The Death Catchers (22 page)

 

Pathetic Fallacy

You may not appreciate my telling you this, Mrs. Tweedy, but when we learned about pathetic fallacy in
Macbeth
, I thought the whole thing was pretty bogus. When Duncan is about to get murdered, the lightning and thundering outside is supposed to foretell the upcoming violence, but I found it silly. Shakespeare did this, you said, to scare the audience and give them a general uneasy feeling so that they're doubly terrified when all the violence and murder happens, right?

Well, I don't think it's bogus anymore, Mrs. Tweedy. Now I'm certain there's nothing pathetic about it. After the earthquake hit Crabapple, at around five in the morning, I'd never been more scared. The rumbling must have gone on for a solid minute. We've had real shakers before in Crabapple, but this one was more of a roller, like the earth was one giant water bed.

After the temblor, a few lights went on in houses down below. Bizzy and I could see several people out in the streets through a pair of binoculars she'd brought along. I was glad I'd left a lump of pillows under the covers in my bed. If Mom peeked in she'd think I'd slept through the whole thing. The lights in the southern part of the city were out completely. A few car alarms sounded briefly before being silenced.

It was ominous. I scanned the area around the cannery. Jodi was disoriented from being jolted awake and Bizzy tried to calm her down. She dispatched me to Drake's house, and Jodi to the entrance of the storm drains, warning us to “be extra careful.” When I went to check on Drake on my bike, I swore I made the round trip in about twelve minutes. I had such an adrenaline rush, I was pedaling at lightning pace. I saw a light on in one of the first-floor windows of the Westfall house. Creeping to the window, I watched as Mrs. Westfall picked up a few picture frames the earthquake had knocked to the floor. I ran back across the yard to the elm tree. I looked at my palm. DRAKE WESTFALL. His name was still there, same as ever. Whether he lived or died was coming down to a matter of hours. Drake's light was on. I peered into his room.

His bed was empty. Drake was gone.

I took a few nervous breaths and climbed up the elm next to Damon's room. I gulped. Damon was missing, too. Down the street, I spotted a black sedan.

Fearfully, I looked down at my palm once more. Drake's name was still bright red. That meant he was really
close
. I tried to calm myself, wondering if maybe I was overreacting and Drake was in the bathroom or something. I crossed the Westfall yard once more and snuck around the side gate into the backyard. Drake's name grew slightly brighter. When I approached the house, the letters dimmed. I turned toward the pool house and the letters brightened. I surveyed the Westfall backyard. The surrounding sky was no longer black—it looked like the inside of a toaster when it's just beginning to heat up.

The door to the pool house was ajar. As I slipped through the cracked door, Drake's name began to tingle, then burn and light up on my palm. I was getting closer.

The pool house was dim and as I pressed against the closest wall, I heard voices coming from the other side of the room. I ducked behind a stack of brown boxes and listened.

“Calm down, man. It was the only way we could be sure he wouldn't rat on us.” I recognized Randy Maroy's voice immediately.

“I'd already convinced him we weren't going through with it!” There was no mistaking the second voice, either. It was Damon Westfall's. Loud and clear.

“Yeah, well, the earthquake must have woke him up and he
saw
us in here, with the plans. He probably heard us talking about it, too. So we can't wait. We're all ready, anyway. We'll hit Miss Mora's this morning.”

“We're going to have to do something with Drake so my parents don't find him here. What about dumping him at the cannery—and getting him there using the storm drains?”

“The drains lead to the cannery?”

“I've used them before when I stayed there. They lead right to a grate underneath it. No one'll see us go in and no one'll find him there until we're long gone,” Damon explained.

“Good. And I think we made it pretty clear before I knocked him out that if he tells anyone, we'll come back for his little girlfriend. It'll shut him up,” Randy said coldly.

“Let's get to it then. We've only got an hour before Miss Mora's opens.”

