Cemetery Girl

Halfway up the stairs, I stopped. They were holding the man, physically. He was in custody. He could answer for-explain even-everything. For ripping the fabric of our lives to pieces. For Caitlin. For Tracy. For God knew how many others.

My grip tightened on the banister. Something clouded my vision. Red and white splotches. My heart thumped. When the splotches disappeared, I found myself pulling against the banister, trying to rip it out of the wall. It didn’t give and my grip slipped. I fell back against the opposite wall of the staircase, making a loud thump. It hurt my back, and I welcomed the pain. It brought me back to reality. My home. My daughter.

The man in the sketch.

I took several deep, gasping breaths. Abby appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Tom?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I fell.”

She took a step up. “You look sick, Tom.”

“I’m fine.” I held my hand out. “I’m going to talk to Caitlin.”

She was in the master bedroom, the door closed. I knocked, and when I didn’t get any response, I knocked again. “It’s your dad,” I said, trying the knob and feeling it give. Not Dad. Your dad. A more distant and formal designation, as though I were talking about two strangers.

Caitlin was lying back on the bed, reading a book. I couldn’t make out the title, but it looked like the kind of thing she used to read before she left, something aimed at preteen girls. She didn’t look over at me when I came in but kept her eyes on the pages of the book. Her brow was furrowed and her lips moved as she scanned the words. She looked like a certain kind of kid who passed through my classrooms, the ones who came from areas with poor public schools and adults who never attended college.

“I need to tell you something, Caitlin.”

She didn’t look up from the book.

“Did you hear what we were talking about downstairs? Were you at the top of the stairs?”

“I heard some,” she said. “You were talking about the police. And Pastor Chris. Then I heard you try to rip the banister out of the wall.”

“Detective Ryan’s coming over again.”

She stiffened a little. “Why? To ask me more sex questions?”

“They found him, Caitlin. They arrested him.”

She considered this for a long moment without looking at me. “You’re a fucking liar,” she finally said. “You’d lie to me about anything.”

“No.” I kept my voice firm. “He’s in jail, right now. Detective Ryan is coming over to talk to you, and this time there’s no point in keeping everything a secret. They have him, so we’re going to find out what it’s all about. He’s hurt other people, Caitlin. Other girls like you. He’s not going to be able to do that to anyone else.”

“He wouldn’t hurt someone.”

“He did.” I took a step forward into the room. “Remember, just this morning, you said that he did things to you. He hurt you.”

She sat up on the bed, letting the book fall to the floor. Her face showed real animation. “Are they bringing him here?” she asked.

“No, they’re not bringing him here. He’s in jail. Didn’t you hear me?”

She looked at the floor, her chin quivering. She took hold of the necklace and rubbed the stone.

“What’s the matter with you?” I asked. I stopped myself, gathered my thoughts. “Caitlin, I know this is confusing for you. I know that after what’s happened, you might be confused about your feelings, especially your feelings for this man. It’s part of what you’ve been through, but you need to start getting through that. This man. . he needs to go to jail.”

“They’re not going to hurt him, are they? Tell me you won’t let them hurt him.”

She turned away and flopped back onto the bed, burying her face in the covers so I couldn’t see her. It sounded like she was crying.

Chapter Thirty-six

Ryan looked more tired than usual when he showed up at our door. He wore a polo shirt, tan pants, and no jacket despite the cool temperature. He didn’t come inside, but instead motioned the two of us out onto the porch.

When we were all seated, Ryan started talking.

“I imagine you want to be brought up to speed as soon as possible.” He flipped open the small notebook. “Yesterday, just before five a.m., the fire department responded to a call for a house fire out on Smith Springs Road. When they arrived, they found the house engulfed and beyond saving. A neighbor had seen the flames and called it in, but no one was certain if anyone was home at the time. It’s still too hot to do a thorough search of the house, but the preliminary investigation hasn’t revealed any evidence of human remains yet. Records indicate that the house belongs to a John Colter. Does that name mean anything to either of you?”

“Is that the man?” I asked. “Is that his name?”

“Does the name mean anything to either of you?” Ryan asked.

Abby shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Tom?”

I scanned through every student name I could remember, every coworker, every maintenance person who ever passed through school or our home. “I don’t think I know him.”