Ink and Bone(89)

She took Wolf’s hand now. She’d always loved his hands, how big and solid they were, how warm they were on her body, how strong. He folded his grip around her thin fingers easily. In that moment, she knew they were both there, deeply flawed but true.

“I know,” she said, her voice just a whisper. “I promise that, too. I’ll be here. All of me.”

The heat blew hot, warming them. Then Wolf pulled out of the lot and headed north out of town, following her directions. They turned onto Main Street and then onto the small road that led toward The Hollows Wood.

“That point looks like it’s in the trees,” she said, looking at the satellite map. “How close is it to the house we rented?”

She held it up to him and he glanced at it, then back at the road.

“Not far,” he said. “Ten miles maybe.”

He’d always been the navigator in their relationship, the one at the wheel, so sure of where they were headed. Without him, she’d never go where she couldn’t take the train, bus, or a taxi. He was the one who never minded going off road. It used to seem like a good thing.

“We’ll take the car as far as we can,” he said. “And then we’ll get out and walk if we have to. Are you wearing boots?”

She was. She wore her thick Merrells and her heavy coat, a sweater under that. She even had a pair of gloves. For once, she was properly outfitted for what lay before them. The snowfall was growing heavier, accumulating on the road as they wound out of town, leaving the lights behind them. A star field of flakes battered the windshield; they were driving into oblivion.

“She’s out there,” she said, peering through the black. She didn’t mean to say it. She’d learned not to say things like that to Wolf. He felt compelled to counter with something like: You don’t know that.

But it was true, one way or another. Their girl was out there, not with them, someplace they couldn’t reach. Were they headed toward her or away from her? Was she already beyond their reach?

“It’s my fault,” he said. “I failed her. I didn’t protect her.”

It was true in a sense; she knew that. But she had never blamed him, even though others had. He’d been careless, thoughtless. He’d been on the phone with his girlfriend and had let the kids go on ahead of him. But in another place and time, it wouldn’t have mattered. The consequences were not appropriate to his actions. Even with his mistakes, he didn’t deserve this pain.

“You didn’t do this,” she said. “Someone took her. That person is to blame and no one else.”

“I brought her to this place,” he said. He seemed to want to say more, but he didn’t.

“We both failed her,” she said. It felt good to acknowledge that out loud, not in some shrink’s office, but out in the world where it was real. “I wasn’t myself. If I had been, I would have gone with you, or we would have gone somewhere else—maybe. Maybe, maybe, things would have been different. All that matters is what we do now.”

The blue blip on the screen moved closer to the red, the thin purple line of the road snaked along the edge of a black space. Wolf glanced over at the screen.

“When the dots are parallel, we’ll stop the car and walk through the woods the rest of the way.”

But as they approached that point, they saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser parked along the side of the road. As they grew closer, Merri saw that there were several vehicles, two other prowlers and a car she recognized as Detective Ferrigno’s. Wolf pulled in front of it and got out, walking over to them as Merri climbed out after him.

“They’re empty,” he said. A scattering of footprints led from the cars into the woods.

They didn’t have to go far, walking as quickly as they could through the trees, tripping over roots and avoiding branches tugging at their coats. Her throat was thick and dry. Soon, they saw more lights, an eerie silent red-and-white flash, through trees. Merri broke into a run with Wolf right behind her.

When they came into the clearing, she saw two police SUVs with lights flashing, a collection of uniformed officers. Apparently there was another way here, one in which vehicles could pass. In the center of the group, she saw Chuck Ferrigno. Wearing a thick black coat and hat, he somehow looked like a priest.

“Detective Ferrigno!” she called.

He looked up, his face registering surprise and annoyance.

“Mrs. Gleason,” he said. He moved toward her and held up her hand. “What are you doing up here? This is a crime scene.”

“Does this have something to do with Abbey?”

Something on his face. He didn’t say no, dismiss her, or act like she was a fool. He just looked confused.

“Mrs. Gleason,” he said. His voice was suddenly stern and unyielding. “You need to go back to Miss Lovely’s and we will call you if this has any connection to Abbey.”

She felt herself backing away, a rising creep of shame. She was becoming one of those people, like the ones they’d met in group, pushing themselves in where they didn’t belong, their desperation for answers making them a nuisance to the police who had moved on to other cases, cases that could be solved. She was a fool to let something so random give her hope. That’s how lost she was; she was listening to her grief-stricken, borderline OCD, teenage son. She was about to apologize.