Night Terror Read Free Page A

teletype to all law enforcement agencies including the NCIC, the National Crime Information Center. Audrey and Richard had placed ads in local newspapers, paid for spots on radio stations, put professionally printed posters in stores and gas stations. And they would have spent most of their savings hiring a private investigator out of Lewiston, but the man had refused to accept any pay after informing them that there were no clues to be had. Zach had wandered into the front yard to play while Audrey worked in her back garden, and five minutes later he was gone.
    One year ago today. How dare Richard think of another child.
    “He’s alive,” she said. Richard didn’t respond. “He’s alive,” she repeated.

4
    AUDREY STOOD STARING OUT THE BACK door into her garden. She hadn’t set foot in the backyard since the day of Zach’s disappearance. Her perennials had survived but they were coming back wild, and the areas that would normally be planted with young annuals were filling with spring weeds. Everything about her life seemed to be going to seed, falling apart.
    Since Zach’s disappearance she and Richard had worn their love for one another like an old coat that had been slashed and ripped in some violent accident. The fabric could be repaired, but Audrey wasn’t certain if it would ever fit the way it had before. After their argument, Richard had packed his briefcase and gone into Arcos to work on some client files—a CPA always had something to do. Whenever they fought about Zach, Richard went to work and Audrey brooded. Now it was time to stop brooding and get on with her life. That meant her garden.
    Her aunt Tara had explained the rudiments of gardening to Audrey when Audrey was barely in her teens, bought horticulture books for her to study, worked with her until both their hands were callused, until finally Audrey outgrew her teacher and began to instruct Tara. In gardening, Audrey had found more than just a hobby to take her mind off her troubles; she had discovered solace and rebirth. She became so accomplished at it that three years after she andRichard were married, she published a book on home flower gardening.
I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
became a hit. It was in its seventh printing now and Audrey had always been proud of the fact that she wasn’t just a housewife, that she supplied more than her share of the family income.
    The garden called to her now. She longed to smell the rich soil, to feel her fingers working through the damp earth, to hear the sound of crickets and birds. But when she rested her hand on the doorknob, it felt frigid to the touch, hostile, as though the house dreaded her departure. But what else could she do, spend the rest of her life inside, pacing from room to room in an old housecoat like some hag out of a Dickens novel?
    Still, the door would not seem to open. An odd tingling tickled the very back of her mind, the first tiny signal of fear. But why should she be afraid of her own garden?
    Then she realized that it wasn’t her garden she feared. It was the door itself. It wasn’t the place, but the passing into the place. It was that irretrievable step from the past year with Zach into this new one without him. Opening one door. Closing another.
    She glanced around the kitchen. Sunlight glinted on the blue countertops and white vinyl floor. The dishes were washed and stacked. The laundry was dried and put away. The house was spotless. She could return to the manuscript for her new book and pretend to write, but she knew that was a game. She had to write the manuscript
out there
where it was lived. There was nothing more to be done indoors. No further living to be accomplished. If she remained in the house, it wouldn’t be to live, but to die.
    She clamped down hard on the knob and jerked the door open. Without hesitating on the stoop, she strode out into the backyard. The day was warm and golden, the air redolent with balsam fir and lilacs just beginning to flower. A