It Ends Here Page 3

  "I think I might know a place where we can get some wood," he said. "But you can't tell Mom, you hear? You have to promise me that you won't say anything. You can't tell her where we got it from or that we left the house to get it. Do you understand?"

  Rita looked up at him, then nodded in agreement. "I won't say a thing. My lips are sealed so tight that I can't even move them, see?"

  "Good, then let's go, but we must hurry, so Mom doesn’t know we’ve been gone," he said and grabbed his sister by the hand and dragged her out of the yard and into the street. They walked two blocks down and then stopped in front of a house.

  Rita gulped when she realized where they were. "In there? Are you serious? Please, tell me you're kidding. This is where you want to find the wood? You want to go in there?"

  He nodded. "There's tons of scrap wood inside of it. I’ve done it before, lots of times. The house has been abandoned for more than fifty years. No one cares about it or if we take the wood from inside of it. No one cares about the house at all. I bet no one even knows the wood is in there."

  Rita stared at him. "But it's that house, Peter. You know what happened, right? You know that someone died in there, right? And you want us to go inside?"

  He shrugged. "So what if someone was once found dead in there forty years ago? People have died in a lot of houses. That doesn’t mean the wood can't be used for building our treehouse. There's nothing wrong with that wood, and it's just sitting there, unused. Do you want the treehouse or not? Then, come on."

  He pulled her by the hand, and they walked up the creaking stairs to the front door. Peter then pushed the door open, and they walked inside through a cloud of dust and dirt. Rita hesitated at the threshold, unsure if she dared go any further into the darkness of the house when her brother told her to hurry up.

  "We don't have all day. If you want that treehouse to be finished, you better come quickly. We have to make it back before Mom gets home. Otherwise, we're going to be in so much trouble."

  "We're gonna be in even more trouble if she finds out where we were," Rita mumbled and took the first step inside. "She’s always told us to stay away from this place."

  "Because of old superstition," he said. "I don't believe all that stuff. It's just an old empty house, that's all."

  As her brother turned his head back and faced the darkness in front of him, he spotted something lying on the floor in the middle of the old living room. Rita saw it too and froze in place, sweat springing to her forehead.

  "W-what's that? What's that over there, Peter? Peter?"

  Peter bit his cheek while staring at the boy lying on the floor, flat on his back, arms stretched to the sides. The boy wasn't moving, and his chest wasn't heaving.

  "P-Peter? I’m scared," his little sister said and tugged at his sleeve. "Can we please go back now? Please, Peter? I want to go home. I don't care about any stupid wood or the treehouse anymore. I just want to go home now."

  Peter nodded and backed up, pulling his sister with him, his heart pounding in his chest.

  "Me too, come on let's go," he said, then turned around and ran into the street, keeping his sister close to him.

  Panting and agitated, he looked up the street and spotted two of the town's electricians who were working by a lamppost, then called out to them, waving his arms. When they heard what he had found, they rushed inside the house, Peter following them but staying with his sister in the doorway. One of the men gave the boy CPR while the other called for an ambulance. Peter watched the scene, his sister's hand clutched in his.

  "Do you think he's dead?" she asked in a whisper like it wasn't polite to say out loud. "Do you think the boy is really dead, the way Grandpa was dead when we buried him?"

  Peter stared at the man who was trying to breathe life into the young boy, yet the small body remained lifeless. Then, he nodded.

  "I think so."

  His sister shook her head.

  "We never should have come here. Now we're going to get in all sorts of trouble once Momma finds out. She ain't gonna be happy about this one bit; that's for sure."

  8

  It was Mrs. Adeline's daughter, Regina, who stood behind the counter when I came in later in the day. She smiled when I asked where would be a good place to eat and recommended a place called Farmer's Market.

  "I go there often with my mom," she said. "We've been going there since I was just a child. It's where most folks around here eat. They serve good old country style food."

  "That sounds right up my alley," I said and smiled at the woman in front of me. She looked to be around my age and seemed pretty normal. I figured I could trust her recommendation. "I'll give it a try then and see if it’s as good as you say."

  I drove there in my car while looking around at the strange small town. The houses here were built in the old Florida style with wooden porches and screen doors. Many of them had overgrown yards and huge trees with Spanish moss hanging from their branches. I knew we were close to the Green Swamps and the landscape here was definitely a lot rougher and wilder than out by the beach where I was living. It was in places like this that they usually said there was a gator in every waterhole.

  I shivered, thinking about my own run-in with a big gator about ten months earlier when trying to save Julie and her friends, and I felt my thigh where it had sunk in its teeth. I still had an ugly scar there that William thought was the coolest thing in the world. For me, it took some getting used to, especially when wearing a bikini.

  I drove past the church and City Hall and saw a few faces stare at my car, then continued down into a neighborhood, then came back close to the motel and realized I had probably taken a wrong turn. I looked around and spotted several police cruisers from the county's Sheriff's office parked outside an old house that looked to be abandoned. An old rusty truck was parked in the yard next to it, completely overgrown with bushes and grass. I drove up close and put my car in park, then got out. An old lady with a small white dog was standing there, peeking in.

