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  “In the linen closet, here in the hall, I know,” Mindy sighed as she walked to the door and opened it. Bed and bath linens filled the shelves, with a hamper and vacuum beneath, along with a tangled pile of winter boots. Mindy pulled a towel from the shelf and turned to face Dani. “I helped you move here. Helped you unpack. Remember? I bought you that vacuum as a housewarming gift.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she slipped past her sister to the bathroom. “I’ll be quick. Tell Mikey I said you can check all my pockets before I go.”

  Before Dani could respond, Mindy locked herself in. She leaned against the door and let herself cry.

  Sean crumpled up yet another sheet of paper. I’ve never had a drawing blockage like this, he thought, letting the paper fall to the kitchen floor.

  Mare stood at the sink, sorting dishes. “You want to go to the cemetery? You sure?” She tested running water with one hand and squirted dish soap with the other. “What about the sheriff?”

  “Those folks came to our house,” Sean muttered, his hands clenching into his hair at his temples as he tried not to look at the microwave clock or the scattered wads of paper. Out of all of the loose sketches he’d drawn since locking out the news crews, only two featured Ghoulie. The rest were children, and most were detailed drawings of the same scared boy. None, not even the Ghoulie sketches, had anything what-so-ever to do with the script. Forcing himself to sit down and draw anyway, even with his zone-out-and-create music blaring on the iPod, garnered him no useful progress. Just the boy, other kids, then the boy again and again and again. And the dog, don’t forget the fucking dog, he thought, pounding his fists against the side of his head. He’d worked for nearly six hours and had nothing useful to send to Murphy or Black Pawn, only a splitting headache and hand cramps.

  Mare washed dishes awhile, head nodding to Sean’s music. “Our house or not, you’re not responsible for those people, hon, or where they came from. The six o’clock news showed the cemetery driveway blocked off and patrolled, with scads of people shaking protest signs. Looked like a madhouse.”

  “They also edited me to look like a raving, zombie-spouting lunatic,” Sean muttered. “Just ‘cause it was on the news doesn’t make it true.”

  He tried again to draw Ghoulie facing down a mob of zombie construction workers, as per instructions. “Something happened to bring those folks back,” he said, barely aware of his own voice as his pencil drew a young face around Ghoulie’s world-weary eyes, “and whether I can get in or not, whether anyone believes me or not, I still have to try. Maybe figure out what’s going on and why it won’t let me draw Ghoulie!” He muttered a curse and wadded up the page, tossing it onto the pile with the others.

  “You okay?” Mare asked, drying her sudsy hands.

  “Not really.” He tried to smile at her as she rubbed his shoulders. “It’s just something I have to do. I’m thinking pretty late. Maybe midnight, ish. You can come along, if you want.”

  She grinned and perched on his lap. “I haven’t been arrested since the street riots my freshman year.” She kissed him soundly and handed him his bottle of Excedrin. “Might be fun.”

  Siren blaring, Deputy Todd Anderson pulled into the GetGoin’ parking lot, first on the scene at less than one minute after the missing kid call came through. He checked in and exited the vehicle to sweltering midday heat and assessed the spectators and location, a block off Highway 30 and moments away from escape in any direction.

  He hoped this was just a pissed off kid playing a scary trick on his folks, but his gut insisted it was a helluva lot worse.

  The crowd parted, opening a path to the store, and he used every inch and pound of his towering bulk to appear imposing. A quick head count gave him eight individuals and, in the distance, he heard Boone Police approaching. “Everyone stay here, all right? In case we have questions.”

  The people nodded, some swallowing and looking incredibly worried, not that he could blame them. Child abductions were terrible on everyone. The not-knowing, the endless slavering fear, the guilt of ‘if only I’d done this or been over there’ that might have prevented the horror in the first place.

  “Whatever we can do,” an elderly woman said, her crone hands crushing her purse into a rag.

  “Eight on site,” Todd muttered into his shoulder radio. “Notify local they’ve agreed to be questioned.”

  The dispatcher squawked her affirmative as he opened the gas station’s door.

