Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  We had almost reached the top of the steps when it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know where he was going to sleep. When we stayed here as kids, he had always slept in Chrissy’s room. While I supposed he could sleep there tonight, where was I going to put him tomorrow when Chrissy was here? Come to think of it, what was I supposed to DO with him when Chrissy was here? It was supposed to be a girl’s night in. Maybe I ought to reschedule. And while I’m at it, rethink the wisdom of putting Chrissy back in that bedroom.

  He poked his head in Chrissy’s room. “Aw, that’s sweet of you to have my room ready for me.”

  I cleared my throat. “Actually, it’s not for you. It’s for Chrissy.”

  He turned to look at me in surprise. “Chrissy? I thought she was with a foster family.”

  “She is. But, I’m trying to rebuild a relationship with her. She’s actually coming over tomorrow night for a sleepover.”

  CB peered over his shoulder at me, his face surprised. “Is that wise?”

  I sighed. “Don’t start, CB. If I don’t help her, who will?”

  He made a face. “Your funeral. Whatever. Clearly you’re not listening to me about anything. I’ll make myself scarce tomorrow night so you can have your little girl’s party.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said, touched by his offer. “I can reschedule.”

  He turned away to saunter down the hall. “Don’t bother. I wouldn’t mind seeing some of the old gang while I’m here anyway.” He poked his head in what Aunt Charlie used to call the Magic Room, that had (briefly) been Stefan’s office. With the help of Daphne, I had restored it back to its Magic Room’s roots and was now using it for my own office.

  He nodded as he took in the cleared-off desk, my laptop, the fresh flowers from the garden, the window open behind the desk and the light-green curtains covered with a daisy pattern dancing with the fresh breeze. “You taking over the healing practice?”

  I stifled a second sigh. What was going on today? Was I somehow cursed to have the same conversations over and over? “Why would I do that? I have no training in it.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said, moving away from the door. “I remember her explaining herbs and healing when we were kids. I’m sure it would come back pretty fast. Just study her files and you’ll be fine.”

  I opened my mouth to argue with him, and then shut it. Now that he mentioned it, I did recall Aunt Charlie constantly feeding me information about the different herbs and their health benefits. And he was right about her files. But, still. If I was serious about it, I really ought to go back to school.

  CB moved to the next room and poked his head in. “Why are you still sleeping in here?”

  I went over to stand next to him. “Because it still feels like my room.”

  He looked at me in disbelief. “Well, yeah. When you were a teenager. But now you’re an adult, and this is YOUR house. Why aren’t you sleeping in the master bedroom?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. Stefan had asked the same thing, and I really didn’t have a good answer. Yes, part of it was that I felt more comfortable in the same room I had slept in when I was younger. And there was no question I still thought of the house as Aunt Charlie’s, rather than mine.

  But, neither of those answers explained why I hadn’t even opened the door to The Room—otherwise known as Aunt Charlie’s bedroom—yet.

  An image from my dreams flashed in my head. Aunt Charlie in the kitchen, telling me to drink the tea, her white pointed teeth glinting in the moonlight while blood ran down her chin. I shivered despite the warmth of the house. Did I honestly think I would run into Aunt Charlie’s ghost in The Room?

  It just seemed safer keeping the door closed.

  CB watched me for a moment, then deliberately walked over to Aunt Charlie’s bedroom. “What do you think we’ll find in there, hmmm?” he said teasingly.

  “No, CB. Don’t.”

  He put his hand on the doorknob. “Think her corpse is in there? Or maybe ...” he turned and waggled his eyebrows at me. “Her ghost.”

  My stomach dropped as I took a few steps toward him, putting my hand on his arm to stop him. “CB, it’s not funny. Let’s go back down to the kitchen. You need more wine and I should start dinner.”

  “Of course it’s funny. You should be sleeping in here. It’s silly that you aren’t.” He started to turn the doorknob.