  I walked closer, then caught the eye of an officer. I showed him my press card.

  "What's going on here? Can you tell me anything?"

  The deputy sniffled. "Two kids walked inside the house and found the body of a young boy, unfortunately. Must have snuck in and got himself hurt somehow. He could have fallen on his head, they assume. It looks like an accident, a truly terrible one, though."

  "That is awful. Wow, what a tragedy. Has the family of the child been notified?"

  He nodded. I could tell it affected him deeply, but he tried not to show it to me. "They're doing that as we speak. Wouldn't want to be in any of their shoes right now. Worst part of the job."

  "I bet. I can't even imagine having to tell parents that their child won't be coming home. It must be heartbreaking. Devastating."

  "It sure is, ma'am. It sure is."

  His eyes drifted away, and I could tell he had to go, so I smiled sympathetically and thanked him, then walked back toward my car. The old lady stopped me.

  "What a horror," she said. "What happened in there."

  "I know," I said. "It's tragic."

  She gave me a questioning look. "I haven't seen you before. You ain't from around here, are you?"

  I shook my head. "I’m just in town for a few days. I’m staying at the motel not far from here."

  "Ah, you're staying at Adeline's place. Well, that explains why you don't know the story."

  "Know what story?" I asked.

  "It's not the first time they’ve found the body of a young boy inside that house," she said. "Cursed, is what it is."

  I nodded and smiled. "Well, as tragic as that is that this isn't the first time this has happened, it is kind of dangerous to walk into an abandoned house and play. Cursed or not, the house ought to be demolished so it won't happen again."

  The Farmer's Market was an old southern-style buffet. It was also where they auctioned off cattle at noon on Tuesdays, I was told. People came from all over the state to sell off t
heir animals. Most of the cattle they were going to auction off the following day were already there, so there was constant noise coming from outside the building where I ate my fried chicken and cornbread. I was surrounded by mostly men—and some women—in their jeans, boots, and cowboy hats. I felt like I had landed in a time warp and had to admit I enjoyed it immensely, even though I couldn't really let go of the thought of that poor boy's parents whose world had just crashed. I would never forgive myself if anything ever happened to William. Barely had I finished the thought—or my food—before I received a text from Sune.

  WILLIAM WANTS TO SAY GOODNIGHT.

  I smiled, grabbed my phone, and walked outside. There was a row of rocking chairs on the porch, and I sat in one while holding my phone close to my ear, talking to my son, whom I was lucky enough to still have with me.

  9

  Webster, Florida 1979

  "They found someone. They found a boy!"

  Anna Mae stood by the end of the driveway and yelled at Carol. Carol walked out on the porch. The girl stared at her, her eyes beaming and a smile spreading across her lips. She hadn't seen Anna Mae all week and had been wondering how the girl was doing all alone with her mother. It was all she could think about lately, actually for the past many years since Anna Mae was hospitalized four years ago and had to have her stomach pumped. She had swallowed an entire jar of her mother's sleeping pills. At first, they believed that she had tried to commit suicide, but knowing Anna Mae, Carol knew that wasn't the case. The girl wasn't suicidal at all. No, Carol knew her sister, and she also knew her sister had probably forced Anna Mae to swallow the pills, trying to get rid of her. It wasn't the first time something like that had happened. When Anna Mae was younger, her mother had made her swallow stuff on several occasions as punishment when she had been bad, and oftentimes she had ended up in the hospital because of it. Why her sister wouldn't just let Carol take Anna Mae in and take care of her since she so obviously didn't want her, she didn't understand. She had begged her to let her have her so many times, but Joanna enjoyed saying no, enjoyed seeing her sister suffer when worrying about the poor child.

  "What are you talking about, sweetie? What do you mean they found a boy? What boy? Where?"

  "They found a boy inside the old house, the one on Second Street. He's dead."

  A furrow appeared between Carol's eyes. "I…what?"

  "Come on, Aunt Carol. Come and see. Everyone is down there watching. Come and have a look."

  Carol stared at her pretty niece with the angelic face and pageboy haircut. She wasn't sure she wanted to go. She wasn't sure she wanted Anna Mae to go down there and look at some dead boy either. It sounded awful.

  "Come on, Aunt Carol. You must come with me down there. It's spectacular!"

  Carol sighed, then closed the door to the house and followed the girl, who grabbed her hand in hers and dragged her down the street. It was hot and humid out, and after only a few feet of walking, she was already sweating.

  A crowd had gathered at the old house, mostly kids. There were several police cars parked both in the driveway and on the street. A deputy from the Sheriff's office was keeping people back, shooing the kids away, telling them to go home.

  Anna Mae pulled Carol close and pointed. "Look, there he is. Over there. They put him on a stretcher."

