Lost in the Echo (5 page)

8

Griffin opened his door and stepped out even before the SUV came to a complete stop.

“What is it?” Frost asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Stay here.”

He shut the door and hurried toward the trees. He had caught a glimpse of something he instantly wished he hadn’t, but also couldn’t ignore. Most of his attention had been on the massive tree towering over the depot, but then his eyes had shifted toward the normal-sized trees and the carpet of brown pine needles between them. Something had glinted in the sun. It was tiny. And brief. But something about the way it looked trigger a memory. A proposal at the beach. The sun, shining through a diamond had an unmistakable quality.

“Griffin!” Winslow shouted, stepping out of the SUV.

He threw a hand back behind him, signaling for Winslow and everyone else to stay put. Maybe, he thought, what he had seen was just in his imagination. Perhaps a fleck of mica fused to a chunk of granite.

Griffin’s nose twitched as the dark, deep rank of decay struck him.

Damnit...

He stopped, turned away, and looked at the others. They were out of the SUV, watching him. Frost had circled the vehicle and stood in front of the others, her face filled with worry.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He held up his hand again, shaking his head, telling her to stay there, to not come any closer…without actually saying anything at all. It wasn’t the dead body behind him in the bushes, either; he had seen more dead bodies than he cared to remember, and he had become numb to the sight. But it was
this
dead body in particular that created a rumbling in his gut and a sour taste in the back of his throat.

“Stay there,” he said, as the others started forward. “Just stay there.”

They all paused for a beat. Then Frost started forward again, the others trailing behind her.

Griffin turned back around, his eyes closed. He told himself that it wasn’t real. That when he opened his eyes, what lay before him would be something other than what he knew for a fact it was.

Frost gasped behind him: “Oh my God!”

He opened his eyes.

Rebecca Rule lay right where he knew she would be. Or not Rule exactly, but what was left of Rule. The bottom of her had been cut in half during the second shift. Her legs had remained in the desert world. The top had stayed in Refuge for only an hour or so before it had disappeared.

Not disappeared
, he thought.
Taken
.

The last time Griffin had seen her, everything above her waist had been intact. Now both of her arms were gone, her shoulders just ragged stubs covered in dried blood. And her head…some of it was still attached to the torso, but not all of it.

She still wore her uniform, or what was left of her uniform, much of it torn away. Around her neck was the diamond necklace her husband had given to her years ago, which she had worn ever since. The diamond was small, barely a quarter carat, and not the prettiest piece of jewelry. But it had been given to her by the man she loved, and so Rule had cherished it until her dying day.

The diamond was still with her, the thin white-gold chain still around her neck. It was the diamond that had caught Griffin’s attention and brought him here, and it was the diamond that he bent down and started to reach for before stopping himself and standing back up.

“What—what did this to her?”

Dodge’s voice, barely a whisper.

“Coyotes,” Winslow said. “At least, I hope it was coyotes. Because I don’t even want to imagine the alternative.”

“We’ve already
seen
the alternative,” Griffin said.

Frost stepped up next to him. Her body was trembling. Griffin looked at her and realized she was on the verge of tears. Only about sixteen hours ago Rule had given Frost her badge, telling her to protect the town. She might have been cut in half at the time, but at least there had been some life in her. Now there was only a mess of something vaguely resembling the brave, stalwart, former sheriff.

Frost was moving her lips, attempting to make a sound, her eyes going glassy.

“Hey,” Griffin said.

She blinked. Looked at him.

“We should go.”

“We…we…we can’t just leave her here like this.”

Griffin glanced back at Winslow and Dodge. Both men stood stock-still and silent, neither one looking at the body.

“We can bury her now if you want.”

Frost blinked again. “Here?”

“We don’t have any shovels, but we can do something. Maybe take her with us. I don’t know. I don’t want to just leave her here, either.”

Winslow cleared his throat. “I hate to interject, but it’s my understanding Sheriff Rule’s last request was that you protect the town. Isn’t that right, Helena?”

