahead of a dressed and seemingly ready to get on an airplane Maddy, less bushy tailed once you took into account the tired eyes and the grim line of mouth.

She stopped and looked at me. I waved. She said to Jack, "I'm going outside. I can't stand to listen to you talk right now."

"Sure," said Jack, head tilted, pressing the Bluetooth device against his head.

Moving towards the windows in little steps Maddy said, "You've got that 'I'm going to take on more responsibility than I possibly can keep track of' thing going on in your voice. It sounds great to you. It sounds great to Spielberg, but at some point, you'll realize what you've gotten yourself into. And then he'll realize what he's gotten himself into."

"Hold on, Steve. Hold on. Mads. What was that?"

She sighed and sagged, her hands on the handle to the balcony door.

"Nothing. Never mind. Ask him for an unlimited budget. And final cut. And Harrison Ford's fucking phone number. You're going to need someone of the caliber of Indiana Jones to get you out of the shit at some point, Mr. Would-Be-Director."

With that, she went outside.

I looked at Jack. Jack looked at me.

I said, "Bet you're glad we got her back, huh?"

*

Maddy leaned back in the balcony chair, hands stringing her hair upwards like she was going to hold it in place while the morning sun did it's work, almost making her brown hair white. Her eyes shut, a small but satisfied smile on her famous face like a cat lazing in the heat.

"Where's Dina?"

She produced a soft grunt and lowered her arms and the hair. Wiggled in the chair a little.

"Somewhere. I don't know. Keeping us safe. Did you want something to eat, Luce?"

"I'm good."

"Ok."

"You guys are leaving today?"

"Matter of minutes." She didn't bring up the fact that she was probably going to fly away without ever having told me they were leaving. Anything Eaton an afterthought at this point. All the fine details something an Aster handled, but an Aster wasn't around, and that was another fine detail no one had pointed out to my sister.

"You're going to be ok." She didn't ask it. She told me like she'd pored through the research and it pointed to that conclusion.

"After all of this," she continued, "there's no way you won't be. If you weren't strong before, you are now. Everything that comes your way from this point on is nothing. Flight or fight. Flight. Or fight. You knew you had to do one or the other. All the tools you needed..."

She got so energized, mouthing church sentiments I nearly thought she'd indicate my head and heart and make the 'L' with her arms.

I didn't tell her Sheriff Younger had called with a number for social services. And Carla had left a dozen messages on my phone. And I had no idea if I could ever go back to school. That I couldn't really sleep. I didn't want to eat. That every time I peed, I stared into the bowl looking for blood, something to indicate that something even worse than that photograph had occurred while I was kidnapped. I didn't pay the bills, and those were probably coming due. And I was glad Nick was dead. And I was wishing Mr. Pederson were dead. And I was a little sad for Pat Corley, but not a lot.

I didn't tell her about those things.

"Horace knew Aster was writing those letters to Mr. Pederson," I said.

A car laid on its horn down on the street.

Maddy lay her hand at her throat and self-consciously stroked the blue 'L' pendant strung on the necklace.

"You're worth more to him as a martyr than as a living breathing human being," I said. "Did he know you're pregnant? If he did, he doesn't care. He did as little as he could while you and I...While all of that was going on."

She rolled the pendant between her thumb and finger. Finally, she looked at me.

She got out, "How do you know?"

"Aster told Ruth."

Her hand stopped rubbing the pendant. Her brow crimped.

"Jesus, Lucy." She sighed, the moments stress disintegrating like a downpour of warm rain coming right on the heels of a snowstorm.

"I believe her."

"A drunk and a nut? You believe them?"

"You trusted them," I said.

"Ruth Arnett? Never."

"Ok. No. Sorry. Not Ruth. But Aster. Aster. Maddy, she was Horace's assistant. And they...they had something going on. You know. Romance wise. Even after she became your assistant and Jack's. That's how Horace knew. He must've seen a letter she was working on. He didn't care."

Maddy looked over her right shoulder into the room.

"Maddy. Please. At least ask Horace. See what he says. I believe Ruth. I know she's a little rough around the edges, and she's upset about her sister, and I know you have issues with her, but..."

