by Alicia Scott
But Andy wasn’t in the dining room or the foyer. Growing perplexed now, she started back to the library. Andy was a remarkably bright child, to say the least, what hiding place might he have come up with? Racking her brains, Liz tried to remember all the tricks she’d employed in her own youth. This time her search was much more thorough. She checked behind curtains, under desks. She checked all cabinets, and all nooks and crannies within nooks and crannies.
But after half an hour, all she’d found was more silence. And the worry within her slowly turned to dread.
Where was Andy?
Concerned now, she turned her mind to the problem with earnest. Maybe he’d forgotten their rules and hidden in the shut-up rooms. It was a thin strand of hope, given the fact that Andy never forgot anything, but looking for him there was worth a try.
Liz stepped over the velvet rope that draped across the hallway, and journeyed toward the two ballrooms. The air in the hallway was much colder here, and smelled musty with disuse. Despite herself, Liz shivered. She should have brought a flashlight, she realized. The hallway was growing darker as she moved away from the foyer. Trying to keep her uneasiness down, she put her hand along the cold stone of the wall, and began feeling for a light switch as she walked along.
“Andy?” she called out softly. But there was no reply.
Surely he wouldn’t have gone down this way. Given his tight nerves and skittish demeanor, she couldn’t see the child willingly walking along this dark, damp passageway. Still, he had to be around someplace. Swallowing grimly, she kept walking, her footsteps echoing down the long, dusty hall.
Finally, when her nerves were strung so tight she was afraid the slightest noise would make her snap, her hand came to a light switch. She gratefully snapped it on.
There was a small flicker, then the entire hallway filled with soft, dim light. She should have felt relief, even comfort. But she couldn’t, because for the first time, she could finally see what was around her.
Along both sides of the wall loomed the dark, somber oil portraits of past Keatons. Beneath each one, she could see their names carved in a small brass plate. So it went, all the way down, father, mother, sons, wives, sons, until you reached the end. And at the end sat one lone portrait. An oil portrait that wasn’t sitting so neat and nice on the wall. Instead, the frame hung at a drunken angle, while the painting itself appeared to have been torn out. Now, it littered the broad hallway in little bits of meticulously cut canvas. Liz felt her feet moving of their own accord, drawing her to the destruction. But she didn’t have to journey all the way there to know what the little brass plate would say.
Alycia Wynston Keaton.
There was no trace of the beautiful blonde anymore. The pieces were slashed so tiny, reconstruction would be impossible. Liz could only stare at the ragged pieces with growing horror. It was as if the person who had done this had been trying to obliterate her completely, to stamp her out beyond repair.
The destruction was so total, the anger so complete, that Liz felt it.
Cold shudders raced through her uncontrollably. Instinctively she sensed the truth. The person who had murdered Alycia was still out there, the rage still burning dark and bitter in the musty halls. Who else could have done such a thing as what she saw before her?
And unbidden, his picture rose to her mind. Richard. Richard sitting in the library with his cold, controlled eyes. Richard twirling his brandy glass while his eyes darkened with unholy secrets.
Could the man who touched her with such passion be capable of such violence? Her fingers rose to tentatively touch her lips, as if searching for some proof in the memory that would tell her irrevocably, no, Richard was not such a man. But the truth was, she didn’t know. She had seen him cold, and she had seen him angry. And she didn’t know just what he was capable of.
Had Alycia?
There were no answers in the dark hallway, only the drafts of an old cold wind that chilled her soul. After all these years, this house still clutched its secrets. And in these long dusty hallways, it kept the anger, as well.
She moved back down the hall in earnest.
Andy, she had to find Andy. Where was the child, where could he have gone?
And once again, the terror was back. She had to find Andy, and she had to find him now. He couldn’t be in the ballrooms, there hadn’t been footprints in the dust, she realized belatedly. Therefore, he could only be in the study, or perhaps he had been in the first rooms and she just hadn’t realized it. Nodding to herself to keep calm, she turned back, calling out his name as she went.
“Game’s over, Andy,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice as her panic grew. “You can come out now. You win.”
But still there was only silence.
She searched the study. She searched the library, the kitchen, the foyer and the dining room. She went from room to room, crying out his name, and at long last, begging him to come out.
But still there was no sign of the little boy.
Completely panicked now, she went up to the rooms. The hour was growing late, darkness falling with steady swiftness, but she couldn’t find a trace of anyone—Blaine, Jillian, Parris, Greg. They were all gone, and so was Andy. The house appeared to be completely deserted.
Except, of course, for the left-hand tower.
She had to tell Richard, she thought instantly. She couldn’t find Andy anywhere, and he knew the old house much better than she did. He would know where a child might disappear or become trapped. She had to believe that, had to believe that Andy was somewhere in this old mansion and in a matter of minutes, they would figure out where.
Her midnight eyes tight with the strain, she fairly ran up the left-tower steps. She didn’t even pause at the top, but pounded on the thick wooden door with fierce determination.
It was opened immediately.
“What do you want?” Richard demanded. But his voice trailed off as he saw her face. It was completely ashen, her blue eyes huge and bright with panic. Something was wrong, horribly wrong.
