by Alicia Scott
“Oh, no,” Blaine said upon seeing Liz and Andrew. “I think we’ve been caught carrying groceries.” He immediately turned to the stony-faced Mrs. Pram. “She made us!” he said in his best theatrics. “We tried to resist, but she ran us down in the driveway and forced bags of food into our hands.”
“Absolutely,” Parris concurred.
Jillian flashed them both annoyed looks, while Greg simply smiled lazily.
“Trust me,” he said. “We didn’t actually do anything as helpful as grocery shopping. Just the carrying of the bags.” He indicated his and Jillian’s loads. “The trip to Saks was much more our style.”
Jillian seemed to give Liz’s dusty garb a pointed look, and in spite of herself, Liz felt self-conscious. Andy tugged at her hand, clearly wanting to be on the way, while Mrs. Pram breezed by with stern efficiency.
She was about to follow Andy, when another thought caught her. “You’ve been out shopping all day?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.
“But of course,” Blaine assured her. “Jillian doesn’t take shopping lightly.” He shot the lounging Parris a meaningful glance. “Especially with someone else’s credit cards.”
Parris just shrugged. “She’s a blonde. I have a weakness.”
Jillian, however, was flushing a dark shade of infuriated red. The look she gave Blaine shot daggers.
Liz looked at them all again, and wondered why the more she got to know the group, the less she understood them. This time she did follow the prodding of Andrew’s grip. With a few parting exchanges, she followed him up to his room.
She tucked him immediately into bed. She figured as traumatic as the day had been, he could use the rest. But she’d no sooner settled into her own room, when he was knocking at their adjoining door. With a small sigh, she let him in.
Andy was wearing his navy blue satin pajamas, looking like a little gentleman with his thick glasses and solemn eyes. He no longer looked scared, she decided, but he was definitely nervous.
“Will you,” he began then paused. “Will you read me a story?”
Slightly shocked, Liz stared at the child. She’d offered to read him stories before, only to be curtly informed that he was perfectly capable of reading to himself. After that, she’d stopped offering. Still, she wasn’t going to turn away from the child now. Today’s episode certainly must have rattled him.
“Of course I’ll read you a story,” Liz told him, reaching down to affectionately rumple his hair. “What would you like?”
She led him into his room and watched as he considered the matter. He climbed onto the bed and she pulled the covers back over him. “Well?” she prompted.
“When you were six,” Andy asked with an intense look, “what stories were read to you?”
Liz was somewhat taken aback by the question, but she gave it careful consideration. “Fairy tales, mostly,” she said after a bit. “You know, ‘Cinderella’, ‘Sleeping Beauty’. And things like Dr. Seuss, Winnie-the-Pooh. The usual.”
Andrew looked at her solemnly. “I don’t know those stories,” he said seriously. “I’ve never read them.”
“What kind of stories would you like?” she asked tactfully, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. It was obvious Andy knew how different he was from other kids. And while most of the time he was very defensive or disdainful about that fact, nights like tonight, he could be painfully vulnerable.
“I read A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking,” he volunteered. “I liked it. And Cosmos by Carl Sagan. I liked Cosmos, too.”
Liz nodded. “I hear those are very good books. Maybe you’d like to read to me instead.”
But instantly, Andy shook his head, the intensely shy look on his face appearing once more. “I want you to read me a story. Winnie-the-Pooh, okay? Read me Winnie-the-Pooh.”
“I don’t have the book here,” Liz said. “But I think I might remember enough to tell you the story.”
Andy nodded, the intense look becoming satisfied. Looking at him, Liz felt herself smile softly. He really was such a great kid, once you got underneath all his defenses. He was definitely a child prodigy, no doubt twenty times smarter than herself. But he was also just a kid, and sometimes, he needed to be a kid as much as the next child. Only, given his genius, it was that much harder to accomplish.
