They entered the trees. When they came upon the clearing, it looked just the same as when Abilene had left it early that morning.
The sight of Helen’s blouse and plaid Bermuda shorts again brought tears to her eyes.
‘At least nobody swiped my camera,’ Finley muttered. She sounded as if she didn’t care at all.
They rolled their own sleeping bags. When they finished, Helen’s bag was still on the ground, her purse beside it, her abandoned shorts and blouse spread across its cover.
‘I’ll do it,’ Abilene said. She knelt and picked up the clothes. They were dry. She wrapped them around the purse, then rolled the sleeping bag.
Helen’s ‘effects.’
They aren’t her effects, Abilene told herself. They’re her stuff, not her effects. Christ!
She carried them, along with her own sleeping bag, toilet kit and purse, out of the forest and across the sunny yard to the driveway.
Cora set down the lantern.
Everything else - including Finley’s camera - was stowed without comment in the rear of the Wagoneer.
The car door dropped shut with a crash.
They all looked at each other.
‘Okay,’ Cora said. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
They walked alongside the porch and climbed the stairs. Finley and Abilene picked up the flashlights. Cora switched the tire iron to her left hand. With her right, she opened the door.
‘Helen!’ she called into the stillness.
No answer came.
They entered the lodge.
Cora went straight to the registration desk and leaned over its counter, just as she’d done yesterday when they first arrived.
Abilene’s gaze roamed to the top of the stairway, lingered on the dark opening of the corridor at its top, then swept along the balcony. No sign of anyone. The doors beyond the railing were shut.
Cora in the lead, they made their way through the lobby and rounded the corner into the dining area.
It looked much the same as when Abilene had last seen it. Nothing had changed about the empty room except, perhaps, the angles of light coming in through the windows.
The last time she’d been here, though, she hadn’t known about the slaughter.
Thanks to Helen’s story, she couldn’t help but picture a long table surrounded by guests. Men, women and children choking with poison. Gagging. Yelling. Shoving themselves away from the table in panic as they were suddenly stormed by a savage tribe. Fleeing, only to be cut down.
The images stayed with her as she stepped through the kitchen door. Here, a wild denizen of the woods (she pictured Batty) had snuck poison into the Mulligan stew.
‘I guess we’d better check that,’ Cora said, nodding toward the door of the walk-in freezer.
Finley opened it and shone her light inside.
No Helen. The floor was bare. Pipes stretched along the walls and across the ceiling. From a center beam dangled meat hooks. The walls had empty shelves.
‘Just as well she isn’t in here,’ Cora said.
Finley shut the door. They wandered about the kitchen, checked inside the pantry and pulled open a few of the lower cupboards. Abilene yanked open the back door, leaned out, and glanced up and down the balcony. Briefly, she scanned the rear grounds. Then she met up with the others and they made their way through the dining area to the lobby.
They paused at the foot of the stairway.
‘Let’s save upstairs for last,’ Cora suggested. ‘We’ll have to bust open all the doors.’
They stepped across the corridor. A glance was all it took to satisfy themselves that the room was empty. They left it behind and followed the corridor to the first door.
Finley and Abilene trained their flashlights on it. Cora tried the knob, then rammed the wedge end of the tire tool into the crack between the door and frame. She strained at the bar. The wood groaned and crackled. She dug the wedge in deeper, pried some more, then withdrew it. ‘Stand back,’ she muttered. She stepped to the other side of the corridor, then dashed at the door. Just in front of it, she cocked her knee up and shot her foot forward. The blow crashed the door open and her momentum threw her stumbling into the room.
The others followed her inside. Light from a single, broken window revealed a floor thick with dust and littered with leaves. The broken pane was shrouded with spider webs.
There was no furniture. A couple of doors at the far end of the room probably enclosed a closet and toilet, but Abilene saw no footprints other than Cora’s in the layer of filth coating the floor.
‘Nobody’s been in here for years,’ she said.
They didn’t bother to approach the doors. Instead, they returned to the hallway.
As Cora pulled the door shut, a faint
They stood motionless. Abilene realized she was holding her breath.
Could Helen have made such a sound? Maybe. If her mouth was gagged, or she was moaning in agony, or…
‘Weeeeowwww.’
‘Sounds like a cat,’ Vivian whispered.
Finley switched her flashlight on. She turned slowly, sweeping its beam along the floor and walls of the corridor in the direction of the lobby.
When the sound came again, her light jumped to the door beneath the staircase.
‘Came from there,’ she said. ‘I think.’
‘I think so, too,’ Cora said.
Staying close together, they went to the door. Finley opened it. She and Abilene aimed their flashlights down the stairway.
The brightness caught the cat’s eyes in just such a way as to make them shine like clear, glowing, yellow marbles.
A white cat.
Crouched at the foot of the stairs.
It seemed to be gazing up at them, waiting for them.
The fur of its muzzle was wet and red.
Abilene’s skin went crawly.
‘Is it Amos?’ Vivian whispered.
‘Batty?’ Cora called. ‘Batty? You down here?’
The cat twitched its tail.
No response from Batty.
Maybe the cat had come to the lodge by itself.
From where they stood at the top of the stairs, only a small portion of the pool was visible. Abilene could see nobody in the water. The stretch of granite where they’d climbed out last night was dry.
‘How the hell did it get down here?’ Finley asked.
‘A window?’ Abilene suggested.
‘They’re awfully high.’
‘It obviously didn’t swim in,’ Abilene said. The white fur wasn’t wet. And if the cat had come in through the archway, the water would’ve washed the blood from its face.
The blood, she realized, looked very red and wet.
Her stomach seemed to drop.
It’s got to be our blood, she told herself. The leftovers from Batty’s bowl. It’s got to be.
But she knew it wasn’t.
