At the Edge of the Forest Page 7

  “So that's where you come in,” I continue. “I mean, I've argued with the police so much, they've banned me from the station.”

  She smiles.

  “They're moving too slowly,” I add, “and they won't even register her as missing. I think she's alive, I think she's out there somewhere but she needs help, and I came to you because I figured you could somehow help me work out where to look.” With trembling hands, I open the envelope I brought and tip the contents out onto the table. “That's some of her hair that I saved from a brush,” I point out, “and one of her socks, unwashed, and some cotton-buds she used the night before she vanished.”

  “Right.” She stares at the items with evident disdain. “And you brought these because... You like sharing?”

  “Because I thought you'd be able to use them,” I reply. “You know, to locate her.”

  “You did, huh?” She picks up the strand of hair and examines it for a moment, before setting it back down. “The last time you saw your sister, what did she say to you?”

  “Just that she was going to the store to pick up her paycheck, and that she'd be back later.”

  “And then she just walked off, and that was it?”

  I nod, still struggling a little to hold back tears.

  She pauses again, before slowly reaching out and pushing the items back toward me.

  “We don't need these,” she says calmly. “Give me your hands, let me hold them.”

  “I thought you'd need something she'd actually touched.”

  “She touched your hands, didn't she? Give them to me.”

  I do as I'm told, and she takes my hands in hers.

  “I can't promise to find your sister,” she continues, “but I can promise to do my best. At the very least, I'm certain I'll be able to tell you whether she's alive or dead. The question is, are you willing to ask that question? Because there's a chance, a good chance, that you won't like the answer.”

  I take a deep breath. To be honest, I'm still not sure I actually believe this woman is anything more than a charlatan, but I don't have any other ideas right now. “Go for it,” I tell her, as a solitary tear finally sneaks through my defenses and rolls down my cheek.

  “Okay, close your eyes,” she says with a faint, sad smile. “One way or another, this won't take long.”

  II

  “Are you sure?” I ask, staring at the address Enola just scribbled on a piece of paper for me. “This is, like... I've heard of that place, it's a diner, it's only about twenty miles away.”

  “I've already told you everything I was able to pick up,” she replies. “Human beings leave traces of themselves whenever they spend time in one location, and I detect a very clear impression of a woman named Shannon Bone in that diner. As far as I can tell, she seems to have been there as recently as the past few days.”

  “But why...” Still staring at the address, I try to work out why the hell Shannon would have run away from home and broken off all contact, only to start working at a diner that's less than a half hour's drive away. “It doesn't make sense,” I mutter. “Unless she's, like, sick or something and she's lost her memory, there's no way she'd do something like this.”

  Enola puts a hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes the spirits reveal things to me and I have no idea how to explain them. In this case, I can only promise you that your sister seems to be at that diner, or at least she has spent a great deal of time there in recent weeks. Beyond that, I'm as much in the dark as you, but I do hope you'll let me know how you get on. I'd like to think that in some small way I can contribute to your family being reunited.”

  Swallowing hard, I turn to her. “I'll be back,” I stammer. “As soon as I get paid from my new job, I'll come and give you your full fee.”

  “No you won't,” she replies, with a friendly smile. “Today I waive my fee, but I hope you might see your way to spreading the word. Tell everyone you meet about the marvelous Miss Enola, and let them know where to find me. Tell them I'm available on...” She pauses. “Well, tell them to come along whenever they get a chance and I'll do my best to fit them into my busy schedule.”

  “I will,” I tell her, “I swear. Thank you so much.”

  “Now don't you have somewhere to be?” she continues. “Go find your sister.”

  Scrambling to my feet, I hurry to the door.

  “And Rita?”

  I stop and turn back to her.

  She pauses for a moment, with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “If she's there, tell her that the pair of you need to get the hell out of this place. Away from the trailer park, and especially away from the forest. Tell her that's the most important thing. You do know to keep out of the forest, don't you?”

  I nod. “Shannon always told me that.”

  “Then your sister sounds like a smart girl. Now go get her.”

  ***

  The bus stops almost directly outside the diner. Stepping down onto the sidewalk, I stare at the windows of the building and immediately spot several figures inside, sitting at booths while a couple of other figures move between the table, wearing pale blue waitress uniforms.

  Shannon.

  One of them might be Shannon.

  As the bus drives off, I stay rooted to the spot, almost too scared to go inside. After all, I've spent five years dreaming of this moment while slowly becoming resigned to the idea that my sister might be gone forever. In a way, I began to lose all hope, but now hope is bursting back into my chest and I'm starting to realize that I really might be about to find her. At the same time, I don't understand how she could have been so close all this time without even once coming back to see me, or to tell me she's okay, or to fetch me. After all, she promised that one day we'd get away together, and now...

  Now it looks like she broke that promise. Why would she do that? Why didn't she care enough to bring me with her?

  Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that there's no point delaying this moment, so I make my way to the steps and then up to the front door. As soon as I step into the diner, I hear old sixties rock music being played low over the radio, barely audible over the clattering of knives and forks as patrons eat their meals. Wide-eyed with anticipation, with my heart pounding at double-speed in my chest, I take a few steps forward and I swear I feel as if I'm about to faint at any moment. A waitress is tending to a nearby table, gathering up empty plates, but I immediately see that she's not Shannon. Still, I can definitely imagine mysister in one of those pale blue uniforms, and I figure that even if she's not working right now, someone'll be able to tell me where to find her.

  As I get to the counter, I realize my whole body is trembling.

  “You okay?” asks the dour-looking woman at the register. “It's table service, so just find yourself somewhere to sit.” She stares at me for a moment. “You've got money, right?”

  “I...” I start to say, before realizing that my voice is so shaky, I can barely get a word out.

  “You what?” she replies. Glaring at me for a moment, she starts to frown. “Is something wrong? This isn't a waiting room, kid. If you've got money and you want something to eat and drink, sit down. Otherwise, the door's right behind you.”

  Hearing footsteps nearby, I turn just in time to see another waitress coming out from the kitchen, carrying several plates. For a split second I feel my heart jumping in my chest as I realize she looks like Shannon, but as she walks past I see that it's not actually her. Turning back toward the door behind the counter, I start to wonder whether this is a good idea. I swear to God, I'm on the brink of just crumpling into a heap on the floor.

  “Do you want something or not?” the woman behind the counter asks. “It's not a trick question.”

  “Shannon,” I stammer, immediately going past the point of no return.

  “Shannon?”

  “Is she here?”

  The woman stares at me, but it's clear she knows who I'm talking about. “What's it to you?”

  “Is she here?” I ask again.

/>   “Like I said, what's it to you?”

  “I'm her...” I take a deep breath. “I'm her sister.”

  “Sister?” She scowls. “I didn't know Shannon had a sister.” She leans closer, squinting as she studies my face. “You don't look much like her. What's your name?”

  “Rita,” I reply, swallowing hard. “Rita Bone.”

  “Huh.” She pauses, before looking past me. “Hey Shannon, your sister's here! Apparently!”

  I turn and watch as one of the waitresses glances this way. It's the same woman I saw a moment ago, the one who looks a little like Shannon but not enough, and I can immediately see a sense of panic in her eyes.

  “This your sister or not?” the woman asks her, sounding annoyed.

  “Hang on,” the waitress replies, hurrying over and grabbing my arm. Forcing a smile, she tries to pull me toward the door. “This way.”

  “It's not your break for another half hour,” the woman grumbles.

  “I'll be quick,” she hisses, before turning to me with wild, terrified eyes. “Please, can we talk outside?”

  Too stunned to understand what's happening, I let her lead me outside to the steps. She pushes the door shut and turns to me, and I can tell she's terrified.

  “You're Rita, right?”

  “Where's my sister?” I ask, my eyes filling with tears.

  “It's complicated -”

  “Where is she?” I continue, before spotting a name-tag on her uniform. “Shannon,” I read out loud. “Who are you and why are you pretending to be my sister? Where is she?”

  “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, grabbing my arm and pulling me down the steps. “Why did this have to happen today?”

  “Where is she?” I shout.

  “Keep your voice down!” Once we get around the corner, she turns to me. “Shannon's a friend of mine, okay? We go way back, that's how I knew who you were. You and I actually met a couple of times, Rita, but maybe you don't remember me. You were just a little kid.”

  “Where's my sister?” I ask, struggling to stay calm.

  “I don't...” She sighs. “I don't exactly know.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her purse and quickly produces Shannon's driving license, which I immediately snatch from her. “Listen,” she continues, “things got kind of crazy a while back and Shannon and I, we both needed to deal with some problems.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I was being hunted down by this abusive ex,” she tells me, “and I needed to -”

  “I don't care about you!” I hiss, feeling anger rising through my chest. “Where's my sister?”

  “That's what I'm trying to tell you! I had to get away from some shit with this guy named Dave, so since Shannon and I looked pretty similar... This job pays cash, and I keep a low profile, and as far as the people here are concerned, I am Shannon Bone. Meanwhile your sister said she'd get in touch when she could help some more, but that was a few years ago now and I've been wondering when she'd come back.” She pauses, and there are tears in her eyes too. “The last time I saw Shannon, it was right here outside this diner, late one night when we swapped I.D.”

  “Swapped I.D.?” Staring at her, I realize that none of this is making sense. “Wait, who are you again? What's your real name?”

  She glances both ways, as if she's worried about someone overhearing us. “My name's Glenda,” she says finally, keeping her voice low. “Glenda Rabindale.”

  Part Four

  BRIAN

  I

  “Goodbye Glenda Rabindale,” I mutter, staring at her driver's license one final time before tossing it down into the pit, where it lands in the fizzing pool of bleach and other liquids that has already begun to dissolve the corpse. “I'm sorry it had to end this way. I invested a lot of time and effort into getting you ready but...”

  For a moment, my mind fills with the memory of that fateful night when the truck hit me. I've told Alison that I don't remember the impact, but that's a lie; I remember feeling my bones shatter, and I remember being thrown against a tree, and I remember crashing down to the forest floor as the truck sped off into the night.

