At this point, accounts diverge due to the chaos of the situation. While the guests of more advanced age began to leave the Crofts, others rushed to find the remainder of the children and escort them to safety. It was at this point that Mr. Tanner and his burning rake were found. Upon discovery, the teenager ran out of the house, attempting to hide in the estate’s south woods.
While the children were being counted and escorted from the house, other adults attempted to extinguish the blaze. By most accounts, they initially succeeded in stemming the spread of the conflagration. At the time, they were unaware that the fire had already pressed inside the walls and reached the second story. Just minutes before the Swannhaven fire volunteers arrived, the wood-beam supports in the affected section of the house collapsed, crushing several in the wreckage.
In the articles Ben had read, John Tanner was never depicted as anything more than a caricature. Ben didn’t find this surprising. A story like this needed a villain. Tanner was put through the usual paces and sent to the Lockwood Institute, a state psychiatric facility.
Ben was about to Google the Lockwood Institute when the nurse from the priory called his cell phone. “A nosebleed and a fainting spell” was how she described what had happened to Charlie.
When Ben found her, Caroline was still in the dining room. She sat at one head of the table, contemplating the grain of its wood. He was relieved to see that the place mats and silver had all been rearranged, but for some reason the forks were on the wrong side of the plates.
“The nurse from school says Charlie’s sick, so I’m going to pick him up,” Ben said. Charlie hadn’t been sick for years. Children his age were walking petri dishes, but he’d seemed impervious.
Caroline turned to him and shook her head, as if roused from sleep.
“What?”
Ben told her what the nurse had told him.
“Poor little guy,” she said. There was a slur to her voice, as if she were drunk. “Did the flowers come yet?”
“I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.”
“Can you call them from the car? The number’s on a card on the kitchen table. If they haven’t left, you can pick the flowers up on the way back from school.”
“Where’s the florist?”
“In North Hampstead.” Caroline stood up haltingly from the table.
“That’s sort of in the opposite direction from the school.”
“Hopefully they’re on their way, then.” Caroline looked and sounded disoriented, and Ben wondered if she, too, was coming down with something. A household brought low by the flu: a fitting way to cap off the year.
“The forks go on the left side,” he said. He left her frowning at the silverware.
Something sweet was baking in the kitchen, and the smell reminded Ben that he was hungry. He’d had an early breakfast and it looked as if he was going to have a late lunch. On his way out the door, he picked up an apple along with the florist’s card.
Outside, the wind had started up again, and Ben remembered the storm. He tightened a scarf around his neck and wondered what the Drop would look like under the blankness of the snow. Leaving the Crofts without Hudson still felt like venturing into the world without a limb. Ben tried not to think about it.
The Escape’s steering wheel was like ice. He held the florist’s card with one hand, activated the car’s voice dialing, and began reading the number aloud. Halfway through, a flash of movement drew his eyes to the windshield.
He swore and slammed on the brakes. He heard the spray of gravel rattle across the road’s surface.
Mrs. White stood by the path, staring at him.
She was on the side of the road this time, so he wouldn’t have hit her, but she’d still scared the hell out of him.
“Mrs. White!” he called as he jumped from the running car. “Are you all right?”
The old woman shook her head. Her lips moved, but, like last time, Ben couldn’t hear her. Her hands fluttered at her sides. She wore a man’s plaid hunting jacket, and beneath it she looked as frail as a skeleton.
“How about you get in the car and get warmed up?” He stepped a little closer to her. “Come on, now.” He had the idea that she might bolt if he moved too quickly. She continued to mouth something. Though her mind was lost, her milky-blue eyes still held a startling lucidity.
When he got close enough, Ben dipped his head to bring his ear closer to her trembling mouth. It was the same word again and again. After listening for a few moments, Ben understood.
“Swann? Do you want to go to the Swanns’ old house?” he asked. Mrs. White shook her head slowly.
She reached for him, and her mouth stopped moving. Her well-used face still reminded Ben of his grandmother’s, but the resemblance was diminished in the light.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. He took the apple out of his jacket pocket. He held it out to her and her fingers grazed its green skin. Then her eyes widened and she whipped her hair around as she ran back into the trees.
Ben called after her, but she didn’t stop. She darted through the forest, gliding through its pillars with barely a rustle. He cursed and hurried back to the car to turn off the engine and put it into park. By the time he’d turned back to the woods, she was hidden from sight. Ben picked his way after her, first jogging and then running as best he could around the trees. The forest here was dense, thick enough to crowd out the sunlight no matter the hour. Sometimes Ben thought he caught the flash of the woman’s coat through the shadowy trees, but then it would disappear just as quickly.
Eventually he stopped. He’d lost his bearings in the dark forest, and Mrs. White could be anywhere. The wind didn’t penetrate this deep into the wood, and as Ben noticed the stillness, he got the disconcerting sense of being watched. He spun around, but all he saw were the expanding rings of trees and the shadows that bound them. Clouds of tiny crystals exploded from his mouth with every breath. Ben looked up at the gray sky through the barren branches; he didn’t know what to do but turn around.
—
“Hi, buddy,” Ben said when he saw Charlie.
The nurse’s office had a partitioned section with three small beds. Charlie was lying on the farthest one, staring out the window.