All The Pretty Dead Girls

by John Manning

Genres: Thrillers

Synopsis

One By One. . . Two decades ago, at a private women's college in upstate New York, a student was brutally attacked in her dorm room. Her assailant was never found. . . They Disappear. . . Sue Barlow arrives at Wilbourne College twenty years later. When a classmate disappears, Sue thinks it's an isolated incident. But then two other girls vanish. . . And Die. . . As fear grows on campus, Sue begins to sense she's being watched. And as the body count rises, she soon realizes that a twisted psychopath is summoning her to play a wicked game--a game that only will end when she dies. . . "If you like Dean Koontz, you'll love John Manning!" --Wendy Corsi Staub, New York Times bestselling author

Release date: March 30, 2009

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 510

Sample

The white Lexus was doing exactly one mile over the speed limit when it crossed the Louisiana state line.

It had started to rain just outside of Jackson, Mississippi—a steady downpour the wipers simply couldn’t keep up with. Visibility was impaired enough to force Sue to slow down to a crawl as she passed through the city.

Sue’s shoulders tensed as she watched the red taillights of the Jeep Cherokee in front of her. She had been driving almost nonstop for nearly two days now. The other girls on campus had been thinking about their exams, about what they’d do on their upcoming holiday breaks. But Sue’s mind had been on one thing and one thing only. Getting away. There had been no other choice.

She snapped on the radio, trying to relieve the tedium of the drive and the steady, pounding rain. “Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” a voice sang from the radio. “Let your heart be light…”

Christmas. It was almost Christmas. It didn’t feel that way to Sue, with the warm, muggy rain.

“From now on, our troubles will be out of sight…”

She was crying. She switched off the radio. She preferred the silence.

Sue glanced back in her rearview mirror. She wasn’t really sure who—or what—she was looking for. In the rain, she couldn’t see anything but headlights anyway. But somehow it made her feel better to look back every now and then. Her nerves, already shot, began to fray a little as she kept taking her foot off the gas pedal to avoid slamming into the car in front of her.

“Come on, come on,” Sue muttered under her breath, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. The wind and rain whipped against the side of the car with a long, screeching howl.

It seemed to take hours to get through Jackson, but once she did, the thick traffic began to disperse. Finally, she was able to start getting her speed back up. As soon as she clocked seventy-one, she clicked on the cruise control and removed her foot from the gas pedal with a sigh of relief. Her right hip was getting sore, and she shifted a little in her seat. Cars and trucks flew past her in the left lane, throwing up streams of water onto her windshield. No matter how tempting it was to speed up, she resisted the urge and kept relying on the cruise control. She couldn’t risk being pulled over.

It was just paranoia, she knew. Surely, there was no rural Southern sheriff watching for her. In all likelihood, there wasn’t anyone at all on the road looking for her. But better safe than sorry.

I just don’t know, Sue reminded herself, and until I do know, it’s better not to take any risks—and not to trust anyone. If I try to tell anyone—they’ll just think I’m crazy, and they’ll turn me over to Gran and Granpa. I can’t risk that.

A sob rose in her throat, but Sue fought it down. Don’t cry again, that’s a waste of energy. I have to focus. I have to keep my mind clear and not give in to emotion. I’m almost there. It’s only a few more hours at most, and then I can take a break, get some rest, and maybe find some hope…

But for how long could she afford to rest? Sooner or later, she knew, they’d come for her. They wouldn’t just let her get away.

She still had over five hundred dollars in cash in her purse, but there was no telling how long that would last. She was afraid to use her credit cards and her debit card. She’d paid cash at that horrible cheap motel just outside of Richmond, Virginia, where she’d grabbed a few hours of desperately needed sleep before hitting the road again. She couldn’t leave any electronic traces behind—that would make it too easy for them to find her. She’d left her cell phone back at her dorm room in upstate New York, buying a cheap disposable pay-as-you-go one at a Wal-Mart somewhere in northern Pennsylvania as she headed south. She’d worried about her license plates, wondering if there was a bulletin sent out with a description of her and her car—but if it came down to it, there was the gun in the compartment between the seats. She wasn’t sure if she would actually have the nerve to use it, but it was there in case she needed it.

I hope I don’t have to use it, she thought, glancing down at the armrest where it was hidden. But she would if she had to.

