Ink and Bone(41)

The walk back to the house was long, but Bobo didn’t mind. He wondered if Poppa noticed that they were leaving tracks in the field and on the trail. Tracks that would lead back to the house, if anyone was looking. Of course, he did; Poppa had taught Bobo all about tracking, about looking for the print on the soft ground, or the succession of broken branches, the nibbled berry or the scat in the leaves. Every creature left his mark, if you knew how to look. If you were quiet and patient, you could almost always find him. Poppa wasn’t being careful, because he knew that most people weren’t quiet or patient and certainly didn’t know how to look at the woods to see what had journeyed down the trail before them. That must be why.


*

When they got back to the house, New Penny was still on the ground where she’d been lying unconscious since Poppa took the belt to her. Poppa told Bobo to get her cleaned up. In the chair on the porch, Momma rocked wearing that blank look she often wore, as if she were looking at something no one else could see. Maybe she was watching. Maybe not. She could stay that way for a long time. Bobo carried New Penny to her cot, head lolling, blond hair wild and dirty. Then he got the chain and locked her up again.

New Penny was whispering something that Bobo couldn’t hear at first. When Poppa left, Bobo stood listening.

IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou

That was the thing about New Penny that was different from the others. She wasn’t just afraid. She was full of fire. That’s why he liked her better than the others. She was angry, just like him.





TWELVE


Finley rode her motorcycle to Agatha’s big old house, not knowing where else to go. Eloise had been clear that Finley must find her way, that she was more or less on her own with the squeak-clink. But Finley felt lost. So she wound her way out of town to see Agatha. The vision was receding to the point of being inaccessible, like a dream that had just slipped away, and the few remaining pieces seemed disjointed and nonsensical.

She looped the town center and then took the small highway away from The Hollows. The farther she got, the better she felt, as if her lungs could take in more air, her shoulders straighten.

The negative energy of The Hollows could not be denied. It was no secret to Finley, who felt it constantly. The Hollows boasted an anomalous number of missing persons, of miscarriages, of accidents and unexplained events. Throughout its history, there had been brutal murders, witch burnings, and horrible mining accidents. There’s a powerful energy here, Eloise had said more than once. It’s not always positive, it’s not always negative, but it always demands something of people like us. Though to look at its bustling, precious town center, you’d think it was the prettiest, most idyllic place on earth. People moved their families here to get away from the crime and chaos of the big city, vacationed here for its natural beauty and places like the Old Mill and the apple orchards and the famous pumpkin patch in autumn. The Hollows didn’t mind visitors; it put on its Sunday best for those folks.

“It’s a hell mouth,” Amanda was famous for saying. But Finley’s mother was the ultimate drama queen. It wasn’t enough just to say that she didn’t like The Hollows, that the town where she grew up was full of bad memories. She had to hate it, to disavow it completely. But Amanda was like that about everything—restaurants, fashion trends, Finley’s friends. It wasn’t enough to just say that something was not for her; she had to declare it unfit for others as well.

As soon as she was able, Amanda had gotten as far away from The Hollows as she could without leaving the country, as far away from Eloise and her abilities as national boundaries would allow. Finley’s childhood visits to the place were brief and tense. Any mention Finley made of liking it there or of missing Eloise was met with a very particular kind of ashen-faced silence from Amanda.

When Finley decided to come to The Hollows to be with Eloise, to understand herself better, Amanda took it as a personal affront. “You’re doing this just to hurt me,” her mother had said, holding back tears. Finley denied it. But in moments in which she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that it was a little bit true. Her move to The Hollows was proof positive that Amanda couldn’t control Finley, as hard as she tried. The Hollows, the motorcycle, Rainer, the people who weren’t there. There was nothing Amanda could do about any of it.

Now, as Finley sat in front of Agatha’s house for a moment, head aching, hands shaking, she wondered if her mother had been right after all to try to keep her away. And if she’d been right about that, what else might she be right about? Finley tried to keep from going down the rabbit hole into a universe where Amanda might actually know what she was talking about.

Finley climbed off her bike and jogged up the porch steps, knocked on the big white door.

She’d gone home first, to Eloise. But Eloise was not there, which was surprising because Eloise seemed always to be at home lately. Finley had walked through the house and in the kitchen checked the calendar. There was a single entry for the day. Eloise had scribbled: Dr. A. Finley made a mental note to ask about it.

After another knock, she pushed through the open door. Agatha’s house was as big and white, as still and curated as a museum. The triple-height foyer, with its gigantic entry table and towering vase of flowers, made Finley feel tiny as she walked down the long hallway that led to Agatha’s big sitting room.

Agatha got up from her seat by the fire and met Finley with a warm embrace in the center of an enormous oriental carpet. Finley’s nerves immediately calmed as they sat on the plush white sofa.