Starting out in her soft Carolina voice, Liz began with her memory of Winnie-the-Pooh and the sticky honey pot. Slowly she wove a gentle spell of Eeyore, Piglet, and Tigger, too, until at long last Andy’s eyes grew heavy with sleep and he drifted off into safe slumber.
She whispered the last of the story, easing off the bed and shutting off the light. Quietly she turned to her own room.
“Sweet dreams,” she whispered, and closed the door.
Alone now in her own room, she put on her nightshirt and robe, trying to collect her thoughts. But as she stared out her window at the deep fall night, certain pictures wouldn’t leave her mind.
Richard, staring at the fire in the library, swirling his brandy glass with long, lean fingers. The scented stationery note with its round, feminine scrawl and cold, threatening words. Richard, peering down at her with concern as she wavered in the hall, reaching out a hand to steady herself. Alycia’s portrait, shredded into hundreds of irretrievable fragments in the dark dusty hallway. Richard, his eyes grim with worry as they went from room to room, searching for Andrew. The right-hand tower, cold and musty with past rage and haunting chills.
Richard, his eyes like blue steel, piercing her with impenetrable control. Richard, his lips like a fiery brand upon her own—
With a small cry, she turned away from the window, pacing the room in her agitation. Oh, she’d wanted to get away from Maddensfield, all right. And she certainly had. Now she was staying in a dark house with a dark man and a troubled child. Not to mention the golden younger brother and a host of his friends she didn’t understand. How had she gotten herself into such a mess?
And where would it all end?
In such a dark, cold place, who did you trust?
“Alycia was murdered.”
“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”
And then all at once, she became aware of another sound. A movement. Down the hall? No, closer. Much closer. Perhaps the other side of the wall. Yes, there it was again. The telltale sound of someone scratching.
The chill returned to her spine, and she felt the first tremor. She repressed it with determination. Someone was on the other side of the wall, the wall opposite Andrew’s room. Who? What was next to her room? She didn’t know.
Determined now, and unwilling to be frightened yet again, she strode determinedly to the doorway, throwing open her door.
Nothing. Just the long, empty expanse of the hall. Puzzled, she went out, turning to her left. There was another doorway just one down from her own. Feeling the slight prickliness of fear, she forced herself toward it. She did not believe in ghosts. The things that happened were caused by someone with a purpose. Well, she had a purpose, too, and that purpose was to help Andrew.
Tightening her robe around her waist, she padded softly to the open doorway of the room next to hers and, reaching in, she abruptly snapped on the light.
It was a small room, a sitting room perhaps. To the left, the wall that joined with her room, there was a long mahogany coffee table with two plush blue chairs sitting at either end of it. An elaborate desk sat against the back wall, but it was obvious that it was more for show than use. Judging from the new decor of the room, Liz guessed it had been redone when the master suite she and Andy occupied had been redone. In fact, it might have been part of the original suite, given that many master bedrooms had once contained sitting rooms. Intrigued, she went over to explore the wall, forgetting her fear as her curiosity kicked in. Sure enough, the left wall was just plain Sheetrock, a far cry from the thick stone structure of the rest of the house. So this room had once been part of her own.
But what would anyone be doing, searching around
here? And who? Mentally, she ran down the list of people currently staying in the house: Blaine, Parris, Greg, Jillian, Mrs. Pram, Dodd, Richard, Andy and herself. Of course, Dodd often left after dinner, so that would leave eight people. She sat down abruptly on one of the blue chairs, trying to approach this rationally, as Richard and Andy might do. If she assumed someone was indeed searching this room because it had been part of the original master bedroom suite, who would know that? She wasn’t sure. Blaine, Richard and Mrs. Pram, definitely. But she didn’t know how well Blaine’s friends knew the house. It sounded as if they popped by a few times a year, but if this occasion was anything to go by, they certainly didn’t spend much time in the house. Still, they’d known Blaine for a long time...
