Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  Now, cuddled against him in the afterglow and listening to him sleep, my eyes slowly drifting closed, I began to think that maybe everything really was going to be fine—that despite the rocky start of his surprise visit, we had finally started to reconnect.

  I heard banging downstairs in the kitchen, and my eyes flew open. “Stefan,” I whispered, shaking him. “I think someone’s in the house!”

  Stefan muttered in his sleep and rolled over.

  “Stefan,” I said a bit louder, and shook him harder. He opened his mouth and started to snore.

  Maybe it was Chrissy sleepwalking again. Of course, I hadn’t yet told Stefan about the first incident, so perhaps it would be more prudent to simply deal with it myself than try to explain all of it to a half-awake, and probably pretty irritated, husband.

  I slid out of bed and made my way down the stairs, all the while listening to the banging. Man, I really hoped Chrissy wasn’t destroying the kitchen the way she had the living room.

  But it wasn’t Chrissy in the kitchen. It was Aunt Charlie, opening and closing cupboards and banging pots on the stove. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t think you were ever going to get down here.”

  I stepped into the kitchen. “Why are you making such a racket?”

  She picked up the kettle from the stove and poured water into the teapot. “To get you down here, silly. Why do you think?” She put the teapot and two mugs on a tray and carried them both to the table. “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Sit down, we have to talk.”

  I wasn’t so sure I wanted to sit down at the table with her, but somehow, my body carried me to the chair opposite her. “This is a dream, isn’t it?”

  Aunt Charlie let out a guffaw as she poured the tea. “Of course it is. I’m dead—how else am I supposed to have a conversation with you?”

  “Séance?”

  Aunt Charlie put a mug in front of me. “That’s Mad Martha’s deal. Can’t make tea in a séance.”

  I stared down into the tea. This time she put it into a sunflower mug, all bright and yellow and cheery. Aunt Charlie caught me staring at the mug. “You’re going to need all the cheer you can get.” She nodded to the mug. “Dark days are ahead. Dark days, indeed. Drink up.”

  Dark days. An ominous feeling, as thick and heavy as a cloak, settled around me. I swallowed hard, trying to push it down, and looked into my cheery, happy sunflower mug. It certainly looked like tea. I could smell the aroma of flowers and herbs—it was one of Aunt Charlie’s favorite blends. “What do you mean, ‘dark days are ahead’?”

  Aunt Charlie paused, her mug by her mouth, and sighed. “It’s started. I had hoped … well, I couldn’t reach her in time. I tried. I had thought I might have more time. But …” Aunt Charlie shook her head. “No sense crying over spilled milk. What’s done is done. All we can do now is mitigate the damage as best as we can. And that starts with you drinking your tea.” She nodded at my mug.

  What’s done is done? Reach her in time? Reach who in time? In time for what? I had so many questions, but when I opened my mouth to start asking them, my senses were overwhelmed by that tea. It called to me, seduced me, completely overpowered me.

  Maybe one sip wouldn’t hurt. I looked down into the mug. The tea looked like tar, thick and black.

  I glanced at Aunt Charlie. She was sitting very still, watching me. The moonlight slanted against her face, making her nose and chin seem far more pointed than I remembered as a child. Her eyes were black pools of nothingness, as black as that tea. Those eyes … just like the homeless woman under the streetlight …

  Aunt Charlie smiled. The moonlight glinted off her teeth.

  Sharp, pointed teeth.

  I jumped backwards, knocking my chair to the ground as I backed away from her. Aunt Charlie sighed. “You really ought to trust me. If you don’t, you’re going to make this so much more difficult for yourself.”

  “You’re not my Aunt Charlie,” I gasped, backing up against the wall.

  She chuckled. “Of course I am. Who else would I be?” And then she smiled.

  Her smile grew wider and wider, revealing rows and rows of teeth. It kept growing and stretching, nearly swallowing up her entire face, until all that was left was a giant open mouth and sharp teeth.

