The Singing Bone (27 page)

“Close your eyes,” Mr. Wyck said. “Everyone close your eyes.” Alice shut her eyes. It was a game—but what kind? She could feel the truck turning to the left, then to the right. They left the paved road for a dirt road. Stones struck the bottom of the truck as they slowed and made unsteady progress. Alice wondered if they were still on a road, but she did not open her eyes to look. Mr. Wyck hummed in the front seat. His voice was low, almost a growl. Alice curled her toes in her shoes. She was still wearing the nylons that she'd found in Virginia's bureau. Inside of her canvas sneakers, her toes were so cold they were beginning to feel hot. She wished she'd put her socks back on. When the van finally stopped moving, Alice opened her eyes, but the world around her was as dark as if she still had them closed. She hoped they wouldn't have to get out of the van.

It was Mr. Wyck who got out of the van. Alice could hear him coming around to the back. He walked slowly. When he opened the door on Alice's side and shone a light into the back, she blinked and froze. She couldn't see his expression. The light landed on Trina, who was sitting on the other side of Alice. Trina's face was obscured by her black hair. It fell in a thick curtain. Mr. Wyck grabbed Trina's wrist, and her friend resisted. “No,” Trina said. “No. Please.”

He persisted, pulling harder until Trina gave in and clambered out of the van, falling on to Alice, who for a moment imagined holding on to her and saying “No” as well, but she didn't. Instead, she sat passively in her seat, her mouth closed, her eyes closed. It was easier. She didn't want to see Trina's face. She'd glimpsed it for a moment and saw that her friend had been crying.

Once Mr. Wyck had Trina out of the van, he shut the door and the two of them began to walk. “Where's he taking her?” Molly whispered.

“Shh,” Allegra said. “Don't. Trina was very bad tonight.”

They pressed their faces to the windows, but no one could see anything. Alice was shaking. Her brain was telling her to do something, but her body wouldn't move. Molly climbed into the seat next to Alice and took her hand. Molly's hand was warm, almost hot. “Allegra,” Molly whispered, but Allegra didn't answer. Alice felt Molly reach out for Allegra. “Allegra,” she said again, but Allegra still didn't answer.

“Oh, shit,” Lee said. Alice had almost forgotten he was there. “T.'s in serious trouble. Al, what did she do?”

Alice didn't answer. She could feel herself disappearing. She was moving into the night, sinking into the shadows.

When Mr. Wyck came back, he was alone, and no one asked where Trina was. He wasn't wearing the blue oxford shirt anymore, only a white undershirt. It glowed against the darkness of the van. Alice waited for someone to ask about Trina, but all Allegra said was, “Where's your shirt, Jack?” Alice had never heard anyone call Mr. Wyck anything but Mr. Wyck. For a moment, Alice thought he'd take Allegra out of the van, too.

“You drive,” he said to her. “Don't worry about my goddamned shirt. There are plenty of shirts in the world.”

When Allegra started the van, she turned the heat on. “Is this all right?” she said to him, and he waved a hand at her and looked out of the window. When they got to the bridge over the Hudson, the van was warm. Molly kept Alice's hand in her own, anyway. When the bones in Alice's feet no longer felt like tiny pricks of ice, she uncurled her toes. Molly began to sing again. She sang a new ballad that they were learning. She sang in a whisper, through short gasps of air.
There were two sisters: Night and Death / Death was older, night was younger / Night was as beautiful as a dream but death, death was even more beautiful
—she sang. Molly went back and sang the refrain again, and as she did, her breath came back. She lingered over the words. Alice looked out the window. The bridge's lights flashed by. Beyond, though she couldn't see it, she knew the river was there, deep and cold and black as death.

  •  •  •  

“Where's Trina?” Stover said when they came home that night. No one answered him, so he followed Alice and Molly upstairs. “Molly,” he said, “where's Trina?”

Molly stopped on the stairs, her hand on the railing. “I don't know.”

“Molly. Look at me.” Stover gazed up at her and Alice. He leaned forward, reaching for the hem of Molly's skirt.

Alice brought her back to the wall and turned to face him. She shook her head. “We don't know.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. Mr. Wyck stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking up. His eyes were small. She touched the cool wall with her hands and pressed into it. “I don't know,” Alice said.

“I'm tired, Stover.” Molly turned, finally, to face him. She sat down on the step.

“Where?”

