All the Little Lights by Jamie McGuire
"The Fentons'?" Catherine asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"That's right," Willow said. She turned, walking to the chair Mrs. Mason had been tied to. "That little bitch sat in her own shit for days. Right here."
Catherine's expression crumpled. "Mama," she cried. "I can't follow you here."
"Go, baby," Mavis said, a tear streaming down her cheek. She sounded like Althea again. "Hurry."
Catherine pushed me backward. "Go," she whispered, speaking through her teeth.
"Not without you," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
"I'm going! Go!"
I scooped Mrs. Mason into my arms and walked up the stairs backward, making sure Catherine was following.
The laughing stopped, and a man's voice growled. Loud footsteps stomped up the stairs, and Catherine ran.
"Go! Run!" she pleaded.
At the top of the stairs, Catherine closed the door behind her. She locked it, touching her forehead to the wood. She sniffed a few times and then looked at Mrs. Mason, exhaustion in her red-rimmed eyes. "She's not down there."
"Who?" I asked.
"Mama. How do I explain that it wasn't her? That it's not her fault that they killed Presley?" She rubbed her head back and forth against the wood.
"Catherine?" Mavis called in her little-girl voice. "Catherine, I'm scared!"
Catherine sniffed, her eyes wet. She petted the door. "I'm here, Poppy. I'm right here."
Mrs. Mason shook her head, her brunette hair stained with blood and dirt. "Don't let her out."
Something banged against the door. "Catherine! Let us out!" The door banged again.
Catherine pressed both palms against the door to keep the wood from breaking free of the hinges, and I helped her, leaning my back against it and pushing against the opposite wall with my shoes.
Mavis sounded like a man again.
I pushed my feet harder against the wall. As crazy as it sounded, Mavis was stronger when she was Duke. "He killed Presley," I said in disbelief. "The guy. Duke."
"It was all of them," Mrs. Mason said, a single tear spilling down her cheek. "She's dead." She covered her mouth, trying to stifle her cries. "Presley is dead."
The door banged again. "Let us out!" It was hard to tell who it was this time, as if they were all speaking.
"Stop!" Catherine said, banging the side of her fist against the door. "Stop it!" she cried.
I touched Catherine's hair. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."
"No," she said, shaking her head, her expression crumpling. "They're going to take her away. I've locked her down there like an animal."
"Catherine," Mrs. Mason said, "she needs help. You can't protect her. She's getting worse. She . . ."
"I know," Catherine said, standing when the banging stopped. She wiped both eyes and looked down the hall. "Elliott, get that table. We'll prop it against the door."
I did as she asked, rushing to the end of the hall and grunting when I picked up the table. Catherine moved to the side, and I propped it against the basement door as the sirens grew closer.
I helped Catherine climb over the table, and then she ducked behind the check-in desk by the front door, handing a landline phone to Mrs. Mason.
Mrs. Mason pressed seven buttons and then held the phone to her ear. "Milo?" She laughed and cried at the same time. "Yes, I'm okay. I'm at the Juniper. Yes, the bed and breakfast. I'm okay. The police are coming. Just . . . get here." She cupped the phone and her mouth with one hand. "I love you, too," she cried.
She turned, and I took Catherine by the hand, leading her to the base of the stairs. Catherine stared ahead, seeming numb.
"Look at me," I said, raking her hair from her face with my fingers, tucking the strands behind her ears. "Catherine?"
Her big olive-green eyes looked up at me.
"Who was real?" I asked.
She swallowed. "No one."
"Althea?"
She shook her head.
"You said seven."
"Althea. Duke. Poppy. Willow. Uncle Toad. Cousin Imogen."
"That's six."
She hesitated.
"Catherine," I prompted.
"Mama," she blurted out. "Mama is the seventh." She leaned against my shoulder, and I pulled her into me, holding her tight as she sobbed.
The sirens were just outside, and then there were only the red and blue flashes. A car door slammed, and Mr. Mason called frantically for his wife.
"Becca?"
Mrs. Mason pushed through the screen door, ambling toward him.
