Since You've Been Gone

FRIDAY 9:20 P.M.

His cape swirled dramatically. His piercing eyes looked from beneath the darkness of his hood. “You have joined the dark side,” he intoned. He whipped out his light saber and grandly swept it through the air, electrified as it made its scary-thrilling hum of power. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, here to help you fight your way back to the light. Fight!”

His nemesis cringed in front of the awesome power of a Jedi Knight…

Suddenly he couldn't breathe. The light saber dropped from his hand and the face of his frightening adversary disintegrated as he struggled out of the mystical dream of
Star Wars
. He tried to open his eyes, but they were covered. He opened his mouth to scream and a sickeningly sweet-smelling cloth filled it. His breath rasped in his throat. His legs thrashed. His arms waved, his hand connecting with something solid. He clutched material, wondering if this was a part of the dream that was going so wrong. Mommy had told him there was a secret rhyme to make a bad dream go away. He hadn't had a bad dream for a long time and he tried to remember:
One, two, three, four/Bad dream out the door!

Dizzy with fear and nausea, he didn't wake up. He couldn't see the comforting familiarity of his room with its
Star Wars
poster and the bowl with two sleek goldfish and the sparkling blue Lava lamp Mommy always left on until he went to sleep. He must still be asleep! He needed to try again.
One, two, three, four/Bad dream out the door!

Nothing. Horror flamed through his slight seven-year-old body as he realized something awful, something real, was happening outside his dream world. He writhed wildly, although his energy was slipping away. The cloth pressed
over his face, making his eyes burn, turning the inside of his nose raw. His tongue felt huge. Where was Mommy? Mommy, please
help!
He struck out with a hand and heard someone mutter “Damn you!” when he connected with a nose. What kind of nose? Big? Little? A man's nose? A girl's?

Fiery panic surged through him. He knew he was going to throw up. He was scared like a baby because his legs would barely move now. He shivered and he thought he might wet his pants. Something was pushed over his head, something like a hood, but not a good kind of hood like the one on Obi-Wan Kenobi's cape. Something rough and itchy and smothering and moldy that sucked into his mouth when he tried to breathe. And now he was having trouble thinking. Blinding spots of light flashed in front of his eyes.

With the little strength he had left, he closed his fingers around the leg of the stuffed dog he'd loved furless in places. Good, strong, loyal Tramp—forever his protector. Brave Tramp who saved the baby from the rat in the movie
Lady and the Tramp
. Tramp could help.

And Tramp tried. Someone forced loose his fingers but the dog clung, a hook on its collar caught on his pajamas. Don't let me go, he begged Tramp mentally. Don't let
go!

“Time to leave,” someone whispered harshly in his ear, into his fuzzy mind. “Say good-bye to all you know. This is the beginning of the end, little boy.”

With a horror he'd never known in his life, he felt his light body being roughly lifted from the bed, the stuffed animal a dangling weight. In a minute the night air washed over him, seeping through his sweat-drenched pajamas, chilling his damp feet, touching his limp fingers.

He heard the distant bark of a dog and the high whine of a mosquito near his ear before he went still, sinking into a dreamless, unnatural sleep.

FRIDAY, 9:25 P.M.

“This is WCWT in Sinclair, West Virginia, bringing you one of our favorite oldies, ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony' by the Verve.”

String music soared throughout the car and Rebecca Ryan rolled her eyes. “Since when does a song from 1997 count as a golden oldie?” Her Australian shepherd, Sean, sitting on the bucket seat across from her, looked back alertly. “I wonder what they call songs from the fifties? Prehistoric?”

Rebecca drained the last bit of strong, lukewarm coffee from her Styrofoam cup and stuck it in the plastic trash bag along with two other used cups. Her stomach churned, her eyes burned, and her hands trembled. Too much caffeine and too little sleep. And fear. It had coursed through her since last night, when her cousin Molly had called her in New Orleans and said, “Aunt Esther has cancer.”

