“What, don’t you trust me?”
I opened my mouth, the words, “Why are you asking me if I trust you—shouldn’t I trust you?” threatening to fly out. But, at the last moment, something stopped me.
The part of me that felt like asking that would be a very bad idea.
“I just wanted to give you a break. Your father is going to be home tomorrow, and I know he prefers your cooking to mine. But, what if we cooked together?” I forced a smile on my lips.
To my surprise, she agreed, although she didn’t look all that convinced. Of course, to be fair, I probably didn’t look all that convinced either.
She was civil, as we prepared the food together, answering questions and talking to me. I listened, but a part of me kept turning Martha’s words over and over in my head. Martha, already suffering from postpartum stress, slipping into a deeper and deeper fog of suspicion and paranoia, feeing more and more isolated and alone.
How much was true and how much was her condition?
The Martha in my dream didn’t look sick. Of course, I was being silly—this was a dream we were talking about, not reality. Martha was long dead.
On the other hand, she did seem paranoid in my dream.
I think Nellie is poisoning me.
I watched Chrissy chop peppers and mushrooms, her head bent over the cutting board, focused on the knife, her silky dark hair cascading against her smooth complexion.
She looked like an angel.
Chrissy, who was sleeping in the room where Martha murdered Nellie, and then killed herself. Chrissy, who was sleepwalking and sleeptalking.
Chrissy, with a knife in her hand.
I shivered.
She looked up at me. “Everything okay, Becca?”
She looked so innocent, so sweet—standing there in her white cut-off shorts and blue-and-white striped tee shirt. She’s just a teenager, right? All teenagers are a little crazy, all those hormones coursing through their bodies.
She cocked her head, waiting for me to answer.
She’s just a teenager.
Holding a knife.
I forced a smile. “Everything’s fine.”
Chapter 27
The front door slammed. Stefan was finally home.
I heard a thump as he dropped his suitcase, his deep voice greeting Chrissy.
I finished wiping the counter. This is what I wanted, right? From the moment we arrived in Redemption, all I had wanted was for him to be with us, regardless if it was in Redemption, or back in New York. Our fresh start.
So why wasn’t I in there with Chrissy, greeting him? Why was I still in the kitchen, washing a clean counter, not feeling all that happy or excited?
Why did it suddenly feel like having him back with us was a bad idea?
Stefan walked in. “There you are, Rebecca.”
I quickly dropped the washcloth into the sink and turned to give him a big smile, pushing my traitorous thoughts down. I was being silly—immersing myself in Mad Martha’s journal probably wasn’t all that healthy for me. “Yes, I was just finishing up. Welcome home.”
He dipped his head to kiss my cheek. Over his shoulder, I could see Chrissy standing in the doorway, watching us with eyes that were as flat and cold as a snake’s. I shivered.
Stefan glanced at me. “You cold?”
I tore my eyes away from Chrissy. “Probably a goose walked over my grave.” I tried to keep my voice light, but the words felt awkward and heavy in the silence.
I think Nellie is poisoning me.
“Are you hungry?” I asked quickly, turning toward the fridge and shoving down all thoughts about Mad Martha. “Can I get you something to eat? Or drink?”
“I had something on the plane,” Stefan said. He reached out and gently tugged me away from the fridge. “Is that the best welcome you’ve got for me?”
That snapped me out of my funk. What the hell was I thinking? Stefan was finally here, and we could start rebuilding our relationship. I definitely needed to stop reading Mad Martha’s diary. I turned to him with a genuine smile on my face and gave him a real kiss.
“Ugh. Gross,” Chrissy said crossly from the doorway. “Get a room.”
Stefan chuckled. “We might just do that.”
“God,” Chrissy said, flouncing away.
“That’s better,” Stefan said nuzzling my neck. I could feel myself starting to melt into a pool of desire. “For a moment there, I thought maybe you weren’t all that happy to see me.”
My breath caught in my throat as hot desire froze into a block of ice. How did he know what I had been thinking? I forced a teasing smile on my face. “That’s silly.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, kissing my ear. “I’d hate to think you found something else to occupy your time while I was gone.”
My stomach dropped with a thud. Hope you’re being a good girl. “Why would you think that?” I kept my voice light.
“Well …” he dropped his arms, his voice changing to one of disappointment. “I don’t see much progress on the house.”
And there it was. I swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of guilt and resentment. “I’ve been sick,” I said, hating the note of defensiveness that had crept in. “Plus, a lot of stuff with Chrissy has been happening that we need to talk about it.”
He took a step back, leaning against the counter, and crossed his arms. “And that’s it?”
Hope you’re being a good girl. He couldn’t possibly know who I had seen. Could he? Has Chrissy been spying on me? And why did I feel like I had to defend how I spent my time? “I got your office ready for you too,” I said, thinking maybe it was a good time to focus on the positives. “And I cleaned up the studio, I mean the attic, so we have room for storage.”
“Have you moved us into the master bedroom?”
“Ah …” I looked away.
