Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,49

I was just looking for a way out of there. I found the receipt from the hardware store and wrote down my essentially worthless cell phone number. “Leave a message if I don’t answer.”

“I’ll do that. Hey, I’ll be seeing Carl tonight at Mahoney’s. Sure you don’t want to come?”

Poor old guy. He probably just wanted companionship, and here I was, treating him like an ax murderer. But I shook my head. I was entertaining enough old people already. “Nah, I gotta get back. Thanks, though.” I handed him the paper.

He took it. “I’ll be sure and ask.”

“Yeah, thanks. See you around.”

I waited, as politely as possible, for him to back away. Then, without bothering to put the window up, I tore out of there.

I went to the library and spent the next hour on old microfilms of the town’s newspaper. There was nothing about Danielle’s disappearance, not anywhere. They weren’t treating this as a cold case, but as no case at all. The police obviously assumed she’d run away.

I went back home, had dinner, and went to bed. Right before I turned in, I noticed it had begun to snow again.

27

Rachel

He didn’t come. I knew the rain would make it too difficult for him. Yet, somehow, I hoped he would come anyway. Now, Mama has left, and today is over. And, with it, any chance of seeing him. Perhaps I imagined him. It would not be impossible.

When I was a little girl, I imagined a playmate for myself, a little girl with red hair and freckles. Her name was Sarah, and she liked all the same things I liked, peanut butter sandwiches and playing with dolls. When we had tea parties, she would always let me have the last cookie. I taught her songs, and we danced and played games. She never neglected me.

What if Wyatt too was imaginary, like Sarah had been? What if I was slowly losing my mind?

No. The thing about Sarah was, she always did what I wanted her to do. Always. And that was because she was me, and I was her. She never disappointed me. She always showed up. Wyatt disappointed me precisely because he was real. He was a real boy who could not climb my tower in the slippery rain.

I walked to the window and opened it. A blast of cold air met my face, but I was still warm from the fire inside. I stared down, remembering yesterday, the feel of my feet on the sodden, snowy ground, the first time I had felt it since I had come here so many years ago. I glanced at my bed. The rope was under there. So strange, to have the means of escape at my disposal yet not go. Was I really not leaving because I wanted to stay? Or was it because I was afraid to leave this, my comfortable cocoon? If Wyatt didn’t come back, would I continue as I had been before, all alone, no contact with anyone? Could I be content to stay here alone? Had I ever been?

I gazed into the moonlight and saw that the rain had ended. Indeed, it was snow falling now, giant, lacy flakes that had already begun to whiten the trees.

I glanced at the rope again. Would he come tomorrow? I pulled the rope out from under the bed and tied it using the figure eight knot. Then, I threw it out the window so it dangled and fell all the way to the ground.

I closed the window as best I could and went to bed. In my darkened room, I tried to imagine he was there. After all, I had seen him before, in my dreams. But now that he had been there in the flesh, I could dream him no longer.

That’s how I knew he was real.

28

Wyatt

When I woke the next morning, it was still dark. The house was quiet. Still, I opened the window, half expecting to see Danielle again. Nothing there. But by the slim circle of moonlight, I could tell it had snowed all night long, snowed deep enough to obliterate any memory of grass. I stood for a second longer, listening for a voice on the wind. For a second, I thought I heard it. Then, it faded away. I started to put down the window. It was old and hard to pull up on, and as I struggled with it, I felt a chill run through my arms. Then, my entire body. At the