I stood, watching them embrace and cry. The officers approached the Juniper, guns pulled and ready. I held up my hands, but the first officer grabbed me anyway, yanking my hands behind my back.
Detective Thompson walked in and peered around, his gray mustache twitching.
"Cuff him," Thompson said.
"Stop! It wasn't him!" Catherine said, standing. "She's downstairs. The person who took Mrs. Mason and Presley Brubaker."
Thompson raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Catherine's heart broke right in front of my eyes. "Mama. We locked her downstairs. She's sick, so be gentle."
"Where's that?"
"First door on the right past the kitchen. Don't hurt her."
Thompson directed the officers, then glared at me. "Don't move."
I nodded.
Mavis cried out and then growled. Panicked voices of the officers began to get louder and rise from the lower level.
Thompson leaned to the right, looked down the hall, and then ran for the basement door. Light flickered, and smoke began to billow out. Thompson stepped to the side as two police officers breached the stairs with Mavis in tow. She was handcuffed, her feet dragging, her eyes vacant and fixed on the floor.
The men puffed as they struggled to haul her deadweight. Catherine followed them with her eyes and then focused on the basement doorway.
"What's that? What's going on?" she asked.
"Uncuff him," Thompson said to the officer guarding us. He barked into his radio for the fire department. "Catherine, is there a fire extinguisher?"
"There's a fire?" she asked.
"One of the guys kicked something over down there. I'm not sure. Where's the extinguisher? In the kitchen?" he asked, turning his back to us.
"No! No," Catherine said, jerking away from the officer holding her. "Let it burn!"
Thompson was disgusted at the suggestion. "She's as nuts as her mom. Get her out of here."
More officers ran from the basement, holding their fists to their mouths as they coughed from the smoke. Seconds later, we were pushed out the front door, too. We stood in the yard with the other officers and paramedics, watching the smoke escape from the door and windows like old ghosts released from their prison.
More sirens sounded in the distance.
"Catherine!" Mrs. Mason called, helped by her husband. She wrapped her arms around Catherine as we all peered up at the old wood being swallowed whole by the flames.
Mr. Mason draped a blanket around his wife and Catherine, and Catherine peeked over her shoulder, watching officers carry Mavis to the second police cruiser. She ran to the car, touching her hand to the glass. I followed, watching Catherine whisper comforting words to her mother, speaking to Poppy, and then Althea. She wiped her cheeks and then stood, watching as the cruiser pulled away.
Catherine closed her eyes and turned toward the burning house, walking toward it like a moth to a flame until I stopped her. She watched the embers and ashes fly as if it were a firework display.
Thompson spoke into his radio as he passed. He stopped abruptly, pointing at me. "Don't go anywhere."
"Leave them alone," Mrs. Mason snapped. "They had nothing to do with this."
"It was all Mavis Calhoun?" Thompson said, unconvinced. "That nutbag did all this with no help from these two? You sure?"
"You were wrong. You could have saved Presley if you'd just looked past your own arrogance," Mrs. Mason spat. Thompson's ey
"Becca is going to be spending the night at the hospital, but she wants to make sure you have somewhere to stay tonight," Mr. Mason said to Catherine.
Catherine was still staring at the Juniper. She hadn't paid attention to Detective Thompson or Mr. Mason at all.
"Catherine?" I said, touching her arm.
She pulled away. "I want to watch. I want to see it burn all the way to the ground."
The Juniper was burning, and the Masons' house was a bloody crime scene. She couldn't go back there.
"Yeah," I said. "I'll take her home with me. My aunt won't mind."
"Thank you," Mr. Mason said.
The sirens were deafening as the fire trucks pulled up next to the old mansion. Hoses were strung across the yard, and firefighters were speaking over their radios to one another.
"No. No! Let it burn!" Catherine yelled.
"You're going to have to step back," one of the officers said, holding up his hands and walking toward us.
"I have to see it," Catherine said, shoving him away.
"It wasn't a request. I said move." He grabbed her arm, and she fought him.
"Let it burn!"
"Hey," I said, pushing at his chest. He grabbed my wrist.
"Step back!" he yelled in my face.
