“Hey, kiddo,” I said cheerfully, trying to disguise my receding panic. “Good to see you. How come you’re always one of the last kids to get out of class?”
“Mrs. Delacruz lets me stay after to finish my drawings.” Sammy climbed into his borrowed booster seat and strapped himself in. “She knows I don’t like going into the courtyard with the other kids.”
“Oh. That’s nice of her.”
“Mm-hmm. Do you think we can go to a different sticker store today?” he asked politely. “I got all of the ones I liked from the other one.”
I turned on my blinker to move off the curb and back into the pickup lane. “Actually, Sammy, I’m on strict orders to take you straight home and keep you there. It’ll be fun though. We can make a pillow fort.”
“Is this because of my dad?”
“Your mom doesn’t want you calling him that.”
“But that’s who he is.” He withdrew a plastic dinosaur from his coat pocket and made whooshing noises as he set it against the background of the window. “He’s kind of creepy for a dad. I thought dads were supposed to be nice.”
“Not all dads,” I muttered.
At Theo and Sammy’s apartment, I made good on my promise to build a pillow fort. We pulled all the cushions off the sofa, rearranged them into pillars, then draped sheets across the top for a roof. Inside, I stacked blankets and throw pillows to keep Sammy comfortable then gave him Theo’s laptop so he could watch some weird animated movie about trolls that all the other kids were supposedly talking about. While Sammy camped out in the fort, I made him an afternoon snack—a hard-boiled egg, peanut butter crackers, and green grapes because he didn’t like the red ones—then took up a watchdog position at the window that looked over the street below. All afternoon, I scanned the parking lot for the bakery downstairs, watching customers come and go. Not once did I see Dylan’s muddy sedan, but when Theo’s keys rattled in the lock, I jumped to my feet.
“It’s just me,” Theo said wearily. Grocery bags and exhaustion weighed her shoulders down. “Any trouble today?”
I relieved her of her load and started putting the perishables away. “Nope. Got him home no problem. Any on your end?”
“No sign of Dylan.” Theo dumped her purse on the ground and surveyed the pillow fort. “That looks intricate. Is my kid in there?”
Sammy burst out from the sheets, hugged Theo, then returned to the comfort of the fort. I gave Theo an apologetic grimace. “I’ll help him put everything back before I go.”
“It’s fine.” She kicked off her heels and sat at the kitchen counter. “Thanks for doing this, Peyton. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”
“I didn’t do anything differently today that I haven’t been doing for a couple of weeks,” I reminded her. “I don’t mind watching Sammy, and if anyone tried to hurt him, I would throw down.” Hoping for a laugh, I mimicked a professional wrestler slamming someone into the ropes.
Theo rewarded me with a weak smile. “You’re too good to us. I talked to Hillary again this afternoon. She said she hasn’t seen Dylan around either.”
“That’s great.”
“Do you want to stay for dinner? I grabbed an extra microwaveable meal just in case. It’s not much, but if you want…”
She trailed off, too tired to complete her sentence. I grabbed my coat and gloves. “I’m going to head home,” I said. “I promised Ben I’d rescue him from Basil’s crazy horticulture lingo by six. Are you going to be okay on your own?”
“Yeah, I have Hillary on speed dial just in case.”
“Perfect.” I kissed the top of Theo’s head then called, “See you later, Sammy!”
“Bye, Peyton!” came the little voice from the pillow fort.
At home, the lights were on in the foyer and Ben’s office, casting a golden glow across the dead grass in the front yard. Compared to the darkness in the surrounding woods, the mansion’s shine was a surprising source of comfort. Basil’s car was still parked out front, which meant he wasn’t quite finished talking Ben’s ear off. From the little Ben could explain to me about Basil’s greenhouse, their project was going well. Ben had started to research the subject in his free time, and Basil was satisfied with Ben’s interpretation of the information. He paid Ben every week in the same manner—cash crammed in an envelope—and he encouraged us to cheat on our taxes without saying it in such plain terms.
