“Run!” Keira cried, pushing her companions toward the woods. They broke into a dash, splitting around the wild man, stumbling over and through the bushes. The rifle cracked, loud enough to ring in Keira’s ears. She flinched, but Dane’s aim had been wide.
“Back to town,” she called, praying that both of her friends would hear and understand her. “Get inside a house. I’ll find you later.”
“What—” Mason started, but Keira speared off before he could stop her. She heard him call her name but didn’t look back before plunging into the forest.
Keira’s flashlight was the only light in the dark night. She let her feet hit the ground heavily and slapped her arms through the branches as she ran, making as much noise as she could. It worked. Dane’s footfalls were loud as he hunted after her.
Another gunshot. Keira tucked her head low and lengthened her strides to put more distance between them. It would be hard for Dane to hit her while they were running, but it wasn’t impossible either.
She turned right, leading Dane away from the town. The thick forest made running difficult; branches caught on her clothes and scratched at her face. The scarf became a liability—a potential noose around her neck—so she pulled it over her head and discarded it.
Lightning cracked. Its glow flashed through the forest, submerging the vegetation in the surreal light and temporarily blinding Keira. She gasped as she misjudged her footing and stumbled over a branch. The rain made the leaves slippery. She skidded down an incline. Her ankle twisted on the uneven surface. Hot pain shot through her leg. She bit back a scream and curled into a ball as she landed. The flashlight painted a halo of light on the leaves above, so she turned it off and let the inky black night surround her.
Hide, her instincts said. She huddled as small as she could and breathed through her mouth. Her quick pace had put her well ahead of Dane; if she was lucky, he would continue to barrel through the woods blindly. She could wait until he was well gone, then creep back to town.
To her horror, the pounding footsteps slowed to a careful walk. He was angry, but not enraged enough to be careless.
He saw your light go off. He knows where you are. You can’t stay here.
The rain continued to pour on the forest ceiling. Its drum was just loud enough to drown out the crunch of leaves as Keira rolled onto her hands and knees. Her ankle felt as though it were on fire. She tried rotating it and was relieved when it moved. The sprain was bad, though, and trying to run again would risk fracturing it.
I can’t stay here. I can’t run. I guess the only option left is to creep.
She rose into a crouch and began threading her way through the trees. Each step was like a knife through her foot, but she shoved the pain as far back in her mind as she could and closed a door on it. All she focused on was moving as quietly as possible until she was out of Dane’s path. The rain dripping through the boughs was heavy and cold; she doubted Dane would spend more than an hour looking for her, and as long as she remained quiet and kept her flashlight off, the only way he could find her would be to physically bump into her.
Something clicked, and suddenly, the woods filled with light. Keira flattened herself behind a tree, her heart thundering. She wasn’t the only one who’d brought a flashlight.
The beam sliced through the dark as it panned across the forest. It skimmed over the tree that shielded her and continued to move.
Damn it. Hiding was no longer an option; the forest was dense, but not dense enough to conceal her when Dane had a light. Keira lowered her body and slunk between two trees. As she moved, she tried to stay aware of what shapes would block her from his sights or give her cover. It was harder than she would have thought. Most of the trees were too narrow to fully shield a human form, and the shrubs weren’t thick enough to hide behind.
Dane remained eerily silent. She’d half expected him to call to her, but he hadn’t said a word. Even his breathing was inaudible; the flashlight was her only way of gauging how far behind he was. And it wasn’t very far at all.
The gun fired. Chips of wood flew off one of the trees to Keira’s right. She could no longer afford to move carefully and broke into a run.
Her foot hurt more than she could have imagined, but it carried her weight. She tore through the trees, head down and lungs aching. Although she moved as quickly as her body would allow her, she no longer had a speed advantage over her pursuer. His footsteps were close—and gaining with every pace.
