We turned off Main Street and walked the block to Beck Street, keeping to the shade as we passed the rows of well-kept houses and neatly mown lawns. The streets were wide, probably a holdover from the days when frontier settlers used wagons with full teams of horses. The asphalt was old and crosshatched with lines of tar, the decades of wear and repair covering the streets in a kind of black, sticky lace. The sidewalks were dotted here and there with new slabs to replace older ones that had buckled over time.
We reached Ms. Glassman’s house, but as Brooke started toward the porch, I put a hand on her arm. “Who are you?”
“Still Brooke.”
“You’re better with people than I am—”
“You’re great with people.”
“—and I need you to handle this, okay? I don’t know how to ask a stranger to stay in her house.” I stammered, searching for words. “I-I don’t even know where to start.”
“Don’t worry,” said Brooke, putting her hand on mine. I relished the touch, counting slowly to five, then pulled my hand away. She walked to the door, and Boy Dog and I followed.
Ms. Glassman opened the door with a frown of confusion. “Yes? Is there something I can … Marci!” Her eyes lit up with recognition. I’d forgotten we’d given her that name. “And David! I didn’t expect to see you again! What brings you back to Dillon?” Her face fell immediately. “Oh, please tell me you’ve already heard the news; I couldn’t bear to be the one to give it to you.”
“We saw it on the TV,” said Brooke, and she surprised me by opening her arms and stepping forward for a hug. Ms. Glassman hugged her back, cooing softly. “We met Derek the night we were here—I guess that would have been two days before he died. We hung out with him and his friends and I can’t help but think that … that maybe if we’d stayed a few days longer he would have been somewhere else, or doing something else, and maybe he wouldn’t have—”
“You stop that talk right now,” said Ms. Glassman, stepping back and looking Brooke in the eyes. “It’s not your fault, and don’t think for one minute that it is.”
“I know,” said Brooke, “I know, but it’s just … But I suppose it’s been even harder on the rest of you.”
“If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine,” said Ms. Glassman, “for not dragging that family back to church when they stopped going.”
“Was there a church event the night he was killed?” I asked.
Ms. Glassman looked at me oddly, as if surprised by the question. “The church is a help and a protection. If they’d had the Holy Spirit in their home this never would have happened.”
“We thought it would be nice to come back for the funeral,” said Brooke. “We’re just drifting anyway, walking the land before we go back to college. Do you know when it’s going to be?”
“Monday,” said Ms. Glassman, “if the police are done with it by then. Luke says they will be.”
“Luke,” I said, remembering the name. She’d said it before … one of her relatives?
“We don’t have a lot of money,” said Brooke. “Is there a … really cheap motel in town?”
Ms. Glassman shook her head. “The Stay-Thru, but it’s terrible—they charge too much for the garbage you get, and if they charged less it’d only be worse. There’s a bed-and-breakfast, of course, but that’s ridiculous, and I’m sure we can find you a place to stay. I’d offer you the spare bedroom here but Luke’s in it, naturally, so that’s out. Maybe Ingrid.”
“Luke is your brother,” I said. “He left right before we got here on Sunday.”
“Good memory,” said Ms. Glassman with a smile, turning to close and lock her door. “He came in for his birthday, since we’re the only two left in the family, but now he’s back, of course.”
“He was a friend of Derek’s family?” asked Brooke.
“Only in passing,” said Ms. Glassman, walking toward the street and beckoning us to follow. “He’s here for the investigation. He’s with the state police.”
I glanced at Brooke, and followed behind as she caught up to Ms. Glassman and made idle chatter. We didn’t go far—the town was too small to have a “far”—though the eerie, empty streets made the walk seem longer than it was. I felt like the whole town was watching us through their windows and was glad we were with a known member of the community. Marci’s point about how going to church would help us to be accepted into their community, instead of being outsiders, was comforting; I could only hope it turned out to be true.
And what about the church itself? Was Ms. Glassman’s comment about protection just typical religious faith or something more? We didn’t know what Attina did, or how; what if it was something like Yashodh and his cult? Was Derek’s family punished for leaving the community? Did that mean the Withered we were looking for was the pastor?
This was nothing but idle speculation. I had no evidence, just vague, paranoid theories. There was a Withered demon somewhere in the shadows of this town, but only in one of them. The rest of the shadows were empty.
I hoped.
I recognized Ingrid’s car in the driveway of an old, single-story house, but Ms. Glassman led us past it to the next house, and as we got closer I could see that the figure on the neighbor’s porch was Ingrid herself. She banged on the door and called out in a voice that was thin but loud.