  I remember thinking I was going to die, and then slipping away.

  “Fate seems to have had other ideas,” I mutter. “That's just the way things have worked out.”

  After swinging the hatch shut, I slide the bolt across and take a step back. There's no need to stand and watch as Glenda's bones dissolve, and besides the fumes aren't exactly good for my health. I take a look around the shack for a moment, just to double-check that there's absolutely no sign of anything else that could link the place to Glenda, and then I step outside into the cool afternoon air of the forest. To be honest, I'm too exhausted to even stand, but I figure I need to hang around for at least half an hour or so, just to make sure that the body is completely dissolved, and anyway Alison isn't due home for a few more hours.

  Leaning against the wall of the shack, I take my phone from my pocket and bring up the web browser, resuming the search I started earlier. After flicking through a few pages, I come to a news report about the asshole drunk driver who crashed into me two years ago:

  Forty-four-year-old Robert Elmer Mason of Bovrington County escaped prison time this week after a judge accepted his plea deal. Mason, who has five prior convictions for alcohol-related offenses, is to attend group therapy sessions for the next year in an attempt to deal with his addiction problem. However critics of the deal argue that Mason, who plowed into local man Brian Carter late one night, was only spared incarceration because of family ties to a company that includes Judge Emmet Deeds on its board of directors.

  “Corrupt scum,” I mutter, scrolling through to a more recent article, dated just last week:

  Bovrington County scrap metal dealer Robert E. Mason was released on police bail Tuesday night, pending charges in the death of five-year-old Samantha Adams. Adams was hit by Mason's truck on Saturday afternoon, although Mason fled the scene and later claimed to be unaware of the impact. After refusing to take a blood-alcohol test, Mason was expected to remain in jail this week while forensic analysis of his truck continued, before local county judge Emmet Deeds issued a special order for him to be released. Drink-driving campaigners have joined Samantha Adams' family in expressing outrage at the decision.

  “God damn these people...” I whisper, reaching the bottom of the page and then scrolling back up to see a picture of the man in question, looking red-faced and still drunk in a booking photo. My hands are shaking with rage as I realize that family connections have kept this guy out on the roads despite a series of convictions and at least two deaths linked to his drinking.

  Plus a kid.

  I mean, Jesus Christ, the man killed a kid and he was allowed to get away with it. What kind of sick world has this become?

  Closing the browser, I slip my phone away and lean my head back against the side of the shack. I know I should just forget it all and avoid drawing attention to myself, but the thought of that asshole wandering around free is enough to make my blood boil. I never thought such blatant corruption would be tolerated, but it seems Deeds and Mason have got themselves all set up to cover for one another, even though by all accounts Mason left me dying at the side of the road and I only survived because another driver happened to pass by a few minutes later. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine storming into Mason's workplace with a lead pipe in my hands and smearing the bastard's brain across a wall.

  And then I'd be jailed for murder.

  Maybe even executed.

  Opening my eyes, I stare out at the forest and try to work out what I can do instead. The thought of just letting the matter go is too infuriating to contemplate, but I know I have to be careful here. Mason is by all accounts a night owl, the kind of guy who spends his evenings getting drunk in dumpy little bars, and then he speeds home in his truck safe in the knowledge that he has friends who'll cover for his accidents. It wouldn't be particularly difficult to catch up to him in a dark alley some t
ime and make him pay, but at the same time I'm certain that at the very least I'd be a prime suspect in his death, and then the police might start looking into my life a little closer, at which point they could easily find... inconsistencies. Realizing that I need to make a decision, I close my eyes again and decide to see if one of those pesky visions might pop along and help me.

  “I'll kill the bastard,” I whisper. “I'll track him down and I'll kill him, and I'll hide the body. I'll burn it in acid, the way I burned Glenda Rabindale's, and I'll make sure that even if they suspect me, the police won't be able to do a goddamn thing.”

  Waiting, I realize all I can hear is the sound of the forest's leaves gently rustling in an afternoon breeze. I open my eyes and look around, still half expecting one of those visions to suddenly appear, but there's nothing. I guess either that means the visions are meaningless, or maybe it just means that if I kill Mason, nothing will change. Closing my eyes again, I decide to try the opposite approach.

  “I'll let him go,” I say out loud. “I'll forget all about Robert Elmer Mason and I'll get on with my life. I won't pay any attention to him, and I'll -”

  Suddenly I hear gunshots ringing out all around. Opening my eyes, I find that night has fallen and I'm no longer outside the shack. Instead, I'm standing in the corner of a dark parking lot and the bright lights of a BarraBuy store are blazing through the night air just a few hundred feet away. Stepping forward, I hear another burst of gunfire, and this time I can tell for certain that it's coming from inside the store. There are no police cars to be seen, and no-one seems to be screaming or running out of the store. Nevertheless, more gunshots ring out, and I stare in horror at the main doors until finally they slide open as if they've detected someone nearby.

  I wait, but -