All the Little Lights
Page 88
“I’m not leaving,” Elliott said, his voice breaking.
Mrs. Mason pushed Elliott to the side and limped one step forward, standing tall in defiance of Duke. “Come with us, Catherine. Right now.”
I took off Elliott’s hoodie and my boots.
“What are you doing?” Duke barked.
I held my finger to my mouth and tossed them all to Elliott. Duke took another step, and I stood between them. “No,” I said firmly, the way Dad use to speak to our dog.
Elliott gave Mrs. Mason the sweatshirt and my boots, leaning down to help her slide her bloody bare feet inside each one. He stood when she swayed, keeping her on her feet.
“Catherine,” she began, holding the hoodie to her chest.
“Put it on,” I commanded.
She did as I asked and then reached for me again. “Catherine, please.”
“Shut up!” Duke barked.
“I told you not to speak!” I screamed, my body shaking with anger.
Duke dropped the twine, took two steps, and raised the bat with both hands. I turned and closed my eyes, waiting for the blow, but nothing happened.
My eyes popped open, and I stood upright, seeing that Elliott was holding Duke’s wrist, glowering at my assailant. Elliott’s voice was low and menacing. “Don’t you touch her.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Elliott
Mavis’s eyes softened as she looked at my fingers curled tightly around her squishy wrist. She tried to swing the bat at me, but I caught it, ripping it from her fingers. Seconds before, she had been stronger, more like my uncle John.
“Put it down!” I growled.
Mavis pulled her wrist from my grip, holding the hand I’d restrained to her chest.
“How dare you. Get out! Get out of my home!” Mavis said, taking a few steps back.
Catherine held out her hands as if she were trying to calm a wild animal. “Mama? It’s okay.”
Mavis sat on her haunches in the corner of the room, grabbing her knees, rocking and whimpering.
Catherine knelt in front of her mother and swept Mavis’s tightly wound curls from her face. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I wanna go to bed,” Mavis said in a child’s voice.
“Shhh,” Catherine said. “I’ll take you to bed. It’s okay.”
“Oh my God,” Mrs. Mason whispered from behind me. “How many are there?”
“How many of what?” I asked, feeling more confused by the second.
“Seven,” Catherine said, helping Mavis to her feet. “Mrs. Mason, this is . . . this is Poppy. She’s Duke’s daughter, and she’s five.”
“He didn’t mean it,” Mavis said, wiping her cheek. “He just gets mad sometimes, but he doesn’t mean it.”
“Hi, Poppy,” Mrs. Mason said, attempting to smile while she hugged her middle. My sweatshirt swallowed her, and even with the added layer and the boots, she still shivered. Her face was paling by the minute. “Oh.” She leaned against me, and I held her against my side. “I’m dizzy . . . and nauseous. I think I’m going into shock.”
“You’re not looking so good,” I said.
Mavis began brushing off her dirty shirt.
“My goodness,” Catherine’s mom said in a different voice, “I have been doing laundry all day, and would you look at me.” She smiled at us, embarrassed. “I’m a fright.” She looked to Catherine. “I told that man not to. I begged him. Duke doesn’t listen. Doesn’t listen at all.”
“It’s okay, Althea,” Catherine said.
What I was seeing didn’t make sense. It was as if Catherine and her mom were playing a prank, with Mavis speaking in different voices and Catherine acting like it was normal was real. I watched it all in disbelief.
“Catherine?” I said, taking a step.
Mavis dropped to the floor and crawled toward me on all fours like a dog, but her movements were rigid and unnatural. I stopped and stepped back, feeling Mrs. Mason’s nails claw into my shoulders.
“What the . . . ,” I said, leaning back.
Catherine ran to stand between me and her mom. “Mama!” she cried, her voice desperate. “I need you! I need you right now!”
Mavis stopped at Catherine’s feet, drew her knees to her chest, and curled into a ball. She rocked, and the basement got silent as she hummed the same tune from Catherine’s music box, then giggled.
“Elliott,” Mrs. Mason whispered. “We should go.”
She tugged on my arm, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Catherine. She tended to her mother, waiting for Mavis to speak, waiting to hear who she was talking to.
“There are no guests, are there?” I asked.
Catherine looked up at me, her eyes wet. She shook her head.
“That’s the secret,” I said.
“Catherine, come with me,” Mrs. Mason said, reaching for her. She paused, reacting to the sound of sirens in the distance.
