Why hadn't I asked about this?
It is all too horrible to think about.
I put some mashed potatoes in the oven to warm and start on a letter about Vadivel and Valarmathi Jasikaran in Sri Lanka. They have been in jail a long time and not been charged. Valar-mathi had surgery before she was arrested. She could be dying. They are trapped there, uncharged, in jail, probably tortured and alone.
I simmer and start to write. My fingers clutch the pen so tightly that the wound on my hand throbs, but I don't care. It's nothing compared to what the Jasikarans are going through, what Jay Dahlberg might be going through. What Nick might be…No. He's fine.
I still don't know how people could do this to each other. How can we survive knowing that we do these things? How can we not help?
Nick is out there in the woods alone.
And I am in here doing what? Writing a letter.
I need a plan.
Okay. If these things are really pixies there's got to be a way to fight them, right?
I log on. It takes forever because Betty has dial-up. I swear to God. But finally I get on and I type in "fight pixies" in the search engine. All the gaming sites come up. It's not until page eight that I find something that looks legit.
I scroll past the explanation that pixies are not Tinker Bell, but dangerous, very dangerous, and do not attempt to contact them on your own. I snort. Then I find what I'm looking for: The only thing that can defeat pixies is iron. Iron can be found in steel. It is essential for the composition of railroad ties, skyscrapers, and cars. Pixies will avoid iron at all costs.
So that's probably why they're here. Most of the houses are made of wood, framed with two-by-fours, not steel. There are no skyscrapers anywhere, just trees. There aren't even that many cars because there are hardly any people.
I can't wait to tell Nick, but first I have to find him.
Okay. Iron is the basic component of steel.
My eyes scan the room and latch on to the woodstove, made of cast iron. It's not like I can haul that around. But I can take the fireplace poker thing that we use to turn the logs.
Trying to be quick, I call the ambulance house and ask for Betty, but she is out on a run in Trenton, where a logging truck has smashed into a minivan.
"She'll be tied up some good for a long time," Josie tells me.
"Okay. Just ask her to call me. It's Zara."
" 'Course it is, dear. I'll give her the message."
So that leaves me home, alone, with all my million questions and absolutely zero answers.
I walk outside again and stand on the porch, listening. No birds sing or even twitter. The wind howls and rustles through the tree branches. A pine cone drops onto our roof and rolls down by my feet, making me jump. My hand clutches the poker.
"Wimp," I mutter.
I march over to Nick's MINI and put my injured hand on his door handle, pulling it open. It smells so much like him. I touch the steering wheel with my fingers. Something inside me shudders again, and not in a good way. I don't want him to be in danger. I pull my hand away from the steering wheel. It stings. The lines do make the rune for protection. How weird. I turn around in a circle so I can see all around me. A prickly feeling creeps through my hand and up my arm, marching toward my heart.
"Nick?" I whisper.
I push the hair out of my face. The wind whips it back. I grab an elastic band off my wrist and yank my hair back into a ponytail. The sun has almost set behind the trees. It casts an orange glow, a last stand against the night.
"Nick?" I say louder.
No answer.
I try it even louder.
"Mick? You out there?"
That's when I hear it, the angry howl of some kind of dog. I freeze.
And then I hear something even worse. From the edge of the forest comes a hoarse whisper that is not Nick's voice, but I recognize it. I heard it last night when I went running.
"Zara," it says. "Come to me."
I take a step toward the voice, just one step. "Nick?"
"Zara…"
I stop and look around. The clouds darken with the setting sun, turning into something somber and full of potential dangers. The trees lean with the wind, the younger ones almost bending. I wrap my arms around my own trunk, trying to make the spidery feeling go away.
"Zara…"
"Nick, is that you?"
No answer.
"Who are you?" I yell.
"Come to me."
"Tell me who you are!"
"Zara…"
I stomp my foot down. "Look. This is crazy. Tell me who you are and I'll come, okay? But I've got to tell you that if you've hurt Nick-or if you are Nick gone psycho-I am not going to be happy."
My words dangle like a warning in the cold air. My insides warm up like I am on fire. Anger will do that to you.
"Zara…"
"Enough with calling my name!" I scream, raging now. "It's ridiculous."
I storm into the woods then, not thinking about it, just powered by rage, ready to beat someone up, even though I've never beat anyone up before. Friedrich Nietzsche says, "He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster."
I race maybe fifty feet into the trees and then I stop, feet skidding on the hard surface. I am doing exactly what everyone has been telling me not to do, what I'm not supposed to do, exactly what I had promised Nick that I wouldn't do. I almost scream.
I am so angry at myself, angry at the voice, angry at Nick. My hand clutches the poker.
The voice whispers out from behind me. "Almost there, Zara.
Don't stop now."
I whirl around. I can't see anyone standing among the trunks.
"Where are you?" I demand.
No answer.
"Who are you?"
"You know." The voice comes from my right this time. I pivot. It doesn't sound like Nick. The voice is older, slicker.
"How do you know my name?" I ask, listening hard.
"I've always known your name, princess."
Zara means princess. Right. I don't care what my name means. I rush toward where I think the voice is coming from, flying over stones and pinecones and tree roots.
"Where are you?"
Nothing breaks the endless tree trunks, no swath of cloth, no eyes, no hair. Trees are all I see. Trees.
Trees. Trees. I pivot, looking for the house, which should be to my right, but it's not there. Just trees.
Damn, it's dark in the woods.
Fear grips my stomach, only this time it isn't just fear for Nick. It's fear for me, too. I can't be lost I can't be lost that quickly.
"Where are you?"
"This way." The voice comes from my left this time. I bomb after it, darting through the trees, going farther and farther into the increasing darkness. It is almost night.
"Did you take Nick? Because I swear to God, I'll kick your ass if you took Nick."
I blast into a small clearing. A circle of small spruce trees stands as sentinels. Snow begins to fall from the sky. I stop, standing there alone in the middle of the circle as the snow comes down, faster and faster.
"You're trying to get me lost," I say. My fists clench. I release them. I won't show him I'm afraid. I won't be afraid. "You're really annoying me!"
There is no answer.
"I am not imagining you!"
Still no answer.
My head pounds. There is a name for this, this fear of a voice. But I can't remember it. Damn.
Phobophobia, fear of phobias.
Phonophobia, fear of noises or voices.
Photoaugliaphobia, fear of glaring lights.
Photophobia, fear of light.