Out of the Darkness

by Tymber Dalton

  He shook his head. “I had no idea I went there.”

  He couldn’t read the look she gave him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Well, that’s where you went.”

  * * * *

  Sami tolerated his nervous fidgeting as long as she could, both admiring his attempt to make her happy and irritated at him for acting like a child. “Why don’t you go on? I’ve got some stuff I want to do.”

  She watched him try to conceal his relief. “You sure?”

  She nodded, patting his leg. “Go, you earned it. I’m sorry I’m being a bitch. I’m tired, that whole episode freaked me out, and I want everything organized so I can get back to my work.”

  He kissed her, long and passionately. She felt a familiar stirring, feelings absent for far too long combined with months of longing for intimate contact.

  “Thanks, Sami. I appreciate it.” He was off the couch in a flash.

  And there went the feelings. She sighed as she watched his disappearing back. “Oh well.”

  She didn’t want to question what fragile progress he’d made since the move. Didn’t want to do anything to jinx the situation so he could get his book turned in on time. At least he was trying to be nice.

  She cleaned up the leftovers and turned the TV off, turning the stereo on instead. There were still plenty of things needing attention in her office. She pulled her new desk away from the wall where the movers left it and repositioned it near the window, admittedly a great view. The wall sockets were close enough to access, and she set up her laptop.

  She’d also ordered a bookcase and locking file cabinet. Once she had them positioned where she wanted, she realized something about the dimensions didn’t feel right.

  In the hallway, she opened the closet between her office and Steve’s. His door was closed so she didn’t have to spend time answering questions. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

  Back in her office, she looked into the closet, which shared a wall with Steve’s office. It was tiny, but she supposed the one in Steve’s office was probably fairly large, taking up the remainder of space along the wall.

  Writing that night wasn’t an option because mental exhaustion had set in. Restless and bored, she turned off the computer and wandered upstairs, catching sight of the attic access. She had yet to venture up there.

  Sami stretched and grabbed the handle, and the staircase easily unfolded. She spied an old-fashioned button-type switch at the top of the steps and tried it. A dim bulb flickered to life, barely making a dent in the shadowy gloom.

  Retrieving a flashlight and brand-new 100-watt bulb from the kitchen, she climbed the attic stairs while watching for cobwebs. She replaced the old bulb, but the fixture wasn’t well placed and only cast more shadows across the attic floor.

  It was large enough to convert into another usable floor if needed, extending nearly the entire length and width of the house. There wasn’t as much junk as Sami expected. Just several jumbled piles of old boxes and more furniture, all covered in thick layers of dust. It couldn’t be attributed to disposal by recent residents because the thick, undisturbed layer of dust also carpeted the bare floor. Sami glanced behind her. Except for her footprints, there were no traces of other people.

  The turret and window seat at the front of the house was the highlight of the attic. She walked over. Despite the leftover heat from the day, she briefly felt a small chill, like she had in the basement.

  Shaking it off, she peered out the large window. The nearly full moon revealed a spectacular view of the woods looking out over the front of the property, the barn, all the way to where the cemetery trail disappeared into the woods.

  The house possessed a secret. Sami wasn’t sure what, but nothing about it made sense. The house had many residents throughout its history, none who stayed long, and an owner willing to sell far below fair market value. Acreage, especially in the middle of a state forest, wasn’t cheap. The house was large even by modern standards. A house renovated, in spits and spurts, by different residents, none completing a full refit.

  Leave it to Steve to get us involved in a real-life mystery.

  Chapter Twelve

  Riding was out of the question. It wasn’t even seven thirty in the morning, and already Sami heard the whine of bikes and ATVs all over the park. She sat on the front porch with her coffee and watched the horses graze near the truck. She had closed the main gate so they could freely roam the property.

  Mutt spied her on the porch and carefully stepped to the walkway and stood there, bobbing his head up and down.

  “What do you want, you big mooch?”

  He shook his head again. Jeff ambled over.

  “Okay, hang on.” She retrieved a few carrots from the fridge. Then she sat at the bottom of the steps and encouraged the geldings to come all the way up the walk to her.

  Sami admitted she enjoyed having property where the horses could roam free. In Ohio, their pasture was only an acre. Even though she had access to miles of trails in the woods behind them, the property wasn’t large enough to allow the horses to roam like this. And while a white Christmas was beautiful, the risk of blizzards and protecting the horses from the cold always created a headache.

  You don’t get blizzards in Florida.

  She also wouldn’t have Matt. Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be here in a year.

  “All gone.” She showed her empty palms, and the geldings nuzzled her hands before wandering off.

  “I thought I heard you.”

  Steve’s voice startled her. He must have come out the front door, because she didn’t hear the kitchen screen door squeak.

  “I’m always up this early,” she said. “I’m usually up by six every morning, Boy Genius. I don’t get to sleep in like you do.”

  He sat next to her on the step, motioning toward the horses with his own coffee mug. “They seem to like it here.”

