“I saw something down there, Phillip. I can’t tell you exactly what it was, because I can’t truly remember it. But I know that this afternoon, when I was in the basement of the mill, I was in the presence of death. I could see it, and I could hear it, and I could feel it. It’s there, Phillip. Death lives in the mill, and if you don’t close it, it will kill us all.”
Phillip sat still, wondering what to say to his mother. Was it possible that her age was finally catching up with her, and she was beginning to suffer from delusions? But her voice was so strong, and she seemed so sure of what she was saying. “Mother, I’m sure you believe you felt something today, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. My God! You had a heart attack! It must have been terrifying.” He smiled sympathetically. “In a way, you
“Don’t patronize me, Phillip,” Abigail rasped. “I know what I felt, and I know when I felt it. It had nothing to do with the heart attack, except to cause it. Oh, I was frightened all right. What do you think brought the attack on? It was fear, Phillip. Pure, unadulterated fear. I’ve never been a coward, but I saw something in that basement that frightened me more than anything has ever frightened me in my life. Whatever it is, it killed Jeff Bailey, and it tried to kill me. And there’s no way to get rid of it. Your father was right. The only thing you can do is close the mill.”
Phillip rose to his feet, knowing that arguing with his mother was useless. “I’ll think about it, Mother,” he said softly as he leaned over to kiss her. “I can’t promise you anything right now, except to think about it.”
Abigail turned away from Phillip’s kiss, her head sinking tiredly into the pillows. “Not good enough,” she whispered so quietly that Phillip could barely make out her words. “It’s just not good enough.” She closed her eyes, and for a moment Phillip thought she had fallen asleep. But then her eyes blinked open, and her body stiffened. “Beth,” she said.
Phillip stared at her. “Beth?” he repeated.
Abigail’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she nodded. “Where is she?”
The question threw Phillip into confusion. What on earth was she thinking of now? “She’s with her father,” he replied. “Alan was still here when we arrived, and we asked him if he’d take Beth for the evening.”
“I want to see her,” Abigail announced. “Get her, and bring her to me.”
Phillip’s eyes widened. “Now? Tonight?”
“Of course, tonight!” the old woman snapped. “If I’m as sick as you’d like to think, I could be dead by tomorrow!”
Phillip felt a sudden uneasiness. “Mother, what is all this about? I know how you feel about Beth—”
“You know nothing,” Abigail whispered in a voice as venomous as Phillip had ever heard her use. “Apparently you’re as much of a fool as your father always said you were.”
Anger surged through Phillip, and he felt a vein in his forehead begin to throb. “I hardly think you’ll get my cooperation this way, Mother,” he replied, biting the words off one by one. “And if you think I’ll expose Beth to you while you’re in a mood like this, you’re quite wrong.”
Abigail glared at him for a moment, her entire body trembling as if it were palsied. Then, slowly, she eased herself back down, and when she spoke, her voice was calm.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though there was no hint of regret in her voice. “I suppose I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. But I wish to see Beth, and I wish to see her tonight.” When Phillip said nothing, she went on. “If she doesn’t wish to see me, I shall understand, Phillip. And you may tell her that she may feel free to walk out of this room at any time.”
“But why, Mother?” Phillip pressed. “Why do you want to see Beth?”
Abigail hesitated, then shook her head. “I can’t tell you,” she said quietly. “It wouldn’t make any sense to you.” Then she turned her head away, and closed her eyes once more. Phillip watched her for a moment, then slipped out of the room to join Carolyn and Tracy in the reception area.
“What did she say, Daddy?” Tracy immediately demanded while Carolyn asked the same question with her eyes.
“Nothing much,” Phillip replied, his voice pensive. “She told me she wanted the mill closed, and she …” His voice trailed off, and there was a long moment of silence.
“What, Phillip?” Carolyn finally asked. “What else did she say?”
Phillip glanced at his daughter, then his eyes fell on his wife. “She says she wants to see Beth. Tonight.”
Carolyn’s eyes widened in surprise. “But — Phillip, she always acts as if Beth doesn’t even exist!”
“I know,” Phillip agreed. “Don’t ask me why she wants to see her — she wouldn’t say. All she said is that she wants to talk to Beth, but that if Beth doesn’t want to come, she doesn’t have to.”
As confused as her husband, Carolyn slipped her hand into his, and let him guide her out of the reception room onto the street.
In their preoccupation with Abigail’s strange request, neither of them noticed the look of pure hatred that came into Tracy’s eyes as soon as her stepsister’s name was spoken.
16
“What do you say we have supper at the Red Hen?” Alan asked dolefully as he stared into the nearly empty refrigerator. He hadn’t expected to have Beth with him that evening, so hadn’t stocked up on the food he knew she liked. Nor had he bothered to stop at the store on the way back to his apartment from the hospital. He was too tired, and he’d known from Beth’s silence that something was wrong. Now, when she didn’t answer his question, he decided to face the issue directly.
“You might as well tell me what’s up,” he said, closing the refrigerator door and moving into the tiny living room of the apartment. He dropped down onto the sofa next to Beth, and slipped his arm around her. “If you can’t tell your old dad, who can you tell?”
Beth looked up at him, her eyes filled with worry.
“I … I think I know what happened to Mrs. Sturgess,” she said after a silence that had threatened to stretch into minutes. “I think Amy must have done something to her, just like she did to Jeff Bailey.”
Alan frowned thoughtfully, and wished — not for the first time — that he knew more about psychology. Then he reminded himself that parents had dealt with children for centuries before psychologists had ever invented themselves, and decided that his own instincts were all he needed. Right now, his instincts told him not to challenge the existence of Beth’s imaginary friend. “Why would Amy want to do something to Mrs. Sturgess?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Beth replied. “I think she hates the Sturgesses, though. And I think she hates all their friends, too.”
“But why?” Alan pressed. “That doesn’t really make sense, does it?” But of course he knew that it did. Amy, as Beth’s “friend,” would be angry at all the people who had hurt Beth, but whom Beth would not let herself hate. But how could he explain that to his daughter now, after what had happened that morning? She was already feeling friendless, and taking Amy away from her — trying to explain to her that the child didn’t exist outside her own imagination — seemed to him as if it would be too much.
He’d heard about what had happened up on the hill that morning. At least he’d heard what Peggy Russell had had to say when she’d come bursting into the Red Hen while Alan was having lunch that afternoon.
But he hadn’t, he now realized ruefully, connected Peggy’s wild tale with Abigail Sturgess’s unexpected visit to the mill. He should have, especially when the old woman insisted on going into the basement, but he hadn’t.
Beth, obviously, had, and now it was up to him to try to find a way to convince his daughter that what had happened to Abigail was nothing more than a heart attack brought on only by her age. But it was certainly not connected to the presence in the mill of any sort of being, either real or imaginary. He was trying to figure out how to explain this to Beth when the doorbell rang. To his surprise, he found Phillip and Carolyn, with Tracy between them, standing in the hall.