He sighed. “You see, this is why I wanted you to focus your time and energy on the house and not on creating relationships that are doomed to never go anywhere. There’s still so much to get done.”
“I have been focused on the house,” I said, stung. “It’s not my fault I got sick. That put me behind. And, Chrissy has taken a lot of time and energy. We need to talk to her …”
“So, that’s really it?” he asked. “Chrissy and you being sick. Nothing else.”
He was watching me so closely, it was almost like he knew I was lying to him. I swallowed hard. “That’s what I said.”
He stared at me for a minute longer, making me want to fidget, before relaxing his gaze and nodding. “All right then. So, what’s going on with Chrissy?”
As thankful as I was to change the subject, I wasn’t sure if this would make things better or worse. Nevertheless, it needed to be done. I took a deep breath, and let it all out—her getting drunk, her disappearing, and her mood swings.
But, I didn’t tell him everything. I found myself curiously reluctant to talk about the sleepwalking. Maybe it was because my promise to Chrissy still lingered—so many adults had let her down—did I really want to be another one? Or maybe it was the way Stefan was watching me as I talked. There was something about the look in his eyes that made me uneasy.
I was being silly again. I needed to tell him everything. He was her father, after all.
But I didn’t. And I certainly didn’t share anything about Mad Martha or Nellie or the history of the town.
When I had finished, he took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m glad you told me. I’ll talk to her.” The way he said it, it sounded like the subject was closed. He would handle it. I didn’t need to worry about it anymore.
That definitely didn’t sit right with me. I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it again.
She is his daughter, I reminded myself. And isn’t that exactly what I wanted? For him to take charge so I didn’t have to deal with
it?
I watched him stride out of the room, biting my lip, somehow feeling like I hadn’t done the right thing.
***
“You didn’t do the right thing,” Aunt Charlie said, bustling around the kitchen as she made tea.
I slumped over. “I knew it. I should have told him about the sleepwalking, too.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Aunt Charlie said darkly. “You said too much.”
I glanced up at her, a shadowy grey wisp in the kitchen. “But, he’s her father. He needs to know.”
“Does he? You sure about that?” She brought the tea to the table and pushed my sunflower mug in front of me. “You know what you need? To trust yourself. And to drink your tea.” She nodded in the direction of the mug.
I gazed down into the tea, smelling the sweet, floral fragrance. I really wanted to drink it—I could feel my mouth start to water.
“Go on,” Aunt Charlie said. “You know you want to.”
I tore my gaze away from the mug and forced myself to look at her. She appeared as she always did. Nothing off or scary.
As I watched, she parted her lips to drink of her own tea, and I caught a gleam of a white tooth. A sharp, pointed tooth. Like a fang.
I sucked in my breath. Her eyes glittered as she gazed at me. “You’re not going to drink your tea, are you?” she said, her mouth suddenly full of sharp, pointed teeth. “You were always stubborn. Just like my sister. Why are you insisting on doing this the hard way?”
“You’re a monster,” I gasped. “I can’t drink that tea. You’re probably poisoning me.”
Suddenly, she was in my face, leaning across the table, moving as fast as a snake about to strike. “You don’t know anything,” she hissed, her tongue darting out, looking even more snake-like.
“I think Nellie is poisoning me,” she said, but it wasn’t her voice, it was Mad Martha’s.
Her face melted, and Mad Martha was staring at me. “You think you know what’s going on, but you have no idea,” she rasped. “You don’t even know where my locket is.”
“But I do,” I gasped.
Her lips stretched into a smile, more of a grimace really, full of teeth and madness. “Ha! You have no idea. You think I was crazy, don’t you? That Nellie was a sweet, innocent thing. She was stealing Edward right from under my nose, and you believe her. Her! “
She leaned in even closer, so close I could smell her foul breath, as if something had died in her mouth. I was trapped in my seat. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. “Beware,” she hissed. “It’s coming.”
“What’s coming?” I said, my mouth so dry I could barely push the words out.
Her smile grew wider, until all I saw were pointed teeth. “The evil that was done.”
I sat straight up in bed, covered in sweat, my throat ragged with trapped screams. Next to me, Stefan muttered and rolled over in his sleep. I eyed him—how did he always manage to sleep through my nightmares? I didn’t know if I felt envious or resentful.
I slid out of bed and padded my way to the door. I wasn’t making the same mistake as last time. I was most definitely checking on Chrissy.
My heart sank as I stepped into the hallway. Chrissy’s door was wide open. That wasn’t a good sign.
I made my way down the hall and peeked into her room just in case—no Chrissy. The bed was empty, the covers flung off. That probably meant I needed to make my way downstairs. Taking a deep breath, and hoping I wouldn’t run into Aunt Charlie, or even worse, Mad Martha, I hesitantly started down the steps.
Chrissy was in the family room, muttering to herself as she pawed through the bookshelf. For a moment, my heart became stuck in my throat. Was she looking for the diary? How did she even know about it? But then I realized she wasn’t anywhere near where I had hidden the journal.
I cautiously approached her, until I could finally hear her words—”Where is it? I must find it. Where did it go?”