  A panicky feeling fluttered in my chest and I squeezed his arm. “You’re probably right, but ... I’m just not ready. Okay? You know what I’ve been through. Can you just indulge me? Please?” I looked up at him imploringly, knowing he always had trouble resisting my puppy eyes.

  He studied me for a moment then turned away from the door. “It’s true I could use a refill. I don’t know about you cooking for me though. Are you trying to kill me?”

  The sweet feeling of relief bloomed inside me and I beamed at CB. “I’ve actually gotten pretty good at cooking. C’mon, let me show you.”

  I led the way back downstairs, squishing down the little voice inside that wanted to know what the heck was so wrong with me that the simple act of opening a bedroom door nearly caused me an anxiety attack.

  ***

  CB swept into the kitchen and struck a pose. “How do I look?”

  I whistled approvingly. “Very dapper.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t going for dapper.” He wore dark, raw denim skinny jeans and a Burberry striped navy and white fitted polo.

  “Well, you do know you’re going to be the best dressed person in all of Redemption tonight,” I said. “Including women.”

  “And yet again, I’m reminded of why it’s taken me so long to visit,” he said. “What are you waiting for? Pour me a glass of wine.”

  I reluctantly reached for a glass. “I figured you’d be leaving.”

  He widened his eyes in mock horror. “I couldn’t leave without seeing my niece now, could I?”

  Oh great. Chrissy was supposed to be here in the next half hour or so. I had really hoped CB would be out of the house by then. I was also hoping he would honor his promise about not returning until morning and decided to mention it again.

  “I’m sure I can find someone who will take me in, since my cousin is so heartlessly kicking me out,” he said with a wink.

  “No doubt someone in Redemption would let you sleep on his (or her!) couch,” I said.

  He laughed. “The couch isn’t precisely what I had in mind, but maybe that could be fun, too.”

  I handed him his wine. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

  He winked. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

  The doorbell rang. I felt my mouth go dry. CB was difficult to predict at the best of times, and after listening to more than a few passive-aggressive taunts in relation to Chrissy in the past 24 hours, I really hoped he wouldn’t end up sabotaging my efforts at reconciliation.

  CB set his wine down. “Well, well. It looks like the woman of the hour is here.”

  I made a face at him. “Just behave. Okay?”

  He laughed. “Again, I ask ... where is the fun in that?”

  I moved past him to answer the door, wanting to beg him to be good. I also considered simply pushing him out the door as I pulled Chrissy in. Typically, less was more when dealing with CB, so I resisted both of those urges.

  Chrissy stood on the porch, holding a backpack, her eyes cast down. Normally, I would have been alarmed at her appearance—dark circles under her eyes, dull, lank hair hanging limply around her pale, nearly gaunt face—but instead, I was completely transfixed by the girl standing behind her.

  Long, thick, wavy blonde hair framed a narrow, elegant face with jutting, high cheekbones, full lips, and huge, dark-green eyes.

  I was staring at the spitting image of Jessica.

  Chapter 3

  As I stood the
re, mouth gaping and a million thoughts flashing through my head, (Is this a joke? Is she a ghost? Am I losing my mind?), the Jessica look-alike opened her mouth. “Hi, Mrs. McMurray. I’m just dropping Chrissy off. Oh, wait,” she blushed (a very becoming shade of red, I thought, which was something else she had in common with Jessica). “You probably don’t go by McMurray anymore. Sorry.”

  “Uh,” I struggled to get my thoughts in order. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s, uh, nice to meet one of Chrissy’s friends ...”

  “I’m Brittany,” the girl said cheerfully.

  Brittany. That name sounded familiar. Wasn’t Brittany the name of Chrissy’s first friend here? Had to be the same girl—how many sixteen-year-old Brittany’s could there possibly be in this town?

  “Are you going to let us in?” Chrissy finally spoke although her eyes remained fixed on the ground.

