Nightingale

Chapter 11 Lies and Accusations

Sunday afternoon was lazy, with Mike watching football in the living room, snoring through a boring game, while Olivia fretted in the kitchen and Bron worked on his music.

There was plenty for Olivia to fret about. It had been two days since she'd encountered the enemy, and she worried that she felt that sense of false security that comes after a little time has elapsed. She resolved not to go anywhere today, so there would be no risk of exposing herself.

But even as she lay low, they might hunt her down. Yet she suspected that if that was going to happen, the Draghouls would have located her by now.

She finally realized that she wasn't just afraid. Her jangled nerves, her beating heart, were signs of something else. She was excited. School started tomorrow. She always felt enthused with the return of school, and she'd begun rehearsing her class introductions, imagining the little jokes that she could toss out in order to put her students at ease.

She worked with Bron a bit, impressed at how he devoted himself to practice. He was improving dramatically. Even with time off for dinner, he put in eight hours of singing and playing during the afternoon. Mike even joined him, sang a couple of songs while Bron played.

So when Bron went to bed just after midnight, she decided to reward him.

Bron went and lay on his bed, sweating. It was just past midnight when he went to bed. He hoped that Galadriel would leave him alone, or that she'd come and gone.

But at 12:13 a.m., Bron heard a scratching at his back door, like a puppy trying to get in.

It's Mike's dog, he thought hopefully. Mike kept his dog outside at night.

"Bron?" Galadriel whispered softly, then laughed. "You in there? Come out, come out, wherever you are?"

Bron's heart pounded. He resisted the urge to go to her. She shoved gently against the back door. The deadbolt was still locked.

"Open up!" Galadriel called.

Bron imagined opening the door. He wondered if she was wearing anything at all. What would happen if he did open the door?

I'd kiss her, he thought, and fall into her arms.

He decided that it was safer to pretend to be asleep.

He felt those ridges on his fingers harden, and looked down at his hands. Purple lights exploded from them, sizzled.

He looked up to the window. He'd left it open, to let in the fresh air. He was afraid that Galadriel might come and climb in.

The pounding came harder at the back door.

"Are you asleep in there?" Galadriel demanded.

She waited for a count of three, then he heard dry grass crunching as she walked off. He lay there, for a long moment, sweat rolling down his forehead, wondering what he'd missed out on, glad he'd had the strength to resist.

Olivia waited until she thought Bron would be asleep, then crept into his room.

He was lying on his back, and at first she thought that his eyes were open. But he was breathing deeply, evenly, in sleep. She knelt beside his bed and placed her hands upon him, seizing his mind.

She peeked into the day's memories, surprised to see how agitated he'd become with Galadriel. He'd unsheathed his sizraels, and had been embarrassed and frightened.

There was nothing that he could have done, of course. He was too young to control such a visceral response. Unsheathing was a defense mechanism, a natural response to danger.

But Bron was worried sick about it, wondering if he had some strange cow disease. Olivia smiled at that. It was charming and silly and endearing all at once.

She hadn't even noticed Bron's mood. She'd thought that he was being quiet all afternoon because he was studying, not because he was worried.

I'll have to explain what is going on to the poor boy soon, she realized. He can't wait much longer.

She was shocked to find that Galadriel had come to his door, tried to enter.

Just when you think you know all of the problems your teen might face, she thought, something like this comes up.

Bron had fought the impulse to go to Galadriel, to even touch her, and that was good.

Not everyone could have fought such a powerful craving. If the danger had been greater, he might have taken her—and what? Sucked the memories from her, leaving her a clean slate? Or would he have taken even her memories of how to breathe, so that she would suffocate?

Olivia was grateful that he hadn't gone so far. He'd have had a lot to explain to Officer Walton.

As of yet, Bron hadn't heard about the accident, about the death. She wanted to keep it that way. She worried what would happen when he heard, on his first day of school.

She'd have to prepare him for bad news.

