Talitha

by Rachael Rawlings

  The restaurant was decorated with warm colors and the glint of glass, and the lighting was dimmed to provide atmosphere. Claire wondered just how she could force anything down. She took her seat at the table, trying to place as many people between her and Cole Edwards as she could. She was nervous everyone was watching her, waiting for another sign of a troubled mind, of a breakdown. She took a deep breath and looked down the table, ignoring Noel’s troubled looks. She had fought hard to cultivate her poker face, and she would use it tonight. She sat tensely as everyone ordered their drinks, choosing a few appetizers to share even though they had just recently had dinner. Claire kept her eyes averted, sipping on the crisp white wine and concentrating on keeping her face expressionless. Gradually she relaxed, aware that despite her worries, no one seemed to be paying any unusual attention to her. Surprisingly, the atmosphere was of easy camaraderie with the wine and conversations flowing.

  John was in rare form, amusing them all with stories about his adolescent pranks. He punctuated his stories with long swallows of beer and waved an artistic hand when he wanted to illustrate a point. His attempts at making everyone comfortable were much appreciated, and Noel appeared to be making a distinct effort to egg him on and laugh at all the appropriate places.

  Charles was quieter, but steady and reassuring. He casually added his own opinions about tee ball and high school dances. He spoke often of his wife whom he had met in high school, and soon had them all laughing when he described his first meeting with her dad, "the coach". His gentle smile and humor were welcome reminders of one of Claire's brothers, and she felt herself relax slightly.

  When John brought up the subject of basketball, Charles began to show some of his competitive edge, and they debated about the University of Kentucky’s basketball team versus the University of Louisville’s. Claire kept silent but Noel dove into the subject with her usual vigor and soon had them laying down money for the next tournament games. Claire enjoyed watching the relationship Charles and John shared, and was unsurprised when John mentioned he had been an honorary member of Charles’ family for years. It certainly explained a lot.

  In contrast to his noisy companions, Cole Edwards sat back quietly, smiling at appropriate times but eating and drinking very little. His face still looked pale, even in the dim lighting, and his long hair was slightly ruffled, as though he had run his fingers through it while deep in thought. He had changed out of his dress clothes into some casual slacks and a soft sweater for the evening out, but Claire could tell he wasn’t the sort of man that relaxed easily. He appeared distracted during much of the conversation, his eyes wandering to the windows when he thought no one was watching, and Claire noticed he frowned when they mentioned seeing shadows on the bridge. Claire knew he had purposely driven by himself, claiming he needed to run an errand on the way to town, but had arrived only 15 minutes after the rest of the group. She wondered what the true reason was for his traveling alone.

  "Okay, so maybe I did cheat a little at poker, but you lost, fair and square," John’s voice interrupted her thoughts, as he and Charles argued genially about a past game.

  "So, you play cards?" Noel asked, her eyes alight with mischief.

  "Do we play cards?" John said boastfully. "We have the hottest game going in the area every Thursday night when Charles' wife lets him out to play."

  "Now, now," Charles interjected mildly.

  Noel grinned back; "Can we play next time?"

  "You got any money?"

  "A little. How rich is your game?"

  Claire listened as Noel and John discussed the details, her eyes going back to Cole Edwards. To her surprise, he was looking directly at her and frowning. When he caught her gaze she looked down again, avoiding the eye contact.

  She felt the blood seep into her cheeks. He knew. He had to know something was in that house. Something that was not meant to be there. It certainly wasn’t all in her mind. With John claiming to see the figure on the bridge, and the frequent allusions to mysterious stories about the house, she knew for sure there was something real, and something not natural about the house. And now Cole Edwards knew she was somehow involved. Well, if he knew so much about it, and now she was sure he did, she might just have to look into his background. Whatever was going on in the house was not just in her head. She was sure of that now. And Mr. Edwards was going to help her prove that.

