Remains

by Cull, Andrew;

  “Green.”

  Matt couldn’t help but tease her. “Really? You hate green.”

  “I guess I wasn’t thinking very straight when I took it.”

  “Can you paint it?”

  “I don’t know. I might not stay there long. How about you?”

  “It’s not green.”

  “That’s nice for you.”

  For the first time in months a small smile crossed her lips.

  Matt had missed that smile.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you”

  Lucy looked out of the window, up to the black panes of 1428 Mont­gomery. She felt its gaze fixed on her. It was like a third voice, constantly whispering in the background of their conversation.

  “Don’t be.” She turned her back on the house. “The other night, did you come here looking for me?”

  Matt thought about lying to her. “No.” He knew she’d see right through him, so he told her the truth, or at least a version of it. “I…er… After you went into the hospital I found myself coming here. Once, twice a week, when I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know why.”

  Now he was looking past her up to the house. “It makes me sick. I want to smash all its windows. I want to tear it apart, to crush it, grind it into the dirt! I think about it every day. One night I came with a gas can in the trunk. I was going to throw it through a window, light the place on fire, burn it to the ground…but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.”

  Lucy put a hand on Matt’s arm.

  “And still I keep coming back here. I keep finding myself here.” His anger had gone. All that was left was a lonely father who’d lost everything.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Lucy said gently.

  “Neither should you.”

  They drank the rest of their coffee in silence. In truth they had plenty to talk about—six months of moments when they’d looked to see the other and found only emptiness waiting for them, but the black house had stolen in between them and stifled any further attempts at conversation.

  When Lucy had admitted herself to Doctor Bachman’s care, Matt had tried to forget her. He’d convinced himself that removing her from his life was the only way he would ever be able to carry on. Not long after she’d gone, the nightmares had started. Then he’d started visiting the house.

  Matt finished his coffee. “Will you go home if I do?”

  Lucy nodded

  “Can we meet somewhere else next time?”

  Lucy didn’t answer.

  “I still make a mean chilli.” He’d been wrong. He knew that the moment he saw her again. He’d abandoned her when she’d needed him the most. “How about Friday?”

  Lucy wrapped her hands around her empty coffee cup, warming them on its dying heat. After a time she looked up. “Okay.”

  Matt smiled. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

  “Okay.”

  Cold air swirled into the Camaro as Lucy opened the passenger door and climbed out. She turned and leaned back in, “Go home and get some sleep.”

  “You too.”

  Lucy closed the door gently and headed back to her car. Climbing in, she didn’t notice that the copy of The BFG she’d thrown onto the passenger seat was no longer where it had landed.

  Ahead, Matt’s Camaro started up. He flashed his lights and pulled away from the curb. Lucy followed him.

  It had begun to rain, freezing water drumming on the hood of Lucy’s car. The sound had always soothed her. She closed her eyes for a moment, her exhaustion overtaking her. The sound of the rain grew louder, the drumming harder, her wipers arced through the water streaming over her windscreen. Lucy followed Matt for another block.

  The lights changed as Matt hit the junction ahead. He made it but Lucy waited, watching Matt’s car disappear into the distance. Once he’d gone, she flicked on her indicator. When the light turned green she took a right. She drove two blocks and turned right again. Another block and then right once more.

  It was waiting for her.

  Welcome back.

  Rising up over the brow of the hill, 1428 Montgomery had known she’d return. She’d simply driven around the block so Matt would think she’d gone home. She had no intention of leaving. Not yet. Not tonight.

  14

  The rain didn’t last. Its soothing beat faded and was gone. The whispering of the house took its place. It was always there, under everything else, like a sound you only notice late at night when everything is turned off, when the world is still and dark. Like the sound of electricity, buzzing in overhead lines. Lucy sometimes wondered if she was the only one who heard it. Was it in her head? She felt it in her ears like a change in pressure, gently muffling the world around her, always returning her thoughts back to its dark heart.

  Lucy pulled her jacket closed. She’d felt a chill at her back ever since she’d gotten into the car. “It’s so cold tonight.” Suddenly she was sure something was wrong. Her eyes flicked up to her rear-view mirror.

  She scanned the back seat from one side to the other. Nothing. What did she expect to see anyway? She flicked on the interior light. That didn’t help to shake her unease.

  Where was that copy of The BFG? She’d thrown it on the passenger seat but now it was nowhere to be seen. She leaned over and checked the footwell in case it had slid into there. Nothing.

  “I…er…bought something for you.” Lucy flipped open the glove box. Had she put it in there?

  “That’s strange... I’m sure I’ll find it. Your copy of The BFG was in a box I was unpacking and I thought you might like to read it with me again.”

  Lucy folded up the collar on her coat, wrapping it around her neck. Still the cold pressed at her back, urging her to check the rear-view once more. Instead, she looked up to the house.

  Without the book she had nothing to distract her thoughts. Soon she was back where the whispering always led her.

  “That night...I didn’t worry at first. I gave you an extra half an hour. I just thought you’d gotten carried away playing and had lost track of the time. You were always so good. It was kind of a reward.”