It was late. Olivia wondered if Galadriel might be outside, if she might even be curled up asleep at the back door. She went and opened it for a moment, peered out in the starlight. The backyard was empty, no one lying in the shadows.

Galadriel had apparently given up and gone home.

So Olivia returned to Bron and began a new lesson, training his fingers to respond to the urge to play, unlocking his resistance, so that music would flow to him in a continuous stream of sound and joy....

At six o'clock on Monday morning, Bron woke to someone pounding on the front door. He got up groggily, looking for his pants, mind swimming.

He remembered the lessons he'd dreamt about at night, playing songs over and over. The dreams had left him exhausted. He lay back down.

Mike came to the bedroom, whispered urgently.

"What?" Bron asked, unable to focus.

"The police are outside," Mike repeated, nearly a shout. "They want to talk to you."

"What about?" Bron asked, baffled. He wasn't thinking straight. He wondered if Melvina was pressing charges over the stolen peaches, or if perhaps after all of these years, one of his relatives had come forward.

Then he remembered the car chase, and sprang wide awake.

When Bron got to the door, Deputy Sheriff Walton stood on the porch with his hands on his hips. A second officer stood at Walton's back, down closer to the car. True to form, the car's lights strobed red, white, and blue in the pre-dawn.

"Here he is," Mike told the officers. "What can he do you for?" Bron simply nodded, determined not to say anything that might get him in trouble.

Olivia came in from her bedroom, put an arm on his back. Bron glanced at her, in her long nightgown, and felt reassured.

Officer Walton came straight to the point. "Bron, do you know where Galadriel Mercer is?"

"What?" Bron asked. The question caught him by total surprise.

"Did you see her yesterday?"

He didn't dare tell about last night.

"Uh," Bron said, "sure. She came over with her mom and brought a fruit basket."

"I'm talking about afterward, smart ass," Walton said.

Bron shrugged and looked back to Mike. "No, I was here all night." Bron still wasn't awake. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, trying to snap out of it.

"Do you have anyone who can corroborate that?" Walton asked.

"Um, I was up until midnight, practicing the guitar with Olivia." He looked back to

Olivia hopefully. She nodded.

"What about after that?"

"I was in my room all night," Bron said, "asleep."

Officer Walton looked to Mike, who just shrugged. "As far as I know, he was in his room."

Olivia chimed in. "I woke up in the night and went to the restroom. I heard Bron singing at about 1:00 a.m., and peeked in his room. He was singing in his sleep."

Officer Walton turned away angrily, as if to cuss, then whirled and glared at Bron. "You were the last one to talk to that girl. What did you two talk about?"

Bron's heart pounded.

Had the silly girl gone skinny dipping and drowned—or been attacked by a wild animal?

Bron held silent. He couldn't tell them that Galadriel had suggested a tryst. In part he didn't want to ruin her reputation, but mostly he didn't think Walton would believe that he had turned her down.

But Bron did want the Mercers to find Galadriel, no matter what stupid thing she might have done.

Olivia touched Bron on the shoulder reassuringly, as if urging him to speak up.

"She told me that there was a pond out on our property," he suggested. "She said that she was thinking of going swimming out there, in the dark."

Officer Walton squinted suspiciously as his face darkened with rage. "For such a short conversation," he said in a voice as hard as gravel, "it sounds like you sure led that girl down an awful dark path. What else did you two talk about?"

Bron bit his lip. He didn't dare say anything more, not when Officer Walton would twist his words against him.

"Sheriff," Olivia said, "you can fish for confessions all day long, but that won't help. Maybe we should look down by the pond?"

Mike told the sheriff, "I'll unlock the gate for you."

Walton's eyes were like magnifying glasses on a hot day, and Bron was a small creature, burning beneath their cruel attention.

Mike trundled in that hunched way of his back to the gate and unlocked it while Deputy Walton grimaced and stalked to his car. When the police officers got through the gate, Mike ducked his head and folded himself into the passenger seat. They drove down an old trail that probably only saw a tractor three times per year.

