The Invited(122)

“I…”

“You found it, didn’t you? You found Hattie’s treasure. She led you to it, right? Where is it?”

“There is no treasure. Not that I’ve found, anyway.”

“If you tell me, I’ll let you live.”

Now it was Lori who laughed. “Really? So now you’re going to kill me? Over some fantasy, some legend? Come on, Riley. I know you better than that.”

“Do you? Maybe you just think you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Riley brushed her blue bangs away from her eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun. “I never did get what Dustin saw in you.”

“We…we love each other.”

“You don’t even know him! Not like I know him! You don’t even know half the shit we went through when we were kids, everything I did for him, everything I fucking sacrificed for him.” She waved Dicky’s gun around, keeping it pointed at Lori, who stood frozen.

Lori thought of the years she’d spent with Riley, going out drinking, listening to bands, going to yard sales and flea markets. The Lori and Riley Show, that’s what Dustin called them. They told each other everything.

But now, now Lori realized she hadn’t known her sister-in-law at all. It had all been an act. A ruse.

“I tried to tell Dustin you were no good for him,” Riley went on. “But it just pushed him away, pissed him off. So I did what I had to do. A full-on about-face. I made you my new best friend. And suddenly Dustin and I were close again.”

Lori shook her head in disbelief.

“Where is it?” Riley asked. “Where’s the treasure?”

“For God’s sake, Riley, I’m telling you—there isn’t any.”

    “It’s not just for me. I’m doing this for Dustin. And for Olive. You, you’ll leave town quietly and swear to never come back. I’ll take the money and use it to take care of Dustin and Ollie. Take care of them like you never could. You were never good enough for them, you know that, right?”

“Please, Riley.”

Riley rocked back on her heels; the tattoos on her bare arms seemed to writhe each time she moved, lit up by the moon.

“It was never fair, that she came to you.” She glared at Lori with such hatred that Lori felt she’d already been shot. “I was the one who called to her first! The one who tried hardest. Promised to be her faithful servant, to dedicate myself to her in exchange for the treasure.” She began moving closer to Lori, waving the gun, gesturing with it. “I’ve practiced witchcraft and divination for years and she chose you, a complete novice! Can you explain that? Why people are always choosing you? Dustin chose you, even Hattie Breckenridge chose you over me. Why would that be?”

She was so close now that the gun was nearly touching Lori’s chest.

“I…” Lori thought of telling the truth. That she was related by blood, that that’s why Hattie had come to her. “I’m—”

“Where’s the fucking treasure?”

The barrel of the gun was pressed against her chest now. She was sure that Riley wouldn’t pull the trigger. Hell, it probably wasn’t even loaded. Dicky never kept it loaded. That’s what he’d told her, anyway. Lori put her hand on the barrel of the gun, tried to pull it down, aim it away from her, from either of them, before someone got hurt.

The gun went off with a deafening explosion, so much louder than Lori would have ever believed possible. And Riley, the look on her face just then wasn’t one of jealousy or rage, but only genuine surprise.

And the flash was so bright that it seemed to light up the whole bog, and there, over Riley’s shoulder, stood a tree Lori had never seen before: a massive old tree with many thick branches, and from one hung the body of a woman—a woman who was reaching for her now, who had floated away from the tree and was taking Lori’s hand, saying, “Shh. It’s all right. Come with me now.”





CHAPTER 52



Helen





SEPTEMBER 14, 2015

The police in their dive suits, with rubbery skin as slick as seals’, moved through the bog, carrying the body wrapped in black plastic, wound round and round with silver duct tape. They’d just pulled it out of the deepest part, the pool at the heart of the bog where water lilies floated like tiny yellow stars on the water. The police trudged their way clumsily through the peat, crushing delicate pitcher plants, sedge, low blueberry bushes, their feet sinking with each spongy step. It was like walking on the surface of another planet.

Helen watched from solid ground, holding her breath.

Other searchers continued to move around and through the bog in wet suits, chest waders, or fluorescent vests, radios squawking. A terrible invasion.

One of the cops slipped, nearly dropping the body. He cursed quietly, righted himself, adjusted his grip, but the plastic was slippery, his footing unsure.

Dragonflies darted through the air, shimmering, jewel colored. Frogs sang. A red-winged blackbird flew low, landing on a small cedar tree on the other side of the bog, watching the invaders with curiosity.

The trees, and all the creatures in them—the chattering squirrels gathering food, the black-capped chickadees, and the angry blue jays—watched, too. Behind Helen, on the east side of the bog, was the clearing where she and Nate lived. In the clearing stood their nearly finished house: their dream house, their haunted house, a home for the dead and the living. A place where Hattie and her family could gather.