The trees cleared ahead. The open area would give him an easy shot at her, but there was no alternative. She burst out of the forest and into a field of weeds. The plants grew high around her thighs, snagging her legs and slowing her further. She compensated by leaning forward and lengthening each step. That was a risk with a sprained ankle, but her desire to keep her body bullet free won out.
A tall, dark shape appeared ahead. A house? Will Dane follow me if I force my way inside? Wait…no. Not a house. The mill.
The vast brick building seemed deeply threatening with rain pouring down its sides. It was her best hope, though, and Keira redirected her path toward it. Gunfire came from behind her—three shots—then fell silent.
She reached the building and ran along its brick wall, praying Dane didn’t know where to find the secret entrance. Her ankle nearly collapsed again as she took the corner too quickly. The rain was getting in her eyes, making it hard to see, so she pressed against the bricks for a second to wipe her vision clear. No pounding footsteps chased her, and she thought she knew why. The field surrounding the mill offered no cover. Dane would see her if she tried to run back to the forest. Most likely, he believed he could trap her at the mill and take his time hunting her.
He’s not wrong.
Her options were few—and becoming fewer with every passing breath. Keira followed the mill’s side toward the stack of crates and barrels leading to the broken window. The wood groaned as she climbed it but held her weight as she wiggled her torso through the narrow opening. Inside, the mill was perfectly black. She could guess how far away the floor was, but there wasn’t much she could do to prepare for the impact as she fell into the pile of rotting wool.
She lay on the floor for a moment, trying to slow her heart, breathing deeply despite the wretched smell. The mill’s emotional imprint weighed on her like a second gravity, but she pressed it back before it could overwhelm her. Everything was silent. She looked toward the window. For a moment, she could barely see the frame’s outline, but then a flicker of light appeared through it, quickly growing nearer.
He’s coming.
Keira rolled off the wool. She reached for the muscle behind her eyes, pulled on it, and whispered, “I need somewhere to hide. Please…can you help me?”
The room remained black. Keira strained further, trying to see the spirits she knew surrounded her, but the transparent beings seemed to be just as vulnerable to the blotting effects of night as everything else in the world.
Then something cold brushed her hand. It was so light that she would have assumed it was a breeze, except the air inside the mill was still. Keira’s breath hitched. She extended her arm and felt the cold again, leading away from her and to her left.
She stumbled to her feet and hopped after it, letting the chill guide her deeper into the building. From her memory of how the space had been laid out, the spirit seemed to be leading her toward the offices at the back wall.
Then the cold moved down. Keira lowered her hand to follow it and touched the dusty wood floor. She frowned, not understanding, then her fingers found a tiny half-moon hole in the boards.
“Oh,” she whispered as realization hit her. She dug her finger into the hole and pulled. The hidden trapdoor was stiff from decades of disuse, but it came away from the floor with a loud crack. Keira flinched at the noise and glanced back at the window. It was impossible to know exactly how close Dane was, but the light was bright enough to tell her she only had seconds.
She raised the trapdoor and slipped her feet i
nside. Lowering herself blindly into a hole caused small, horrified tremors to run up her spine. Part of her squirmed against the idea that something might be lurking just beyond her toes, waiting for her to move an inch nearer before biting. Instead, her feet touched a solid, cold surface. She tested it, then stretched her foot forward to discover that it was a staircase.
A scraping noise came from outside the window. Dane was climbing the crates. He knew how to get inside the mill.
There was no time to be cautious. Keira slid into the secret passageway, creeping down six steps, then pulled the trapdoor back into place so it was flush with the floor.
A moment later, thin blades of light shot through the cracks between the wood as Dane’s flashlight passed over the room. Then a heavy thud, a grunt, and the creak of footsteps straining the ancient floor told her he was inside.
She could do nothing except close her eyes and hope. Was this secret compartment public knowledge? Had Dane come here as a child, possibly to test his courage and tell scary stories? Did he know the building well enough to search through its darkest corners?