Griffin noted how the older man used Frost’s first name, speaking from a position of authority that could come only from an elder speaking to someone far younger. Frost didn’t seem to mind, the way Rule might have. Instead, she nodded slowly.

“If that’s the case,” Winslow said, “I’d say our main priority is checking the depot for weapons. I don’t want to sound cold, but we can mourn the dead later. And I’m pretty sure the good Sheriff here would prefer we not endanger the town on account of her remains.”

“Yes,” Frost murmured. “You’re right.” Clearly steeling herself, she turned away from what was left of Rule and began to march back toward the SUV.

Griffin watched her for a moment, stunned. Then he realized just how hard it was for Frost to walk away like that. The thought of leaving Rule here no doubt sickened her as much as it did him. But by walking away, Frost had proved both just how strong she truly was and Rule’s wisdom in choosing Frost as her successor. She would put the town before her own needs. It was commendable.

Without a word, the rest of them started back to the SUV. Griffin opened the back door, glanced once more over his shoulder, then stepped up inside. Moments later Winslow had the engine going and was moving them forward again.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The silence was lonely, but necessary. Confronting inner demons couldn’t be accomplished in the midst of conversation, only postponed. And they might not get another chance. Griffin used the chance to remember a moment, seven years previous. He’d returned from a rare date with Jess. Snuck in the front door and found Rule asleep on the couch, Avalon laid out over her, snoring.
God, I’m going to miss that woman
, he thought, wiping away a tear.

He was totally lost in his memory when the first bullet shattered the front left headlight.

“What was that?” Dodge asked.

The windshield was hit next. Dead center, near the top, a sudden pock splintering the glass.

“We’re under attack!” Griffin shouted, ducking low, drawing his gun and searching for targets.

Winslow slammed on the brakes. He jammed the SUV into reverse, punched the gas, and sent them careening back down the long drive. Frost had her gun out, trying to spot whoever was shooting at them through the windshield, while Dodge said a prayer.

Winslow looked back over his shoulder as they raced back toward the intersection. The gunfire had stopped, and Griffin turned back to ask if everyone was okay. They reached the intersection and before he could speak, something slammed into them from the side, sending the world into an uncontrolled spin.

9

Avalon stood in the Herman home’s parlor, staring at the shelves of Russian nesting dolls. There were over a dozen sets, lined up from the tallest to the shortest, each doll facing outward.

“Creepy, aren’t they?”

Avalon blinked, startled. She glanced over her shoulder and watched Mrs. Winslow—‘Carol,’ she wanted Avalon to call her—enter the parlor, a broad smile on her face.

“No,” Avalon said. “They’re not creepy at all. They’re just…interesting.”

Carol laughed. “No, they’re creepy. But they’re also beautiful in their own special way.”

“How did you start collecting them?”

“Winslow and I traveled around Europe maybe ten years ago, back when we were younger and had more energy. One of the places we visited was Sergiev Posad, an old Russian town not too far from Moscow. It was there that the first Matryoshka was made.”

“‘Matryoshka?’”

Carol smiled and shrugged. “Just another name for the nesting doll. It means ‘little matron.’”

“So what’s the appeal?”

Carol stared at the dolls for a long moment, as if lost in thought. Finally she said, “Honestly? Winslow bought me a set while we were on our trip. They’re the ones on the top, the ones that look like peasants. I thought they were the ugliest things I’d ever seen, but of course I didn’t tell him that. I said they were beautiful. And when we came back home, I made the mistake of placing them on the mantle—a place of honor in Winslow’s childhood home. He assumed I wanted even more, so every year since, he has given me a set for Christmas. Each, he said, were handmade and one of a kind. Like I told you, they’re creepy. And, well, I didn’t have the heart to tell Winslow just how much I disliked them. But now...despite their ugliness, they are a very tangible representation of his dedication to me. I cherish them.”

