“Any luck?” Dad asked from the stairs. The bang had just been Dad, coming upstairs from the kitchen.
Still, Mom pried at the floor. “I think we’re getting somewhere,” she said. Sweat speckled her lip and breath rushed from her mouth as if she’d been running.
“Good,” Dad said. He was still in his coat. Inside his coat, Charlie knew, he was thin and cold. He carried mugs that clattered in his shaking hands. Tea for Mom, coffee for himself, cocoa for Charlie.
“The chief’s leading the villagers on a search of the south woods again,” he said. He put Mom’s tea down where the floor used to be and put his hand on her head. “I’m going to warm up in the attic before I head out again.”
“The chief?” Mom said. “What about the FBI? Shouldn’t they be in charge?”
“I think they’re chasing other leads,” Dad said.
“Can I go with you to the attic, Dad?” Charlie asked.
“Be my little listener while you’re up there,” Mom said. “There isn’t as much insulation, so you might hear something.”
“We’ll both listen real hard, Cee,” Dad said. “We promise.”
Mom smiled at him almost as if none of the bad things had happened.
When Dad and he reached the tower stairs, they heard a shriek of wood as Mom tore out another chunk of the floor. She was hurting the house, and this seemed like a good thing.
“The villagers are searching the woods,” Dad said again when they were on the stairs. He pointed out the window where they could see rows of cars parked along the gravel drive. Flakes of snow hit the glass without making a sound. Charlie noticed little figures walking in a long line through the forest. It was strange to see people among the skeletons of the trees. Something about it didn’t seem right, but Charlie knew they were trying to find Bub.
“Does the chief know the man?” Charlie asked when they got to the attic. Dad’s walk with the chief had not lasted long, but Charlie thought something had happened.
“If the man is who we think he is. The chief recognized him from your sketch, and I remembered reading about him.” Dad flicked on a space heater and shuddered when the orange glow lit his face. “He used to live at the Crofts, but he started a fire. It was a long time ago, but people got hurt. We think he might be sick. He might be angry at us for living here.”
“I didn’t think he was angry,” Charlie said. “He seemed sad.” He had been thinking about this a lot. Over and over, he’d tried to remember the man’s face. Charlie was still afraid, but he wasn’t sure anymore if the man was what frightened him.
“You don’t have to worry about him. He’s not going to get you,” Dad said. “He’s not going to get you.” He said it again as he rubbed his hands in front of the heater. “He’s not going to get you.”
Charlie saw that Dad hadn’t shaved, and he brushed his hand against his cheek. The bristles were sharp and his hand came away wet from the places they’d thawed. Dad didn’t move when Charlie touched him, but he stopped saying the same thing over and over.
“He wouldn’t hurt me,” Charlie said. “I don’t think he’d hurt Bub, either.” If the man had wanted to hurt him, he could have at any time.
“But he took him,” Dad said, turning to Charlie. “He stole him from us.”
“I don’t know why he did that,” Charlie said. “But maybe he’s not bad.”
“Charlie, people can’t take children away from their families. That’s what bad people do.” Dad was starting to sound more like he was supposed to, and that was good.
“Maybe he had a reason.”
“No reason could be good enough. You understand that, don’t you?”
“He shouldn’t have taken Bub,” Charlie said. This was true. Bub belonged safe at home. But maybe doing something bad didn’t always mean that you were bad. There was an old couch by Dad’s desk, and Charlie lay down on it. He had to think more about this.
“Are you tired?” Dad said. “You can go to bed if you want.”
“I don’t want to sleep. I feel…” He did not know how to tell him. Feelings moved inside him, and they came together in ways that made him forget their names. Feelings that came from what had happened and what had yet to happen. “Like when the phone rang that night when Mom was sick and Grams was in the hospital,” Charlie said.
“When she died?”
“Yes. It made me feel…tight inside.”
“Like you were nervous?”
“Like when you know something bad’s going to happen,” Charlie said. “I heard the phone and I knew you would be sad. It made me tight inside.”
Dad looked sad now. Charlie wondered if, when Dad thought of Grams dying, he now also thought of Bub.
“Bub’s not dead, Charlie. You can’t even think it,” Dad said.
Charlie wondered if he had been reading his mind. Sometimes Dad could do that.
But Bub could be dead. He could be dead, and they wouldn’t even know.
Tears pushed at Charlie’s eyes, and he looked away so Dad wouldn’t notice. From the windows here, he could see all the way to the top of the mountains. Even the tallest trees looked like toys compared to the mountains. The world was so big, and Bub was so small.
Even with Dad here and Mom downstairs, Charlie was afraid. He’d been afraid ever since he saw the man kill the deer in the faerie circle. Maybe ever since he’d been locked in the furnace room back in the city. Maybe even before that. Fear had sat next to his heart like a seed waiting for water as long as he could remember. Like a strange flower that waited until the worst of winter to bloom.
“Why did we come here?” Charlie asked, as he tried to bury himself in the couch’s cushions. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he could tell from the way Dad startled that he had.
43
“Why did we come here?” Charlie asked.