"Yeah, sure, I'll ask him." She sprang from the chair and opened the door. She flung her left arm wide, inducing the room occupant to come on out and join us.

"Just the man we were talking about."

Horace Walton looked at me. Today he wore a turtleneck sweater and a vest. He gripped the vest with his left hand, the ring with the cerulean 'L' glinting under the sun.

"Nothing bad I hope."

Maddy cocked an eyebrow and looked at me. The look that said 'Go on. Tell him what you just said to me'.

I could remember little from Sunday Bible school. I could remember the episode where Christ was tempted by the Devil, in the desert. One of the other kids found a picture of the Devil in a Children's Bible. It scared a lot of the other kids. I think there'd even be crying.

At that moment, the look on Horace's face, if he'd shown up in that basement room with its heater set too high, so it smelled like wet clothes drying and the tacky wallpaper and the grim carpeting squashed flat to the cement, if he appeared and had shown that look to all us kids, there'd be crying but also outright shrieks.

The Devil looked nothing like the picture in the book. That guy in the book was an amateur. Here was the true King of the Underworld.

Chapter 66

Horace didn't pick me up and throw me to the streets below or suggest to Maddy that what would move her forward and only increase her power and influence would be to strangle me dead, dead, dead.

Instead, they talked about what I'd said. Right in front of me, most of the time like I wasn't even there.

Horace moderated. Asked Maddy how she felt right now. How she thought pre-Becoming Maddy would feel. And how did that make her feel, not to have those fresh eyes and those honest if not mixed up, pre-Becoming reactions.

Maddy fixed on him like I wasn't even on the balcony. It was like Mojo noticing you had a stick in your hand. She zeroed in on that, the rest of the world inconsequential. I could've gotten up and balanced a hip on the balcony rail, told them I was going to jump, actually jumped, and I don't know that Maddy would have noticed.

Maddy teared up. Hunched over and talked to herself, whispering, rocking back and forth.

"Can I hug her?" asked Maddy. She sniffled. She sounded like a little girl.

"Lucy? You want to hug Lucy?"

She nodded. "Yes. Please."

Standing over her, standing much too close to her, Horace looked at me. His lips didn't pull back into a death's head smile, but the unblinking eyes transferred the unspoken truth between us.

His hold on Maddy was complete. She couldn't sneeze and wipe her nose without his okay.

"Of course, Madeline," said Horace. "Of course you can."

She hugged me. Slowly she shook off the lost little girl she'd reverted to consulting with Horace.

She told me she knew I was confused and wanted someone to blame for everything. Told me she knew I loved her and worried about her, but people like Ruth Arnett were poison. Ruth was like a dog that wanted to chase its tail, and if you got caught up in her whirlwind, she didn't care. You could get loopy from being trapped in her wake, loopy enough you fell down. She'd never notice. She might stumble over you a little, but so long as she could chase that tail. That's what counted.

While she hugged me, Horace touched her right shoulder and my left shoulder like he was blessing her consoling me. He did not touch my bare flesh, but still, I wished I could scrub at that spot. A chill swept through me. It was a violation. I could only imagine how much worse it'd been for Kitty when Nick hit on her.

Back inside the hotel living room, Maddy hugged me. Jack hugged me. Horace told me to listen to my sister. She was young, compared to him most people were (and he paused, smiling, helping us all along in smiling, too, at the joke), but even so, Maddy was very wise.

Then they talked logistics. Everyone was boarding Horace's jet – one of the Lucentology fleet - and flying directly back to LAX. Nawzat was grabbing Starbucks. Dina was downstairs with the SUV and Trent was already at the airport.

Maddy saw me to the door for one last long hug.

"I'll call you," she said. "Lucy. I know everything is rough right now. It is. But I know you can make it through. I know you can."

"Ok."

"Call me. Anytime. Let me know what they try to do with you. With the house."

"Hopefully I don't go to a foster family."

"Fuck no," she said. "Absolutely not. They try anything like that, call me. We have lawyers from hell. I swear. I swear we do. Our lawyers will destroy theirs guaranteed."

