The Ridge Page 12

  The words were out before she could stop them.

  “When did you first notice strange things happening around here?”

  Megan felt Mercer tense up, but he didn’t say anything. She started to ask him again, but before she could, he lifted his hand and pointed to a pale-blue house halfway down the block.

  “The man who owned that house was a friend of mine. His name was Tom Alexander. We both loved old cars. He moved on several years ago, but he was probably the first real friend I made around here.”

  The frustration was building, and Megan couldn’t take it anymore. She stopped walking. Mercer took a few more steps, noticed she wasn’t with him, and turned around.

  “I need to know I’m not crazy,” she said.

  “How am I supposed to know that?”

  “Tell me I’m not the only one.”

  Mercer hesitated, then he pointed toward the same pale-blue house halfway down the block and said, “Tom had an old hydraulic jack that he’d use when he had to work under a car. One afternoon he was fixing the transmission on a green 1969 Mustang when—”

  “Mercer.” Megan held up her hands. “Please, no more stories. Tell me what the hell is going on around—”

  “When the car slipped off the jack.”

  Megan stopped talking.

  He sighed, stepped closer. “I’ve made things worse for you. I never should’ve spoken to you that day, but when I saw you out there looking at that rabbit, I knew.”

  “You knew what?” she asked.

  “That you’d seen it, too.”

  “Seen what?”

  “How things around here move under the surface.” He held up one finger. “And before you ask, I don’t know much. I have theories, but no proof of anything.”

  “But something is happening here. I’m not crazy.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re not crazy.”

  The relief Megan felt was so strong that she wanted to cry, but she didn’t. Instead, she focused on her breath and tried to keep her voice from cracking when she spoke.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  Mercer looked down at her, and she could see the debate going on behind his eyes.

  “Before she died, my wife told me about some of the experiments they were doing,” he said. “I don’t know how many people they study around here. I’ve known of at least seven personally, but I’m sure there are others.”

  “They?”

  “The Institute,” he said. “She showed me internal documents, diagrams I barely understood, and she tried to explain what they’d done and why they did it.” He paused. “She was carrying a lot of guilt when she died.”

  “Guilt over what?”

  “Over what they did to me, I assume.”

  “I don’t understand. What did they—”

  “How much do you know about what happens on the ridge?” he asked. “Has your husband told you about his job? Do you know what he does?”

  “He’s a systems technician.”

  “Technical or biological?”

  Megan hesitated. “Technical.”

  Mercer’s shoulders sagged. He stood there for a moment, looking around at the houses and the trees. Then he motioned for her to follow. She did, and they continued down the sidewalk toward the forest.

  “Most of the documents my wife brought home were lost in the cleanse, but I was able to hide a few.”

  “The cleanse?”

  “They sent a team to my house after she died, and they went through everything, quietly removing anything specific to the Institute.” He paused. “They were thorough, but not thorough enough. I managed to hide a few things, but nothing more than random puzzle pieces.”

  “The white vans?”

  Mercer stopped walking. “How do you . . . ?” He shook his head and waved the question away. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “Are those the sweepers you told me about?”

  “I don’t know what they are,” he said. “I only saw them once, after Anna died. I’ve always thought they were part of a dream. You’re the first person I’ve met who knew about them.”

  “I saw them,” she said. “They were—”

  This time, when he held up a hand, she saw that it was shaking.

  Megan decided to let it go. “What did your wife tell you?”

  “She told me why I was here, why she couldn’t let me go. She tried to explain the types of experiments they were running and what kinds of things they were working on.” He went quiet for a moment, then said, “You asked me when I first noticed strange things happening around here.”

  She nodded.

  “The day I woke up here,” he said. “That was the first time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Mercer stepped closer, pushed his sleeves up, and held out his arms.

  There were two thin scars, like long pink worms, dug into his skin. The lines sliced across the inside of his wrists and ran from his palms up toward his elbows.

  It took Megan a minute to understand what she was seeing. Once she did, she stared up at him, silent.

  Mercer’s eyes were clear and blue and focused on hers.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Yet here I am.”

  23

  I don’t remember much,” Mercer said. “It wasn’t as dramatic as a shotgun or swallowing a bottle of sleeping pills and then hiding in the crawl space under the house, but I’m sure it wasn’t a cry for help, either.”

  Megan listened as he spoke, trying to stay focused. Her face and hands were numb, and her stomach ached, and as much as she wanted to hear what Mercer was saying, all she could think was she’d been right.

  She wasn’t crazy.

  “That one didn’t work, you know,” Mercer said.

  Megan barely heard him. “What?”

  “The sleeping pills in the crawl space. That was Sylvia Plath who did that, but they found her. She got it right eventually: head in the oven—no muss, no fuss.”

  “Jesus.”

  Mercer stopped walking next to a low-cut stretch of grass that ran between the sidewalk and the forest. To her left, Megan saw the last row of houses marking the far edge of Willow Ridge. She could just make out the top of Fiona’s house in line with the others, and she wondered what Fiona would think of Mercer’s suicide story.

