All the Little Lights(124)

“Catherine?” I said, taking a step.

Mavis dropped to the floor and crawled toward me on all fours like a dog, but her movements were rigid and unnatural. I stopped and stepped back, feeling Mrs. Mason’s nails claw into my shoulders.

“What the . . . ,” I said, leaning back.

Catherine ran to stand between me and her mom. “Mama!” she cried, her voice desperate. “I need you! I need you right now!”

Mavis stopped at Catherine’s feet, drew her knees to her chest, and curled into a ball. She rocked, and the basement got silent as she hummed the same tune from Catherine’s music box, then giggled.

“Elliott,” Mrs. Mason whispered. “We should go.”

She tugged on my arm, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Catherine. She tended to her mother, waiting for Mavis to speak, waiting to hear who she was talking to.

“There are no guests, are there?” I asked.

Catherine looked up at me, her eyes wet. She shook her head.

“That’s the secret,” I said.

“Catherine, come with me,” Mrs. Mason said, reaching for her. She paused, reacting to the sound of sirens in the distance.

Mavis lunged for Mrs. Mason’s arm, grabbing it with both hands and biting down.

Mrs. Mason screamed.

“Stop! Stop!” Catherine yelled.

I grabbed Mavis’s jaw and squeezed. She groaned, growled, and then whimpered, releasing Mrs. Mason’s arm and crawling away. She sat and then began to laugh uncontrollably, throwing her head back.

Mrs. Mason held her arm out and yanked up the arm of my hoodie, pressing her fingers into her skin just above the wound. Six holes in a perfect crescent shape oozed crimson.

“Did you . . .” Catherine swallowed, looking nauseous. “Did you take Presley?”

Mavis’s expression changed. “We saw her sleeping in her room. She was so peaceful, like she hadn’t just tried to leave you stranded. So Duke wrapped his fist around all the pretty blonde hair, and we yanked her out her window. No one keeps their windows locked in this town.”

“Chicago,” I said, recognizing the voice. The same one that had come to Catherine’s bedroom door and tried to come in. “That’s Willow.”

“Where is she?” Catherine asked. Her body was stiff, waiting for the answer.

“No one came for her.” Willow smirked. “I don’t know what happened. But I know Duke buried her in the dirt plot next door with the others.”

“The Fentons’?” Catherine asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“That’s right,” Willow said. She turned, walking to the chair Mrs. Mason had been tied to. “That little bitch sat in her own shit for days. Right here.”

Catherine’s expression crumpled. “Mama,” she cried. “I can’t follow you here.”

“Go, baby,” Mavis said, a tear streaming down her cheek. She sounded like Althea again. “Hurry.”

Catherine pushed me backward. “Go,” she whispered, speaking through her teeth.

“Not without you,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

“I’m going! Go!”

I scooped Mrs. Mason into my arms and walked up the stairs backward, making sure Catherine was following.

The laughing stopped, and a man’s voice growled. Loud footsteps stomped up the stairs, and Catherine ran.

“Go! Run!” she pleaded.

At the top of the stairs, Catherine closed the door behind her. She locked it, touching her forehead to the wood. She sniffed a few times and then looked at Mrs. Mason, exhaustion in her red-rimmed eyes. “She’s not down there.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Mama. How do I explain that it wasn’t her? That it’s not her fault that they killed Presley?” She rubbed her head back and forth against the wood.

“Catherine?” Mavis called in her little-girl voice. “Catherine, I’m scared!”

Catherine sniffed, her eyes wet. She petted the door. “I’m here, Poppy. I’m right here.”

Mrs. Mason shook her head, her brunette hair stained with blood and dirt. “Don’t let her out.”

Something banged against the door. “Catherine! Let us out!” The door banged again.

Catherine pressed both palms against the door to keep the wood from breaking free of the hinges, and I helped her, leaning my back against it and pushing against the opposite wall with my shoes.

Mavis sounded like a man again.

I pushed my feet harder against the wall. As crazy as it sounded, Mavis was stronger when she was Duke. “He killed Presley,” I said in disbelief. “The guy. Duke.”

“It was all of them,” Mrs. Mason said, a single tear spilling down her cheek. “She’s dead.” She covered her mouth, trying to stifle her cries. “Presley is dead.”

The door banged again. “Let us out!” It was hard to tell who it was this time, as if they were all speaking.

“Stop!” Catherine said, banging the side of her fist against the door. “Stop it!” she cried.

I touched Catherine’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, her expression crumpling. “They’re going to take her away. I’ve locked her down there like an animal.”