Bron wondered if he should have gone with them. He wanted to help them find the girl, if only to clear his name.

"Don't you worry about them," Olivia suggested. "You come in the house, and help me make breakfast."

Bron followed her into the kitchen, where she fired up a griddle. He molded sausage patties and sliced cheese while she toasted some muffins, then fried the sausage to make sausage-egg muffins.

Work helped a little. Bron kept imagining the worst—Galadriel floating naked in the pond, with Officer Walton certain that she had been murdered. Or maybe someone had cut her open, flayed her like that calf, and her guts would be lying out in a steaming pile.

Walton would accuse Bron of course, but there wouldn't be enough evidence to convict. After all, Bron told himself, how could they convict me when I haven't done anything wrong?

So Bron focused on putting together the sausage-and-egg muffins, and the room began to fill with heavenly aromas.

Back at the Stillmans', Bron had been ordered to make pancakes just about every day. Bron hated pancakes, especially ones made from mixes. The ones he'd eaten in that house had tasted as bland as cardboard, and probably were just about as nutritious.

But breakfast here at the Hernandez house was special.

When the table was all set and the food steaming hot, Bron looked around nervously. It had been half an hour. The sun would be up soon, and Bron needed to get ready for school.

"They should have been back by now," Olivia said. "That pond isn't more than five feet deep at this time of year, and not a hundred feet across. It wouldn't take five minutes to search it."

Bron shrugged, and she gave him a piercing look, as if to draw him out. When she saw that he would hold silent, she shrugged and said, "Let's eat."

Bron felt guilty about eating without Mike, but they really had no clue when he might return.

Something is going on, he reasoned. Either they've found Galadriel dead, or they're searching around the pond. Otherwise, they would have come straight back.

He worried about Riley and that creepy old man. Had they come to the house in the night, found the girl, and killed her for sport? Were they trying to terrorize him and Olivia?

Maybe the police had found her corpse, and were trying to put together the clues.

The two ate in silence for several minutes, and Olivia said, "There's something that you didn't tell Officer Walton. I could see it in your face, and I'm sure that he saw it, too. Is there something more that you wanted to say?"

"Not to him," Bron said. "He already thinks I'm a creep. Anything that Galadriel told me, he'd twist it around in his head."

"So this Mercer girl, she told you something that bothers you?"

Bron ducked his head a little, swallowed a bite of muffin. "She told me that she was bored," Bron admitted, "and she asked if I've ever thought of running away. She said that she was thinking of going to Las Vegas, or maybe Hollywood."

"So she might have run away?"

"Maybe," Bron admitted.

"Did she want you to go to the pond with her and go swimming last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you go?"

"Of course not," Bron said vehemently. "I didn't touch her. I wouldn't. I just wish that I hadn't even talked to her. I wished that she'd—I don't know—I just wanted her to ... quit wanting the things she wants."

Olivia nodded. "She's a dangerous girl, especially for someone with your past."

Outside, a bird flew into the window. Bron looked up. Two male hummingbirds, scintillating creatures of emerald, blurred about the feeder.

"I don't have a past," Bron said.

Olivia frowned in concern. "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't have the kind of 'past' that people think I do. People always think I'm crazy, or a liar, or a criminal or something just because I come from social services. If you look into my file, you'll see plenty of weird accusations. When I was little, people thought that I was schizophrenic. One doctor said I was autistic when I was four. Another thought that maybe I had split personalities."

Bron's voice quavered. "To tell the truth, I've always thought that something was wrong with me, but I can't figure out what it is!"

Olivia reached up and smoothed his hair. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're right not to tell the sheriff that Galadriel asked you to run away. He suspects that you tried to seduce her. He can't see the truth. So keep quiet."

"Okay," Bron said.

"If he presses you, tell him that you talked about the cows and the weather. Just make up something."

No adult had ever told Bron to be so evasive before. It was refreshing to see that sometimes even adults could admit that being completely honest was foolish.

