CHAPTER 21 THE MORE DEAD, THE MERRIER
THE MORE DEAD, THE MERRIER
I awaken with a start. Noah’s hands are on my shoulders and my mom is staring at me from the driver’s seat.
“You were dreaming,” she says quietly.
I was remembering, wasn’t I? Isn’t that what I’d come to realize? But if that’s true, had I been more than just a witness to my mom’s reanimation?
I glance back at Noah, who lowers his gaze. My face is wet with tears. Mom reaches over and puts her hand on my leg but says nothing. I wipe my face, a little embarrassed.
“We’re here,” my mom says.
I check the time on the dashboard. It’s just after 5 am. The sun hasn’t come up yet but the sky is starting to warm.
“What’s the plan?” Noah asks. “Is this castle in town?”
“It’s about twenty minutes outside Roscoe,” my mom says. “We should go straight there but we’ll have to keep out of sight. I’m worried that if anyone sees us coming, they’ll hurt Jonathan.” She grips the steering wheel. “I can’t let that happen.”
“We won’t,” I say. “But we can’t just drive up to the castle. We’ll have to park somewhere and walk to it.”
“Is that sweater going to keep you warm enough?” my mom asks.
I nod. “I’ll be fine.”
Mom looks doubtful but doesn’t protest as she steers us through the little town of Roscoe.
It reminds me of a miniaturized version of Ithaca.
It’s surrounded by rolling hills on all sides and the town itself is nestled in among the trees.
We pass what has to be the town’s only main street.
It’s lined with little shops but within a few seconds, that’s all behind us and the road winds into the thickly forested outskirts.
The trees crowd the road, their leafless branches swaying in a stiff breeze. Twenty minutes later Mom pulls into a rest stop where only a single other car is parked.
“I think we can make it from here,” Mom says. “It’ll take us maybe thirty minutes to get to the castle on foot.”
“What do we do when we get there?” Noah asks.
“We should probably watch for a little bit, right?” I ask. “See if anybody is going in and out. Even if we find the castle, that doesn’t mean we know what’s going on inside or where Dad is.”
“If he’s for sure in there,” Noah adds.
Mom and I both look at him.
“Sorry,” Noah says. “I’m not trying to upset you, but we really don’t know what we’re getting into here.
We have the note but maybe it was a trick?
Maybe these people want us to come here so they can finish what they started.
” He holds up his hand and I can see the stitches holding his wrist to his arm.
“He’s right,” my mom says. “You two should stay here. I can go up there by myself and look around.”
A sudden stab of panic ripples through me. “No. We’re not splitting up. I’m not letting you go up there alone.” I zip up my sweater and make sure it’s snug around my neck. “We do this together or we don’t do it at all.”
“Meka,” my mom says. “Baby. You have to let me go.”
The words from the dream replay in my mind. Let me go.
“No, I don’t,” I say. I open the door and get out before she can say anything else.
Noah gets out and puts his arm around me.
“I have a really bad feeling about this,” he says.
So do I but I don’t want to say it out loud. My mom joins us and I slip my hand into hers.
“Okay,” she says. “Keys for the car are in the visor in case any of us need to make a break for it. We try to stick together but if I tell either of you to leave, just do it.”
I nod but I know I’m not leaving her or Noah behind for any reason. I think she knows it, too, because she shakes her head and mumbles something under her breath about me being hardheaded.
A blanket of crisp white snow covers the trail leading away from the rest stop.
My shoes are laced tight but cold is creeping in, numbing my feet.
Shoving my hands in my pockets as the wind whips my face, I keep my head down and follow my mom into the increasingly crowded forest. The trees offer some cover once we’re far enough in so that the branches are blotting out the early skylight.
Noah trudges up beside me and loops his arm through mine.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No,” I say honestly. “You?”
Noah grins and to my horror the mortuary wax plugging the defect in his cheek lifts at the edge, exposing the bone underneath. I reach out and press it flat.
“It’s the cold,” I say to him. “The wax isn’t meant for these kinds of temperatures. It’s gonna keep lifting until we’re somewhere a little warmer.”
“Maybe I should just let it fall off,” Noah says. “It’d be easier.”
Easier for him, maybe, but would he be able to blend in with a huge hole in the side of his face?
