The Summer We Lost Alice (9 page)

"Clients, Julie," Mrs. Nichols says. "We call them clients."

"Yes, ma'
am," the nurse says. Then she makes a face and says, "Oh,
phew!
" and waves a hand under her nose. She glares at the old man.

"This is what happens when they get too excited," Mrs. Nichols says. "Take Mr.
Haversham back to his room. I'll have Lionel clean up this mess."

Mrs. Nichols
steps out of the back door. She raises her head and sniffs the air like an animal. I remember what Alice said about the witch—she can smell kids a mile away.

Mrs. Nichols scowls. She stares into the darkness for long seconds, so long that I'm afraid she'll see me, even in the dark. I try to make myself small.

After a long time I hear the door shut and I hear the click of the lock. I was hoping the door wouldn't close and I'd be able to sneak in, but that isn't going to happen. I'm letting Alice down. I can't even get inside a house of old people.

Then a window beside the door slides open
. A man's voice says, "That old man can sure put out a stink!" The nurse's voice laughs. Pretty soon the light goes out.

Boo finds me and licks my face. He smells particularly bad, like he found something dead and rolled in it. I hold his head in my lap and scratch behind his ears. He doesn't have any idea what we're doing out here, sitting in the damp grass after dark, but he doesn't care. It's what we're doing and we're together and he's getting his ears scratched, and that's good enough for him.

As soon as things quiet down inside, I'll crawl through the open window. Then I can let Boo in the back door and we can find Alice. We'll probably get caught, I know that. But even if we do, we might get away and I can tell the FBI where Alice is, that I saw her. If I don't come back, Aunt Flo and Uncle Billy will find the map and they'll come here looking for me.

All we have to do now is
wait.

THUNDER
BOOMS
and I wake with a start.

I don't know how long I've been asleep. The seat of my pants is wet from sitting on the ground. Boo is wide awake. He places his front paws in my lap and licks my face.

The nursing home is dark, with only a few dim lights here and there that seem to come from deep inside the house. A fat raindrop hits me on the head. I hear raindrops pattering around me, the beginnings of a storm.

I say, "Come on,
Boo," and get up. My legs are stiff as we walk around to the back door. I try the handle. It's locked. The window is still open, though. I jump up and grab onto the sill. It isn't easy but I pull myself up. Boo watches me. I pray that he keeps his mouth shut. I tell him to shush, in case he's even
thinking
of barking, and that I'll be right back. I get one leg into the window and tumble inside. I unlock the door and let Boo in. He jumps around me like some kind of nut with no idea of how important this is.

I shine the flashlight inside. We're in a kitchen that smells like disinfectant. Boo trots in ahead of me, his toenails clicking on the linoleum. He sniffs the floor, excited. I guess there are a lot of
smells in an old folks' home that a dog finds exciting, smells no amount of cleaner can get rid of.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out a sock of Alice's that I dug out of the hamper. I call to Boo
. He comes over and I stick the sock under his nose.

"Find Alice," I tell him.

In the movies, the bloodhounds run off right away in search of the escaped prisoner. Boo doesn't seem to get the idea. He goes back to sniffing around the edges of cabinets and walking around like some crazy wind-up toy.

I venture deeper into the dark house. Boo follows like he does, wandering away and coming back.

The kitchen opens onto a large dining room. Once, I suppose, there was one huge table in this room. Now there are several smaller ones, and there don't seem to be enough chairs. Then I remember that some of the old folks would be in wheelchairs. I shine the flashlight around. There's a big sign telling what day of the week it is and the date and the weather.

Boo follows me into the dining room, sniffing at everything. He finds something on the floor and licks it. I can't tell what it is.
A crumb, a spot of dried soup, who knows?

There are two doorways. One is an open arch that leads to a set of stairs and the front door. I know there's a word for this room,
but we don't have a room like this in our house in Wichita, and neither do Aunt Flo and Uncle Billy. I can't think what the word is.

