Page 98 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
George studied her for a long moment. “And what would you wish of me, Perliett?”
She bit her bottom lip, not even sure how to answer that. George’s eyes lowered to her lips, then rose back to meet her eyes. Perliett swallowed. “I think—I want...”
“What do you want, Perliett?” George’s voice deepened.
Perliett was certain he’d leaned closer.
The air between them grew thick, surrounding them, enveloping them, warm like the summer breeze and stifling like the humidity. She couldn’t breathe.
“What do you want?” he whispered.
“You.” The word escaped her before she could reason through the realization that defied every thought she’d ever entertained about Dr. George Wasziak.
“He’s written the paper again!” Maribeth flew into the house, Jasper close on her heels. When he entered the room, he took in George, who leaned away from Perliett with a speed that implied some sort of guilt.
Perliett felt her cheeks warm.Shewas warm. She wasbewildered and not a little horrified at what she had just said to George Wasziak.
Now he sat there stoically. Unmoved. Masked. Glowering like he always did, the absolutely wretched, wretched man! And, at the same time, she couldn’t hate him. Perliett stifled a sigh at her own inconsistency.
Maribeth shook the paper. “The Cornfield Ripper quotes the ‘Cock Robin’ nursery rhyme. Whatever for? It makes no sense. And then he says, ‘I will dig a grave and bury them. I will show her that the monsters inside will never stay buried. They rise. The robin rises. Who killed them, you ask? I did. And she danced on their graves.’” Maribeth lifted incredulous eyes. “Whatever is he talking about?”
“It’s laden with intentional nonsense,” Jasper stated.
“Or is it laden with intentional meaning?” George asked.
Maribeth folded the newsprint and set it on a side table. “I find it repulsive. That the paper would even print it and give him the time of day.”
George shrugged. “It’s the sort of thing that sells papers.”
“It’s abhorrent,” Maribeth stated.
“It’s chilling,” Perliett interjected. She nervously fingered the blanket on her lap and looked at each of the observers who stood over her. “Certainly and utterly chilling. ‘Cock Robin’? Mrs. Withers had been reciting the nursery rhyme to Millie before she died. There was a mutilated robin left on my porch. This is not happenstance writing from an insane person. There’s a reason he quotes the nursery rhyme.”
Jasper grimaced. “He is purposeful. He left his calling card outside my own door as well.”
“What if...?” Perliett sat up straighter on the sofa. The idea was swirling in her mind and mixing with the emotions of moments before. It was difficult to even think under George’s impassive expression, and under the very apparent toggling Jasper was doing as he looked between them, attempting to uncover what had transpired. “What if,” shetried again, “the ‘she’ he refers to isn’t Eunice or Millie orme. What if it is her? The little girl I saw?”
“When he says, ‘I will show her that the monsters will never stay buried,’ you’re saying he’s speaking of the girl?” Jasper repeated for clarification.
Perliett nodded.
“Whoisthe girl, then?” Maribeth mused. “She is the key. She has to be!”
“What if we never find out?” Perliett asked the question that lay in the darkest parts of her.
George met her eyes. So did Jasper.
Maribeth stilled.
None of them had an answer. The idea of the Cornfield Killer never being identified was terrifying.
For when they’re gone, my mind stills.
She looks at me with expectation.
I must awaken my mind. Because she asks me to.
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