She smiled and shook her head.

  “Your dad was a dreamer. He decided one day that he wanted to play a musical instrument. But instead of taking lessons on the recorder or the guitar like every other little kid, he made his own strange instrument out of wood and metal and strings. Of course he was devastated when it wouldn’t work for him. I remember one time he helped me build a pretend rocket ship out of wood in the back yard and then burst into tears when he realized that we weren’t really going to fly it into space. He had such a powerful imagination, you see, that it was hard for him to tell the difference between truth and fiction sometimes.”

  I bit my lip, fear igniting in my belly. There were times when I was like that. My daydreams felt so real, they played out in my head like a movie. Did it mean I was going to end up a crazy drug-addict like my dad? I wanted to ask my aunt, but couldn’t form the words.

  She didn’t notice I’d gone quiet and still. She stared at the painting on her desk, still talking.

  “Colin was always popular, so friendly and outgoing, it was impossible for people to dislike him. When he reached high school, my dad thought he was hanging out with the wrong type of friends. He wanted him to focus on sports or at least an education. Colin just wanted to experience life to the fullest. He snuck out at night and started skipping classes. I’m sure he drank and experimented with drugs even back then.

  “He met your mom, Jocelyn, in high-school when they were not much older than you are. She was a nice girl as full of dreams as he was. I remember that they always talked about one day moving to the west coast so that they could live on the beach in a hut built of driftwood.

  “By that time, the tension in my house was getting pretty unbearable, so when I was just eighteen and offered a full scholarship to college in Alaska, I leapt at the opportunity. My only regret was leaving Colin behind. If he’d wanted to come with me, I would have found any way to keep us together. But he liked his friends and he loved Jocelyn. He wasn’t ready to leave them yet. So I left.

  “The next time I saw him was when I came home for a visit the following summer. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I knew he had changed. Gone was the sweet, innocent brother I remembered, and in his place was a jittery, hollow-faced young man who skipped school almost every day, stole money from my parents, lied, and spent most of his time hanging out downtown. My dad was on the brink of sending him away to military school when Colin took matters into his own hands and ran away from home. He took Jocelyn with him.

  “Your grandfather did everything he could to track them down, but nobody could find them. I was pretty sure they’d gone out west and knew for certain when I got a letter at college. It was just a post card, really, a picture of the ocean. On the back, he’d scrawled a quick note to say that they were doing great living on the beach just like they’d always wanted to. And he asked me to send them money.”

  Her eyes flicked back to mine unhappily. The end of the story was coming; it didn’t end well.

  “I would have done anything for him, of course. So, even though I was broke, I sent him five hundred dollars from my savings account. And when he asked again in a few months’ time, I sent him more. I didn’t ask what he needed it for; I didn’t want to know.

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect when I went for a visit because I’d gathered from their letters that their life wasn’t always the easiest. When I saw them, I was shocked. They were thin and dirty, living in a terrible house that had cracks in the walls and broken windows. They were obviously using drugs. I was so angry they would destroy their futures like that. I told Colin that unless they both went into rehab, I would not support him or send him any more money. We had a huge fight. He told me to get out and never come back. That was the last time I ever saw him or your mother.

  “I regretted that fight more than anything in my life, Cara. When I got home and had a chance to cool off, I did try to apologize. I sent letters, but by then they’d been evicted from their house and the letters bounced back to me. I broke down and told my parents what was going on. At first, your grandfather refused to have anything to do with him, but later, he hired a private investigator to find them. By then, it wasn’t any good. They moved all over the country and changed addresses faster than they could be found.

  “We didn’t know that you’d been born and we didn’t know that Jocelyn died when you were just a little one. Do you remember her at all?”

  I shrugged. “A little, maybe. I think I remember her singing to me.”

  “I’m not sure if you know this, but she stopped using drugs after you were born. We spoke to a social worker later who said your mom was a wonderful woman who’d loved you very much and had done her best to take care of you. It wasn’t an overdose she’d died from; it was a bad case of pneumonia that took hold of her weakened immune system from all the abuse she put her body through in those early years.”

