No. He’d said he would edit me out. He loved me. We were family. He wouldn’t use me.
“I understand. Tell me if you have any other visions. Okay?”
The smaller than small chance that he was using me for his show kept me silent.
Eric shifted his weight from side to side. “Well, okay, have a good night. If you need anything, we’ll be downstairs.”
I forced a smile. “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be asleep in minutes.” I wasn’t sure if I would ever sleep again.
Eric left Chauncey and me alone. Could Marisol be right? I couldn’t be a medium. I couldn’t even wrap my head around the idea. Images of Nana telling stories about weird things when I was a kid slipped into my thoughts. Everyone, even her doctors, had said she was schizophrenic. They’d doped her up, and Nana claimed the voices and visions stopped. Had she been a medium and not crazy? Had she lied to make the doctors happy? I wished I could talk to her.
I hadn’t thought to ask her about her illness. I hadn’t considered it might not be what she and Mom told me. I hadn’t thought our time together would be so short. If I had, I might have been more caring, more attentive, more everything.
“So, Chauncey, what do you think? Am I crazy or special?” I tugged the corner of the dust-filled comforter, pulling it to the hardwood floor. I spread my sleeping bag on top of the rough sheet that smelled old. “I should have brought some perfume or something. Gah, it smells.”
Chauncey tilted his head, jumped up, and curled next to me. I took out a small pillow from my suitcase, plugged my phone into the portable battery charger, then tapped on a show I had downloaded months ago.
I tried to watch a somewhat funny comedy, but the day’s events kept replaying.
Medium.
The word wrapped around my brain, my heart, my soul.
And squeezed.
10
I woke with a jerk and sat up. My chest burned like it was on fire. I rubbed the spot. My shirt scratched my skin, making the burning worse. Chauncey stretched a paw onto my thigh. Darkness blanketed the window, and the smell of roses filled the room. A light breeze blew across my face. The scent disappeared. “Chauncey, do your farts smell like roses?” He rolled over.
I checked my phone: 5:55 a.m. Way too early. It took about fifteen minutes before thoughts of being a medium stole my sleep. Perfect. It was spring break, and I was up before the sun. So not natural or right.
I stumbled into the bathroom and spotted three long scratches above my breasts. Chauncey must’ve scratched me, which would explain the burning.
A quick wash in the blue-tiled shower with yellowed grout and only a trickle of water left me more cranky than refreshed. Dressed, I slipped my all-but-useless phone in my pocket and left the room, Chauncey at my heels.
The castle seemed just as eerie in the pre-morning hour as it had last night. The moon still shined bright enough for me to navigate to the kitchen. I opened the back door. Chauncey darted out, did his thing, and was back in a flash. I ate a granola bar while I rifled through the still-packed-in-boxes groceries. Finally I found the coffee. It was Eric’s fully-loaded dark roast. Ugh. But caffeine was a must. I brewed it in the coffee pot one of the guys brought, and when I tasted the bitter liquid, I almost choked. Thoughts of a double-mocha latte couldn’t mask the taste.
No Starbucks. No cell service. No texting. No internet. How had people lived like this? It sucked.
The sun came up, and its warm glow brightened the entire room, lightening the mood of the castle. Chauncey found a sunbeam and stretched out on his back, legs in the air.
I scanned the trees outside. I needed something to distract me from the fear of my supposed abilities. I hadn’t fully processed the information Eric had confided about Nana and what it meant about me. I wasn’t crazy, wasn’t nuts, but I was still a freak.
I wanted to go home, but that wasn’t an option. Besides, I wasn’t ready to face Mom yet. Itchy to draw, I tapped my fingers on my sketchbook, my only release for the tension and anxiety.
“Come on, get your lazy butt up. We’re going outside.” I opened the back door. The dog lifted his head and bounded out into the sunlight. Outside would be safe. Even if I did have the gift of communicating with the dead, I hadn’t seen a ghost yet. And I had my ferocious guard dog, Chauncey.
I shut the door. The brisk morning air cut through my hoodie. I really needed to ask Eric if he had an extra coat. My steps echoed off the concrete patio that stretched the length of the castle. Expensive-looking metal furniture and potted greenery filled the space. Chauncey leapt into the grass, sniffed, and followed some scent.
I replayed everything that happened yesterday and tried to find meaning in the absurdity by the pool. The castle was built on an island—in the middle of the water—and I’d been in the basement. The footprints probably hadn’t been footprints. Maybe they were splotches of water that had seeped up through the cement floor. I rolled the idea around. The more I chewed on it, the more I convinced myself I’d come up with a real-world explanation.
I walked down the stone path, and when it split in three directions, I turned to the left. I went through a massive garden that had a surprising number of flowers in bloom, despite the cold and time of year. Large yellow flowers drooped at the ends of long vines, and delicate white petals poked out from bushes. Life-sized statues decorated unexpected alcoves.
“Chauncey, do you think Kyle will be working today?” I kept walking. A little farther along, a monster-sized hedge blocked the view of the water. It must be the maze Daniel mentioned; the side looked like the one painted on the castle’s rock hallways.