  “Oh! Of course, please come in.” I stepped back. Chrissy stepped into the house mechanically.

  “I can’t stay, but thanks for the invite,” Brittany said. “See you around, Chrissy.”

  Chrissy muttered something and headed for the kitchen.

  I watched Brittany half skip, half walk to her car. I wanted to call out to her, but what would I say? Hey, has anyone ever told you that you are the spitting image of Jessica, the girl who vanished fifteen years ago? You know, the girl no one has heard from ever since?

  Oh, and let’s not forget, the same girl I was apparently the last to see, except I don’t remember, because I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning that night.

  Yeah, that sounds like the perfect conversation starter. Probably better to talk to Mia or Daphne.

  I turned to close the door and saw CB behind me, his face pale. “Did you see ...” he began.

  Oh, thank God. CB saw it, too. That meant I could cross off ‘I’m crazy’ from the list of possible explanations for this girl looking SO much like Jessica. “Yeah, I can’t believe it either. Like seeing a ghost.”

  He came closer. “Who is that girl?”

  I shrugged, lowering my voice. “She says her name is Brittany. She’s got to be related to Jessica somehow. I’ll find out from Daphne or Mia.”

  He nodded and swallowed. “Wow. I mean. Wow.” He ran one hand through his hair and jingled his rental car key with the other. “Okay, so I’ll get out of your hair, let you enjoy girl’s night.”

  “Thanks CB,” I said, stepping away from the door so he could leave. I locked the front door behind him and took a deep breath before heading to the kitchen.

  Chrissy was sitting at the table, her backpack on the floor behind her, staring at nothing.

  I moved to the kitchen counter to retrieve my glass of wine. “Want something to drink? I have homemade lemonade. Or Coke.”

  She shrugged. I poured her a glass of lemonade and set it in front of her. She didn’t respond.

  I sat in the chair across from her and sipped my wine. Her hair hung across her face, so I couldn’t see her eyes. “Are you hungry? I thought we could make dinner together. I’ve got gluten-free pasta and gluten-free pizza dough.”

  “I’m not gluten-free anymore,” she said.

  That was new. “Oh. Okay, well there’s other things if you don’t want those.”

  “It’s fine. We can make whatever you want.”

  Well, this ought to be a fun night. “Do you want to make dinner now, or wait? I have movies, too.”

  She shrugged again. “Whatever.”

  Would anything I say reach this child? Maybe I should try the direct approach. “You know, I’m here if you want to talk,” I said cautiously. “About anything.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  I paused and sipped my wine. When she remained silent, I decided to try probing a little more. “Is there anything bothering you? Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Not really.”

  Okay, then. That was a bust. I got up and started grabbing ingredients out of the fridge. After a moment, Chrissy rose to her feet and joined me in the kitchen.

  As she helped me chop vegetables and assemble the pizza, I noticed how mechanical her movements were. Any questions I asked were answered in monosyllables. Did she like her foster family? “I guess.” What has she been doing with her friends? “Not much.”

  What I really wanted to talk to her about was Brittany. Was she related to Jessica? Did Chrissy know the story around Jessica’s disappearance fifteen years ago? Did she know about my part in it?

  But on second thought, I realized that probably wasn’t the best bonding conversation.

  Chrissy only ate a few bites of the pizza, but mostly just pushed it around her plate. I didn’t press, although I wanted to. No wonder she was so gaunt if this was how she was eating.

  I offered her chocolate ice cream for dessert, which she declined. I wondered if I should talk to her foster mother about her eating habits. Something really ought to be done before she simply wasted away.

  After dinner, we watched a couple of movies. I made popcorn, which she nibbled on. When the second movie was over, she mumbled how tired she was, and headed off to bed.

  So much for my girl’s night.

  I cleaned up the kitchen, made a cup of tea, and headed up to bed myself, figuring I would read for a while.

  Instead, I found myself back in the kitchen.