  My aunt cleared her throat and looked at the floor, eyes brimming with tears.

  “When the police told my father that Colin had been killed in the fire, it was such a shock that my dad had a stroke. It wasn’t until he was able to communicate again that we even learned about you.

  “The fact that they even found you at all was like a miracle, Cara. That you were found alive and you’d been strong enough to survive all that time.”

  “How—how did they find me?” It was a question I pondered for a long time.

  “Well, they didn’t even know to look for you at first. It was assumed you’d died in the fire, too, until they couldn’t find a body. It was an anonymous tip, actually, from someone in Ontario. The social worker said that the person was frantic that you were missing and she was the one who gave them the lead to investigate the Horse Trader.”

  “Paris,” I said. “She was my dad’s girlfriend at the time. She lived with us with her little boy, Sam. He was like a brother to me. They took off when my dad started going all crazy. I wondered what had happened to them.”

  “I’m not sure, honey,” my aunt said. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all this. Do you want to take a break?”

  When I shook my head, she went on. “When they found the Horse Trader’s body lying in front of the warehouse, they immediately searched all the buildings nearby. That’s when they found you. I know you were worried he might be a Nzumbe, but you can see now that it’s impossible. His body lay there for over a week.”

  I looked down at my hands, deep in thought. “Well, Nzumbe look like dead people, right? He could have laid down and pretended to be dead.”

  “No, sweetie, it’s not possible. I’m positive that he died.”

  “But my dream—”

  “Was just a dream, honey. He’s gone . . . .”

  “I hope this hasn’t been too much for you, Cara. I just want to make sure that you know how much you’re loved. Your parents both loved you so much, even though they weren’t capable of showing it. You know, your uncle and I count our lucky stars every day that we are able to have you in our lives. Louisa, Henry, Martin, and Caleb couldn’t do without you, either.”

  I took a deep breath, but didn’t look up. So many emotions overflowed within me, I couldn’t think straight. Mostly, I was angry at my mom and dad for being hands-down the worst parents in the world. I also simmered with an irrational burning rage toward Aunt Sandra for fighting with them all those years ago. Why did she give up on them so easily? If she’d stuck around, Dad might still be alive, maybe Mom, too.

  Don’t kid yourself, I thought. They would have just used her for money.

  Aunt Sandra more than made up for missing my childhood. Every day I spent with her at the Inn was like winning the lottery.

  “Thanks, thanks for telling me all this,” I said, choking on the words. “I’m just going to go to my room and get changed, then we can go to the cemetery.”

  “Alright, sweetie. If you’re sure you want to do this.” Her face was white and pinched.

  Part of me wanted to cling to her like a child and sob. Instead, I turned woodenly toward the door.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure.”

  Safe in my room, I flopped on the bed and stared at the fracture running up the drywall. Was it bigger? I swore it hadn’t been that wide before.

  So, that’s my dad, I thought glumly. In all his glory.

  Now to make sure that the dead stayed buried.

  Chapter Nine

  New Snow

  When he finally woke, the light under the big bay door had disappeared and he wasn’t cold anymore—he burned from the inside out. He reached up, putting a hand on his cheek and snatching it away; his skin was scorching.

  He flicked his headlight on and pointed it at the round faced clock on the wall. It read six–thirty. He’d slept away an entire day. At least he could move safely outside under a cover of darkness.

  His movements stiff and slow, he packed his belongings back in the soggy duffle bag. His discarded clothes hadn’t dried; they were wet and rigid, still frozen. He shoved them into a plastic grocery bag and stuffed them in the bottom of the pack. Maybe he could dry them later when he started a fire.

  His shoes were a little drier. He shoved his feet inside and once again was grateful to anyone who would throw away perfectly good wool socks with only a few holes in them.