The highway was wet and the rhythmic sound of the water being thrown up by the wheels against the car made her even sleepier. She was exhausted. It had been almost sixteen hours since she checked out of that miserable motel and hit the road. Outside of stopping for gas and a quick run to the bathroom, she’d been driving—and her legs and back were stiff. She could feel knots of tension in her back, and her left elbow was sore from resting on the car door. Her eyes burned with fatigue, her throat was dry, her lips chapped. She’d kept the window cracked, hoping the rush of cold air from outside would keep her awake. She glanced at her watch. It was almost two.

It can’t be much further, she reasoned. On the map Hammond looks like it’s almost in Mississippi. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and grimaced. Worse than how she looked, she could smell herself and it wasn’t pleasant—she smelled like sour socks. Her feet were sweating in her shoes. And now her stomach was growling. She hadn’t eaten since seven in the morning, when she’d stopped at a Hardee’s somewhere in north Alabama. She’d managed to choke down some sort of fried egg on a dry biscuit, washing it down with numerous cups of coffee. All she’d wanted to do was just put her head down on the table and go to sleep right there. But she’d forced herself to get a refill to go, and kept driving.

Got to keep going, Sue told herself, repeating the litany like a catechism. Don’t know when they might come after me, don’t know how much time I have, got to get there before they figure out where I’ve gone, got to get there while it’s still safe—if it ever was safe there in the first place.

She allowed herself to smile when she saw the big sign with the fleur-de-lis in the center, reading WELCOME TO LOUISIANA and BIENVENUE EN LOUISIANE underneath. She thought about stopping at the welcome area, but there were too many cars and trucks parked all around, and a quick glance down at her gas gauge, inching ever closer to the red, convinced her to keep going. She decided to take the next exit with a gas station, fill up the tank, use the restroom, and get something to snack on, maybe another cup of coffee. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of more coffee—especially gas station coffee. Maybe a soda, she thought. I’m almost there, it can’t be more than another hour, maybe I can make myself stay awake till I get there without more coffee.

After crossing the state line, she took the next exit, pulling into a deserted Texaco station. It was a typical roadside gas station, two islands with numbered pumps, a little food store for snacks, and restrooms. Through the rain she could discern Christmas lights strung along the outside of the building, blinking red and green and yellow. Signs all over the glass front announced sales on beer, soda, and the availability of Louisiana lottery tickets. The jackpot for the next drawing was fifty-three million dollars.

A lot of good that would do me, Sue thought.

She noticed off to the side of the station a battered-looking Toyota was parked, with bumper stickers plastered all over the trunk and rear bumper: YOUR MOTHER WAS PRO-LIFE. GOD CREATED ADAM AND EVE NOT ADAM AND STEVE. JESUS DIED FOR YOUR SINS. SUPPORT THE TROOPS. A metal fish symbol was affixed to the lower trunk close to the bumper and next to the license plate, just below a huge yellow ribbon.

She felt an inexplicable surge of panic.

Get out of here, get back on the highway, stop at the next station, there’s got to be a better place than this, raced through her head before she got a hold of herself again. I need gas, and I have to go to the bathroom.

Just be goddamned careful, that’s all.

Sue pulled to a stop at the pump closest to the store entrance and stepped out of the car, shivering against the chill in the air. The rain was letting up. She stretched—she hadn’t been out of the car in over four hours since stopping at a rest area—and her knees and back popped in places. It felt good to stand up. She bent over to stretch her back a little more, and twisted at the waist a bit.

She walked over to the door and pushed it open, greeted by the high-pitched wail of a Christmas carol—Rockin’ around the Christmas tree, have a hap-pee holiday—and a blast of hot air. Sue smiled at the girl behind the counter and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, she locked the door. The bathroom smelled vaguely like pine. It was relatively clean—she’d used worse on this trip—but she wiped down the seat anyway before dropping her jeans. She let her head rest on her hands. Almost there, she reminded herself as her eyes began to droop.

Washing her hands, she ran the sink water until it was hot, then splashed it into her face. She grabbed her brush out of her purse and ran it through her blond hair. What a mess, she thought, grimacing at her reflection. Whatever happened to that pretty college freshman?

She never really existed, Sue thought with a terrible sensation in her chest.

