Jodie made the turn onto Ash Street and started looking for 823. She had one hand on the wheel, the other holding the open file in her lap. She squinted her eyes at the houses, some of which were only half-built, but it was too dark to see most of the numbers. Finally, she pulled over in front of a house with no lights on, and turned off the engine.

There was a sudden rap on her window, and Jodie let out a frightened squeak.

"Sorry," Brian said, looking chagrined on the other side of the glass. "I thought you saw me."

Jodie slung her purse over her shoulder, picked up the file, and stepped out of the car. "You scared the crap out of me," she said, and uttered a nervous giggle. "Which is not to say that I scare easily."

"It's my face, I know." Brian rubbed his unshaven cheek. "I've been meaning to go out and buy a paper bag for my head."

"Oh yes," Jodie said. "The Elephant Man look is coming back."

"I am not an animal!" he crowed, shaking his fists at the star-filled sky. The joke seemed forced to Jodie, but she smiled anyway. Brian's humor, sometimes vulgar, sometimes cheesy, was never artificial. That meant this was serious.

"I hope you don't mind my saying, Brian, but you look like shit."

"Thank you, dahling," he said, wrinkling his nose with theatrical indignation. "And I thought flattery was a lost art."

But it was true. Brian Torver, normally the most dapper and well-dressed of men, looked like something that had crawled out of the gutter. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks were stubble-dark, and the shirt he was wearing had a yellow, lived-in look.

"This is bad, isn't it."

"I wouldn't have dragged you out here to the willywags if it wasn't."

"How bad is it?"

"It's not good, kiddo. Not for me, not for Mags, not for business."

"What business is that?" Jodie asked. She felt a slight stab of guilt for not keeping up with Brian and Maggie's affairs. She got their e-mails, but glanced at them only briefly, and almost never replied. It was hard to focus on anything external when she was working, and her schedule for the past two years had been rigorous, moving from site to site after the completion of each case.

"This!" Brian spread his arms expansively. His voice sounded cheerier, almost jovial. "My legacy."

"Ash Street?" Jodie said, confused.

"Ash Street, Oak Street, Maple Lane, Spruce Crescent." He ticked them off on his fingers. "We own the whole damn subdivision. Dumped everything we have into it. Silver Woods Estates."

"Very nice."

"Yeah, it is. People are moving up here in droves—and not just the seniors. We've got young professionals, some with families. People who want to raise their kids away from the cities. Peterborough is starting to get too big for them. Ninety thousand people, according to the last census. Silver Falls has a population of ten thousand. So those who want real country living are coming here."

Jodie looked up at the darkened house. "Is this the one?"

"Yeah." Brian’s jovial tone turned sullen and troubled. "The thorn in my ass."

"Any outside exposure?"

"I've done a pretty good job of squashing any rumors that get started," Brian said judiciously. "It's not easy, what with all the houses being sold. People have to wait for new ones to be built, so yeah, I guess there's probably some curiosity about why this one is empty. The numb fuck who used to live here—some computer geek who works in Markham—actually went to the local press, if you can believe that. Like shooting yourself in the foot."

"Did they believe him?"

"It didn't matter. Bob Hardy, the editor over at the Examiner, killed the story. He lives on Maple Lane and knows what a story like that would do to property values in the area. That stupid geek should have known better. He won't get a good price on his house if people think it's the next Amityville Horror."

"You never know. Some people might consider it a selling point."

Brian's face darkened. "Yeah, well I don't. And I don't plan on taking any chances." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I'm sorry to be so snappy. I'm tired and stressed out. This isn't just our investment. Mags and I live here, too. Right around the corner. I think that's the only reason I've been able to keep this thing quiet so long. Anytime something happens, I'm able to quash it right away."

"Things like what?"

"The usual. Broken windows. Vandalized cars. Mrs. Bettingham, the old bat who lives next door,’—Brian gestured at the house on the left side of 823—“she called me one morning and said her picket fence was missing. I came over and the whole damn thing was gone. I replaced it out of my own pocket on the condition she didn't talk to anyone about it."

"Are people seeing anything? Hearing anything?"

"Not too much, thank Christ for small favors. Some bright lights I've been able to explain away as construction crews working late. Some loud booming sounds that they probably pass off as thunder."

Jodie shook her head. "You have been lucky."

"Yeah, and I think it's running out." Brian clenched his hands into fists. "Fucking kids," he grumbled. "I could strangle them."