  Chapter Nine

  The days blended together as the renovation became more intense. With Mr. Edwards home, the workers were called in earlier and left later. He was a perfectionist, going through each room with a fine-tooth comb, noting problems with plaster, floor refinishing, and painting. The workers responded with appropriate respect, although a little grumbling could be heard during the lunch hours. But all were pleased with the generous overtime checks including Noel and Claire when they were called upon to do extra jobs on the weekend. Noel was concerned with Claire’s extra work load, but Claire insisted she felt fine. Since her fall, she had tried to rest more and study less, making a concerted effort to care for herself more consciously.

  All of these efforts were only minimally successful. Claire found she was often overly fatigued in the mornings, struggling to rise from bed. Her nights tended to take one of two distinct routines. Some nights she would sleep so deeply she would wake in the morning with no memory of the night at all. It would seem as though the time had passed in just a flash, and she would have to drag herself upright to meet the day.

  On other nights, sleep was an elusive creature she could not catch no matter what methods she used. She tried to read, to play little games on her cell phone, to practice relaxation methods she recalled from her long ago difficult times. But they did not appear to help her at all. She had waited in vain for the visiting bird as well, but had not seen a single feather to remind her of what she now thought of as a friend. Now, as the house settled into slumber, she alone remained on watch to hear the other things waking. There was the sigh of the wind, the scuttle of little creatures in the attic or eaves, the old wood groaning as it settled, and then there were the other sounds. And those were the ones she hated the most. The soft footfalls, the scrape of weight against wooden floors, the hollow howl of a voice, the high tinkle of a toddler’s cry.

  They weren’t real, these sounds that seemed to fill the night around her, but she surely felt like she could hear them. Like a child, she would curl up in her bed, covers pulled close; a light left on to scare away the worst of the shadows. Her eyes would probe the darkness, watching the door for any sign of movement, glancing toward the heavy curtains shielding the blank windows, and then the massive armoire that would hold more than one full grown man.

  But despite her lack of rest, she felt like she was putting on a pretty good act of normality. She ignored the sore muscles from overexertion, the paint spattered hands, the persistent headaches. She was doing this for her parents, for herself, for her friend. She was going to see the project through.

  Another change for her was when Mr. Edwards became a familiar face around the house, eating with them at dinnertime and sitting in the library during the day, his laptop computer open and the cell phone constantly ringing. In the late evening, Claire had come upon him twice sitting at the piano in the music room and playing, his fingers deft on the keys. He seemed to prefer somber pieces, which he played with skill and passion. His eyes were dark and intense, his face pale and set. She wondered what he thought of as he played, a past love, a tragic event, or maybe it was just a reflection of his personality. Claire had found herself momentarily entranced while he played and both times had hovered outside the door to listen to his music. When the music stopped, she had quietly crept out of the room, hoping he had been unaware of her presence.

  Despite his frequent appearances in the Talitha house, Edwards’ past remained a mystery to all of the inhabitants. Although no one had discussed it, it was obvious he had been injured in some way, and the injury had been recent. He walked slowly and deliberately, with
a slight limp that became more pronounced at the end of the day, and winced at times when climbing stairs or walking on uneven terrain. His skin showed signs of injury as well, and Noel had remarked upon a particularly vivid scar that traced from his left wrist, beneath the sleeve of his dress shirt, to emerge at the collar and end at his throat.

  Claire quickly realized Cole Edwards’ arrival had changed her life in other ways as well. Claire had often enjoyed borrowing books from the library in the house but found she was uncomfortable going into his territory. Now she made herself scarce, avoiding him when possible. After their confrontation, he had been studiously polite, greeting her and addressing her at times, but she knew it was forced. When he found her alone in a room, he often paused to ask about her health, but found a reason to leave almost immediately. She wasn’t sure if the avoidance was because he had decided he just didn’t want to be in her company and was uncomfortable with her, or if he was hiding something. She was sure he knew something about the house but was equally as certain he wasn’t going to share it with her.

  And Claire knew she had her own problems to be worried about.

