Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [64]
Good-bye, fears, Peter said.
They all helped fill in the grave, then did a wild dance, waving their arms, doing Rockette kicks, laughing and howling, sure that Lizzy was cured, that they all were. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.
JUNE 17, 2006
IT WAS NEARLYthree by the time Warren left. Rhonda took a shower, did the dishes, then lay down on the couch to rest. She fell asleep and had another fuzzy dream about chasing the rabbit and falling down the hole. This time, at the end of the dream, it was Lizzy she found down in the hole. Lizzy in her Captain Hook costume, only instead of the hook for a hand, she had a bloody hammer sticking out of her sleeve.
Rhonda snapped open her eyes and looked at the clock: it was almost seven.
Shit! she said, scrambling for the phone and punching in Peters number.
Ronnie, I was just on my way out the door.
We need to talk, Peter.
Well, maybe we can meet tomorrow. Im free in the afternoon.
No. This wont wait.
Peter let out an exasperated breath.
Ive got a realtor coming to look at my moms place in the morning and Ive got a shitload of work to do. Im on my way over there now. Whatever you have to tell me is going to have to wait until tomorrow. Ill call you then.
I could meet you there, Rhonda said.
No. Ill call you tomorrow. Even as he spoke these words, he was moving the phone away from his mouth to hang up, his voice fading out like a far-off AM radio station broadcasting from a place Rhonda may have heard of, but had never been.
RHONDA PULLED INTOthe driveway of Aggies house, parking behind Peters Toyota pickup, which was in front of the one-car detached garage Daniel had used as a workshop. She noticed the door to the garage was padlocked closed, the windows boarded over. She glanced up at the roof, shingles loose and moss-covered now, and remembered the day Peter had nearly jumped off to prove his fathers wings would work. She thought of the rows of coffins and wondered if they were still insideshe didnt remember Aggie getting rid of them. What on earth might the real estate agent make of those?
Rhonda turned from the memory, made her way up the front steps onto the porch of the old house. The floorboards sagged beneath her weight. Paint was peeling. The corners were full of spiderwebs. To the right of the door, an enormous orb weaver was making its way to the center of the web, where a fly had become entangled.
Rhonda knocked. There was no answer. She turned the knob and pushed the door open.
How many times had she come through this door, running, laughing, chasing after Peter and Lizzy, shouldering a knapsack full of Barbie dolls and pajamas, costumes from whatever play they were working on?
She stood in the front hallway, facing the closet. On a whim, she opened it. A few moth-eaten coats of Aggies. Daniels red-and-black checked hunting jacket. After all these years, his jacket hung waiting for him. Beside it, the matching hat that Peter had worn on that egg hunt long ago.
Wheres Lizzy?Aggie had asked.
Still in the woods with the rabbit.
Rhonda shut the closet door.
Peter? she called. She heard a bang upstairs. Footsteps. A dragging sound.
Something didnt feel right here. She suddenly regretted not bringing Warren along. But it was, she told herself, simply being in the old house that put her on edge. Peter? she called again, her voice a little weaker this time. She made her way into the living room. Same plaid couch and matching recliner. A TV covered in dust. On the wall above the fireplace, the velvet Elvis painting Daniel was so proud of. She and Lizzy had played a game called Elvis Is Watching You, in which they tried to find hiding places where the all-seeing eyes of Elvis couldnt find them, and would end up chasing each other around the room laughing hysterically. In the end, Elvis always knew just where they were.
Where is she now?Rhonda longed to ask the dusty garage sale relic. And what about little Ernie? Could Elviss all-seeing eyes spot her as well? Could