Alice wanted to take the stockings off and crawl under the covers next to Molly. She looked at Mr. Wyck, who was moving slowly up the steps.

“She ran off,” he said from below. He leaned on the railing, one arm traveling up the banister, the other lifted towards Stover. “She had to go.”

Stover turned his back on Alice and Molly and went back down. “Why would she do that?” His voice shook. “She would tell me first. Where did she go?” No one answered him. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened, son,” said Mr. Wyck.

Alice closed her eyes. She put the white light around Stover. She should have done it for Trina. She could do it now. She imagined Trina.

“Where's T.?” Stover asked again.

He sounded as he did that day in Miss Abernathy's class, when he'd frightened Alice
. I'd never hurt you, Alice.
She could almost hear the song now, the racket banged out on Miss Abernathy's old piano.
Come out.
Alice was hiding beneath a desk.
Stover chased me.
Miss Abernathy leaned down and reached for Alice. She couldn't get her. She pointed to Stover, who was on the other side of the room.
Look, Stover's right here. He didn't chase you.
Alice shook her head. Something had chased her.
I can't come out. No.
Miss Abernathy rose.
It was just a game, Alice. We were just playing. Acting is all.

Alice opened her eyes and looked at Mr. Wyck. “Acting is all,” she said.

“What's that, angel?”

Angel.
Alice shook her head. She put her hands on her mouth. She shouldn't talk during the play. Stover went slowly down the steps. “But did she say where she was going?”

Mr. Wyck put his arm around Stover. “It's late.”

Alice rose and watched them from the steps. She peered down into the dark hall. The figures below were actors on a stage. She wanted to heckle Stover, to shout, “Shut up or you'll be next!” but she couldn't, and it would be like trying to warn Romeo that Juliet wasn't really dead, or the other way around. She couldn't remember. It was a play. She had to keep quiet and see what happened.

Allegra stepped out of the shadows and touched Stover on the back. He turned and held his hands out to her. “Where is she?” he said. He sounded like he might cry. Mr. Wyck moved and Alice couldn't see him. He was such an expert player. He could appear and disappear without warning.

Allegra put her arms around Stover. “She just had to go, baby,” Allegra said.

More mothering
, Alice wanted to instruct—but she wasn't the director. Who was the director?

“She wanted to leave. She wasn't happy.” Allegra pulled Stover towards her, away from the place in the shadows where the audience knew that Mr. Wyck was waiting. Ah, there's the director: offstage, waiting, watching.

“I don't believe you!” Stover cried. “Where's T.?” He looked out into the audience, who watched him from their box seats, moved but unmoving.

Alice reached for Molly's hand. “He's so good,” Alice whispered, but Molly didn't say anything.

“Come,” Allegra said. “Let's go to the kitchen where it's warm. We'll talk about Trina there.”

But Stover broke free. He ran offstage where the audience couldn't see him, but they could still hear him. He was out in the yard yelling Trina's name. Alice thought that was a good detail. They should keep it in the production, she thought. She turned to climb the steps. At the top of the steps, she looked behind her. Mr. Wyck was there. “How long does this play go on?” Alice asked. The yelling was starting to feel gratuitous, forced.

Mr. Wyck stared at her and then a smile slowly spread across his face. “Darling,” he said. “Nobody knows how long the play lasts.”

Alice nodded and turned towards the next flight of steps, but then she stopped and looked at him again. “Which act is this?” She was puzzled. It seemed a dramatic way to open a play. “I'm just confused by the use of
in medias res
.”

“I think we're in Act III now,” Mr. Wyck said. “Which also is called bedtime.”

Molly laughed.

Alice and Molly slept curled into each other. Alice was dreaming when Mr. Wyck got into bed next to her and made love to her from behind. She opened her eyes and stared at Molly's curls. They covered her eyes, but Alice knew her friend was sleeping. She could see it in the rise and fall of her chest. The night outside was bright and clear. She wondered if Trina was still alive. “Did you kill her?” she whispered. Molly stirred and turned away, but Mr. Wyck either didn't hear her or chose not to. She said it again, this time louder. “Did you kill her?” Mr. Wyck stopped his banging. Molly lifted her head a little from the pillow. “Did you kill Trina?” Alice shouted.

“Yes,” Mr. Wyck said. “I killed her.”

“If I tell Stover, he'll kill you.”