  Monday was almost a relief. There was a joy in routine, and Claire was happy to return to her classes in downtown Louisville. Her morning went by quickly, and as she rushed to her car, she tried to reorganize her mind. Class work, paper due Friday, scrub the antique tub in the bath on the second floor, call her mom, study for the test on Thursday evening, sand the fireplace in the bedroom by the turret. She almost missed the insistent buzz from her purse and had to fumble her phone out. Noel. Good, she wanted to make sure she wasn't missing anything from her calendar.

  "Hey," she said, her tone distracted.

  "Oh, Claire, where are you!" Noel's voice caught, and she sounded like she was fading.

  "Noel? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

  "It's not me," Noel sobbed, "It's John. He fell. He fell off the ladder, and he's really hurt."

  "Where is he?" Claire asked, standing still in the middle of the parking lot, her keys forgotten in her hand.

  "They are putting him in the ambulance now. He's not breathing. I don't think they can get him awake. He won't open his eyes." Noel's pitch was rising with hysteria, and Claire felt her stomach drop.

  "I'm on my way. I'll be there in a few minutes. You just stay there, and we will head to the hospital as soon as I get there."

  Claire ended the call and ran to her car, throwing her bags in the back seat. She drove fast, faster than her usual pace, but with a close eye on the road. It seemed to take way too much time to get to the driveway, and the narrow single lane felt like it was pressing in around her. When she passed through the open gate, she saw few cars remained. Leaving her bags in her car, she rushed up the porch stairs to where the heavy wooden door was hanging ajar.

  “Noel! What happened?”

  Noel immediately got up and ran to her, throwing her arms around her. “Oh, Claire, I can't believe it. John! He was looking at some of the woodwork in the foyer. The ladder collapsed. He fell. God, he just fell like a rag doll. They said he just hit the floor, that there was nothing to catch him.”

  Claire felt the blood drain from her face. Her mind was full of pictures of John. John at dinner balancing a spoon on his nose, in the restaurant daring them to a poker game, in the kitchen snatching bites from the pots on the stove, and cutting up to make everyone laugh. Although they had only known him for a short time, she felt as close to him as she was to many of her childhood friends.

  “Why was he up on a ladder to begin with?” Random questions swept through her mind.

  Noel looked down at her hands, her fingers lacing and unlacing with nervous energy. “I’m not sure. Something about the banisters they were working on. He wanted to check something on the carvings, I think. He was only up there for a few seconds before he fell. I was in the kitchen, looking for something for dinner when I heard the commotion and saw him.” Her voice weakened and she paused to wipe her nose with her sleeve, looking like a child. “We have to stay here and catch Charles,” she added in a muffled voice.

  Claire felt tears in her eyes as she turned. The door from the office opened, and Cole stood in the doorway. He looked even paler and more rigid; his face set with harsh lines bracketing his mouth, his lips compressed in a thin line on his expressionless face. He had his cell phone pressed to his ear and was dropping keys into his pocket as he moved quickly to the door. He glanced to Claire and nodded in their direction as he left through the back door. Claire and Noel sat on the overstuffed couches, the television buzzing mindlessly in the background.

  After a few minutes, the front door burst open and they could hear Charles calling from the foyer. Both girls quickly stood, and when he caught sight of them, he immediately stopped.

  “I was hoping the message was a mistake, or a prank. Where is Edwards? Has anyone called John’s family? Which hospital are they taking him to? Where’s his damn phone?”

  Claire put a hand on his sleeve. “Wait a minute. Cole went out a few minutes ago...”

  “He was going to John’s apartment to get his address book. He didn’t have any numbers for John’s family, and the police said he could meet them there.” Noel was wiping her eyes with one hand, and sniffed loudly. “He wanted to be the one to call. I think he feels responsible,” she explained. “He wanted us to bring you to the hospital.”

  “Well, maybe he should feel guilty. This damn place has been nothing but trouble since we started work on it,” Charles interrupted bitterly.

