Lost in the Never Woods(18)

Even after she had been found, they continued to run her picture along with John’s and Michael’s, explaining the details, what they did and didn’t know. At thirteen she hadn’t been able to handle seeing her brothers like that. After the first couple of times she had broken down in uncontrollable tears, her parents banned news from the television. Sometimes, though, her mother wouldn’t hear her come downstairs and Wendy caught a glimpse of the news before she quickly changed the channel.

Wendy tore her eyes from the screen.

She turned to her father and inwardly sighed. She really didn’t want to get yelled at, or lectured, or whatever else the hard set of his shoulders foretold. Well, the sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could go to her room. She steeled herself and walked up to his side.

Mr. Darling sat clutching a mug. It had a faded blue logo of his bank on the side, and it was half full of black coffee.

“Where’s Mom?” Wendy ventured.

“Gone to bed.” He didn’t look up, but Wendy nodded anyway. Wendy imagined her mom especially needed sleep after last night and this morning.

She, herself, could have used about five years’ worth of good nights’ sleep.

“Do you know that boy?” Her father’s sharp eyes locked onto her. The question jolted Wendy, but of course she had seen it coming.

“No.”

“You just found him on the road?” One of his thick eyebrows lifted.

“I just found him on the road,” she echoed through a sigh.

“Hmm.” Her father made a gruff sound as he took a swig from his mug. When Wendy had been younger, he had made his coffee so sweet with hazelnut creamer that she and her brothers fought over who’d get a sip.

Wendy shifted her weight between her feet.

“If you see him again—” He raised his hand, pointing a finger at her. He was very good at making her feel small, even when he was sitting down. “You call the police and tell me immediately, do you understand?” His voice reverberated against the walls.

Wendy nodded. “Okay.”

He dropped his hand. “Day after tomorrow I’m going into work late so I can take you down to talk to those detectives,” he told her.

She knew better than to argue and that she didn’t have a choice, anyway, so Wendy nodded again.

Mr. Darling pushed himself up from his chair, and went into his study. The door closed, and a moment later, Wendy heard the light clinking of glass.

Wendy dragged herself upstairs, dreading what tomorrow would bring.

At the top of the landing, she came face-to-face with the door to her old room.

There was nothing new about it. She walked by it every day, but now something made her stop. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, yet her eyes were fixed on the doorknob. She extended a hand and rested her fingertips lightly on the cold, aged brass.

She wondered if her brothers’ bunk bed was still pressed up against the right wall. John’s bunk on the bottom was always properly made—it was the second thing he did every morning, after putting on his glasses. Wendy remembered how his hair stuck up in the back, his eyes barely open as he crawled along his bed, tucking in the corners.

Michael, on the other hand, always left his bed unmade, which irritated John to no end. He always slept with his socks on, just in case one of his feet slipped out from under his comforter at night. Everyone knew an uncovered limb was just asking to be chomped off by a monster.

That fear had actually been Wendy’s fault—the premise of a story she had told her brothers one night before bed. The fact that Michael always woke up with one sock missing only seemed to perpetuate the story. It got so bad, in fact, that even in the summer, when heat hung thick in the room and Wendy and John slept on top of their sheets in little more than their underclothes, Michael still huddled under his comforter, socks safely in place.

Wendy wasn’t sure how long she had stood there when a small noise broke her from her trance. She withdrew her hand and tripped back a step. She hadn’t noticed she’d been perched on the balls of her feet like a bird ready to take flight. Wendy pressed both hands to her chest, feeling it rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath.

She heard the sound again, but it wasn’t coming from the door in front of her.

This time she knew it was the quiet whisper of a voice.

Wendy’s heart clenched painfully. She leaned forward to peer around the corner, down the hallway that led to her parents’ room. All the lights were off and the small strip of space at the bottom of her parents’ door was black.

Wendy’s hand brushed the wall as she crept down the hallway where it was less likely she would step on a squeaky floorboard. She’d done this enough times to know how to linger outside her parents’ room without being seen.

With her hands gripping the doorjamb, Wendy huddled against the wall and pressed her ear against the door. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, ears straining to catch any sound coming from inside the room.

Wendy pressed closer to the door, hoping with every fiber of her being that it had just been the wind, even though it was a humid, breeze-less day in the middle of June.

“My sweet boys…”

Wendy squeezed her eyes shut.

Her mother’s voice had a light ring to it. A melody that Wendy never got to hear anymore. One that was lost in the woods, along with her brothers, and that now only passed her mother’s lips when she was asleep.