I froze as the rustle of movements and footsteps intensified. I peered around the side of the stack of boxes and saw Damon and Randy struggling with Drake's limp body. Randy had a grip on Drake's legs while Damon grasped him under his shoulders. As the two moved forward, Drake's head bobbed up and down and his torso swayed back and forth, as if he were in a hammock.

Damon and Randy passed inches from me as they cleared the door. I huddled close to the ground, hoping they wouldn't see me. After they'd carried Drake's unconscious form completely out of the pool house, I counted to sixty before moving again. I heard a car door slam and sprinted around the side of the Westfall house.

Grabbing my bike, I raced up Earle toward the park. I had to reach Bizzy. I couldn't stop imagining Drake stashed somewhere in the cannery.

When I got to the park, I hopped off my bicycle and pushed it to the top of the hill, to our makeshift campsite. As I looked out, I realized morning had arrived.

“Bizzy!” I said. I looked around. “Where's Jodi?”

“I sent her to check on you when you didn't come back on time,” Bizzy said.

I told her what I'd just seen. “They've changed their plan, Bizzy. They're robbing Miss Mora's this morning.” When I finished, Bizzy gasped out loud.

“By gum! A leak!” Bizzy's voice was so loud, I thought she might wake up someone in Crabapple.

“What?” I said, following her gaze to the portable gas grill right in front of us on the tarp. “I don't understand.”

“The earthquake, Lizzy-Loo! That's the explosion. Gas leaks contributed to almost fifty structure fires during the Northridge quake alone.” I'd never heard Bizzy talk so quickly. “Gas leaks are the cause of a lot a' earthquake-related casualties!”

“So?” I said, still confused.

“They've deposited Drake in the cannery by now. If someone lights something there, smart money says the whole place'll go
kaboom
!”

“Oh no … his lighter!”

“What's this now?” Bizzy questioned.

“Drake has this lighter. It was his grandfather's. He carries it wherever he goes and—”

Bizzy didn't wait for me to finish. The wheels were spinning in her head.

“You still got Sheriff Schmidt's number?” I handed his business card to Bizzy.

“Good. I'm gonna call straight away about Damon and his miscreant friend. After that earthquake, the sheriff is sure to have sent several squad cars out on patrol. If one of 'em sees you near the cannery at this hour, we're done for. You've got to get into the cannery without anyone stopping you, okay?”

“I'll go in through the storm drain,” I said.

“That's far too dangerous. Stay outta sight for as long as you can, then go in through one a' the windows.”

“Someone might see me. The storm drains are the only way!” I exclaimed, my heart pounding. After a night of slow-motion observation, suddenly everything seemed to be happening in hyperspeed. Bizzy paused for a second.

“Well, all right then. Run as fast as you can. Take the compass. Once you're in, you'll need to keep goin' north to get underneath the cannery.” Bizzy switched my headlamp back on. “Shouldn't be too far. Once you're in, do whatever you have to do to make sure he doesn't use his lighter or anything else. I'm gonna wheel down to the cannery and try to see if I can't do somethin' from above ground. If you can't wake up Drake, you can holler to me and I'll get help to get him out of there.”

I was about to dash to the corner of Dolores and Kincaid when Bizzy grabbed my wrist.

“And Lizzy,” Bizzy said, almost quietly, “Damon should be long gone and on his way to Miss Mora's. Remember that I'll be up here doin' what I can.”

As I tried to leave, Bizzy wouldn't let go of my wrist. She was staring intently at my right hand. She couldn't take her eyes off it. I looked down.

On the base of my right hand, a new name had appeared in red.

BEATRICE MILDRED MORTIMER

I looked at my left hand. Drake's name was still there. But I hadn't seen any kind of death-specter about Bizzy.

I felt like my lungs were deflating. I couldn't get enough air.

“Bizzy,” I said. “Bizzy … your name!” I thrust my right hand in her face. “What does it mean?”

“I … I … don't pay no attention to that just now,” Bizzy stuttered.

Bizzy and I both turned toward the sound of a small voice coming from within the cedar grove.

