South Of Hell

Chapter Thirty-nine

She wasn’t afraid to ride in the big trucks now. At one in the morning, the freeway near Ann Arbor, the one less than five hundred feet from the hotel door, rumbled with a caravan of them.

She stood in the cold darkness for less than five minutes before a big, muddy red semi squealed to a stop. The driver was dirty, and the cab smelled like cigarettes, but she climbed up into the seat anyway. Because she wasn’t afraid of him, either.

Where you going, little girl?

I’m not a little girl. I’m sixteen. And I’m going to see my mother.

For the next hour, as they drove west, the man talked of his son and his fishing boat and the thousands of miles he’d spent behind the wheel of this old truck. She’d listened politely, fighting sleep and hoping Miss Joe wouldn’t be mad at her in the morning.

The man must’ve felt sorry for her, because he offered to drive off the freeway and drop her closer to the farm. She was going to tell him no, but it was so cold and dark. So she changed her mind and told him she would appreciate that.

Where is this farm, Missy?

Just south of Hell. But if you miss the road leading in, you end up down in Bliss.

The semi was too big to make it down the rutted gravel and dirt of Lethe Creek Road. And when the man pulled to a stop in front of the closed Texaco station, he said he wasn’t sure he should leave her out here alone.

You sure you’re okay, Missy?

Yes, sir, I got kin here.

She slipped out of the truck and closed the door, clutching her backpack to her chest. With a rattle of gears and a churn of mud, the truck pulled away. She stood in the darkness under the old Texaco sign, but she wasn’t afraid. There were no strange voices in her head anymore, no flashing memories of green corn, no screaming horses.

There was just her.

As she hurried down the dark road, it started to drizzle. The dark outline of the barn came to her, then the house beyond. She went through the fence and stopped under the old oak tree in the front yard. It was so quiet the pop-pop-pop of the drops falling on the leaves overhead was the only sound she could hear.

She stood as still as possible and closed her eyes, waiting for that tingling she sometimes got when she felt her mother’s presence near.

But there was nothing.

She crept up to the house. The kitchen door was ajar, the lock hanging on splintered wood.

She stood there and stared at it.

Had someone come here looking for her father? No, he was not her father anymore. Mr. Shockey was her father, and… that other man had hurt him.

She pushed inside the broken door, stopping again in the kitchen. There was just enough light to make out the gray shapes of the counters and a cooler on the floor. The air was heavy and spoiled, stale with the smell of him.

She set her backpack down and once again closed her eyes and stood very still.

Are you here, Momma?

Silence. She felt nothing but the cold swirl of air.

What was wrong? Why couldn’t she feel anything? Why wasn’t something coming to her like it did in Dr. Sher’s office?

Amy moved to the cupboard and opened the door, letting out the dank smell of rusted pipes. She brushed aside the cobwebs and climbed inside. It felt different, smaller, like she didn’t fit anymore. But she huddled up, pulled the door closed, and stared out through the jagged cracks in the wood slats.

She saw nothing but the torn linoleum.

Amy closed her eyes and leaned her head on her knees. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help it. The tears just came, hot and hard.

Why couldn’t she remember?

With a small cry, she crawled from the cupboard. She stood for a moment in the kitchen, wiping her face and taking small breaths to calm herself. She knew she needed to be calm for this to work. Dr. Sher always told her to stay calm.

That’s when she saw it… there on the floor.

Toby.

She scrambled to the corner and snatched up the stuffed rabbit. She held it to her nose, inhaling its sweet-musty scent.

Her eyes snapped open.

The parlor. That is where she would be!

But when she got there, she felt nothing. And the roll of music was missing from the piano. She shut her eyes tight and tried to think of the song. If she sang it, her mother would hear it. But nothing came. Not one word. The song was gone, too.

Clutching the rabbit, Amy opened her eyes.

There was no one here anymore.

She slowly retraced her steps back to the kitchen, picked up her backpack, and stuffed Toby inside. She left the kitchen and stood on the porch for a moment, looking out over the farm. The barn and the other buildings were just black outlines in gray mist, and beyond was nothing but the empty fields fading into the darkness.

No lights, no movement, no sounds. No signs that anyone had ever lived here. And for a moment, she had the weird thought that maybe even she hadn’t really lived here.

She had to go back to Miss Joe. She’d be so worried.

But the rain was coming down harder now. And she was cold and tired.

She would wait until it was light, and then she would walk back to the Texaco station. It would be open in the morning, and someone would let her call the hotel, and Miss Joe would come and get her.

Amy glanced back at the kitchen. She didn’t want to go back in there. She looked at the barn. She would wait there.

Hoisting the backpack over her shoulder, she jumped off the porch and ran across the yard to the barn. The heavy sliding doors on the bottom level stood open just enough for her to squeeze through.

It was warmer inside but dark.

She picked her way across the dirt floor, trying to make out the shape of the old stalls in the gloom. There was hay, she remembered, and she could sleep there until morning.

She was halfway across the barn when she felt it.

Like the brush of a warm breeze on her cheek. But she knew there was no wind in the barn. It came again, the gentlest of caresses.

“Momma?” she whispered.

No, child.

She stood very still and closed her eyes, her heart hammering, waiting for the feeling. But the only feeling that came was a small constricting of her throat.

There was just her.

And the voice she heard now was her own.

It’s not safe here, John. Come with me.

Amy opened her eyes. The darkness pressed close around her, but she wasn’t afraid. She walked slowly but surely across the barn, moving easily among the rusted tools and rotting bales, into the farthest corner of the barn.

An instinct told her to reach out, and when she did, her hand touched wood. A ladder. She had known it would be there!

The backpack secured on her back now, she began to climb. She couldn’t see anything above, but still, there was no fear for herself now. Just for…

It’s too late. We have to get out another way.

She emerged into a new darkness, but she could feel the boards of a floor, and she pulled herself up. The old hay was scratchy beneath her hands. She knew she was up on the old barn’s second floor now, and a stab of recognition came to her. This was where she had found the kitten! But a different memory was crowding that one out with its urgency.

This way, John!

The old boards groaned as she made her way across the rotted planks, but she kept moving until…

She stopped, knelt down, and brushed the straw away. Her fingers found the cold metal ring of the trapdoor. She pulled, but it wouldn’t move.

Horses… she could hear horses outside!

She pulled in a deep breath and yanked on the trapdoor. It cracked and gave way, falling back on the hay with a thud.

Hurry! Hurry!

Without a second thought, Amy launched herself into the black hole. She landed with a hard jolt in a pile of hay. She was stunned for a second, but then the feel of the rain on her face brought her back. Outside… she was outside.

She was on her feet at once and moving through the darkness, away from the barn, through a thicket of high weeds.

Faster, John, you have to walk faster! Just a little ways more, and you can rest. Here! Here! Let me help you… you can hide here -

Amy stopped suddenly.

The voice was gone.

In front of her was a high thicket of thorny brambles.