She let go of me and stood back as Rocco opened the door for me. Out the corner of my eye, I could see him smile and dimple.

"Bye Lucy," he said.

I nodded and exited and listened to the door shut behind me.

No one stood in the corridor of the top floor. Just me and a lot of paintings of the wheat fields.

I checked the contents of the pockets sewn into the lining of the jacket. I took a deep breath and asked the universe to please, please help me not screw up and die in the next few minutes.

*

Rocco opened the door when I knocked. He looked intense like I was a bothersome stranger even though he'd likely peered through the peephole before opening up.

"I left my phone," I said. "Sorry."

Immediately he smiled, showing off the dimples. He opened the door and stepped back. Once I was inside, he turned his back to me and closed the door. When he turned around the dimples froze. And fell.

I pointed Ruth's gun at him.

I held Pat Corley's handcuffs in my other hand.

"Lock the door," I said. "And then lie down on the floor, face down, your hands behind your back."

*

When I walked in from the foyer, Jack saw me first.

He tilted his head to the side like he couldn't quite put it together. He was familiar with the girl. The girl with the gun not so much.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Behind Jack, phone pressed to his face while he scratched the top of his lank hair, Horace walked back and forth in front of the windows. Belknap Towers was the tallest building downtown Ashmond. From where I stood nothing but a limitless sea of sky in view right behind the head of the Church of Lucentology.

I didn't see Maddy.

Horace looked at me, briefly, kept talking and walking. Then he halted. He stopped scratching the top of his head.

"Lucy," said Jack. "Lucy."

"Jack, don't come near me."

"Lucy," hands up, he backed up towards the nearest chair. "Lucy. I want you to look at me. Luce. Please."

Horace didn't move. He stared at me. He didn't grin. I could hear whoever was on the phone with Horace, talking, unaware that he'd taken the phone away from his ear, his attention fixed elsewhere.

"Maddy," I yelled. "Maddy come out here."

The bedroom door was in the far left corner. Maddy came out, a baseball cap on her head. She dropped her purse at sight of the gun.

"Tell her," I said to Horace. "Tell her the truth."

Horace had let his hands drop down to his sides. The phone remained in his hand.

"Tell her what?"

"That it's all true. Aster and you. You not caring whether or not Maddy lived. That 'what.'"

"Under duress? I think not. That doesn't hold a lick, Miss. Not in court. Not here. Not right now."

Jack's phone rang.

A moment later Horace's phone rang. He looked at it, at me. I could hear something rattle from the foyer, a sound like the door handle clicking.

"Rocco," called Horace. He called him a second time.

"I made him put on handcuffs. He can't help you right now."

Jack's phone stopped ringing. And then it immediately started ringing again. So did Horace's.

Maddy whimpered. She looked at Horace and Jack and me. No one was helping, telling her what was going on.

"Answer your phone, Jack," I said. "It's ok."

I stepped back until my left elbow brushed the wall. I kept the gun aimed at Horace. I could see Jack if I rolled my eyes right.

Maddy said, "Lucy. Honey. I know you're upset. Lucy. Squirt."

"You're wasting your time. She's beyond help," said Horace. "She's under some foreign influence. She's chock full of body negatives. Chock full. Poison. She's been poisoned. She is poison. Pure poison. She's lost to you, Madeline."

"Shut up!" I took a step towards Horace.

"Your hand is shaking," he said. "You shoot you might hit your sister."

"Then maybe I'll just get a little closer, Horace."

Horace noticeably swallowed.

"Luce." Maddy had her hands up. "If you shoot him..."

"I know. Maddy," I said. "Please stop walking towards me. Please. Maddy!"

She did.

"Really," said Jack, on the phone. He kept saying it, over and over again.

"What are you hoping to accomplish, Ms. McCall?" asked Horace.

"To kill you. To get you away from my sister."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"And then what? Go to prison like your father will? Your uncle?"

I stared at him.

"It'd be worth it."

"Lucy." Maddy could only whisper.

Jack told the person on the line he had a situation. He'd call back. He thanked them, and he hung up. Horace's phone had started ringing again.

