"What?" Vincent asked.
"Dancing in the summer air."
"Who the fuck is this?"
"Like two spinning wheels at play."
"Answer me!"
"Pretty maidens dance away."
As Byrne listened, the skin on his arms began to dimple. He looked at Vincent. The man's expression was blank, impenetrable.
Then the connection broke.
Vincent hit the speed dial. The phone rang again. The same voice mail. He clicked off.
"What the fuck is happening?"
"I don't know," Byrne said. "But it's your move, Vince."
Vincent buried his face in his hands for a second, then looked up. "Let's go find her."
Byrne got out of the car at the gate. It was chained shut with a huge coil of rusted iron chain, padlocked with an old lock. It appeared not to have been disturbed in a long time. Both sides of the road leading deeper into the forest fell off to deep, frozen culverts. They'd never be able to drive around. The vehicle's headlights cut the darkness to a distance of only fifty feet, then the light was choked by the blackness.
Vincent got out of the car, went into the trunk, and retrieved a shotgun. He racked it, shut the trunk. He reached back into the car, cut the headlights and the engine, grabbed the keys. The darkness was now complete; the night, silent.
They stood, two Philadelphia police officers, in the middle of rural Pennsylvania.
Without a word, they started up the trail.
91
"It could only have been one place," Bontrager said. "I read the stories, I put it together. It could have only been here. StoryBook River. I should have thought of it before. As soon as it hit me, I got on the road. I was going to call the boss, but I thought it might be a long shot, and it's New Year's Eve."
Josh Bontrager was standing at the center of the footbridge now. Jessica tried to process it all. At that moment, she didn't know what to believe, or who to trust.
"You knew about this place?" Jessica asked.
"I grew up not too far from here. I mean, we weren't allowed to come here, but we all knew about it. My grandmother used to sell some of our preserves to the owners."
"Josh." Jessica gestured to his hands. "Whose blood is that?"
"A man I found."
"A man?"
"Down by the first canal," Josh said. "It's… it's pretty bad."
"You found who?" Jessica asked. "What are you talking about?"
"He's in one of the exhibits." Bontrager looked at the ground for a moment. Jessica didn't know how to read it. He looked up. "I'll show you."
They walked back across the footbridge. The canals snaked through trees, winding toward the forest, back again. They trod on the narrow stone edges. Bontrager kept his flashlight trained on the ground. After a few minutes they came to one of the displays. There was a stove, a pair of large wooden snowflakes, a stone replica of a sleeping dog. Bon- trager shone his flashlight on a figure in the middle of the display, sitting on a throne of sticks. The figure had its head wrapped in red cloth.
The sign above the display read THE SNOW MAN.
"I know this story," Bontrager said. "It's about a snowman who longs to be by a stove."
Jessica stepped closer to the figure. She gently pulled off the wrappings. Dark blood, nearly black in the illumination from the flashlight, dripped into the snow.
The man was bound and gagged. Blood poured from his eyes. Or, more accurately, from their empty sockets. In their place were black triangles.
"My God," Jessica said.
"What?" Bontrager asked. "You know him?"
Jessica steadied herself. The man was Roland Hannah.
"Did you check his vitals?" she asked.
Bontrager looked at the ground. "No, I…" Bontrager began. "No, ma'am."
"It's all right, Josh." She stepped forward, felt for a pulse. After a few seconds she found it. He was still alive.
"Call the sheriff 's office," Jessica said.
"Already did," Bontrager said. "They're on the way."
"You have your weapon?"
Bontrager nodded, removed his Glock from his holster. He handed it to Jessica. "I don't know what's going on in that building over there." Jessica pointed to the schoolhouse. "But whatever it is we have to stop it."
"Okay." Bontrager's voice sounded a lot less confident than his answer.
"You all right?" Jessica popped the weapon's magazine. Full. She slammed it home, chambered a round.
"Good to go," Bontrager said.
"Keep the light low."
Bontrager took the lead, stooping and keeping his Maglite close to the ground. They were no more than one hundred feet from the school- house. As they wound their way back through the trees, Jessica tried to get a handle on the layout. The small structure had no porch or balconies. There was one door, and two windows in the front. Its sides were obscured by trees. Beneath one of the windows was a small pile of bricks.
When Jessica saw the bricks, she knew. It had been nagging her for days, and now she finally understood.
His hands.
His hands were too soft.
Jessica peered in the front window. Through the lace curtains she saw the one-room interior. A small stage was at the rear. There were a few wooden chairs scattered about the space, but no other furniture.
There were candles everywhere, including an ornate chandelier suspended from the ceiling.
On stage was a coffin in which Jessica saw the form of a woman. The woman was dressed in a strawberry pink gown. Jessica could not see if she was breathing or not.
A man walked onto the stage, dressed in a dark formal tailcoat, and white wing tip shirt. His vest was red paisley, and his tie a black silk puff. A watch chain looped his vest pockets. A Victorian top hat sat on a nearby table.
He stood over the woman in the elaborately carved coffin, studying her. There was a rope in his hands, a line that looped up to the ceiling. Jessica followed the rope with her gaze. It was difficult to see through the grimy window, but when she made it out, it gave her deep chills. Above the woman hung a large crossbow aimed at her heart. Loaded into the prod was a long steel arrow. The bow was drawn and was connected to the rope that looped through an eyelet in a beam and then back down.
Jessica stayed low, moving to the clearer window on the left. When she peered through, the scene was unobscured. She almost wished it were not.
The woman in the coffin was Nicci Malone.
92
Byrne and Vincent crested the hill overlooking the theme park. The moonlight cast a clear blue light over the valley, and they got a good overview of the park's layout. Canals snaked through the desolate trees. Around each turn, sometimes back to back, were displays and backdrops reaching fifteen to twenty feet in the air. Some looked like giant books, others like ornate storefronts.
The air smelled of earth and compost and rotting flesh.
Only one building had light. A small structure, no more than twenty by twenty feet, near the end of the main canal. From where they stood they saw shadows in the light. They also spotted two people peering into the windows.
Byrne spied a path leading down. It was mostly snow-covered, but there were markers on either side. He pointed it out to Vincent.
A few moments later they headed into the valley, into StoryBook River.
Jessica opened the door and stepped into the building. She held her weapon at her side, pointing it away from the man on the stage. She was immediately struck by the overpowering smell of dead flowers. The coffin was brimming with them. Daisies, lilies of the valley, roses, gladio- las. The smell was deep and sweetly cloying. She almost gagged.
The peculiarly dressed man onstage immediately turned to greet her.
"Welcome to StoryBook River," he said.