Mavis lunged for Mrs. Mason’s arm, grabbing it with both hands and biting down.
Mrs. Mason screamed.
“Stop! Stop!” Catherine yelled.
I grabbed Mavis’s jaw and squeezed. She groaned, growled, and then whimpered, releasing Mrs. Mason’s arm and crawling away. She sat and then began to laugh uncontrollably, throwing her head back.
Mrs. Mason held her arm out and yanked up the arm of my hoodie, pressing her fingers into her skin just above the wound. Six holes in a perfect crescent shape oozed crimson.
“Did you . . .” Catherine swallowed, looking nauseous. “Did you take Presley?”
Mavis’s expression changed. “We saw her sleeping in her room. She was so peaceful, like she hadn’t just tried to leave you stranded. So Duke wrapped his fist around all the pretty blonde hair, and we yanked her out her window. No one keeps their windows locked in this town.”
“Chicago,” I said, recognizing the voice. The same one that had come to Catherine’s bedroom door and tried to come in. “That’s Willow.”
“Where is she?” Catherine asked. Her body was stiff, waiting for the answer.
“No one came for her.” Willow smirked. “I don’t know what happened. But I know Duke buried her in the dirt plot next door with the others.”
“The Fentons’?” Catherine asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“That’s right,” Willow said. She turned, walking to the chair Mrs. Mason had been tied to. “That little bitch sat in her own shit for days. Right here.”
Catherine’s expression crumpled. “Mama,” she cried. “I can’t follow you here.”
“Go, baby,” Mavis said, a tear streaming down her cheek. She sounded like Althea again. “Hurry.”
Catherine pushed me backward. “Go,” she whispered, speaking through her teeth.
“Not without you,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
“I’m going! Go!”
I scooped Mrs. Mason into my arms and walked up the stairs backward, making sure Catherine was following.
The laughing stopped, and a man’s voice growled. Loud footsteps stomped up the stairs, and Catherine ran.
“Go! Run!” she pleaded.
At the top of the stairs, Catherine closed the door behind her. She locked it, touching her forehead to the wood. She sniffed a few times and then looked at Mrs. Mason, exhaustion in her red-rimmed eyes. “She’s not down there.”
Mrs. Mason pushed Elliott to the side and limped one step forward, standing tall in defiance of Duke. “Come with us, Catherine. Right now.”
I took off Elliott’s hoodie and my boots.
“What are you doing?” Duke barked.
I held my finger to my mouth and tossed them all to Elliott. Duke took another step, and I stood between them. “No,” I said firmly, the way Dad use to speak to our dog.
Elliott gave Mrs. Mason the sweatshirt and my boots, leaning down to help her slide her bloody bare feet inside each one. He stood when she swayed, keeping her on her feet.
“Catherine,” she began, holding the hoodie to her chest.
“Put it on,” I commanded.
She did as I asked and then reached for me again. “Catherine, please.”
“Shut up!” Duke barked.
“I told you not to speak!” I screamed, my body shaking with anger.
Duke dropped the twine, took two steps, and raised the bat with both hands. I turned and closed my eyes, waiting for the blow, but nothing happened.
My eyes popped open, and I stood upright, seeing that Elliott was holding Duke’s wrist, glowering at my assailant. Elliott’s voice was low and menacing. “Don’t you touch her.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Elliott
Mavis’s eyes softened as she looked at my fingers curled tightly around her squishy wrist. She tried to swing the bat at me, but I caught it, ripping it from her fingers. Seconds before, she had been stronger, more like my uncle John.
“Put it down!” I growled.
Mavis pulled her wrist from my grip, holding the hand I’d restrained to her chest.
“How dare you. Get out! Get out of my home!” Mavis said, taking a few steps back.
Catherine held out her hands as if she were trying to calm a wild animal. “Mama? It’s okay.”
Mavis sat on her haunches in the corner of the room, grabbing her knees, rocking and whimpering.
Catherine knelt in front of her mother and swept Mavis’s tightly wound curls from her face. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I wanna go to bed,” Mavis said in a child’s voice.
“Shhh,” Catherine said. “I’ll take you to bed. It’s okay.”
“Oh my God,” Mrs. Mason whispered from behind me. “How many are there?”
“How many of what?” I asked, feeling more confused by the second.
