The Singing Bone by Beth Hahn Page A

research. You’ll meet her—I hope. But I think what she does is look at the Social ­Security number. She narrows it down. Sometimes it takes a day, sometimes months.”
    â€œHow long did it take her to find me?”
    Hans pauses before he answers. He sighs. “About a week.”
    â€œOh.” She’s at a loss. It should be more difficult to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. “Does he know where I am?”
    â€œJack Wyck, you mean?”
    â€œYes.”
    Hans nods slowly, sorrowfully. “He does.”
    Alice runs her hands through her hair. “I can’t have that.”
    â€œI can tell you everything—everything that I’ve figured out,” Hans says.
    â€œWho else have you talked to?”
    â€œWe’ve found almost everyone, but I wanted to talk to you first. Do you know what happened to Allegra?”
    Sonora, ground snakes. That’s where you’re from. Allegra from Sonora. Allegra the snake.
    Time is doing something strange. How long has it been since they began this conversation?
    You can travel through time. I’ll show you. You don’t want to be some places—
    Alice presses her hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. A door swings open. Images spill out: snow, a patchwork quilt, a black dress hanging on a hook on the back of a door. “I don’t want anything to do with this,” Alice says, and turns, as if to walk away.
    â€œAlice,” Hans says. “I know. But we’d like your help in finding out what happened, and going public offers you some protection. Believe me.”
    â€œYou know what happened. It’s well documented.”
    â€œI want you to tell me. I want to hear your side of the story. Everyone will.”
    Come in , he said, I’ve been waiting for you. Tell me where you’ve been.
    â€œI was just a child,” Alice says. “There’s really nothing for me to tell you—just that I was a child and he was a man. And that’s how it started. Two people.”
    We’re a family, all of us.
    â€œI know.”
    I’ll be the mother , Allegra said. You play the daughter. A family.
    Alice looks at the train tracks that run parallel to the river. “Can’t you just leave me out of it?”
    â€œOf course. But—”
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œYou’ll want to read this.” He reaches into his bag and takes out the letter from Jack Wyck. As he hands it to her, she glances up at his face. “I’m sorry,” he says. She looks down at the envelope, turning it over. Sing Sing Correctional Facility .
    â€œWhat is this?” She takes out the letter. “I don’t want this,” she says, when she recognizes the handwriting—the upper case so much larger than the lower, announcing itself—but she’s already reading. Alice presses her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose, rubs her forehead. Shakes her head. No .
    Alice is lost. She’s back standing at the edge of the reservoir with Molly, smoking a cigarette, staring at the line of trees on the other side. “It’s cold, Molls. We should go home.” But Alice didn’t have a home—not really—not the kind Molls did.
    You were all alone in the world. But now you have me.
    The letter comes back into focus, the bold print. “Is this a joke?”
    Hans shakes his head.
    I’ll never let you go.
    Alice lets the letter drop to the ground. “He’s going to kill me,” she says, “and he’s using you to begin the process. He uses people up until there’s nothing left.”
    He uses them until they are shucked and gutted , she might add. Until they are as hollow and black as he is.
    â€œWill you go?” Hans asks, and Alice thinks she hears eagerness in his voice. She imagines him filming it, anticipating the moment when the murderer and the moll are finally onscreen together. But then she looks at him.