Chapter V. 2007 #3
When the service began, she rose on cue and went through the motions.
A bowed head as the worship leader started a prayer—an opening act before the singing and her father’s appearance.
When the worship service began, she mouthed the lyrics even as she swept her gaze over the rear pews, looking for Brianna.
An ache traveled the length of her body as she remembered that Brianna would not be there, and that she didn’t know how long Brianna would not be there.
At least Noah was in his place in the Whitten family pew. He was a little rumpled—his hair uncombed, his shirt in need of ironing, and his eyes red-rimmed—but relief settled over her at the sight of him. Even if nothing else felt solid, Noah was there.
Together—the congregation, her mother, Camilla—they waited for her father. For Pastor Burson.
When her father finally appeared, it was without the usual accompanying music. He strode to the pulpit, his Bible in hand, immaculate in his navy suit. The silence thick as he stared down at them.
“Before we begin, I need to share something with all of you. Our sister Tania Fullerton has gone to be with the Lord. Many of you have already heard, but she was found this morning.” He waited as the news rippled through the congregation; his head bowed as they whispered.
Camilla’s eyes burned, and she resisted the urge to rub them. So not missing then. Tania Fullerton was dead.
She felt her mother go rigid, her muscles drawing up tight as her breath hitched. Tiny sips of air that kept her back straight and gaze forward. Stalwart. Steady. The responsibility of the preacher’s wife.
Camilla had never considered how her mother might struggle under such a burden. She slipped her hand into her mother’s. Squeezed and felt the smallest bit of anxiety dissolve when her mother squeezed back.
“I’ve already told the police they have our full cooperation. If anyone has any information, I urge you to speak with them.”
There were no more whispers. No more exclamations. Only a shocked silence as the reality of what happened to Tania Fullerton settled over them. Investigation meant it had not been a natural death. Investigation meant something terrible had happened.
“Let us pray,” her father said.
But Camilla could not pray. The room was too hot.
Too close. The crush of bodies around her pressed in as nausea rolled through her.
She stood and pushed past her mother, stumbling as she exited the pew.
She kept her head down so she would not see anyone staring at her, and hurried to the restroom, which was, thankfully, empty of anyone to hear her puke her guts out.
She was still in the stall, her knees aching against the tiles, when the door to the restroom creaked open.
“Camilla?”
She could have wept with relief. It was one of the only voices she wanted to hear.
“This is the ladies’ room, you know,” she replied.
Noah gave the stall door a single knock.
“I’m willing to take my chances.” She swung the door open, and he held out his hand.
“Well, I’ve seen you in worse shape, but I’m not going to lie, Burson, this is pretty bad.
” He chuckled, but it was a hollow imitation of his typical exuberance. His voice softened. “You okay?”
She shook her head as the tears she’d managed to keep at bay finally spilled over.
“Come over here.” He guided her to the sink, where he turned on the tap, dampened a paper towel, and pressed it to her face. “It’s okay. Just take a breath.”
“Someone could come in,” she said, and tried to stop his hands, but he just kept wiping at her tears, his touch gentle.
“That’s their problem. Right now, I’m helping my friend.” He paused, the paper towel still pressed to her face. “I’m sorry about the other night. It was stupid. I was stupid. It shouldn’t have happened.”
She let his words hang for a moment, knowing it had been difficult for him to say them but glad he did. That he hadn’t dismissed what he’d done as just a joke. It didn’t erase everything, but it was a step forward.
“I hope you’ll tell Brianna that, too. Once she gets home,” she said.
A pained look crossed his face, and Camilla wondered if this was the closest he’d ever come to grief. “Absolutely. A million times.”
Sighing, she took the paper towel from him and dabbed at the tender skin beneath her eyes. “Did you see my text?”
“I wasn’t supposed to say anything. My dad would have killed me. Anthony Frazier called this morning while we were out at the pens. He had it on speaker.”
She twisted the paper towel, watching as the water dripped toward the sink. The question she wanted to ask lodged in her throat.
“What happened?”
He considered her. She hated it. How he was measuring her ability to handle whatever it was he already knew. It didn’t matter she’d forgiven him only moments before. Her frustration momentarily overrode it.