"There's," said Jack. We all waited for him to elaborate. He shook his head.

I guessed. I said, "Jamie Jane."

"Yes," said Jack.

"Aster."

"Yes."

Jack's phone started ringing again.

"Answer it, Jack. And answer your phone, Horace."

After giving me a look like he didn't trust me and thought I might shoot him for so much as raising his elbow, he did. It was Nawzat. He snapped at her. Told her he knew the door was probably locked. They had a situation. Apparently so did she. He quieted down. I watched his face. He blinked. Then he blinked a lot.

My phone rang. Trying to fish it out with my left hand took close to forever. I only took my eyes off Horace once to make sure I answered and didn't disconnect. Maddy stared at me.

"Hello?"

"Lucy?" asked Jamie Jane.

"Yes."

"Did you see it? I'm sorry I didn't call you, but," she laughed, "I've kind of been busy."

"Did you find Aster?"

"You mean you haven't seen it? Any of it?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Right. Right. I did. She spilled. She's really kind of nuts, but...It's unbelievable. And at the same time, it totally makes sense. She spilled. A bomb just went off in Hollywood. Well. Another one after all the others of late."

"Thank you."

"No way. Are you kidding? Thank you. I owe you. You name it. I totally, totally owe you."

Until the moment I hung up, Maddy was surrounded by people on their phones.

She looked stressed out, close to collapse. I leaned my weight against the wall and sighing, lowered my right hand. I dropped the gun to the floor.

I looked at Jack, and then movement in my peripheral vision turned me around.

Dina stood at the edge of the foyer and the living room.

She had her gun out.

Pointed at me.

No wonder Maddy looked close to collapse. She'd nearly seen her little sister get shot.

"Hey, Dina," I said.

She didn't say anything.

I slid down to the floor. My foot kicked Ruth's gun further away. I turned on my butt, and deflated, my back up against the wall. I needed the support otherwise I'd lie down on the floor and melt from sight like a puddle drying. Dina slowly lowered her aim, but kept the gun in hand.

"I took the clip out," I said. "I took it out already. I had to look it up online to see how to do it right."

Over in front of the wall of windows, Horace spoke in a whisper. Stabbed the air with his finger. The way he talked reminded me of seeing over-controlling boys talk to their girlfriends.

That lack of self-confidence that led them to be suspicious of every last little interaction the girl had with anyone else. They needed to have complete control. If they didn't, there was a penalty to be paid.

Dina knelt and scooped Ruth's gun up from the floor.

"Sorry," I said. "Sorry. I couldn't think of any other way. I tried. I really did."

Crouched beside me, Dina checked the gun, the absent clip, and her mouth twitched, but she didn't give me the same warm vibes as previous.

Nawzat entered the room tentatively. She looked terrified of taking a wrong step or speaking the wrong words less she trip some sort of trapdoor set in the floor. By way of miracle, she kept the cardboard tray of Starbucks balanced in her hands. Rocco hung back in the foyer too pissed or too ashamed to be seen.

I kept sitting in my new favorite spot even when Maddy turned on the TV and turned the channel to E!

Jack had tried to tell her what the incoming phone calls were about. People from the organization freaking out and calling to let Jack and Horace and Maddy know that Aster had just given an exclusive interview.

They played snippets of the exclusive interview on the channel, the hosts reminding viewers the whole thing could be seen – uncut – on E!'s website.

Aster looked relatively put together, her normal look, the librarian with bright eyes and great bone structure. While she talked video footage from premieres and public outings played, Aster with Maddy and Jack or Horace.

The last part of the interview they played, Jamie Jane asked Aster, "These allegations you've made are astonishing. Would you say that there's something wrong with the entire organization, or is it a case where only one person is the problem? In other words, is Lucentology the problem or is Horace Walton the problem?"

Aster smiled.

"That's an easy one."

"And you'd say..."

"Horace," said Aster. "Horace Walton. He's a monster."

Chapter 67

Over the summer Sherman and I broke up.