  The house listened to its grotesque bedtime story.

  “I know I should’ve called Sam’s mom straight away. But I didn’t think anything was wrong. It’s only a block between our houses—such a good, safe, neighborhood. Everyone said so. I’m so sorry, Alex! I should have come to get you. I should have been there!”

  The car seemed to grow colder with every word Lucy spoke.

  “I wanted to help with the search. I wanted to do something! To look for you, to find you!”

  Lucy clenched her hand into a fist, she dug her nails into her palm—part control, part punishment. “I had no idea what he was doing! If I could have been there, I would!”

  Just as she did on that terrible night, Lucy looked out into the darkness.

  “I waited by the window. Watching, waiting for you. I wanted to be the first person you saw when the police brought you home. I wanted to be there to say, ‘It’s okay...you’re safe, I love you, you’re home now.’ I waited there all night.”

  Lucy remembered every terrible second. She’d made herself remember, scored it into her memory. She’d done that to torture herself for not doing more.

  “I couldn’t pick up the phone when it rang.”

  Lucy’s grief stole her words. She wiped the tears from her face and forced herself to go on.

  “When the police did come, you weren’t in the car. I couldn’t tell you that it was okay, that you were safe…that I love you. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move, because, if I did, that would be it—that would be giving up, that would be letting go.”

  She’d stayed at the window while Matt told her what had happened. He’d tried to move her but she’d roughly shaken him off, pushed him away. She couldn’t stop looking out. She mustn’t
stop looking out!

  “I’m still looking out now. I’m still waiting, Alex. Haven’t I waited long enough? Haven’t I?”

  Something moved! Just for a moment, in one of the upstairs windows. Something grey, pale­—a figure?

  “Alex?”

  Lucy flung the car door open and ran for the house. Was someone there? Alex? Had he heard her? Swallowed into 1428 Montgomery’s huge shadow, she raced across the overgrown lawn. Tangled grass snatched at her ankles, tried to trip her; all the time, Lucy’s eyes were fixed on the upstairs window.

  She hit the porch and ran to the front door. She pressed herself against it, looking for a way to open it, to get inside. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to force it. Instead, she beat on the door, her hammering loud as a scream inside the still house.

  “Alex!”

  Lucy spotted the mail slot. She knelt down and pushed the metal flap open. She looked into the dark hallway, just as a terrified Jacob had only a few hours before. And, just as Jacob did, she stretched out her fingers and reached inside.

  15

  Her fingers became her hand, her hand her wrist. Lucy reached deeper through the slot. The sleeve of her coat bunched against the outside of the door, too thick to pass through the gap. On the other side her bare arm stretched into the dark.

  It was like reaching into a freezer. With each inch Lucy reached, her arm grew colder, and with each inch the slot gripped her tighter. By the time she’d reached far enough in that she could twist her arm and try for the lock, the rough wood inside the slot was pinching into her skin. Lucy bent her arm, grinding her elbow against the wood, scuffing the skin off the bone. The pain didn’t stop her, she just pushed further.

  She strained for the lock, her hand feeling a blind path across the back of the door. Her elbow scraped back and forth as she fumbled for the latch. Her blood mixing with Jacob’s on the inside of the slot—more offer­ings to the black house.

  She couldn’t reach any further. Her fingers strained, scratching against the wood, but she couldn’t find the lock. Damn it! She slammed her hand against the inside of the door. She listened to the sound echoing away, her angry clap freed into the darkness of the house. Soon it was swallowed and gone. Still she was locked outside.

  With a painful yank, she dislodged her arm from the slot. Her fingers were numb. She massaged them, trying to get the blood flowing again.

  “Alex?” Lucy called quietly at the door. “Alex?” She placed a hand against the freezing wood as gently as if she were reaching out to touch the face of the son she thought she’d lost forever.

  “Alex.” Another emotion crept into Lucy’s voice—relief. Could that really have been Alex in the upstairs window? Had he answered her, finally, after all this time?

  Lucy closed her eyes. And smiled.

  16

  Lucy’s answering machine had gone. Had she taken Doctor Bachman’s advice?

  The books, the few ornaments she’d unpacked, the few signs that anyone lived in her apartment, had also gone. Back into their boxes, their lids folded down, not sealed.

  The child’s size case weaved through the pedestrians, its worn leather basking in the afternoon sun.

  A stop, the sound of a car door being opened, and Lucy loaded the case gently onto the passenger seat. The engine started and she was off.

  Late afternoon San Francisco drew across the case, Lucy’s journey reflected in the matte leather. Glass and steel reaching for the sky on California, the changing light of a winter afternoon­—white to evening gold—flashing in the windows high above.

  Eventually the glass gave way to sky. Lucy had broken free of the congested financial district, the sun was stronger, the air clearer, the breath of the sea rushing in from the bay. Lucy picked up speed.

  Silhouetted street lamps, one, two, three, raced across the case, Lucy was on the approach to the bridge. Suspension cables took their place cutting through the sky, faster now, flickering like the reflection of a zoetrope.