  As soon as he was packed, he crept to the door and stealthily slid back the deadbolt. The rain outside disappeared, replaced by a cold night sky full of stars. To his surprise, there was a thick crust of snow covering the ground, the type created when falling snow mixed with freezing rain—a crispy layer glinting in the light from the house like icing sugar. It must have come down hard while he slept.

  The house was not far from the garage, but the lit windows were covered with curtains. Behind the biggest one, the light from a television flickered rhythmically. If the family was inside watching television, they wouldn’t bother to look outside on a night like this. He made a run for it.

  Floodlights flashed on the moment he stepped outside, blinding him in a glaring spotlight. He froze, exposed on all sides. Then he ran.

  Somehow, he made it to cover in the forest, crashing through the woods like a hunted deer. He hid behind a large tree and turned to face the house. There was no shouting or barking dogs. Nobody followed him. It was only one of those motion lights set up over the garage. As he watched, it flicked off, leaving him in darkness.

  Despite his predicament, Phin laughed weakly at himself for being so jumpy. Putting a hand over his thudding heart, he soothed it as he would a frightened horse. His lungs weren’t working very well, either; each breath laboured to leave his body, causing a slight wheeze on the exhale. Propping his back up against a tree he rested until able to push forward again.

  Phin crunched along the edge of the woods until he reached the long driveway and followed it to the road. When he got there, he turned left, away from Cara and toward town. His best chance of survival was to head toward the city. Maybe he could find a good place to shelter for the night and light his fire.

  The country road was deserted. The icy snow must have kept everyone safe at home. He moved to the middle of the road so he could walk in the packed tire-tracks where cars drove earlier. It didn’t take long for his already soaked boots to freeze solid and chunks of snow to melt into his new socks. Still, he wasn’t cold yet. A strange warm glow ignited him from within and his brisk pace kept his blood pumping. His breath fanned in front of him in the crisp air as he turned off the winding country lane onto a slightly wider flat road.

  Tilting his head back, he looked at the vast blanket of stars overhead. They were huge and there were so many scattered across the sky. He’d always felt, if he ever got the chance to go to school, he’d grow up to study something important like stars or glaciers, or the way the world worked—something big, anyway.

  He’d never realized how little he knew about everything until Cara let him sit in on some of her online classes with Mrs. Smith. At first, he’d been too ashamed to open his mouth, but when he realized they weren’t going to laugh at him, he let his guard down and studied with a vengeance. It wasn’t enough. He’d talked to Mrs. Smith about his dream of maybe going to school next year, a real school just like on television, but she’d gently told him he was too far behind. He had a long way to go in every single subject but art before he caught up with pretty much every other kid his age. The realization people would think he was quite stupid made him burn with shame.

  He was so deep in thought; he didn’t hear the car until it was nearly on top of him. The horn blared and he barely had time to jump to the side before the car screeched by, one tire dropping into a semi-frozen puddle. A wave of muddy, half-melted ice and snow splashed him, soaking him from head to toe.

  Phineas blinked the muck from his eyes and wiped his face. His whole body was drenched and the night was only going to get colder. Using the rough sleeves of his coat he pawed the dirt off as best he could and determinedly hefted his bag a little higher.

  Up ahead, a faint, warm glow beckoned him from a little tree grove. It looked like a miniature house with an arched front door and two windows set high in the wall. A small fenced yard ran along the back and a short staircase led up to the front door, which hung slightly ajar. Inside, a toasty red light streamed onto the snow. He could feel the heat coming off of it the closer he got.

  The window was too high for him to see in. He gingerly pushed open the front door. Delicious warm air engulfed him like a cloud. It smelled earthy—wood shavings and animals. Faint rustling, murmuring surrounded him. It belonged to a large group of white chickens huddled together on a perch. They blinked sleepily, making low, curious noises and stretching their wings. He could just make out their plump bodies and curious stares in the light cast by the warm red lamp hanging from the ceiling. The lamp was the source of that wonderful warmth and he took two steps toward it before realizing he was not alone.