No big fight. No scene. We just put an official stamp on what we'd known for a while. We were good friends, but he needed a girl that was more receptive to affection. I tensed up whenever he took hold of me. It creeped him out. I couldn't help it, but the after effects of the kidnapping and the photo were proving hard to shake.

He didn't end up with SharDi. She was doing just fine dating a student from Ashmond Community College.

A couple of new girls joined the junior class in September. One of them thought Sherman was the funniest person she'd ever met. Also, the scar on his hand was, in her words, "the shit."

She was very gifted cleavage wise, too.

Sherman was ecstatic.

*

_Small Town Girl_ bombed at the box office. Nick's ghost might've smiled, getting that right. People were more interested in the twists and turns of Maddy's real life than her movie.

Other than the trial, Maddy dropped off the radar and then appeared on the cover of the November _Vanity Fair_. Very pregnant. Very beautiful. The backdrop a rippling canvas the cerulean of Lucentology. It tinged her skin and her eyes. She looked otherworldly.

The article allowed her to defend her beliefs while also continuing what Aster had started. The destruction of Horace Walton's good name.

The scandal had ended his reign as leader of the church. An inner circle of longtime Lucentologists (including Jack Ford) had selected an interim leader – a British woman with a startling physical resemblance to Julie Andrews. Maybe that was by design. Everyone trusted Mary Poppins.

Horace had crept under some rock. The last time anyone had seen him he'd fled a photographer's lens on a New York City street. Internet rumors held he'd probably get quietly assassinated for failing the church so spectacularly.

In the article, Maddy said that love was the most powerful force we knew. Her interpretation of 'Forward' meant 'Love.' And unfortunately love could corrupt like it had with Dad and Horace both.

The reporter wrote that he asked Maddy if she still had room in her heart for either Horace or Dad. Did she love them?

She'd just smiled and said, "Next question."

*

Both Dad and Uncle Bob received sentences for kidnapping. They were now felons.

The defense tried to change the venue, but the request was denied. The judge did draw the line at having cameras in the courtroom. The trial was held in Ashmond. The media showed up in droves when Maddy and Jack testified. I managed not to cry on the witness stand. I teared up when the jury read their verdict.

Dad's lawyer was sure that if Dad kept his nose clean, he'd be released after having served just a year. That was his goal. The lost job and lost pension were problems he'd deal with once he'd been released.

Uncle Bob had tried to kill himself, fashioning a noose from torn bed sheets. He'd been moved to a state mental facility. He was doing better now so long as he stayed medicated. I kept putting off my visit.

Will Leasey kept running the farm. Around Eaton, they were already referring to it as the Leasey place as though Robert McCall had never existed.

*

Once Horace was publicly disowned, Ruth Arnett pushed even harder for the investigation into Kip's death to be reopened. The LAPD didn't acquiesce. Budget considerations being named chief reason.

She stopped and resumed blogging. Wrote she was trying to focus on a book about Kip, but it was coming slow. She'd taken up boxing to help relieve the tension she accumulated researching the book. Ruth wrote she taped a photo of Horace Walton to the punching bag before she worked it. Even took a picture of the 'Asshole on Punching Bag' and posted it to her blog.

She called me now and then. Usually late at night. Her words slurring, but the core message always a play upon her conclusion that I was one of the only ones who knew what it was like to lose a sister to the fucking blue devils.

I never did find out if Selkie Rosenfeld had a diary or if Ruth had forged the whole thing, aiming to slip up Horace. The one time I'd asked Ruth she'd chuckled.

*

The Winks place burned down. Arson was suspected, but no one was ever arrested.

*

Mr. Pederson was sentenced to life in prison. Maddy and I only ended up testifying one day each. I stayed away otherwise and shushed Sherman and Kitty anytime they broached the subject of the former teacher.

I did hear rumors that on the stand – he insisted on testifying – he was his cheery, cuddly, grizzly bear self. He claimed all his interest in Maddy was nothing but temporary insanity. A split personality.

The jury didn't buy into it.

*

Sheriff Younger never really pursued the fact I was a minor living alone. He didn't have to. Factually, legally, Maddy had become a Washington state resident. The house out on East Jennings a mailing address. What it came down to was she was a resident in name.

