Help for the Haunted(53)

“Who wants to know?” Rose said.

He pressed his lips together, confused by her answer. “Well, I do. Is that you?”

“Maybe. And what if it is us? Do we—”

“That’s us,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, good. Your dad called the theater. He asked us to keep an eye out for you. Good thing it’s the middle of the day, because I’d never have spotted you girls in the crowds at night. Anyway, he wanted us to let you know that he and your mom aren’t ready to be picked up yet, so you can take in another movie if you like.”

The news thrilled me, though my sister let out a groan. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“How does he expect us to do that? He only gave me twenty, and we blew the extra cash on the popcorn and crap.”

As Rose and I debated our options, the old man went back to sweeping. Finally, we decided there was nothing to do but drive around town for another couple hours, though even Rose said she was sick of driving by then. We were walking toward the exit when that man called us back. “Follow me,” he said, leading the way to a set of doors. “This movie’s about to start. It’s a personal favorite. Not many people watching, so the show’s on the house. Just don’t tell anyone.”

When the title appeared on the screen, The Last Emperor, I expected Rose to complain. She stayed quiet, though, rubbing her sticky fingers on her jeans and leaning forward. Before long, both our minds drifted into the world of that film, far from my parents and whatever might be happening back on Orchard Circle. And this time, when the lights came up, neither of us said a word as we exited the theater and made our way toward the parking lot, where it was something of a shock to discover that it was nearly dark outside.

After Rose and I climbed in the Datsun and headed in the direction of that dreary neighborhood, I broke the silence. “Sorry, you must have hated that.”

“Hated what?”

“The movie.”

“Clearly, you know nothing about me. I loved it, Sylvie.”

“You did?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I could have done without the sappy crap, but places like that—faraway places, I mean—they’re where I want to go someday.”

“China?”

“Yeah, China. But Australia, Africa, the Middle East, and who knows where else?”

I thought of the old globe in her room. Like Mr. Knothead, it had been a gift she begged for one Christmas. I remembered how she liked to give it a spin, planting her finger on random locations to see where it would stop: London. Sydney. Honolulu. “Why?” I asked.

“More like, ‘why not?’ I just don’t feel I belong anywhere I’ve been so far. Certainly not Butter Lane. I keep wishing Mom and Dad would get a call to go someplace really far away, so we could tag along. But what do we get? Stinky Columbus.”

“It’s not so bad. At least they’ve got a good movie theater.”

Rose laughed a little as we pulled in front of the apartment where we’d left our parents. Streetlights cast a cozy glow on the houses and that park, making things appear less dismal. I stared up at the second floor, where the curtains were drawn and only the dimmest light shone from behind. “What now?” I asked.

“Don’t know. Guess we knock.”

“Knock?”

“What were you thinking? Smoke signals?” My sister opened her door and got out. That unsettled feeling I’d had on the drive earlier returned as I watched her walk to the stairs. If only to get another glimpse of that girl from the bushes and confirm what I’d come to believe about this trip, I forced myself to get out of the car too.

My sister didn’t waste time before tapping on the door. I prepared myself to come face-to-face with Albert Lynch. Instead, my father opened up, his eyes wide and weary. “I’m glad you girls are here. Sorry it took longer than expected. But you got the message at the theater, right?”

“We did,” Rose told him.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“She’s just finishing up with something inside. We’ll be down in a minute. Why don’t you two go wait in the car? And, Rose, you may as well get in the back. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and I’ll do it this time. It’s only fair.”

“But the hotel is just across town.”

That’s when I caught sight of something I hadn’t when my father first opened the door: a faint but noticeable scratch along the back of his hand. The blood there glistened just as Lynch’s had outside the convention center that night. “We’re making a change of plans,” he told Rose, “and heading back to Maryland tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Afraid so. We’re taking—” He stopped.

“Taking what?” my sister asked.

“I need to explain, and I will. But for now, let’s just say that in a way, well, we aren’t going to be alone. And so I’d rather not stay in a hotel.”

“Sylvester,” my mother called.

“I need to go. Now you girls get in the car. We’ll be down any minute.”

After the door shut, my sister turned and pounded down the stairs, leaving me to trail behind. She let loose a string of complaints, sounding more like her old self than I’d heard in some time. “This is ridiculous. We drove all the way here only to turn around and drive back the very same day. And who the hell is coming with us anyway?”