She looped the town center and then took the small highway away from The Hollows. The farther she got, the better she felt, as if her lungs could take in more air, her shoulders straighten.
The negative energy of The Hollows could not be denied. It was no secret to Finley, who felt it constantly. The Hollows boasted an anomalous number of missing persons, of miscarriages, of accidents and unexplained events. Throughout its history, there had been brutal murders, witch burnings, and horrible mining accidents. There’s a powerful energy here, Eloise had said more than once. It’s not always positive, it’s not always negative, but it always demands something of people like us. Though to look at its bustling, precious town center, you’d think it was the prettiest, most idyllic place on earth. People moved their families here to get away from the crime and chaos of the big city, vacationed here for its natural beauty and places like the Old Mill and the apple orchards and the famous pumpkin patch in autumn. The Hollows didn’t mind visitors; it put on its Sunday best for those folks.
“It’s a hell mouth,” Amanda was famous for saying. But Finley’s mother was the ultimate drama queen. It wasn’t enough just to say that she didn’t like The Hollows, that the town where she grew up was full of bad memories. She had to hate it, to disavow it completely. But Amanda was like that about everything—restaurants, fashion trends, Finley’s friends. It wasn’t enough to just say that something was not for her; she had to declare it unfit for others as well.
As soon as she was able, Amanda had gotten as far away from The Hollows as she could without leaving the country, as far away from Eloise and her abilities as national boundaries would allow. Finley’s childhood visits to the place were brief and tense. Any mention Finley made of liking it there or of missing Eloise was met with a very particular kind of ashen-faced silence from Amanda.
When Finley decided to come to The Hollows to be with Eloise, to understand herself better, Amanda took it as a personal affront. “You’re doing this just to hurt me,” her mother had said, holding back tears. Finley denied it. But in moments in which she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that it was a little bit true. Her move to The Hollows was proof positive that Amanda couldn’t control Finley, as hard as she tried. The Hollows, the motorcycle, Rainer, the people who weren’t there. There was nothing Amanda could do about any of it.
Now, as Finley sat in front of Agatha’s house for a moment, head aching, hands shaking, she wondered if her mother had been right after all to try to keep her away. And if she’d been right about that, what else might she be right about? Finley tried to keep from going down the rabbit hole into a universe where Amanda might actually know what she was talking about.
Finley climbed off her bike and jogged up the porch steps, knocked on the big white door.
She’d gone home first, to Eloise. But Eloise was not there, which was surprising because Eloise seemed always to be at home lately. Finley had walked through the house and in the kitchen checked the calendar. There was a single entry for the day. Eloise had scribbled: Dr. A. Finley made a mental note to ask about it.
After another knock, she pushed through the open door. Agatha’s house was as big and white, as still and curated as a museum. The triple-height foyer, with its gigantic entry table and towering vase of flowers, made Finley feel tiny as she walked down the long hallway that led to Agatha’s big sitting room.
Agatha got up from her seat by the fire and met Finley with a warm embrace in the center of an enormous oriental carpet. Finley’s nerves immediately calmed as they sat on the plush white sofa.
Over in front of a row of windows that looked out onto a pool surrounded by a beautiful garden of trees and flowers was a long glass table. Agatha used it as a desk, and there were two large silver computers sitting there, as well as a laptop. Finley knew Agatha monitored the world news obsessively, always in tune with what was going on—she was a wellspring of facts and knowledge. Education only makes us better at what we do. The more we know, the more we can understand. The more we can understand, the more we can help them and each other.
“Tell me,” Agatha said. They sat on the couch facing each other, Finley kicked off her boots and pulled her feet up beneath her to sit cross-legged.
Finley told her about squeak-clink, the little bird, the boy with the train, the reappearance of Abigail. She recounted her visit with Jones and what happened at the lake house. When she was done, they sat a moment, looking into the fire.
“You’re shaken by your experiences,” Agatha said finally.