No Humans Involved
Page 111
Jeremy, Eve and Kristof debated the options. I acted as "translator," but didn't enter into the discussion. My mind was made up. I had to free those children. No one else could do it for me, and I wasn't taking the chance that I would be prevented from doing so, or even delayed.
I readied my arguments, but didn't need them. No one wanted to wait.
EVE HAD Kristof scouted the garden recruiting and organizing Tansy, Gabrielle and the other ghosts to stand guard. We mapped out all police activity and devised a route that would take us into the garden from the neighbor's yard, and keep us away from the crime scene.
Then Jeremy Changed. Even in human form, he'd be quicker to pick up approaching officers than the ghosts, but if seen on a crime scene, he'd be in trouble. A canine, on the other hand, was just a nuisance-warranting a call to the dogcatcher at most. And, if I needed a distraction, a huge black dog would be just the thing.
THE SPOT Eve had chosen for the ritual was ringed with ghosts, most of whom I'd never seen before. They said nothing, as if they feared distracting me. A smile here, a nod there, then they returned to their solemn vigil.
I walked along the path, down the gauntlet of guards. My kit was in the house, but I didn't need it. My role here was simple. I was the magnet to draw the children from wherever they were hiding.
"Are you here?" I whispered.
Silence. Something moved to my left and I looked over sharply, but it was only a breeze rippling the rose bushes.
"Hello?" I said, as loud as I dared. "I'm back. Are you still here?"
No one answered.
"I haven't been around much lately. And maybe, what's been happening here, it's scared you. But it's over now and I can help."
A sigh. My skin prickled. The wind rustled through a tree and the sigh came again, a loose branch creaking softly.
I talked some more, aware even as I did that they almost certainly couldn't understand me even if they were close enough to overhear. Yet I kept talking, hoping the sound of my voice would draw them in.
The garden stayed silent and still.
I closed my eyes and thought of Rachel Skye, the girl Eve had contacted. A child I knew only as a body in a garden. A young girl, taking a shortcut home from school to see her favorite show, murdered and dumped in a garden. I thought of the others, all the children whose touches and pokes I'd felt, whose voices I'd heard, those who didn't have names and stories and maybe never would, not for me.
I thought of Brendan, little more than a child himself, stoic in his fate, as if it was the price one paid for following a dream. I thought of the young teens I passed on the street in L.A. and Chicago and every other big city, all the lost children. And, just for a second, I thought of myself, of my own child, lost all those years ago.
Something grazed my arm. I opened my eyes tosee Jeremy. Drawn by my thoughts, concerned. He glanced at me. Then his attention was snagged by something to the left and he tilted his head, confusion in his eyes. I followed his gaze, but saw only the ghosts standing guard.
Fingers tickled my cheek. More brushed my hair. The whispering began. I went still, straining to hear, convinced I was imagining it. Then Eve stepped through the rosebushes.
"They're here," she said.
WITH THE arrival of the children, my role ended and Eve and Kristof's began. They knelt on the path and prepared to conduct the ritual the Fates had given them. Kristof set up the materials. Eve recited the incantation. Jeremy stood silently at my side. The children patted me and whispered. I don't think I breathed through the entire thing.
When Eve finished the incantation, the touches and whispers of the children stopped. I swear my heart stopped with them. I looked around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of them, praying something hadn't gone wrong.
Then I saw a faintly shimmering form. Then another. A third. A fourth. As faint as Brendan had been.
Slowly the tallest form materialized. A boy about thirteen. Dark eyed, probably Latino, with hair that fell into his face, reminding me of J eremy. I instinctively smiled, and the boy's gaze went to me, head tilted, as if trying to figure out what I was looking at.
"Hello," I said.
He smiled. "Hi."
Another of the forms materialized. A girl about eleven, with lanky dark blond hair held back in butterfly clips.
"Rachel?" I said.
My voice caught as I remembered what I'd done to her, seeing those bony fingers frantically clawing the air.
"Rachel, I-"
She ran over and threw her arms around me and I swear, for the briefest second, I felt them. Then her hands passed through me. Eve came up behind her and knelt, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders as if to reassure her that she could still touch someone.
Behind Eve, another girl had appeared. A couple of years younger than Rachel, with cornrows and glittering earrings that caught the light as she looked around, uncertain, as if she didn't quite recognize the world from this side of the veil. I walked over to her and bent down.
"Hello, there. I'm Jaime. And who would you be?"
Maybe not the right question to ask a traumatized child, but she met my gaze and smiled, as if finding something she did recognize.
" 'Lizbeth," she lisped.
I looked up at the older boy.
"Manny," he said before I could ask. "Manuel Garcia."
"Todd," said a voice behind me.