"Okay, let's all calm down," Mr. Mason said, stepping between us. "Catherine . . ."
She wouldn't look away from the house, entranced by the buckling roof and the flames flickering in her eyes.
"Catherine," Mrs. Mason said.
When Catherine didn't acknowledge either of them, the officer sighed. "All right," he said, forcibly removing her from the yard.
"No!" she yelled, struggling.
"Get your hands off her!" I growled, trying to pull her from his grasp. Another officer yanked me back, putting me in a hold.
"Leave them alone!" Mrs. Mason cried.
The officer hissed in my ear. "You're going to get her hurt! Stop! Let Officer Mardis get her safely away."
I stopped fighting, breathing hard, my heart aching as I watched Catherine struggle. "Just don't . . . don't fight them, Catherine!" I walked with the officer to the ambulance, wincing as I watched her fight for a line of sight. She yanked her arms out of his grasp and took a closer step, in awe.
"Get her out of here," Thompson said. "Get her gone before I arrest you both."
Mrs. Mason bit her lip. "Catherine?" She took Catherine's chin in her fingers and forced her to meet her gaze. "Catherine. You have to go." Catherine tried to turn toward the Juniper, but Mrs. Mason kept hold of her jaw. "It's gone."
A single tear tumbled down Catherine's cheek, and she nodded, covering her face with both hands.
I leaned down and lifted her in my arms, carrying her to the Chrysler. I set her in the passenger seat.
She sucked in a shaky breath and peered at the mansion over her shoulder. "Get pictures."
I nodded and reached for my camera bag, unzipping it and standing next to Catherine while I zoomed in and snapped as many as I could before Thompson caught me. I shoved the camera back in the bag and then shut Catherine's door, jogging around to the driver's side.
We drove the few blocks to Aunt Leigh's. She and Uncle John were standing on the porch, worry in their eyes.
"Elliott!" she yelled, rushing down the porch steps and throwing her arms around me seconds after I stepped out onto the drive. "What happened? Is Catherine . . ." She noticed the girl in the passenger seat with wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. "Oh my Jesus, what happened?"
"The Juniper is burning," I choked out.
Aunt Leigh covered her mouth. "Is Mavis . . . ?"
"She kidnapped and killed Presley Brubaker. She kidnapped Mrs. Mason tonight. They arrested her. I don't know where she is."
Aunt Leigh's eyes glossed over, and she walked around the passenger side of my car. She opened the door and knelt beside Catherine. "Baby girl?"
Catherine looked at her and then slowly leaned into Aunt Leigh's chest. Aunt Leigh hugged her tight, shaking her head, her eyes drifting to me.
Uncle John's hand was on my shoulder.
"She's going to need to stay with us for a while," I said, watching Aunt Leigh hold Catherine.
"The spare bedroom is ready. We can pick up her things tomorrow." He turned me to face him. "You okay?" I nodded, and he hugged me.
Aunt Leigh helped Catherine out of the car, keeping her arm around her as they walked inside. Uncle John and I followed.
Aunt Leigh disappeared with Catherine behind the spare bedroom door, and Uncle John sat with me in the living room.
"We'll take care of her," Uncle John said.
I nodded. It was time someone took care of Catherine for a change.
Chapter Thirty-Seven Catherine
I sat alone in the Youngbloods' spare bedroom, wood paneling the backdrop for white-framed portraits Leigh had painted of the family. A wedding ring quilt covered the queen-size bed, an antique wooden dresser with a mirror against the white wall.
I smelled like a campfire, and even though Leigh had offered to let me use the shower, I declined. Watching the Juniper burn was unexpected closure, and a strange sense of calm came over me every time I inhaled. Mama could never go back. I would never have to go back. We were free.
A short knock on the door snapped me to the present, and I blinked.
"Hey," Elliott said, his hair still wet from a shower. He was wearing a worn T-shirt and basketball shorts, and he padded to my bed in bare feet.
"Hey."
"You okay?" he asked.
"No, but I will be."