I shared the house with Mojo and Jack.

I saw Mojo more than I saw Jack. My famous brother-in-law was busy.

He'd been advised to get to work on _Quantum 3_ as quickly as possible. Fast track it. People wanted to forget all the ugliness and tragedy surrounding the promo appearance for _Small Town Girl_. Another go round as a super spy would help the healing process. Jack didn't listen to his agent.

Instead, Jack tapped his friend the Spanish prince and then his own bank account to fund production of _The Slipping Point_. It was the movie about the farmer, the one he'd been location scouting around Eaton. Jack not only had the lead role - Slip McGown, a screw up trying to hold onto the family farm \- but he was also taking that big first step into directing. He told me he had no idea what he was doing most the time. He found the high wire act aspect thrilling, addicting.

My favorite aspect was that he'd formed a production company for _The Slipping Point_ and any other smaller budgeted production he might choose to do in the future. The name he chose for the company: Mojo Pictures.

Jack and Maddy talked by phone and by Skype. She'd forced him to go make the movie while she got closer and closer to giving birth, otherwise his overbearing nature was going to make her head explode.

I talked to her occasionally and always only briefly. The baby. Jack's amped always on the go hyperness. Safe topics. We were still both too wounded by everything that had happened to move outside those narrow confines.

Local government was thrilled to have a real life movie being filmed here in rural eastern Washington and Oregon, not just Eaton, but Ashmond, Pendleton, Athena-Weston, and other communities benefited from Jack wanting to use the most scenic and atmospheric aspects of the landscape.

A trailer parked in the front yard served as a production office. Jack used the guest room when he didn't just collapse on the cot stuck in a corner of the trailer. He didn't crash for long. Five hours, sometimes a little less, sometimes a little more.

There was an alarm system on the house now. So far I hadn't tripped it and bungled correcting the issue so the cops showed up without need.

Dina escorted Jack back and forth from the set. She'd been the one holdover. Trent and Rocco and Bob and Other Bob, all of them had been let go in the wake of the events of spring.

We were friendly, but not friends. I think having to put her gun on me had definitely altered any path we might otherwise have known.

Dina yawned a lot. I don't think she liked Jack's hours so much. She'd become one of Mojo's favorite people. Dina threw balls and sticks farther than anyone else. Favorite wasn't strong enough a term. Mojo worshipped her.

*

Kitty and I didn't ride the bus anymore. I drove Dad's car. I'd go pick up Kitty and we'd ride into school together, ride back home, too. Our nicknames around school had become Thelma & Louise. Some people suggested we were lesbians.

Geoff never got over Kitty's admission about Nick hitting on her. He walked by her in the hallway, pretended not to see her or hear her voice. She thought he was a total prick. And then she'd tell me she missed him so much it hurt.

*

Early November snow fell from the dark gray clouds. It wasn't much of a threat to driving conditions. The flakes melted soon as they hit the windshield. Kitty rolled down the passenger side window and tried to catch flakes with her hand as I drove us south on East Jennings.

She was depressed a lot of the time. She'd started smoking, begging me not to tell her mom like that was going to keep Mrs. Ferguson from noticing the horrible breath and the scent of smoke on clothes. She'd tried to talk me into letting her smoke in the car.

"I have to do something in town," I said. "After school. So I don't know if I can drive you back home. I mean I can, but you'll have to wait."

"That's fine. I'll just go hang out at my mom's work until she heads home."

Before she could ask what I needed to do, I said, "Jack wanted me to ask you something."

She looked at me. Rapt attention like Mojo hearing the cupboard open, the one that held her dog food.

Kitty had developed a crush on Jack.

He'd let his hair get long for the role, and he was sporting a constant five o'clock shadow. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed. Kitty said long hair and the incoming beard factor seriously bumped up Jack's screwability. Her crush was about to get crushier.

"He had to leave early this morning because they're shooting in Pendleton. So he asked me to ask you."

"Uh-huh."

"He wants you to be in the movie."

Several seconds passed before she said, "Nuh-uh."

