Two Girls Down(73)

“Sounds about right,” said Cap. “What’s in Wilkes-Barre?”

“Dena Macht’s parents,” she said, getting out of the car. “You’ll tell Traynor we’re heading there in the morning?”

“I guess I will,” said Cap, taking a sip of a four-hour-old coffee from a wax paper cup. “Pickup at seven?”

He looked at the time on the dash. 3:06. Vega shrugged.

“Seven-thirty,” she said, and turned and went up the path to the inn, lit on either side by gas lamps for charm purposes.

Cap laughed once and loudly before starting the car.

—

She may or may not have slept. But when it came down to it, did she need to? As long as she was lying down with closed eyes, pretending to be asleep, could a body really tell the difference?

She thought about this while standing on her hands. There was congestion in her nose; she felt the block as she tried to breathe deeply. She gave up and breathed through her mouth. A no-no in yoga. So turn me in, she thought. Call the yoga police.



She heard a bird, but it wasn’t a song, more like an effort at communication: persistent, repetitive, rhythmic. No birds answered him; it was just that one. And the more Vega heard his weird calls the more she swore he was actually speaking English, one word over and over: Here. Here. Here.

She opened her eyes, and there were the girls again, in their white dresses with the black sashes. Vega knew this was not really Kylie and Bailey speaking to her. She knew her mind was feeding her the images, pulling them from horror movies—the Shining twins, the little girl with the braids who kills her classmates, the gang of blond kids with their glowing eyes.

But they sure looked like Kylie and Bailey, even if they were fakes. They looked at each other, at Vega.

“What?” Vega said to them, sweat trickling up her chin, onto her lips.

That’s when Kylie got on one knee and came up close to her face. Vega could feel the warm air of her breath as she spoke:

“You’re probably gonna die today.”





13

Dena Macht’s parents lived out in Wilkes-Barre. Cap drove on a county road, and out the window were woods and farmhouse conversions. How could anyone sleep listening to crickets and cats and a car down the street once a day? Out here you would watch it come and go from your window, anxious, then relieved.

They found the house down a road that was paved but just barely. They parked and could not find a path of any kind, so they walked in the grass toward the house, which had two boxy stories with an A-frame roof. Cap expected to see some chickens or a pig running around in the front yard, but instead of animals there were about fifteen dishwashers, tented under a blue tarp.

Cap rubbed his eyes reflexively, as if the gesture would make him more awake. But he wasn’t. He was on the ropes of consciousness, even after he’d drunk a cup of coffee while he shaved and finished a thermos in the car on the way to Vega’s. He still knew if he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds he would collapse. He felt like a senior citizen even though he knew that forty-one wasn’t old anymore, that lots of men became first-time fathers in their forties, or dated women half their age, went back to school. Allowed themselves to be in love. But not him, and not now.

Vega was showing signs too. She had seemed aggressively youthful back in the old days earlier in the week, energy buzzing off her even while she sat silent in the passenger seat. Now she was moving slowly, head tilted down, weighted.

A woman came through the screen door and stood on the porch, looking at them. Pockmarks lined her cheeks, her eyes clear and blue. She didn’t speak.



Cap stood up straight and said, “Mrs. Macht?”

“Yes. You Mr. Cappan?”

“Caplan, yes. This is Alice Vega.”

Mrs. Macht nodded at them, a little suspicious.

“May we come in for a minute?” Cap said.

She nodded again and went inside, holding the door open.

They followed her. The living room seemed too small for all the furniture, tables and couches and chairs, lining the walls, a rug with woven concentric circles in the middle of the floor that made Cap dizzy.

“Let me get my husband,” Mrs. Macht said.

She stood in a doorway leading to other rooms and yelled.

“Mitch, these folks are here!”

Mrs. Macht did not sit and did not tell them to sit. She crossed her arms and pulled her thick sweater tight across her chest. Then Mitchell Macht came in. He was fat and had a mottled blond goatee on his chin.

He shook hands with Cap, nodded at Vega, and seemed to be out of breath.

“You’re looking for Dena?” he said.

“That’s right,” said Cap.

“She’s staying at my dad’s cabin down Woodgrove.”

“Where’s that exactly?”

“About ten, fifteen miles east of Frackville, back toward you in Denville, I’m afraid—you got to go a bit off the interstate.”

“Is your father with her there?”

“Nah, he’s dead,” said Macht, no emotion in any direction. “She’s been staying there while she looks for work.”

Mrs. Macht emitted a sigh that sounded like a honk. Her husband glanced at her, and she left the room.

“You looking for her ex, for John?” said Macht.