"Chloe Margaret Fisher," said another.
I turned to see a boy about eleven, chubby with wild red hair. Behind him stood a pretty brunette around the same age.
I readied my arguments, but didn't need them. No one wanted to wait.
EVE HAD Kristof scouted the garden recruiting and organizing Tansy, Gabrielle and the other ghosts to stand guard. We mapped out all police activity and devised a route that would take us into the garden from the neighbor's yard, and keep us away from the crime scene.
Then Jeremy Changed. Even in human form, he'd be quicker to pick up approaching officers than the ghosts, but if seen on a crime scene, he'd be in trouble. A canine, on the other hand, was just a nuisance-warranting a call to the dogcatcher at most. And, if I needed a distraction, a huge black dog would be just the thing.
THE SPOT Eve had chosen for the ritual was ringed with ghosts, most of whom I'd never seen before. They said nothing, as if they feared distracting me. A smile here, a nod there, then they returned to their solemn vigil.
I walked along the path, down the gauntlet of guards. My kit was in the house, but I didn't need it. My role here was simple. I was the magnet to draw the children from wherever they were hiding.
"Are you here?" I whispered.
Silence. Something moved to my left and I looked over sharply, but it was only a breeze rippling the rose bushes.
"Hello?" I said, as loud as I dared. "I'm back. Are you still here?"
No one answered.
"I haven't been around much lately. And maybe, what's been happening here, it's scared you. But it's over now and I can help."
A sigh. My skin prickled. The wind rustled through a tree and the sigh came again, a loose branch creaking softly.
I talked some more, aware even as I did that they almost certainly couldn't understand me even if they were close enough to overhear. Yet I kept talking, hoping the sound of my voice would draw them in.
The garden stayed silent and still.
I closed my eyes and thought of Rachel Skye, the girl Eve had contacted. A child I knew only as a body in a garden. A young girl, taking a shortcut home from school to see her favorite show, murdered and dumped in a garden. I thought of the others, all the children whose touches and pokes I'd felt, whose voices I'd heard, those who didn't have names and stories and maybe never would, not for me.
I thought of Brendan, little more than a child himself, stoic in his fate, as if it was the price one paid for following a dream. I thought of the young teens I passed on the street in L.A. and Chicago and every other big city, all the lost children. And, just for a second, I thought of myself, of my own child, lost all those years ago.
Something grazed my arm. I opened my eyes tosee Jeremy. Drawn by my thoughts, concerned. He glanced at me. Then his attention was snagged by something to the left and he tilted his head, confusion in his eyes. I followed his gaze, but saw only the ghosts standing guard.
Fingers tickled my cheek. More brushed my hair. The whispering began. I went still, straining to hear, convinced I was imagining it. Then Eve stepped through the rosebushes.
"They're here," she said.
WITH THE arrival of the children, my role ended and Eve and Kristof's began. They knelt on the path and prepared to conduct the ritual the Fates had given them. Kristof set up the materials. Eve recited the incantation. Jeremy stood silently at my side. The children patted me and whispered. I don't think I breathed through the entire thing.
When Eve finished the incantation, the touches and whispers of the children stopped. I swear my heart stopped with them. I looked around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of them, praying something hadn't gone wrong.
Then I saw a faintly shimmering form. Then another. A third. A fourth. As faint as Brendan had been.
Slowly the tallest form materialized. A boy about thirteen. Dark eyed, probably Latino, with hair that fell into his face, reminding me of J eremy. I instinctively smiled, and the boy's gaze went to me, head tilted, as if trying to figure out what I was looking at.
"Hello," I said.
He smiled. "Hi."
Another of the forms materialized. A girl about eleven, with lanky dark blond hair held back in butterfly clips.
"Rachel?" I said.
My voice caught as I remembered what I'd done to her, seeing those bony fingers frantically clawing the air.
"Rachel, I-"
She ran over and threw her arms around me and I swear, for the briefest second, I felt them. Then her hands passed through me. Eve came up behind her and knelt, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders as if to reassure her that she could still touch someone.
Behind Eve, another girl had appeared. A couple of years younger than Rachel, with cornrows and glittering earrings that caught the light as she looked around, uncertain, as if she didn't quite recognize the world from this side of the veil. I walked over to her and bent down.
"Hello, there. I'm Jaime. And who would you be?"
Maybe not the right question to ask a traumatized child, but she met my gaze and smiled, as if finding something she did recognize.
" 'Lizbeth," she lisped.
I looked up at the older boy.
"Manny," he said before I could ask. "Manuel Garcia."
"Todd," said a voice behind me.
"Chloe Margaret Fisher," said another.
I turned to see a boy about eleven, chubby with wild red hair. Behind him stood a pretty brunette around the same age.
