Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [10]
The oversized rabbit head shifted as Peter ran, turning him into a life-size bobblehead doll. When Daniel caught Peter, he held him upside down, shaking him while Peter bucked and squealed, Enough, Dad! I give! until the large rabbit head slipped off and landed softly on the thick beige carpet, mesh eyes fixed on the French doors, like it, too, was dreaming of escape.
The rabbit is a rabbit is a rabbit. His ears are keen. His nose twitches. He scratches an invisible itch with his white fluffy paw. Cocks his head, listening. He does not speak. He never speaks, just gestures, nods, shakes his head. Its amazing what can be communicated without words.
The rabbit cannot believe how easy this is. How the girl has come to trust him, tolovehim. They try to play crazy eights because she says its her favorite game, only he cant hold the cards. She laughs. Theres something about her laugh. Something that makes the rabbit feel alive in a way he hasnt in a long, long time.
Shes a sad girl. Her daddy died not long ago. And her mommy is so caught up in her own grief that she can do little to comfort the child. But the rabbit knows how to make her smile. The rabbit has come hopping in like the hero in a fairy tale, banishing sorrow.
And the little girl has named him Peter. He does not tell her how odd this is. When the rabbit is the rabbit, he has no other, human life. He leaves all traces of personhood behind and becomes something more pure. More perfect.
The rabbit has a name for the little girl, too. A secret name. Birdie, he calls her in his mind.
His darling Birdie, back again.
JUNE 5, 2006
BACK IN HERcar (still parked in front of the gas pumps), Rhonda pressed the cell phone against her ear. She felt keyed up. Cagey. Like she had to do something, but she didnt know what. Tempting as it was to start the engine and crisscross the state searching for the little girl and the rabbit, she knew it would do little good. Every cop in Vermont was on the lookout; every citizen who paid attention to TV or radio as well. Still, Rhonda hated doing nothing.
Peter picked up on the third ring.
Howd the interview go? he said.
Somethings happened, Peter. She told him about the kidnapping, that she was at Pats still and didnt know what to do with herself. When she was through, she heard him cover the phone and mumble.
Tocks home? Rhonda asked, her heart sinking a little.
Yeah, I was just filling her in. Weknow Ernie. Shes a friend of Suzys.
Tock picked up the extensionprobably in the kitchen, Rhonda imagined. She pictured Peter in the living room, sitting on the brown couch, his feet up on the coffee table. She wondered if he was wearing sneakers or work boots.
Jesus, Ronnie, Tock said, a white rabbit took Ernie?
It sounds crazy, I know, but
The world is full of crazy shit, Ronnie, Tock cut her off.
Jesus Christ, its just like the girl in Virginia. Therere some real wackos out there! I think you should come over. Well grill some steaks and have a good soak in the hot tub.
Yeah, come on over, Ronnie, said Peter. Have dinner with us. Rhonda heard movement, the squeak of couch springs. Peter was adjusting himself, probably sitting up straight, getting ready to reach over and hang up the phone once she agreed. Peter always seemed anxious to get off as quickly as possible when Tock was around.
Okay, Ill come. Ill be there in half an hour or so. She felt hesitant about accepting the invitation, but didnt want to spend the evening alone, kicking herself in the ass for letting the little girl be spirited away by the rabbit.
She hung up, placed the phone back in her purse on the seat beside her. Then she gazed out through her windshield at Trudys car, doors open, surrounded by police.
Beetles, too,Rhonda remembered. The TV news shows reported that little Ella Starkee ate beetles. Rhonda wondered what the rabbit would feed Ernie; what she might have to do to survive.
RHONDA