Read an Excerpt
Centralia
By Mike Dellosso, Caleb Sjogren Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2015 Mike Dellosso
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4143-9041-3
CHAPTER 1
Peter Ryan rolled to his side and peeled open his eyes. Hazy, early-morning light filtered through the blinds and cast the bedroom in a strange, dull, watery hue. For a moment, his mind fogged by the remnants of a dream filled with mystery and anxiety, he thought he was still in the same unfamiliar house, exploring room after room until he came to that one room, the room with the locked door that would allow him no entrance. He closed his eyes.
Peter pawed at the door, smacked it with an open hand. He had to open it; behind it was something ... something ... A shadow moved along the gap between the door and the worn wood flooring. Peter took a step away from the door and held his breath. The shadow was there again. Back and forth it paced, slowly, to the beat of some unheard funeral dirge. Somebody was in that room. Peter groped and grasped at the doorknob once again, tried to turn it, twist it, but it felt as if it were one with the wood of the door, as if the entire contraption had been carved from a single slab of oak.
Peter gasped and flipped open his eyes, expecting morning sunlight to rush in and blind him, but it was earlier than he thought. Dusty autumn light only filled the room enough to cast shadows, odd things with awkward angles and distorted proportions that hid in the corners and lurked where walls met floor.
He couldn't remember last night. What had he done? What time had he gone to bed? He'd slept so soundly, so deeply, as if he were dead and only now life had been reinfused into him. Sleep pulled at him, clung to his eyes and mind like a spiderweb. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. But even then, his mind kept wanting to return to some hazy fog, some place of gray void that would usher him back to the house, back to the second story, back to the door and that pacing shadow and the secrets it protected.
He shifted his weight and moved to his back. Hands behind his head, he forced his eyes to stay open and ran them around the room. It was a habit of his, checking every room he entered, corner to corner. What he was checking for he didn't know. Gremlins? Gnomes? The bogeyman? Or maybe just anything that appeared out of ...
There, in the far corner, between the dresser and the wall, a misplaced shadow. No straight sides, no angles. It was the form of a person, a woman. Karen. His wife.
Peter lifted his head and squinted through light as murky as lake water. Why was ...?
"Karen?"
But she didn't move.
"Karen, is that you? What are you doing, babe?"
Still no movement, not even a shift in weight or subtle pulsing of breath. For a moment, he didn't know if he was awake or asleep or caught in some middle hinterland of half slumber where rules of reason were broken routinely, where men walked on the ceiling and cats talked and loved ones roamed the earth as shadowy specters.
Peter reached for the lamp to his right and clicked it on. Light illuminated the room and dispelled the shadows. If he wasn't awake before, he certainly was now. The corner was empty, the image of Karen gone.
Propped on one elbow, Peter sighed, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. He kicked off the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sat there with his head in his hands, fingers woven through his hair. The remaining fog was dispersing; the cloudy water receded. His head felt heavy and thick as if someone had poured concrete into his cranium and sealed it shut again. The smell of toast and frying bacon reached him then, triggering his appetite. His mouth began to water. His stomach rumbled like an approaching storm.
And that's when it hit him, as suddenly and forcefully as if an unseen intruder had emerged from the fog, balled its bony hand, and punched him in the chest.
He needed to see Karen, needed to tell her something.
It was not some mere inclination either, like remembering to tell her he needed deodorant when she went to the supermarket. No, this was an urgent yearning, a need like he'd never experienced before. As if not only their happiness or comfort depended on it but her very existence. He had information she needed, information without which she would be empty and incomplete, yet he had no idea what that information was. His mind was a whiteboard that had been wiped clean.
Had he forgotten to tell her something? He filed through the events of the past few days, trying to remember if a doctor's office had called or the school. The dentist, another parent. But nothing was there. He'd gone to work at the university lab, spent the day there, and come home.
But there was that void, wasn't there? Last night was still a blank. He'd come home after work—he remembered that much—but after that things got cloudy. Karen and Lilly must have been home; he must have kissed them, asked them about their day. He must have eaten dinner with them. It was his routine. Evenings were family time, just the three of them. The way it always was. He must have had a normal evening. But sometimes, what must have happened and what actually happened could be two completely different animals, and this fact niggled in the back of Peter's mind.
Despite his failure to remember the events of the previous evening, the feeling was still there: he needed to find Karen. Maybe seeing her, talking to her, would be the trigger that would awaken his mind and bring whatever message he had for her bobbing to the surface.
Downstairs, plates clattered softly and silverware clinked. The clock said it was 6:18.
Karen was fixing breakfast for Lilly, probably packing her lunch, too, the two of them talking and laughing. They were both morning doves, up before sunrise, all sparkles and smiles and more talkative and lively than any Munchkin from Oz. Some mornings he'd lie in bed and listen to them gab and giggle with each other. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but just the sound of their voices, the happiness in them, brightened his morning.
Peter stood and stretched, then slipped into a pair of jeans before exiting the room. He stopped in the hallway and listened, but now the house was quiet, as silent and still as a mouseless church. The smell of bacon still hung in the air, drew him toward the kitchen, but the familiar morning sounds had ceased. The sudden silence was strange—eerily so—and the niggling returned.