The other doorway is a pair of big wooden doors that slide into the wall. The doors are open part way and I peek in. There are some chairs, some big rubber balls like they have at school, a couple of empty wheelchairs folded up and sitting against a wall, some of those metal things that old people walk with. Modern-looking cabinets line the walls.

Boo snuffles his way toward the room and I call him back, whispering. I shine the flashlight through the other doorway, the one that leads to the stairs. I go in that direction. Boo follows me.

I try sticking Alice's sock under Boo's nose again. I don't know if he understands or not, but he heads for the stairs and runs up. I follow.

At the top of the stairs we can go right, left or straight ahead. Boo goes straight. He runs past a couple of closed doors, one on either side of the hallway. He heads for a closed door at the end of the hall. When he gets there, he stands on his hind legs and plops his front paws against the door and
woofs
. The bark sounds as loud as a bomb. I know that everybody in the house heard it, even if they were sound asleep. I hope for one crazy moment that they'll mistake it for thunder.

"
Sh, Boo! Quiet!" I hiss at him. Already, though, I hear a door opening behind me. A distant light comes on. I open the door and Boo tumbles in. I close the door behind me. I shine the flashlight into the room, hoping to find Alice tied to a chair like Lois Lane waiting for Superman. Instead, all I see is an old woman lying in a bed. Her hair is long and gray. Her face looks like a skull with skin pasted on.

The old woman's bed creaks. She's waking up. She looks confused
. The flashlight bothers her eyes and she shades them with one hand. I move the light off her face. When she tries to raise herself on one arm, I see how weak she is. She can hardly move.

Boo runs right up to her bed. She blinks a couple of times, like she's trying to understand what she's seeing, like maybe she doesn't know if she's awake or dreaming. She reaches out one hand toward Boo and he licks it. I'm afraid that she'll scream, but she doesn't. Her wrinkled lips attempt a smile.

"Boo," she says.

I think my heart is going to stop in my chest. How does she know Boo's name? My mind doesn't want to believe the answer. Even as I'm rejecting it, I know it's the truth.
The impossible truth.

"Alice?" I say. I almost can't hear my own voice.

The old woman's head wobbles and she looks so sad, I can't stand it. A spotted hand wanders to her hair. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth and twists hair around her finger.

I want to run toward her but my legs won't work. I'm at a loss for words. I stand and stare at her. In a way, I'm not surprised, not after seeing Martin Dale/
Haversham. But still, I can't comprehend it, let alone do anything. I'm utterly useless.

The light flickers on. Two hands dig into my shoulder. I yell out and drop the flashlight. The hands spin me around until I'm looking square into the face of Mrs. Nichols. She looks older than I remembered, and tired, but the sight of her chills my blood. Her fingers in my shoulders are strong, no matter how old and tired she looks.

I hear a low growl and then Boo barks sharply, angrily. I've never heard him bark this way before, not even at squirrels. Mrs. Nichols looks up and I turn my head around to look over my shoulder. Boo runs toward us, his feet skidding on the floor. Mrs. Nichols is afraid of him.
Good
, I think.

Mrs. Nichols loses her grip on my shoulders
. I shove against her as hard as I can. Boo is already in the air, leaping at her. She's off-balance when he hits and she goes down hard.

I look back at the old woman in the bed, the old woman that I know to be Alice. She's trying to sit up but it takes too much strength.
She falls back into her pillow, her eyes staring at the ceiling, her chest heaving.

Mrs. Nichols is on one knee, already getting up. If I don't get past her now, I never will. Boo has hold of the front of her nightgown. He worries it like a rag. He growls deep in his throat. I don't think he's playing. I wish he would go for Mrs. Nichols'
s throat, but Boo's no attack dog, he just doesn't have it in him. Mad or not, he's just a big, dumb mutt after all.