  I sat up with a gasp. I was back in bed. Stefan was in a deep sleep next to me, laying on his side away from me.

  I rubbed my chest, trying to get my breathing under control. I was soaked with sweat, my black satin negligee sticking to me.

  I listened to Stefan’s peaceful, deep breathing next to me as my own began to slow down, feeling the cool night air against my soaked skin. I had just started to consider laying back down again, when I heard a crash. Oh God, it’s Aunt Charlie. I wanted to crawl under my bed, my terror a living beast inside me, No, I don’t want any tea!, but then I realized it hadn’t come from downstairs.

  Chrissy!

  I leapt out of bed and ran to her bedroom. For a moment, I thought maybe I should wake Stefan, but that thought was quickly overruled. I had to make sure she was okay.

  You should also be waking Stefan, a little voice deep inside me scolded. He’s her father, you know. You’re just the stepmother. And a pretty sorry one at that.

  That was true. But, it was going to take too long to get him up to speed. Right now, making sure Chrissy was safe was my biggest priority.

  Her door was closed. I skidded to a stop in front of it. Should I just go in? My heart was pounding in my head and my breathing sounded loud and harsh. I leaned over to press my ear against the door, but I couldn’t hear anything other than my own panic.

  I gently grasped the doorknob and turned.

  Chrissy stood in the center of the floor, completely bathed in the light of the moon. She looked like a statue, with her long black hair hanging straight down her back, in total contrast with her white nightgown that practically glowed in the light. I couldn’t tell if she was awake or not.

  “Chrissy,” I said softly, trying for the perfect volume—loud enough to get her attention if she was awake, and quiet enough to NOT wake her, if she was sleepwalking.

  She turned to me, her face smooth and pale. Her eyes were open, but I still couldn’t tell if she was actually awake or not—they looked like bottomless dark pools in her face. “I’ve looked everywhere,” she said. “I can’t find it.”

  I took a step into her room. “Can’t find what?”

  She cocked her head, as if she was listening to unseen voices. “What you want. Or, at least, what you think you want.”

  I took another slow step into her room. I was pretty sure she was sleepwalking. “What I want?” I asked cautiously.

  A shadow of fear rippled across her otherwise expressionless face. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do better.”

  Another step. I had almost reached her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”

  She looked like marble in the moonlight. “Then, why did you kill me?”

  I jerked to a stop. “Kill you? Chrissy, what are you talking about?” I struggled to keep the edge out of my voice, so as not to wake her. She had to be dreaming.

  Her face changed ever so slightly, like something not quite right was crawling right beneath the surface of her skin. “You know,” she hissed. “The evil that’s been done.”

  My terror crawled up into my throat and then my mouth—I could taste it— cold and metallic. Keep breathing, I told myself. Don’t startle her. You don’t want to accidentally wake her. And whatever you do, don’t throw up. I took a step closer and slowly reached out my hand to touch her arm. “Chrissy. What are you talking about? What evil?”

  Suddenly, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and her legs started to fold underneath her. I darted forward and caught her before she fell. She hung limply in my arms, and was much heavier than she looked, so I awkwardl
y rearranged her to cradle her head as I lowered her to the ground. I caught a glimpse of us in the mirror above the dresser—Chrissy, smooth and pale in her white sheer nightgown, her black hair cascading like a waterfall past her shoulders, emphasizing her porcelain complexion. Me, a half-crazed freak with my wild, tangled hair going every which way, looking old and “used up” in the (unflattering) black negligee Stefan had bought me on our honeymoon.

  Why did you kill me?

  An evil stepmother with her innocent, virginal princess stepdaughter she had just killed.

  I felt cold and shaken by the thoughts, and shifted my attention to making Chrissy as comfortable as possible on the floor. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “What’s going on? What happened?”

  I smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “You were sleepwalking again. Can you remember anything?”