  The chilled air and darkness assaulted him, along with the familiar scent of fountain pop and hot dogs. A nervous clerk stood aside while a young family huddled together beside the counter in the otherwise vacant store. The infant slept, apparently oblivious to the upheaval, while Mom and Dad soaked their pullover shirts and short khakis with sweat and terrified tears.

  Already grieving, already thinking he’s dead or molested.

  The GetGoin’ employee wrung his hands and let out a sigh of relief as Todd walked in. “That was quick!” he said.

  “Was just passing the Ford dealership on the highway when I got the call,” Todd replied as both parents looked up, startled.

  “Bought our minivan there,” the father said, chin quivering.

  “It’s a good shop. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Justin’s gone!” the mother wailed, turning red as she slumped against her husband.

  “We’ll do everything possible to find him,” he said, knowing that while most kids come home, sometimes they never resurface, at least not alive. “Let’s start with your names?”

  Brent and Jill Lansing. Baby Eva. Justin, the missing boy, was eleven. Todd wrote down Justin’s description and immediately called it in, only to hear his dispatcher re-broadcast the information to every police department, country sheriff, and state trooper in Iowa. The dad produced a couple of photos from his wallet. Skinny, regular-looking kid.

  Todd couldn’t tell if the Lansings were reassured or alarmed by the urgent chatter on his radio as he tucked the photos into his notebook. “What brought you to GetGoin’ today?”

  “Needed gas.” The dad pointed to the north. “We live a few blocks from here. We’re here all the time. I pump, Justin pays.”

  “He’s right,” the clerk said. “The kid’s in here every day or two for pop, chips, whatever. Kid knows how to use the ATM card.”

  “Was that the wrong thing to do?” the mom asked, clutching the infant tighter. “Giving him the card? Sending him in alone?”

  Not supposed to be wrong in small town Iowa but the world’s a hard place sometimes. Least we’re finally taking these calls seriously and not waiting. Might save a few more kids, Todd thought as he noted the information. After getting the mother’s ATM card, he asked, “Did you see him enter the store?”

  “Oh, he entered,” the clerk blurted. “Even paid. I’ve got it all on tape.”

  “We’ll need to have that.” Todd relayed the presence of a surveillance video to dispatch. “What happened after he paid?”

  “Went to use the restroom,” the clerk said.

  Both parents nodded. “He told us he needed to pee.” The dad embraced the mom who folded right in. “I told him to hurry, we’re supposed to be in Des Moines by four thirty. Family picnic thing.”

  Least they’re not blaming each other, Todd thought as he nodded and wrote. So many folks do.

  “I told him he should have gone before he left the house,” the mom wailed. “But kids, they never plan ahead, do they?”

  “Not usually, ma’am.” Todd had used the GetGoin’ restroom several times and he glanced down the short hall to confirm his memory. The men’s room was right by the back door. “Is there a camera back there?” he asked the clerk.

  “No. It’s locked from the outside. We just have cameras on the counter.”

  “Did you see him enter the bathroom?”

  “No, but I did see h
im waiting to use it. We got busy, and I lost track of him. He rides his bike up here most afternoons. I didn’t think nothing of him standing back there by himself.”

  Todd managed to not purse his lips. He wouldn’t let his daughter Hailey ride her bike beyond the end of the driveway without supervision. “Did anyone go around back to look for him?”

  “I did,” the dad said. “There’s just a dumpster and a field. I yelled but couldn’t find him. It’d been ten minutes, maybe, since I seen him. So I ran in and we called you.”

  So a possible opportunistic abduction, either from a customer in the store, or whoever was already in the bathroom. Or, hopefully, he snuck out with another kid and is whooping it up at a park or the movies.

  “Need a forensic team, ASAP,” Todd told dispatch as local police came in. “And put a track on the father’s ATM card,” Todd said before relaying the mom’s banking information to the dispatcher.

  “Did you go through the back door or walk around?” Todd asked.

  The dad’s face flushed. “Through. I’ve ruined evidence, haven’t I?”

