Pretend She's Here(67)

“Okay, okay,” Officer Clarke said. She pulled out her radio. It crackled, a voice came on, and Officer Clarke said a bunch of numbers, Casey’s address, then, “more units.” She turned back to me.

“Who kidnapped you?” she asked. I swear, her eyes looked more suspicious than understanding. I would suspect me, too: It must have seemed to them I’d been free to leave at any time. They hadn’t discovered me in the locked basement, but right here in Casey’s house, no kidnappers in sight. I shuddered so hard my teeth chattered, and I couldn’t speak.

“My parents did,” Chloe said. “They took her.”

I turned to look at her. Tears were pouring down her pink cheeks. She gazed toward the grove between the houses, as if she could see through the trees, straight to her mother.

Things started happening fast after that.

Two more police cars sped up the street, sirens wailing, blue lights flashing. Casey’s dad had arrived, just turned into the driveway, but an officer stopped the SUV, wouldn’t let him come closer.

Casey’s arm was around me. On the other side, I pressed against Chloe. She was shaking and cold. Officer Clarke went out to talk to the newly arrived police. Mr. Donoghue was speaking to them, too, animatedly, pointing at the house, wanting to come to us.

I was dying. They were all just standing there talking. Why were they wasting their time here instead of stopping Mrs. Porter? I grabbed Casey’s hand.

“I have to get over there,” I said.

“Come on,” he said. While Officer Peterson was talking on his radio, Casey, Chloe, and I backed surreptitiously out the front hall, walked quietly into the den, and flew out the side door. Officer Peterson called after us. The snow hadn’t been shoveled. There was no trail between the houses. The heavy pack was iced over. The ice held in places—it was like skating on a frozen river—but then the crust broke and I sank into snow thigh-deep. I ran through as if it wasn’t there. Casey and Chloe were right behind me.

The first thing I noticed: The minivan was parked next to the barn. That was a blast of relief until I realized Mrs. Porter might have had another vehicle hidden nearby. She had said she had secret ways of getting to my mom. I thought of the shoe on my bed, of her sneaking into my mother’s closet to get it. She could be driving the secret vehicle right now.

All three of us tore into the house.

Casey and Chloe began searching the first floor. I heard Mr. Porter’s voice calling down from one of the bedrooms. Mrs. Porter wouldn’t be up there. I knew where to find her. I walked down the basement stairs.

She was sitting on Lizzie’s bed, holding one of the pillows. She clutched it to her chest. Her face was screwed into a knot of pain. When she looked up, saw me standing in the door, the anguish relaxed. It didn’t go away entirely, but she gave me a small, broken smile. She looked surprised and guardedly happy to see me.

“You came back,” she said.

“I thought maybe you … would have been on your way to Black Hall by now,” I said.

“No,” she said.

“But my mother,” I said. “You said …”

“She’s safe,” Mrs. Porter said.

My eyes teared up with relief.

“The police are here,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “I saw their lights. This pillow”—she buried her face in it—“still smells like Lizzie. It’s from her shampoo, I suppose. That you wash your hair with.”

“Mrs. Porter,” I said. “We should go upstairs.”

“We will. In just one minute. Stay a tiny bit longer, talk to me, just so I can take the memory with me, remember it always. Please.”

Reluctance kept me rooted in the doorway, but she was looking at me with such warmth and sadness. I saw the old Mrs. Porter, the one I used to love, who had always been kind, had always cared about me, the one I’d felt so close to for so long.

She held up the letter I’d found in the clock. I could see Lizzie’s handwriting, the envelope addressed to Mame.

“I chose this town because of Lizzie,” Mrs. Porter said. “There were so many places we could have moved after she died. But she had such a fascination with Royston, her connection to Sarah through Mame. And I thought … wouldn’t Lizzie love it here? Wouldn’t she be fascinated to live right next door to the house Sarah had built for herself and Nora? Another mother and daughter who were so close, looked after each other. Right here! And this house was for sale, so it seemed meant to be.”

She held out the envelope for me to take. I stepped closer, hesitating. I was on high alert, listening for voices and footsteps upstairs. A door opened and closed softly; I imagined Officers Clarke and Peterson, the other police officers, too, in the house now, asking where I was.

“Take this,” Mrs. Porter said, handing me the letter. “I want you to have it. It’s good to have a talisman. An object from this place, from this precious time on earth, to take with you where you’re going next.”

“Thank you,” I said. Her words were bizarre. Going next? Home, Mrs. Porter—to my family, to Black Hall. But I was eager to read the letter, and I tucked the envelope into my jacket pocket.

“Could I ask you one more favor?” she asked.

“What?” I asked.

“Sit with me until they come for me. Be Lizzie for one more minute.”