A banshee emerged from the trees looking almost exactly like the one that had appeared to take Jodi in front of Miss Mora's, wearing a black dress, with white hair and the blackest eyes.

“
You have a date. A date with fate. We shall not be late
,” she sang in her high-pitched robotic drone. She repeated it again, skipping toward us as if she were half asleep, her face expressionless. “
The time is here. There is nothing to fear. You have a date, a date with fate.
”

Soon, the banshee was a few feet away from us, staring through the moonlight with her dark vacant eyes.

“Bizzy,” I whispered, my voice trembling with terror, hoping the banshee wouldn't hear me. “Bizzy, what is she doing here?”

Bizzy waited a few seconds to respond, looking only at the girl.

“Judgin' by your hand,” she said, her voice filled with resignation, “she's here for your dear ole grandmamma.”

I turned my open palms up toward the sky. I looked at Drake's name and then at Bizzy's. One on each hand, with Bizzy's name glowing much, much brighter than Drake's. Bizzy glanced at my wrists, then at the little girl in black lace, still chanting softly, and then finally up at my face. There were tears in Bizzy's eyes. “Dyin' …,” Bizzy began, choking up a little, “is a wild night and a new road.” Her once-strong voice was now weak under the weight of sadness. The words filled the space between us.
Dying is a wild night and a new road.
I recognized the phrase immediately—it was from an Emily Dickinson poem. “No one …,” Bizzy continued, “gets to choose her time, Sweet Pea.”

“What are you saying, Bizzy?”

“You best be gettin' goin' after Drake.”

“I'm
NOT
leaving you—not with your name on my hand and that banshee here,” I said.

Bizzy grabbed my hands.

“If you care about me even a little, Elizabeth Mildred Mortimer, you will go save that boy!” Bizzy said, commanding me over the eerie chants of the banshee.

“
You have a date, a date with fate. We shall not be late
,” the girl singsonged cheerfully, swaying back and forth.

“No! I
can't
leave you here to fend off whatever's coming by yourself!”

“You don't understand,” Bizzy said. “This is the way it must be, Lizzy! The last death-specter I ever had in the ocean—it was about
me
. My own name didn't appear on my hand because it was my last one, just like what happened to my mama. Morgan le Faye had the courtesy to give me ample warnin' that I was goin' to be leavin' this world helpin' you. It's my time. Please … it's the only way.”

“But … I … can't …,” I protested as tears spilled onto my cheeks.

“You mustn't think of me. Think of the countless others dependin' on you. We'll see each other again. It may not be soon, but it'll have to be soon enough …”

Bizzy rolled forward and shoved me backward. She nudged me again, closing her brimming eyes.

“I love ya to pieces and back again,” Bizzy whispered, giving me one last push away from her. “May fate be with you. And if it ain't, make it so.”

She spoke them as if they were last words.

Seconds later, I was running downhill, stumbling and sobbing as I made my way toward unconscious Drake and the cannery. I didn't look back at my grandmother. I knew that if I saw her on the top of the hill, left to face her fate alone, I wouldn't have the strength to stop myself from going back to save her.

 

The Climax

You call the climax of a novel the “turning point,” Mrs. Tweedy, but I still think that's not very easy to identify. For me, the only way you really know you've gotten to the climax is when you've got a thin stack of pages left and you're at a part where you can't stop reading because you need to find out what happens. I don't have much left to write, so I should probably get to it.

Halfway down the hill, on my way to Drake, I fell hard, hitting the ground with a thump. I moaned as I tumbled the rest of the way to the bottom. Thinking I tripped on a tree root, I tried to get to my feet. I had to get to Drake or all of it would be for nothing.

Soon, I felt myself being lifted up off the ground. My vision blurred as my body screamed out in pain. I bounced up and down, traveling faster than if I'd been on my bike going downhill. Things came into focus for me once again and I realized that someone—or something—was carrying me back up the hill and toward Cedar Tree Park. Toward Bizzy.

