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Previously in the Vines Inquiry— Harlow pulled on her encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies to renew her determination and carried on towards the foyer. Even so, the sounds of hungry cougars got closer. Meanwhile, Frank broke through the wall and was spat out into the manor’s foyer only to be reunited with Blevin. Both of the boys were injured, but they could still hear the Call coming from the parlor. As they tried to get the locked doors open, the cougars circled in.
That is until something smashed through the front of the manor…
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The station wagon—certified pre-owned and well-maintained thanks to a bartering arrangement with the local garage—idled, wobbling on a rickety foundation of broken doors, torn rugs and the remnants of Rosalind’s display table. The largest chunk was jammed into the front-left tire well, looking like a giant had taken a bite out of the ancestral marble circle.
The cougar had disappeared, but a smear of red evidence on the front bumper closed that case mighty quick.
“Jesus…” said Frank again.
“I’m not sure you should be saying ‘Jesus’ anymore, Frank.” Blevin winced. “Just cause, you know, all of this.”
Frank stood and stamped his foot, crunching a decorative pine cone beneath it. “What is going on?!”
The car honked twice in answer as the passenger side window rolled down.
“Frank, where the hell is my daughter?”
Lillian looked about as pleased as anyone might when they’ve just been forced to crash their car through a wall.
“God dammit, I want a cigarette,” she said. “Frank, what happened to your hair?”
He reached for it, missing as he recalled the chunks his father’s office had stolen. “I’m not sure it’s receding…”
Lillian kicked at her car door, trying to dislodge the manor door from where it trapped her in amongst the rubble. Blevin scurried over to help while Frank stood where he was, jaw gaping and playing with his wire-chopped hair.
“Ma’am.” Blevin yanked the manor parts aside and opened Lillian’s door as he extended a bloody hand. “Hi, I’m Blev—.”
“Uh uh.” Lillian waved him away as she strode past, pulling her aubergine winter coat closer. She didn’t have a scarf, hat or gloves to go with it, and the buttons were done unevenly. “Frank. My daughter.”
“There’s cats. Big cats.”
“I know. My husband just ran one over. But trust me, there’s room for you and this walking advertisement for genetically-modified corn under my car, too. Now. My daughter.”
To Frank, Lillian wasn’t famous so much as legendary. Your mother’s mysterious best friend from high school; or that one English teacher who lives in the city but teaches on Long Island for some reason. You build them up in your head, and then only sometimes does that façade break down before you. Lillian had yet to crash in Frank’s eyes.
She wielded her penetrating gaze and slick haircut with a lilt towards justice; the kind of woman who inspired people to get it right the first time, lest she be forced to have them question their entire life’s purpose. In short, Lillian Voorhees was the reason companies started recording their customer service calls.
“Upstairs,” said Frank, feeling like he was indeed on a recorded line. Would the bells, the Call, ruin the audio?
The Call, he thought.
He shook his head, trying to throw off the sound. Standing right next to the parlor doors, it felt like the Call was being piped directly into his ears. The shards of broken wood on the ground shined at him with possibility, their points reflecting the headlights like so many tempting spindles.
He reached for one and the Call answered; louder, quicker. Excited.
“Frank!” said Lillian. She grabbed his forearm tight, like she were yanking him back onto the sidewalk as a truck barreled past.
“Or downstairs,” he said, head clearer. “We all got lost. I don’t know what happened. She was right there and then we got separated. We were just uh…”
Frank realized he wasn’t prepared to break the news that they were planning a sacrament to Harlow’s mother. Lillian stared at him, waiting for more details. Anything that she could work with, but Frank’s eyes got glassy again. He could feel the cold creeping in him, not just in his feet this time. It was branching out all through his chest, running along veins and arteries and sweeping into his heart. He panted from the effort and could see his breath in the air.
Da-da-dum, da-da-dum…
“We-we-we,” he shivered. “We were drinking and then she was gone. She must have gone to the bathroom.”
Blevin perked up at the mention of the toilet and crossed his legs.
“Frank, where is she?” said Lillian. “You know where she is.”
He shook his head again, the bells of the Call only getting louder. “Why did you crash your car through my front door?” he said, dreamily.
“You know where Harlow is.” Lillian grabbed his chin, brought his eyes to meet hers. “You should be able to know where Harlow is. Don’t listen to it. Don’t listen to anything else but me.”
Thomas Voorhees stepped out the driver’s side, his bespectacled eyes already set on something. He was a sickle to his wife’s hammer; and also the history buff who’d come up with the metaphor. Word in Stella and Harlow’s bedroom after lights-out was that Momma hated it and had been trying to get Daddy to drop it for years. More at eleven.
