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“Now you want to talk about feeling crazy? I guess it’s possible you sneaked into my house and found my bedroom and left this drawing on my desk while my parents were home all night? I guess it’s also possible that five-year-old Teddy sneaked into my house? Or his parents? But I don’t think so, Mallory.” Adrian shakes his head. “I think the most likely explanation is that you’ve been right all along. Anya is drawing these pictures. And she wants me to know you’re telling the truth.”
22
We drive back to Spring Brook and get right down to business. I grab all the drawings that I found in my cottage, plus the three pictures I took from Teddy’s bedroom. Adrian has the one drawing left on his desk, plus all his photographs of the Maxwells’ den. He’s already output the images on an inkjet printer so we can add them to the sequence. There are less than forty-eight hours before Russell comes to pick me up—and before that happens, I’m determined to convince the Maxwells we’re telling the truth.
We arrange all the pictures on the pool patio, using stones or pinches of loose gravel to hold them in place. Then we spend half an hour moving them around, trying to arrange them in order, looking for some kind of narrative that makes sense.
After much trial and error, we arrive at this:
“The first picture is the hot-air balloon,” I begin. “We’re in some kind of park or field. An area with a lot of wide-open space. Big skies.”
“So definitely not Spring Brook,” Adrian says. “There’s too much air traffic out of Philly.”
“We see a woman painting a picture of the hot-air balloon. Let’s assume for now this is Anya. Judging from her sleeveless dress, I’m guessing it’s summer, or maybe we’re in a warmer climate.”
“There’s a girl nearby, playing with toys. Possibly Anya’s daughter. Teddy mentioned Anya has a daughter. It doesn’t seem like Anya is watching her closely.”
“Then along comes a white rabbit.”
“The little girl is intrigued. She’s playing with a stuffed rabbit, but here comes a real one.”
“So she follows the rabbit down into a valley…”
“… but Anya doesn’t notice the girl walking away. She’s too absorbed in her work. But you can see the little girl off on the horizon. Leaving her toys behind. Does that all make sense so far?”
“I think so,” Adrian says.
“Good, because here’s where it gets confusing. Something goes wrong. The rabbit is gone, the girl looks lost. She might be hurt. She might even be dead. Because in the next picture…”
“She’s approached by an angel.”
“And the angel leads the little girl toward the light.”
“But someone’s trying to stop them. Someone’s chasing after them.”
“It’s Anya,” Adrian says. “It’s the same white dress.”
“Exactly. She’s running to save her little girl, to stop her from being taken away.”
“But Anya’s too late. The angel won’t give her back.”
“Or can’t give her back,” Adrian says.
“Exactly. Now here comes a gap.”
“The angel and the child are gone. We don’t see them anymore. And now someone is strangling Anya. This is the one piece of the puzzle we’re still missing.”
“Time passes. It’s nighttime. Anya’s easel is abandoned.”
“A man arrives in the forest, carrying tools. They look like a pick and a shovel.”
“The man drags Anya’s body through the forest…”
“He uses his shovel to dig a hole…”
“And then he buries the body.”
“So the man strangled Anya,” Adrian says.