When her hair was in some sort of order, she dropped the brush back into her purse and looked again at herself in the mirror. That’s better. Not pretty, but at least presentable. Her hair needed to be washed—a shower would be heaven—but she dried her face and walked out of the bathroom.

At the counter, a fresh pot of coffee was almost finished brewing. The coffee in the other pots looked like mud, scorched by hours on their burners. Her stomach growled again. A glass case full of doughnuts next to the coffee stand enticed her. She opened the case and picked up two glazed doughnuts, slipping one into a bag and taking a bite out of the other as she waited for the pot to stop brewing. She finished the rest of the doughnut, dropping a third into the bag, and poured herself a large cup of the fresh coffee. After adding creamer and sweetener, she took a sip. Not bad for gas station coffee, she thought.

The girl working behind the counter was about Sue’s age. She was short and carrying an extra thirty pounds, give or take. A home perm had frizzed her mousy brown hair around her head. She looked as if she’d received an intense electrical shock. Her cheeks were thick, narrowing her brown eyes until they were almost invisible. Acne scars pitted both cheeks. Her lips were thin and painted orange. Her plump arms were freckled where they extended out from her blue smock, and on the upper left arm in blue script the name Jason was tattooed. The smock was open, revealing a black T-shirt with A Touch of Class silk-screened in gold over her breasts. A charm bracelet jangled as she punched numbers into the register. On her heavy left breast a name tag read MYRNA LEE.

“New York plates,” Myrna Lee said, gesturing with her head out the window. “You’re a long way from home.” Her voice was high-pitched and her accent thick. “Don’t see many of those around here.”

Sue offered the clerk a small smile. “I want to get twenty in gas, too.” Act normal, like anyone else. That’s the most important thing. Don’t act funny in any way.

The register beeped as Myrna Lee typed that in. “Twenty-three forty-seven.” The clerk grimaced, her lips pulling back to expose crooked yellow teeth. “Where ya heading, so far away from home?”

She’s just making conversation to be polite. Or—she could be one of them…

A chill went down her spine. “Los Angeles,” she lied, handing over a twenty and a ten, trying to keep her hand from shaking. “Going to go live with my boyfriend.”

Myrna Lee took her money, but kept her beady eyes fixed on her face.

“How far is the next town, or where I can get something to eat?” she asked the clerk, who finally averted her eyes. She felt could feel her heart pounding.

“We-ell, let me think.” Myrna Lee put her change down on the counter and tapped her chin. “There’s Amite, Shiloh, Independence, then Tickfaw, and then Hammond. I reckon it depends on how hungry you are. There are more choices in Hammond, I’d imagine. College town.”

“And how far is that?” Don’t act too interested in Hammond. Even if she isn’t one of them, they could always ask her, and you don’t want to give too much away.

“Twenty, thirty minutes maybe. It ain’t far.”

“And New Orleans?”

“New Orleans? ’Bout another hour past Hammond.” Myrna Lee grimaced again. “It ain’t the same since the hurricane, though. You just keep taking 55 past Hammond, and then you go east on I-10. You pick it up out in the swamp. I-10’ll take you right to New Orleans.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You have a happy Christmas now.”

Sue wished her the same, then picked up the doughnuts and coffee and walked back out to the car. Hooking the nozzle into the tank and setting the latch so she didn’t have to hold it, she wolfed down the doughnuts. Then she took another long sip of the coffee. When the gas tank clicked that she was full, she replaced the nozzle back onto the pump and climbed back into the car.

She sat there for a few moments after starting the ignition. It was still raining, and an eighteen-wheeler flew past on I-55, throwing up a huge spray of water.

“Almost there,” she said out loud, and then felt panic starting to creep into her brain.

What if this was all for nothing? What if there’s nothing she can do to help me? What if she’s not even there? What if there’s nothing anyone can do to help me? I don’t even know why I’m going to see Dr. Marshall—but she is an expert, and the girl said she could help me. But this could still all just be a fool’s errand, the delusions of a crazy girl, a crazy girl who claims she—

“Stop it,” Sue said, pounding the steering wheel with both hands. “This isn’t going to help.”

Her eyes filled with tears. Sue sat there for a full minute and let the panic sweep over her. Her body began to tremble, and she put her head down on the steering wheel and let the tears come. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and regained control of herself. “Okay, that’s enough of that,” she said aloud.

