Magic hour: a novel (25 page)

Julia closed her eyes. The memory was the kind that physically hurt. That meeting had taken place only two days before Amber’s rampage. Why hadn’t she—

Stop.

She refused to follow those thoughts. They led to a dark and hopeless place. If she went there, she might not be able to come back, and Alice needed her. Perhaps more than anyone had ever needed her. “As I was saying—”

Alice touched her. It was nothing at first, a movement as tentative as the brush of a butterfly wing. Julia saw it, but barely felt it.

“That’s good, honey,” she whispered. “Come into this world. It’s been lonely in yours, hasn’t it? Scary?”

No part of Alice moved except her hand. Very slowly she reached out and petted Julia’s thigh in an awkward, almost spastic motion.

“It’s frightening to touch another person sometimes,” Julia said, wondering if any of her words were being understood. “Especially when we’ve been hurt. We can be afraid to reach out to someone else.”

The petting smoothed out, became a gentle stroking. Alice made a sound that was low in her throat, a kind of purr. She slowly lifted her chin and looked up at Julia. Those amazing blue-green eyes were pools of worried fear.

“No hurt,” Julia said, hearing the catch in her voice. She was feeling too much right now, and that was dangerous. Being a good psychiatrist was like reading a novel at forty. You needed to keep the words at arm’s length or everything became a blur. She stroked Alice’s soft black hair again and again. “No hurt.”

It took a long time, but finally Alice stopped trembling. For the rest of the morning Julia alternated between reading and talking to the girl. They broke for lunch and went to the table, but immediately afterward Alice returned to the bed and hit the book with her open palm.

Julia cleared the dishes, then retook her place on the bed and resumed her reading. By two o’clock Alice had curled up closer to her and fallen asleep.

Julia eased off the bed and stood there, staring down at this strange, quiet girl she called Alice.

They had made so many breakthroughs in the last two days, but perhaps none held as much potential as the dreamcatcher.

Alice had reacted so violently to the trinket; it had to be of critical importance.

Julia knew what she needed now was a way to both release Alice’s fear of the dreamcatcher and to explore it. Without, of course, having Alice so terrified she hurt herself. It was the best weapon in her arsenal right now—the only object she had that elicited strong emotion. She had no choice but to use it.

“Do you cry, Alice? Do you laugh? You’re trapped inside yourself, aren’t you? Why?” Julia drew back. She went over to her notes and wrote down everything that had transpired since breakfast. Then she read back over the words she’d written:
Violent reaction to dreamcatcher. Extreme bout of anger and/or fear. As usual, patient’s emotions are entirely directed inward. It’s as if she has no idea how to express her feelings to others. Perhaps due to elective mutism. Perhaps due to training. Did someone—or something—teach her to be silent always? Was she abused for speaking out or for speaking at all? Is she used to scratching and hair pulling as her only emotional display? Is this how pack animals express emotions when out of view? Is this a symptom of wildness or isolation or abuse?

Some realization teased her, danced at the corner of her mind, moving in and out of focus too quickly for her to really see it.

Julia put down her pen and stood up again. A quick look at the video camera assured her that it was still recording. She could study the footage of the dreamcatcher incident again tonight. Maybe she’d missed something.

She checked Alice again, made sure she was asleep, then left the room. Outside, in the hallway, the dogs lay coiled together, asleep. Julia stepped over them and retrieved the dreamcatcher.

It was a poorly made trinket; the kind of thing they sold at local souvenir shops. No bigger than a tea saucer and as thin as the twigs that formed its circular perimeter; it was hardly threatening. Several cheap, shiny blue beads glittered amidst a string web. She suspected they usually came with a designer tag that detailed their importance to the local tribes of the Quinalt and the Hoh.

What was its connection to Alice? Was she Native American? Was that a piece of the puzzle? Or was it not the dreamcatcher in total that had frightened her, but rather some piece of it—the beads, the twigs, or the string?

String.
A cousin to rope.

Ligature marks.

Perhaps that was the connection. The string could have reminded Alice of being tied up.

There was no way to know these answers until Alice herself revealed them.

In ordinary therapy, bound by the normal conventions of time and money, it could take months for a child to confront such fears. Perhaps years.

But this case was far from ordinary. The longer Alice remained in her solitary, isolated world, the less likely it was that she would ever emerge. Therefore, they didn’t have the luxury of time. She needed to force a confrontation between the two Alices—the child lost in the woods and the girl who’d been returned to the world. These two halves needed to integrate into a single personality or Alice’s future would be at risk.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

There was only one thing to do, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

She went downstairs to call her sister. Fifteen minutes later Ellie and Peanut walked through the front door.

“Hey,” Peanut said, grinning broadly and fluttering her bright pink star-spangled fingernails.

Julia reached into her pocket and pulled out the dreamcatcher. “Either one of you recognize this?”

“Sure. It’s a dreamcatcher,” Peanut said, pulling a Baggie full of carrot sticks out of her purse. “My son used to have one hanging from his bed. I think he bought it on a field trip up to Neah Bay. They’re a Native American tradition. The idea is that they protect a sleeping child from nightmares. The bad dreams get caught in the web, while the good ones slip quietly through that hole in the middle.” She grinned. “Discovery Channel. Native American History Week.”

“Why?” Ellie asked Julia.

“Alice had a severe emotional response to this thing. Snorting, scratching herself, screaming. It seemed to scare the crap out of her.”

Ellie reached over and picked up the dreamcatcher, examining it. “You think it’s the bad dream thing?”

“No. I think it’s more personal. Maybe she was hurt in a room that had one, or by a person who made them. Or perhaps the string reminded her of the rope that was used to tie her ankle. I’m not sure yet. But there’s
something
about it that set her off.”

