Ink and Bone(99)

She followed him deeper and deeper into the woods, away from the mine opening that was now crawling with police and to another one a bit farther north. When they reached it, she followed him into the opening that was so well hidden that most would pass right by without seeing it. Just as she plunged into darkness, she heard Finley’s voice.

Mimi? Mimi! Is that you?

“Faster, Abel,” said Eloise. “They’re coming.”





THIRTY-THREE


Finley didn’t know what made her turn in time to see Eloise and Abel Crawley move through the trees. In fact, she couldn’t even say she saw them exactly. There was a tickle, something that made her turn away from Rainer. She had been standing there, leaning against a police cruiser, trying to get her head around the fact that the girl she’d saved was Eliza and not Abbey. How could she have been so wrong?

She’d watched Wolf Gleason collapse, weeping. “It’s not Abbey. It’s not Abbey.”

And Merri had stood over him, gray faced and catatonic, broken.

Finley’s throat was closed from crying, the blood rushing in her ears. Eliza had been carried from the scene, her mother called. There would be a joyful reunion tonight, just not the one Finley imagined. It was all so complicated, so fraught, wasn’t it? No joy without sorrow, no sorrow without joy. It was then that she saw them, but maybe it was just a shadow, a shifting of light, something.

“Mimi?” she called. She didn’t even know why. Finley moved quickly toward the trees, a sudden feeling of urgency making her pulse quicken.

Jones Cooper moved into step beside her. “What did you see?”

“I saw my grandmother,” she said. The sky had cleared, a wide high moon hung silver in the blue-black sky. “With Abel Crawley.”

Had she seen that? Surely not.

“Up here?” said Jones. “I don’t think so.”

The wind howled, and Jones frowned as they came to the edge.

“Mimi!” she called again. “Is that you?”

Finley and Jones exchanged a look, a worried energy passing between them. They both knew that Eloise turned up when she was least expected. Some people were always just where you thought they would be. But Eloise was exactly where she needed to be—wherever that was. Jones put the beam of his flashlight to the ground, and it wasn’t long before it fell on two sets of tracks, one large, one small. Finley recognized the snowflake tread of her grandmother’s boots.

“Those are her boot tracks,” said Finley, a rush of fear making her hands shake.

“What would she be doing up here with him?” asked Jones, sounding in equal parts mystified and annoyed. “Your grandmother has to be more careful with herself.” There was a note in his voice, the deep concern of friendship. And something else.

“Why did you say it like that?” Finley asked.

His glance told her that he knew something that Finley didn’t—or rather hadn’t wanted to know.

“She’s an old woman,” he said. “She should be at home knitting blankets.”

“Oh, please,” said Finley, picking up her pace, following the tracks.

Another voice. Another flashlight beam. “Where are you two going?”

Detective Chuck Ferrigno trailed up behind them, panting. He was not sure-footed in the woods, looked out of place even in his parka and heavy boots. Finley had a new jacket too, given to her from the trunk of a prowler. Thick and navy blue, hanging down to her thighs. Jones told them what they saw, and Chuck Ferrigno took out his walkie.

“It looks like they’re headed for the north entrance to the mine,” said Jones. “Have your guys block the head we already discovered.”

“We have Arthur Crawley,” said Chuck. “He turned himself in. But he was looking for you, Jones. He said: ‘Eloise said Jones would take care of me. That he’d make them understand.’ Freaky-looking kid, covered with blood, blank in the eyes.”

“He asked for me?” said Jones.

“He said ‘Eloise’?” asked Finley.

Finley didn’t wait for Detective Ferrigno to answer; she just burst into a run, following her grandmother’s tracks, calling after her.

For the first time as she ran, she heard The Whispers, as Eloise referred to them. It’s the sound of all the voices of this place and others, telling their stories to anyone who will listen, Eloise had explained to her. Some of them are sad, some joyful, some horrifying, some uplifting. It’s the full rainbow of human experience. Finley had been glad to never hear them; she had enough unwanted visitors.

Do they ever stop? Finley had asked Eloise.

No, said Eloise, as if considering for the first time. I don’t suppose they do. Sometimes they’re quiet, sometimes loud. But, no, I don’t believe they’re ever completely silent.

What do they want? Finley had asked.

Eloise regarded Finley with a bemused squint. They just want to be heard. They just want us to listen to their stories.

Are you sure that’s all they want? Finley had asked. Why would you be able to hear them if they didn’t want something from you?

If they want more, she told Finley, I have no idea what it is.

Hearing them now, Finley knew that Eloise had been wrong. It wasn’t just a radio broadcast for those few who were able and willing to tune in. There was something more, something selfish and grasping.