With a small sigh, Liz rubbed her temples. She wasn’t cut out for these kinds of things. But then she dropped her hands with a small glint of stubbornness. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she knew for a fact this house was haunted by unfinished business. Something had happened to Alycia five years ago, and the event was far from over with. Andy was already a morbid child, these kinds of influences were very damaging for him. So she would just have to do something about it.
But then abruptly, she remembered the tiny shredded bits of Alycia’s painting, and felt the small tremors in her spine.
Such violence, such anger. What did a small-town girl from Maddensfield, North Carolina, know of such things? Well, she was about to find out.
She rose to her feet, peering at the wall once more. She couldn’t answer the question of who, but maybe she could figure out what. Bending down, she peered at the bottom of the wall as if it would reveal to her all the mysteries of the universe. Instead, she simply saw white plaster. She frowned, looking closer.
Still nothing. She decided the lighting was her problem, so she moved over to grab a lamp off the desk, dragging it as far over as the cord would permit. Armed now with a brighter light, she examined the wall once more. It took her a few minutes to find it, but it was there. The telltale signs of someone’s scratching at the floorboards. Someone wanted to get under the floorboards. But why?
Then she noticed something else, as well. The hardwood flooring next to the wall was darker. Using the lamp for better light, she could make out the faint outline of where a piece of furniture must have sat on the floor, protecting it from fading like the rest of the boards. But the outline wasn’t complete, running under the wall.
Without any hesitation, she replaced the lamp and ran to her own room, estimating where the desk was on the other side in relation to her half of the wall. Then she closed the door behind her, not questioning the instinct, but turning once more to her wall. The pine armoire stood in her way, but she pushed it aside with a great effort. Bending down, she was rewarded for her exertions. There on the floor was the other half of the outline. She didn’t stop to think anymore, instead she rummaged around her room for a suitable tool. She finally settled on a metal file and a wire hanger. With another light perched next to her for guidance, she attacked her half of the floor.
In the end, she discovered the tools weren’t necessary. It was only a matter of hitting the right board in the right place. Upon doing so, a floorboard popped straight up, revealing the gaping black hole of a small hiding place. She paused for a moment, feeling a small shiver as the import of her discovery hit her. Something was hidden here, something someone was looking for. But what? Suddenly she remembered Blaine’s comment about Alycia’s diary.
With shaking hands, she reached inside the darkness. Carefully, her fingers felt out the cubbyhole. First the left-hand upper corner, then the lower corner. Her hand moved slowly to the right, stumbling upon its find: the soft, square shape of something solid. Holding her breath, she drew the object out.
It was a book, a small leather-bound book covered by disintegrating dust. Lightly, feeling the frailty of her find, she blew on the cover. One, faintly gold-gilded word appeared: Diary.
She’d found Alycia’s diary!
She paused, almost afraid of what she might find between the soft leather covers.
How many people had looked for this over the years? Richard, the police, maybe. Blaine. And yet she’d found it almost by accident. She frowned, suddenly unsure. She didn’t like to believe in things like fate or luck.
But then, the secret compartment had been in the heart of the outlined piece of furniture. Perhaps people had searched what she assumed had been a desk, and maybe the floor around the desk, without moving the desk itself. When Richard had the renovations done, just recently, that had finally carried the furniture away.
And someone else must have realized the new opportunities, she thought suddenly with widening eyes. Someone who had come back to continue searching for the book....
She looked at the leather volume once more, and saw it tremble in her hands. She opened it to a front section and began to read.
August 18
Blaine Keaton asked me to marry him today. Of course I said no. Everyone knows the real money belongs to Richard. I have given it a great deal of thought and Richard it will be. Richard controls the bulk of the estate, and he’s so caught up in his work he won’t interfere with me at all.
Then the matter of Blaine... Perhaps I shall sleep with Blaine. He is a beautiful man, quite unlike Richard. I shall have the money, and the brother. What fools men are.
