The Shadow Box(90)

Jackie didn’t want to let me go, but she knew I was determined. She wanted to drive me, but I said no. I needed to walk down the path through the trees, past the spot where Ellen had died. I would need all my strength for this—and it came from the woods, the tide pools, the marsh, and the burial ground. It came from the big cat and the spirit of my father and the knowledge I had, finally, about what Griffin had done.

And so I kissed my friend and left to go to Catamount Bluff for what I hoped would be the last time.





48





TOM


By the time they got off the highway in Mystic, the fog that had been hovering just offshore began billowing in. The foghorns were low and mournful, and when Tom glanced across the front seat at Gwen, he saw her sinking down, as if the weather and accompanying mood were taking the air out of her.

It had gotten damp and chilly, so Tom decided a walk on the beach might not be the best for Gwen; she was still fragile and recovering. Besides, the idea was nagging him that he had seen something important, connected to Gwen’s drawings, while passing by these points of land on patrol. They drove east toward Stonington along Route 1. The water was on the right, behind the shops and houses. Low hills were interspersed with salt marshes and rocky coves.

“Are we going to the lighthouse?” Gwen asked.

“Yes, we are,” he said. “But I thought it might be too soggy for the beach.”

“I love beach walks in the fog,” she said. “And the rain. Mom did too. Any weather at all.”

Tom smiled over at her. “People after my own heart,” he said. “I’m the same. The sea and the beach, no matter what.”

She nodded, then resumed looking out the window. Tom scanned both sides of the road as he drove. It was habit for him; on patrol he kept a loose gaze, taking everything in. He never knew when he might spot someone in distress or a fisherman pulling lobster pots that belonged to someone else or debris in the water. Jackie and her daughters teased him about it, said he was only halfway present when he was in the car or on the sailboat with them, that the other half was saving lives that didn’t even need saving yet.

This stretch of road was full of big estates, most of them behind hedges or down long driveways. The rich paid extra for privacy—large pieces of property protected them from prying eyes. He was cruising slowly, craning to see a glimpse of the houses among the trees, when he spotted the stone columns.

Tall and imposing, on either side of a paved driveway that wound through oak trees up a boulder-strewn hill, the columns were topped by ravens with their wings spread wide. On the left post, a slab of granite was carved with the house name: Ravenscrag.

He had slowed almost to a stop, to get a better look, when Gwen noticed the birds on the columns.

“Tom, that’s them!” she said. “The exact same! They’re in Daddy’s pictures! This is where the mermen took Charlie. Drive in there, we have to get him.”

“Let’s call my brother first,” Tom said. “You know he’s a policeman, and—”

“No, we have to go there right now!”

He hesitated. What if they were wrong, and this was just another Stonington estate? They could drive up, take a look at the house, and leave. If someone stopped him, there was always the “wrong turn” defense. On the other hand, what if Charlie really was there? What would he do then?

Tom dialed his brother as he drove up the hill. At the top of the rise, the house came into view. It stopped him dead: previously, he had only seen this structure—it could only be called a castle—from the seaward side. Massive, built of fieldstone, it had two square towers and a turret. Gargoyles—birds of prey—hunched all along the roofline.

“The sea castle!” Gwen cried—and it was. Tom recognized it from her drawings. Conor answered the call.

“What’s up?” Conor asked.

“Look, I can’t talk right now,” Tom said, stopping behind a Mercedes SUV parked under an ancient maple. “I just pulled into this wicked-crazy place, and I’ve got to turn around and get out—I’ll call you as soon as I’m back on the road. You’re going to want to get over here.”

Gwen opened the truck door. Tom tried to grab for her, but she was moving fast and called back to him, “Charlie’s in there! I’m going to go get him.”

“Hang on,” Tom said to Conor, jumping out of the car to chase Gwen. He caught up to her and grabbed her. “We’re going to get help, Gwen. Come with me now.”

“No,” she cried. “He’s here. Charlie!”

The front door opened, and a young man wearing a ball cap stepped out. Tom’s heart skipped—he had seen the kid’s picture in the paper. He was one of Griffin Chase’s twin sons.

“Can I help you?” the kid asked. A young woman poked her head out from behind him. She had her hands on the shoulders of a small boy. Tom couldn’t believe his eyes—it was Charlie. Gwen had been right the whole time.

“Charlie!” Gwen shouted, tearing toward the house. She threw herself at her brother, holding him in a tight hug, pulling him away from the woman. Tom was right behind Gwen, his eyes on the two adults. Adrenaline pumped through his body.

“Gwen, Charlie,” he said carefully. “We’re going now. Come with me.”