Don't Tell a Soul

by Kirsten Miller

  “Hey!” one of them called out. “Bram Howland! Where are you going?”

  “Damn it, stop her before she gets away!” shouted the other. I could hear someone sprinting behind me.

  A few seconds later, a hand grabbed a hunk of my coat and jerked me backward. I managed to reach into my pocket and pull out my can of bear repellent. But before I could position my finger on the nozzle, a giant hand wrenched my weapon away. I looked up and saw Brian.

  “Jesus!” he cried. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Get away from me!” I shouted. “Let go or I’ll fucking kill you!”

  Brian held me close to his chest with one muscular arm while he studied the can of repellent. He lifted it up to his face to read the fine print. “You have any idea what this shit could have done to me?” he demanded. Then he raised the can high in the air. “Look at what she just pulled out of her bag!”

  Taking my chance, I stomped down as hard as I could on his foot, unzipped my coat, and wiggled out. I didn’t even feel the cold as I wove around Mike and sprinted down the hill toward town. Then an arm slipped around my waist and yanked me off my feet.

  “What is it with you?” I could feel Mike’s steaming hot breath on the side of my face. “How come you’ve never liked us?”

  “Fire!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, though I knew no one could hear me. “Help!”

  Mike pinned my arms behind my back. “For God’s sake, make her stop!” he ordered his friend. Brian pulled a bandana out of his coat pocket and stuffed it into my mouth. I kicked and flailed, but I couldn’t break loose. They were going to murder me or worse. And there was nothing I could do to stop them.

  “Please don’t thrash around like that.” Mike sounded annoyed. “We aren’t supposed to hurt you.”

  I wasn’t going to stop. I stood no chance against the two of them, but I was not going down without a fight. I delivered a mule kick to Mike’s kneecap.

  “Damn it!” he yelped. “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’re not leaving me any choice. Brian, get over here with those zip ties.” A few seconds later, I heard a loud zip and felt a narrow band of plastic dig into my wrists. Panic squeezed all air from my lungs and I struggled to breathe while Mike squatted down behind me and pulled my ankles together. Then a second zip tie was employed.

  “Load her into the back,” he told Brian.

  “Maisie’s gonna be pissed,” Brian said as he picked me up and laid me down in the flatbed of their truck. I couldn’t fathom what Maisie had to do with this, but it didn’t bode well. She was smarter than both of them put together.

  Mike threw my coat over me. “If she wants to be pissed, she can do her own goddamn dirty work from now on.”

  Their doors slammed and the truck pulled onto the road. I lay on my back, my heart pounding. All I could see were the tree branches passing by overhead. I figured I had one shot left. When I saw power lines, I knew we’d reached town. I struggled to sit upright, hoping someone would see me and call for help. I’d just managed to lift my head high enough to peek over the side when the truck took a sudden turn and I fell and rolled across the flatbed. By the time I got back into position, I saw branches overhead once more. Then the truck rolled to a stop. We hadn’t gone far. I spotted the side of a marble wall and figured out where we were. They’d taken me to Louth’s cemetery. I knew I was in terrible trouble. No good comes to girls in graveyards.

  Mike and Brian got out of the cab and opened the tailgate. A female gasped.

  “What did you two idiots do to her?” It was Maisie, and as predicted, she was mad as hell.

  “You told us to find her and bring her to you,” Mike said.

  “And when exactly did you hear me use the words ‘zip ties’ and ‘gags’?”

  “Sorry, Maisie, but she’s mean,” Brian practically whimpered. “She almost sprayed me with bear repellent.”

  “Get her out of there and cut those ties,” Maisie ordered, and I almost passed out from relief. “We’re supposed to be helping the girl, not torturing her!”

  Within seconds I was free and standing on my own two feet. While Mike and Brian beat a hasty retreat, I looked around to get my bearings. Grace Louth’s mausoleum stood nearby. When my eyes landed on Maisie, it was hard to believe it was the same girl whose bedroom floor was ankle deep in designer clothes. She was wearing jeans, snow boots, and a down coat. She looked just like one of them.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “You’re sorry?” I wanted to punch her. “I thought they were going to kill me. I nearly peed my pants.”

  “Dumb and Dumber weren’t supposed to kidnap you. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday. I sent them to the hospital to see you, but Sam shooed them away. Then I called the manor, and your uncle told me you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone. I didn’t have any way to reach you, but I knew there was a chance you’d come down the hill at some point. I asked Mike and Brian to keep an eye out and bring you to see me if you did. Are you okay?” She reached out for my hand and examined my wrist, gently rubbing with her thumb the red welt that circled it.

  “I’ll live,” I said coldly, and yanked my hand back. “So those are your henchmen, I guess? Did you have them throw the rocks at Nolan’s windows, too?”

  “I had to do something,” Maisie said. “You were in there alone with him.”

  “What the hell? We were eating soup!”

  “I told you to be careful. I warned you to stay away from him.”

  “So you had your friends try to kill us?”

  “They aren’t my friends,” Maisie said. “Mike is Ella Bristol’s brother. Brian is her cousin. The third guy was a friend of theirs from school.”