"I don't think so." Jodie spoke in a low voice, staring up at 823 Ash Street.

"You think you can do something?"

"Let's find out."

"Okay. Thank you." Brian let out a long sigh. "And please, be careful."

Jodie started up the cobblestone path to the house. On the porch she opened her purse and took out a pair of oversized glasses with dark lenses. An electrical cord ran from one of the bows to a small power pack that she clipped to her belt. She checked the boost and gain levels, pressed the power button and put on the glasses.

"Knock, knock," she said in a soft voice. "Here I come."

She opened the door and went inside.

***

It was dark—darker than it was outside where the stars had provided at least some fledgling light. Inside the blackness was total. The glasses had an infrared setting, but Jodie didn't want to use it. She preferred to let her eyes adjust, which took longer because of the dark lenses.

"Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone home?"

She didn't expect a reply. She moved forward, holding the file in one hand, waving the other out before her like a blind person. She touched something hard and spherical, wooden. A newel post. Here were the stairs going up to the second floor. She tilted her head back to look up in that direction and caught a flash of luminescent green on her left-side peripheral vision. She snapped her head around to follow it, but it was already gone.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said in a caring voice, moving toward a doorway that led into either a living room or a dining room, depending on the layout of the house. "I just want to talk to you."

She heard something like a sharp intake of breath. She looked up and saw a green shape on the ceiling.

"Why don't you come down from there?" she suggested, and the glowing shape immediately fell to the hardwood floor with a loud thump and went running out of the room.

Jodie followed slowly, taking her time. "It's okay," she said soothingly. "I just want to see you."

She looked behind her and saw another green shape—a different one, taller—peeking around the corner of the main foyer. She turned back, pretending not to have noticed, and removed the glasses, unclipping the power pack and putting them both back in her purse. She didn't need them anymore. She could feel herself moving into the proper range. It was like stepping into a warm bath, except instead of the warmth wrapping around her body, she felt it wrap around her mind.

She moved into the kitchen. She could see a bit better now. In the gloom she made out the straight edges of the counter, the dull glimmer of the chrome appliances. There was a faint antiseptic tang in the air.

Crossing the room, she heard a familiar series of thumps—the sound of someone racing up a set of stairs. Jodie stepped out into the main hall and returned to the foyer, just barely catching a glimpse of two shapes zipping down the second floor hallway. She grinned.

"I can see you," she said in a low sing-song. "Here I come."

She went up the stairs and down to the end of the hallway. There were four doors, but only one of them was open. She stood on the threshold and saw a small boy, perhaps six years-old, standing in the middle of the room. He wore pyjamas with dinosaurs on them. There was a dark stain on the front of his shirt, as if he had spilled something on it, but Jodie knew that wasn't the case.

"Well hello there," she said pleasantly.

The boy stared at her with an expression of mingled curiosity and concern. "Are you dead?" he asked.

Jodie smiled. That was a new one.

"No," she said. "I'm afraid not."

A female voice called from the hallway behind her, giving her a small start, and a second later she felt something brush past her, leaving the entire left side of her body cold and numb. She lost her concentration for a moment, and the boy seemed to swim out of view. She squinted her eyes, focusing, and he came back, along with a young girl. She was about a foot taller than the boy. They had the same wide, dark eyes. The older sister.

"What are you doing?" the girl said to her brother, sparing Jodie the briefest of looks. "Misty is waiting for us."

"This lady," the boy said. "She can see me."

The girl gave Jodie a slightly longer look. "No she can't."

"Yes, I can," Jodie told her. "You're wearing a nightgown with a bear on the front. The bear is wearing a bonnet.” She started to say, The bear is wearing a red dress, then stopped herself. The dress wasn't red. It was blood from a stab wound, identical to the boy's.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Shut up," his sister said sharply, and made as if to slap him. She lowered her hand and grabbed him by the arm instead. "You know what Misty said: Don't talk to strangers."

"That's good advice," Jodie told her. "So how about if I do all the talking? You don't have to talk back, just listen."

"Misty knows about you," the girl said, fixing Jodie with a stare that felt like an icy hand gripping her heart. "She knows all about you."

"Really?" Jodie said. "I don't recall ever meeting her."

"Who are you?" the boy asked again, and his sister gave his arm another shake.

"I'm the new sitter. My name is Jodie."

"There is no new sitter!”

