But someone was pressing a hand on his shoulder, urging him to do . . .
. . . something.
Go ’way.
Wake up. It’s time to go now.
The trees faded and Steven was disjointedly aware of being in Tatiana’s bedroom. The pressure remained on his shoulder, the shaking persisted.
Wake up!
“N-no,” Steven mumbled, half into his pillow. “S’dark out.”
You have to leave tonight. You’re going to come to us, Steven. We need you.
Marty?
Steven was suddenly completely awake and aware. He realized there was no one touching him.
Get dressed. If you don’t come, we’ll die. We are a unit, and without you we are incomplete.
Earlier in the day, when he’d been more alert, he’d been able to argue with Marty. But now, driven by a force too powerful to resist, he got up and did as he was told. Moving as if still in a dream, he was ready to leave the house in twenty minutes. Carrying his suitcase, he crept downstairs.
Money, you’re going to need money.
I don’t have any.
Find some.
I don’t want to steal!
You can mail it back someday. This is an emergency! Do you know where you can get some?
Steven thought, and remembered that Helga kept money in a jar in the kitchen. She used it for emergencies. He went there and was surprised to find one hundred eighty-six dollars, a few quarters, and one dime. He shoved it all into his pocket.
What do I do now?
You have to get to the airport. When you arrive, I’ll tell you what to do next.
Marty, I’m scared.
But Marty was gone again. It disturbed Steven how easily the other boy faded in and out of his mind, but not enough to make him go back upstairs and forget this whole idea. With a sigh of resignation, he opened the back door and walked out onto the patio. He carefully closed and locked the door behind him. Then he walked as quietly as he could around to the front of the house. The street was shadowy and deserted, as asleep as the people in the houses that ran down either side of it. Still, Steven expected that any minute someone would catch him. A dog would start barking, or someone who was up late would glance out a window, or . . .
Panic began to overtake him. He started to run, heading toward the main road.
He no longer thought of resisting the call to join Marty and the “others.”
24
SAMANTHA SAT CURLED up on the couch in her living room, one of Julie’s paintings spread out on the coffee table. The lamp beside the couch cast a softly bright glow over the paper. Julie had been in bed for over an hour, and Samantha felt somewhat lonely without her presence. It was a strange feeling, after living by herself for so long, but she didn’t like the quiet in the house. She had turned on the eleven-o’clock news, just to hear another voice. For some reason, she didn’t want to be alone this night, even if company meant an impersonal image on the television.
But Samantha wasn’t really paying attention to the news. Her eyes were fixed on the painting, studying every detail. Somewhere in that picture was the answer to her questions. It seemed impossible that a child’s primitive artwork could conjure up feelings of vague memories, but Samantha had had enough experience with emotions over the past few days to trust her basic instincts.
Julie, albeit subconsciously, was sending her a message. It had to do with a beach, and a place named Haybrook’s, and a little girl with a broken pail. Somehow, that was all connected to Julie’s presence here, and to whatever had happened in her garage.
No matter how long she stared at the picture, however, nothing came to her. She got up off the couch, grabbed a sweater from the closet, and went outside. The wind blowing down from the mountains was chilly, filled with the promise of rain. The dogs barked a few times, but she called out to hush them, and they quieted at once.
She moved along the path to the garage. In the distance an owl called out a warning that it was on the hunt. The wind rustled the wisteria vines, tapping them against the split-rail fence. Samantha reached the garage. She pulled the door open. Reaching inside, she switched on the light.
The Bronco II sat quietly waiting for another day of work. Samantha went to the driver’s side and got in. She held the steering wheel, trying to bring back some kind of memory.
She heard the door going down.
Samantha turned, half-expecting to see the door descending behind her. It was closed tightly, as it was supposed to be. Samantha sat in the truck a few more minutes, then hopped out again. She went to the bypass switch and pressed the button. A new memory came back to her. She recalled having trouble opening the door again.
It opened just fine now.
No, it wasn’t just the big door. There had been something wrong with the lock of the back door. She retraced her steps as she might have taken them that night. The lock on the back door was broken now, smashed by the ax Samantha had found on the floor when she arrived home with Julie. She’d put the ax back up on the wall. She looked at it, trying hard to remember.