As I steeled myself to save Ben was Basil’s frantic work ethic, the mansion’s front door opened. Ben and Basil appeared, both in good spirits.
“Everything okay?” I asked as we crossed paths in the yard. “You finished early.”
“Thought I’d get home to my wife,” Basil said. “You two have a good evening. Get some rest.”
Then Basil was off, leaving Ben and I alone. Ben took my coat and hung it up with his good arm. Ever since he’d stopped using the wheelchair, he was getting better and better at performing simple daily tasks. He’d stopped wincing so much too, a sign that his ribs weren’t feeling so sore anymore.
“Everything okay?” Ben asked as I watched Basil’s car disappear into the woods. “You look spooked.”
“I tried to check on Della, but she wasn’t at the airstream,” I told Ben. “She wasn’t anywhere. I’m worried about her.”
Ben guided me across the foyer and into the kitchen. “I’m sure she’s fine. She probably needed some alone time. That was one hell of a night she had yesterday.”
“What do you think happened?”
He shrugged as he pulled leftovers out of the fridge and began lining them up for the microwave. “I asked Basil about it, and he said it’s not the first time Della’s done something like this. I guess she has some mental health problems. It’s her business, Peyton. Don’t go poking around in it.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”
It became my business later that night as I was sleeping soundly in my bedroom. Usually, my mind raced with so many thoughts that I needed the help of a sleep aid to actually find peace, but I was so mentally exhausted that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I fell into a deep trance, the type of sleep that normal people were accustomed to. For them, the nothingness of unconsciousness was a common occurrence. For me, it was a blissful break from the fitful naps that generally filled my nights, but it was soon interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Peyton.”
I woke with a start to find someone looming over my bedside. Before I could scream, Della clapped her hand over my mouth. Her eyes were dull and vacant, as they had been when she was screaming in the pool. My heart pounded as she pressed her hand against my lips before I remembered I could breathe through my nose.
“Shh,” Della said, beckoning me out of bed. “Come with me.”
She drifted off into the hallway, her long white nightgown floating along behind her. My vision swam as I swung my feet out of bed and into my slippers. I hurried after Della, who had made her way toward the foyer at a surprisingly quick pace. When I tried to catch her by the shoulder, she shrugged me off.
“Della, what are you doing here?” I whispered as she led me up the steps to the mezzanine. We had yet to renovate anything above the first floor of the mansion, and it wasn’t safe to be up here. “Does Basil know you’re gone?”
“She’s here somewhere,” Della muttered, but I had a feeling she wasn’t talking to me. She walked in an erratic pattern, looping around in certain spots on the second floor as if she were searching for cell phone reception in a shoddy service area. “Here… or here…”
I mirrored Della’s progress through the second-floor corridor. I had no doubt in my mind that Della was indeed like me and Sammy. She could feel Alyssa’s presence, even if she didn’t understand what or who it was. “Who are you looking for, Della?”
She didn’t reply, but continued working her way through the hallway. She paused at each bedroom or bathroom door then shuffled along to the next one. Suddenly, she threw out an arm, stri
king me in the chest to stop me from moving any further.
“Wait,” she ordered.
Then she disappeared into the room closest to us. I stepped up to the closed door and held my breath to hear what was happening on the other side. Della muttered under her breath, holding a conversation with someone who didn’t exist.
“Show her,” Della insisted. “It’s the only way. No! You can’t keep bringing me here. I won’t! I’m trying to help you—I’m trying!”
Without warning, Della emerged from the room. I hurriedly stepped back, and she stormed past me, this time with more direction and determination. For the hell of it, I stepped into the bedroom, knowing that no one was in there but needing to see it for myself. Sure enough, the bedroom was empty. I turned around and hastened after Della, practically running as she made her way back to the mezzanine, through the foyer, and down to the kitchen.