  Sami nodded, sensing the conversation’s direction. “They do.”

  “Do you?”

  She fixed her gaze on the geldings. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with him now. “We’ve only been here a couple of days, Steve.”

  “I think I’ll get a lot of work done here.” He took a sip, and when she didn’t say anything, he continued. “We can afford it.”

  “You’re right.” Sami wasn’t committing to anything.

  He tried again. “I hate cold winters.”

  “They are miserable.” She sensed his growing irritation. Sami refused to give him the satisfaction of interpreting his comments the way she knew he wanted her to. He needed to grow a set and learn to say what he meant.

  “Don’t have to worry about nosy neighbors,” he suggested.

  She shook her head. “Nope, no worries there.” Occasionally, Sami noticed photographers on their neighbors’ property snapping pictures of her riding. Sometimes they snagged a picture of Steve, and it would appear on a gossip website on a slow celebrity news day.

  He fidgeted with his mug. “What are you thinking?” he finally asked.

  “Steve, you’re the one with something on your mind. I’m sitting here enjoying the morning and watching the horses. If you have something you want to say, spit it out.”

  “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” He stood and dumped the dregs of his coffee.

  Sami blocked his path. “I’m a bitch? You know what, you’d better get your head on straight. I told you before we left Ohio that you need a major attitude adjustment, or there won’t be a reason to discuss the future. I wasn’t kidding when I told you to give me a reason not to go file for divorce. I told you I’d give you one more chance, but I’m sick of this bullshit, and I am done playing guessing games with you. If you have something on your mind, say it. You’re slipping back into some dangerous territory here.”

  His eyes widened. “Dangerous territory” was their euphemism for his drinking behaviors. His shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He looked at the horses, who worked their wa
y around the corner of the house. “I’m just…” He paused, grasping at words. “I don’t know. I feel unsettled. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Then say so.” She felt bad about taking his head off and reached for his hand, her tone softening. “Tell me, ‘This is what’s on my mind,’ and say it. Don’t try to manipulate me into something. Just talk with me.”

  He pulled her into a hug. “Why do you put up with me?”

  She thought about it. Why did she? “I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but you can’t keep treating me like this and expect me to be happy about it. I feel like I’m part of the backstory now, not one of your main characters.”

  He buried his face in her hair. “I’m sorry. I feel bad I dumped all this on you. I want to make you happy.”

  He was back. Her Steve—the man she married.

  For how long?

  “I have to be honest with you—I worry you’ll start drinking again, the way you’ve been acting lately.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  She gave him a squeeze and stepped back, searching his eyes. “Will you please consider going to see a counselor?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  * * * *

  The rest of Friday went better. Steve still spent most of the day in his study, but he came out for lunch without being asked, and he knocked off early to take her out to dinner. He actually showed some interest in her, but nature had a twisted sense of humor. The migraine she felt threatening most of the afternoon lifted, and she saw when they returned from dinner that her period had started. They settled for curling up on the couch in front of the TV.

  So close, she thought. At least he made the effort.

  Sami spent most of Saturday on the couch in front of the TV with her laptop. She had no energy or desire to do anything. Steve offered to make her lunch before retreating to his lair.

  I need to give this some time, she thought.

  As if reading her thoughts, Matt called.

  “You okay down there?”

  “That’s spooky.”

  “What?”

  “I was just thinking about you.”

  He fell quiet for a moment. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Good. How’s my baby?”

  “I’m assuming you mean Pog?”

  She smiled, trying to strangle wistful memories into submission. “Of course.”

  “You owe me a new pair of sneakers and a few tennis balls. Other than that, we’re good.”

  “Oh, no! I’m sorry.”

  He laughed. “Relax—the balls were old, and so were the sneaks. I gave them to him to play with.”

  “Has he been a good boy?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to miss having him around. How’s Boy Genius?”

  “In his lair.”

  Matt paused. Sami wasn’t sure she still had the connection until he spoke. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay, just having a quiet day today.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  She gripped the phone tightly. It never failed that when she needed him most, Matt was always there. “I’m…hanging in there.” She lowered her voice. “He’s not as bad as he was, but I don’t know if that’s because he’s really trying or because I told him I’d give him one last chance before I file for divorce. We got into it again yesterday morning. I suggested counseling again. This time he didn’t take my head off, but he hasn’t made an effort to call anyone.”

  “You’re not going to call?”

  “No. I can’t do this for him. I’ve done everything for nearly seven years now. I can’t change him—he has to want to change.”

  They steered the conversation to work, Matt making suggestions about the latest manuscript she’d sent him. They talked a few minutes more, and she was ready to hang up when he stopped her.

  “Sam, be careful. Okay?”

  “Why?”

  “I…I just want you to be careful. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  She stared at the phone. What was that about?

  * * * *

  Sami went to bed early, leaving Steve undisturbed in his study. She awoke to an eerily quiet house and the new bedside clock read 12:21.

  He’s probably still working.

