Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  “No! Not me. It’s Chrissy.”

  “Chrissy? What’s going on?”

  I told him about Chrissy’s drinking and the mood swings. I didn’t mention her sleepwalking, or my finding Mad Martha’s diary—they both seemed too long and complicated to get into, and I didn’t want to stay on the phone that long. I also wanted to talk to him about the history of Redemption, and what Daniel had shared, but again, it felt like too much to get into right then.

  “Is that all?”

  I glanced around again. “Well … Stefan’s here. So, I can’t stay on the phone long, but things are definitely … strange.”

  “Well, that settles it. I think it’s time for a visit.”

  I almost dropped the phone. “What? No.”

  His voice suddenly had an edge. “No? Don’t you want to see me?”

  “It’s not that. But it’s really not a good time. Maybe in a few weeks or a month? Give us a little time for Stefan to settle in?” My voice took on a pleading tone. The last thing I needed was a visit from CB, after Stefan specifically asked me not to have him.

  He was silent. “Well, if you don’t want me …”

  “It’s not that. It’s just not the right time.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I almost dropped the phone again. Stefan was standing at the edge of the yard watching me. “I’ve got to go,” I said as I hung up. From the corner of my eye, I saw the cat slink away.

  “Just CB,” I said, feeling defensive as I got up to move toward him.

  Stefan studied me, his gaze flat. “You came out here to talk to CB?” He sounded skeptical.

  “No. I was sitting out here taking a break before I made dinner, and he called. That’s all.”

  He didn’t look convinced. I tried to smile reassuringly as I went in to start cooking, hoping he wouldn’t push the issue.

  Luckily for me, he dropped it.

  Chapter 29

  I closed my laptop and rubbed my temples, willing my slight tension headache away. I hadn’t been sleeping well, which most definitely was exacerbating my headaches. With every creak and groan of the house, I would jerk awake, sure it was Mad Martha or Nellie or Aunt Charlie wandering around. Or maybe it was Chrissy, sleepwalking again—a Chrissy who wasn’t Chrissy, but someone else—someone older and darker. And, of course, once I was awake, I was tormented by thoughts of what to do about my future.

  I sighed and rubbed my temples again. Maybe some tea would help. Or wine. Or chocolate. Luckily, the allergy medicine seemed to have taken care of my stuffy nose, so I at least had that to be grateful for.

  It had been three days since Stefan moved back, and things still didn’t feel quite right. He spent most of the time in his office, but still, his presence seemed to have shifted something … and not necessarily in a good way.

  Chrissy was quiet. Remote, even. She mostly kept to herself, and the few times that she had to interact with either Stefan or me, she didn’t say much. On one hand, it was nice we weren’t constantly butting heads. But a part of me felt uncomfortable—in fact, as silly as it sounds, it felt almost like I was losing her. Yes, her constant pushback was exhausting, but it also made me feel like I had some sort of connection with her, albeit a challenging one. Since Stefan’s return, I felt like I had no relationship at all with her.

  The more I pursued outside employment opportunities, the more I felt like a failure. Nothing felt right. I spent time updating my resume, which somehow made everything even worse. My lousy track record neatly documented and laid out on paper for everyone to see ... God. I was starting to wonder if I was even employable, much less if I’d ever be hired for a job that paid enough to support me without help from my husband or family. And Stefan’s constant requests for updates only made everything worse, although I could tell he was trying to be supportive. He had even lined up a dinner date for us with some doctor and his wife who had “connections,” and could presumably help me find a job. I was already dreading it.

  I poured myself a glass of wine and opened the fridge. Hmmm, what to make? After poking around, I decided on turkey meatballs over zucchini noodles, and a salad. I pulled the ingredients out and started to organize.

  Except I couldn’t find my chef’s knife. It wasn’t in the knife block. It wasn’t in the drying rack. It wasn’t in the dishwasher—which was good, since I always hand-washed my knives. It wasn’t in any of the other drawers. Where did it go?

  A sense of unease started growing in my gut as I began opening random cupboards, even searching in odd places like behind the coffee maker. I had the knife yesterday, right? I tried to remember what I made for dinner—it was chicken and rice with veggies and a salad. Yes, I distinctly remembered chopping broccoli and an onion to sauté with the chicken.

  This couldn’t be happening again. How could I keep misplacing things?

  Maybe Stefan or Chrissy had it. Although why either would need a chef’s knife if they weren’t being a chef was beyond me. If they didn’t have it, maybe they knew where it was. Regardless, it was worth asking.

  Neither of them was downstairs, so I headed to the second floor. I assumed Stefan was working and Chrissy would be in her room with her phone.

  Chrissy’s door was open a crack and I could hear the murmur of voices. Maybe she was watching something on her iPad. I knocked, calling her name, as I pushed open the door and found Stefan sitting on Chrissy’s bed, Chrissy behind him, rubbing his shoulders.

  My question about the knife died on my lips. “Stefan, I thought you were working. Why are you in here?”

  Chrissy jumped off the bed, turning away from me as she moved to the dresser. Stefan stood up as well, a little too quickly, I thought. “I was just taking a break and thought I’d come talk to Chrissy.”