“Chrissy, maybe we should go to bed,” I said, keeping my voice calm so I wouldn’t startle her.
Her voice grew louder, more frantic. “Where is it? I must find it.”
“We can look for it tomorrow,” I said, putting my hand on her arm.
She shrugged me off, moving away from me, digging in the cushions of the sofa. “I have to find it.”
There was something about her that was beginning to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. She sounded exactly like Nellie had in my dream.
“Chrissy, we need to go to bed,” I said, my voice loud and jarring in the stillness. I tried again to take her arm, and she whirled around on me, her face contorted in sudden rage.
“Leave me alone, you bitch,” she hissed. “Don’t touch me.”
I took a few steps backward, startled by the vehemence in her voice. “Chrissy …”
“Stop calling me that. My name is not Chrissy.”
Silence, except for the ticking of the grandfather clock that sounded like gongs in the stillness. I could almost feel my life draining away as I listened to that ominous ticking. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was completely dry. “Who are you then?” I found myself asking. Oh God, don’t say Nellie, I thought a little desperately, trying to keep my breathing even, so I wouldn’t hyperventilate and suffocate on my terror.
And, whatever you do, please don’t ask me why I killed you again.
She gave me a disdainful look. “I don’t have time for this.”
Her voice had changed. It sounded older and darker. Ancient almost. I tried to swallow again. “Nellie?” I rasped, my voice barely over a whisper.
She turned back to the bookshelf. “Where is it? Where did you put it?”
I could barely form the words, my throat tight with terror. Oh dear God, what was going on? “Where is what?”
She spun back around. “What you stole,” she practically screamed, her face contorted in rage. And, just as suddenly, her eyes rolled back up in her sockets, and she collapsed, like a pierced balloon, all the air rushing out.
I ran to her, knelt, and pulled her into my arms, saying her name over and over. The color had leached out of her face, leaving a very unhealthy, pale shade of grey in its place.
Should I call the hospital? At the very least, I needed to wake up Stefan, but at that moment, Chrissy stirred in my arms, her eyes fluttering open. “Becca …? What …?”
I hushed her. “It’s okay, let’s get you to bed. I’ll get your father.”
She struggled to sit up, focusing her eyes around the room. “Wait, why am I down here? Oh no, did it happen again?” Her face seemed to age right in front of me.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I said, helping her up. “I’ll get your father.”
“No!” But, even as she protested, she wilted against me. “I don’t want to disturb him,” she said weakly. “He has to get up early and work.”
I started helping her up the stairs. “He can deal with it,” I said shortly. “He needs to know.”
She sagged against me, but didn’t argue. I was already regretting not mentioning any of these episodes to him earlier. Now, how was I going to explain myself?
After helping her into bed, and getting her ibuprofen and a cool washcloth, I was just about to leave when she grasped my hand. “Becca, I just want to … thank you.”
She looked like a sad little waif, lying there in the bed, her eyes huge and dark in her pale face, with her black hair spread over the pillow. I had to swallow a sudden lump in my throat. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m here for you Chrissy, despite all our differences. I hope you know that.”
If I had hoped it would lead to a bonding moment, I was sorely mistaken. She let go of me, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face away to face the wall. “Do what you have to do,” she said, her voice flat. “I’m fine, but if you want to wake him, go ahead.”
I stood there for a moment, chewing my lip and debating my next steps. “He’s your father,” I finally said. “Don’t you think he has a right to know?”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“I don’t understand you,” I said exasperated. “I’m trying to help. Why do you keep pushing me away?”
She jerked her head toward me, the fury on her face looking eerily like it did in the family room. “Did I ask for your help? No. I don’t need it and I don’t want it. Just go away.”
I took a step back, shocked at the force of her rage. She glared at me one final time before turning back to the wall. Without another word, I turned to leave her room. As I closed the door, I heard a soft sound coming from her bed, like a sob.
Was she crying? Why?
I went back to my own bedroom and stared at Stefan, still fast asleep, his mouth slightly open in a snore. How could he sleep through everything? Didn’t he sense, on some level, that there was a problem with his child?
I debated waking him. She was sixteen after all—did she really need her father comforting her in the middle of the night?
But, then I thought about that sob.
Where is it? I must find it.
Whatever was happening to her wasn’t normal. Maybe it was nothing more than stress and hormones, but still, she should be evaluated by a professional. What if there was something seriously wrong with her? She was getting worse, not better.
I had to tell Stefan. It was getting out of control.
As gently as possible, I shook him. He jerked awake, flinging his hands up and nearly backhanding me.
“What’s going on? What is it?” He barked, still half asleep.
“It’s just me,” I whispered. “Look, I’m sorry to wake you but Chrissy needs you.”
He blinked at me, looking confused and disoriented. “Where am I?”
“Aunt Charlie’s house.”
He sat up slowly and rubbed his face. “What’s going on? Why did you wake me?”
I took a deep breath. No going back now. “It’s Chrissy. She’s sleepwalking again.”
He stared at me. “Sleepwalking? Chrissy doesn’t sleepwalk.”
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 21