Does he even want to blend in? Everybody who knew him thinks he’s dead so it’s not like he can go for a walk around town or be seen anywhere in public.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder what our life will be like.
Our life. I guess I’ve made the decision to walk with him down whatever path he wants to go.
“Maybe another twenty minutes walking,” my mom says.
Might as well be an hour. I can’t feel my face anymore.
When we arrive at the end of the trail, the castle still isn’t visible but I feel like I can sense it just beyond the crest of the driveway. This place was designed to keep prying eyes off it.
There’s a gate closing off the long stretch of driveway and there are several signs affixed to it.
One reads No Trespassing, Violators Subject to Prosecution.
Another reads Private Property, Keep Out.
Smaller laminated papers describe construction permitting and dates for town hall meetings that have come and gone years ago.
A metal pole with a busted-up control panel sits to the right of the gate.
“Is there anybody even in here?” I ask.
There is suddenly a sound like something heavy approaching from behind us.
I grab my mom by the arm and rush her off to the side of the gate where a low brick wall stands.
Noah joins us and we duck behind the wall.
The noise is louder now. I peer around the wall just as a snowcat with a bright orange cabin emerges from another trailhead.
It shudders up to the gate and rolls to a stop.
The door opens and someone gets out. They’re covered head to toe in cold weather gear—a hooded puffer jacket, boots, and snow goggles. Noah grips my arm.
The person strides up to the gate and flips open the control panel, punching in some kind of code. The gate rolls open, groaning in protest as the stranger gets back in and steers the snowcat through the open gate. As it closes behind them, I collapse against the brick wall.
“So, there are definitely people inside,” I say. “We can’t just walk in without being seen.”
“And what do we even do when we’re inside?” Noah asks in a hush. “We don’t know the layout or if your dad is even here.”
He’s right but I can’t think that far ahead. Our best option is to check for him here. If he’s been moved or worse—a shudder runs through me—then we’ll think about plan B or C or D.
I stand and brush the snow off me but my body is shivering violently. I have to grit my teeth to keep them from clacking together. Noah puts his arms around me but it’s like being embraced by a cold wind. He takes off his coat and puts it around me.
“I don’t even know why I’m wearing a coat,” he says. “I should have put this on you sooner. Sorry.”
The extra layer helps but only a little. I huff into the palms of my hands, trying to breathe life back into my numb flesh. I wonder if this is how Noah and my mom feel all the time—stiff and cold. I push that thought away immediately.
“Let’s see if we can get through the fence,” my mom says. “We can’t go through the front gate without a code anyway.”
Following her around to the right of the drive, we walk along the perimeter of a neglected fence until we find a break in it, a place where the metal has been warped by time or disuse and we squeeze through.
The inner courtyard is overrun with fir trees that stretch up to the sky.
It’s like a nightmare version of a Christmas tree farm.
The trees are huge and their branches are so intertwined in some spots we have to take detours around them.
For a minute we lose our bearing, and I can’t tell if we’re headed toward the driveway or back toward the fence.
“Here,” Noah whispers suddenly. “Come look at this.”
There is a small gap in the trees. Through it, the castle finally comes into view.
It’s less like a castle and more like a mansion made to resemble a castle.
There are turrets and a covered portico but some of the windows are boarded up or completely broken out.
It looks like it was a fancy place once—a long, long time ago.
It’s vaguely familiar. Maybe I had some image of it from the Frankenstein movie but I’m still unsure.
Dilapidated as it is, the snowcat and two other vehicles are parked out front in the circular drive.
Shadows move behind the few intact windows on the lower floor.
“We should wait till it’s dark to go in,” Mom says.
“She’s not gonna last that long,” Noah says, glancing at me.
He’s right. The numbness is spreading through my body like ice in my veins. I’ll be a popsicle before nightfall. Mom glances back in the direction of the trail.
“No,” I say. “I—I’m not go—going back to the car.”
“I’m not asking you,” my mom says. “I’m telling you that—”
“Look,” Noah says suddenly.
From the lower level of the castle, a door opens and a tall older woman steps out. She has a shock of red hair flecked with gray spilling over her shoulders. The rest of her is draped in something similar to the robe I found in my father’s belongings.
“It’s the redhead,” I whisper. “That was her picture we found in Dad’s closet.”
My mom nods. “Camille Phelps.”