  A figure crouched in the far corner, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. She had her back pressed against the wall and held a basket clutched between both mitten-covered hands. It was hard to tell in the low light, but he thought she must not be much older than him.

  “Sorry,” he said, taking a quick step back. He held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “Get out,” she said, voice cracked and tremulous. “I know karate. I have a weapon and a big dog. I’ll scream.”

  He looked longingly at the warm light before taking another reluctant step back. “It’s just that I’m so cold. Maybe I could—”

  She stood swiftly and swung her hand out, throwing something at him full-force. The object hit his face with a crack. He clutched his eye.

  She’s shot me. He cursed in agony as he attempted to staunch the blood running down his face. His body jerked as more objects hit him and he stumbled sideways, preparing to die any minute.

  “Gah,” Phineas yelled, tripping in his haste to get away. Toppling out the front door he slithered through the snow until he regained his feet and hobbled back the way he’d come. By the time he reached the road, the stinging on his face subsided a little and he was able to blink. His eye stung badly, but he was not blinded. It took until he reached the next streetlight to confirm his suspicion. His body was not riddled with bullets; he was covered in the slimy remains of a hundred eggs. From head to toe he was a shivering, dripping mess, oozing half-frozen egg yolks onto the fresh blanket of snow. Bits of shell covered his hair and egg-goo seeped into every crevice of his clothes. A glob of egg slithered down his collar and made its way down his back. Egg slime sloshed in his right ear. Worse than the feel of disgusting egg on his skin was the realization he was quite possibly going to freeze to death.

  Pulling his chapped hands into his jacket sleeves to warm them as much as possible, but it wasn’t much good. His only hope was to make it to town, find a place to clean up, and dry out.

  The temperature fell again and a cloud of frosty air plumed out with each ragged breath he took. The fire burning inside him finally went out, leaving him cold. His legs weren’t working very well, either. They felt like wooden pegs moving clumsily across the slippery ground. His feet were in agony, raw from wet socks rubbing his frozen skin.

  As he hobbled along, the countryside changed into suburbs which, if he were lucky, would soon be city streets. Streetlights spaced at regular intervals along the way. He briefly wondered if he might be safer walking in the darkness of the woods where nobody could see him, but pushed the thought away. Nobody from the Inn cared about finding him anymore now that Ramsay was home safe. And, since the moment he’d left the mountain, the sensation from hidden eyes watching him disappeared. He had that to be thankful for, anyway.

  A few cars crunched by slowly on the snowy road, but nobody bothered to stop or ask if he was okay. He didn’t think trying to hitchhike would do him much good. Who would pick up someone looking like they’d escaped an explosion in an egg factory?

  The closer he got to the city, the better he felt. He picked up his pace. The brisk movement warmed him, melting the ice in his joints. He hummed under his breath to keep his spirits up, feeling strangely cheerful for a homeless outcast.

  Even when his steps slowed to a shamble, he wasn’t too worried. At any second, he would reach the city where he could find a place to get warm and spend the night.

  A deep cough bubbled in his chest, making him wheeze. Almost there. Just a little bit longer. Just keep going.

  Pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders he stuffed his hands deeper into his sleeves. Too bad he hadn’t found gloves in the garage. His hands were ice. At least his feet were still warm; in fact, he couldn’t feel them at all. Everything from his knees down felt molded in plastic instead of living flesh.

  Phin coughed again; this time doubling over, nearly falling into the snow. With shaking hands he weakly gripped the iron base of a street lamp, hanging on for dear life until he was strong enough to go on. Keeping his eyes fixed on the road made it easier to put one foot steadily in front of the other. Walking hunched over, his pack riding high on his shoulders, he kept his eyes trained on the ground. One step. Two step. One step. Two step. His feet skidded from underneath him and he fell to one knee with a cry. Phin stayed there with his head bowed for a long time before hauling himself to his feet. It reminded him of watching Ramsay stumble his way down the mountainside. If only he had someone like Louisa at his side to encourage him onwards.

 

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