The sheriff pushed Pink out onto the deck then led him down the stairs. The two men argued in the driveway for a few minutes before Michelle finally heard car doors slam. She looked over at Cliff.
“What the hell was that about?” Cliff said.
“Let’s go home,” Michelle said. “I can’t wait to see Cassie.”
Chapter 40
Pink sat in Fisk’s office trying to find the thread of his life. Fisk fired questions at him that made no sense. Pink bristled in the chair, annoyed. Elmer looked on from the doorway. Pink felt he was purposely blocking it, in case Pink tried to leave.
“Pink, I need to know where Isabelle is?” Fisk said.
“What the hell is going on here, Louden? She’s probably at home like I’ve told you a hundred times. Let’s drive up there. You’ll see.”
“Pink . . . she’s not there. Trust me. I need to know—”
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Louden? Christ, let’s drive up there. Have you called Claire? She can clear all of this up. Let’s call Claire.”
Fisk looked over at Elmer. “Let’s just leave Claire out of this for now. Besides, we spoke with her after Isabelle disappeared. She had no idea where you were. All she could tell us was you and Isabelle had a big blowup the night before . . . Hell, Pink, we’ve already been through all this years ago.”
Pink shot up from his chair and swung his arm across Fisk’s desk, knocking the lamp to the floor. “We ain’t been through nothing, Louden! I don’t have one goddamn clue what the hell you’re talking about!”
Elmer bolted toward Pink to restrain him. Pink elbowed Elmer, catching him under the chin. When Elmer regained his balance, he drew his weapon.
“Okay, okay now, everybody grab hold of your senses, here,” Fisk shouted, jumping up from his chair. “Elmer, put that away. Pink, sit back down.”
“What the hell you gonna do with that, Elmer? The way I recollect it, you couldn’t hit a bull’s ass with a bass fiddle!”
“Okay, Pink. Enough,” Fisk said. “We’re making no headway here. Elmer, get your coat. We’re taking a ride.”
Elmer followed behind Pink. He reached to open the back door of the police car for Pink. Pink stopped.
“You ride back there. I’ll ride up front with Louden,” Pink said, and he reached for the front door handle.
“No, Pink. I need you in the back,” Fisk said. “Don’t make this difficult.”
When Pink was seated, Elmer closed the door and slid into the front seat.
They drove in silence, the radio bleating out garbled noises. Pink looked at his hands, his trousers. The bleeding had stopped, but he still hadn’t had a chance to clean up. His pants were stained and ripped. His fingers and palms were covered in small cuts and abrasions. He suddenly felt dizzy and thought he might need Fisk to pull over. Just then, he was visited by a strange image: a woman in a lavender nightgown, wet and dark, imploring him toward her. The image vanished too quickly for him to be sure, but she almost looked like Isabelle.
“Pink, now don’t go crazy on me here,” Fisk said as he pulled into Pink’s driveway.
Pink looked up and couldn’t believe his eyes. His house was fully engulfed in kudzu. Leafy vines writhed up the siding and along the roof, covering the gutters like some insidious green predator. Windows were broken out. The porch was rotted away. Light fixtures were missing and loose wires dangling from ragged holes.
Pink reached for the handle, but there was none, and he was unable to release himself from the back seat. “Goddamn it, Elmer, open this fucking door!”
Elmer looked over at the sheriff, then got out of the car and jerked the door open. Pink sprung from the car and darted toward the house. He stopped dead and stared at it for a few seconds before spinning back toward Fisk. “What the fuck is going on here, Fisk?”
Pink stood motionless, his mouth open, his arms limp at his sides. A moment later, his large frame listed to the left, his eyes rolling back in his head. Before Fisk could reach him, Pink was down.
Chapter 41
On the drive back to Atlanta, Cliff apologized to Michelle, taking full responsibility for her getting lost, saying that if he hadn’t gone searching for the light, she would never have gone looking for him. He explained about going down the mountainside, losing sight of the cabin and the light, and getting sick. He said it was like the flu or something, then he passed out. When he woke the next morning, he was lost. He was weak and wandered most of the day, resting often, finding refuge that night under a hemlock. He used his jacket to cover himself. The next morning, he felt better and found a dirt road where an old man with a chainsaw was cutting firewood.
“He felt sorry for me,” Cliff said. “Gave me a sandwich and insisted on driving me all the way home. I don’t know how, but I had ended up almost twenty miles from the cabin.”
Cliff never went through the gateway! The realization hit Michelle like a punch. If she had just waited another day, Michelle thought, an old man would have pulled into the driveway and Cliff would have gotten out, come into the cabin and taken a shower, telling her about the rain, being sick and lost in the woods. And that would have been the end of it.
*****
Back in Atlanta, Cassie wanted to know about Michelle’s experience. Michelle fabricated details surrounding her absence, invented scenarios of amnesia and isolation. Using memories of Charlene House, Michelle pieced together a story of falling and forgetting who she was, claiming to have been found and cared for by an old woman secluded away in the woods. She even called the old woman Charlene House. Michelle told Cassie and Cliff that Mrs. House had no phone, no car, no connection to town. In the evenings, Mrs. House would return to the cabin with a possum or coon to make into a stew.
“You ate a raccoon?” Cassie asked.
The day her memory returned, Michelle told Cassie, Mrs. House escorted her through the woods to within a hundred yards of the highway, where Michelle could hear the traffic, could see the colored flashes of metal rush past beyond the trees.
“Probably the raccoon made you remember,” Cassie said, chuckling. “Your brain probably figured it better recall something quick before you had to eat a skunk.” Cassie seemed content with Michelle’s story. Michelle wasn’t sure it convinced Cliff though.
“I’m just so glad to be home, baby,” Michelle said, hugging Cassie to her.
*****
The days spun off routinely with swim meets, meals, and homework. Cliff talked about selling the dealership, moving back to Maine, working for his brother selling suits. “Remember how you loved Maine?” Cliff said one morning at breakfast. Michelle recalled it perfectly—the shiny expanse of ocean, the snow in winter, always alive, always new.