Towering Read online

  “Sweet boy.” She made me a little map, which I took with me. I took my computer too, even though I had no intention of using it. I felt bad lying to her in a way I hadn’t felt bad about lying to my own mom. Maybe it was because I was still suffering with what had happened to Tyler or maybe it was because I knew she’d been lied to before, with great consequence. Still, I did lie, I just felt bad about it.

  I went to the library first. It was surprisingly packed, by which I mean I saw eight or nine people, and I actually had to wait to talk to the librarian, an old lady who looked like she’d died a few years ago. Maybe everyone’s internet was out.

  “Red Fox Inn?” she said when I finally asked her. “It used to be on Route Eight, just a ways down from the grocery. I’m not sure it’s there anymore, but I don’t drink.”

  “Thank you.” I started to turn away.

  “Do you want a book while you’re here?”

  “Um, maybe later. I have to get there first. It’s sort of . . . ah, a scavenger hunt.”

  She sighed.

  “Don’t forget we close at five.”

  It had finally stopped raining. In fact, the air was cold. I found Route 8, which I had passed on the way to the library, found the grocery store, and, very eventually, found the Red Fox Inn.

  Or what was left of it, which was merely a skeleton of a building, burned out by fire. A sign still remained, its charred letters saying Red Fox Inn. I started to drive away, when I saw there was a second building, a little shack or house. It had looked equally abandoned at first, but then, I noticed some movement. When I turned, I saw a grimy window shade drop down. I got out of the car.

  Then, I stopped. Was I crazy? I mean, really, was I crazy? I was out here in a rural area, exactly the type of place where people disappeared and were never seen again. Add the abandoned, burned-out building and some kind of squatter living in it. Possibly, it could be some harmless Boo Radley type—or it could be Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th parts one through twenty. In fact, I’d passed a boarded-up summer camp on the way there. Sure, it might just have been closed for the winter, but what if it wasn’t?

  I got back in the car.

  But then, I remembered Rachel, saying she thought there was something she was destined to do, trapped in a tower over her poor, murdered mother. Who had put her there? And why? Would she ever get away? There was something weird going on in this town, and finding the guy who had given Danielle those creepy leaves seemed like the key.

  I thought too, of Mrs. Greenwood, all alone. I needed to find out what had happened to Danielle.

  Then, someone tapped my window.

  I jumped. It was just like Zombieland! And me without my shotgun. My feet searched for the gas pedal, not finding it.

  “Can I help you, son?”

  The face at the window was an old guy, but he in no way looked dead. In fact, he was sort of a harmless old guy, older than anyone I’d ever seen, blue eyes surrounded by a spiderweb of wrinkles, looking out from under a Yankees cap.

  Running him over would probably be considered an overreaction. I rolled the window down, which took a minute because Mrs. Greenwood’s car had these crazy window cranks you had to turn. Despite this, the old guy left his hands on the glass the whole time. On the up side, I could see his hands, and he didn’t have a knife.

  Still, it could be in his pocket. I put my right foot over the gas, just in case. I shivered. The air was cold now.

  “Yeah, do you live here?” I asked.

  “That, I do. Are you lost? Need directions back to the Northway?”

  I relaxed a little more. Zombies didn’t usually offer directions back to the Northway. They just ate your brains.

  “Um, no. I’m okay. But do you know anything about this place?”

  “The Red Fox? Sure, I’m the owner. At least, until it burned to the ground—Poof! One second it was there, the next gone. I didn’t have money to fix it up. It was named after me, Henry Fox. I used to have red hair.” He flipped up the Yankees cap to show his balding scalp. “Back when I had hair. But you won’t find much around here except ashes and memories. There’s Mahoney’s about a mile down Route Eight if you’re looking for someplace to watch the bowl games. In fact, I was headed there myself.”

  “Oh, thanks. No, I was just wondering. If you’re the owner, maybe you know a guy that used to work there. His name was Zach, played in a band there. It would have been about seventeen or eighteen years ago.”

