Free Little Girls by Ronald Malfi Page A

that formed a porch in the backyard. Laurie went to the door now, unlatched it, and hesitantly pushed it open. The day had warmed considerably from yesterday, even at this early hour, though there was still a strong and chilly breeze in the air. She could smell the trees surrounding the property and, far beyond, the brackish scent of the Severn River.
    In bare feet, she stepped out into the yard. She let the kitchen door slam against the frame behind her as she walked up the slight incline toward the shaggy willow tree. The grass was damp with dew and cold against the bottoms of her feet. She reached the willow tree and saw that the girl was nowhere in evidence. There were many trees on both sides of the property, and it would be easy for someone to hide . . . but why would someone want to hide from her?
    “Hello?” She wasn’t surprised to find that her voice was horribly unsteady. She lifted some of the willow tree branches and saw that there was a hinged gate in the fence. It was closed but not properly latched. Laurie let the boughs slap back into place and then took a few steps backwards to where the lawn swelled so that she could better see over the fence and into the neighboring yard. The house next door was in poor condition, its siding overgrown with vines, its roof patchy with missing shingles. Some of the window shutters hung at crooked angles. From this vantage she couldn’t see if the dusty green car was still in the driveway.
    Looking at the house, it was impossible not to think of the Russes, and of Sadie Russ, who had once lived there. The visage of the girl running across the yard just a moment ago only encouraged such memories. Sadie Russ, Laurie thought, feeling the bare flesh of her arms prickle despite the warmth of the morning sun. Sadie Russ, the girl next door, the horrible little wretch. A nanosecond later, she hated herself for thinking such thoughts about the dead.
    Laurie turned and continued up the incline toward the crest of the backyard. At the top of the hill, the property was overcome by sparse trees through which, after a distance, the vastness of the Severn River could be glimpsed. From what she could make out, the water looked to be the color of slate and filigreed with a fine cap of fog that made it nearly impossible to see across to the other side. Much of the shoreline was overrun by thick shoots of bamboo. As a little girl, she had played in these woods and along the riverbank quite often. With Sadie, her mind reminded her. For a while, anyway.
    Shivering, Laurie cut to the left and followed the wooden fence as it trailed off into the woods. The damp cushion of the lawn surrendered to a rutted dirt footpath that wound through encroaching trees. It diverged from the moldy fence and wended deeper into the trees. Being early summer, the foliage was already bright green and thick. She followed the path, knowing from memory where it would ultimately end, though she was uncertain of what she would find when she arrived there. Her bare feet kicked at small stones and prickly balls that looked like cherries covered with sharp teeth. She looked up and saw the sunlight shining in dazzling arrays through a canopy of semitransparent leaves. Carved hastily in the trunk of a large oak was the word FUCK . The base of the tree was wreathed in wildflowers.
    And then she came upon the clearing and saw it.
    Her heart became infused with equal parts amazement, disbelief, and terror at the revelation that the thing still existed after all these years. One could call it a temple, a house of worship which had been constructed as a testament to her father’s obsession. When she was just a child, it had been a shimmering glass box that reflected the sunlight and looked like something out of a fairy tale. She could go to any of the windows and look inside at the profusion of plants with their waxy green leaves and colorful explosions of flowers. Often, her father would spend hours here, tending to his