“Where?”
“I’m not telling you, Sylvie. Because once I’m gone you’ll feel obligated to tell your parents, to give them the answer they want.”
She was right, of course, but I couldn’t help feeling surprised she’d figured that out about me. I would always give them the answers they wanted. “Well, even if you get to this friend of your mom’s, then what?”
“Then she will help me contact my mother.”
The two of us stood there a moment, staring at that X and Y.
“It’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got,” Abigail said finally. “So please. Help me.”
At last, I put down my books and descended those crumbling stairs into the old foundation, where I took the stone from her hand. The last time I had drawn on that wall, it was to create a pretend window, one with pink curtains that looked out onto a yard with lime-green grass and lavender flowers. Now, I drew a map of the path through the woods, past the poultry farm to the spot where you could hear the highway in the distance. “This would be your quickest way,” I told her. “The path opens up right behind this foundation. Just follow it to the highway. Then follow that into Baltimore. There must be signs for the train station, I’m sure.”
“Thanks,” Abigail said, sounding genuinely grateful. “But there’s one more thing. I need money, Sylvie. Enough for a train ticket at least.”
At some point during our late-night talks, I’d let slip a mention of those essay contests and how proud I was of winning them, how I’d been saving the money for something special, though I didn’t know what that was just yet. “Let’s go back to the house and have dinner,” I said, stalling before she mentioned the obvious. “Maybe go get ice cream and swim. It’s still warm enough.”
“No,” she told me. “It might still be warm enough for that. But it’s almost fall now, then winter will come. And he’ll be here to get me long before that. I have to do something. And I have to do it now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, giving the answer I know my parents would have expected of me. “But I can’t help you.”
I turned again toward the stairs, put my foot on the first step as a few chunks of the cement crumbled away. From behind me, there came a shuffling sound. A moment later, when I reached the top of the steps, I heard the smallest of moans before Abigail shouted, “Sylvie! Look at me!”
Something in me did not want to turn back, but her voice grew louder as she called out again. And when I looked at last, I saw that she was standing by those twisted iron rods, the ones Rose speculated had once been the start of a fireplace. Blood pooled on one of her open palms. The sight caused me to gasp.
“Now do you see?” she said. “I do have something inside of me? It may not be the demons other people talk about, but it’s something that makes me capable of hurting myself if I need to. Hurting other people too unless I get what I want. So please. What I want is your help.”
It seemed I should have made some sudden move, scrambled back down the stairs to help her by trying to stop the bleeding. Or run quickly as I could away from her before she tried to harm me too. But, no. I just stood at the top of those stairs, staring at her a long moment, watching blood drool down her fingers and drip onto the cement of the foundation. Neither of us said a word. And then came the sounds of another voice, calling “Sylvie! Abigail!”
It was my father.
“I have to go,” I said. “We both do. You’ve got to clean that wound and bandage it up.”
Abigail still did not speak, but she reached over and dragged her other hand across one of those rods, releasing another moan, louder this time as her face contorted in pain. When she was done, she held her blood-smeared hands out to me and said simply, “The money. I know you have it. I can’t ever promise to pay you back, but please.”
“Okay,” I told her at last, since it seemed the only way to make her stop. Still, I couldn’t help stalling if only to give me time to figure out the best way to handle the situation. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow. I need that money tonight. When I’m asleep down in the basement, bring it to me.”
“The basement?” I said, surprised. “Why would you be sleeping down there?”
“Because, Sylvie, that’s the other thing I have to tell you. Your parents are putting me downstairs on the cot tonight. That person I mentioned, the one who’s at your house right now with them, well, it’s your sister. You won’t be going to see her this weekend, because Rose has come home at last.”
Chapter 21
Help for the Haunted