The force of the girl's scream seemed to hurt Jodie's mind more than her ears. She heard the distant sound of glass breaking and knew one of the windows in the house had just been blown out.

"Okay," Jodie said slowly, placatingly. "I apologize. I didn't know you still had a sitter." She squeezed the file in her hands. That was why they wouldn't leave, she thought. The sitter wouldn't let them. "Why don't you think of me as your nanny, then?"

"What's the difference?"

The girl looked ready to go off again, but the boy's question seemed to diffuse her, at least temporarily.

"Oh, not much really. A sitter is someone you call when your parents are in a pinch."

Both kids looked at Jodie as if she had started speaking Latin. They don't remember their parents, she realized. Sweet Christ, it is bad.

"What does that mean?" the girl asked truculently.

"It means when they're desperate," Jodie explained, "they hire a sitter to come take care of you, on a temporary, as-needed basis. A nanny is a much closer acquaintance. Sometimes they even live in the house with the kids. She's like a mother when the real one isn't around."

"You're not my mother," the girl declared, and Jodie had to repress an urge to say Are you sure? But that wouldn't help her case. It wouldn't help anyone, except maybe Misty.

"And you're not living here," the girl added, crossing her arms for emphasis.

"That's okay. I have friends I can stay with."

"What does a nanny do?" the boy asked curiously.

"Oh, all kinds of things. She takes care of the kids, plays with them, reads them stories –"

"Misty tells us stories," the girl snapped. "Good ones."

"I'm sure she does," Jodie said, hoping the contempt she felt didn't seep into her voice. She opened her purse, put the file inside, and took out a book. The faded cover showed a little girl peering into a hole in the ground.

"This is one of my favorites," Jodie said. "It's called Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Have you heard it before?"

The boy shook his head. The girl stood impassively, arms still crossed.

"It's about a little girl who travels to another world through a rabbit hole."

"That's stupid," the girl said. "Rabbit holes don't go anywhere."

"Not all of them, that's true. But this one does. There are many different ways to travel to other worlds."

"Like on rockets," the boy piped.

"That's right. Rockets, rabbit holes—there's even one you can get to through a magic wardrobe."

"I know that one!" the boy cried excitedly. "Misty read us that one before she turned red."

"Did she?" Jodie said. "Then you already know what I'm talking about. There are lots of different doorways to other worlds." She paused, licking her lips. "Sometimes they look like ordinary things. Like a wardrobe, or a fogbank, or even just a bright light. Have you seen any bright lights in the house?"

The boy's lower lip began to quiver. "Misty says the light is bad."

"Does she?" Jodie said, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side. "Why is it bad?"

"She says it burns."

"Oh, I see. Does it burn you?"

The boy looked confused. "I don't know. I told you, we don't go near it."

"The light always seemed warm to me," Jodie said offhandedly. "But I've never been burned by it."

The girl scowled. "You don't know anything," she said. "You've never seen it. You can't see it."

"I can see you," she replied. Then: "It's a white light. Or at least that's how it looks at first. But as you get closer, you can see it's actually made up of many different colors. Maybe all the colors in the universe."

The boy nodded slowly.

"And if you stare at it long enough, it seems to sing your name, over and over again."

"Yes!" he cried out, then covered his mouth. "That's it."

"You don't know anything," the girl said, but she sounded unsure now.

"You don't have to believe me," Jodie said, and held up the book. "But maybe you'll change your mind after hearing Alice's story."

"She doesn't know anything either."

Jodie shrugged. "Okay. I'll make you a deal. If you aren't convinced, I'll come back tomorrow and read you another story. And if you're still not convinced, I'll come back again the day after that."

She sat down on the floor. There was no furniture in the room, or in the rest of the house. The boy dropped to the floor in front of her and leaned forward on his elbows. His eyes seemed to glow at the thought of all those stories, all those worlds. His sister continued to stand and stare, a hard look in her eyes.

"I don't care about rabbits or rabbit holes," she said.

"Fair enough," Jodie said. "Tomorrow I'll tell you a story about a garden."

"A garden?" the girl said sceptically.

"A secret garden," Jodie clarified. She thought back to the case she just finished in Redlands. She had read eighty-four books before the kids had finally trusted her enough to pass on. She hoped this case would tie up faster than that. Brian didn't have that kind of time. But then this wasn't the kind of thing one could rush.

"Is the garden magic, too?" the boy asked.

Jodie opened the book and turned to the first page.

"You'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out," she said. "I suppose we all will."

END