  “Why are you questioning Brent? He was with me and Eva the whole time. You need to be looking for Justin! He went in here and didn’t come back out!” she cried, trembling. “Please. You have to find my son.”

  “We’ll do everything we can,” Todd assured her then took the two policemen aside to bring them up to speed.

  “I can get you something to eat.” Dani waited for a pair of police cruisers to scream past before she pulled onto Story Street.

  “It’s okay. I’ve already bothered you too much.” Mindy watched the cops barrel toward the highway as she clenched her precious bags of clothing tighter. She felt naked and exposed in jeans and a lacy cami that was technically underwear. It was too damn hot for a wool sweater, but the cami was better than nudity.

  “I promised to feed you,” Dani said. “And, really, we can stop at WalMart and get you a pair of shoes. You don’t need to—“

  “Your old flip-flops are fine,” Mindy said, staring out the window. Boone looked the same, yet different. New restaurants. A new bank. Same old law firms and real estate agents.

  “I am sorry about Mikey. I don’t want to be…” Dani shrugged and, coasting to a stop in front of a taco place, flicked her turning signal on. “I don’t want to be unkind.”

  That’s dirty pool. She knows I love Mexican food. Mindy scowled at her sister as they entered the drive thru lane. “Mikey’s fine. You’re fine. Truly,” she said, staring out the window again. “I’m the one who’s messed up. You really don’t have to feed me.”

  “Too bad. Baby’s hungry and mommy is too.” Dani ordered and handed Mindy her usual double tacos and cheesy ‘taters, then she pulled into a parking space and turned off the car. “Eat,” she said, unwrapping her own burrito. “I know you’re hungry.”

  Yeah. I haven’t eaten anything in almost three years, Mindy thought as she took her first bite. They sat in silence, eating and watching Sunday evening traffic. She wanted to ask Dani a hundred questions about her daughter and the baby on the way, about Jeff, about three years of changes to the world, but instead she ate her potato nuggets and tried to figure out what to do.

  “Is there somewhere I can take you?” Dani asked, breaking the silence. “A shelter? A friend?”

  Mindy shook her head and silently ate her potatoes. What do I do? How can I survive with nothing but a couple of bags of clothes? I don’t even exist anymore.

  “Hey,” Dani turned to face her. “I can take you to Ames, to Des Moines, hell, I’ll drive to Chicago if it’ll help.”

  “I have nowhere to go. I don’t know anyone anymore.” Mindy stuffed her meal refuse in the paper sack. She glanced at Dani and managed a smile before reaching for the door latch. “Thank you for your help. I won’t bother you—“

  “No. Wait,” Dani said, grasping Mindy’s arm. “You have to understand. This is impossible. We… We have kids and can’t take the chance that you might not be… Be my Mindy.”

  This smile came easier. “I know. It’s okay. Really.”

  Dani still held her arm. “But if you are her, if by some miracle my sister’s back, I cannot, will not, let her wander the streets homeless and alone. I won’t, okay?” She moistened her lips and added, “There has to be someone, somewhere, who knows what’s going on. Someone who can help.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone but folks at the hospital, and the deputies who took us there.”

  “I’m not going to turn you over to the cops,” Dani said, chewing her lip. “What about those other people you saw? Did any of them seem aware of what was going on?”

  “No. They were all confused, too. And they’re still at the hospital, as far as I know.”

  “Okay,” Dani said, chewing her lip again. “What about where the cops found you? Was there a person in charge or anything?”

  “No. I just woke up in some guy’s backyard in Pinell. He seemed as confus…”

  Perplexed at Dani’s mortified expression, Mindy asked, “Are you all right? Did I say something wrong?”

  Dani shook her head and turned on the ignition. “We buried you in a little cemetery east of Pinell.” She backed out and drove to the exit. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered as she turned onto the road, heading west. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Chapter Seven

  After Mare suggested going back to basics and trying a grid-based layout instead of his usual freeform style, Sean managed to scrape out a few sketches. None would win any composition awards, but at least they weren’t dark drawings of tortured children. And they featured Ghoulie, or rather a nebulous shape resembling Ghoulie. Maybe. If he squinted.