She glanced out the window. Myrna Lee had come outside and was staring at her, smoking a cigarette. Sue wiped at her face, smiled, and gave Myrna Lee a friendly wave, even though fear was starting to inch its insidious way back into her mind. So much for acting normal, she thought grimly as she slipped the car into gear and rolled out of the parking lot. I need to put some distance between me and this place.

There was no traffic coming, so she sped up as she headed back onto the highway. The eighteen-wheeler was just taillights in the mist far ahead of her. She got the car back up to seventy-one miles an hour and turned the cruise control back on, then allowed herself to relax a little bit. But within a few miles, she was back to glancing in the rearview mirror every minute or so to make sure no one was behind her.

I’m being stupid, Sue reminded herself again. Even if they are coming after me, how would I know it was them behind me? I wouldn’t know until it was too late, until they had me—

“Stop it,” she said, and turned the radio up louder.

Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plain…

She wished so much she had managed to grab her iPod, or at least a handful of CDs.

Every muscle, every bone, every joint in her body ached with fatigue. Sue’s eyelids began drooping again. The coffee hadn’t helped at all, other than to churn up more acid in her stomach. She grabbed the pack of Rolaids she’d bought a hundred years ago, it seemed, in North Carolina and chewed on two. Rolling the window all the way down in spite of the rain, she took a long deep breath of cold air. Her hair blew back into a mass of tangles and her teeth began to chatter, but it was better than falling asleep again.

She flew past the exits for Amite, Tickfaw, and Independence, glancing down at the directions she’d printed off the Internet just before taking off on this nightmare drive. The first Hammond exit wasn’t the right one, so she kept going. The traffic was getting heavier, but it was the second turnoff she wanted. She slowed down at the bottom of the off-ramp and turned left, heading into Hammond. She passed a Lowe’s, a Wal-Mart, and the numerous fast-food places that always gathered in small towns near the highway exit. Her stomach growled again and she thought about going to a drive-through, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. I’m almost there. I can worry about getting something to eat after I’ve gotten out of this goddamned car and talked to Dr. Marshall.

Even though it was early afternoon, the wet streets were packed with cars crawling along as she passed parking lot after parking lot. Christmas shoppers, she thought. Once she had loved Christmas. Once it had been a festive time for her, but now it terrified her.

She dreaded what might come on Christmas Eve.

She passed a Raising Cane, a Sonic, a Wendy’s, and the sight almost made her cry again. No, no, you’re almost there, keep going. The road swerved to the right and she followed the curve, and started passing into a residential area. The street she wanted was two blocks past the railroad tracks, and she turned right, watching the house numbers. She struggled to keep her eyes open and focused. She’d gone two blocks when she found the house she wanted, and turned into the driveway, parking behind a black Chevrolet SUV.

The house was a three-story clapboard Victorian, complete with a cupola. Dormer windows peered out from what was probably a half-attic. A porch ran the distance of the house and curved around it, disappearing behind in the back. The windows were large, and the whole place needed painting. The lawn was also in disrepair, with exposed areas of dirt. Towering pines shot upward with lower branches sparse and brown.

Yet the windows were lit up with blue Christmas lights, and a huge Christmas tree, unlit, stood in a window at the corner of the house. Gray smoke rose from a chimney. She smiled. Someone must be home.

Still, she sat in the car for a couple of moments, and felt the fear start to snake through her body again.

What if this was all for nothing? What if she has no answers for you? What if she thinks you’re crazy, and calls them to tell them you’re here? What if there’s nothing she can do to help you?

“No,” Sue whispered, gripping the steering wheel with both hands until her knuckles whitened. “Stop it. You’re here.”

She steeled herself, and got out of the car. It was raining hard again, so she grabbed her backpack and ran up to the front door. Without any hesitation, she rang the bell. Footsteps sounded within the house, and she sagged against the door frame with relief.

The door opened. The woman who stood in front of her was in her early fifties, wearing a red and black checked flannel shirt over jeans and fuzzy blue house slippers. Her short dark hair was shot through with gray, and reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Sue?” Her eyes grew wide. “What on earth are you doing here?”

She pulled the younger woman into a hug.

