“Okay,” I said, “you have two choices. You can go to the asylum where you found this and put it back, or I can lure the departed that has been following you for God knows how long to cross. Your choice, but you have to put this back either way.”

“You can what?” Isaac asked.

Tristan shook his head. “The departed that has been doing what?”

“You have a shadow. My term. A departed has attached himself to you because you took his tiny soldier.”

“Please tell me that’s a metaphor for his virginity,” Isaac said.

“You can see it?” Tristan’s eyes glistened with wonder. “And, for the record, I am not a virgin.”

“He is a large childlike man with crazy blond hair and a lazy eye.”

“And you can make him cross to the other side?”

“Yes, I can. In fact, I probably should either way. He’s so lost.”

Tristan put both hands on the steering wheel. “You should. If it’s better for him, then definitely. And can you tell him I’m sorry?”

“You just did.”

I leaned into the van and put my hand under the departed’s chin. I raised his face to mine, but his eyes were locked on the soldier. As carefully as I could, I pulled him forward and reached out with my energy. Right before he crossed, he looked into my eyes, his own eyes wide as though seeing for the first time in a long time.

I let my lids drift shut and braced myself. His life couldn’t have been easy. But what I saw went beyond all expectations.

He was as happy as any child, before he ate the paint. He got sick, and they said he wouldn’t live. He did, but he was never the same. The lead affected his brain and, like any disabled child, made him a target for abuse his whole life. An angry, domineering father. A timid, apprehensive mother who gave in to her husband’s every demand.

From there all I saw was misunderstanding, frustration, and abuse. So much. So often. They didn’t understand. They didn’t understand. He would try to tell them that he was hungry or thirsty or in pain, but they didn’t have the patience or the desire to deal with him.

Eventually, he grew so big and uncontrollable they put him on high doses of lithium and silenced his desires once and for all. They controlled him better than any straitjacket could have. He tried so hard to get out of the forest, but it was so thick. So suffocating.

He waited for his parents to come back for him. He never saw them again.

I emerged struggling for air and for balance. Leaning against the van before I fell, I let the sorrow take over.

The last thing I saw was him being loved by grandparents he’d never met. They’d been waiting for him. For such a very long time.

Tears pushed past my lashes as I tried to catch my breath. I put my fists on the van and buried my face in the sleeves of my sweater. My chest kept hitching as I tamped down the sorrow.

“Mrs. Davidson?”

It was Tristan. He stood behind me and, I realized, was holding me upright.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice hoarse. “That doesn’t usually happen.” I turned around and saw the worry on all their faces. Mixed with heavy doses of amazement.

“What happened?” Isaac asked.

Iago hit him on the shoulder.

Holding out the soldier to Tristan, I said, “He wants you to have this. He’s in a much better place than that hellhole they left of his mind.” I put both hands over my eyes and let the sorrow overtake me for one minute more. It was so overwhelming. “He’s in a better place.” Drawing in long, cool bouts of air, I pulled myself together and pushed off the van. Tristan held me, and Iago came around and took my other arm. “Note to self. Prepare better when letting a man in a straitjacket cross.”

25

If at first you don’t succeed,

destroy all evidence that you tried.

—STEPHEN WRIGHT

I left them to their devices, realizing I’d just stoked a fire that was already blazing inside them. They walked me to Misery, tamping down the million and one questions they had burning inside them, and made sure I could drive before leaving me, but I had a feeling they’d be back.

After putting the address Cookie sent me into my GPS, I headed that way once again. I hoped it would still be light when I got there, but I doubted GPS would help me much where we were going, Misery and I. Thank the gods she had all-wheel drive.

The sun was just setting when I finally, after four passes, found the turnoff. Seven minutes and three miles of bumpy later, I spotted a small rustic cabin nestled at the base of the mountains. This was a favorite spot of hunters, so most of the cabins in this area had no electricity or running water, but knowing Mr. Adams Sr., this one did.

Smoke piped into the air from a woodstove, but the occupant of the cabin was sitting on a lawn chair, taking in the very last rays of the day.

Emery Adams rose up and cupped her hand over her eyes to try to see past my headlight. She must have had company now and then, because my arrival didn’t startle her. She seemed only mildly interested until she realized I wasn’t who she was expecting.

She jumped to her feet and wrapped her thick jacket tighter around her shoulders. Shoulder-length hair the color of brown sugar flew about her face. Her features were soft and pretty but wary. Schooled.

I stepped out and walked toward her. It made her nervous. She glanced around like she was going to bolt, but where could she go? She’d likely die of exposure if she ran into the forest. She’d definitely get turned around and have a hard time finding her way back.

When I was close enough to be heard without raising my voice too much, I introduced myself.

“Hi, Ms. Adams. My name is Charley Davidson. I’m here to tell you that your plan, while excellently executed, picked up a hitch along the way.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Lyle Fiske is about to go to prison for your murder.”

Both hands flew to her face and covered it.

“And since you’re still alive and all, I thought we might try to get the charges dropped.”

“No,” she said from behind her hands. She sat on the chair, but kept her hands over her face as though to block out the news I’d brought. “No. He was out of town. Why would they suspect him?”

“Because he never left town.”

She looked at me at last. “Yes, he did.” Her disbelief was palpable. “He was at the airport. I saw him there.”