“Where is it?” she mumbled, opening each kitchen cabinet and drawing out the contents. She shook her fist in the air and demanded again, “Where is it?”
“Della, what are you looking for?” As she made her way through the kitchen, yanking utensils, pots, and other items from the cabinets, I put everything back as she finished with each section of her search. “If you tell me, I can help you find it.”
“Gotta be here somewhere,” Della said, furiously searching through the drawers now. “I’ve seen it in my dreams—haunting me—nothing makes sense—”
“Della, please tell me what’s going on.” I stepped in front of her, trying to distract her from her frantic hunt, but she shoved me aside with enough gusto to knock over a small horse. “Please, Della! Is it her? Were you talking to Alyssa?”
The name triggered something in Della’s mind. Her hands paused over the handle to the next drawer. “Alyssa? Alyssa Abrams?”
“Yes. Were you talking to her?”
“Alyssa’s dead.”
“I know that,” I said, “but how do you know that? You were the one who told me that Penelope and Alyssa moved away from Falconwood after Percy died.”
“It’s all lies!”
She resumed her search in earnest and finally reached the one drawer with the rattle that had been driving me nuts for weeks. Though Jim had renovated the kitchen, we’d kept the old hardware to save money. The cabinets and drawers were the same ones the Abrams had once used, simply with a new coat of paint.
“Aha!”
Della yanked the drawer fully out of place and turned it over to dump the contents on the counter. Then she ran her fingers around the edge, pushed into the corners, and popped the bottom out. Something clattered to the floor: a chef’s knife. It was of professional grade, something you’d find it a five-star restaurant, not in someone’s house. The blade was clean, silver, and shiny. The only hint that it was not new was the dust that had accumulated in the secret compartment the knife had been hidden in.
As soon as Della picked the knife up from the floor, adrenaline pushed through my veins. Quickly but cautiously, I took it from her grasp. For all the fervor of her search, she gave it up easily enough.
“You needed to find it,” she told me, her eyes still glazed over. “She didn’t want me to show you—scared—desperate—I’m so tired, Peyton. I think I’ll go home now.”
My head snapped up from my pillow with all the whiplash of a car crash. Panting, I propped myself up. The bed was soaked in sweat, and the sheets were twisted around my legs and torso as if I had been thrashing around for hours. I struggled to detangle myself, listening to my pulse pound in my ears. Something caught my eye in the corner of the room. If my voice wasn’t stuck in my throat, I would have screamed.
It was Alyssa. All of Alyssa. Not a glimpse of an outline from the corner of my eye. Not a feeling or a presence in the air. She stood in the darkest corner of the room, enshrouded in the shadow of the tall wardrobe beside her. Every nerve in my body stood at attention as she slowly raised a hand and untied the pink polka dot scarf from around her neck. As it fluttered to the floor, she stepped out of the shadows, and the moonlight bathed her in silver paint.
This time, I did scream. Alyssa’s throat was slashed. Blood poured down her chest, staining her white nightgown crimson. She collapsed on the floor, and a bright white light took the whole room with her.
18
Ben found me in the kitchen at dawn the next morning. As the sun cast pink rays of light across the countertops, I stood in the corner of the room with a cup of coffee I’d yet to touch. The kitchen was spotless. The cabinets and drawers were all in place, not left in disarray like I expected when I first walked in. The dishes and utensils were neatly stacked. The rattling drawer still rattled, but when I poked and prodded at the bottom as Della had done last night, no secret compartment revealed itself. The chef’s knife was nowhere to be found. It was as if Della had never been here. That, combined with the horrible nightmare of Alyssa, made me feel more off-kilter than I ever had in my entire life. It wasn’t until Ben lightly tapped my shoulder that I ripped my gaze from the rattling drawer.
“Peyton,” he said. “You okay?”