“But thank God you’re all right! I’ve been worried sick about you.”

Sue couldn’t say anything. All of her weariness suddenly seemed to overcome her. She just clung onto Dr. Marshall.

The older woman stepped back and looked at her. “Are you okay, Sue? You look terrible! What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

“Just really tired, Dr. Marshall.” Sue gave her a weak smile. Her legs felt like they might buckle at any moment. “I had to come. I had to see you.”

Dr. Marshall stepped aside and Sue brushed by her into the house. “Ever since I got that e-mail from you, I half expected this,” the older woman said. “Sue, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.” Once inside Dr. Marshall’s house, Sue began to tremble. “I need your help. And I’m so tired—so very tired.”

“Well, yes, of course I’ll do whatever I can. Come on in.” Dr. Marshall gestured into the living room. “Have a seat here. Can I get you anything? You must be hungry.” She followed the younger woman into the room, standing over Sue as she nearly collapsed on the sofa. “I haven’t been to the grocery store—but I’m sure I can make you a sandwich or something.” She stared down at Sue, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Sue, you look terrible. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Sue laughed bitterly. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

The room was warm, comfortable. The furniture didn’t match, and there was a thin layer of dust on the tables. A fire blazed in the fireplace. Books were piled everywhere, and overflowed from bookshelves on the walls. A frayed Oriental rug covered the hardwood floor in the sitting area.

“Has anyone—” Sue’s words stuttered as she looked up at Dr. Marshall. “Has anyone been looking for me?”

“The college called here last night, wondering if I’d heard from you.” Dr. Marshall looked at her intently. “Would you like some tea? Coffee? A soda?”

Sue sat upright. “What did you tell them?”

“Well, you told me in your e-mail not to say anything to anyone.” Dr. Marshall shrugged. “Sue, what’s going on? What kind of trouble are you in? Apparently, your grandparents are frantic.” She leaned forward. “Don’t you want to call them?”

“No.” Sue replied definitively.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here—but they suspected I might come here. How could they have known? I got rid of the cell phone, and the phone I bought was untraceable…

Then it hit her.

They must have hacked into my e-mail account.

She fought back a sob. I’m not safe here, I’m not safe anywhere, they’ll find me wherever I run to…

“Let me get you that tea and sandwich, then we’ll talk.” Dr. Marshall headed out of the room, and Sue’s body slumped with fatigue and defeat against the back of the sofa.

Maybe Dr. Marshall won’t be able to help me, but at least I’m here. They might be able to trace me here, but I won’t be here that long. If they know I’m coming here, they’re probably already on their way. I could be putting her in danger. But if I tell her before I go, I might be safer. And once someone else knows, if anything happens to me…

She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to think about that.

She reached down, opened her backpack, and pulled a manila envelope out of it. The envelope was full of printouts, two separate groups rubber-banded together, which she placed on the coffee table. She could hear Dr. Marshall in the kitchen. She had everything in that envelope memorized, but she started reading the printout on top again.

VIRGIN SIGHTING IN MONTERREY

(from the Mexico City Sentinel)

 

LOS ZAPATOS—Thousands of the faithful have come to this tiny town in the desert of Monterrey to watch and pray for the Virgin Mary’s intercession.

Three young girls, all aged thirteen, went to their village priest just over a week ago to tell him of their miraculous vision. They were looking for a lost goat when, on a hilltop, the three girls heard a voice and looked up. According to the priest, Father Fernando Ortiz, the girls claimed that the “sun turned into a silver disk and moved across the sky until it was directly over their heads, where it began to spin, growing smaller and smaller until it winked out and darkness fell over the hills. Then, a small light appeared, and grew until it took the form of the Holy Mother, who then spoke to the girls. The Holy Mother asked them to pray for the repentance of mankind, and also spoke to them of other things, about which she swore them to secrecy.”

While the girls have steadily refused to tell anyone what the Virgin Mary told them, they have returned to the hillside every day, where they claim she reappears to them and gives them other messages, again swearing them to secrecy.

The news of the visions spread throughout the province, and now every day when the girls return to the hillside, they are joined by thousands of faithful Catholics, who maintain a distance from them while the girls are experiencing their visions of the Virgin Mary.

A spokesperson for the Archdiocese of Mexico City refused to comment on the sightings, saying only that the Church is taking these visions very seriously and is planning on conducting its own investigation into the sightings.