I try to rush past Mrs. Nichols. She grabs my leg as I pass by and I fall down. I try to catch myself but I land hard on one arm and my face hits the floor. I hear my nose go
crack
. I kick out and I think I connect with her chin. She lets go and I scramble away on my knees, saying, "Come on, Boo! Come on!" All I want to do now is get out and tell everybody where Alice and Martin Dale and probably Perla Ingram, too, are at.

Warm, sticky liquid flows from my nose and into my mouth. My foot slips on the puddle of blood where my face hit the floor. I yell for Boo again as I get to my feet
. I start running. Boo follows me.

We reach the top of the stairs. Lights are on downstairs
. A man stands there looking up at us. It's the sheriff, with no shirt on. I try to make sense of what I'm seeing. Did somebody call him to arrest me? Why isn't he wearing any shirt?

He sees me. He yells at us and starts running up the stairs.

Behind us, Mrs. Nichols is still getting up, hands clawing their way up the door frame. She winces. I think maybe she hurt her back when she fell. On my right is a short hallway with a closed door at the end. I grab at Boo and steer him to the left, to a longer hallway.

We pass another couple of doors. One of them is open. A bedroom, sort of, not like a hospital room.
The witch's bedroom
, I think. We run by it and continue down the hallway. I reach another door and tug it open. Lightning flashes outside throwing the shadows of tree branches onto the window. For a second I can make out a desk and some filing cabinets.

I think maybe I can make it to the window, to the tree. Boo reaches the window ahead of me and bangs his front paws against it. He barks.

I reach the window. I try to open it, but it's locked. I find the latch and turn it and throw the window open, but before I can get through I feel a hand close around my arm, the arm I fell on. It hurts as fingers dig in deep.

The lights come on and I look up at Mrs. Nichols. She's working her mouth and cursing as I try to get free. Wind and rain blow through the open window. My only thought is to get out, but then I see
it
sitting on her desk.

It's a statue carved of wood, about eight inches tall. It's weird and inhuman-looking. Its mouth grimaces and shows an oval of crooked teeth. It looks heavy. It could be a weapon.

I kick at Mrs. Nichols and reach for the statue. Boo turns around and snarls. Mrs. Nichols curses again. I get one hand on the statue and strike out with it blindly. Boo stands between Mrs. Nichols and the window, barking and snarling. The sheriff reaches the doorway. He keeps his eye on Boo. I don't matter to him. Only Boo.

I lose my grip on the statue
. It clatters to the floor. I reach down to pick it up, my arm sliding in Mrs. Nichols's grip. Mrs. Nichols digs her fingers harder into my arm and pulls me back. My hand grazes the statue, which rolls an inch or two, enough to put it out of my reach.

I look up at Mrs. Nichols, expecting her to be looking at me, but she isn't. She isn't even looking at Boo who's standing there growling and barking. Her eyes are fixed on the statue. It means more to her than me and Boo put together.

"All right," I say, "All right!" I stop struggling.

"Call off the dog!" Mrs. Nichols says.

"He won't stop until you let me go!" I say. I'm faking. I have no idea what Boo will do.

Mrs. Nichols tells the sheriff to back off
. He takes a couple of steps backward, into the hallway. I tell Boo to sit. He doesn't. He might sit if I had some popcorn, but he's still upset and he won't take his eyes off Mrs. Nichols. But he stops barking and the growl in his throat goes deeper. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, like he's doing a dance.

Mrs. Nichols lets go of my arm
. I stand there fighting the impulse to run. Mrs. Nichols glares at me. I become aware of the blood that's drying in my nose, on my face, on my shirt.

"You look a mess," Mrs. Nichols says. She seems oddly calm now.

Boo settles down a little bit more. He sits and pants, his eyes glued on Mrs. Nichols. The mad look is gone, replaced by wariness. Like me, he's at a loss for what to do. He's waiting, as I am, for a moment of clarity to emerge from the chaos.

Mrs. Nichols'
s face, too, softens, but it doesn't fool me. She has hatred in her heart, just as it's in mine.