  As Lucy drove, the sun sank lower. It didn’t want to be late for its date with the bay, her father used to tell her. When she was a child, they’d lived on the edge of the ocean. Night after night she’d watched the sun sink into the bay. She was six when she asked her father about it. He’d told her that at the end of each day the sun swapped places with the moon, descending to a giant ballroom beneath the sea where it would dance the night away beneath a light show of stars. The moon was much more serious than the sun. Serious but diligent—he’d explained what that meant— and all night long, while the sun danced beneath the sea, the moon would stand guard, watching over the children of the world, keeping them safe until a lazy, happy sun would drift once more into the sky at the start of a new day.

  Twenty minutes after they left the bridge, the case arrived at its destination.

  Lucy switched off the engine and got out of the car. While she headed around to the trunk. a street lamp blinked on, flickering on the leather of the small case. The trunk was opened and a few moments later slammed shut, then Lucy was at the passenger door. She carefully lifted the case out of the car and, holding it by her side, headed up the path.

  It had grown too dark for the case to reflect the world. The crisp afternoon reflections were now muddy and indistinct. A pair of heavy feet in tan brogues shuffled down the path to meet Lucy and her case.

  “Hi! Hi! How are you? Great to meet you!”

  The man vigorously shook Lucy’s hand.

  “Well, I’ve got your keys for you. I just need you to sign these last few documents for me. It’s a beautiful house, isn’t it? Do you have kids? You have kids? No? Oh well, when the time is right, huh? I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful family home!”

  The brogues led Lucy and the small case toward the front porch of the house.

  “So, you did most of the paperwork with Kelly at the office, that’s great! Now, if I can get you to just sign here...and here for me.”

  Lucy put the case gently down onto the path. The brogues tapped on the ground while Lucy signed.

  “And...that...is...it! We’re all done! Con-grat-u-lations on your new home! Here are your keys and here’s my card. If you need anything—anything at all—just pick up the phone!”

  Before he’d even finished his sentence, the estate agent was at his car. He shouted back, “Don’t forget, lots of kids! Lots of kids! You’ll be very happy! Thanks again! Bye now, bye!”

  The ground was wet, a layer of evening dew gathering in the overgrown grass that reached across the path where Lucy had placed the case. In time it would completely overrun the path to 1428 Montgomery.

  As the winter sun sank into the bay, Lucy picked up the case and, key in hand, stepped up onto the porch of her new house.

  Two days ago, Lucy had beaten on the door that she now stood in front of. Two days ago, she’d made up her mind to find a way to get inside 1428 Montgomery. She could hear from the estate agent’s voice (Lawry, not Larry) that he couldn’t believe his luck when she’d rung. And she could hear that he’d practically fallen off his chair when she’d offered him a figure above the asking price. Her only requirement? That she be in the house as soon as possible. To give Lawry, not Larry, his due, he’d turned the whole thing around in thirty-six hours. Everyone wanted rid of the house but Lucy.

  Lucy placed a hand against the door.

  Are you in there? Are you here?

  Lucy slid the key into the lock.

  PART TWO

  HOPE IS A CORPSE

  Hope is a corpse.

  A dead thing, watching you suffer with black empty eyes.

  Any comfort it might have offered, long since gone to the grave.

  1

  The smell hit her first, damp and metallic. It pulled itself around the door, growing stronger with every inch Lucy pushed the door open. It filled the hallway. She
put a hand up to her face, covering her nose and mouth, as she pressed the door deeper. She realized she wasn’t pushing any more, momentum had taken over and the door was moving on its own, a black mouth opening to speak after nine months of silence.

  Turn, turn and run! The thought flashed through her mind.

  This is insanity!

  Lucy hesitated on the porch. What had she done? She turned away, choking on the foul smell that poured from the house. Nine months ago, Alex had been dragged into this place by a monster, and now she was following him.

  Nine months ago, Lucy’s life had ended. Nine months ago, she’d begun the terrible journey that would lead her to this point. In the darkness, between the words in the articles she hoarded, the whispering had begun. She’d found herself visiting the house every night. She wanted to be with the dead, not the living anymore.

  Could Alex really have been calling to her all that time? How could it have taken her so long to hear him?

  What had she done? Lucy answered her own question. She’d done what any mother would have done. She took one last breath of dusk air, steeling herself. She stepped over the threshold and the house swallowed her whole.

  The sun had not yet fully set outside, but already the hallway was choked with shadows, as if even daylight itself chose not to venture far into the house. Corridors disappeared from the entrance hall, black after the first few feet.

  Lucy knew the layout of the house. She’d learned it from the articles she’d read. She knew that through the door to her left was the lounge, to her right a study. Squinting, she could make out the outline of the staircase ahead. She knew what lay up those stairs, what waited for her on the second floor, and it filled her with panic.

  She was shaking, the trembling rising through her in waves, each one stronger than the last. The stench grew with every step she took forward. It slithered between her chattering teeth, it filled her mouth, caught in the back of her throat. She spun away from the staircase and rushed for the living room door.