“I know,” Cal said.
“He won’t give up. We’re his. That’s what he thinks. Me and Grace. And Agnes.”
She whispered the last word, the girl’s name.
“Did he really—?” Apollo’s question slipped out between his lips, but he squeezed them shut before he finished. It didn’t matter, Gretta knew what he meant.
She looked up at him. “Kill my daughter?”
The children went quiet and looked at Gretta. No matter the circumstances children are always listening. It can be easy for adults to forget this. Apollo wondered if Cal was correct when she said the kids didn’t know why their mothers brought them here. Children sniff out secrets better than the NSA. Their teacher had to clap softly and make shushing sounds to draw their attention again.
“But he said—” Apollo began.
Gretta lurched at him. “Oh yes, please tell me what he said! I came all this way just so you could explain my own life to me!”
Apollo took a step backward as Gayl shook in his arm. She looked at Gretta with suspicion. Few things are as frightening to a child as an adult about to lose control.
“Gayl looks hungry,” Cal said to Apollo, moving between him and Gretta. “Why don’t you take her to eat?”
Two women entered the library with the finished sets for the puppet show. The home of the parents who wished to have a child; the garden of the Enchantress; Rapunzel’s tower and even the patch of thorns that would blind the prince. A third woman entered with a rickety card table that would serve as the stage. Already the children had seen the sets, the bag of puppets dangling from one guard’s wrist, and went quiet at the promise of glamour.
Gretta’s concentration broke, and she looked back at Cal. “He got my new address. He mailed me a book.”
“A book?” Apollo whispered, but the women didn’t hear him.
“I thought you were being careful,” Cal said.
“It’s not possible to stay off the grid all the time, Pearl. It’s one thing on this island, but it’s the real world out there. If you want to get an apartment, you have to have proof of who you are. That means getting a state ID. And if you want to start a bank account, then you need that ID too.”
“Why do you even need a bank account?” Cal hissed.
“I live with a teenager!” Gretta shouted. The kids looked back again. “I can’t have my money stuffed under the bed. You know how fast Grace would find that? She’s a good girl, but she’s still a sixteen-year-old.”
Cal nodded wearily. The problem with the real world was that it kept intruding on you with its mundane concerns.
“A book?” Apollo said again, louder.
Gretta looked at the ground. “He ruined it. Wrote one thing across each and every page.”
Gayl made a soft mewling noise and gestured to her mouth. She wriggled in Apollo’s arms.
“I thought I told you to go feed that girl,” Cal snapped. “Take her to the goddamn Doctor’s Cottage. Gayl knows where it is. Don’t you Gayl?”
The girl nodded earnestly at Cal, so serious about it she shook her shoulders as well as her head.
“You’ll find food in the coolers,” Cal said.
Gretta spoke over Cal. “He cleared me out. Every last penny right out of my account. You don’t even need a gun to rob banks anymore, just an Internet connection. That bastard stole seventy thousand dollars from me.”
Apollo felt slightly sick.
“What did he write?” Apollo asked. “In the book.”
“Her name.” Gretta spoke softly. “Agnes. On every page.”
APOLLO WALKED TO the Doctor’s Cottage with Gayl. Stumbled is more like it. He didn’t even realize he’d taken her there. Seventy thousand dollars. As he’d been sitting in that rented boat, celebrating the biggest book sale of his life, he’d been complicit in a crime against Gretta Wheeler. Then the man had ruined every page with the name of his own daughter. Agnes. Had he really killed her? He felt so disoriented, he might as well be dying.
Apollo set Gayl down inside the dining room of the Doctor’s Cottage. The girl marched toward the row of coolers that lined one wall, her shoes shuffling and scraping through the layer of dirt and detritus that covered the floor. He searched through each cooler until he found a Tupperware container with leftover macaroni and cheese. He closed the cooler and dug through a cardboard box that worked as the community utensil drawer. Plastic forks, spoons, and knives, paper plates and cups. He moved to one of the dining tables and pulled out a chair, set down the mac and cheese, a fork and spoon, then picked Gayl up. He sat her in his lap and lifted the Tupperware lid. He remained half dazed, but he could still fulfill this simple routine: feed the child. Gayl eyed the food, then looked back up at him. She waggled her head. Apollo scooped the spoon into the mac and cheese. He lifted it to her mouth.
“No!” she shouted, and slapped his hand. The mac and cheese now a splotch on the ground.
Gayl pulled at the spoon. He let go, and she turned the spoon around with two hands, gripping the handle with her left. Now she studied the Tupperware as if taking aim. She lifted the spoon and guided it toward the food. The spoon bumped the edge of the container, so Gayl lifted it again, tried again. On the second try, she landed the spoon into the mound of macaroni. She dug the tip in like a spade. When she lifted again, she sent another spray of food to the floor.
“No!” she shouted, frustration clear on her face.
“You remind me of my wife,” Apollo said to her. She looked at him but did not seem interested in hearing about Emma. “My wife,” he repeated to himself, trying out the term. Had she killed their son? Or was their son still alive? Cal told him he’d crossed the waters into a land of witches and monsters. Could there be hope here, too? Such a thing seemed more improbable than magic. Cal had created a jumble in his mind, but all day a voice would sometimes come to him, his own, reminding him of his mission: Get Emma.
When he arrived on the island, the plan had been clear: Kill her. But now? Was he here to harm her or help? He couldn’t say. And where was she? Why hadn’t she shown herself? In a moment close to panic, he checked his left hand. He gawped at his naked ring finger. He really had thrown it in the water, hadn’t he? Only the red string around his middle finger remained now.
Gayl set down the plastic spoon. She tugged at the red string. When it wouldn’t come loose, she pulled it up along Apollo’s finger, trying to slip it off. Apollo used his other hand to snatch up the plastic spoon, scoop some macaroni onto it, and bring it to Gayl’s lips. She absently took a bite. Apollo grinned, proud of himself for tricking her into eating. Then she raised her hand with a flourish. She had worked the red string loose from his finger without him even noticing.
“Baby girl?” A woman’s voice came from the entrance to the Doctor’s Cottage.