Sue paged through the clippings for the thousandth time. They were culled from newspapers and press services all over the world, and each one of them told a similar story—all within days of each other.

A young Catholic girl in a small rural village in Vietnam was marked with stigmata. There was another vision of the Virgin Mary in a remote village in the Philippines. In each case, the children were given a message and sworn to secrecy by the Holy Mother. In Poland, in Canada, in sub-Saharan Africa, in India. Stigmata, visions of the Virgin Mary—or if she appeared to non-Christian children, she was described in terms of their own religion. “A holy lady.” “The goddess of the sky.” One Chinese girl claimed a visit from Quan Yin, the female manifestation of the Buddha. The tabloids were having a field day. ARE THESE THE END TIMES? one headline screamed.

Sue’s hands shook as she paged through the clippings. All of the articles and stories in the first grouping were from twenty years ago. The second pile was from the last two months. They all consisted of the same type of thing: occurrences of stigmata and sightings of the Virgin.

Sue ran her hands through her unwashed hair. Maybe I have lost my mind. None of this will make any sense to anyone. All I have to go on is the word of two women, and both of them could be completely insane.

But if they’re insane, that doesn’t explain—

She choked back another sob.

Dr. Marshall came back into the living room, carrying a tray with a teakettle and two cups. There was also a sandwich on brown bread. Placing the tray down on top of several magazines on the coffee table, she poured a cup of tea for Sue and passed it over to her. She smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry, dear, all I had was peanut butter. I hope that’s okay. Maybe we could order a pizza or something?”

Sue picked up the sandwich. “No, this is fine for now.” She wanted to add, but didn’t: I don’t have a lot of time.

Dr. Marshall poured herself a cup of the tea, then picked up the pile of papers. She frowned as she paged through them all. “Sue—what are you doing with all of this?”

Sue let the tea warm her as she leaned back into the sofa. “Sometimes, I think I’m going insane, Dr. Marshall. I think I’ve completely and utterly lost my mind. But if I’m not—if I’m right—if everything I’ve been through, been told, and found out is true, I would rather be insane.” She laughed. “I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

“But I don’t understand.” Dr. Marshall riffled through the pile of papers again. “Why did you come here? Why did you bring this with you?”

“Because you’re the only person who would understand.” Because a woman in a psych ward told me to come here, that you could help me, that you were meant to help me, crazy as that might sound.

Dr. Marshall set the papers down and picked up her teacup. “This is all very interesting. Obviously, I’m very familiar with all of this, since I’m writing a book about sightings of the Virgin Mary.” She smiled. “I’ve even been to Los Zapatos, when those young girls were having their visions.”

“And what did you think?”

“Sue, dear, I fail to see how this—I mean, you came all this way to talk about sightings?”

“Please, just tell me what you think about the visions in Los Zapatos. And everywhere else.”

Dr. Marshall sighed. “The Church has never recognized any of these visitations as miracles, you know.” She took another sip of her tea. “Of course, if it had been just fifty years earlier, the Church would have been all over these incidents. Back then, they seemed to like to publicize them, to whip the devout into a bit of religious frenzy. But things have changed, and now the Church isn’t so sure…”

Sue closed her eyes.

Dr. Marshall studied her with concern. “But what does any of this have to do with you, Sue? Why have you run away, made your grandparents worry? This is not like you. Are you sure you don’t want me to call your grandparents, let them know you’re okay?”

“After I tell you—” Sue bit her lip. “Just let me tell you, okay? Then we can talk about my grandparents, if you want to.”

But I am not calling them, Sue told herself, and if you call them, I’m out of here.

“All right.” Dr. Marshall removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I won’t call your grandparents just yet. But talk to me, Sue. Tell me what’s going on, what’s got you acting so differently. Explain it to me.”

So Sue told her everything.

She talked for just over three hours. Dr. Marshall didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask any questions. She just let Sue talk until she finished, betraying no emotion on her face.

The clock on the mantelpiece read just past five thirty when Sue finished her story. The sun had gone down, and an automatic timer had turned the lights on. Every so often as Sue talked, Dr. Marshall had stood and put another log on the fire. The tea service still sat on the coffee table, the water gone cold, the cups untouched for quite some time.