January 8
Today was my wedding day. I wore white, of course, a beautiful Christian Dior gown that cost 10,499. Mama told me I looked like a princess in my dress. Of course I looked like a princess, I have always looked like a princess.
Blaine attended the wedding. He’d said he wouldn’t because he didn’t think he could bear the sight of me marrying his brother. I told him to stop such nonsense, of course he must attend. So he did, kissing me on the cheek all prim and proper like a perfect brother-in-law. Do men know nothing at all?
Richard said nothing, of course. He doesn’t like Blaine. I wonder if he knows Blaine asked me to marry him. It’s so hard to tell what goes on under those eyes of his. I will have to be more careful of that. At least in the beginning.
Tonight’s my wedding night. I wonder... Richard is such a large man, and so dark-looking. Not my type at all, really, but I suppose I can make do. Men may have muscle, but they’re also fools. He looks at me with such affection, thinking we’re so close when he knows nothing about me at all.
I like it that way. Odd, how easy it is to hide ourselves. There are times, I don’t think any of them know me at all. Not Blaine, or Parris, or Greg.
If you bury something deep enough, ignore it long enough, do you suppose after a while, it never happened at all?
Liz flipped more pages, skimming the large flowing handwriting as she was drawn into this dark, teaming world. So Blaine had tried to marry Alycia. He must never have told anyone. At least, he’d refused to admit it to her when she’d asked. Was he trying to protect his brother’s feelings? Or himself?
She turned to the middle of the diary.
November 10
My back hurts all the time and I’m only six months pregnant. Mama keeps telling me it’s the burden women must bear. To hell with the burdens women must bear. I’m bloated and fat and miserable. This wasn’t part of the plan and it’s all Richard’s fault.
He tries to take care of me, offering to rub my back, giving me his arm. As if that helps at all. At least now I don’t have to put up with his attentions anymore. Last week when he reached for me, I told him it hurt to have sex. He looked at me with his blue eyes, of course, those damn all-knowing eyes. But he didn’t admit that he knew the truth. He simply said that if it would make me comfortable, he would sleep in another room. I was sure to look disappointed, but I certainly agreed. There’s no point to angering him now, when I’m as big as a boat and no one would want me.
Oh, why didn’t I see this coming? I should have just gone to the doctor again. I swear I should have!s
March 15
I hate this dreadful
house. I used to think it was impressive, my own castle for entertaining. But now I know better.
The stone walls press in on you until you can barely breathe. I haven’t been out in seven months, and now that the baby’s born, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. Richard loves the brat, always holding him, rocking him, changing him. He gave me a string of pink pearls as a gift for bearing his child. They’re a beautiful strand, but even for them, I don’t think I’d go through that experience again.
Richard has his heir. That will be enough. I have my figure back, and I have things to do.
I wonder what Blaine is up to these days...
April 20
We had another fight today. Not just a typical fight, but a big one. Richard had the audacity to tell me I should spend more time with Andrew. Really, who does he think I am? He wanted a child, I gave him a child. It was a fair exchange. He got his heir, now I want my freedom.
I don’t understand him. I can wear my prettiest dress, brush out my hair until it glistens like gold, and still he looks at me with those penetrating eyes. Last night I made the effort. I went to the damn library and sat and simpered while he talked of work. I asked all the right silly questions about his silly little inventions, and I looked at him with my big blue eyes. I told Mama I didn’t squander all my time at that finishing school—a woman has few enough weapons not to hone them all she can.
For a while, Richard even relaxed. But then I simply mentioned there was a party tonight that of course I was going to and instantly, his eyes turned that chilly, chilly blue.
I don’t like it when he looks at me like that. As if he knows exactly what I’m doing. And his face turns grim while his jaw tightens and his fists clench. Sometimes, I am afraid of him....
This state of affairs simply can’t continue.
I know, I will tell Blaine that Richard scares me. Blaine will vow to protect me. His eyes aren’t nearly so cold. And neither are they so all-knowing.
April 15