I was wrapped up tightly in some kind of black silky material and was being held so firmly, I couldn't even move my head to look up to see who or what was carrying me. When we reached the top of the hill, the mysterious presence threw me to the ground once more.

Dazed, I got up, trying to process what was happening. My shins burned from the impact.

First I saw Bizzy, her back to me as she sat in her chair, facing Deadman's Drop.

Bizzy's head leaned to the side as if she were asleep.

“I cannot imagine why you would want to leave before the main event,” said a commanding voice from behind me. I whipped around.

There stood Vivienne le Mort, in her black robe, against the red-yellow light of sunrise, a few feet from me.

Vivienne le Mort pointed one of her long, spindly fingers at me. “You see,” she said, “I have been waiting a long time for this day to arrive. But it wasn't until I saw you with the boy that day in the field that I realized you and your brainless little grandmother had set out to save him. That it was
you
Morgan was communicating with. I've been watching you very closely since then, carefully planning how best to stop you. You nearly spoiled it all by running off like you did!” Vivienne le Mort's shrill voice grew louder in a dreadful crescendo. I thought about Drake, who could wake up at any moment, pull out his lighter, and ignite it. Vivienne le Mort stalked up the hill and grabbed Bizzy's wheelchair, pushing her closer to the edge of Deadman's Drop.

“What have you done to Bizzy? What do you want with her!”

“Your grandmother is only temporarily incapacitated. I have done so to ensure that the banshee,” Vivienne le Mort said, “retrieves what she came for.”

The banshee stood silently a few feet to the side of us, blinking her black eyes.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“All you have to do is look down at your palm, and you should be able to figure that out yourself. I believe my dear sister has tried to send you one of her pathetic warnings about your grandmother. Hasn't she?” Vivienne le Mort asked in her most patronizing tone. “The banshee has come for your
grandmother
.” She smiled devilishly, revealing all her yellow teeth.

I charged full speed toward Vivienne le Mort and Bizzy, near the cliff's edge.

“I would not travel one more step in this direction unless you want to see your grandmother plunge to her death immediately!” Vivienne snapped

I skidded to a stop.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“I am not
doing
anything,” Vivienne le Mort said, seemingly amused by my question. Her red eyes sent electric shivers down my spine. “That is what you descendants of Morgan le Faye fail to understand! To think that, all this time, right under my nose, you have spent your lives fighting against that which you cannot possibly hope to defeat … fate!”

“I will do whatever you want if you let Bizzy go,” I pleaded.

“You are even weaker than I imagined!” Vivienne le Mort squawked. “I know you are aware of the prophecy concerning the boy, and yet you stand here, distressed about saving a decrepit old woman who has reached the end of her thread. Not that I am surprised to find a mortal who cannot see beyond her own selfish interest!” Vivienne le Mort looked at me with the purest form of disgust.

“You don't have to do this,” I said.

“There is no point delaying the inevitable,” Vivienne said, moving one of her long fingers to her dark lips. She turned Bizzy's wheelchair around. Bizzy's expression was blank. “I want to see your grandmother's face as she plummets to her death!”

In the emerging sunlight, I could see that Bizzy's eyes were closed. It was as if she was sleeping peacefully. Vivienne grabbed the arms of Bizzy's wheelchair and began to roll her to the absolute edge of the cliff.

I scanned the ground around me and spotted a fallen branch. I estimated Bizzy was ten feet away.

I had to act quickly.

“Nooo!” I sprung forward and picked up the branch in one hand. Leaping off the ground, I spread my arms out in front of me and jumped toward Bizzy and Vivienne. Vivienne continued moving the wheelchair toward the cliff as I made a straight path toward Bizzy.

The banshee stood silent next to Vivienne, her eyes growing wide with excitement.