“I’m not a fucking child, Noah,” she snapped.
“I know. It’s just…” He swallowed. “It’s a lot.”
“Tell me.”
“There were some officers searching last night. They found her in the clearing around six this morning. Where we were the other night for the party. She was up in that big tree—the one with the weird bark.” He grimaced, his face gone ashen.
“They don’t know if she did it to herself because she was sick and confused or in pain or if someone put her there, but she was impaled. On one of the branches.”
She waited to be sick again. For the room to tilt beneath her feet, her body careening toward the floor and unconsciousness, but she stayed upright. Breathing. An obscene reaction given the panic that wanted to take hold of her. She could feel it, coiled in her belly.
Her mind replayed the previous night. The sleepwalking. The Sisters. The tree. The same place where Tania Fullerton’s body was found only hours after Camilla had been there.
“I was there last night. At the tree. I was sleepwalking, and I saw them. The Dark Sisters.” She hadn’t meant to tell him, but she couldn’t keep the truth from spilling out. She couldn’t carry it anymore. Not without it breaking her apart.
“It’s just a story, Camilla. You’ve been stressed.
With everything that happened at the party and then Brianna, it makes sense you would dream about it.
You freaked yourself out. That’s all. Tania Fullerton was sick.
It was probably just an accident.” There was pity in his voice. A tender denial of what she’d told him.
Exasperated, she pushed away from the sink as her heart and breathing accelerated. “But they don’t die from it, Noah. Not like this. Not on some fucking tree.”
“Stop it, Camilla. Listen to me. You can’t do this to yourself. There is no such thing as the Dark Sisters. What happened to Tania is awful, but it didn’t have anything to do with them. She was sick. That’s all.”
She let her breathing slow, forced herself to go still.
Noah wouldn’t believe her. He hadn’t seen what she had.
She would let herself tumble into feigned calm and bury the truth of that night until she could go back to the tree.
Until she could try to find out what she actually saw, and if what happened to Tania Fullerton had anything to do with it.
She turned back to him and softened her face. Forced a sheepish smile and wondered how often Brianna or her mother had done exactly the same. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just … a shock,” she said.
“I know.” He rubbed her back, and even though she knew he meant well, she wanted to scream at him.
To tear her nails across his face for placating her instead of believing her.
But she kept her hands still. If the roles were reversed, it was likely she’d be doing exactly what he was.
Noah wasn’t one to pat her on the head and tell her what a silly girl she was being, but this wasn’t something she could share fully with him. It made her miss Brianna all the more.
It cut at her knowing this would be the first time he couldn’t be fully by her side.
He hadn’t seen. He wouldn’t believe. For him and the other boys and men of Hawthorne Springs, the Dark Sisters were nothing more than a scary story, but it was different for the girls.
For them, the Sisters were a visceral reality that served as a warning of what could happen if a woman strayed too far from God’s will and the teachings of The Path.
Punishment. Pain. A hell crafted from all their shortcomings.
She needed to go back to the tree and, despite her fear, confront what she saw there.
Those twisted bodies, hair bound together like a rope.
She needed to see if there was anything still hidden among the branches that would reveal the truth of what the Dark Sisters really were.
What role, if any, they played in the death of Tania Fullerton.
Why Camilla was the one seeing them after all this time.
“We should get back,” she said, that dumb smile still plastered to her face as she shook her hair off her shoulders.
“Sure you’re okay?” His face held genuine concern, but she waved him off.
“Yeah.” She made for the door. Shocked as she was no one had come in and found them together in the women’s restroom, she couldn’t help but feel the smallest tinge of worry someone would see them coming out. Together. Alone.
She creaked the door open and peeked out into an empty vestibule. “I’ll text you later,” she said, and then made her way back to the sanctuary.
She would go that night. After the house was quiet, and her parents asleep. Back to the tree.
As she hurried to her seat under the watchful eye of her father, her skin prickled.
Later, he would ask her where she’d gone, and she would offer up a partial truth.
She would not tell him she had seen the ghosts or demons that were the Dark Sisters.
She would not tell him she knew about Tania Fullerton and the tree branch that ran through her.
She wondered how long it would take him to see her for what she was.