Blackwood by Gwenda Bond Page A

and disorderly or a public intoxication charge.
      "You might want to…" Phillips' father trailed off as he sat, and Miranda and Phillips slid into the chairs in front of the desk. Phillips tried to catch Miranda's eye, but she was staring straight ahead.
      "I have some news," he went on.
      "Where is he?" Miranda asked.
      "I understand this is hard–"
      "What's hard? You found him, right? He wasn't missing."
      Phillips touched her arm. She flinched. He said, "Miranda, you have to let him tell you."
      Miranda gulped in air, and said, "No, you don't understand. I promised to take care of him."
      Father and son exchanged a glance.
      "Well," his dad said. "You've had a tough time of it, Miranda. You have been a devoted daughter, and this news will not be easy. I'm glad that my son is here with you." He paused. Phillips figured he wanted to know why the two of them had come together. "I hadn't wanted to tell you alone, but there's no one to call… Our social worker's among the missing and I know you wouldn't want that anyway. You've been running your household for a while now and you deserve to know, especially with everything going on. There's no easy way to say this."
      Miranda remained motionless. Phillips wasn't even sure she kept breathing.
      "Your father was murdered."
      Phillips had expected injured, maybe even dead, but not… "Murdered?"
      "His body was discovered in an alley downtown this afternoon. He's the only one of the missing we've recovered so far. But he brings the reported number down to one hundred and fourteen. Meaning his death is probably not related to the missing persons."
      Miranda put her head down, her hair falling forward. Phillips wanted to do something, to comfort her. He didn't know how. So he sat there in shock, fixating on the number, teasing out his father's logic. Miranda's dad was probably unrelated because now it was a hundred and fourteen people gone. The same number John White had left behind in 1587.
      "The coroner is having some difficulty determining what happened to him, but it's not anything that could be considered accidental or self-inflicted. We've ordered an autopsy, and we'll know more once that's finished. If you want to see the body, we can arrange that. I'm sorry, Miranda."
      "I'm sorry, too," Phillips said, the only words that made sense. He had questions for his father, but they'd wait.
      Miranda lifted her face.
      "I understand," she said, steady as a flatline on a hospital monitor.
      Phillips had heard his dad talk to his mom about notifications before. How most people fell apart before you even got through the facts. How the ones who didn't were the ones that took it hardest.
      Miranda rose, then seemed to think better of it and dropped back into the chair. "Do you need me to sign anything?"

6
    Mothers
     
 
    While Phillips drove her home, Miranda stared out the car window feeling lost. As lost as the missing people, maybe. Chief Rawling had agreed to let Phillips take her, but he was supposed to end up back at the courthouse. Phillips had told his dad again that there was nothing he could do to help there. For some reason, he seemed reluctant to leave her.
      She didn't know what she should feel, or what she should say.
      But Phillips didn't have much to say either. He kept his eyes on the road, his knuckles tight in a death grip on the steering wheel.
      "What your dad was asking you before… you hear voices still?" she asked.
      He didn't as much as glance over. "You remember."
      The grass blurred to a soft green outside the car window. "Yeah."
      Of course, she remembered. He'd heard the voices talking about her . She'd been in eighth grade, thirteen years old. It was the first day of school, not long after the Rawling family moved in from Nags Head. They took possession of the house belonging to the chief's mother – aka the Witch of Roanoke Island – after she died of cancer. To Miranda,