The Fall of Never(27)

“No,” she repeated. “I’m not lying to you.”

“Of course not,” Raintree said. He pulled his hands from his pockets, rubbed them together quickly. “I suppose we’ll all have to wait for young Becky to come back around to us before we can clear up this little mystery then, yes?”

“Do you have any leads?” her mother said.

Raintree just shook his head. “Not of yet,” he said, “but we’ve got several men on it, Mrs. Kellow.”

“Confidentially speaking,” Sturgess began, “three hunters disappeared up in these woods about a month ago. Now, we don’t have any reason to believe these disappearances are in any way connected to your daughter’s attack, but it doesn’t hurt to make certain. We’re looking into it.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Raintree agreed. “But we don’t really think…”

“No, we don’t,” Sturgess said.

“Three hunters,” Marlene Kellow said to herself.

Sturgess stood, clapped his hands together. “And she’s doing all right?” he asked Kelly’s mother. “The poor thing…”

“Doctors have been keeping abreast of her condition,” Marlene said. “They suspect she should come around soon enough.”

“Well that’s good news,” Sturgess said.

“It is,” Raintree said, scooping up his fedora from the end table. He looked at Kelly. “I was hoping our conversation would have proved useful.” He pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Perhaps you’ll give me a call if…well, if you remember anything. I keep my cellular on twenty-four-seven. So…well, whatever.”

“Or if you just want to talk,” Sturgess interrupted.

“Yes,” Raintree said, “or just talk.”

Without word, Kelly took the card. Beside her, her mother stood stiffly from the couch, smoothing out her blouse, and clasped both hands together between her breasts. She was still staring at her—Kelly could feel her eyes pushing against the back of her head, the side of her face when she turned. Was it possible for her mother to be as bitter as she herself was about sending her to an institution when she was only fifteen years old? Maybe bitter about the years since, years that had surrendered to silence, to no communication? And, if she was bitter, did she have any real right to be?

I don’t care, Kelly thought. Bitter or not, it doesn’t change the past, doesn’t change anything at all.

“Thank you for coming out,” her mother said to the detectives. “I’m just sorry for…”

“No,” Raintree said with a wave of his hand. Then he smiled at Kelly. “Really, it’s all okay.”

“Never hurts to try,” Sturgess said.

His partner smiled even wider. “No,” he said, “it doesn’t.”

“Excuse me,” Kelly said as they turned to leave. “Could I see Becky’s diary?”

“That’s up to your mother, dear,” Sturgess said.

“You still have the diary, Mrs. Kellow?” Raintree asked.

“I do,” Marlene said, and shot her daughter a sideways glance. “I’m not sure I like the idea of strange people continuing to flip through it, however.”

Strange people, Kelly thought. As much as it hurts to admit it, I really can’t argue with her there. After all these years, I really am a stranger—to Becky, to my parents, to this house, to all of Spires. An unwelcome stranger.

“Well, now,” Raintree said, “that’s up to you.” He smiled at both Kelly and her mother. “Ladies,” he said.

“Ladies,” Sturgess said.



Five minutes later, Becky’s bedroom door was unlocked and Kelly stepped inside. It was gloomy and stank of unwashed sheets. Yet someone had been in here since last night to straighten up: the bed sheets looked pressed, and that peculiar collection of broken plastic forks was on longer strewn about the floor. Also, someone had opened the window beside Becky’s bed again, allowing the curtains to blow across the foot of the bed. If it was Glenda opening the window, Kelly made a mental note to mention to the woman that it probably wasn’t a good idea and that Becky could catch a cold.

Beneath the blankets, unmoved from last night’s position, her little sister slept a dreamless sleep. Kelly crept up to the foot of the bed, brushed the curtains away.

What do you really think of me, Becky? What do you really think of your older sister, the sister you never got to know because she was afraid and embarrassed and downright chicken shit and split when you were very young? And forgot about you too—let’s not forget that, Becky, darling. Your big sister—me, the one standing here right now—left and never looked back. No sense bothering to sugar-coat any of it. All cards on the table, all aces facing up. What do you think of me, Becky? Even now in your sleep, what do you think of your sorry big sister?

For a brief moment, she thought the girl stirred beneath the bedclothes. She watched her like a pupil, followed the trail of the IV tube from her arm to the bag of fluid hanging from the rack beside the bed. Here, in the daylight, it was easy to see what her attacker had done. Becky’s face was a mottled patchwork of hues, the skin of soured fruit and ruptured vessels. The left side of her mouth was puffed out and split vertically; a mossy growth of scabs clung to her lower lip and chin. And her eyelids looked blue, and as thin as tissue.