Cemetery Girl

Before I turned away, I heard a new sound, one that broke through the rhythmic breathing. At first, I thought she might be coughing, but as I listened, the sound crystallized and became recognizable as human speech. Caitlin’s voice, murmuring.

I leaned closer, bent down so my ear was level with the doorknob. She was saying the same thing over and over, almost like a chant or a mantra, but I couldn’t make it out. She stopped and, again, I thought of backing off, but then the words resumed, a little louder this time, a little clearer. I understood.

“Don’t send me away,” she said. “Don’t send me away.”

I reached out and peeled the door open a little. A narrow band of light leaked into Caitlin’s room from the hallway, crawling across the floor and stopping just short of her bed. She lay in the same position I left her in-facing the wall, back to the door. She was asleep. Dreaming. But her voice kept repeating the words in the dark.

“Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Abby dug through the refrigerator. One of the neighbors had brought us a dish of lasagna, and the oven ticked as it preheated.

“You don’t have any vegetables in here,” she said.

“I guess not.”

“Were you just upstairs?” she asked, closing the refrigerator door. “Is she okay?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Should we wake her to eat something?”

Don’t send me away. .

“No,” I said, still distracted by the words she’d spoken in her sleep. “Let’s just let her be.”

Abby frowned. “If you’re sure. .”

I went over to the lasagna pan and lifted the foil. Lots of cheese, just the way I liked it. I actually felt hungry for a change.

“Tom? Where do you think she was?”

I let the foil drop. “She was with that man.”

“You think I pushed her too hard upstairs.”

The oven beeped, indicating it had reached the right temperature. I opened the door and slid in the heavy pan of food. “I guess we can eat in thirty minutes or so,” I said.

Abby wore a distant look, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere near the ceiling.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Do you ever think you don’t want to know what happened to her?” she asked. “What if it’s too awful to hear? Those things they told us at the hospital, about the sex. . What if she’s been raped or abused? The way she’s been acting. . it’s like she’s been through something awful, something that stunned her. I would have been happy to have that psychiatrist come home with us.”

“We’re fine without that,” I said. Caitlin’s whispered sleep talk cycled through my brain, like a taunt. Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away. “The police are going to push her to tell. If there’s an arrest, she’ll have to talk about it.”

The back doorbell rang.

“Who is that?” Abby asked. “Could it be Ryan?”

I pressed my face against the glass.

“It’s Buster.”

“Oh.”

“Could he have heard?” I asked.

I opened the door, and he answered the question for me.

“What the fuck is going on up here?” His voice was loud, almost crazed. “What the fuck? Are you fucking kidding me? I mean, Jesus Christ. Are you kidding me?”

His voice rose and squealed with excitement, like a prepubescent boy.

“Yes, it’s amazing,” I said.

“Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you call?”

I led him into the other room, away from Abby, who didn’t even look up or greet him. “It’s been kind of crazy here, you know? It’s been a long day.”

“I wanted to come visit. I want to see the girl. Shit.”

He was almost hysterical. Bizarrely so.

“We’re trying to get our bearings.”

“Oh,” he said. “I see. You need some family time and all that, try to put the pieces back together again.” He stood in the middle of the living room, rubbing his hands together and nodding. “I guess that makes sense. I’m family, too. I thought I could help.”

“You can. In a couple of days. In fact, I mentioned you to Caitlin, and her eyes lit up.”

“Really?”

“Really. She’ll want to see you.” I looked up at the ceiling, listening. Wondering. “But she’s asleep now. Really zonked out. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Goddamn.” Buster looked up at the ceiling too, his face curious. Then he cleared his throat. “I love that kid,” he said.

“Yeah. . Abby asked Caitlin about something, just before.”

“Did she ask about that guy? Did they arrest him?”

“No, there’s been no arrest.”

“I want to tell you, Tom, I want to go out and find this guy.” His voice sounded heavy, heated. He leaned in close to me with a caninelike ferocity. “I want to get in my car and go looking for him. What are the fucking cops doing? Sitting on their asses?”

“I don’t know. They’re taking it slow.”

“Fuck them.”

“Look, like I started to tell you. . Abby asked Caitlin something upstairs, something about you.”

“She did?”

“Yeah.” I moved slow. Cautious. “She asked Caitlin if she saw you during the four years she was gone.”

He fell quiet. I hesitated, wondering if I’d pushed too hard.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me. .”