Henry Franks(40)

“Sixteen.”

“So, say Elizabeth was five. Does that sound reasonable? Do you think you had a child when you were eleven?”

He looked up at her, blinking rapidly in the light. “No.” There was a spark of relief and something approaching hope in his voice. “I’m not Victor.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not Victor.”

“I miss her.”

“Just a dream.”

“Still,” he said.

“It’s all right, Henry. Not having any more nightmares is progress.” She stood as the alarm went off. “Tuesday?”

“Unless there’s a hurricane.” He smiled. “You ready?”

“Candles, bread, water. All set.”

“It’ll turn,” he said, stopping at the door to look back at her.

Out the window, through the slats of the blinds, the white path leading nowhere was flooding in the rain.





twenty two




Henry looked out at the parking lot outside of Dr. Saville’s office. The rain was coming down in sheets and he could barely see his father’s car waiting for him at the end of a row. He pulled his shirt over his head and ran out the door, jumping over puddles and bouncing off a car as he slipped on the wet pavement. His T-shirt was soaked before he’d taken more than a dozen steps, and flashes of lightning threw shadows around him. At the door to his father’s car, he pulled the handle but nothing happened. He pounded on the window for his father to unlock the door.

Long moments passed with Henry hitting the glass with the heel of his palm, not even feeling the impact. He ducked down, squinting to see inside. A flash of lightning illuminated his father, slumped over the wheel. Henry ran around the car, sliding through a puddle and ramming his shoulder into the bumper of the minivan next to him. His ear rang from hitting the light fixture above it, but he didn’t feel any pain.

He stood up, unsteady, shaking and soaking wet, and made his way around the car. He rubbed his ear, still ringing, and came away with his fingers dripping blood. At his father’s door, Henry banged on the window, leaving a trail of blood to wash away in the rain.

When there was no response, Henry started kicking the door, denting the metal before his father finally stirred, tilting his head to look up at him. Henry wiped the rain away and stuck his face up close to the window.

“Unlock the door!” Thunder drowned out the words and the sound of his father pressing the unlock button.

Inside the car, Henry dripped on the seats and tried to wipe the rest of the blood off his face. “Have a nice nap?” he asked.

“Sorry,” his father said as he started the car. “Lost track of time. You’re bleeding, what happened?”

“I slipped.”

“You okay?”

Henry shifted away from his father, turning to the window to study the trails the rain was making down the glass. “Fine.”

“I said I was sorry, Henry.”

“I said ‘fine.’”

A ray of sun broke through the clouds as the rain slowed on the brief drive home. In the driveway, William stayed in the car as Henry got out.

“You coming in?” Henry asked.

His father shook his head. “No, too much to do.”

“Whatever,” he said, then slammed the door.

Behind him, William rolled the window down. “Henry!”

He turned around, standing in what remained of the rain. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Will you be home at all?”

His father shrugged, rolled the window up, and pulled out of the driveway, leaving Henry standing in the middle of the front lawn. He looked at Justine’s house, waved even though he didn’t see anyone, and walked to the front door.

One by one, he searched through wet denim pockets for his keys, hoping they weren’t with his cell phone in his backpack still in his father’s car. He tried the knob but held little expectation that it would work, and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t.

“Just fine,” he said, resting his head on the door. “Crap.”

The wind chilled his wet clothes as he climbed up on the porch railing to reach the spare key in the gutter. His shoulder popped as he reached up over his head and his ear was still ringing from the car he’d run into. With a grimace, he walked his fingers back and forth in the gutter until he finally pulled out the spare keys.

Up and to the right, he unlocked the door, then threw the key-chain back into the gutter.



William parked down the street from the house, watching as the wind blew the branches through the rain. His stomach grumbled but there was little desire to eat, to drive somewhere and buy something. He sighed and unrolled the window, letting the water splash his face as he looked into the marsh.

With a shudder, he pushed the door open and ran between the houses. Back to where the trees were lost in shadow, his feet slipping in the mud. Still, he kept moving, chasing the wind to find where the hissing began. But there was never anything there when he arrived. A branch broke, the echo right behind him. He spun around, her name on his lips, but he was all alone. Always alone.

Walking through the trees, he wiped the rain away from his face with muddy hands and left streaks of dirt behind. Another branch broke and he took off running toward the sound. The rain blinded him and he stumbled, twisting his ankle, but he kept going, chasing the sound.