“Seven,” Catherine said, helping Mavis to her feet. “Mrs. Mason, this is . . . this is Poppy. She’s Duke’s daughter, and she’s five.”
“He didn’t mean it,” Mavis said, wiping her cheek. “He just gets mad sometimes, but he doesn’t mean it.”
“Hi, Poppy,” Mrs. Mason said, attempting to smile while she hugged her middle. My sweatshirt swallowed her, and even with the added layer and the boots, she still shivered. Her face was paling by the minute. “Oh.” She leaned against me, and I held her against my side. “I’m dizzy . . . and nauseous. I think I’m going into shock.”
“You’re not looking so good,” I said.
Mavis began brushing off her dirty shirt.
“My goodness,” Catherine’s mom said in a different voice, “I have been doing laundry all day, and would you look at me.” She smiled at us, embarrassed. “I’m a fright.” She looked to Catherine. “I told that man not to. I begged him. Duke doesn’t listen. Doesn’t listen at all.”
“It’s okay, Althea,” Catherine said.
What I was seeing didn’t make sense. It was as if Catherine and her mom were playing a prank, with Mavis speaking in different voices and Catherine acting like it was normal was real. I watched it all in disbelief.
“Catherine?” I said, taking a step.
Mavis dropped to the floor and crawled toward me on all fours like a dog, but her movements were rigid and unnatural. I stopped and stepped back, feeling Mrs. Mason’s nails claw into my shoulders.
“What the . . . ,” I said, leaning back.
Catherine ran to stand between me and her mom. “Mama!” she cried, her voice desperate. “I need you! I need you right now!”
Mavis stopped at Catherine’s feet, drew her knees to her chest, and curled into a ball. She rocked, and the basement got silent as she hummed the same tune from Catherine’s music box, then giggled.
“Elliott,” Mrs. Mason whispered. “We should go.”
She tugged on my arm, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Catherine. She tended to her mother, waiting for Mavis to speak, waiting to hear who she was talking to.
“There are no guests, are there?” I asked.
Catherine looked up at me, her eyes wet. She shook her head.
“That’s the secret,” I said.
“Catherine, come with me,” Mrs. Mason said, reaching for her. She paused, reacting to the sound of sirens in the distance.
Mavis lunged for Mrs. Mason’s arm, grabbing it with both hands and biting down.
Mrs. Mason screamed.
“Stop! Stop!” Catherine yelled.
I grabbed Mavis’s jaw and squeezed. She groaned, growled, and then whimpered, releasing Mrs. Mason’s arm and crawling away. She sat and then began to laugh uncontrollably, throwing her head back.
Mrs. Mason held her arm out and yanked up the arm of my hoodie, pressing her fingers into her skin just above the wound. Six holes in a perfect crescent shape oozed crimson.
“Did you . . .” Catherine swallowed, looking nauseous. “Did you take Presley?”
Mavis’s expression changed. “We saw her sleeping in her room. She was so peaceful, like she hadn’t just tried to leave you stranded. So Duke wrapped his fist around all the pretty blonde hair, and we yanked her out her window. No one keeps their windows locked in this town.”
“Chicago,” I said, recognizing the voice. The same one that had come to Catherine’s bedroom door and tried to come in. “That’s Willow.”
“Where is she?” Catherine asked. Her body was stiff, waiting for the answer.
“No one came for her.” Willow smirked. “I don’t know what happened. But I know Duke buried her in the dirt plot next door with the others.”
“The Fentons’?” Catherine asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“That’s right,” Willow said. She turned, walking to the chair Mrs. Mason had been tied to. “That little bitch sat in her own shit for days. Right here.”
Catherine’s expression crumpled. “Mama,” she cried. “I can’t follow you here.”
“Go, baby,” Mavis said, a tear streaming down her cheek. She sounded like Althea again. “Hurry.”
Catherine pushed me backward. “Go,” she whispered, speaking through her teeth.
“Not without you,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
“I’m going! Go!”
I scooped Mrs. Mason into my arms and walked up the stairs backward, making sure Catherine was following.
The laughing stopped, and a man’s voice growled. Loud footsteps stomped up the stairs, and Catherine ran.
“Go! Run!” she pleaded.
At the top of the stairs, Catherine closed the door behind her. She locked it, touching her forehead to the wood. She sniffed a few times and then looked at Mrs. Mason, exhaustion in her red-rimmed eyes. “She’s not down there.”