  So many words on the tip of my tongue. Why was Chrissy giving you a massage, then? And if you wanted a break and a massage, why didn’t you come to me? Stefan had spent very little time with me since moving home, and most of that time was consumed by his grilling me about my employment progress.

  Something was up. Every time I walked in on them, I felt like a third wheel. I definitely needed to have a conversation with him about it. And soon.

  Chrissy turned toward me, flipping her hair behind her back. She wore very short, very tight black shorts I couldn’t remember having seen before with a red tank top. Was it me, or had she been dressing even more skimpy since Stefan returned again? Something swung across her chest, catching my eye. I took a couple steps closer to get a better look.

  It was Mad Martha’s locket.

  My blood froze.

  Stop calling me that. My name is not Chrissy.

  I strode across the floor and grabbed the locket. “Where did you get this?” I hissed.

  Chrissy mouth fell open, her eyes round and shocked. “Ouch. Becca, you’re hurting me.”

  “Answer me,” I said, my voice louder, jerking her closer to me. “Where did you get this?”

  “Geez, Becca, what’s with you?” Chrissy whimpered.

  “Rebecca,” Stefan thundered from behind me. “Let go of her. What is going on?”

  I ignored Stefan. “Take it off,” I nearly yelled, shaking the locket. “Take it off right now.”

  Large hands grabbed me by the shoulders and wrestled me away from Chrissy. She backed away, her face white as she stared at me, her eyes round and huge in her face. For a second, I faltered, seeing the confused, lost child I comforted after her sleepwalking incidents. But, then, I saw it—a peek behind the curtain—the monster hiding behind the child.

  Stefan gave me a quick shake as I started to lunge forward again. “Have you lost your mind? What has gotten into you?”

  I struggled to free myself. “That locket isn’t Chrissy’s. She shouldn’t have it.”

  Chrissy pressed the locket against her chest. “Then why did you gi
ve it to me?”

  That stopped me cold. The sense of unease that had started prickling inside me when I couldn’t find the knife froze into an icy ball of fear. “What are you talking about? I didn’t give that to you.”

  My name is not Chrissy.

  She continued pressing the locket into her flesh, but suddenly her expression began to change. No longer the frightened child, I could see something ancient and cunning beneath, just waiting for a chance to manipulate and twist the truth. The madness was sinking into her from that locket, and all I wanted was to snatch it away and destroy it. “You must have. It was on my pillow.”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s not possible. I wouldn’t give that to you.” But I kept thinking about all the things that had gone missing, or that I had found in strange places. No, I wouldn’t have given her the locket. I couldn’t have. I felt sick with terror.

  Was I losing my mind?

  Stefan watched me carefully, like I was a wild animal, and he wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to do. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t me that was the problem— it was his daughter and that locket. “What’s so important about that locket?” he asked.

  I glanced over at Chrissy. Her hand was wrapped around the locket protectively, and she was still pressed against the wall. But a small, triumphant smile played around her lips, like she knew she had already won.

  I wanted to scream in frustration. She was right. There was no way Stefan would believe me in that moment. I had to get that locket back.

  “It’s … an antique. It’s from my aunt,” I said lamely.

  Stefan stared at me incredulously. “All of this for an antique?” he asked.

  I took a couple of steps away from Stefan and shrugged off his hold. He let go of me, letting his arms hang limply at his side. “It meant something,” I muttered. “It was important to her.”

  Stefan opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but closed it without saying anything.

  “Becca, do you want it back?” Chrissy asked, smug in her victory, sure her father would defend her keeping the locket.

  “Rebecca,” Stefan corrected. In that moment, the cunning madness suddenly dissolved into the hurt, lost child underneath—a child who had no idea she was being used by ancient forces outside of her control. I could feel the anger building inside me, anger that was fast replacing the terror.

  “It’s okay, Stefan. She can call me Becca,” I said quickly. “I don’t mind.”

  Stefan frowned. “Your name is Rebecca.”

  I took a deep breath. I had lost this round, and I didn’t feel like arguing anymore. My headache was back, and I needed to regroup and figure out my next step. “I have to go make dinner,” I mumbled, backing out of the room.

  It was only as I headed down the stairs that I remembered I had never asked them about the knife.

  Chapter 30

  “So,” Daphne said, stirring her cappuccino. Her hair was loose around her face rather than in her customary ponytail, and she wore a red tee shirt that brought out both the red in her glasses and in her reddish-brown hair. Her eyes looked tired, but I still felt like she was fully focused on me. “What’s this all about?”

  We were sitting in a corner booth of the Brew House, a local coffee shop that roasted its own beans. Needless to say, it smelled heavenly, but I was too distraught to fully appreciate it.

  I took a long sip of my large vanilla latte with an extra espresso shot. All the nights of broken sleep were starting to catch up with me, and the night before was especially bad. I couldn’t stop thinking about Chrissy, and the locket, and most of all, how I was going to get it back from her. I wanted to know what it all meant—what all the signs had been telling me.

  I didn’t have a chance to do anything that morning, as Chrissy had basically stayed in her room. I knew I had to get out. I had to talk to someone. So, I reached out to Daphne.

