Chapter Forty-Eight. Melanie
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
MELANIE
Waylon is asleep in the back bedroom. Unfolded laundry is heaped across the kitchen table, the TV blares to an empty room, and the boys’ bickering echoes from the playroom like a pair of feral cats.
The timer dings, and I rush to pull out the muffins.
I made two batches, as I have a couple of stops with patients today.
And I move them to a wire rack to cool before heading down the hall to check in on the girls.
I pause outside the door, the sound slipping through before I even touch the knob.
A man’s voice. And for a moment, there’s something familiar about it.
But maybe it’s just that he’s speaking in that Keith Morrison Dateline voice, the one that makes every sentence sound like a eulogy: “… the bones discovered deep in The Hollow raise more questions than they answer…”
I frown, opening the door quickly. “What on earth are you listening to?”
Hannah and Olivia, sitting on the bed, huddled over a phone, jolt up.
“One local teen described the gruesome discovery…” the voice continues.
Olivia scrambles for the pause button. “It’s just a podcast. Everyone at school’s been passing it around.”
My stomach knots. “Turn that off. Right now.”
They both blink at me, startled.
“That man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
None of them do. It’s not entertainment, it’s people’s lives.
” It comes out harsher than I mean it to, but I can’t stand the thought of some stranger making a spectacle out of what happened to Izzy.
“He’s making it out like Izzy’s bones are props from a horror movie. She was someone’s daughter.”
The girls look down, chastened.
I draw a breath, lower my voice. “Actually, why don’t you girls come with me? I’m bringing muffins to Mrs. Whitmore. She’s back home now, and it’ll mean something to her to see you girls there.”
Hannah hops right to it. She’s been sweet to me this morning, trying to make up for sneaking out last night and scaring the life out of me.
When I brought her home, she was braced for a lecture. I’m sorry, Mom, she’d whispered. I pulled her into a hug and told her just to get some sleep. Her hair was still damp, carrying the smell of The Hollow, of that damp, dark, mineral cave.
It’s strange how certain scents are like direct lines to memories. How some memories tattoo themselves on your mind, become a permanent part of who you are.
After Kennedy Claire and Iggy left me swimming naked in the well, I climbed into that cave for cover, tucked myself deep into a fissure in the very back, just large enough for me to sit inside.
I wrapped my bare arms around myself and waited.
For hours. Listening to the wind in the trees, to water dripping from the limestone, to my breath echoing.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t walk home.
And I couldn’t bear the thought of someone finding me like that, boys from school floating down the river. I’d rather die.
Then, eventually, I heard footsteps, sloshing through the water. I prayed it was the girls, coming back to laugh at me and return my clothes. The best I could hope for.
But the steps were heavy. And then I saw him, filling the mouth of the cave, blocking the light. My whole body went cold.
I try not to think of the rest. But some things stay with you, whether you want them to or not.