Chapter 7 - THE BLUEBIRD'S SONG
Annie had the gap in her teeth.
The realization crashed over me like a wave of ice water. Walter hadn't been talking about my mother. He hadn't been remembering Ellen.
He was remembering Annie.
“He thinks Annie is Ellen,” I gasped, grabbing my purse from the counter.
“Walter hasn’t seen either of them since they were eight years old,” Margaret said, her eyes widening in pure terror as she finally caught up to my train of thought. “If Annie found him… if she went to that nursing home posing as Ellen…”
“She’s been visiting him,” I said, sprinting toward the front door. “The young nurse, Kayla. She told me Walter’s daughter brought in the box of keepsakes when he moved in. She said his daughter visits him occasionally.”
Answer one: Annie didn’t disappear when she was released. She sought out the father who had left her behind in the burning house. She took on Ellen’s identity to manipulate a frail, elderly man who didn’t know the difference.
“Sarah, wait!” Margaret cried, stumbling out of the kitchen. She looked older than she ever had, stripped of all her pretenses. “You can’t go there alone. Annie is dangerous. If she realizes you know the truth, she’ll kill you. And she’ll kill Walter.”
“I’m not letting her hurt him again,” I said, throwing the front door open.
“Take this!” Margaret yelled.
She hurried forward and shoved something heavy and metallic into my hand.
I looked down. It was Thomas’s cracked gold pocket watch.
“Show it to her,” Margaret said, her voice shaking violently. “It’s the one thing she’s terrified of. It’s the proof of what she did. Tell her you gave the diary to the police. Bluff, Sarah. Make her run.”
I squeezed the cold gold watch in my fist and ran to my car.
The drive back to the Oak Creek care facility was a blur of rain and neon streetlights. I broke every speed limit, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ached.
If Annie was the one visiting Walter, then she was the one who had given him the box of returned letters. She wanted him to see the NOT AT THIS ADDRESS stamps. She wanted to torture him with the knowledge that his family had rejected him.
But why today? Why bring the birthday cake today?
Open two: What was Annie’s endgame? Why spend eighteen months playing the role of the loving, estranged daughter just to taunt an old man?
I skidded into the parking lot of the nursing home. The rain was coming down in sheets now, obscuring the front entrance.
I ran inside, completely ignoring the receptionist, and sprinted down the hallway toward the small sitting room where I had left Walter and Kayla.
The sitting room was empty.
The white bakery box was still on the table. The slice of cake sat untouched on the plate.
Panic surged in my chest. I ran back to the front desk. The receptionist looked up, startled by my soaked clothes and frantic expression.
“Where is Walter?” I demanded. “The man in the wheelchair. Where did he go?”
“His daughter came to pick him up,” the receptionist said calmly, pointing toward the sliding glass doors. “She said they were going out for a special birthday dinner. They just left about five minutes ago.”
“What kind of car?” I yelled.
“A dark gray sedan,” she said, her eyes widening. “Miss, is everything alright?”
I didn’t answer. I sprinted back out into the pouring rain.
I jumped into my car, threw it into drive, and peeled out of the parking lot. I scanned the road ahead. A quarter-mile down the slick, rain-washed avenue, the red taillights of a dark gray sedan glowed in the mist.
I hit the gas, my engine roaring as I closed the distance.
Reversal: As I got closer, I could see the silhouette of the driver through the rear window. It was a woman with blonde hair, styled exactly like my mother’s. But sitting in the passenger seat wasn't Walter.
It was Kayla.
The young nurse.
I slammed on my brakes, swerving into the oncoming lane to pull alongside the sedan at a red light. I rolled down my window, the rain soaking my face.
I looked into the driver's side window of the sedan.
The woman driving turned her head. She had my mother’s eyes. My mother’s nose. But when she smiled at me, a cold, empty, terrifying smile, I saw the slight gap between her front teeth.
Annie.
“Where is he?!” I screamed over the torrential rain.
May you like
Annie rolled her window down just an inch. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, a perfect, chilling mimicry of my dead mother.
Cliffhanger: “He’s going back to where he belongs, Sarah,” Annie smiled, her eyes dead and black. “I told him we were going to visit Mommy’s grave. But first, he wanted to see the old house on Maple Street one last time.”