"Mr. Mason called Aunt Leigh. Mrs. Mason got a couple dozen stitches in her head. She has a concussion, but she's going to be okay. Her sister, Lauren, is coming to help clean up, and then they said you should be able to come back when she gets home, if that's okay with you. Is that . . . okay with you?"
I nodded. "I don't think it's right to ask your aunt and uncle to take me in."
"They don't mind. They really don't."
"Becca will need me. I should stay with her."
Elliott nodded, sitting on the bed next to me. "That's too bad. I could get used to this." He handed me his phone, open to a group chat with Sam and Madison. "They've been blowing up my phone, worried about you. I told Maddy you'd call her in the morning."
"How did you know?" I asked. "To come to the Juniper?"
"After I dropped you off, the farther I drove from the Masons', the worse I felt. I couldn't shake the bad feeling I'd had all night," he said. "I pulled into Aunt Leigh's driveway and then backed out and turned around. I drove back to the Masons', saw the red and blue lights, and I parked where I stopped. I didn't even shut my door. I just ran. When I saw the blood . . . I've never been so scared, Catherine. I tried fighting my way into the house. I screamed for you. That's when Mr. Mason told me you were okay, but you'd left. I went straight to the Juniper. I knew that's where you'd go."
I hugged him, burying my face in his neck. "You came back."
He leaned his head on mine. "I told you I would. And now that I know . . ."
"Now that you know . . . ," I repeated, peering up at him.
He sighed, looking down at the carpet. I'd tried to push him away for so long. Now that he had a reason to walk away, it was more difficult to accept than I'd thought it would be. But if that was what he wanted, I wouldn't blame him. What happened in the basement was almost too much for me to believe, and I couldn't imagine the things going through Elliott's mind.
"Say it," I said.
"You could have told me. I wish you'd told me sooner."
"It was a secret," I said.
"And you can definitely keep a secret."
I let him go, curling into myself. "It wasn't mine to tell."
He reached for me. "I'm not even sure how to process what just happened. Presley's dead. Your mom . . ."
"It wasn't her."
Elliott nodded, but I c
"Mama hasn't been right for a long time. Looking back, I'm not sure she ever was. If things got too hard, she would seem to short-circuit and fall into a deep depression and stay in bed for days. Dad tried to shield her from that, to shield me. When he wasn't home, I could see it. I could see them all in glimpses, but I didn't know it at the time. Dad's death made them stronger, and the Juniper was the perfect bridge to allow them out. When Duke and Poppy showed up with names, personalities so different from Mama, I was afraid. I didn't understand, and the more I tried to speak to Mama when she was present as Duke or Poppy, the worse she became. When I played along, the personalities surfaced for longer periods of time, but her behavior was more predictable. At first, I let it continue because I didn't want anyone to take Mama away, but now that they're gone . . . I loved Althea and Poppy. I kept Mama's secret to keep them. Now Presley is dead, and I've lost them all."
Elliott rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not your fault, Catherine."
"Then whose fault is it?"
"Why does it have to be someone's fault?"
"If I had gotten Mama help, Presley would still be alive. But I thought I could do it. I thought I could have both. I was sure I could have you and protect the Juniper for Mama." I choked back another sob. "She's gone. She's guilty of murder because I was selfish."
Elliott pulled me into his lap, and I pressed my cheek against his chest. "You're the least selfish person I know. And you're even braver than I thought."
"In the end, it didn't matter. I couldn't save them. I didn't even get to say goodbye."
"We can go see her, you know. We can visit."
"It will just be Mama."
"But, Catherine, isn't that a good thing?"
I shook my head. "You don't get it."
"No, but I'm trying to understand."
"Then understand this. Everyone I care about either gets hurt or dies."
"Not me."
"Not yet."
"Catherine." He sighed. "You need to rest." He rubbed his eyes, tired.
I could hear the desperation in his voice, the need to help me, to fix it all, but this was the first night of many that I would try to dig myself out from the ashes of the Juniper.
"What were you supposed to do? If you told someone, you would have lost your home and your mom. If you didn't, you had to keep living in that hell, and your mom couldn't get the help she needed. You were right, Catherine. You've been saying it all along. It wasn't a choice. Don't pretend you had one now."