  The old man looked confused. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Then, a glimmer of recognition filled his eyes. “I do remember Zach. Nice kid. But that was a long time ago. You couldn’t have known him.”

  “No, I . . . that is, my mother knew him. From school. She’s on the reunion committee and trying to find people. Zach hasn’t been to the Facebook page.” I knew as I said it that the old guy had never heard of Facebook, but that was okay. Harmless babbling was okay. “Do you know any of his relatives? Does he still have family in Gatskill?”

  “Who’s your mama? I know most people in these parts.”

  “Emily Hill.”

  “Emily Hill . . .” He got a strange look on his face, then smiled. “Nope, don’t know her.”

  “It’s okay. She hasn’t been here in a long time. I’m staying with an old friend of hers, just for the Christmas holiday.”

  I didn’t know what made me lie except, in that second, I realized that not a single car had come down the road in the time we’d been talking. And something about his questions was making me nervous.

  He asked another one. “Who you staying with?”

  Again, I lied. “Astrid. Astrid Brewer. She’s my cousin.”

  “I thought you said she was a friend.”

  “Well, she’s like a cousin because we’re such close friends. I need to get back soon, for dinner. So do you know anything about Zach?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, can’t say we’ve kept in touch. But he was friends with my brother, Carl. Maybe he would know something. If you give me a phone number, I could call if he does.”

  “Great.” I was just looking for a way out of there. I found the receipt from the hardware store and wrote down my essentially worthless cell phone number. “Leave a message if I don’t answer.”

  “I’ll do that. Hey, I’ll be seeing Carl tonight at Mahoney’s. Sure you don’t want to come?”

  Poor old guy. He probably just wanted companionship, and here I was, treating him like an ax murderer. But I shook my head. I was entertaining enough old people already. “Nah, I gotta get back. Thanks, though.” I handed him the paper.

  He took it. “I’ll be sure and ask.”

  “Yeah, thanks. See you around.”

  I waited, as politely as possible, for him to back away. Then, without bothering to put the window up, I tore out of there.

  I went to the library and spent the next hour on old microfilms of the town’s newspaper. There was nothing about Danielle’s disappearance, not anywhere. They weren’t treating this as a cold case, but as no case at all. The police obviously assumed she’d run away.

  I went back home, had dinner, and went to bed. Right before I turned in, I noticed it had begun to snow again.

  27

  Rachel

  He didn’t come. I knew the rain would make it too difficult for him. Yet, somehow, I hoped he would come anyway. Now, Mama has left, and today is over. And, with it, any chance of seeing him. Perhaps I imagined him. It would not be impossible.

  When I was a little girl, I imagined a playmate for myself, a little girl with red hair and freckles. Her name was Sarah, and she liked all the same things I liked, peanut butter sandwiches and playing with dolls. When we had tea parties, she would always let me have the last cookie. I taught her songs, and we danced and played games. She never neglected me.

  What if Wyatt too was imaginary, like Sarah had been? What if I was slowly losing my mind?

  No. The thing about Sarah was, she always did what I wanted her t
o do. Always. And that was because she was me, and I was her. She never disappointed me. She always showed up. Wyatt disappointed me precisely because he was real. He was a real boy who could not climb my tower in the slippery rain.

  I walked to the window and opened it. A blast of cold air met my face, but I was still warm from the fire inside. I stared down, remembering yesterday, the feel of my feet on the sodden, snowy ground, the first time I had felt it since I had come here so many years ago. I glanced at my bed. The rope was under there. So strange, to have the means of escape at my disposal yet not go. Was I really not leaving because I wanted to stay? Or was it because I was afraid to leave this, my comfortable cocoon? If Wyatt didn’t come back, would I continue as I had been before, all alone, no contact with anyone? Could I be content to stay here alone? Had I ever been?

  I gazed into the moonlight and saw that the rain had ended. Indeed, it was snow falling now, giant, lacy flakes that had already begun to whiten the trees.