Heavy feet passed overhead. Tiny streams of dust rained over Keira. She pressed a hand to her mouth so it wouldn’t tickle her throat and make her cough.
The footsteps passed on. A door slammed open. More footsteps. Another slam. Then another.
He’s searching the rooms. When he doesn’t find me, will he leave?
Her chest ached from where her heart fluttered. Now that she’d stopped moving, the cold was seeping through her soaked clothing and beginning to gnaw at her core. Her fingers were numb, but she couldn’t risk moving to warm them.
The footsteps came to a halt at the opposite end of the building. For a silent moment, the light skimmed over the floor above her hiding place, then the steps jogged in her direction.
Sudden panic hit Keira. She’d been dripping wet when she entered the mill; she must have left a trail of water leading to the trapdoor. If he looked closely enough, he would surely find the finger hold that had let her pull the boards up.
She considered moving farther down the stairs, but the risk of making noise was too great. Except for the pounding feet and her beating heart, the mill was almost perfectly silent.
Get ready to fight. Her muscles tensed, though she already knew her odds were bad. Dane had not only a height advantage but also a gun. She had a knife, but she would need inhuman speed to avoid the bullet he had prepared for her.
The footsteps were nearly at her hiding space. She could picture the grizzled man running his eyes over the trail leading from the window, then abruptly vanishing. He would see the hole any second…
Something clattered inside one of the offices. Dane froze, and the flashlight’s beam arced away. Then he was running for the room, skidding to a halt…and falling completely silent.
Keira kept her hand over her mouth to muffle her breaths. Was a third person hiding in the mill? It seemed almost too perfect that something would fall to the ground at the exact moment she needed a distraction. But there were no gunshots, no words, and no sound of a struggle. It couldn’t have been a ghost, could it? The only spirits I’ve seen are inaudible and intangible…
She heard nothing for close to ten minutes. Every few seconds, the flashlight passed over the secret trapdoor, sending the thin lines of light over the stone step in front of her face, then continued to scan the rest of the room. The cold was eating her, and she ached from holding the awkward pose, but she didn’t dare move.
At last, Dane spoke. It was a single swear word, frustrated and angry, spat between clenched teeth. The feet stomped past her. She listened to his grunts as he lifted himself back through the window and returned to the outside world.
Don’t be too eager, logic cautioned. He could be trying to trick you into coming out. She allowed herself the relief of shifting into a slightly more comfortable position, then settled in for a long wait.
Without a clock, she didn’t know how much time passed. It felt like hours, though realistically, she guessed it probably wasn’t more than twenty minutes. Her teeth were chattering, and chills raked through her by the time she decided that, Dane or no Dane, she couldn’t sit there any longer. She pulled the flashlight out of her pocket and turned it on.
The stairs led down into a small brick room. It seemed to have been designed as an emergency hiding space—old Mortimer Crispin had probably commissioned it as a safe haven should he need it. Shelves lined two of the walls. The stairs took up a third, and a badly decayed bed was propped against the fourth. In the middle of the room was a table with a basket on it.
Keira knew she needed to return to town and seek out her friends, but something about the basket drew her curiosity. It was old, but not as old as the rest of the furniture, which seemed to have been installed at the room’s creation.
As she scanned the shelves, she saw an assortment of items that looked no more than a few decades old. A record player with a track waiting to be put on. Empty wine bottles. A packet of cigarettes. A stack of letters.
She was freezing, tired, and not looking forward to a long hike back to civilization, but Keira knew this would be her only opportunity to visit the secret room. She lowered herself off the steps and groaned as blood flowed back into her cramped leg.
She hopped to the papers and unfolded a few. As she did, a photo fell from between two sheets and fluttered to the floor. She bent, picked it up, and shone her light on it.
It revealed two familiar faces: Emma and Frank, embracing in a photo booth. They were laughing. Keira gently put it to one side and opened the letters. A quick scan showed they were love notes, all signed by Frank.