  Sami changed positions and tried to sleep despite her irritation. It would be nice to actually sleep in bed with her husband once in a while.

  I guess I should be used to it by now.

  She heard a noise downstairs. Like a door in the kitchen, but it wasn’t the outside door.

  Basement? What would he be doing down there at this hour?

  She heard his footsteps down the hall, and then his study door shut again. Still working.

  Her conversation with Matt replayed in her mind as she sank from consciousness. Be careful. What had he meant?

  Sami woke at six and found Steve asleep next to her. What time had he come up? She arose without waking him and took a shower in the guest bath.

  I shouldn’t complain. At least he works at home and makes good money doing something he loves.

  She’d already poured her second cup of coffee when he crawled downstairs over an hour later.

  He’s hungover, she immediately thought, then caught herself.

  That couldn’t be—there wasn’t any liquor in the house. He poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Sorry I didn’t come up until late,” he apologized.

  “Early.”

  He looked at her, started to say something, thought better of it, and nodded. “Yes.”

  “What were you doing in the basement?”

  “Huh?”

  “I heard you go down into the basement last night.”

  “I thought I heard a noise down there.”

  “Oh.”

  * * * *

  Basement? What the hell?

  The truth was, he not only didn’t remember going into the basement, he didn’t remember much between the hours of nine last night—when he remembered checking the time—and getting up this morning.

  He sipped his coffee. Toothpaste and coffee didn’t go well together, but he’d had a foul taste in his mouth when he awoke. And a pounding headache.

  “Do we have any aspirin?” he asked.

  She looked at him, grabbed the bottle from a cabinet, and handed it to him. “Headache?”

  He swallowed two, chased with coffee. “I think I need glasses. My eyes are bothering me.”

  “If you didn’t spend sixteen hours a day on the computer, they wouldn’t bother you.”

  She smiled behind her coffee cup, but he felt the bite in her tone.

  And his own guilt. “I’m sorry, Sami. My writing’s going so well, you know what it’s like. When you get on a roll you have to ride it until it plays out. No telling when I’ll get blocked again.”

  She put her cup in the sink and kissed him on the forehead. “Just don’t wear yourself out, okay?”

  * * * *

  Sami settled into a routine. Tuesday morning she decided it was a good day to start her research. Maybe Steve wouldn’t be the only one to benefit from their “vacation.” If she could dredge a real-life story out of the house’s history, it might be her next book. She spent the morning doing chores and working. After lunch, she opened Steve’s office door.

  “I’m going into town. Want anything?”

  He didn’t turn from his computer. “No.”

  She paused in the door of his office. “Well, good-bye.”

  “Yeah. I’m trying to work, okay?”

  She fought the urge to slam the door behind her.

  “Asshole,” she muttered.

  His writer’s block had lifted—so he said. But his surly attitude was returning.

  The horses were waiting when she stepped outside. The day already a scorcher, the morning news had promised afternoon thunderstorms. She secured the geldings in the pasture and drove to town.

  The Brooksville courthouse was a mixture of old and new architecture where moder
n additions had been grafted onto the original structure. She’d been to Brooksville a few times when she lived in Florida, and was happy to see the downtown still maintained its small-town air. A huge oak shaded the grassy area where a war monument honored Hernando County’s dead veterans. Older two-story buildings flanked the main courthouse square, and the library was nearby. She parked in the courthouse lot and found the tax collector’s office.

  Once she told them what she wanted, they directed her to an office across the street where the property appraiser’s office kept the plat maps. She trekked over and found the property identification number and legal description. With that in hand, back at the tax office they showed her to a computer terminal where Sami researched the property’s history.

  The records went back past the turn of the century, when the entire area was free-range grazing land. The Oriole-Dade Mining Company purchased ten thousand acres and split it into separate properties. She followed the time line and narrowed it down to the individual owners, from George Simpson, the name on the tombstone, all the way to Shelly Johnson.

  Sami wasn’t sure if Shelly Johnson was a mister or a missus, but she copied down the most recent address from the tax records. Johnson had owned the property since the mid-sixties. Over the years there were several transfers of ownership only to have Johnson take control of the property again.

  Sami wondered if this was because the buyers bailed out. The last quit claim deed back to Johnson was December over a year ago.

  The tax office wasn’t busy, so Sami approached the clerk on duty.

  “Excuse me, but I’m trying to research the history of a property we’re renting, and I wondered if you might be able to help me. I’ve found a strange pattern I don’t know what to make of.”

  The clerk followed her to the terminal. Sami scrolled through the records. The clerk frowned.

  “The name George Simpson rings a bell. Can you hold on a minute?”

  Sami nodded, and the clerk disappeared behind the desk into a back office. In a few minutes she returned, an odd look on her face. “You probably want to take a trip over to the library. They’ve got a lot of items over there, local newspapers, documents, all the way from before the turn of the century. Talk to Jane McCartyle, she’s the head librarian and president of the historical society.”