Chapter Eighty-One
…the black walnut tree.
Elizabeth
11:29 AM
"Because you saved my life." The words burst out in a shout so harsh that it left Elizabeth's throat raw. Inside her, a black thread snapped.
Will frowned and recoiled. "What?"
The black walnut tree loomed over his shoulder. Her heart lurched. "Oh God."
"What are you talking about? Lizzie…?"
Elizabeth staggered up from the couch. Her knees bumped against Will's as she jostled past him, and the heat of two gazes followed her as she strode towards the rain-streaked window. The grey-green trunk of the black walnut tree thrust up from the wilted grass, and through the haze of raindrops and condensation, it formed a blurred shadow. She wiped away the mist with the side of her fist and arm, the droplets chill against her bare skin. Leaf-barren boughs spidered against the grey gloom. Day blackened into night. Stars pricked the sky. The glass dissolved into nothing.
"Lizzie…? Lizzie…?"
Will's voice and the drumming of the rain ebbed into another world.
Elizabeth sat on the top step of the front porch—the wood beneath her bare soles buffed smooth by all the footsteps that had scuffed over it before—and as she hugged her knees towards her chest, she stared out along the gravel track that wound along the far side of the paddock and curved towards the house, though most of it was swathed in the night's velvet shadows.
In ten seconds, the tyres of her father's charcoal grey Buick would rumble over the gravel and its headlights would bounce along the track, the light strobing as it disappeared behind the trunks of the white ash trees. Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one.
The leaves of the ash trees whispered in the breeze. They jeered and taunted her.
She pursed her lips, and hardened her stare. Okay, in ten more. Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one.
Behind her the porch swing creaked its squeaky laugh.
Her fingers curled into fists. Just ten more. Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one-and-three-quarters…one-and-a-half…one-and-one-quarter…one-and-one-eighth…one-and-one-sixteenth…
She scowled. This was so typical. They'd probably decided to go out for pizza, or to the mall, or maybe to the movies. Will was always bugging their parents to take them to the theatre more. They were probably having such a great time that they'd forgotten all about her. They had always preferred Will. And there she was—stupidly waiting for them on the porch, as if she didn't have better things to do. Well, she'd show them. When they arrived, she'd storm off and slam the front door just to show them how inconsiderate they were. She wouldn't talk to them for a whole week. She wouldn't even acknowledge them. Who needed them anyway?
Yet her fingers flexed and drummed against the sides of her knees. Just ten seconds more. Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…
White headlights arced onto the end of the track. Gravel churned and popped.
Elizabeth rose from her perch, and as her heart pounded—one beat telling her to shrug it off and pretend like it hadn't bothered her at all that they'd practically abandoned her, the next demanding that she punish them for being so thoughtless—she smoothed her palms down the rough wool of her skirt and rid them of the clammy film of sweat that had taken hold. She stepped down towards the track. Her hand trailed along the wooden railing; her fingertips bumped against the notches and knobbles. When she reached the bottom step, she stopped. The sea of gravel swarmed before her and threatened to jab its shards into her bare soles.
She still hadn't decided exactly how she was going to play it, when the headlights curved around the far side of the paddock and onto the stretch of track in front of the house. Maybe she should greet them with silence, see what they had to say for themselves; if they were apologetic, she could milk it for all it was worth, and if not…well, storming up the steps prior to slamming the door would add an extra flounce.
The headlights sailed nearer and nearer. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, whilst her fingers plucked and prised at the cap of the wooden post. The gravel roared beneath the hum of the engine. In the background, the leaves of the white ash trees spilled their secrets to the breeze. Though the air was warm, it prickled.
The car creaked to a halt. But why hadn't it turned off and pulled into the space with the tufts of grass and patches of dusty earth where her father normally parked? The headlights blinked into darkness. And why were there those markings on the side of the car and what was that beacon doing on top? The doors clunked open. And why was there a policeman climbing out and what was he doing with Will? Footsteps trudged through the gravel. And why was the man's face so ashen and why were Will's eyes red and swollen? The footsteps scrunched to a stop. And where were Mom and—
The policeman looked up at her. The whites of his eyes glistened in the light that seeped out from the house. His pupils gaped into two soulless pools. His lips parted. His chest rose with a breath. It froze.