“Well, that's not possible,” Rebecca had said inanely, thinking of the woman who'd radiated health and energy since Rebecca was a little girl. According to Molly, seventy-five-year-old Esther had just told the family she would have surgery and begin radiation therapy in less than two weeks. Esther wanted no sympathy and she wanted no one except immediate family to know of her condition. “She told me not to tell you in particular,” Molly had said late last night on the phone after waiting until her seven-year-old son Todd had gone to sleep because she didn't want him to get upset. “Esther doesn't want you coming all the way from New Orleans, especially because Sinclair has such bad memories for you. So you have to think up an excuse for this trip.”

An excuse? Rebecca was still working on that one, her
mind having been occupied with the flurry of the hurried trip. She'd been unable to make the earliest flights from New Orleans to Charleston, West Virginia, and had to wait until a mid-afternoon one with a layover in Pittsburgh. She hadn't had time to make arrangements for boarding her dog, Sean, and getting him unloaded from the plane and renting a car had taken extra time before the 60-mile drive to Sinclair. Through it all Rebecca had been unable to catch up on the sleep she'd lost last night and she was now tired and feeling slow-witted.

Rebecca flipped off the radio. Music that had helped to keep her awake now blurred into irritating noise. She glanced at Sean. “You look fresh as a daisy. No wonder. Thanks to that tranquilizer, you slept through both flights.” The dog gazed at her, panting. “I know you're not crazy about kids in general, but I hope you like my nephew Todd. He'll be crazy about you.” A drop of saliva rolled off Sean's tongue onto the seat. “My mother will like you, too, as long as you don't drip on any of her beautiful clothes.”

When she was a child, Rebecca had adored her lovely mother Suzanne's thick, wheat-colored hair, azure eyes, and slender-boned body. She'd had quick, tinkling laughter and a personality that alternated easily between adult and childlike. One evening she could be the gracious, polished hostess at a dinner party. The next morning she could wholeheartedly throw herself into one of Rebecca's tea parties or a game of hide-and-seek with her and her brother Jonnie.

A sudden pain reamed like a knife in Rebecca's stomach at the thought of Jonnie. Three years younger than she, Jonathan Patrick Ryan had been a beautiful, happy baby who'd grown into an agile, high-spirited boy with a cap of blond curls and a devilish glint in his bright blue eyes. When he was very small he had allowed Rebecca to dress him up and treat him like her own beloved baby. When he was older, he'd shrugged off her coddling and insisted on being treated as an equal. In later years they'd played together, shared secrets, squabbled, tattled on each other, and
managed to always remain best friends. She hadn't been able to imagine life without him. She hadn't thought she would ever
be
without him.

She'd been wrong.

Sean pawed at her arm, sensing her tension. “We're almost … there.” She'd nearly said
home
, but Sinclair wasn't home and hadn't been for the eight years since Jonnie had been murdered. She hadn't visited since she'd left for Tulane University in New Orleans when she was eighteen. She'd intended never to return.

Her stomach tightened as she drove into the Sinclair city limits. To her right was the huge brick Baptist church that dated to 1870. Molly had told her a few ambitious parishioners had lobbied for an addition, but the historic preservationists had quashed the motion. Ahead, Leland Park overlooked the Ohio River. Rebecca had always loved the park with its tennis courts, rose gardens with brick paths, and two-story River Museum. She noticed that the eight acres of land were as beautifully maintained as always, benches, birdfeeders, and old-fashioned water fountains painted pristine white. Even the bandstand, built in the early 1900s and the site of summer night concerts, looked brand-new. Long ago, Suzanne had brought her and Jonnie to the concerts. One time Jonnie hid. Certain he'd fallen into the river and drowned, Suzanne had promptly lapsed into hysterics. Rebecca had found him hiding under the bandbox and was deeply disappointed when he didn't receive the spanking she would have for playing such a trick.