Nightingale Songs (26 page)

"Well, here's your key," Connor said. "If you need me, you know where I am." He then touched the brim of his cap and left.

Liam stood on the porch, suddenly terrified. It looked exactly the same inside, as if no one had been to the cabin after he had left. He felt the horror of discovering
Marcia's disappearance as though it were fresh, as though it had happened mere moments before. His eyes grew warm and wet and he closed them and tried
to drive the tears back. When he opened them again, he was disappointed to discover the cabin was still there.

Liam closed the door as he entered the place, the weight of memories pressing
against him. Part of him wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go that was far enough.

The next day was going
to be long, and he wanted to get as much sleep as possible. Surprisingly, the windowsill was still not repaired, gouged deeply from the nail removal, but it was too late for Liam to do anything
about it. The room felt damp, and he left the window open a few inches to keep from suffocating.

He was awakened in the middle of the night by a rattling
noise that filled the room. In his daze Liam could not tell for a moment where it had come from, and when he realized its source he was too frightened to move. It was the sound of his bedroom door, trying
to open. It shook, back and forth, as though pulled by invisible hands. He lay rigid, his mind working
through its fever, slowly awakening, and he understood what a fool he was. He rose from bed and, with negligible resistance, closed the window. After a slightly longer moment, the door stopped moving and noise vanished.

Despite his best efforts, he was unable to fall back asleep. He tossed and turned, trying
to find a few more hours, but it was useless. It was almost daybreak, he saw by his watch, and he rose and put on his coat. Outside, upon the porch, he would be able to determine just what he intended to do.

The temperature was much colder than he expected, but the chill only made him miss Marcia’s warmth more than he thought he could stand. He tried to picture her beside him, to visualize her face, her body, sitting
there as she had the summer before while she listened
to the night. He spoke aloud to the figment, hoping
somehow in vain that his fabricated responses would bring
her back to him, if only for a moment. He tried hard to believe, but he knew he was a fool. He could not bring
back all that had gone with her.

The trees beyond the pale ring
of light rustled together in the darkness -- just sounds in the blackness of night. He imagined he could hear words in their whispers, and he listened to them carefully. The noises were high like a woman's voice, and he tried to surrender his mind to them, to let go and see what words emerged. He closed his eyes and listened.

But he heard only one word.

"Liam."

It was Marcia's voice.

The wind in the trees blew stronger, and all the leaves rustled
in a cacophony of noise. He stood, then stumbled backwards. He called out her name, momentarily stunned, but there was no reply from the blackness. He had not been prepared for the tricks his mind was playing, or for the feeling of aching
loss they caused.

He returned to the warmth of the cabin, and lay upon the sofa, then rested
his head as far back as possible until the tiny bones in his neck rubbed together. He stared at the ceiling, his whole body trembling
from the shock, and tried to relax. He picked a point above him to focus on: a small dark flaw in the wood. He suddenly felt tired staring
at the odd shape, and as his mind began to wander, he realized the flaw was a large fat fly that hung
absolutely still. Sleep caught up with him without warning, and he slipped away into unconsciousness.

When he opened his eyes in the faint daylight, for a moment he wondered where he was, until he saw the fly, and tried to move.

Pain shot through his neck and into his head when he tried to lift it from the couch. Instead, he lay still, and waited
for the kink to work itself out on its own. He didn't want to get up, didn't want to face another day. It had all been so hard -- the endless doubts, the loneliness, not knowing
for sure if Marcia was alive or dead -- and he never wanted to move again from the couch. He didn't think he could go on any longer, and he covered his eyes with his arm.

The couch beneath him shifted, as though the weight of an unseen body was lifted.

Liam went cold. He forced himself to raise his head, despite the pain, and look around the cabin. There was no one there. The last of his sleep left him as he stared at the room and waited
for movement. Without meaning
to, a whisper slipped from his dry throat.

"Marcia?"

There was no answer.

Liam feared he was going
crazy. He wanted her back so much he was imagining
her everywhere. He shook his head, trying
to get his bearings, and could feel his heart beating
faster, threatening
to burst through his chest. He sat up, and tried
to calm himself and regain control. His head screamed
at him, but he refused to listen. He only wanted to get outside, get moving, before everything
collapsed upon him.

The cold weather created a very fine mist that floated inches above the ground and swirled
around the wheels of the small motorized cart that sat parked in front of the cabin across from his, the cabin he still thought of as belonging
to Halley and Ken. The place was dark, but its door opened
slowly, and from inside emerged Connor, a metal tank strapped to his back and thick rubber gloves on his hands.

"Hey, how you doing?" he asked, waving
his arm high. Liam hesitantly retuned the gesture. "What was so funny?"

"Pardon?"