Frank peeked away from Lillian and saw that another two cougars had come through the door that led to the first-floor halls.
“Come with me,” Thomas said to Blevin. His voice was bass enough to burn out an amp. The two of them went around to the station wagon’s trunk and pulled out a pair of grey pipes.
“Are these lead?” said Blevin. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Decommissioned. But they still have their uses.”
Blevin nodded. “I took Intro to Shop four times.”
Thomas handed him one of the pipes, heavier even than it looked, and clapped Blevin on the shoulder. “Just swing hard.”
Blevin nodded and adjusted his shoulders, trying to find a workable posture amongst the pain. Thomas saw him wince and reverberated something in his chest.
“Swing hard and stay conscious,” he said. “We’ll get you fixed up.”
Lillian put a dreamy Frank’s face between her hands. Her palms, normally rough and dry from all the bar bleach, were clammy.
“Listen to me. Ignore the bells. You can know where Harlow is. You just have to tell me.”
He squinted, trying to focus as his eyes brimmed with desperation. Lillian’s voice overtook the Call.
“You hear the bells…,” he said. “Her Call?”
“And I heard my daughter panting and scared for her life. Now. Please. Help me. I can’t just go looking. This house has miles of tunnels. This goddamn house!”
“Lillian…” said Thomas from where he and Blevin had posted up. One of the lions had run off, but returned with three more.
“Please, Frank. If you love her—,” said Lillian.
“I do!” said Frank. “Of course I do.”
“Then help her. Tell me where she is.”
“How? Anything. Just tell me how.” Lillian’s jaw worked up and down while she fumbled, panicked, searching for an answer she didn’t have.
“You should know!” she screamed, tugging at the buttons on her coat. “I thought they would have told you. I can get to her.” She looked away from Frank, speaking to the air. To whatever gods might be falling in the snow outside. “I just need to know where. I can do it. Just tell me where! This is your house. They must have told you both! What were they waiting for?”
He shook his head, as much a failure then as any time. He wanted to kick himself. To throw his body into the middle of seven of the rabid beasts. Of course coming back here would yield the same results. Nothing had changed. And now it looked like nothing ever would. Ever could, but…
“That’s a great question,” said Frank. Lillian whipped around as Thomas bashed one of the beasts.
“And there’s no such thing as a stupid one,” she said.
Frank dug his hand into the nearest pile of wreckage and pulled out one of the shards of the front door. He squeezed it in his injured hand, digging the jagged wood into the clotting wounds. Drops of bright red ran onto the pale wood.
“Hey!” The wood seemed to shine again, catching the same glint as before. The blood seeped into the lumber and disappeared. Frank looked into the massive foyer, ignoring the cougars and wreckage. He spoke to the emptiness of the house; its craned jaw. “You know what we did to the front door. What do you think I’ll do if you don’t give her back?”
There was a grotesque suction in his hand, the biggest leech he could imagine lapping with eight tongues at the cuts, trying to force them bigger. But Frank saw her. Harlow, huddled in an abandoned bedroom, her back against the door as it shook and rattled on failing hinges. Sounds of roaring and malice coming in through the brass heating grate next to her.
Frank felt Lillian’s hand against his face. “Got her.”
Lillian turned around and slammed her palms together with fingers pointed in opposite directions. She spoke quickly and low. Frank could see her lips moving but the only sound that came from between them was like dancing; the silver beads of a short dress clicking against each other as someone swayed to the middle of a technicolor disco. Lillian sliced her hands apart, brought one elbow high and slammed her palm to the ground.
All the cougars roared at the intrusion. There was something in the air; a pressure like falling altitude. Lillian turned her palm on the ground with the force of wrenching a rusted bolt. The momentum took her with it, spinning her hand all the way around. She cried out but kept her palm sealed to the floor. From deep within the house, a domino of thuds.
“Dammit!” said Lillian, cradling her arm. “I guess that’s gone, too. LoLo!”
Frank furrowed his brow, curious and afraid. What was happening if Lillian thought her daughter could hear her from the foyer through all the doors and maze of hallways. The soundproof corridors that had terrified him as a boy, that cut off any…
“Momma?” whispered Harlow. Her voice carried like she was in the next room.
“We’re here, baby! We’re here. Now come on down before your daddy’s allergies act up.”
“Lillian…” said Thomas. He kicked a cougar away from an overwhelmed Blevin.
“There can be two reasons for things, Thomas.” She turned to Frank. “And you. You know what Piece you’re going after? You’re sure it’s free?”
Frank nodded.
“Then go get it.”