We’ll talk.
Dang straight you’ll talk. But I wasn’t about to sit on my butt and wait for that. We started for the woods behind Bat Lady’s house. The flashlights posed a dilemma. Use them and someone might see and call the cops. Don’t use them and, well, we couldn’t see. For now, Ema and I kept them off, figuring we could turn them on when we got closer.
The streetlights gave off enough illumination for us to reach the edge of the woods. Again I was stunned to see how close the trees came to Bat Lady’s back door. The lights were off in her backyard too. I crept up to the kitchen door. Ema whispered, “What are you doing?”
Good question. I wasn’t about to break in again, was I? Especially not at night. Still I was drawn to the area. I don’t know why. I bent down low and checked the basement windows. Again it was pitch black. Not only that, every shade was pulled down tight. I couldn’t see a thing.
I thought about the last time I was here-inside Bat Lady’s house. I thought about that old photograph, that same butterfly I saw on the placard by my father’s grave. I thought about the light going on in the basement.
What, I wondered, was down there? For that matter, what was upstairs, in that room where the light was still on?
“Mickey?”
It was Ema. “Where’s this garden?” I whispered.
“Behind the garage. This way.”
We took two steps into the trees and stopped. It was simply too dark. I could barely see my hand in front of my face. We had to risk it. I took out my flashlight and kept the beam low. When we reached the garage, I tried to look inside but there were no windows.
“It’s back here,” Ema whispered.
I took a quick glance behind me. From the back, all the lights were still out at Bat Lady’s house. I wondered if that upstairs bedroom light remained on. Maybe Bat Lady had fallen asleep. Maybe she had fallen asleep hours ago and just forgot to turn off the light. Or maybe she had died and that was why the light was still on.
Nice thought, Mickey!
Ema and I hugged the side of the garage as we felt our way. When we reached the back corner, I shined the flashlight in front of me.
What the…?
Ema had been right. There was a garden. I don’t know much about plants or flowers, but I could see this one was well kept and rather stunning. Here, in this mostly green wilderness, was a burst of well-tended color. A foot-high fence surrounded an area that was maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet. There was a path right down the middle, gorgeous flowers blossoming on either side. And there, at the end of the path, was what definitely looked like a tombstone.
For a moment Ema and I didn’t move. Behind me I thought I could hear music now. Faint. Rock music. I looked at Ema. She heard it too. We slowly pivoted toward the Bat Lady’s house. The lights were still out. But the music was definitely coming from there.
Ema turned back to the tombstone. “The grave,” she said. “It’s probably for a pet, right?”
“Right,” I said too quickly.
“We should probably take a closer look, though.”
“Right,” I said again. I could actually feel my legs quaking now. I took the lead. We started toward the little fence and stepped over it. We made our way down the narrow path and stopped in front of the tombstone. I bent down. Ema followed. The music was still faint, but now I was able to make out some lyrics:
My only love,
We’ll never see yesterday again…
Rock music. The voice sounded familiar-Gabriel Wire from HorsePower maybe?-but I’d never heard the song before. I shook it off and shined the flashlight onto the worn gray tombstone. For a second-just a split second-I had the weirdest thought that I would see Ashley’s name on the tombstone, that someone had killed her and buried her here, and that this was the end of my search. Like I said, the thought only lasted a split second. But it sent shivers everywhere.
The beam from the flashlight hit the top of the tombstone. First observation: the tombstone was old and worn. If it had been for a pet, that animal had died long ago.
I inched the beam down. The second thing I spotted on the tombstone were, well, words. An epitaph, I figured. I read it once, then a second time, and I still wasn’t sure what to make of it:
LET US LABOR TO MAKE THE HEART GROW LARGER,
AS WE BECOME OLDER,
AS SPREADING OAK GIVES MORE SHELTER.
“Do you get it?” Ema asked.
The word shelter was all in caps. Why? Once again, I thought about my father. I thought about that retirement letter from the Abeona…
Shelter.
Coincidence?
I scanned the flashlight lower:
HERE LIES E.S.
A CHILDHOOD LOST FOR CHILDREN
“ ‘A childhood lost for children,’” Ema read out loud. “What the heck does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s E.S.?”
I shook my head again. “Maybe it’s her dog or something.”
“A dog whose childhood was lost for children?”
Good point. She was right. That made no sense. I lowered the flashlight a little more, almost to the ground. And there in small print:
A30432
I felt my blood go cold.
“How do I know that number?” Ema asked.
“The license plate of the black car.”
“Oh. Right.” Then she shook her head. “Why the heck is that here?”
I had no idea. “Maybe it’s a date,” I said.
“A date that starts with the letter A?”
“The numbers. Three could stand for March. Fourth day. Nineteen thirty-two.”
Ema frowned. “You think?”
In truth, no, I didn’t. I stood there baffled while Ema moved around the tombstone, using the light from her cell phone to see. The music still came from the house. It was past midnight.
What kind of old lady plays rock music after midnight?
One who still plays old vinyl records. One who keeps a weird tombstone in her wooded backyard. One who has strange visitors in a black car with a license plate number engraved on that same weird tombstone. One who told a teenage boy that his dead father was still alive.
“What’s this?” Ema asked.
I snapped back to the present. “What?”
“Behind here.” She was pointing to the back of the tombstone. “There’s something carved into the back.”
I walked over slowly, but I knew. I just knew. And when I reached the back of the tombstone and shined the light on it, I was barely surprised.
A butterfly with animal eyes on its wings.
Ema gasped. The music in the house stopped. Just like that. Like someone had flicked the off switch the moment my eyes found that dang symbol.
Ema looked up at my face and saw something troubling. “Mickey?”
Nope, there was no surprise. Not anymore. There was rage now. I wanted answers. I was going to get them, no matter what. I wasn’t going to wait for Mr. Shaved Head with the British accent to contact me. I wasn’t going to wait for Bat Lady to fly down and leave me another cryptic clue. Heck, I wasn’t even going to wait until tomorrow.
I was going to find out now.
“Mickey?”
“Go home, Ema.”
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
I turned and stormed my way back to the house. I pulled out my wallet and started searching for my thin card to open the lock again.
Behind me, Ema asked, “Where are you going?”
“Inside.”
“You can’t just… Mickey?”
I didn’t stop. Yes, I was going to break into this house again. I was going to poke around and search that basement-and if I had to climb those stairs and break into Bat Lady’s bedroom to get answers, well, I would do that too.
“Mickey, slow down.”
“I can’t.”
Ema grabbed hold of my arm. I turned. “Just take a breath, okay?”
I gently shook off her hold. “That butterfly or whatever the heck it is? It was on a photograph in Bat Lady’s house-a photograph that must have been forty or fifty years old. It was on a placard on my father’s grave. I’m not waiting, Ema. I need to get some answers now.”