  “You know that’s not true. This is just one of those flukes. An accident. I’m sure it was no one’s fault. John knew how to climb the ladder, and it was secure on the floor.” Noel stopped and looked at Charles, her expression earnest. “There wasn’t anyone around to disturb him; I guess he just lost his footing. It could have happened anywhere.” Noel still looked pale, but was beginning to regain her composure.

  Charles put his head in his hands. His voice was tight with grief when he spoke. “I’ve known John for years. We met through my wife; she was a friend of his long before I met him. Oh, she’s going to freak out. John’s always been such a great guy to her, to both of us. When we lost our first child to a miscarriage, John was the first to come over and brought Annie a huge container of ice cream...” Charles stopped, his breath coming fast.

  Claire felt frozen in the face of his grief. She watched Noel put her arms around Charles and looked listlessly out the window to the tangled garden. She wished she were brave enough to grieve with them, but she felt the protective facade she had built rising around her. She knew it wasn’t right for her to control everything, but she tried, twisting her fingers in her lap as she fought off tears. A light rain had begun to fall, and the glass was streaked as though the house itself was crying.

  “I’m going to the hospital now.” Charles said abruptly, pulling away. He pulled his keys from his pocket, disregarding Noel’s protest they were going to drive him. “If you hear from anyone,” he objected, cutting her off. You can give them my number. I need to be there now.” Charles was at the door, turning to look back at the two girls.

  Claire felt a strange stirring. A prickle seemed to rise from her spine and creep up her scalp. “Charles, wait,” she said softly.

  He froze for a second, her tone catching him. The house phone began to wail at his side, the landline they seldom used, and they all stared at it, a slice of time that would change all of them forever. When Charles finally moved and raised the phone to his ear, Claire knew John was gone.

  The funeral was held two days later. Noel and Claire rode with Charles’ wife in his sedan as he rode with the other pallbearers in the second car, following the hearse. Claire watched as a tearful older woman emerged from the first car, supported by a younger girl with dark hair, John’s mother and his sister. The rest of the family followed, a fluttering group in black and dark gray, their handkerchiefs in hand as they walked up the steps and into St. Joseph’s Catholic Church. Altho
ugh he would be taken home to Florida for burial with the rest of his family, John's mother had requested to have his funeral at the church where he had first worked as an architect. His family had flown in from Florida the previous day, and it had taken Noel and Claire nearly an hour to finally get to the funeral home. Cole was last to arrive, his limp more pronounced as though his grief was weighing him down. His suit was finely made, but seemed to hang from his emaciated frame. They all had only weathered the storm, but not unscathed. She shivered despite the heat in the car feeling the ghosts of those left behind dancing on her bones.

  The funeral was long, but Claire was comforted by the familiar words of the Catholic mass. The scent of the candle wax and incense surrounded her, the soft drone of the speaker’s voice buzzed in her ear, and she leaned back against the slick wood of the pew to rest her aching head. When it was over and the last strains of music were echoing in the high plaster ceilings, the pallbearers wheeled the casket out and the family followed. Claire watched as Cole walked out in front of them, pausing to genuflect at the center aisle.

  Noel and Claire left for Talitha immediately following the funeral, with Cole driving them since Charles and Annie, his wife, had decided to stay in a nearby hotel. Claire could tell the ordeal was affecting Annie; she looked as though she had aged years in the day they had been with her.

  The ride was a long and silent one. Noel drifted to sleep in the back seat while Claire watched the cars pass out the side window. She felt sick at the prospect of returning to the house. Nothing good seemed to come of that place. And she couldn’t get it out of her mind that John’s death wasn’t just an accident. Noel had said no one was around to cause the fall. The ladder was sound. What would make a man who was familiar with manual labor of that type suddenly lose his balance and fall? And the way he had fallen was strange in itself. One of the workers claimed it looked as though he was trying to turn away from something because he had landed, not on his back, but face down, arms outstretched instead of beneath him. Claire suppressed a shudder as this vision ran through her mind. All she knew was that something strange was going on in that house, and she was no longer sure it was a safe place for her or anyone else to be.