"No. Really. He does."

She laughed. She looked out the windshield, her right arm still sticking out the window.

"It's for the scene where Slip stops at the little grocery store in between his place and town. The store where he saw the mystery woman that's driving him nuts."

"Ok."

"He wants you to be the clerk. At the store."

"No."

"Yes."

"Bullshit."

"You have one line of dialogue. Maybe two. You say 'No. I haven't seen her,' or, 'No. Sorry, Slip. I haven't seen her.' They're shooting it over the weekend. Little store outside of Pomeroy somewhere I think."

"Get the fuck out."

"He said he knew it was short notice. He apologized for that. They had to shift it around in the schedule all of a sudden. If you can't do it, you know, you can't do it. I'll tell him."

Silence. I slowed down as the snow started coming down harder and visibility decreased.

"You're full of shit," said Kitty.

"What got you the part," I said, "he saw you and Mojo. The faces you make at her. I don't think he wants you to make faces, but he thought you have a certain, I don't know. A photogenic thing. Ask him. He's the director. I don't know what he sees."

I steered through a wide curve and the gravel road was replaced by asphalt. The turn brought us moving horizontal to the system and snow thread rapidly through the open window.

Melting flakes clung to Kitty's hair when we parked at school, and she finally got the window rolled up. The rest of the day she seemed to be walking several inches above the ground.

*

The trace amount of snow clung to the ground through the morning but had melted by afternoon.

We talked about snow and the days getting dark so early when I stopped in at Nan's KnickKnacks, the sewing store downtown. It also served as Eaton's floral shop. I didn't know if it was Nan I talked to or some other elderly lady that got me a single rose from the case against the wall. She asked me twice if I was sure I didn't want her to slice the thorns off. She worried I might cut myself. I assured her I would survive.

I drove to the southwest corner of town and parked on the roadside and then walked up onto the cemetery grounds. Come fall, they closed up at 5 PM, and in full out winter, dusk.

The cemetery was on a hillside with a slowly rising slope. The grass wet from the melted snow, saturated in some spots. The clouds hung low but moved over us at a fast pace like they were the belly of a dutiful reptile focused on sliding over the ground.

That Wednesday, Dorothy Carolyn McCall would've been 54.

Her mother, my grandmother, had died from a heart attack when she was only 58.

There was space next to her resting spot set aside for Dad.

I set the single rose down in front of the headstone. I knelt my right knee down onto the grass. The moisture saturated the denim.

"Dad can't be here," I said. "I don't know if you know why. I don't know if anything that happens here has any meaning for wherever you are. Whatever it is you might be doing."

I picked the rose back up and pressed the meat of my thumb against a thorn, trying to think of anything else at all that I might say. Or just think anything. Dad would spend a good quarter hour at Mom's side on her birthday and their wedding anniversary. I didn't know if I could do that. My mind would wander. That seemed disrespectful.

"Anna. Honey."

I looked over my shoulder. A girl of 4 or 5 in a bright blue coat and mittens and boots stared at me. She was all eyes and curly brown hair. Her father walked behind her, a man in glasses with sand-colored hair, a bouquet in hand.

He smiled at me.

"Sorry. She stares sometimes." To the girl, he said, "Anna. Let's keep going. Let the nice lady alone. Let's go and see Mom, ok?"

He lightly touched her shoulder. Anna sniffled mightily and then tromped on ahead of her father towards the headstones in the northwest corner.

Once they reached their destination, the father knelt. I could only see the top of his head for the hillside incline and the markers between us. Anna stood in this opening between the rows of stones. She looked back at me and then at her father.

He stood, and his hand went to his face. He bent his head down like he might be pressing fingers under his glasses and into his eyes. Anna looked up at him and then she embraced his leg, she held tight, and tighter still it seemed when he reached down and mussed her head of curly hair.

Back in the truck, I started the engine, and I inspected the single bead of blood bloomed on my thumb. I pressed it to my lips and tasted the coppery smear and then I drove home through town and the darkening countryside.

THE END
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Also by Brian Stillman:

The Lipless Gods