  Carol watched as the boy was carried out to the ambulance and put inside, then felt a knot in her chest. She knew the boy. He was the Petersons’ kid. Timothy was his name. He played baseball in the street with the other boys and would always nod and greet her politely. She had liked little Tim. He couldn't have been more than what, five years old? Carol shook her head. What a tragedy. What an awful, awful tragedy.

  "W-what happened?" she asked. "Is he…?"

  Anna Mae nodded. "Yes, he's dead. Like really dead."

  "But…how did he die? What happened to him? Does anyone know what killed him?"

  A woman standing not far from her turned her head and answered. "They said he fell and hurt himself. Must have been a freak accident. I always said they should have torn this house down many years ago or at least blocked it off so the kids couldn't run inside and get hurt."

  "Oh, that's awful," Carol said and clasped her mouth. She looked at her niece next to her. This was no place for children. "We shouldn't be watching this. Come on, Anna Mae; we're going home now."

  The girl looked at her like she had lost her mind. "I’m not going anywhere. I wanna watch. I wanna see the dead boy."

  Carol shook her head. "We shouldn't. This isn't a show; this is a scene of tragedy, and the police are asking people to leave, so we should. Come on. I'll take you home to your mom."

  Anna Mae pulled her hand out of her grasp. "All the other kids are watching; they're not leaving, so why do I have to? Why do I have to go home when they get to stay?"

  "Because it's not appropriate. And they shouldn't be here either. You're just a child, Anna Mae. You're supposed to be out playing, not staring at some dead boy. Besides, we need to let the police do their work. Come. I have some ice cream in the freezer we can get before I take you home."

  Anna Mae sighed, then looked at her friends in the crowd.

  "All right."

  10

  Margot Addington lived on a big estate about six miles from Webster. She had told me she could see me at ten o'clock the next day and I drove there early to make sure I would arrive right on time. I was a few minutes early, so I parked the car on the side of the road for a few minutes, texting Julie who had broken down earlier that morning and called me because she had a big math test today and she couldn't find her folder. Luckily, I knew where it was and was able to tell her. Now, I texted her to make sure she was all right before the test. She started the day with theater in first period, and the teacher sometimes let them be on their phones. She texted me back that she had found the folder and that she was okay, though she was scared and nervous since she had gotten a C on her last test.

  Julie's grades had taken a dip this past fall. It was only natural, I told her, going from elementary school to middle school. Everything was different…the routines, the classes, the teachers, and it took some getting used to. On top of that, she had to remember what she had been through and give herself a break. It was okay to accept a bad grade every now and then, and it was okay not to feel okay all the time. Processing what she had been through took time.

  Every now and then, Julie became an emotional wreck, and it made me feel so helpless. The counselor had told me it was very natural and to just let her have these episodes; she would always come back to me afterward. This was how she would learn to cope with her emotions. But it was tough seeing my girl struggle to deal with what went on inside of her.

  I had never been an overachiever myself in school, but Julie was different than me. She always got straight As and getting a C on a test crushed her self-esteem. She was ambitious, and I saw that as a good thing, but I feared for her mental situation if she kept pressuring herself the way she did. I didn't want her to become one of those perfect girls who thought all their worth was in getting straight As. Julie was so much more. She had saved the lives of several other girls last summer, and she was a lot stronger than she gave herself credit for. I saw greatness in her, but I wanted her to see it too.

  As time passed and it was finally ten o'clock, I drove up to the gate, then pressed the button on the intercom, and a voice answered. The gate soon opened, and I drove onto the estate.

  I had barely gotten inside before I realized they had horses. I had always loved horses, and Julie used to do a lot of horseback riding before we came to Florida. I had been meaning to find a place for her to start up again, thinking it would be good therapy for her.

  The main house was a large building looking almost like one of those mansions taken out of some old ‘80s TV show like Dallas or Dynasty. It was huge. I parked and got out, grabbed my computer bag, then walked up to the front door.

  An elegant woman wearing jeans, a soft silky shi
rt, and a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, greeted me. She had long blonde hair and seemed almost perfect in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable. She was nicely dressed, but not overdressed. She wore make-up but not so much it was visible.

  She was a woman who knew how to play her part.

  "You must be Rebekka Franck," she said and held out her hand.

  Her beauty startled me slightly, and I felt out of place, awkward even. I reached out my hand and shook hers, almost dropping the bag in my hand.

  "Yes, and you must be Margot Addington?"

  She nodded and smiled. "That I cannot run from. Let's go inside; shall we?"

  11

  "You're a very private person," I said after taking another sip of my coffee and putting the cup down. "I could hardly find any information about you online."

  We were sitting in Margot's office, and she had shown me where she worked. Her desk was placed by the window, with the most gorgeous view over a lake and the horses next to it. The room was covered with bookshelves from top to bottom. There was a calmness and quietness to it that I really enjoyed.

  "It’s very rare these days with the growing competition for readers’ attention. Today, most authors have a solid social media presence with many followers that they engage with daily. They do interviews for magazines and book signings that they remember to tell about on their blogs and Facebook. It's a big part of their marketing strategy, to be reachable, but not you. I take it you’ve never done any interviews before?"