“Will he now, Genie?” He held her. He began pushing into her again. He pulled her hair back from her face and held it in one hand.

“Yes,” Alice said, sitting. “He will.”

“Are you going to tell him?” He reached between her legs. She didn't answer. He pressed and stroked. “Are you going to tell him?” he asked again. She didn't answer. “Because I didn't kill her.” He pushed her roughly from him.

“I'm sorry,” she said automatically. She reached for him. She'd hurt his feelings.

“She had to leave. She thought we were lying about Robert Smith. I can't have that. I am working very hard. What I do is top secret.”

“But why did you leave her in the woods?” Molly said, turning to face them.

“To see if she would come back,” Mr. Wyck said, touching Molly's face. “I love you all so much.” His fingers traced the line of her lips. “I love Trina, too, and Stover and Lee. I love Allegra. You are my family. But a family has to stick together.”

“I love you, too,” Molly said. “And Alice. I love Trina and Stover. I'm trying to love Lee and Allegra.”

“Me, too,” Alice said. She felt his hand back between her legs. Alice kissed Molly on the mouth. “I love you, Molly,” Alice said.

“That's it,” Mr. Wyck said. “Do that again.” He watched. And he asked for more. And soon they were in a tangle. “Do the magic,” Mr. Wyck said. “Like I taught you, and when you're just about to hit your peak, think of Trina. Help her find her way back. We'll all do it together. We'll get Trina back.”

Alice thought of white stones glowing against the dark earth in the moonlight. She saw Trina's feet making a path through the brambles. Trina's feet left the ground. She floated, she flew home.

“Protect her from the animals,” Mr. Wyck commanded, and Alice did. The sound of Trina's feet frightened them off. Bears hid behind trees and foxes burrowed into the earth.

Alice threw a force field around Trina, and afterwards, when Mr. Wyck was spent and Alice drifted off to sleep, she knew that Trina would come home again, that they'd all kept her safe, but in the morning when Alice tripped out onto the front porch to look for her, Trina wasn't there. When she went back upstairs, Molly saw the look on her face and asked, and Alice shook her head. “Maybe later,” Molly said, turning in bed and going back to sleep. Mr. Wyck was already up and out, so Alice couldn't ask him what went wrong.

“Maybe we're still in the play,” she said to Molly, but Molly had fallen back asleep. Alice went downstairs again. She found Lee eating breakfast in the kitchen. He was standing up, dressed in his closet clothes, eating a bowl of cereal over the sink. “Why do you have on your closet clothes?” Alice asked.

“What?”

She nodded at his shirt.

Lee looked down, “Oh,” he said, understanding. “You call these the closet clothes? That's cute.”

She nodded and lifted her shirt over her head. “We have to get Trina back,” she said, moving towards him. She reached for his crotch.

“What the fuck, Alice?” Lee said. He jumped away from her. “Me and Mr. Wyck have to go meet the Smiths.” He grabbed her by her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“Which act are we in?” she asked.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” She walked out of the kitchen and sat down on a couch. One of the cats that crept around the house had come in and given birth to kittens in a box in the closet. They were all out now. They'd made a little nest beneath an old armchair. Alice watched while they fed. She liked the small kissing sounds they made. After a while, she got up from the couch and lay down with them on the floor. “Spp, spp, spp,” she whispered, touching their foreheads with one finger. She heard the VW bus pull up outside. Lee walked right past her without seeing her. He went out onto the porch. “I couldn't find her.” It was Mr. Wyck. “She's not where I left her. We have to go. We'll look later.” Lee said something that Alice couldn't make out, and then the bus started again and left. Alice watched the kittens. She wondered what it would be like to have that many babies. The mother cat slept while the kittens fed.

Allegra didn't see Alice lying there. Allegra had a suitcase. She was pale. She walked out of the house and left the front door opened behind her. Alice picked up one of the kittens and went to the door to watch Allegra. She walked unevenly, the suitcase bumping against her leg. She wore closet clothes—loafers, a flowered skirt with a brown sweater. She didn't have a coat. It had started raining. When Allegra disappeared through the apple orchard, Alice lifted her free hand in a half-wave. She stood there for a moment, looking at the place in the trees Allegra had vanished into, and then she went back to the floor and wrapped herself in a blanket. She set the kitten back down. The kittens purred and climbed on top of Alice. She could feel their tiny claws catching at her bare skin through the blanket.
Love for me, love for Alice
, she thought.