R. Stine: Red Rain

He felt her shudder. “I saw Ira and Elena. I talked with them. They’re fine. Roz took them home. It’s so wonderful, Mark. You got them all out.”

She raised her face to him. “The twins? Did you see them? Are they-?”

“They got away. I knocked them out, Lea. I. . I slammed their heads together. I think it broke their spell over the kids. But they escaped. I don’t know where-”

“Oh, Mark. . you were so brave, sweetheart. But. .”

But?

He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. When she raised her eyes to him, he could tell she was holding something back. She changed the subject. “Where did you stay all weekend?”

“At Nestor’s. In his poolhouse. The police came to the house, but they didn’t search the poolhouse. I hid in a tiny closet. But they never searched back there.”

Her dark eyes locked on his. “Thank God you’re safe. You look horrible.”

“I. . haven’t slept much. I’ve been worried-”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “So much to tell you.” More tears welled in her eyes. “The twins. I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. I didn’t know-”

A green BMW pulled in beside the Mercedes. Mark guided Lea away toward the Dock House.

“It’s our last morning, Mark.”

Her words sent a chill to the back of his neck. He squinted at her, unable to respond.

“Maybe we could try to have a normal morning, okay? Wouldn’t that be nice? A last normal morning?”

“Lea, what are you saying? You’re talking in puzzles. Tell me about the twins. What do you know about them? What did you find out?”

She ran a finger down his cheek. It made his skin tingle. He had rescued the children. They were safe. Why were her eyes so sad? What was she hiding from him?

“A normal hour or two,” Lea said. “Look how pretty it is. The white yachts, the pier stretching into the bay, the seagulls against the sky. This is one of my favorite spots in the Hamptons. It always reminds me of Sausalito. Remember that weekend in Sausalito? That restaurant down by the water? We were so young.”

He grabbed her shoulder. “Lea, you need to tell me what’s going on. Why are you talking about Sausalito? Why are you acting like this? You are really frightening me.”

She forced a tense smile and turned away. “I think the waffle cone place is open. Let’s get waffle cones, Mark, and maybe walk through town. You know. Like a normal couple. Just stroll aimlessly up and down Main Street and people-watch, the way we used to. We can do it, Mark. The police won’t be looking for you anymore.”

“No. Not till you explain to me.” He grabbed her by the arms and locked his eyes on hers, trying to see her thoughts.

She turned away, as if his stare was too much to bear. “I. . I’m so sorry, Mark. It’s all my fault, don’t you see. That’s why I feel so bad. I feel so bad for you, Mark. Especially for you. Because you’ve been so wonderful and loving and trusting. Yes, trusting. And I. . I’ve ruined everything.”

“But-how? What are you saying ?”

A sob burst from deep inside her. “Don’t you understand, darling? This is the last hour? It’s our last hour. Don’t you see, sweetheart?”

“No. It can’t be. Come here.” He tried to hug her but she stood rigid, her dark eyes finally coming to rest on his face.

“Don’t you see, Mark? I guess you can’t. I guess I have to say it. Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you. I died on Cape Le Chat Noir. I died there, honey. I’m so sorry. I died in the hurricane.”

Mark felt a tingle of fear run down his back. Overhead, a seagull screamed as if reacting to Lea’s words. A burst of wind off the bay ruffled Lea’s hair.

He held onto the sleeve of her sweater. “Lea, you’re not making any sense. We need to get you home. The stress-”

“No. It’s true, Mark. I. . didn’t want to tell you, darling. I suspected it all along. Didn’t you notice how different I was when I returned from the island? I suspected it. I fought it. I fought it every day. I hoped against hope. But I knew. I knew. And then Martha emailed me. .”

“Lea, you’re not dead. You’re standing here with me. You’re just very distraught, and we need to find you help. I know several good doctors-”

Another seagull cry rang in Mark’s ears. He glanced up and saw two fat gulls circling them low overhead.

“I didn’t want to leave you. I didn’t want to leave Ira and Elena.” Tears glistened in her dark eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

“You don’t have to leave. I’ll take care of you.”

“No.” Her voice turned sharp. “No. You can’t. I have proof, Mark. I have proof right here. I know you don’t want to see it, honey. Telling you this. . doing this to you. . it’s like I’m dying again.”

“Stop saying that!” He didn’t mean to sound frantic. How had she become so delusional? Did she see something unspeakable on the island? Is that why her mind has snapped?

Lea fumbled with her small black leather bag. Some makeup tubes and a mirror fell out. The mirror shattered on the asphalt.

Seven years bad luck, Mark thought. But he immediately scolded himself for having such a superficial thought when his wife was in such distress.

She pulled out some folded-up papers and uncreased them with trembling hands. She made no attempt to wipe away the tears that glistened on her face.

“Here. Oh, here. I’m so sorry. Martha sent these. I’m so sorry, Mark.” She pushed the papers at him. Photographs, he saw.

“This is proof?”

She nodded.

He raised the first photo to his face. Black-and-white, very grainy. His eyes focused on a scene of destruction. Fallen houses. Debris everywhere. And then his eyes settled on the two blond boys standing forlornly in the foreground.

“The twins?” He gazed over the photo at her. “Samuel and Daniel? Taken after the hurricane?”

“Oh, Mark.” A long sigh escaped her throat. “Yes. The twins. Taken after the hurricane. . but a different storm, Mark. A different storm. The hurricane of 1935.”

The papers nearly flew from his hand. “Lea, please. You’re not making sense.”

“The second photo, too. I am making sense.” She struggled to pull out the second sheet for him. “Martha is a photo researcher. I told you that. She found these photos from 1935. Then she emailed me, Mark. Yesterday. She emailed me all the details. She found the truth, Mark. You won’t like it, sweetheart. It’s all so sad and horrible. You won’t like it but you have to hear it now.”

Mark took the photo and gazed at the twins standing bare-chested in the midst of the rubble. “I don’t believe it,” he said softly, “but let’s say it’s true. What does it mean, Lea? Tell me.”

She nodded, tangles of hair, wet from tears, falling down the sides of her face. “There’s a ritual on Le Chat Noir. It’s called Revenir . It means return . It’s performed by a priest.” She stopped and pushed his hand away. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not crazy, Mark. I wish I was crazy but I’m not. Just let me finish.”

He took a step back, the photos fluttering in his hand. “Okay. Sorry.”

“The priest who performs the Revenir rite can bring back the dead. It sounds insane but I saw it. I saw it done. I didn’t believe it when I was there. But it’s true. He brings back the dead, Mark. And in that hurricane of 1935, the priest brought back the twins. The twins died in the hurricane, and the priest brought them back. But-”

He grasped her shoulders gently. “Take a breath. I’m listening. I won’t interrupt you. But you’re forgetting to breathe.”