I almost spilled everything I knew about the Abrams and the mansion on the spot. After last night, I wanted to tell Ben everything. I didn’t want to be alone in this place anymore, especially not when a dead little girl made her way into my bedroom to show me how she was murdered. The problem was I didn’t know whether last night had actually been a dream. It all felt so real, but there was no evidence to show Ben that I wasn’t crazy, and I was starting to believe that maybe—like Della—I wasn’t so sound of mind after all.
“Ben, do you like this house?” I asked him. My voice came out a lower register than usual, like I’d been sick for a while. “I mean, do you like living here?”
“It’s too big for my taste.” Ben poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot, took a sip, and set the cup down. “It’s cold already. How long have you been up?”
“Seriously, Ben. The house?”
“I told you, it’s too big,” he said, dumping the cold coffee and putting on a new pot. “I miss our old house back home. This place is fine, but I don’t understand how the Abrams did it. Why did three people need so much space?”
“But you don’t feel uncomfortable here,” I said, searching Ben’s face for clues. “You don’t hear or see things that seem…unusual?”
Ben set the pot down to give me his full attention. “Is this about the stuff you heard in the walls when we first got here? It’s been a while since you mentioned it.”
“I’m not talking about me,” I said. “I want to know if you hear anything.”
“I don’t, Peyton,” he replied. “I don’t want to be that crappy guy who tells you you’re being paranoid, but I do think this is one of those things where you’re letting your anxiety get the best of you. Do you remember when we first moved into our other house after we got married? You told me someone had died in the living room.”
“Because someone did,” I insisted. “I know it—”
“How?” Ben asked. “The realtor is obligated to report things like that when they’re selling the house to a new buyer. There was no record of anyone dying in that house.”
“I just knew. I don’t know how.”
One-handed, he filled the new filter with fresh grounds and set it in the coffee maker. “You’re intuitive, Peyton. It was one of the things I always liked about you. But just because you’re intuitive doesn’t mean someone’s died at every place we’ve lived.”
It was weird that he’d touched on the subject before I brought it up. Though I’d told Ben more than once about the whispers in the wall, I’d never mentioned the fact that people had died here. He landed on that matter all by himself.
“I’m supposed to meet with Basil in a half hour,” Ben went on. “Jim and his crew will be here soon. Are you going to be okay until then? You seem a little off this morning.”
If I was honest, I didn’t want to be alone at the Abram Mansion ever again. The image of
Alyssa coated in blood was burned into my vision. Every time I turned a corner, I expected to see her again. Ultimately, it was best if Ben didn’t know these things.
“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “Sorry for freaking you out. I’m not trying to put extra stress on you.”
He gave me a light hug. “I know that. Don’t apologize. This house does have weird vibes. I think Della can account for that too. Just ignore it. We’re here for three more months. After that, we can sell this crazy place and you’ll be free to go wherever you want.”
His intonation dropped at the end of his last sentence. It was the first time he’d said something to that effect out loud, actually acknowledging that—after all this was over—I wouldn’t be returning to our little house in our hometown with him. His arm dropped from my shoulders as he cleared his throat and pretended to fuss with the finicky coffee pot. Once he got it going, he excused himself from the room to get dressed, leaving me alone with my haunting thoughts.
Shortly after Ben left to meet Basil, Jim and his crew arrived. They brought noise and donuts with them, both of which I appreciated. The donuts were from the bakery beneath Theo’s apartment, hot and homemade. The noise of the construction—all the banging and drilling and shouting—reminded me that I wasn’t alone in the mansion. As long as Jim’s crew joked and worked, I felt safe from the mansion’s apparitions. For the first half of the morning, I took advantage of the warmer weather and sat out on the front porch to enjoy my coffee and donuts. The warm sun and the crisp breeze worked in tandem to keep me comfortable. I curled up in a big sweater and watched the birds flit through the trees. Did they know what lurked within the mansion? Could they sense it? I had never seen a bird land directly on the mansion. Maybe it was a sign. After all, people always said animals knew things about the universe that humans couldn’t comprehend.
The Haunting of Abram Mansion Page 24