  “I apologize if I sound callous,” he said. “But that’s exactly what I am.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Megan said. “What you’re telling me, it sounds impossible.”

  “Is what you’ve seen so much easier to believe?”

  The thought stopped her.

  He was right. Everything she’d seen fit with what he was telling her, and even though a part of her still didn’t want to believe it, she knew he was telling the truth.

  “You’re saying the Institute is bringing people back to life?”

  Mercer seemed to think about his answer. Then he nodded, and when he spoke, his voice sounded resigned.

  “I suppose I am,” he said. “Although my wife would’ve used the terms neuro-reanimation and neuro-regeneration.”

  “That can’t be possible, can it?”

  “I assure you, it is,” he said. “And that’s just the tip of what they’re doing. I’ve seen several experiment reports. Documents listing the different techniques they’re developing at the Institute and testing on people living right here in Willow Ridge.”

  Megan kept quiet, not sure what to say.

  She realized her thoughts must’ve shown on her face, because Mercer nodded and said, “I know how it sounds. You think I’m out of my head, that I’ve lost my mind.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I haven’t asked you what you’ve seen,” he said. “Mainly because I already have an idea, but also because I don’t want to know. I’ll leave you to decide if what I’ve told you fits with your experiences here.”

  Megan kept quiet.

  Mercer frowned, gestured toward the forest. “Do
you see the electrical box next to the trees?”

  Megan glanced over and nodded.

  “If you walk straight past it, about twenty yards, you’ll find a path leading to the creek. About a hundred yards in there’s a wooden shed. I’ve hidden every one of the documents I was able to save inside a lockbox in that shed. I’d like you to see them, read them for yourself, and then you can decide if I’m crazy or not.”

  “Right now?”

  Mercer looked up, squinting at the blue sky. Then he shook his head. “No, not now. It’s too early, and there are too many eyes. We’ll go tomorrow night after dark.”

  The thought of going into the forest after dark with a strange man didn’t sit well, no matter what the reason, and she was trying to figure out what to say when she heard someone call her name.

  Megan leaned to look past Mercer and saw Fiona coming down the sidewalk toward them, waving, her wooden clipboard cradled against her chest.

  When Mercer saw her, he turned back to Megan.

  “Let me show you what I have before you tell anyone else,” he said. “Can I trust you to keep this between us?”

  “I won’t say anything.”

  He nodded, but Megan saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. Then, when Fiona came closer, he faced her, bright and smiling, no concern, and no worry.

  The change was sudden, like flipping a switch.

  “Ms. Matheson,” Mercer said. “Nice to see you.”

  “Mercer.” Fiona looked from him to Megan, smiling, then back to him. “How’s the car coming along?”

  “One day at a time.” He half turned to Megan. “Mrs. Stokes here was good enough to provide an excuse to take a break and let me walk with her.”

  “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

  “We met the day you had to work,” Megan said. “I saw him outside today, so I decided to stop and say hello.”

  “You know”—Fiona pointed to Mercer—“maybe you can take a look at her car.”

  “No,” Megan said. “I don’t want to impose—”

  “He’s a fantastic mechanic,” Fiona said. “And it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion.”

  Mercer looked at Megan. “Are you having car troubles?”

  She told him about breaking down in Ashland and what the mechanic at the garage told her.

  “I’ll be happy to take a look,” he said. “But if the engine is seized, it’s probably not worth fixing.”

  Fiona winked at her.

  “We still need to have it towed,” Megan said. “And I don’t want it to be a hassle.”

  “Not a hassle at all.”

  There was a moment of strained silence. Then Mercer motioned to Fiona’s clipboard. “Ashland?”

  Fiona held out the clipboard. “You didn’t change your mind about helping this year, did you?”

  Mercer shook his head. “I’m afraid not, but try me next time.”

  Fiona looked at Megan and rolled her eyes. “He always says the same thing, every time I ask.”

  “One of these days, I promise.” He smiled and glanced at his watch. “Well, I suppose I should head home.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Fiona said. “I’m just tracking down volunteers. Don’t let me barge in.”

  “Not at all,” Mercer said. “I have a few things I wanted to work on before the sun went down.”

  “Remember,” Fiona said. “You promised me a ride.”

  “And you’ll get it.” He turned to Megan. “Thank you for the company and the conversation, Mrs. Stokes.”

  “Oh, your books.” Fiona snapped her fingers, looked at Megan. “Did he tell you he was a writer?”

  “He mentioned it.”

  “Megan is having a tough time finding books to read around here.”

  “Borrow some of mine,” Mercer said. “I have boxes of them in my basement. Stop by and take your pick. I’ll lend you as many as you’d like.”

  Megan thanked him, told him she would.

  “Why don’t you let her read one of your books?” Fiona looked at Megan and shuddered. “Creepy stuff.”