She skimmed them, hoping for a clue that would help her understand Emma, but there wasn’t much except for expressions of adoration, plans to meet late at night, and a throwaway suggestion for elopement. She put them back on the shelf and turned toward the basket.
The large wicker carrier held a dirty cloth. Keira picked up a corner to see if there was anything inside. A jumble of small white bones clattered together, and Keira drew in a sharp breath as she recoiled. Her heart lurched unpleasantly. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and waited for the unsteadiness to fade.
I understand now. Oh, Emma, you poor creature—no wonder you can’t move on.
There was no reason to linger in the young lovers’ secret meeting room. Keira took the basket, climbed the stairs, pushed open the trapdoor, and returned to the mill’s main room. She placed the wicker carrier onto one of the tables, then opened her second sight.
The spirits seemed to glow faintly in her flashlight. The man with the unbuttoned shirt stood closest and gave her a nod in greeting. Two of the female workers lingered near one of the offices, and Keira remembered how an object had clattered to the floor to draw Dane’s attention away from the trapdoor.
Poltergeists, Keira’s subconscious whispered.
“Thank you,” she said, and she bowed to the spirits. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
The man’s smile widened a little. He extended his hand, palm outward, in gentle reassurance.
Keira dropped her second sight. She wished she could stay with the mill’s spirits longer, but the cold was starting to become a serious problem. She reached into her pocket. Zoe’s phone was wet from the rain, but miraculously, it powered on. The battery was near dead, so Keira went straight to the preprogrammed numbers and selected Constable Sanderson’s.
Mason had said the policeman would answer his mobile at any hour, even during the middle of the night, and Keira sighed with relief when that proved true. The voice sounded sleepy, disoriented, and more than a little irritated. “Wha? Wha tha hell is it?”
She doubted the constable would be able to recognize her voice if he ever met her again, but she lowered it an octave just in case. “I have important information. Please listen carefully.”
“Who the hell is this?” She could hear sheets rustling. He sounded a little more alert, at least.
<
br /> Keira turned to look at the basket and spoke slowly and clearly. “You need to come to the old Crispin mill. I’ve found an infant’s remains.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Without waiting for Constable Sanderson’s arrival, Keira crawled out of the window and shuddered as the deluge of rain poured over her still-wet clothes. As she walked toward town, the awful scenario played through her mind, so clear and so obvious now that she’d seen the missing puzzle piece.
The secret room under the mill had been a meeting place for Emma and Frank. They must have spent dozens of evenings there, safe from the prying eyes of the town and George’s disdain. Emma and Frank’s child would have been conceived there.
Frank probably hadn’t known he was going to be a father. Perhaps Emma herself hadn’t even known on the fateful night when their secret wedding was foiled.
After Emma’s parents accepted the bribe to remove their daughter from town, Emma had given birth hidden somewhere in the country, far away from society. She hoped that Frank would come to find her. But Frank, swayed by his father’s iron will and unaware that he had a child, stayed in Blighty. After the better part of a year spent away from her fiancé, Emma came to the conclusion that fate expected her to take her future into her own hands. She bundled her child into a basket and followed the back roads to Blighty.
Bringing a baby onto the Crispin property while George still reigned was too risky. Instead, Emma had stopped by Polly’s house. She must have intended to leave her child with her best friend while she visited Frank. But Polly didn’t answer the door, and Emma didn’t trust Myrtle enough to reveal her secret.
The mill’s hidden room offered an alternative. To Emma, it must have seemed like the best solution. Somewhere safe to hide her baby until she could reach Frank and bring him to meet his child.
But she never found Frank. She met his father instead, and the result had been far more horrific than anything she could have prepared for. Keira had no idea what words had been exchanged prior to the murder, but she suspected that Emma had revealed the truth. She might have thought George’s iron heart could be softened if he knew he had a grandchild. She’d been wrong.
The Whispering Dead: Gravekeeper Book 1 Page 18