Is that love?
Avalon wondered. She supposed it was. She had never been in love before—not true love—though she had been infatuated from time to time. She was typically drawn to the dangerous boys, the kind that she knew her father would never approve of. Hell, one of them had even gotten her hooked on Oxy, and look how that had turned out. At the time, she might have thought she was in love, but even then she had known better. Or at least she liked to think she had known better.

With neither one saying a word, the two women drifted out of the parlor and headed into the living room, where Monty sat with his daughters, watching the large, widescreen TV. It was a Pixar movie, Avalon knew that for a fact, though she couldn’t place the title off the top of her head. She was sure the girls had seen it countless times, but that wasn’t the point. They just needed to get their minds off what was happening to the town. And, of course, what had happened to their mother. Even still, the girls watched with a listlessness that made Avalon cringe. It was like they knew they were supposed to smile and laugh and enjoy themselves, but they couldn’t bring themselves to let it happen.

“Would either of you girls like a snack?” Carol asked.

Both girls looked at Carol, then at their father for permission. Monty nodded his head at them, and they turned and spoke simultaneously.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” She glanced at Avalon. “Care to help me?”

When they reached the kitchen, Avalon realized someone was missing.

“Where are Radar and Lisa?”

Carol opened the fridge. “They went to look at the observatory.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave those two alone.”

Carol pulled a bag of apples from the crisper tray. “Young love is such a precious thing, isn’t it?”

She withdrew a knife from the wooden block on the counter and used it to point at the cabinet behind Avalon.

“Could you get the jar of peanut butter out of there, dear?”

Avalon opened the cabinet. A jar of Jif was the first thing to stare back at her, just like the nesting dolls had. She put it on the counter, as Carol started slicing the apples.

Carol’s steady chop stopped suddenly. “I wonder if any of them are allergic to peanut butter. Children are often allergic to peanut butter, aren’t they?” She started slicing again.

Avalon shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe. Mrs. Herman—”

“Carol.”

“Right. Carol. I was wondering something.”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you and Mr. Herman ever have kids?”

The old woman was slicing the apple but stopped, staring down at the counter.

“I’m sorry,” Avalon said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s a fair question. The truth is, Winslow and I would have loved children. My mother used to tell me I was born to give birth, on account of these wide hips. But sometimes we can’t have what we want.”

Avalon grinned. “You mean like Russian nesting dolls?”

Carol allowed a small smile. “Something like that.”

She went back to slicing the apple, and Avalon looked out the window. She could see the observatory across the lawn. She knew Radar was a good kid, just like Lisa was a good kid, but they were teenagers, and Avalon knew teenagers oftentimes got themselves into trouble. They’d been caught in the church, after all.

“Use the intercom,” Carol said.

“What?”

“There.” Carol pointed with the knife at a black box on the wall. “After Winslow built the observatory, he spent so much time there, I made him install an intercom so I could badger him without freezing my toes off during the winter. Ask them if they’d like a snack, if you’re worried about them.”

Avalon considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m sure they’re fine. Can I ask you something else?”

Carol set the slices on a plate and began on the second apple. “Certainly.”

“How can you be so…positive? I mean, after everything that’s been happening, you keep this smile on your face.”

Carol paused again, staring down at the apple. She looked up at Avalon, and the permanent smile had vanished.

“The smile isn’t for me. It’s for my husband. It’s for those children. You think I’m not scared? I’m terrified. Now here, help me with these snacks. If you and I have one purpose right now, it’s to help those girls forget their mother is dead.”

“I’m worried about my father.”

“I know, dear. But I’m sure he’s okay.” Her smile appeared again. “Everyone in town knows nothing can stop Griffin Butler.”

Avalon smiled, and forced the grin to stay on her lips.
For the girls
. But while she appreciated Mrs. Herman’s encouraging words, there was a flaw to her logic. There
was
one thing her father had shown himself incapable of conquering.

Death.