Little Girls(18)

In bare feet, she stepped out into the yard. She let the kitchen door slam against the frame behind her as she walked up the slight incline toward the shaggy willow tree. The grass was damp with dew and cold against the bottoms of her feet. She reached the willow tree and saw that the girl was nowhere in evidence. There were many trees on both sides of the property, and it would be easy for someone to hide . . . but why would someone want to hide from her?

“Hello?” She wasn’t surprised to find that her voice was horribly unsteady. She lifted some of the willow tree branches and saw that there was a hinged gate in the fence. It was closed but not properly latched. Laurie let the boughs slap back into place and then took a few steps backwards to where the lawn swelled so that she could better see over the fence and into the neighboring yard. The house next door was in poor condition, its siding overgrown with vines, its roof patchy with missing shingles. Some of the window shutters hung at crooked angles. From this vantage she couldn’t see if the dusty green car was still in the driveway.

Looking at the house, it was impossible not to think of the Russes, and of Sadie Russ, who had once lived there. The visage of the girl running across the yard just a moment ago only encouraged such memories. Sadie Russ, Laurie thought, feeling the bare flesh of her arms prickle despite the warmth of the morning sun. Sadie Russ, the girl next door, the horrible little wretch. A nanosecond later, she hated herself for thinking such thoughts about the dead.

Laurie turned and continued up the incline toward the crest of the backyard. At the top of the hill, the property was overcome by sparse trees through which, after a distance, the vastness of the Severn River could be glimpsed. From what she could make out, the water looked to be the color of slate and filigreed with a fine cap of fog that made it nearly impossible to see across to the other side. Much of the shoreline was overrun by thick shoots of bamboo. As a little girl, she had played in these woods and along the riverbank quite often. With Sadie, her mind reminded her. For a while, anyway.

Shivering, Laurie cut to the left and followed the wooden fence as it trailed off into the woods. The damp cushion of the lawn surrendered to a rutted dirt footpath that wound through encroaching trees. It diverged from the moldy fence and wended deeper into the trees. Being early summer, the foliage was already bright green and thick. She followed the path, knowing from memory where it would ultimately end, though she was uncertain of what she would find when she arrived there. Her bare feet kicked at small stones and prickly balls that looked like cherries covered with sharp teeth. She looked up and saw the sunlight shining in dazzling arrays through a canopy of semitransparent leaves. Carved hastily in the trunk of a large oak was the word FUCK. The base of the tree was wreathed in wildflowers.

And then she came upon the clearing and saw it.

Her heart became infused with equal parts amazement, disbelief, and terror at the revelation that the thing still existed after all these years. One could call it a temple, a house of worship which had been constructed as a testament to her father’s obsession. When she was just a child, it had been a shimmering glass box that reflected the sunlight and looked like something out of a fairy tale. She could go to any of the windows and look inside at the profusion of plants with their waxy green leaves and colorful explosions of flowers. Often, her father would spend hours here, tending to his flora.

It was the greenhouse.

Now, the little glass house was like a bad secret that had been hidden from the world. The glass panels were brown and grimy with muck so thick they were opaque. The glass itself was thick and unforgiving, unlike the polycarbonate panels used in modern greenhouses. Some of the panels were riddled with cracks, while others had been busted out completely. Triangular shards of glass lay scattered atop the dirt and grass. The roof of the greenhouse, once a cantilevered A-frame, was now a partially sunken pit beneath a weathered sheet of heavy brown canvas. The canvas itself was held in place by a series of long chains that ran down the side of the structure and were bolted to the bottom of the frame.

It was still here. After all that had happened and all the time that had passed, the goddamn thing was still here.

Laurie’s mouth went dry. Beside the forgotten greenhouse, the immense oak tree still stood, its massive leafy boughs stretching out over the shattered and covered roof of the greenhouse.

What does it look like on the inside? She couldn’t help but wonder. After all these years, would there still be blood?

She went around to the front of the structure. Beneath the rumpled and weather-ruined canvas tent, the greenhouse looked smaller than she had remembered it. But of course, the last time she had seen it she had just been a little girl. The front of the greenhouse was covered by two heavy-looking flaps of canvas. A thick rope had been wound through an eyelet at the corner of each flap and tied in a sturdy-looking knot. Frayed and colorless, even the rope looked ancient. Laurie was able to peel back one of the flaps a few inches and peer underneath without untying the rope. A smell like rotting vegetation accosted her. Behind the flap, she could make out the rectangle of the greenhouse door. The door was comprised of several panels of glass, but the glass had blackened with mold over the years, making it impossible to see beyond. With her free hand, she reached out and pressed two fingers against the door. She felt it give, as if the framework was made of sponge. Her eyes traced down to the handle, expecting to find a lock on the door. There was no lock. There was no handle, either—only a sheared metal bolt, burnt orange with rust, protruding from where the handle had once been.