  Her eyes finally focused on me. “Wait … what? Rebecca, what’s going on?” She struggled to sit up and I gently pushed her back down.

  “Don’t try and get up. Just rest for a minute.”

  She lay back down weakly. The moonlight slanted across her face, making her look a lot younger than her sixteen years. “What’s going on? Why are you in my room? Why am I on the floor?”

  “You were sleepwalking again.”

  She stared at me. “I don’t sleepwalk.”

  “Well, you do now.”

  She started to get agitated. “You’re lying. I don’t sleepwalk.”

  I started to get exasperated. “Maybe I should get your father …”

  “No!” She reached up and grabbed my arm.

  Startled, I stared at her. She looked … scared. About me getting her father? Nervously, she licked her lips. “I … don’t want to worry him. I know he has to go back to New York and I don’t want him worried about me.”

  “Okay, I won’t get him,” I said, not wanting to agitate her any further.

  Her fingers dug into my skin. “You won’t tell him. Right?”

  I looked at her uneasily. Was this really something I wanted to keep from Stefan? “I don’t know …”

  She squeezed my arm even more tightly. “No. You mustn’t. At least, not now. Please?”

  I stared down into her pleading, desperate eyes and sighed. “Okay, I won’t tell him. At least for now.”

  She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Rebecca.”

  “How are you feeling? Should we get you back in bed?”

  She whimpered. “My head hurts. A lot.”

  “Let’s get you in bed, and I’ll get you some ibuprofen.” She nodded, and I carefully helped her stand.

  As I tucked her in, I asked her, as casually as I could, “Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

  She shook her head. “No … just … no. I don’t remember.”

  I smoothed the covers back, wondering about the hesitation. “Oh, it’s not important, it’s just you said …”

  She then looked terrified. “I said something? I talked?”

  “Yes,” I said, confused by her reaction.

  She gripped my arm again, practically clawing at it, in her agitation, half sitting up, her eyes wild. “What did I say?”

  “Uhhhh.” What do I tell her? That she told me I know something about the evil that’s been done? That she asked me why I killed her?

  Yeah, that’s the ticket. We should have no trouble bonding after that conversation.

  She started shaking my arm. “Rebecca, tell me! What did I say?”

  She was so upset, I couldn’t tell her the truth. At least, not the whole truth. What if it made everything worse? “Just that … you were looking for something. You couldn’t find it.”

  She looked confused. “Looking for something? What was I looking for?”

  I gently disentangled her arm and guided her back down to her bed. “I don’t know. Did you lose something in real life?”

  She shook her head, still looking puzzled.

  I tried a reassuring smile, but it felt fake on my lips. “Well, it was probably nothing.”

  She allowed me to tuck her back into bed, her body limp. Her hair stuck in clumps to her face and neck, and she stunk of sweat. The agitation having drained from her body, she seemed completely exhausted. “Did I say anything else?”

  “Nothing that made much sense,” I said lightly, stroking her hair. “Let me get you something for your head.”

  She nodded, and I started to get up when the corner of my eye caught the mirror above the dresser. My mouth went dry. The moon reflected in the glass, and just like that, I was sixteen, standing there with Daphne, staring into that exact mirror, terror crawling inside me like a living thing.

  It’s coming. Beware.

  Chrissy was sleeping in the room we had done the séance in.

  Chapter 15

  “Do you really have to fly back today?”

  We were in the kitchen. Stefan was organizing his briefcase, and I was pouring coffee. Chrissy was presumably still asleep.

  I was tired and grumpy, and still stuffed up. After getting Chrissy settled with ibuprofen and a cool washcloth on her forehead, I had returned to bed, needing a few more hours of sleep. Stefan hadn’t seemed to stir as I crawled in next to him, idly wondering how on earth he could possibly have slept through all the commotion.

  But I couldn’t sleep. Images of Chrissy asking me why I killed her, and how I had known about the evil that was done swirled together with images of that ill-fated séance.