  “And they’re pissed because Nolan helped a girl get the hell out of Louth?”

  Maisie’s laugh was bitter. “That’s what he told you, is it?”

  I felt a chill. “What do you think happened to her?”

  “I don’t know,” Maisie said. “Neither does anyone else in town. Not her best friends. Not her family.”

  “Hasn’t she been posting on social media?”

  “Someone’s been posting,” Maisie said. “But her family says there’s no proof it’s really her.”

  “Is it possible that Ella doesn’t want her family to find her?” I asked. “With relatives like Mike and Brian, I’d probably run away, too.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously!” Maisie shouted in frustration. “A girl could be dead!”

  “I am taking it seriously!” I snapped. “But you have no proof of anything, and you just had me kidnapped. Based on what I know at this moment, if I had to choose between you and Nolan, I’d definitely take my chances with Nolan.”

  “Stop,” Maisie ordered. “There’s more.”

  “I’m only interested if you have facts, not just gossip. I know you hate Nolan. I’m sure he and his family did something super shitty to you in the past, but—”

  “Nolan is my family.” Maisie looked queasy. “He’s my brother.”

  “What?” I said, not sure I’d heard right. “That’s not possible.”

  “He’s my half brother, if you want to get technical. Gavin Turner is my biological father.”

  My mind was blown. “Does Nolan know?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. He might suspect something. But no one knows for sure aside from me, my mom, and Gavin. A few of my grandparents knew back in the day, but they’re dead now.”

  “It would be easy to prove. You’d just need a DNA test.”

  “Had one,” Maisie said. “That’s how we have the money. Gavin settled out of court. My mom got a giant financial settlement. All she had to do in return was keep her mouth shut and forget what he did to her.”

  My stomach dropped. “What did he do?”

  �
�Eighteen years ago, his parents held a party at their summer house. My mother was one of the local girls hired to serve drinks. She was only sixteen at the time. Gavin was thirty. And though my mom didn’t know it, he had a wife and a baby on the way. He convinced her he could help her get modeling jobs if she came down to the city. He even told her she could stay in an empty apartment he owned. She knew her parents would never approve, so she ran away. There were no modeling jobs, of course, and the apartment wasn’t empty. Gavin was staying there, too. A week after she got there, Gavin got bored and kicked her out. She was too ashamed to call my grandparents. She lived on the streets for a few weeks until she found a way back to Louth.”

  I was stunned. “She was only sixteen. She should have gone to the police,” I said.

  “She did. Her parents made her. But that was long before Sheriff Lee’s day. Even if some of the cops thought she might be telling the truth, no one wanted to take on the Turners. Besides, everyone knows that guys like Gavin Turner don’t need to seduce anyone. The cops advised her to go back to school and forget that anything had happened. When she found out she was pregnant, she knew she had proof. That’s what I am. I’m the proof.”

  I couldn’t imagine anything more awful. “She’s kept it a secret all these years?”

  “One word, and my mom and I could lose everything. But that’s not why I haven’t told anyone. You’re the first person I thought might believe me.” I saw a look of terror in her eyes. She was worried she’d gone too far. “Do you?”

  “I do,” I said. “I can’t believe you’ve stayed quiet for so long.”

  “I find ways to let my rage out now and then. Thanks to Nolan, a lot of people in Louth are happy to help.”

  “You really think Nolan might be like his father?” That was the only part I was finding hard to swallow.

  “No,” Maisie said. “I think he’s worse. Tell me this—since you moved to Louth, how many times has he gotten you all alone?”

  I felt goose bumps rise on my arms. “At least twice,” I had to admit. “The night I had dinner with him, he showed up at the manor when he knew everyone else was out.”

  “If you’d disappeared that night, what would people have thought?”

  A junkie like me? “That I’d run away to buy drugs.”

  “Nolan knew that.”

  “So why didn’t anything happen to me?”

  “Did anyone see you with him?”

  I thought back to the night in question. “Your mom saw us together,” I said. “She ran out in front of his car. Then she banged on the window and shouted for me to get out.”

  Maisie nodded. “He couldn’t take the risk that she’d remember seeing you in his car. The second time you were alone with Nolan, he took you up to that lake on the mountain.”

  “Yeah.” It felt like Maisie was reading my mind.

  “You got really lucky that time,” she said. “Mike’s grandfather saw Nolan’s car heading there. He and his friend rushed up the hill after you.”

  If she was right, I was an idiot. But I still wasn’t convinced. If Nolan was looking for an opportunity to hurt me, he’d had plenty of time before Henry Bristol had shown up.

  “And let me guess,” Maisie continued. “Nolan’s offered to help you in some way. Did he say he’d give you money to get out of town?”

  The surprise on my face was all the confirmation she needed.

  “We think that’s how he lured Ella, too. My guess? She isn’t in Manhattan. She’s at the bottom of that lake on the mountain.”

  I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to digest what she was saying. It just didn’t make sense. Nolan had gone out of his way to stick up for me. He’d never tried to harm me, and as far as I knew, he’d always told me the truth.

  “The person you’re describing may be real, but it’s not the Nolan I know,” I said.