“What happened?” he asked, a thousand and one emotions racing through him before he had a chance to feel even one. The dread settled hard, and suddenly he knew. “It’s Andy,” he whispered.
She could only nod, fighting her way through the knot of panic in her stomach. She had to remain in control. If she could just keep her thoughts clear, they would figure this all out. It would be okay. It had to be.
“We were playing hide-and-seek,” she managed to get out. “He was supposed to hide only in the main structure, in the open rooms. But I’ve looked and looked and looked, and I can’t find him anywhere. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.” She had failed, failed miserably. Andy and Richard had both trusted her, and she had failed them both.
Richard frowned, some of the tightness leaving his chest. “He’s probably just in his room,” he said.
She shook her head. “I looked there a moment ago. He wasn’t in.”
“Well, did you call for him, tell him that the game had ended? You know how clever he is, he probably just came up with a really good spot so that you missed him.”
“I called,” she whispered. “I told him the game was over. He never appeared.”
Richard’s face froze, the tightness returning to his chest. He could feel the beginnings of an uncommon emotion, and he fought against it: worry. The child was somewhere in the house, he repeated to himself, clinging fast to his rational mind. They simply needed to deduce where.
“Well, then,” Richard said briskly. “We’ll both look for him. I’m sure if we conduct a thorough search, going methodically from room to room, he will turn up. He’s probably just being stubborn, you know, trying to get more attention.”
Liz simply nodded. She hoped that was the case, she really did. Wordlessly, she went with Richard to the bottom of the stairs.
They did as Richard suggested, going from room to room to room. In their need for thoroughness, they even looked under sofa cushions, a
s if the small boy was simply waiting somewhere for their careful eyes. But in each room, they only found the emptiness, and the echoing cries of their own voices, calling out his name.
They never spoke about it, but as they went from room to room, their faces grew paler, their eyes more strained. To all intents and purposes, Andy had disappeared.
Richard was having to focus hard as they reached the last room. Emotions and pictures seemed to be assaulting him from all sides, and he didn’t want any of them. He could remember the fragile weight of baby Andrew, sleeping so soundly in his arms as Richard rocked back and forth in the rocking chair. He could remember the smell of baby powder, Andrew’s toothless grin when Richard bent down to pick him up. He could remember the sound of baby laughter as he tossed Andrew up and down in the air. He could even remember the simple responsibility of changing diapers.
It seemed so long ago. So long since he’d looked at this tiny baby and felt only the love that gripped his heart so fiercely. It was nothing like the pain and betrayal that would come later. The time when he would look at the boy, and feel only the raw wound in his chest. Everything about the boy practically screamed Alycia.
He’d wanted the child to leave, all those years ago. Thought he wouldn’t be able to stand to have a reminder so close. Even now, he wanted to keep his distance from the boy. It was for the best, he’d told himself time and time again. For both of them, it was for the best.
But the thin logic didn’t prepare him for the concern that gripped him now. He could feel the weight of the worry in the unbearable tightness in his chest. He didn’t want to feel this panic. He didn’t want to care, damn it. He’d been tricked into caring once before, and the betrayal had practically ripped him apart.
He didn’t want to feel anything.
But for once, the control was beyond even his reach. Andrew was missing, and he could only feel the fear freezing his veins.
What had happened to the baby who would look at him and smile his innocent grin? What had happened to the child that had once slept so trustingly in his arms?
And then in a cold rush of certain dread, he knew.
Chapter 9
Richard turned, his entire face frozen into a grim expression.
“Come on,” he said. Liz looked at him with confusion, but he wasn’t waiting to see if she followed. Instead, he was already heading toward the right-hand stairs. Liz felt the sudden rush of coldness like ice water in her blood.
He was going to the right-hand tower.
The place where Alycia had been pushed. Liz felt the goose bumps prickle along her spine.
Surely Andy never would have gone there. But then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t so sure. She’d never broached the subject of his mother’s death after that first evening. She had no idea what Andrew did or did not know about Alycia’s murder. Perhaps, innocently unaware, he’d deduced that the right-hand tower was a new and clever place to hide. It sounded like an Andy thing to do.
So why did her heart still pound in her chest?
Her fear increasing tenfold, she followed Richard up the increasingly narrow and winding stone staircase. As they neared the top, the air became colder, the spiraling stairs even darker. Liz had to put her hand against the solid stone wall for support, but Richard continued without ever faltering. Perhaps it was only her imagination, Liz tried to tell herself, but it seemed so unnaturally dark, so unnaturally cold there. As if something else was there.
Something dark and bitter and, even after five years, filled with rage.
She shook her head and continued. Even then, she found herself falling back slightly as they neared the door at the top.
Richard didn’t, of course. Cold controlled Richard went right up to the door without a single hesitant footstep, as if a woman had never been murdered in this room, as if that woman hadn’t been his wife.
And for one long desperate moment, Liz would have given anything just to be able to see his eyes. Surely there was some emotion there. Surely something other than the cold measured beat of his feet on the last two steps was reflected in his eyes. But he never turned around, and whatever thoughts were running through his brilliant mind, he never gave them away. His hand came up, and easily pushed open the solid wooden door.