  Eight spreads done. Not my best work, but it’ll get to Murph before the meeting. Sean taped a fresh sheet to his drawing board. God, I hate this stiff, structured shit.

  Mare tidied up the worst of his ratty lines on page six before scanning them into the Mac. “Looking better,” she said.

  “Yeah, better than dog shit on my shoes,” Sean muttered, using a ruler to draw story cells on a blank page. “I haven’t had to use layout blocking since I was in high school.”

  That scan done, Mare slid in the next. “Your lines are getting better. They’re not so smudgy.”

  “Maybe I should just draw stick figures and be done with it,” Sean muttered as he roughed in the next scene. Cursing, he reached for his eraser and scrubbed the page with it. Bigger, bigger, you idiot. Ghoulie’s full grown, not the size of a kid.

  Mare took a breath to speak, but someone knocked on the front door. “I got it,” she said, bolting from the room.

  Sean tried again to draw Ghoulie leaping onto a rushing semi. Better not be another news crew, he thought, pencil finding the familiar twisting line of Ghoulie’s back and arm.

  He heard Mare open the door and a quiet chorus of female voices, then Mare peeked into the studio. “I think you need to come out here.”

  “’Kay.” Sean stretched and walked to her. “Who is it this time? The Drudge Report? The Onion? Another teenage blogger with an undead fetish ready to make fun of how I’m an idiot who screwed up zombie canon?”

  Mare stared down the hall toward the living room and whispered, “No, nothing like that.”

  Sean grasped her hand. “You okay?”

  Mare kept staring down the hall. “Think so.” She leaned against him. “Just never thought I’d see what I’m pretty sure I just saw.”

  Still holding her hand, he led her to the living room then stopped. Mindy Howard and a pregnant woman lingered near the front door. The pregnant woman looked around as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “Did something happen?” Sean asked them, wondering what was so mind boggling about his shabby living room. “I thought you were taken to the hospital.”

  “I was,” Mindy said, nodding. “But I left. My si
ster Dani brought me here, hoping we could find some answers.” She took a steadying breath then asked, “Do you have any idea what’s going on? Did the cops say anything? Is there something, anything you can tell me?” She swallowed and her hands shook. “I’m totally lost here. I’ve lost more than two years of my life. Somehow.”

  Still holding his hand, Mare slumped to sit on the couch. “We took Home Ec together in high school. I went to your funeral. How can you be here?” she asked Mindy, her voice awed and terrified.

  “I don’t know. I was driving home then suddenly standing in his backyard.”

  “Our backyard,” Sean said. It drove Mare batty when his mother referred to everything as his. He wasn’t about to let a stranger do it, too. “It’s our house.”

  “Okay,” Mindy said, nodding. “But how did I get here?”

  Sean admitted, “I have no idea. I woke this morning to find you and the others walking into our yard.”

  “So you don’t know either,” Mindy sighed. “This was just a waste of time.”

  “Not a total waste,” her companion said. “Where’d you get such a great poster of GhoulBane? And the resin figurine? My husband would kill for such cool stuff like that.”

  Sean felt himself blush, but Mare said, “He’s a Ghoulie Fan?”

  “Oh my God, yes! Has every issue, some of them signed by the artist. He gave a talk on line drawing composition at the Ames comic shop last year, and Mikey was thuh-rilled to meet him. Was all he talked about for weeks.”

  “Oh, cool, I bet that was fun,” Mare said, glancing at Sean who had long ago learned to keep his mouth shut. Better to say nothing than deny and be caught lying or fess up and be called arrogant. Since the stalker incident of ‘11, Mare had little patience for Ghoulie fans showing up at the house.

  Despite Mare’s stiff smile, Dani walked close to examine the poster. “Yeah, he said it was awesome and he thought the guy’s from Iowa somewhere. You should totally get this signed. It’d probably triple the value.”