  How could I have forgotten about the room? How could I have let Chrissy choose that room?

  And why HAD Daphne and I picked that room to do the séance in, in the first place?

  I needed to talk to Daphne. Immediately. Well, maybe not immediately—it was the middle of the night—but as soon as possible.

  I finally dozed off and slept fitfully, waking when Stefan’s travel alarm went off. He got ready while I headed to the kitchen to make coffee.

  Stefan sighed as I handed him a mug. “Look, I know this wasn’t ... well, it didn’t turn out exactly as I had planned. But, you know I have to go back.”

  I did know. And, if I were being honest, a part of me wanted him to leave. I needed to get to the bottom of what was going on in the house, and my gut said he’d just get in the way if he was around. Once all of that was taken care of, then I could focus all my time and attention on reconnecting.

  Besides, it was still bothering me, the way Chrissy had been behaving around him. Him being in New York seemed like the best option for everyone right now.

  So, why was I feeling so grouchy?

  “I know you need to go back. I guess it’s just …” I trailed off, not really sure how to finish that sentence.

  He put his coffee down and reached over to rub my back. “I know it’s been difficult for you. It’s been difficult for all of us. I’ll try and make it back in a couple of weeks—maybe sooner if I can swing it. Okay?”

  I nodded. I wondered if part of the reason I was feeling so out of sorts was the gnawing, uncomfortable sensation I had that kept pushing me to tell him about Chrissy. Despite my late-night promise, I knew I shouldn’t keep Chrissy’s sleepwalking, and sleeptalking, from him. While I was at it, I could talk to him about her clothing choices over the weekend, too. “Stefan, we really should talk about Chrissy …”

  He interrupted me. “I really have to get to the airport. Is this something we can talk about later? Chrissy told me you two were getting along better than ever. I thought you were too, watching you this weekend. Is that true?”

  Crap, why did he always do that to me, when it came to Chrissy? “Well, I guess, that’s true, but that’s not …”

  He picked up his coffee. “Then, what’s the problem?”

  Did I really want to start? Me already on the defensive, and him about to run out the door? “I �
� I guess it’s nothing. We can talk about it later.”

  He swallowed his coffee. “I know she can be a handful—she’s a teenager, after all. I know I gave my parents hell when I was that age. I also know how difficult it must be for you to parent her without me. I talked with her and asked her to be on her best behavior, and to start helping you out more. I’m sure part of the reason we’re not fully unpacked yet is because she’s not helping you like she should be. She promised me she’d do better.” He put his mug down and smiled at me. “I really do appreciate everything you do. I know I don’t always show it, but I do.”

  It felt like my heart had stopped beating for a moment. Stefan almost never said things like that. “Ah … You can count on me. We’re a family.”

  He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered in my ear. “I promise.”

  I nodded. He smiled again and went back to packing up his briefcase. “With Chrissy’s help, you should have no trouble whipping this house into shape, so you can get it on the market. Especially if you focus a hundred percent of your attention on it.”

  “Of course,” I said, not really sure where he was going.

  “Because, the sooner we sell it, the sooner we can move back to New York and get back to our lives.”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “I know how much you want to get back to New York and your friends there,” he continued. “Which is why I think it makes sense to … maybe not waste your time seeing old friends here.”

  My good mood soured. I tried to swallow my coffee and it tasted like ash in my mouth. “Why can’t I do both?” I asked.

  He paused for a moment, resting his hands on his briefcase. “Rebecca, do you really think that’s smart? Why do you want to waste time getting to know people you’ll never see again after a few months?”

  Never see again? I could feel my eyes widen. “That feels a little harsh, doesn’t it? Especially in this age of email and social media …”

  “Do you really think that’s wise? Especially with everything that’s happened to you here in Redemption? It’s not like your friends here are a …” he paused delicately. “A terribly good influence.”