Chauncey ran to the entrance and dropped his nose to the ground. Kyle or his dad had obviously spent hours trimming the nine-foot-tall hedges to a precise evenness.
I glanced at Chauncey, who was padding deeper into the maze. “Hey, no. Don’t go in there.”
The dog looked up.
“What are you sniffing?” Even if Kyle was in there, we’d never find him, and I’d definitely get lost. “Come here. You’re probably smelling a chipmunk.”
Chauncey gave the hedges a few more whiffs before trotting over to me. Thank goodness. After the basement adventure, I didn’t have the guts to chase him through the maze.
The path took us to a hill on the edge of the island, overlooking the water. I spotted a tanker-type boat in the distance. Nature’s colors popped, making me wish again I’d brought colored pencils. The blue of the water, the green of the trees, the yellowish-orange of the sun, but no red of Kyle’s coat. I breathed it all in, wanting to capture it on the page.
Chauncey and I followed the stone trail that weaved along the edge of the drop-off to the other side of the island, to the docks and boathouse. I glanced up at the castle. The view from here made the place look picturesque, not menacing.
I sat on a bench and shifted to keep my butt from freezing to the stone. I flipped open my sketchbook to a clean page and started with Kyle’s wavy hair, added his dark penetrating eyes, shaded the line of his nose, filled in his rounded lips. I ran my finger across the bottom lip. I completed the portrait and his hotness stared back from the page. He seemed alive and right next to me.
A gust of wind flipped the pages. I jumped up and checked the blue sky. Leaves blew across the grass, down the hill, and into the water. The wind howled and circled my legs. Chauncey barked. His neck fur stood straight up. My hair snapped back and forth. I tucked the sketchbook under my arm and pushed forward.
The wind’s intensity increased and knocked me back a step. I hit the corner of the bench, and pain slashed through my calf. I stumbled, lost my footing, slid down the grassy hill, and dropped my sketchbook. I was rolling straight toward the water.
Chauncey barked. I had to stop. I groped for something—anything—to keep me from the icy water. I dug the heels of my boots into the mushy ground and clutched blades of grass that ripped and stuck to my fingers. Inches from the water, I suddenly stopped, and so did the wind.
/> “Thank God.” I forced myself to breathe evenly. I’d stumbled. Nothing weird about being clumsy.
I crawled up the hill on hands and knees. At the top, I reached for the sketchbook. The pages flipped and flipped, then suddenly stilled. Amelia’s smudged and shadowed eyes stared at me. A rope of frostiness slithered across my skin. I plucked the book from the wet grass and slammed it shut. Tingles tweaked my nerves. Chauncey came over, sniffed the sketchbook, then ran to the castle.
“Okay, Chauncey. Don’t wait up.”
“Sam, are you all right?” Kyle jogged over from the side of the boathouse.
Perfect. He’d seen my dumbass fall.
“Yeah, I’m good. I slipped.” And my jeans were probably covered in mud. My hands were. I hid the sketchbook behind my back. If he asked to see my drawings, he would see himself, and that would be beyond humiliating.
“The grass around here can get real slick. I’ve fallen before. It’s best to stay away from the edges.” He smiled the same smile I had sketched minutes earlier.
“Do you come here every day?”
He shrugged. “It depends on how my dad’s back is. I’ll probably be here tomorrow.”
“Maybe we could … do something.” There. I’d said it, made the first move. My stomach burned like I’d swallowed a nest of angry wasps. “Maybe. Text me.”
“I would, but the service sucks here. I’ve never gotten a signal.”
He hadn’t said no.
“Right, I noticed that.” Now what? I stunk at sounding suave and cool. I never should have said anything. He didn’t like me.
“I should be getting back to work.” Kyle stuffed his hands in his pockets and shifted his feet.
“Sure. Maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow then.” Lame. I could do better than that pitiful response.
“Great. We could take a walk around the island together or something.” Kyle winked, then dashed back to the boathouse.
That was almost a date. I hadn’t been a fool. He liked me. Me. I spun around. The wind picked up and ruffled my hair. I ran back to the castle without a backward glance.
Chauncey waited on the patio. I gave him a quick ear scratch, opened the door, and we entered the hushed and sleeping castle. Chauncey’s nails on the marble floors created the only sound. The almost permanent chill in my bones had thawed a tad. I washed my hands, then we went into the command center, where the monitors created a mosaic of the empty rooms.
“Guess nothing exciting happened last night if they’re all still sleeping. So, boy, what now?” Besides stop worrying about the wind and start dreaming about Kyle taking me to prom. Because prom was a dream. There was no way I’d get asked after this show aired and everyone witnessed my dorkiness.
“Let’s go to the library. Maybe there’s a book on the area or the castle.”
Chauncey found a chair to snuggle up in while I scanned the library’s full shelves. Leather-bound editions of everything from Homer to Shakespeare to engineering manuals filled the dark wood bookcases. Nothing on the Thousand Islands. I sat in the oversized chair behind the polished black desk and spun around a few times. The squeaking of the chair grated, making my teeth hurt. I opened the drawers. They contained nothing of interest. The room was boring with a capital B. Even the smooth onyx fireplace had zero pizzazz. It was a polar opposite of the ornate demon-carved one in the master bedroom.