“Biiiiizzy!” I yelled, extending the branch in front of me as I crashed into the ground and slid into Vivienne, inches from the base of Bizzy's wheelchair. I saw the edges of the chair's two wheels dip below the cliff's edge. With every bit of strength I possessed, I jammed the branch through the spokes of the wheelchair.

Then I held on for dear life. I felt Bizzy slipping over the precipice, dragging me with her through the slick muddy grass. I groaned as I tried to anchor myself with my heels. Slowly, we slid together, my grandma and me inching over Deadman's Drop. The banshee's eyes grew wider, as if someone had placed a heaping plateful of food in front of her and she hadn't eaten in days.

Bizzy was tipped at an angle over the cliff. My heels caught on something—a rock, maybe. Using the leverage I had, I clenched my teeth and began to pull on the branch. The branch creaked, nearly splintering from the weight of Bizzy and her chair. But it was working. Inch by inch, the wheels of Bizzy's chair returned to solid ground.

With my final tug, I tipped the chair completely away from the cliff, and Bizzy, still unconscious, fell on me. The chair followed on top of her.

Bizzy's weight on me meant she wasn't tumbling down the cliff. I wanted to hug her, but there was no time. I rolled her off me carefully and quickly scrambled to my feet, covered in grass stains and mud. In the meantime, Vivienne le Mort stood to the side. I panted, clutching my aching sides.

When I finally focused on Vivienne, I was shocked.

She was staring at me, laughing. She clapped her hands. The banshee, less than half her height, stood next to her, looking sullen.

“What a show! Right on cue, too. Saving your grandmother at the risk of your own life … If I had a mortal heart, I might find the whole thing rather touching. But I must ask you, foolish girl, did you really think about the consequences of such an action? Even after you saw your grandmother's name on your hand?”

“I … I … don't understand …,” I said, still gasping for air.

Vivienne le Mort took a step toward me. “It may not be exactly how your grandmother was scheduled to die, but it will be close enough to ensure fate marches on as planned. I knew that if it unfolded right in front of you, because of your attachment, you would not stop until you saved her.”

“You
knew
I would save Bizzy? You brought me here to
save her
?”

“You honestly think after watching this dreadful little town so carefully, I would just let you go rescue the boy? I've heard you read Merlin's foolish little account and now you fancy yourself the boy's Keeper, do you? Well, you will fail just as Guinevere failed! You cannot possibly fathom how long I have waited for this day. Imagine never knowing when you would be relieved of the task of overseeing imbeciles such as yourselves! My dear sisters may not see it my way, but they soon will. To finally be in control, I would have stopped at nothing!” Vivienne le Mort punctuated her remarks with a nasty snort. “The most impressive part of my brilliant plan, of course, is that I
knew
a banshee would arrive to take Beatrice Mortimer when you saved her. Because you have inherited Morgan's silly intolerance for the wail of the banshee, only one question remains: Who will die first? You and your decrepit grandmother here on the hill? Or the boy-who-would-be-king in the cannery? I suppose it does not matter, but perishing at the hands of the banshee's cry is very painful …,” Vivienne said, ending in a cackle of laughter.

I focused on the banshee. She skipped to Bizzy, who was curled up on the ground next to her wheelchair, slowly, surely, silently. Upon reaching Bizzy, the banshee placed a pale hand on her. Bizzy's chest rose and fell under it.

First the banshee whimpered. Her dark eyes grew bigger and wider. They turned into black whirlpools, dominating the top half of her face. She let out a small cry. After a few seconds, the cry swelled into a deafening shriek. It wasn't long before my lungs and brain sizzled as if they had been set on fire, firmly under the spell of the banshee's wail.

As I crumpled to the ground in pain, I thought about how close I'd come to rescuing everyone—Drake, Bizzy, and myself. Now we were all at the mercy of a devilish banshee spirit, in the midst of throwing the deadliest of tantrums.

“I must leave you now, to ensure the Last Descendant perishes according to fate's plan. Good-bye, Elizabeth Mortimer. You can be certain another banshee will arrive to collect your soul soon enough.”