"But what if she did run away?" Bron asked. "Shouldn't we tell them where she went?"

"I could tell them for you, if you want?"

"She was thinking of going to Vegas or Hollywood."

"The usual places," Olivia sighed. "They're magnets for the young, vapid and pretty."

Bron was just finishing up his breakfast when he heard the police siren blurt out by the gate. He raced for the side door, to see what was going on, and Olivia came up to his back.

Mike was opening the gate to the pasture, while the car waited, lights flashing. His dog was leaping about at Mike's side. The siren began to scream, and Mike shouted, "We found her!"

He swung the gate open, and the car sped out, spitting gravel, siren wailing. Bron tried to see inside, and could only glimpse Galadriel in the backseat, her face pale and dotted with cold sweat. Her hair was stringy, and she appeared to be shaking violently, her lower jaw trembling.

"Oh, my god!" Olivia whispered as the car neared, and she gripped hard onto Bron's bicep, as if to keep from falling.

Bron wondered if Galadriel really had been attacked.

Officer Walton glared up at Bron and looked as if he would pass, then he stomped on his brakes and rolled down his window. In the back of the car, Galadriel was weeping and growling like an animal.

"You're involved in this, boy," Officer Walton said. "I don't know what part you played, but this is your fault, and I'm going to get you."

Bron shook his head. "I didn't do anything."

"I've lived up here for eighteen years," Walton said, "and we've never had no kind of trouble. You're here one day, and now we got this...."

From the back of the car, Galadriel shrieked, "Let me die! I just wanna die! Let me out of here!" she thrashed about, and the emergency blanket that was wrapped over her came off. Her clothes were soaked and muddy. Her hands had been cuffed.

She looks like a crazed animal, Bron thought.

As the other officer pulled the space blanket back in place, Officer Walton hit the gas and the car surged down the road, turned on Main Street, and sped through town.

Mike came jogging up to the house, panting. Olivia asked, "What happened? Where did you find her?"

Mike shook his head. "Down by the pond. We found her clothes first, all stripped off, like she went swimming. But there wasn't any sign of her, so we had to search that marshy area. We found her about a quarter of a mile away, naked, just huddling up with her arms wrapped around her legs."

"Was she okay?" Bron asked. He added, "She didn't get, like, attacked by an animal or something?"

Mike shook his head. "Nothing like that, no bruises or nothing that I could see. She's just...." He shrugged, unable to explain what was wrong. "Walton's going to take her down to the hospital in Saint George, get a rape kit done on her, have her checked out."

"Rape?" Olivia asked. "They think she was raped?"

Mike glanced at him. Bron wondered if Officer Walton really thought that Galadriel had been raped, or if the test was just a ruse to determine if Bron had slept with her.

"Just a precaution," Mike said. "I don't know what's wrong with her. Maybe it's drugs or something. She was just curled up in a little ball, and wouldn't talk, and when we tried to take care of her, she said that she wanted to die. I don't know, maybe she had a mental breakdown."

Olivia bit her lower lip, looked back and forth between Mike and Bron. Her eyes widened, and Bron realized that she knew something, that she wanted to talk privately with him.

"Hey," Mike said, as if trying to ease the tension, "is that breakfast I smell?"

"Better go in and get some," Olivia urged, "before it gets any colder."

Mike lunged through the door. Olivia closed it so that Mike wouldn't hear.

She peered deeply into Bron's eyes. "Have you ever seen anyone act like that before, like Galadriel did just now?"

"What?" Bron asked.

"Someone who no longer wanted to live?" Olivia clarified. "Someone who begged for others to just let them die?"

Bron looked at her blankly, shook his head "No."

"What about Mr. Lewis, in the third family you stayed with. He had a mental breakdown. Do you remember?"

Bron shook his head. "I was just a little kid back then," he said. "All I know is that he died in the hospital."

Olivia stammered, "You and I need to have a talk!" Bron shifted uneasily. "About what?"

"About the people who chased us in town—about what they are. About what you are."