  But, what do I tell Stefan? Surely, he wouldn’t begrudge me seeing one of my friends if he truly understood what was going on. But now was not the time for a big explanation. It felt easier for everyone to simply tell him I was going out to follow up on a few job leads. He was so engrossed in his work, he barely acknowledged me.

  But as badly as I needed to talk things through with someone, I was still hesitant. Even knowing that Daphne was the ideal person to go to, seeing as how she already believed my house was haunted, I couldn’t help but feel scared to admit it all. “You’re going to think I’m nuts,” I said as I looked up at her.

  Daphne half-smiled. “I already know you’re nuts. And yet, here I am.”

  I smiled back. I needed this, no matter what Stefan wanted, I needed time with my friends. I took one last look around—there were only three customers, busy on their computers and phones—sitting on the opposite side of the coffee house. I took a deep breath.

  “So much has happened,” I said. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

  Daphne reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “Start at the beginning.”

  Where was the beginning? It was all so overwhelming. I didn’t even know anymore.

  I had to start somewhere. I opened my mouth and blurted out, “I found Mad Martha’s locket. And her journal.”

  Daphne’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “In the studio,” I said. “In the middle of all the junk.”

  “So, it’s real,” Daphne said under her breath, almost like she was talking to herself.

  “What’s real?” I asked.

  “The locket. Don’t you … oh you probably don’t remember.”

  I clutched my coffee cup with my suddenly cold fingers, feeling the heat without the warmth. “Remember what?”

  Daphne sat back and sighed. “According to the story, shortly before, well, that day, Martha was going on and on about a locket. First, she said it was missing and blamed Nellie for misplacing it. Then, she said Nellie stole it and wanted her fired. The problem was …” Daphne paused, looked down at her cappuccino before meeting my eyes. “No one could remember her ever owning a locket.”

  I sat back, stunned. Where is my locket? You did something with it. I know it. “What? But, it must be her locket. It was with the journal, and her picture was in it.”

  Daphne looked surprised. “Her picture? How do you know what she looked like?”

  “I, ah … there were photos,” I said, barely stopping myself from saying I saw her in my dream.

  “Photos, too?” Daphne sounded excited. “Did you bring them? Can I see them?”

  I shook my head. “No. I can try and sneak them out to you. I don’t want Stefan or Chrissy knowing about any of this.”

  “Wow. The locket exists,” Daphne marveled again, almost like she was talking to herself. “And there’s even a journal. Did you read it?”

  I nodded. “It seemed Mad Martha really was mad. I think she was suffering from postpartum depression.”

  Daphne looked pensive, and then slowly nodded. “That makes sense actually. People always said she didn’t seem right after her second child was born. Back then, they didn’t know about postpartum depression, so it’s no wonder she didn’t get treated for it.”

  “But, that’s not the worst of it,” I said, glancing around the coffee house again. The girl who had served us was wiping down one of the tables near us. Was she listening? I tried to read her face, but she just looked tired and focused on the table, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and her green apron stained with coffee. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I think there’s something … bad, in that locket.”

  Daphne stared at me, her eyes wide and round behind her red glasses. “What do you mean “bad”?” she asked, dropping her voice.

  I glanced around again. The girl had moved a table away. Maybe she wasn’t listening. “Bad like evil.”

  Daphne continued to stare at me. �
��Maybe you’d better explain.”

  I sucked in my breath. I knew how crazy it sounded, but I had to trust someone. It was all too much to carry on my own. “I think Nellie is possessing Chrissy.”

  Daphne’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “That’s the only explanation I can think of.”

  “But … why do you think that?”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “There’s so many reasons. To start, when she sleepwalks, she doesn’t sound like herself.”

  “Well, yeah. She’s not herself. She’s sleepwalking. It makes sense that she’d sound different.”

  “But, that last time she was sleepwalking, she was searching for something—I think it was the locket. And when I talked to her, using her name, she told me she wasn’t Chrissy, and I should stop calling her that.”

  Daphne picked up her cappuccino, wrapping her long, white fingers around the delicate brown mug, but she didn’t drink. “Did she tell you her name was Nellie?”

  I ran my hand through my hair again. “Well, no. But when I called her Nellie, she didn’t correct me.”

  Daphne studied me, her face impassive. “Okay. But, again, she was sleepwalking.”

  “That’s the point! That’s when Nellie could possess her.”

  Daphne opened her mouth and closed it. “Is that the only evidence you have that Nellie is possessing Chrissy?”

  “Last night I saw her wearing the locket.”

  “How did she get it?”

  I put my head in my hands and tugged my hair. “I … I don’t know. That’s the even crazier part. She says I gave her the locket, but I know I didn’t. After I found it, I hid it in my room. And I hid it in a place that would have been difficult for her to find … unless Nellie told her.”

  Daphne held up a hand. “Wait a second. There are a few things here that don’t make sense. Why would she lie about you giving her the locket? I don’t understand.”

  I looked away. That waitress was talking to one of the customers, a studious looking woman with brown glasses, brown hair, and a black laptop. Was it my imagination, or did she look over at me? “She … she claims I left it on her pillow.”