  “It’s all an act, Bram. Nolan’s not normal. He’s a monster like his father.”

  I believed what she’d told me about Gavin Turner, but Nolan?

  “Have you told the sheriff about your theory?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Maisie said. “She suspects that Lark discovered something about Ella’s disappearance. She thinks that may have been why Lark went to see Nolan the night of the fire.”

  I realized I needed to share what I knew. “If her theory is right, there may be a way to confirm it,” I said. I pulled off my backpack and unzipped it. “Miriam Reinhart found this in a heating vent at the manor.” When I held out the phone to Maisie, she seemed afraid to touch it.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

  I nodded. “It’s Lark’s phone. Nolan said she took his picture the night of the fire. That means she had the phone with her when she went to his house. If Lark discovered proof that Nolan harmed Ella, there’s a good chance that the evidence is stored on this phone.” I put my backpack on. “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Where are we going?” Maisie asked.

  “I want you to drive me back to the manor.” I couldn’t believe I was saying it. But if a girl’s life was at stake, I had to hack into the phone right away. Until then, I’d respected Lark’s privacy. I’d never gone looking for clues to the passcode. Now that it was a matter of life or death, I knew right where to start my search—the same place Grace’s secret was hidden. The mural that covered the walls of the rose room.

  The storm that Miriam had predicted rolled into Louth just as Maisie dropped me off at the end of the drive. The first flakes settled on snowbanks and drifted down between the trees. Soon every branch that had shaken off its last coat of snow was covered. The hedges had donned their disguises, and the whole world had disappeared beneath a fresh layer of white.

  Ahead, the manor lay waiting. As the storm gained strength, the building came alive. Black clouds hovered in the building’s windows, and its ivy coat writhed in the wind. The mansion was warning me that my mission was dangerous. But I couldn’t run away. I had to find the password. If she’d discovered something dangerous, Lark would have left clues. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became. Hidden somewhere in the rose room’s mural were the six digits that could uncover the truth.

  I found the front door ajar. Either I’d left it that way or someone had known I’d be coming back. When I slipped inside, the only sounds I could hear were the ones I made. The manor’s monsters were sleeping. I crept to the second floor and down the hall to the rose room. I closed the door behind me and walked to the center of the room.

  For the hundredth time, I located Grace Louth in the painting, sprinting down the hill to freedom. I traced the route Grace would have taken from the manor to the boat waiting in the Hudson River, knowing Lark would have done the same thing I was doing.

  Patience. The name of the boat had eight letters. I tried the first six, and the phone rejected it. My eyes continued across the mural until I stopped at a familiar cluster of little buildings. A tiny storefront with a sign that read maxwell & mason, general merchandise, louth, new york. I squinted at a sign that was posted in the building’s window. river festival june 15.

  I felt a rush of excitement. June 15 was the day Grace Louth had made it to freedom. If I changed the four letters in June into the corresponding numbers on the keypad, June 15 had the perfect number of digits. I carefully entered all six numbers. Again, the screen shook and spat it back out. I was about to move on when I remembered, the year. It had been 1890. My hands trembling, I tapped 061590 into the password screen. And just like that, I was in. I felt the blood rushing through my veins. Every cell in my body was vibrating with excitement. I went straight to Lark’s texts and scrolled through the names until I reached Nolan. The last exchange between the two started at 10:48 on the night of the fire, with a message from Lark.

  U there?

  Watching Carrie. U?

 
Need fresh air. Can I drop by?

  Sure.

  So he’d told me the truth about that. Lark had initiated the texts. She really had wanted to get out of the house. I went back and scrolled through her other texts from the night in question. She’d chatted with her mom about buying a new pair of boots. Then she’d texted Maisie pictures of two pairs of boots to see which she preferred. Those were the very last texts Lark had sent.

  Disappointed, I turned to Lark’s emails. She hadn’t sent a single email on the day of the fire. I searched her files and couldn’t find any information about the manor, ghosts, or dead girls. Then I opened Lark’s photos and immediately found myself face to face with Nolan. It had to be the picture he’d told me about—the one she’d taken the night of the fire. Nolan was smiling at the camera, and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He’d posed for the photo in the library at his house, leaning against the table where the Turner family pictures were on display. Lark had snapped the shot on landscape mode, and it was oddly off-center—unless, I realized, the photo wasn’t really of Nolan. Had she used him as an excuse to take a picture of something else? I zoomed in for a closer look. The only things that were in focus were two framed pictures—and both were pictures of the family patriarch, August Turner. I’d seen them myself when I was in the library. The first showed him in his prime, standing on the prow of a boat. The second had been taken decades later. It was the picture of an elderly August, dressed in a tuxedo, posed with his arm around Nolan’s father.

  I scrolled through the rest of the photos on Lark’s camera. There were a few pictures of Maisie and dozens of Dahlia. But most of the pictures on the phone were close-ups of the manor’s façade. There were over a hundred in all. Lark had documented every inch of the building’s exterior. I studied the pictures, looking for some kind of clue regarding what she was looking at. I saw nothing but stone, iron, and ivy. But the photos meant something. They had to.