The silence strained as each second stretched into a lifetime. The silence spoke of ghosts.
"Miss Adams—"
Elizabeth's whole body tensed and lurched as though she'd been thrust to the cusp of a thousand-foot drop. "No." She shook her head. Her hair whipped against her skin. "No."
"Miss Adams—"
"No." They were meant to have gone to the movies without her, they were meant to have forgotten about her all alone at home.
"Miss Adams, please—"
She wasn't going to speak to them for a whole week. She wasn't even going to acknowledge them. She wasn't going to speak to them ever ag—
"No," she shouted so loud her throat burned.
Silence.
And then she ran.
"Elizabeth!" Will's shout chased her through the darkness. "Elizabeth!"
She ran.
She ran.
She ran.
"Lizzie…? Lizzie…?" Will's voice cut over the thunder of the rain against the window.
She blinked. The shadows of night and the swarm of stars that seethed above the black walnut tree faded into the grey midday gloom. The fields in front of her melted into a sea of gravel. Rolling grasses disappeared, and parked cars emerged through the rain-streaked glass. White lights bounced and ricocheted through the spines of the paper birches. Somewhere an alarm was going off. Not the panic alarm. A different alarm. And in the distance, sirens blared.
"Lizzie?" Will stood next to her in front of the window. He laid his hand against her elbow and dipped his head to catch her gaze. "Are you all right?"
Somehow raindrops had made it through the glass; they rolled down her cheeks and tumbled from the line of her jaw. She looked up at Will. The moment she opened her mouth, the words tumbled out—an incoherent stream that tripped off the tip of her tongue as the black thread that had snapped inside her left her world to unravel. "I ran. I didn't want to lose them. So I ran. And there was the paddock and the field and the old quarry and the black walnut tree and the fence that had blown down in that storm. And I thought if I didn't hear him say it, then it wouldn't be true. And I thought maybe I would fly away from it all, or maybe I would just fall, and either way I'd never have to hear it and it would never be true. I would never be an orphan. But then you were there and you were begging me to take your hand, and I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't leave you alone with no one to look after you, no one to protect you. But I didn't want to lose them, so I wanted to… But you needed me, so I put you first, and I took your hand." She grabbed his hand and clung to him, as though the blackness of the quarry might open up beneath her once more. "Putting you first saved me, Will. You saved me. I wouldn't be alive without you."
Will's eyes grew wider and whiter as she rambled. Confusion melded into horror, horror gave rise to realisation, realisation dawned into fresh horror as deep as the shadows of the abandoned quarry. He studied her eyes, and as he did, his gaze flitted back and forth, as though he were running abacus beads from side to side, trying to figure out what all the words she had just spewed out added up to. His mouth opened and closed. His throat bobbed. His lips parted again. The words stumbled out. "I thought you tripped."
Elizabeth nodded—adamant. "I did."
Then she stilled.
She winced.
She squeezed his hand, his fingers clammy against her own. "But I wanted to let go."
The sirens blared so loud that her ears ached and rang. The cra-ack of gunshots jarred up the back of her neck and tension spread like frost across the inside of her skull. Her heart thudded, and as her muscles shivered with adrenaline, she dropped Will's hand and spun to face the window.
A silver car hurtled through the valley between the mottled white spines of the paper birch trees; it bounced and lurched over the bumps in the track, a black SUV in pursuit. Headlights flooded into the therapy room and refracted through the raindrops that dotted and veined the glass. Do you remember the fireflies? The beams cut below the lowest bough of the black walnut tree and ploughed straight towards Elizabeth and Will.
Elizabeth squinted at the glare and raised one arm to shield her eyes.
Cra-ack. Cra-ack.
The door flung open behind them and hit the wall. The slam and rattle shook through the room. Matt's shout echoed off the walls—once white, now stained with every last one of Elizabeth's thoughts. "Ma'am, get away from the window!"
But trapped in the beams, she froze. Her fingers trembled and thirsted for Will's.
'Take my hand.'
Fly or fall?
'Take my hand.'
BOOM.