  I rubbed my eyes. What happened? It was dark—middle-of-the-night dark—the light of a full moon slanting through the window.

  A figure sat hunched over the butcher-block table. I moved closer. It was Aunt Charlie.

  “What, no tea?” I asked, as I suddenly found myself sitting across from her, in that jumpy way of dreams.

  Aunt Charlie sighed. In the moonlight, her face looked old—older than I remembered, the lines and wrinkles etched deeply into her skin. “The tea didn’t work.”

  “What do you mean, ‘It didn’t work’? It helped me figure out what Stefan was doing to me.”

  Aunt Charlie gave me a sharp look. “You shouldn’t have needed the tea for that.”

  Shame swamped over me, along with that all-too-familiar ‘how stupid am I?’ feeling.

  Aunt Charlie glanced over at me and sighed again. “I shouldn’t blame you. It’s my fault, too. I should have done a better job warning you.”

  “You’re right,” I said morosely. “I should have known better.”

  “Well, it’s all water under the bridge now,” Aunt Charlie said briskly. “All’s well that ends well.”

  I thought about Chrissy, slowly dissolving into a gaunt skeleton, barely recognizable from her former self just a couple of months earlier. “Did it end well, though?”

  Aunt Charlie half-smiled. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “I guess,” I said. “Although now I feel like I traded my well-being for Chrissy’s.”

  Aunt Charlie shrugged. “You think Chrissy would have been better off if her father had simply left her here?”

  “Well, when you put it that way ...” I said. The moonlight shifted, turning the skin on Aunt Charlie’s face to silvery grey. “What did you mean about the tea not working?”

  Aunt Charlie turned her head to the window. “It was supposed to help you remember.”

  The hair rose on my arms. “Remember?” I asked, although a part of me didn’t really want to hear the answer.

  Aunt Charlie turned back to me, her eyes pools of blackness. “What happened to Jessica.”

  “What do you mean, ‘What happened to Jessica?’ Don’t you know?” I asked, my voice squeaking. “She was here, in this house, the night of that party. Weren’t you here too?”

  “Was I here?”

  My stomach was churning. I wanted to retch. Instead, I grasped the edges of the table, trying to steady myself. “Of course you were!
What happened to her? What happened to Jessica?”

  Aunt Charlie cocked her head. “You tell me.”

  My stomach roiled inside me. “But I don’t know,” I hissed.

  She leaned forward, the blackness where her eyes were growing larger and shinier, resembling insect eyes. “You. Must. Remember.”

  I woke with a gasp, covered with sweat, the sheets twisted around me.

  Moonlight flooded the room, so bright I wondered how I was able to fall asleep in the first place. Slowly, I unwound myself from the bedding and focused on taking slow, deep breaths.

  The last time I dreamed of Aunt Charlie, I had been in the hospital. But that was weeks ago. So why now?

  Chrissy!

  I bolted out of bed and hurried down the hall. Always before, when I dreamed of Aunt Charlie, I had found Chrissy sleepwalking.

  Chrissy’s door was shut. I hoped it meant she was still asleep. I pressed my hand against the wood, debating if I should check or not. But then I remembered what happened the one night I had decided NOT to check on her, so as quietly as I could, I twisted the doorknob and eased open the door.

  In the moonlight, I could see Chrissy lying curled up on her side, mouth open, snoring slightly. Definitely asleep.

  I eased the door shut, hoping this was a good sign. Maybe her sleepwalking was gone for good.

  I went back to bed, intending to relax enough to fall back asleep. But instead, I found myself wondering why I couldn’t remember the night Jessica disappeared, as I watched the moonlight shift on the floor.

  ***

  “I gotta go,” Chrissy said, sticking her head in the kitchen. She disappeared just as quickly, and I could hear her footsteps heading toward the front door.

  “Hey, wait a second,” I called out, struggling to get out of my chair without tipping it over. The footsteps paused. “What about breakfast? I was going to make gluten-free pancakes.”