Magic hour: a novel (18 page)

“Where the Wild Things Are,”
Peanut said.

Julia nodded, then went to the bed and sat down beside the girl.

Max followed her. Kneeling beside the bed, he checked the girl’s pulse and breathing. “Normal,” he said, sitting back on his heels.

“If only her mind and her heart were as easy to read as her vital signs,” Julia said.

“You’d be out of a job.”

Julia surprised him by laughing.

They looked at each other.

The bedside lamp flickered on and off, sparking electricity. The girl on the bed made a whining, desperate sound.

“There’s something weird going on here,” Peanut said, stepping back.

“Don’t do that,” Julia said quietly. “She’s just a child who has been through hell.”

Peanut fell silent.

“We should go to town. Get supplies from the lumber store,” Ellie said.

Max nodded. “I have time to put up the bars before my shift.”

“Good. Thanks,” Julia said. When they were gone, she remained at her place by the bed. “You’re safe here, little one. I promise.”

Julia said it over and over again, keeping her voice as gentle as a caress, but through it all, there was one thing she knew for certain.

This girl had no idea what it meant to be safe.

G
ONE IS THE BAD SMELL AND THE WHITE, HISSING LIGHT THAT STINGS
her eyes. Girl opens her eyes slowly, afraid of what she will see. There have been too many changes. It is as if she has fallen in the dark water past her place, that pool in the deep forest that Him said was the start of Out There.

This cave is different. Everything is the color of snow and of the berries she picks in early summer. It is morning outside; the light in the room is sun-colored. She starts to get up but can’t move. Something is holding her down. She panics, kicking and flailing to be free.

But she is not tied.

She moves out of the soft place and crouches on the ground, sniffing the scents of this strange place. Wood. Flowers. There is more, of course, many smells, but she doesn’t know them.

Somewhere, water is dripping; it sounds like the last rain falling from a leaf to the hard summer’s ground. There is a banging, clanging sound, too. The entrance to this cave is like the last one, a thick brown thing. There is something about the shiny ball on it that is the source of its magic; she is afraid to touch it. The Strangers would know then that she was wide-eyed. They would come for her again with their nets and their sharp points. She is safe from them only in the dark time when the sun sleeps.

A breeze floats past her face, ruffles her hair. On it is the scent of her place. She looks around.

There it is. The box that holds the wind. It is not like the other one, the trickster box that kept the outside out, through which you couldn’t touch.

She moves forward, holding her stomach tightly.

Sweet air comes through the box. She carefully puts her hand through the opening. She moves slowly, a bit at a time, ready to pull back at the first sharp pain.

But nothing stops her. Finally, her whole arm is Out There, in her world, where the air seems to be made of raindrops.

She closes her eyes. For the first time since they trapped her, she can breathe. She lets out a long, desperate howl.

Come for me,
that noise means, but she stops in the middle of it. She is so far away from her cave. There is no one to hear her.

This is why Him always told her to
stay.
He knew the world beyond her chain.

Out There is full of Strangers who will hurt Girl.

And she is alone now.

Y
EARS AGO,
E
LLIE HAD GONE TO THE DRIVE-IN WITH HER THEN-BOYFRIEND
, Scott Lauck, and seen a movie called
Ants.
Or maybe it had been
Swarm.
She wasn’t entirely sure now. All she really remembered was a scene with Joan Collins being swarmed by Volkswagen-sized ants. Ellie, of course, had been more interested in making out with Scotty than watching the movie. Still, it was those long-ago film images that came to her now as she stood in the hallway outside the lunchroom, sipping her coffee and looking out at the melee in the station.

It was a hive of people. From her place at the end of the hall, she couldn’t see a patch of floor or a sliver of wall. It was the same way outside and down the block.

The story had broken this morning under a variety of headlines.

THE GIRL FROM NOWHERE

WHO AM I?

REMEMBER ME?

And Ellie’s particular favorite (this from Mort in the
Gazette
):
FLYING MUTE LANDS IN RAIN VALLEY.
His first paragraph described the girl’s prodigious leaping capabilities and, naturally, her wolf companion. His description of her was the only accurate report. He made her sound crazy, wild, and heartbreakingly pathetic.

At eight
A.M.
the first call had come in. Cal hadn’t had a moment’s peace since then. By one o’clock the first national news van had pulled into town. Within two hours the streets were jammed with vans and reporters demanding another press conference. Everyone from journalists to parents to kooks and psychics wanted to get the scoop firsthand.

“So far nothing has panned out,” Peanut said, coming out of the lunchroom. “No one knows who she is.”

Ellie sipped her coffee and eyed the crowd.

Cal looked up from his desk and saw the two of them. He was talking into the dispatch headset at the same time he fielded questions from the crowd of reporters in front of him.

Ellie smiled at him.

He mouthed,
Help me.

“Cal’s losing it,” Peanut said.

“I can hardly blame him. He didn’t take this job to actually work.”

“Who did?” Peanut said, laughing.

“That would be me.” Ellie looked at her friend, said, “Wish me luck,” and then waded back into the sea of clamoring, shouting reporters. In their midst, she raised her hands in the air. It took a long time to quiet them. Finally, she got their attention.

“There will be no more comments—either on or off the record—by anyone in this office today. We’ll conduct a press conference at six o’clock and answer everything then.”

Chaos erupted.

