Brood XIX

Epilogue

Vanessa stood at her kitchen window, staring out into the darkness. She wrapped her arms around her chest to combat a sudden chill. Emma was upstairs in her own bed, with her own belongings, right where she was supposed to be. Buddy hadn't left her side for a second. She had spent the past two nights in the hospital, where specialists of all kinds had evaluated her health, both physical and emotional. There would be hard times ahead, they assured her. The nightmares had already begun to torment her, and she was terrified of walking from one room to the next, let alone setting foot outside. She broke into tears without warning and often screamed for no reason, but whatever it took, Vanessa would be there for her. She would never let Emma out of her sight again.

Sandra Matthews was in the hospital as well, only under constant guard until she was stable enough to be transferred to the county jail, pending her trial. At first, Vanessa had wanted to be there, to hear the rationale behind stealing her daughter and killing her husband. She had wanted to know what kind of monster waited until her own daughter died, stomped on her until she was broken to pieces, and then dumped her in the swamp. But a part of Vanessa already knew the answers. She had lost her daughter once, and would have done anything to get her back. Hearing the words from Sandra's mouth would change nothing. The two of them were more alike than Vanessa cared to admit. Even to herself. As long as she had Emma back, she was content to let Sandra rot in a dismal prison or asylum with only the thoughts of her dead husband and child to haunt her. Vanessa knew that was punishment enough.

The time had come to look forward, not back.

For the first time in two years, a seemingly infinite future stretched out before her. It was a future without her husband, but she would see him again soon enough. For now, she was excited to explore the possibilities with the daughter she thought she had lost forever.

She could hear Trey's muffled voice through the floor above her. He continued to read to Emma, even though she was already fast asleep. He couldn't bring himself to leave her either. He had born the guilt of her abduction as much as Vanessa had. While he wasn't ready to forgive himself yet, it appeared as though the process had at least begun.

He still hadn't asked her how she tracked Emma to the Matthews's house, nor had they discussed the cicadas. Vanessa suspected that he understood that there were some things better left unexamined. Whatever had caused them to swarm as they had to guide her to Emma, she was grateful and chose not to question it. Call it divine intervention or a miracle of nature. It didn't matter. Everything had worked out perfectly in the end. And she would draw immeasurable delight from making up for the two years they had lost.

The cicadas sang from the trees in the back yard. Soon enough they would be gone. The females would all be laden with eggs that would one day become larvae squirming around in the dirt, feeding on roots and whatever else might end up buried deep enough in the earth, biding their time for another thirteen years until they were again free to molt and live the lives they had dreamed of, if only for a single, glorious month.

And Vanessa would welcome them back when they did. In the meantime, she would honor the gift they had bestowed upon her by living with the same passion and intensity.

In her mind's eye, she envisioned her perfect moment, the one held close to her heart, and allowed herself a wistful smile.

Emma knelt in the mud in her filthy dress while Buddy raced around her. Her small hands formed mud into the shape of a bear that she imbued with the life that would one day save her own. Emma's features slowly metamorphosed into those of a girl with a slender face and short blonde hair, a girl Vanessa had only seen in photographs after the fact. The girl looked back at Vanessa and smiled the distant smile of a child who had never had the opportunity to truly live, the smile of a little girl who had never been properly mourned.