"Karen?" His voice echoed, bounced around the walls of the second floor, and found its way into the two-story foyer. But there was no answer.
"Lilly?" He padded down the hall to his daughter's bedroom, knocked on the door. Nothing.
Slowly he turned the knob and opened the door.
"Lil, you in here?" But she wasn't. The room was empty. Her bed had been made, bedspread pulled to the pillow and folded neatly at the top. Her lamp was off, the night-light too. And the shades were open, allowing that eerie bluish light to fill the room. On her dresser, next to the lamp, was the Mickey Mouse watch they had gotten her for Christmas last year. Lilly loved that watch, never went anywhere without it.
Peter checked the bathroom, the guest room, even the linen closet. But there was no one, not even a trace of them.
Down the stairs he went, that urgency growing ever stronger and feeding the need to find Karen and put some life-rattling information center stage with high-intensity spotlights fixed on it. And with the urgency came a developing sense of panic.
On the first floor he tried again. "Karen? Lilly?" He said their names loud enough that his voice carried from the foyer through the living room and family room to the kitchen. The only response was more stubborn silence.
Maybe they'd gone outside. In the kitchen he checked the clock on the stove. 6:25. It wasn't nearly time yet to leave for school, but they might have left early to run an errand before Karen dropped Lilly off. But why leave so early?
He checked the garage and found both the Volkswagen and the Ford still there. The panic spread its wings and flapped them vigorously, threatening to take flight. Quickly he crossed the kitchen and stood before the sliding glass door leading out to the patio.
Strange—he hadn't noticed before, but the scents of breakfast were gone. Not a trace of bacon or toast hung in the still air. He'd forgotten about it until now, so intent was he on finding Karen and Lilly. It was as if he'd imagined the whole thing, as if his brain had somehow conjured the memory of the aroma. There was no frying pan on the stove, and the toaster sat unplugged in the corner of the counter. Prickles climbed up the back of his neck. He slid open the glass door. The morning air was cool and damp. Dew glistened on the grass like droplets of liquid silver. But both the patio and backyard were empty. No Karen, no Lilly.
Peter slid the door closed and turned to face the vacant house.
"Karen!"
Still no answer came, and the house was obviously in no mood to divulge their whereabouts. His chest tightened, that familiar feeling of panic and anxiety, of struggling to open a door locked fast.
The basement. Maybe they'd gone down there to throw a load of laundry into the washing machine. At the door, facing the empty staircase and darkened underbelly of the house, he called again for his wife and daughter, but the outcome was no different.
Had they gone for a walk before school?
At the kitchen counter, he picked up his mobile phone and dialed Karen. If she had her phone on her, she'd answer. But after four rings it went to her voice mail. He didn't bother leaving a message.
Peter ran his fingers through his hair, leaned against the counter, and tried to focus, tried to remember. Had she gone out with someone? Maybe Sue or April had picked them up. Maybe they'd planned to drop off the kids at school and go shopping together. They'd done that before. Karen must have told him last night, and he was either too tired or preoccupied with something that her words went acknowledged but unheard.
He picked up the phone again and punched the Greers' contact.
Sue answered on the second ring.
"Sue, it's Peter."
"Oh, hi, Peter" She sounded surprised to hear his voice. If she was with Karen, she wouldn't be surprised.
"Do you know where Karen and Lilly are? Are they with you?"
There was a long pause on the other end. In the background he could hear music and little Ava giggling and calling for Allison, her big sister. The sounds stood in stark contrast to the silence that presently engulfed him.
"Sue? You still there?"
"Um, yeah" Her voice had weakened and quivered like an icy shiver had run through it. "I'm going to let you talk to Rick."
That sense of panic flapped its wings in one great and powerful burst and took flight. Peter's palms went wet, and a cold sweat beaded on his brow. "What? What is it?"
"Here's Rick."
Another pause, then Rick Greer's voice. He'd be leaving for work in a few minutes. "Hey, man, what's going on?"
"Hey, Rick, I'm not sure. Do you know where Karen and Lilly are? Are they okay?"
The pause was there again. Awkward and forced. Seconds ticked by, stretching into eons. In another part of the house, Ava continued to holler for Allison. Peter wanted to scream into the phone.
"I'm ... I'm not sure I understand, Peter."
Irritation flared in Peter's chest. What was there to not understand?
"I'm looking for my wife and daughter. Where are they?"
"Man, they're not here. They're ... gone."
"Gone? What do you mean, gone? What happened?" The room began to turn in a slow circle and the floor seemed to undulate like waves in the open sea. Peter pulled out a stool and sat at the counter. The clock on the wall ticked like a hammer striking a nail.
Rick sighed on the other end. "Are you serious with this?"
"With what?"
"What are you doing?"
Peter gripped the phone so hard he thought he'd break it. He tried to swallow, but there was no saliva in his mouth. "What's happened to them?"
"Pete, they're dead. They've been gone almost two months now. Don't you remember?"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Centralia by Mike Dellosso, Caleb Sjogren. Copyright © 2015 Mike Dellosso. Excerpted by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
