Where the Darkness Goes

Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TESSA — AGE 17

When Will and I get home from the lake house, Mom is waiting at the door, dressed in her long nightgown. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, her face makeup-free and wrinkled with concern.

“Get inside before anyone sees you. They’ll crucify me if word gets around you two were out of the house after dark. I’ll be all the talk at church,” she grumbles, shutting the door and locking it behind us. Growing up, our doors were never locked. Friends of ours and Mom’s came in and out at all hours, most often without needing to knock. Now, things are different. There’s been a definable shift from a place with nothing to fear to suddenly seeing danger everywhere.

“What happened to Emily?” I ask Mom, studying her expression to see if she knows more than she’s going to tell me. “Was it a car accident?” It’s ridiculous, really, that that’s what I’m hoping for. Something we can easily write off rather than a new reason to add to the terror spreading like ivy across the town, suffocating us all.

“No.” Mom releases a long breath through her nose. “No, it was not a car accident.” She weaves between us, moving slowly. Her arthritis is acting up again—she gets it in her knees and ankles from years of cleaning houses and businesses for a living.

“Do you need me to get you some medicine, Momma? Are you hurting?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Gently, she eases down onto the couch, both hands out to slow her descent to the cushion. Once she’s in place, she pats the cushions on either side of her. “Come. Sit. We need to talk.”

Will and I do as she’s told us, sitting next to her. This feels strange. Mom looks more serious than usual.

“What’s going on?” It’s Will who asks, though it’s the question on both our minds.

“I want you two to be careful about what you hear, okay? And what you say. Something bad’s going on in town, and I don’t want the two of you mixed up in it.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Something bad?”

“I know you’ve heard the rumors. We all have.” Mom’s eyes are somewhat distant as she looks between us.

“People think it’s a serial killer. That someone is targeting people,” Will says. “But it’s ridiculous, right?” He tries to laugh, but Mom doesn’t join in. “I mean, why? Bad things don’t happen here. This is the most boring town to ever exist.”

“Oh, plenty of bad things happen here.” Mom gives us an affirmative bob of her head. “Yes, they do. People in small towns—not just ours, but all of ’em—are better at covering up the bad, keeping it quiet. You got to, if you want to be able to look your neighbor in the eye, you know? See ’em around town.”

“What are you talking about?” Will asks. “Bad things? Like what happened to Dad?”

Mom squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t like to talk about our dad’s death, except to say it was an accident at work, and that it was quick and he never suffered. He died right after I was born, and it kills me not to know more about him, but I know it’s hard on her.

Will and I don’t know a life where he exists. We don’t have many memories with him. It feels selfish to push her, to cause her more pain when our wound is just an empty hole—a scar rather than the ever-present burning ulcer that remains for Mom.

Still, I always hope someday she’ll tell us more about him.

Mom looks over at one of the few photos we have of our dad in the house, right after I was born, holding me with a one-year-old Will sitting next to him. “It was a bad thing, yes, but that’s not what I mean. What happened to your dad wasn’t anyone’s fault. I don’t want you to go getting any ideas about?—”

A knock on the door interrupts us, and Mom’s brows draw together as she turns her body to look out the window, wincing at an apparent pain. Will moves faster over to the door. He checks the window first, something we never do, even on the rare occasion someone knocks.

“It’s Sheriff Ward.” His eyes find mine, full of fear.

Mom rubs her hands over her thighs. “Well, go on. You two get to your rooms.” She shoos us, standing up slowly and releasing a hiss of pain as she does. “I’ll handle this. Get to bed.”

I look at Will, who doesn’t seem to want to leave any more than I do, but without a choice, we amble toward the hallway.

“Sheriff? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Mom pulls open the door, her soft voice gone at once. Suddenly, she’s professional and courteous, the only way anyone in this town sees her except us. “What’s he doing here?”

I freeze, wondering what he she’s talking about.

“I’m sorry about this, Francis,” Sheriff Ward says. “Ed says you were at the house earlier.”

“Cleaning, yes.” Mom’s voice is sharper now, defensive. “What’s that got to do with anything? When I left, they were— Well, when I left, everything was fine. I’m sorry about your loss, Ed. Emily and Pearl, they were real fine people.”

“Don’t you dare talk about them,” Edward Gray says, his voice strained like he’s trying not to cry. The words set my arm hairs on end.

“Ed,” a new voice cuts in. It’s Pastor Charles. “Francis is not the enemy here. Your heart is broken, but let’s all keep our heads about us, shall we?”

“What’s happening?” Mom asks again, her voice guarded now. Suspicious.

“We need to come in and take a look around, Frannie,” Sheriff Ward says. “Just to be sure everything’s okay.”

“Meaning?” she snaps.

“Some expensive china went missing today during the time Pearl and Emily Gray were murdered,” he tells her. “Ed says you were the only other person in the house today.”

“Is that right? I was in that house today the same as I have been every Friday for sixteen years. You really believe I stole something from you now? Or that I’d ever…” She trails off with a gasp. “You think I hurt them, don’t you? That’s what this is really about.”

“Francis, we all know you didn’t do this.” That’s Pastor Charles, his voice calm and demure. “But it would help Ed’s peace of mind just to check, and then they can be on their way. The Lord is testing him right now, as He tests all of us. You understand this loss. You have every right to be hurt by this, but I believe you can find grace in your heart for Ed. Can’t you?”

From where I’m standing, I can see Mom wavering. She shifts her feet in place.

“It’s not personal, Francis, but we’re starting to see a pattern. The Grays’ china is missing, just like the Allens’ coin collection went missing the day Amber and Jill were killed. The coincidences—you being the cleaner for both families, you being one of the people in both houses on the day—are surely just that, coincidences, but we need to come inside to prove it.”

“Tommy Ward, we’ve known each other since we were both running around in diapers, and this is how you’re treating me? You all know this is wrong. You know I’d never?—”

Sheriff Ward cuts her off, his voice stern. “We’ll come back with a warrant if you don’t let us in willingly. Judge Thornton won’t be happy to be woken up, but with four dead people on our hands, you have to understand that people in this town need to see some sort of action. See reason, Francis. We’re talking murder here. If you’re as innocent as you say, all you have to do is let us inside so we can prove it and move on.”

Mom clears her throat. “I won’t let you wake my kids. Their bedrooms are off limits, you hear? Come back with a warrant for those if you have to. And for goodness’ sake, take off your shoes before you come into my house. This is not a barn.”

“You heard her,” Pastor Charles says. “Shoes off, boys, and let’s be respectful of Sister Francis’s time. It’s late.”

“Thank you, Charles,” she says finally, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it. Will and I dart to our rooms and close the doors quietly. I stand on the opposite side of mine, back pressed to the wood, listening.

“They’re just going to take a quick look around, and they’ll be on their way.” That’s Pastor Charles again. “It’s all going to be okay.”

He says it over and over again as I hear the sheriff moving through our small home—turning things over, opening and closing drawers. His heavy footsteps make his path easy to follow.

It’s going to be okay. I want to believe him, but I can’t. How can any of this be okay? How will it ever be okay again?