The woods seemed to be thicker now. The darkness settled over us like a blanket.

“Miss Sobek?” I tried again.

Finally she spoke. “Why did you come?”

“To find clues.”

“About?”

“About Luther.”

I couldn’t see her in the dark. “I guess you found more than that.”

“Who is he?”

“I told you.”

“He said my father’s dead.”

The old woman didn’t reply.

“Was he lying?”

“I told you before.”

“You heard his voice.”

“Yes.”

“And the dead never talk to you.”

She didn’t bother replying.

Ema asked, “Are we going back to the tunnel?”

“No, Ema,” Bat Lady said. “We will never go back there again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s been exposed. The police know about it now.”

“It was hardly a secret,” I said. “Luther knew about it.”

“Of course he did.”

“I don’t understand,” Ema said. “Where are we going?”

“You’re both going home.”

“And you?”

She raised a hand straight in the air. Suddenly headlights came on. A car came up the road hidden in the woods. I wasn’t surprised when I saw it. It was the same black car that had tailed me since I moved in with Uncle Myron. The passenger door opened.

Shaved Head stepped out. He was dressed, as always, in a black suit. Even at night, he still wore the sunglasses.

“Hello, Dylan,” I said to him.

He ignored me.

“Go home,” Bat Lady said to us. “Don’t ever come back here.”

“What are we supposed to do?” I asked.

“I told you already. You remember, don’t you?”

I nodded. “You want us to find Jared Lowell.”

Bat Lady looked at Ema as though she were seeing her for the first time. She stepped toward her and put her hands on her shoulders. “You’re stronger than you know, Ema.”

Ema glanced at me and then back at Bat Lady. “Uh, thanks.”

“You love this boy.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. In a way I don’t even know him.”

“It will hurt.”

“What will?” Ema asked.

“The truth.”

Ema and I stood perfectly still.

“Go home. Both of you. Don’t ever come back here.”

Lizzy Sobek looked over her property as though seeing it for the first time—or, more likely, the last. I wondered what she saw, how much history lay on these grounds, how many rescued and terrified children had come through here.

“None of us,” she said, “should ever come back.”

Bat Lady seemed to float toward the car. Shaved Head/Dylan opened the back door of the car. She slipped inside without another word. Dylan got into the front passenger seat.

The black car drove off.

Chapter 22

That night I dreamed about my mother.

I don’t remember the specifics. The dream was pretty surreal. Mom was young in the dream, really young, like before-I-remember-her young. Sometimes my dream mom was wearing tennis whites. Other times not. She was healthy, though, smiling the way she used to, the way she did before my dad died and the demons moved in and took her away from me.

Why did she have Dad cremated and not tell me?

I didn’t have a clue.

Why would she bury an urn of ashes as though it were his body? Again no clue. But I had seen the authorization form. That was her signature.

Or was it?

I had already been dumb enough to be fooled via common Photoshopping that Luther was an old Nazi from World War II. Maybe the answer here was just as simple. Maybe Mom hadn’t signed the document. Maybe someone had simply forged her name.

Again the obvious question: Why?

Answer: Take it a step at a time. See if Mom signed the papers. If she didn’t, then we check on the notary. We see where that leads. But first things first.

I needed to see my mom.

• • •

“You’re up early,” Uncle Myron said a little too cheerfully.

“I’m going somewhere with Ema.”

“Where?”

I didn’t want to get into my trip to the Farnsworth School. “Just somewhere.”

He didn’t like it, but he didn’t push it either. Uncle Myron was eating a bowl of unhealthy kid cereal and reading the back of the box. He did this every morning.

“Can I pour you some?”

He also asked this every morning. I’d rather just pour sugar down my throat. “No, thanks. I’ll scramble up some eggs.”

“I can do it for you.”

He also made this offer every morning. Once I let him make them. They were terrible. Myron couldn’t cook. He has trouble reheating a pizza without messing it up.

“I’m good, thanks.”

I broke the eggs, added a dash of milk. Uncle Myron had purchased some truffle oil for me. That was a secret I had learned from my mother. It was expensive, but when I could get it, a dab of the oil made the eggs a lot tastier.

“I need to see my mom,” I said.

Uncle Myron looked up from the cereal box. “You can’t.”

“I know she’s in rehab.”

“And you know the doctors said we had to stay away for at least two more weeks.”

“It’s important.”

Myron stood. “You want to ask her about the cremation.”

“Right.”

“It won’t help,” he said. “I mean, think about it. What’s she going to tell you, Mickey?”

I stayed silent.

“If your mom says she didn’t do it, maybe she was just so high she doesn’t remember. If she says she did it . . .” Myron stopped, thought about it. “Well, okay, maybe that would end whatever quest you’re on.”

“I’m going to call the rehab,” I said. “But I’m going to need you to back me up on this.”

Uncle Myron let loose a long sigh but he nodded. “Okay, sure. But we need to do what’s best for your mom. You get that, right?”

Of course I got that. He sat back down and started eating the kid cereal again. I moved to the stove. I had forty minutes until I was meeting Ema at the bus station. Then I remembered something.

“Hey, Myron?”

“What?”

“I saw you at Schultz’s gym. You were talking to Mr. Schultz and Randy.”