“I’ll check it out,” Ellie said. “Clues are damn few and far between. I’ll send Earl up to the reservation. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“It’s about time for some luck,” Julia agreed, picking her purse up off the sofa. “Where could I find a bunch of them for sale?”

“Swain’s General Store,” Peanut answered. “They have a local souvenir aisle.”

“Great. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Better wear a mask,” Peanut muttered. She and Ellie exchanged worried glances.

Julia frowned. “What’s going on?”

“You remember Mort Elzik?” Ellie asked.

So it was small-town gossip. She should have known. “No.” Julia glanced at her watch. She wanted to be back—with the dreamcatchers—when Alice woke from her nap. “I really don’t have time for this now. I don’t know how long Alice will sleep.” She headed for the door.

“He published a photo of Alice in the
Rain Valley Gazette.
”

“The headline called her ‘wolf girl,’” Peanut said, chewing loudly.

Julia stopped. All at once she remembered Mort from high school . . . and from that night at the hospital. He’d bumped into her in the hallway.
Of course.
The bag he’d dropped held camera equipment. That was why he hadn’t been at the meeting in the church; he’d used that time to sneak into the hospital. Slowly, she turned. “Any mention of me?”

Both women shook their heads. “The town is protecting you,” Ellie added. “He knows you’re here but no one will confirm that you’re helping Alice.”

“I knew there’d be a leak. There always is. We’re fine if—”

Peanut and Ellie exchanged another worried look.

“What? There’s
more
?” Julia demanded.

“Some of the reporters are leaving town. They think the whole thing is a hoax.”

Julia cursed under her breath. That was the one thing they couldn’t afford. If the media withdrew now, they might never find out who Alice really was. “The new photos—mine, I mean—should help. Also release some bit of information. Something scientific. Put someone in uniform on camera to talk about the search. Use lots of missing kids’ statistics. Make every word sound official. That should buy us some time.”

“You need to get her talking, Jules.”

“No kidding.” In the old days her word would have been enough to convince the media. Now, it would mean nothing.

“You want me to go get you the dreamcatchers?” Peanut said gently.

Julia hated to bend to pressure, but she had no choice. She couldn’t let Mort get a photo of her. She tossed her purse back onto the sofa. “Thanks, Pea. I’d appreciate that.”

THIRTEEN

A
N HOUR LATER
E
LLIE AND
P
EANUT WERE BACK IN THE CRUISER,
heading for town.

“We
need
her to talk,” Ellie said quietly. No matter how much evidence they accumulated, the truth always boiled down to that.

“Julia is doing her best, but . . .”

“It could take a while. I know. And what if Mort’s photo ruins everything? If the legitimate media thinks we’re some hicks trying to put our city on the map, it’s over.”

“Don’t go looking for trouble, El. My Benji says—”

The car radio squawked. “Ellie? Are you there?”

“I’m not answering,” Ellie said. “It’s never good news anymore.”

“That’s a responsible choice. Probably just a ten-car pileup on the interstate, anyway. Or a hostage situation.”

Another clatter of static. “Chief? Julia says you’re in the car. If you don’t answer, I’m going to tell everyone you wrote a letter to Rick Springfield in the eighth grade. Over.”

Ellie hit the Talk button. “Don’t force me to bring out the photos of you with a perm, Cal.”

“There you are. Thank God, El. You need to get here now. Over.”

“What’s going on?”

“The kooks have landed. I swear to God.”

Ellie cursed under her breath. She hit the siren and gas at the same time. In minutes she was pulling into the parking lot and getting out of the car.

There were people everywhere, though not as many as yesterday. News vans clogged the street in front of the station and a line of people snaked from the front door and down the sidewalk. They weren’t the kind of people who’d shown up before. No cops from other precincts or private detectives or reporters or parents. This group looked like the Rocky Horror audience.

She brushed past them, ignoring their clamoring voices, and went into the station. Cal was at his desk, looking dazed and confused.

Earl sat at the other patrol desk. At Ellie’s entrance he smiled tiredly and said, “I just took a statement from a man who lives on the planet Rebar.”

Ellie frowned. “What?”

“That’s who came looking for the girl. A man—no, an ambassador—from Rebar. He had a tinfoil hat and black lips.”

Ellie sat down at her desk with a sigh. “Let ’em in, Earl. One at a time.”

“You’re going to
talk
to them?” Cal asked.

“Just ’cause they’re crazy doesn’t mean they don’t know something.”

Earl went to the door and opened it. The woman he let in wore a flowing purple dress, cowboy boots, and a blue suede headband. In her hands she held a baseball-sized crystal ball.

Another psychic.

Ellie smiled and reached for her pen.

For the next two hours she and Earl and Peanut listened to one crackpot after another tell them who Alice really was. Her favorite answer: Anastasia, reborn.

When the last man finally told his story and left, Ellie leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Where did they all come from?”

Cal answered. “Mort’s picture. It makes the whole story seem unbelievable. Especially since he used words like flying and wolf girl. His story hinted that she eats only live insects and does sign language with her feet. I heard CNN pulled out of town.”

“This is so not good,” Peanut said, reaching for her grapefruit juice.

Cal jumped down from the desk. His tennis shoes hit with a little thump on the hardwood floor. “Use her,” he said quietly. “It’s our only choice.”

Ellie didn’t have to ask who Cal meant. She’d had the same thought herself.

“Julia?” Peanut said in a spiky voice. “But they’ll only care about what happened in Silverwood.”

“They’ll crucify her,” Ellie said, looking up at Cal. “‘Wolf girl works with disgraced doctor.’”