"Weren't you laughing
it up in there this morning? It sounded like a bunch of ducks going
off. Quack! Quack!" Connor laughed, but Liam felt puzzled. "Ah well," he continued in a guarded tone, "maybe it really was some ducks. I can't tell the difference, anyhow."

"What are you doing
in there?" Liam asked.

"Oh, with the tank? I do this every fall. It's cluster fly season. Every fall it’s the same thing. Hundreds of these big flies get into the cabins -- into the roofs, really, and stay there all winter long. Imagine it, thousands of those little buggers sitting
up there, living
out their lives totally unseen by you and me."

"I think I saw one in my cabin. It just hung there and didn't move."

"Yeah, that's probably one. Big and grey, right? I don't know why, but they aren't as jumpy as normal flies; it's like they're blind to everything
-- or maybe they think they're already dead! Who knows? Anyway, this time of year they gather in all the roofs, so I go from cabin to cabin spraying
them. When I'm done, I'll go through again and vacuum up the bodies."

Liam thought for a moment. "Do they . . ." He struggled for the right words, "Do they make any
strange
noises?"

Connor's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Just noises."

"No, they're usually pretty quiet, at least until spring. There's plenty of other things around here that sound weird though, but -- Jesus, what time is it?"

Liam checked his watch, but Connor did not wait for the results.

"Listen, I've got to go. The meter-reader was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I've got to take him around." Connor threw his equipment into the back of the cart, then jumped into the driver's seat. "Have a good one!" he called out over the hum of the motor and sped off, dirt flying
from beneath the wheels. Liam raised his arm in a half-hearted wave, but Connor was already gone.

The trees around the gravel trail, though leafless, still clung close enough together that there was a perceptible change in light immediately after Liam entered the forest. The ground was covered in places with a deep layer of fallen leaves -- soft and slippery underfoot -- that he sunk into with every step. He had to kick them away periodically to ensure he was still on the right path, but they clung tight to him, their wet waxy surfaces adhering
to his shoes and turning
them into a collage of browns and oranges.

The path however was remarkably exposed for the most part, as though it had been previously cleared of debris. It seemed odd, but not outside the realm of possibility that it was regularly maintained. After all, the paths through the woods were a big part of the resort's draw, and making
sure they were accessible would be a top priority.

All around him, bare branches creaked in the cold
morning
breeze. The mist over the ground had all but cleared, though the air still felt damp. Liam's nose was already cold and beginning
to drip, and he recovered his handkerchief to clear it.

The gravel path was the last place he had been with Marcia, yet he recognized nothing
upon it. The emptiness of the woods in autumn, the bareness, cast everything
in a cooler light. Liam knew the police had searched the area over and over, had combed
it for any sign of Marcia -- they told him as much -- but they found no trace of her. But he didn't believe they tried hard enough. He spoke to them, knew what they thought. Once they were convinced she had left him and run away, they stopped looking
for her body.

Liam knew something
had happened to her, however; nothing
else would keep her from him.

The police didn't understand. The problems he and Marcia had were no more than what was to be expected in a healthy relationship -- deep down, he was certain she loved him. It was a skittish love, to be sure, and he was cautious, but it was as true a love as any he had ever experienced.

The cold damp of the overcast day eventually found its way into Liam's clothes and under his skin. He shivered, but kept walking, dragging
his feet over the rocks on the soft ground, while he looked
for the place where he and Marcia had last spoken to each other.

There were many paths snaking
the woods, but he recognized none of them. The year and the changing
seasons had transformed the path's landscape, and any landmark he still carried in his head had disappeared, replaced with a fallen tree or dark mat of leaves. He looked up, following
the thick lines of trunks, to see the skeletal canopy high above, a latticework across the grey colorless sky. He sighed heavily, exhausted, and wondered
what it was he was doing
there. He ran his hands deep into his hair, trying to keep his head from collapsing.

Movement a few feet away startled him. The leaves along the path scattered, and there was the sound of twigs breaking. Liam stood absolutely still. Wind brushed his face as he watched the path. From the corner of his eye, a pale blur passed, and Liam's heart skipped a beat, then pounded in his chest as he squeezed out the only question he wanted to ask.

"Marcia?" he said, gripping
his pouch to his side. "Marcia, is that you?"

The invisible thing said nothing, and slowly retreated along the path, disturbing the debris that Liam had already cleared. As he followed, he asked it questions he knew it could not answer.

"Marcia? Where are you?"

The disturbance kicked
up leaves and debris as it moved away from him, and Liam chased after it. The ground moved quickly beneath him, the detritus of the forest slipping
out from under his feet, but he stayed upright, too terrified to fall and lose the barely visible shape. Breath wheezed out of his lungs with every footfall, and he thought each step was going to be his last, and that he might never be able to tell Marcia again that he loved her. Then, he noticed something strange ahead of him.