They sat in silence, the only sound the occasional crack and pop from the fireplace.

“So,” Sue said finally, “do you think I’m crazy?”

“I’m not sure what to think, to be honest.” Dr. Marshall replied, standing up and picking up the tray. She carried it out of the room.

She does. She thinks I’m crazy.

Sue shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. The streetlights outside had come on, throwing strange-looking shadows into the room.

Maybe it was a mistake to come here. Maybe there’s no one who can help me.

But if it hadn’t all happened to me, I don’t know if I would believe it either.

Dr. Marshall walked back in, carrying two wineglasses and an open bottle of Shiraz. She poured herself a glass and placed the bottle and second glass on the table. She settled back into her chair. “Help yourself,” she told Sue.

“No, thanks.”

“Sue—” Dr. Marshall looked at her with stern eyes. “Surely you’re aware of how fantastic your story is.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t make it untrue.” She doesn’t believe me, Sue thought, clenching and unclenching her fists.

“But you don’t have any proof, do you?” Dr. Marshall asked gently. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“You don’t believe me.” Sue felt her eyes fill with tears of frustration. It had been a mistake to come here.

“No, that’s not quite true.” Dr. Marshall cleared her throat. “I don’t want to believe you. But I conducted a few investigations of my own before I left the college, and so parts of your story ring true.”

Sue moved forward in her seat. “Do you know then? Do you know what was going on there?”

Dr. Marshall took her glasses off and set them on the coffee table. “No, Sue. Like yourself, I have no hard evidence.” She shook her head. “But if your story is true…Sue, it’s frightening. Absolutely frightening. And without proof, I don’t know what we can do. No one will believe this, no one.”

“My grandparents lied to me. I can prove that.”

“But that doesn’t prove your story,” Dr. Marshall went on. “Your grandparents could easily explain away why they didn’t tell you the truth. I can think of any number of reasons myself they wouldn’t have told you.”

Sue stood up and walked over to one of the windows facing the front yard. A truck drove by as she watched. Show her, a voice within her whispered. That’s the only way to make her believe. You have to show her.

She resisted the voice, as she had any number of times since that horrible day.

“You really should call your grandparents and let them know you’re all right.” Dr. Marshall was talking behind her. “They’re worried sick about you.”

“No.” Sue replied. “They aren’t worried about me. Didn’t you listen to anything I said?”

She turned to face Dr. Marshall, who sat in silence now.

“I explained why they want to find me.” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “It has nothing to do with concern about me.”

“Sue…”

She wiped her eyes. “I’ll go. But promise me you won’t call them. You won’t tell anyone I was here.”

“Sue, you’re exhausted. I can’t just let you go—”

“You can’t stop me.” Sue was hard, angry. “Promise me you won’t call my grandparents.”

“All right. I won’t call them, if you don’t want me to. But I insist you not leave here until after you’ve rested a bit, gotten something more solid to eat than a peanut butter sandwich.” Dr. Marshall held up her hands. “And besides, I didn’t say I didn’t believe you, Sue. It’s just a lot—a lot to take in.”

“Swear to me you won’t call them.” Sue was fierce. “I’ll lay down, take a nap, whatever you want, but swear to me you won’t call them!”

“All right, I swear.” Dr. Marshall gave her a smile. “I won’t call them. But once you’ve gotten some rest…”

I never want to see or speak to them again, Sue thought, and no amount of sleep is going to change my mind.

Sue fell asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow.

Dr. Marshall closed the bedroom door and walked back downstairs into the living room. She refilled her wineglass and sat watching the fire for a moment. Picking up the pile of papers from her coffee table, she thumbed through them again. She’d read all this material before. She had most of it in her files and had, in fact, accessed information the news media had never gotten their hands on. She’d even been to visit many of these sites—and some that weren’t included in Sue’s folder.

She rubbed her forehead, remembering the terrible conversations she’d had with that police officer back in Lebanon, the college town where she’d spent several mostly unhappy years.

Dr. Ginny Marshall had come back to Hammond to finish her book. She’d been working on Sightings of the Mother now for almost twenty years. All too frequently, she’d get distracted from it, getting stuck in mindless academia and forced onto other, more mundane projects that resulted in other books. But she always cam. . .