THINGS NOT SAID

Evie went straight to Mabel’s apartment and the girls scooted past the cigarette smoke–filled parlor, where Mabel’s parents were hosting a political meeting. As they shut the door to Mabel’s bedroom, they could hear the adults arguing about workers’ rights over cups of coffee.

“What’s the matter? You look terrible, ” Mabel said.

“It’s been a real lulu of a day, old girl. ” Evie told Mabel about Ruta Badowski’s grisly murder, leaving out the part about the shoe buckle. She knew Mabel—she was as much of a crusader as her parents. She’d probably march Evie down to the police station and make her confess. But Evie didn’t want to relive a minute of the terrible things she’d seen.

“How awful! Do you think your uncle Will can help them find the killer? ”

“If anyone can, it’s Unc. He’s a genius. ”

“Are you going to help? ”

Evie shuddered. “Not on your life-ski. ”

In the other room, the arguments escalated into shouting. Someone pounded the table and yelled, “We must do more! ” while Mrs. Rose shushed and soothed.

“Mabel, could I sleep here tonight? ”

Mabel’s eyes widened. “You want to sleep through that? ”

Evie nodded. She needed the noise. It might be enough to drown out the nightmares.

Mabel shrugged. “Suit yourself. Here, have a nightgown. ”

Evie held up the chaste, high-necked gown, examining it with a scowl. “If I should die in the night, please remove this. ”

“Could you please remind me why we’re friends? ”

“Because you need me. ”

“I think you have that reversed, Evie O’Neill. ”

“Probably. ” Evie kissed Mabel’s cheek. “You are an absolute doll of a pal, Mabesie, my girl. ”

“Don’t you forget it. ”

They crawled into Mabel’s bed and watched the light make patterns on the ceiling in the dark. They talked of Operation Jericho and poor dead Rudolph Valentino, and they talked, too, of their futures, as if they could shape the glittering course of their destinies with secret confessions offered like prayers to the room’s benevolent hush. They talked until their words grew sparse with their drowsiness.

“Have you ever known something that you were afraid to tell? ” Evie asked. She was more tired than she ever remembered being.

“Whaddaya mean? ” Mabel slurred.

“I’m not sure, ” Evie murmured. She wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure how to begin, and Mabel was already fast asleep.

Under a crumbling eave in the old house, a spider waited and watched as a hapless fly ventured into its web. When it became clear that the fly was hopelessly trapped, the spider scuttled forward, entombing the creature in a shroud of silk.

Like the spider, the house was also watching. Waiting. It had waited for many years, through the deaths of presidents and the fighting of wars. It had waited as the first motorcar roared down dirt roads and the aeroplane defied gravity. Now the wait was over.

Deep in the bowels of the old cellar, the furnace flame coughed to life. Behind the furnace lay a secret passageway to a hidden room whose walls glimmered faintly with symbols painted long ago in preparation. The stranger turned a crank and, high above, a metal grate, rusty with neglect, screeched open to reveal a night sky untouched by the phosphorescence of city lights. It was the perfect place to watch listless clouds drift by. To gaze at the stars. Or to catch the full glory of a prophecied comet as it burned past. The stranger stood naked beneath that sky. His shimmering skin was also a tapestry of symbols. He placed the eyes upon the altar and bowed his head, waiting, like the spider, like the house.

Whispers filled the room, soft at first, then louder, like the sound of a thousand devils loosed upon a desert. The gloom moved. The shadows surged, pressing against the stranger and the offering while the cold distant stars looked away.