The Lost Village(48)

But who knows, maybe it’s a good thing. I can’t deny I was worried. And, much as I try not to let it, the odd thought had crossed my mind.

Is she still taking her meds?

We can do this without Tone, I tell myself. We can shoot without her. We can get enough material to keep the project afloat without her. What does it matter if she goes home a few days early? She won’t like it, but it’s better that way. She can be with us for the real shoot instead.

When I first hear the sound, I don’t understand what it is, but then I look up at the road. Out of the corners of my eyes I see Max and Robert do the same.

It’s the sound of an engine.

When the van appears on the other side of the square it looks almost animated, so out of place against the still backdrop that it seems to belong to another time entirely. Which, I suppose, it does.

I see Emmy in the driver’s seat. She turns the wheel and slows even more, so that the van’s jostle over the broken cobblestones turns into a slow trot. She pulls up and maneuvers in perfectly next to the other van, then undoes her seat belt.

“OK,” she says as she slips out of the van. “I’m sorry. I can explain. I…”

She looks at us and then around. Her eyes land on the other van and its gaping back doors. Slowly—slowly—they pan back to us and stop on me.

“Where’s Tone?” she asks.





NOW



It takes me a few seconds to find my voice. Max gets there before I do.

“Isn’t she with you?”

Emmy stares at us blankly, as if expecting us to say it’s all a joke, or Tone to jump out from between us and tell her she’s been pranked.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. She looks at the other van. “No, she was … she was here, she…”

I blink and look from Emmy to the van, then the rest of the square.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Didn’t you go to the hospital?”

Emmy licks her chapped lips and looks at us.

“No, I…” She looks around. “She was here when I left, it was less than two hours ago.”

I know it’s just a vain hope, but I stride over to the tent and fling open the door.

It’s empty. Of course it is.

I stand up, the seriousness of the situation hitting me like a hammer to the head. I almost buckle under its force.

“So where the fuck have you been?” I ask Emmy.

Emmy doesn’t reply. She steps back from the van and, raising her voice as though she doesn’t quite trust it, says: “Tone? Hello?”

The silence rings in my ears.

“Emmy,” I say. Just uttering her name makes my teeth ache. “If you didn’t take Tone to the hospital then where have you been?”

Before she can respond—if she had even intended to—Robert asks her: “How long did it take? How long were you gone?”

Something about his voice doesn’t sit. The way he’s standing. The way his chin is pulled in toward his chest. The absence of surprise in his voice.

“What have you guys done?” I whisper.

“What had to be done!” Emmy cries. Her eyes have gone from glassy to wild, and her red ponytail is gleaming like a traffic light in the sun.

“And what was that?” Max asks.

Emmy doesn’t look at him when she replies. She’s looking at me.

“Someone had to do something, Alice,” she says. “You wouldn’t listen.”

I just shake my head. A short, gnarled laugh slips out of me.

“Of course,” I say. “Clearly this is all my fault. Right?”

“There’s somebody here, Alice!” Emmy hurls out of her mouth.

Her words make me stop short.

“What?” I ask, staring at her.

“There’s something wrong with all of this,” says Emmy. “Fucking wrong. I know you saw somebody yesterday when you were in your van. And I saw somebody staring at me that first night. And other stuff, too—both Robert and I have heard things.”

She shakes her head.

“And now with Tone only getting worse … I didn’t want to force her to get help, but I couldn’t sit by and do nothing. We’re completely cut off here—I had to do something.”

Emmy purses her pale, determined lips.

“I wasn’t even gone two hours. OK? Tone was asleep when I left. We had more than enough gas—I didn’t waste anything. I just wanted to get out of the dead zone to make a phone call.”

“To?”

The short word bulks in my mouth.

I see Emmy swallow.

“My mom,” she says. “You know she’s a nurse. I wanted to ask about Tone’s foot. And to have some contact with the outside world. Just in case anything happens. We’re so fucking helpless here—no phones, no way of calling for help.…”

“So what you’re saying,” I say, articulating slowly and carefully, “is that you were so worried about something happening here that you just took off and left Tone sick, alone, and asleep? For a few hours?”

This may be the first time I’ve ever left Emmy speechless. Her hands are dangling at her sides, her palms facing out, pale and exposed.

It gives me no satisfaction.