“Something of her drives his hate—it was fleeting, but it was there—though nothing of her endures.”
“Why?”
“Who can say?Because if she’s dead, her passing was sudden and relatively painless?Or the opposite: it was drawn out and agonizing, and she was grateful when the hurting came to an end.”
Sabine picked at donut crumbs, wetting a finger to lift them to her mouth.It was such a quotidian act in the midst of an odd conversation, and I was reminded that she lived ceaselessly with what she spoke of, and so the extraordinary had become as common to her as the salvaging of the final flakes from a pastry.
“I said that some aspect of Mallory Norton was fueling Scott’s hate,” she resumed, “but that hate has been weaponized by an outside force, the same force that’s binding together the lost dead of the Kennebec.It’s using them for its own ends—and to amuse itself, because I also felt that from it—but it’s not part of those woods.It’s trapped in them, but it’s learned to reach out from its prison to manipulate its environment, and that reach is extending all the time.It’s filled with memories, but it moved so fast that I had an impression only of agelessness.But just as one can identify familiar faces in a crowd, I picked up on names from it.Among them was yours.Another was that of your friend Louis.”
“What does it want?”I asked.
“An end to its suffering.”
“And does it have a name?”
“Yes,” said Sabine.“It calls itself Brightwell.”
Chapter 94
By the lake, Jennifer Parker spoke.
“Brightwell,” she said.
Beside her, Martin started in dismay.He knew of Brightwell and his kind.How could he not?They had been responsible for Martin’s death.
“Why are you saying that name?”
“It’s him,” Jennifer replied.“He’s the one trying to recalibrate the machine.”
Chapter 95
It was all shadows now.Dusk had waned into early evening, but come winter, dusk would hardly register at all.Come winter, there would be only light and dark.
Sabine Drew and I were seated in the living room of Mallory Norton’s home.Mallory’s parents sat opposite us, with an empty space between them on the couch.It could have been left for their missing child, in the hope that she might yet return home, but it also represented the growing distance between husband and wife.Their daughter’s absence was slowly sundering them, aggravating faults and fractures in their relationship that predated her disappearance.Were Mallory to come back, the marriage might survive; if she did not—when she did not, by Sabine’s reckoning—the chances were that it would fall apart.
And meanwhile, a name echoed in my mind:
Brightwell, Brightwell.
Sabine had introduced me as someone who wanted to help.Both parents were wary but not hostile.Their clothes were crumpled, their manner resigned.They were losing hope and preparing for the worst.
“We were warned people might come,” said T.K.Norton.“You know, looking for money in return for finding our daughter.”
“We’ve had calls,” said his wife.“Emails too.”
T.K.Norton continued as though she had not spoken.
“Some of them, the police said, wouldn’t even ask for money.They’d want to get involved because it made them feel important.But whoever took Mallory might be among them, so we’re obliged to report every contact.”
He grimaced at Sabine.
“A detective named McKibben vouched for you after your lastvisit.He said that while he couldn’t accept you are what you claim to be, he couldn’t explain you any other way.He told us you’d located missing persons in the past, and even if you couldn’t help, you wouldn’t do us any harm.We just shouldn’t get our hopes up.”
His eyes flicked to me.
“What about you, Mr Parker?”
“I don’t want your money,” I said.“As for harm, the worst has already been done to you.”