  I glanced at the rope again. Would he come tomorrow? I pulled the rope out from under the bed and tied it using the figure eight knot. Then, I threw it out the window so it dangled and fell all the way to the ground.

  I closed the window as best I could and went to bed. In my darkened room, I tried to imagine he was there. After all, I had seen him before, in my dreams. But now that he had been there in the flesh, I could dream him no longer.

  That’s how I knew he was real.

  28

  Wyatt

  When I woke the next morning, it was still dark. The house was quiet. Still, I opened the window, half expecting to see Danielle again. Nothing there. But by the slim circle of moonlight, I could tell it had snowed all night long, snowed deep enough to obliterate any memory of grass. I stood for a second longer, listening for a voice on the wind. For a second, I thought I heard it. Then, it faded away. I started to put down the window. It was old and hard to pull up on, and as I struggled with it, I felt a chill run through my arms. Then, my entire body. At the same time, I noticed a car pull up in front of the house beside a bank of snowy evergreens. Its lights went out, and it disappeared. This was strange. Few cars passed in the morning. Eighteen wheelers, yes, but few cars, and fewer stopped. Probably, the driver was waiting for someone. Still, I’d remember to look when I came down.

  Now, I dressed quickly in warm clothes, bringing extra jeans and a sweater in case of another mishap. I crept into the hall. Mrs. G. wasn’t up. I’d beaten her, for once. What luck. I tiptoed down the dark stairs and left a note telling her I was going skiing with Josh.

  At the last minute, I went into the hallway coat closet and found a coat. I was careful to choose one from the back, so Mrs. G. wouldn’t notice it missing. I took the car keys and stepped outside.

  The car was in the garage, which was an old one without an electric door. But the driveway was completely snowed in. That meant I had to shovel it first. The road was already clear.

  As I shoveled, I noticed the car was still there, out on the road, far in front of the house, motor running.

  Finally, I put down the garage door and pulled onto the road.

  The car followed me.

  The road was otherwise deserted. I glanced at the dashboard clock. Six thirty. I decided to change my plans and go to the grocery store the next town over, which was south instead of north. I found a safe place, then pulled off the road without signaling. The car soared past me. It was some kind of sedan, an Accord or Taurus, dark blue or black. I made a U-turn and sped in the opposite direction.

  A minute later, I saw the same car, behind me again, its lights blazing in the window.

  Finally, I reached the grocery store. Again, I turned off without signaling, without warning. Again, the car soared past me.

  I had to wait a few minutes before the store opened at seven, but I could see the employees inside. I knew the guy would be back in a minute. Then, he was. The light was good enough, now, that I could see it was an old, dark blue Taurus. Whoever it was stayed in the car. The store opened its doors, and I walked around, choosing random items, fruit and donuts for breakfast. Why would anyone be following me? Me, who knew nothing, who wasn’t even from around here? Could it be because I’d asked about Zach? But no, I hadn’t even given my real address. What if it was someone looking for Rachel, someone who’d seen me go to her? But even that seemed insane. No one knew about Rachel. She said she hadn’t seen anyone but the woman who took care of her, a woman she called Mama even though she wasn’t her mother, in years. Still, I had to lose the guy before I went to her. I approached the register. The car was still out there.

  The cashier was a girl about my age. I remembered what Astrid had said, about everyone knowing everyone around here. “I think that blue car’s been following me. Any idea who it is?”

  She glanced outside, squinted, then shrugged. “Doesn’t look familiar. You from around here?”

  Considering the circumstances, I said, “I’m from Long Island, staying at the Big Spruce Lodge.”

  “Shame. We don’t get many new people here.”

  “I’m staying a month. I’ll stop by again. You always work mornings?”

  “No, during school I work nights.”

  “Perfect. I’ll stop by.

  She nodded. “I’ll look for you.”

  She was still watching me as I walked out the door. Which was good because she could be a witness if anything happened later on.

