Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,85

ago.”

She nodded. “I was frightened, but something had to be done. Over the years, I have read the stories of other teens, other young people, who have disappeared, usually visitors, people who wouldn’t be greatly missed. But I knew it was the rhapsody that had taken them, and it must be stopped. It must be stopped.”

“But how?” I saw lights. We were in a town now. It was a small town, but, as I had seen that night on the train, the occasional neon sign identified the businesses: Gatskill Diner, Gatskill Repairs, Gatskill Library. Then, nothing for a long time. I had braided my hair, as best I could, but there were several unbraided feet near my head where my hair had just grown. It would have to do. I held the end of my hair in one hand. The braid streamed behind me. Then, I saw a sign far ahead.

Red Fox Inn, it said.

As we drove closer, I heard a voice. Wyatt’s voice.

“The key,” it said. “I found the key.”

“What key?” I asked. Mama turned to me, and I gestured to my ear, so she would know it was Wyatt I heard, Wyatt to whom I spoke. His voice seemed clearer now, and I did not know if it was because we were closer now, or if it had something to do with my hair. I had first started hearing him when my hair began to grow.

“The key. In the hairbrush—your hairbrush,” his voice said.

“Hairbrush?” Then, I remembered. I had told him about the hairbrush I had when I was a little girl. That must be what he meant. But it was gone. I had not seen it in years. I turned to Mama. “When I was a little girl, I had a hairbrush, a pretty silver one with a flower design. What happened to it?”

She looked surprised, then said, “How strange. It just disappeared.” We were close now, and Mama slowed the car. I knew she was as reluctant to arrive as I was, more maybe.

“Wyatt found it.” I said, “Wyatt, where did you find it?”

“In a junk shop.” His voice was as clear as if he were standing before me. “It’s in my car, in a bag on the seat. I think you need it.”

We were not quite to the sign, but I gestured to Mama to slow down, to stop, before she got there. She had already been about to do so, it seemed, and she slowed the car and went a bit to the right, into a clump of brush by the road.

I said to her, “Wyatt says there’s a key in it that I may need. It’s in the car.”

Mama gestured toward a green car parked in front of the place. “My car.” She fumbled in her purse. “I have a spare set of keys to the door. But how did he know . . . ?”

“I told him about it, that you used to use the brush. Is the key anything special?”

“I don’t know. Suzie brought the hairbrush when she brought you. She said it was very important, that we must always hold on to it. I didn’t know why, though. I just thought it went with you, because you had such beautiful hair. I can go get it.”

“Maybe I should,” I said.

“No. You can’t.”

“But I must. This . . .” I gestured with my hair. “This shows that something is supposed to happen. I’m supposed to save Wyatt, maybe save . . . everyone.”

It was overwhelming to think of, but it was true. For so long, I had thought my life was worthless, that no one would be affected if something happened to me, if I didn’t exist. Now was the time to make my existence have worth, make it have value. And if I had to risk that existence, I had to.

I reached for the handle of the car’s door.

“Wait!” Mama said. “Just . . . please, let me get the key. We can look at it, and then, I will go to the door of the place and distract them.”

“But . . .” She was going to lock me in the car while she went out to look. I could not handle it.

“I know you’re right, Rachel, my darling Rachel. I’m not treating you like a child. I know you have to do this, find this. But if I distract them, you can sneak around and look for a door. Or for Wyatt.”

I nodded. It made sense. She opened the