“But we need photos!”

“These artist renderings are crap—”

“Drawings don’t sell papers—”

Ellie shook her head, exasperated. “I don’t know how my sister—”

“That’s it!” Peanut barreled into the crowd, using the come-to-Jesus voice she’d perfected when Tara, her daughter, turned thirteen. “You heard the chief. Everyone
out.
Now.”

Peanut herded them out, then slammed the door shut.

It wasn’t until Ellie turned toward her desk that she saw him.

Mort Elzick was standing in the corner, wedged between two industrial green metal file cabinets. He was pale and sweaty-looking in his brown, wide-wale corduroy pants and navy blue golf shirt. His red crew cut was so long it looked like a fringed pompadour. Behind thick glasses, his eyes looked huge and watery. When he saw her looking at him, he moved forward. His worn white-and-gray tennis shoes squeaked with every step. “Y-You need to give me an exclusive, Ellie. This is my big break. I could get a job with the
Olympian
or the
Everett Herald.
”

“With a ‘Mowgli Lives’ headline? I doubt it.”

He flushed. “What would a junior college dropout know about the classics? I know Julia is helping on this case.”

“You think she is. Put it in print and I’ll bury you.”

His pale eyebrows beetled; his face turned red. “Give me an exclusive, Ellie. You owe it to me. Or . . .”

“Or what?” She moved closer.

“Or else.”

“Mention my sister and I’ll get you fired.”

He stepped back. “You think you’re something special. But you can’t get your way all the time. I gave you a chance. You remember that.”

On that, he pushed past her and ran out of the station.

“Praise Jesus and pass the ice,” Cal said. He went down to the lunchroom and came back with three beers.

“You can’t drink in here, Cal,” Ellie said tiredly.

“Bite me,” he said. “And I mean that in the nicest possible way. If I’d wanted an actual job, I wouldn’t have answered your ad. I haven’t been able to read a comic book in peace all week.” He handed her a Corona.

“No, thanks,” Peanut said when he offered her a beer. She went into the lunchroom, then came back out holding a mug.

Ellie looked at her friend.

“Cabbage soup,” Peanut said, shrugging.

Cal sat on his desk, feet swinging, and drank his beer. His Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat like a swallowed fishbone. His black hair reflected the light in waves of blue. “Good for you, Pea. I was afraid you were going to try the heroin diet next.”

Peanut laughed. “To be honest, that smoking really sucked. Benji wouldn’t even kiss me good-night.”

“And you two are always making out,” Cal said.

Ellie heard something in Cal’s voice, a rawness that confused her. She looked at him. For a moment she saw him as he used to be—a gawky kid with features too sharp for childhood. His eyes had always been shadowed then, full of wariness.

He set his beer down and sighed. For the first time, she noticed how tired he looked. His mouth, usually curled in an irritatingly buoyant smile, was a thin pale line.

She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She knew exactly what the problem was. Cal had worked for her now for two-and-a-half years full-time; before that he’d been an at home dad. His wife, Lisa, was a sales rep for a New York company and was gone more than she was home. When the kids were all in school, Cal took the dispatch job to fill the empty hours while they were gone. Mostly, he read comic books during the day and drew action figures in his sketch pad. He was a good dispatcher, as long as the biggest emergency was a cat stuck in a tree. The past few days seemed to have undone him. She realized how much she missed his smile. “I’ll tell you what, Cal. I’ll handle the press conference. You go on home.”

He looked pathetically hopeful. Still, he said, “You need someone to answer the emergency calls.”

“Forward the calls to the service. If something’s important, they’ll radio me. It’ll only be the 911 calls anyway.”

“You’re sure? I could come back after Emily’s soccer game.”

“That would be great.”

“Thanks, Ellie.” He finally grinned; it made him look about seventeen years old again. “I’m sorry I gave you the finger this morning.”

“It’s fine, Cal. Sometimes a man just has to make his point.” It was what her father used to say whenever he banged his fist on the kitchen table.

Cal plucked his department issue rain slicker off the antler hook and left the station.

Ellie returned to her desk and sat down. To her left was a stack of faxes at least two inches tall. Each sheet of paper represented a lost child, a grieving family. She’d gone through them carefully, highlighted the similarities and the distinctions. As soon as the press conference was over, she’d start calling the various agencies and officers back. No doubt she’d be on the phone all night.

“You’re getting that faraway look again,” Peanut said, sipping her soup.

“Just thinking.”

Peanut set down her mug. “You can do it, you know. You’re a great cop.”

Ellie wanted to agree with that wholeheartedly. On any other day she would have. But now she couldn’t help glancing at the small stack of “evidence” they’d gathered on the girl’s identity. There were four photographs—a face shot, a profile close-up, and two body shots. In each, the girl was so sedated she looked dead. The press would have a field day with them. Below the stack of eight-by-tens was a list of the girl’s scars, identifying moles, and, of course, the birthmark on her back shoulder. In the photograph that accompanied the list, the birthmark looked remarkably like a dragonfly. The record also included X rays; Max estimated that her left arm had been broken when she was quite young. He believed it had healed without professional medical treatment. Each injury, scar, and birthmark had been marked on a diagram of her body. They had taken blood samples—she was type AB—fingerprints, and dental X rays; her blood had been sent off for DNA analysis, but that report wasn’t back yet. Her dress had also been sent away for analysis.