  Clutching my groceries in one hand, my keys in the other, I sprinted for the car. It took a minute to open the door since Mrs. Greenwood, of course, didn’t have remote door locks. I got in, locked the door, and waved to the check-out girl. I drove to the exit, signaled left, but turned right. The guy still followed me. I accelerated. It was about half a mile to the expressway entrance, and I wanted to be going fast, real fast, when I got there. The guy kept pace with me.

  As soon as the expressway signs came into view, I started to signal. The guy signaled too.

  I took the ramp and made like I was going for the southbound entrance. The guy followed me. We were going close to eighty. At the last minute, I swerved left, taking the northbound entrance.

  The Taurus missed it and soared into the southbound lane. I headed north.

  I’d lost him. But it didn’t explain why he’d been following me in the first place.

  The distance between exits around here might be ten miles or more. I had lost him in a real way. Still, I would keep one eye on the rearview.

  To further evade the guy, I got off at a later exit, then drove back. No one was on the road but the snowplows. I followed them until I got to the back road I’d taken to the cabin, then realized it hadn’t been cleared. Fortunately, the trees protected it a great deal, so the snow coating was light. Still, I pulled over earlier than before and began to slog through the snow. It was even harder than the first time, but now, I had a goal. Rachel. Beautiful Rachel, Rachel who knew better than me or anyone what it was to be all alone.

  My legs ached, and it was hard to lift them in and out of the soft snow. Still, I did. The pain felt good. It made me feel alive and like my life had purpose.

  I knew what that purpose was too, to persuade Rachel to come with me, to run away with me. It was the only safe way. I was certain the guy who had followed me was really after her. He knew about her, somehow. She had told me about her mother’s killer. He wanted to find her. Maybe I had tipped him off. If she came with me, we could find someone, the police, the FBI. Someone who wasn’t me to get to the bottom of this. After all, what reason did she have to stay, other than some woman who was holding her captive?

  And suddenly, I heard a voice in the distance, singing something. But it couldn’t be. The tower was tall, and surely, the window was closed against the cold and snow. Was I delirious from the frigid weather? Or was some supernatural force calling me toward her?

  29

  Rachel

  He would come today. I was certain of it. I sensed him. And, more than that, I sensed tha
t he was struggling to get to me.

  I loved him. Though we had barely met, there was some power greater than me, greater than all, that bound me to him.

  I looked out the window, certain I would see him in the distance. Nothing. Yet I knew he was coming.

  For every reason and no reason, I began to sing. Even though the tower was high and the weather was windy, I knew he would hear me. I knew it would urge him on toward me.

  30

  Wyatt

  Finally, I could see the tower in the distance. The voice, Rachel’s voice, grew louder in my head, and though my legs were numb with the walking and my body was near freezing, I kept going, pushing through trees and obstacles in my way.

  Then, suddenly, I was there before the tower. It looked older than I remembered, maybe because of the freshness of the white snow. It looked so dilapidated I might be able to bring it down with the slightest push and rescue her that way.

  No, not that way. I could see the rope, her strange, magical hair, hanging to the ground. Above it, I saw her face. She was waiting for me.

  I waved to her.

  She waved back.

  I looked behind me one last time, to assure myself no one had followed me. Nothing. I waved again and yelled, “Hello!”

  The sound carried. She jumped up and down, yelling, “Hello! I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “It’s nice out! Can you come down?”

  “You’ll help me back up?”

  “Yes!” I didn’t want to. I wanted her to come with me. But that conversation could wait for later. I wanted her to come down now.

  She had gone back inside to get something. She threw it down, and I saw it was a braid, shorter than the one that hung from the tower. I looked up. She was already climbing down.

  As she made her way down the rope, I tried to think about how dangerous this was, how crazy, freaky dangerous. I’d done rock climbing at a gym at home, fake rocks, tons of safety equipment. I was good at it, but here—people got killed falling from lesser heights.