  “Would you mind?”

  “If you’d like,” he said. “Although you might not be my audience.”

  “You don’t know that,” Megan said. “What kind of books do you write?”

  Mercer looked from Megan to Fiona and then back. “The kind where nothing is as it seems.”

  24

  Megan stood with Fiona at the edge of the willow forest and watched Mercer walk away. All the things he told her were still spinning in her head, and she went over them again and again, searching for anything that didn’t fit with what she’d seen.

  Bringing people back from the dead?

  Was it possible?

  Once Mercer was out of earshot, Fiona leaned in and whispered, “He hasn’t been the same since his wife died.”

  Megan wasn’t sure what to say, so she kept quiet.

  “She worked at the Institute when I first came here,” Fiona said. “She was one of their top engineers.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Fiona’s jaw muscle twitched, and she shook her head. “I’m not sure exactly. All I know is that her loss was a blow to everyone around here.”

  “It was nice of the Institute to let him stay,” Megan said. “I’m not sure I would’ve wanted to if I were him.”

  Fiona nodded. “Speaking of neighbors, I went by the Addison place this morning and spoke to Roger.”

  Megan looked up, all thoughts of Mercer gone.

  “What did he say?”

  “Same thing he said to you.” She put her hand on the clipboard. “I told him I was looking for Rachel, and he said she’s visiting her sister in San Francisco. I have to say, he sounded sincere.”

  “Did you notice anything strange at all?”

  “No, but I didn’t want to seem obvious about it, either. He invited me in for a cup of coffee, and while he was making it, I did a little snooping.”

  “And?”

  Fiona shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, looked away.

  “I asked if Rachel was okay, and I mentioned that she seemed to be acting a little strange lately.”

  “And?”

  “He dodged the question. He made the excuse that he’d been out of town a lot recently, and that she’d been upset about it, but otherwise she was fine.”

  Megan laughed under her breath. “That’s a lie.”

  “He made it sound like her visit to her sister’s was the direct result of him being gone so much,” she said. “Everyone knows they don’t have the closest marriage, so her leaving out of the blue isn’t all that suspicious.”

  “Except she didn’t leave,” Megan said. “At least not on her own. They took her out of that house. I saw it.”

  Fiona was silent.

  “You still don’t believe me?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Fiona said. “And this is only a first step. We’ll keep our eyes open and ask questions. If something is going on, we’ll figure it out.”

  Megan started to point out that she hadn’t answered her question, but she didn’t want to put her on the spot.

  Instead, she told her she was right.

  “So, what did you and Mercer talk about?” Fiona asked, changing the subject. “He doesn’t usually open up to people like that. He must like you. What’s your secret?”

  “I complimented his car.”

  Fiona laughed. “Of course.”

  The sound made Megan smile.

  For a brief moment, she thought about telling Fiona about her conversation with Mercer, about the experiments he believed they were running at the Institute, and about the documents he claimed to have hidden away in the forest that would prove all of it.

  But she didn’t.

  Fiona was the only friend she had, and right now she was on her side, but her trust felt fragile. Megan wanted to decide on her own what she thought of Mercer’s story before
mentioning anything to Fiona.

  Also, she’d made a promise.

  Fiona walked with her back toward her house. Along the way, Megan noticed several people standing at their windows watching them, but when she pointed one of them out, Fiona just smiled and waved to them, then changed the subject.

  “How did it go with Tyler after I dropped you off?”

  “Better than I expected,” Megan said. “He knew I was trying to leave.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “He didn’t say anything about it directly, but I could tell. He’s not stupid.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I told him about the car, and we talked about getting a second opinion. That’s about it.”

  “And you didn’t say anything to him about Rachel?”

  “Only that I didn’t want to talk about her anymore.”

  “Good,” Fiona said. “I’m going to dig a little deeper, maybe visit a few of the neighbors and see if anyone noticed anything before she left.”

  “Before they took her.”

  “My point is, I’ll see what I can find out while you lay low and let that wound heal a bit with your husband.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Fiona put her hand on Megan’s arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out, and I’m sure it’ll all make sense in the end.”

  That night, Tyler came home early. Megan grilled salmon and asparagus for dinner, and they took everything out back and ate together on the deck. By the time they finished, the sun was going down and a silent scatter of fireflies floated just above the lawn.

  Megan watched them and thought about Mercer and Rachel and the Institute on top of the ridge.

  “Where are you?”

  Tyler’s voice pulled her back. “What?”

  “You’re far away tonight,” he said. “I was wondering where you were. What are you thinking?”

  Megan reached for her wineglass and leaned back in her chair. “What exactly do you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your job,” she said. “What do you do?”

  “You know what I do.”

  “I know you’re a technician and that you fix things when they break, but that’s about it.”

  “There’s not much else to know,” he said. “Most of the time I run diagnostic programs, and if anything pops up, I either fix the issue or assign it to a different group.”