At once, she could feel the draft. Strong and bone-chilling.
“Andrew?” Richard called, his voice deep and without a tremor. “Andrew, are you here?”
Liz came up behind Richard, now, trying to peer over his shoulder through the dim light. He pushed open the door all the way, exposing the whole room. The round stone expanse slowly appeared, curves falling into dark shadows while dim rays of moonlight broke through the tall glass windows.
There, in the middle of the dusty stone floor stood Andrew.
“Andy,” Liz breathed. She was so glad to have finally found the child, she forgot her own fears and pushed past Richard to get to the boy. Without another thought, she bent down and wrapped the child in her arms, feeling the tremors of his shaking little body. “Oh, Andrew, are you all right?”
Against her shoulder, she could feel his head nod, and the relief washed through her in waves. Tentatively, then fiercely, Andy’s own arms wrapped themselves around her neck.
From the doorway, Richard watched it all, his face growing dark. Once again, the emotions were back, racing uncontrollably across his chest. Seeing the child here, finally safe and sound, he could feel the relief even as he felt the corresponding anger.
He didn’t want to feel worry, fear, relief. Damn it, he was supposed to remain uncaring. Yet here he stood in the doorway of this horrid room with its cold drafts swirling around him like an icy rage, feeling, feeling, feeling.
What if Andy had been hurt? What if something awful had happened to the boy? What if he’d rushed in to find the tall windows pushed open once more, as he had five years ago? What if he’d found this tiny, trusting little body lifeless on the cold ground below?
The relief in his chest exploded resolutely into rage.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded out loud, his voice tight. Liz pulled away from Andrew long enough to look the boy in the eyes. Andy was still shaking, his blue eyes wide in fear. He looked up at the dark face of his father, and his shoulders quivered slightly more.
“I thought I heard her,” Andy said in a shaking voice.
“Who?” Richard punctuated coldly.
Andrew’s bottom lip began to tremble. “Her.”
Richard took two steps forward, his face ominous. Damn it, the boy had scared them all nearly half out of their minds. And now all he could say was “her”?
“You have until the count of three to explain yourself,” Richard said darkly. “One, two—”
“I heard a noise, I heard her, I heard her,” Andy cried out wildly. “I didn’t have a choice, I had to come.”
Liz reached out, and put a stabilizing hand on the boy’s shoulders. It was obvious Andrew was deeply upset, and it was even more obvious Richard was only making matters worse. She spoke in her calmest voice, determined to take control of the situation.
“Why don’t you tell us who she is, Andy,” Liz said soothingly, her Carolina accent as comforting as velvet. “We were very worried about you when we couldn’t find you, you know.”
Andrew’s eyes darted at once to his father, as if seeking some sign the tall dark stranger might have cared. Richard, however, was still silent and glowering.
“Alycia.” Andrew said simply. “I heard Alycia.”
Liz felt her face pale at the words and dared not look at Richard. Surely Andy must be mistaken. Most likely he’d heard one of Blaine’s friends banging around. Except, she realized faintly, she’d already learned no one else had been home.
“Alycia’s dead,” Richard said flatly. “Now, tell us the truth.”
Liz turned enough to shoot Richard a level glare as Andy once more began to tremble. “Andrew’s had a rough day,” she stated loudly, keeping her shoulders straight. “I think some r
est would do him good. We can discuss this matter more later on.”
Richard’s face grew tight, but he remained silent. Damn it, he wanted to move forward with his life. But here was this child, this child he’d sworn he would keep away from, and yet he’d been so worried when they hadn’t been able to find him. He didn’t like feeling worried, he didn’t like feeling vulnerable.
And he refused to be told he had been feeling all these things because of a ghost.
Once more the anger spiraled. He could feel the rage and the frustration blending easily with the remnants of worry and fear, until he was clenching his fists at his side. And still the anger grew.
It could not be Alycia. Alycia was dead. And he wanted to move on with his life, with his damn solitary life!
He didn’t trust himself anymore. Nodding coldly to the golden-haired child who twisted his gut, and the mahogany-haired woman who haunted his dreams, he turned on his heels and stormed out of the room.
Alone now with Andrew, Liz took the little boy by the hand. She could see his gaze peering into the darkness where his father had so abruptly disappeared.
“He just needs some time to calm down,” she told the boy soothingly. “He was very worried when we couldn’t find you. Honest, Andy.”
Andy looked up, and she could once more feel the tremors in his tiny hand, clutching her own so tightly.
Solemnly the little boy nodded his head, but Liz could see the disappointment in his eyes. Taking one last look at the round tower with its huge windows, she led Andy to the stairs. But even when she closed the door behind them, she could still feel the chill from that room.
Coming down the stairs into the foyer, they were just in time to see the front door opening. Andy immediately tightened his grip on her hand, but the open door only revealed the Gang of Four and Mrs. Pram walking in. Both Mrs. Pram and Blaine appeared to be carrying grocery bags, with Parris carelessly dangling two jugs of milk. Jillian, on the other hand, sported a fine collection of nicely decorated shopping bags, while Greg followed with a garment bag swung over his shoulder.