Chauncey perked up and stared at the ceiling like he was tracking something. I spotted nothing in the crown molding and smooth white ceiling.
He stood in the chair and growled.
“What, boy?”
A thud, like the sound of a door slamming, echoed through the small room.
“What the—”
I sprang out of the chair, tipping it over. I raced around the desk and tried to wrap my arms around Chauncey. To protect him or for him to protect me, I wasn’t sure. He squirmed out of my grasp and darted around another chair.
“Chauncey, come here.”
He crouched low and growled.
Chills coiled through me, telling me to run, but I forced myself forward to where Chauncey stood guard over something. “What is it, boy?”
The dog moved, and I spotted a black, leather-bound book with a blank cover.
“Did that just fall?” I scanned the shelves until I found an empty slot at the top. I twisted my hands together and paced tight circles around the offending book. It fell. There was a logical explanation for why it happened. “Should I pick it up?”
Chauncey stared at me.
“Maybe we should get Eric.” I walked to the door and stopped. Getting Eric meant he would wake everyone, and the cameras would roll. If it was nothing, I would look stupid.
“First, the whack-job got freaked out in the pool area. Then she lost it when Marisol said she could see the dead. And she did it again in the library.” That’s what the people watching the show would say. That’s what everyone at school would say. I couldn’t even guess what my mom would say.
I needed to stop over-thinking everything. It had nothing to do with what Marisol had said. It was just a book. A leather-bound bunch of papers. Paper cuts aside, it couldn’t hurt me. I swiped the book from the floor before I could change my mind and opened it to a random spot.
Ornate handwritten print filled the yellowed page.
May 13, 1899
Today I called upon the mayor and repeated my request of the previous month to acquire the limestone from the north and west face of Winston Insane Asylum. As I expected, his feelings have changed since the incident with his niece last week. He agreed to have the facility dismantled and the material shipped to my island no later than July 1st. While my desire would be to have the entire foundation made from the stones of Houska Castle, I am confident the spirit of this new limestone will fit in well with what I have already acquired. I intend for the foundation to be added to the existing prison tunnels, and to be completed by the fall harvest.
The little hairs on my neck poked up. I stopped reading. This had to be Stephen Novak’s personal journal. The diary of a madman.
11
I held a written account of Stephen Novak’s thoughts. Nausea and excitement twisted my stomach. Reading it would make the week go faster, would help me forget what Marisol had said. But reading the words of a murderer …
I tucked the journal and my sketchbook under one arm. “Let’s go, Chauncey. We need to get this to Eric.”
The book had fallen. I couldn’t worry about how it had happened. I refused to eff up the find with my stupid head games. I entered the second-floor hallway and stopped. Eric’s room was either four or five doors away from mine. Which was it? What if I accidently picked Brett’s room, and he was sleeping naked or doing God knows what? I forced the icky thought from my mind and went back to the kitchen for another cup of nasty coffee.
Eric leaned against the counter, staring at the percolating pot. His normally rocker-spiked hair stood out at crazy angles, and he wore a ripped white T-shirt with blue plaid pajama pants. He looked so normal, I almost laughed at his un-TV-ready appearance.
“Morning.”
“’Sup.” Eric continued his vigil of the coffeemaker. “Did you make that last pot of crap?”
“Yeah, sorry it sucked.”
“I tossed it. Were you trying to kill me?”
“Don’t be a smartass.” I set the journal on the counter. Eric didn’t even glance at it. “Did you guys see anything last night?”
He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick out even farther. “Coffee. Need coffee. Good coffee.”
I took two mugs from the cupboard and plopped them on the counter next to the pot just as it hissed its final sound.
Eric poured the coffee and took a long drink. “Ah. Nectar of the gods. Now what did you say?”
I inhaled the steam wafting from the mug, then took a sip. The intense heat scorched my throat. His coffee tasted better than mine. Had I used too much coffee or not enough? I never messed up the K-Cup machin
e at home. “Did you get any evidence last night?”
“No.” He took another long swallow. “Marisol said she saw a lady in the dining room, but we didn’t get anything visually. I’m going to review the EVP sessions with Daniel later.”
I nodded.
“How are you feeling today? Are you okay with what we talked about?”
I really didn’t want to think about ghosts. And I absolutely didn’t want to worry about communicating with them. “I’m good. I had an interesting morning.”
“Oh?” He finished off his first cup and refilled.
“Guess what I found in the library.” When Eric shrugged, I picked up the journal and gave it a wave. “A book.”
Eric yawned and knuckle-rubbed the corner of his eye. “That must’ve been hard.”
“Shush. I didn’t find it. It sorta found me.”
Eric covered another yawn with the hand not holding the coffee. “And that means what exactly?”
“It fell off the top shelf. All by itself.”
Eric slammed the coffee down and half of the black liquid splashed out, covering the countertop. “Are you serious? It fell off without a reason? Hopefully the cameras caught that.”
I shook my head. In that split second, he’d become wide awake and animated. “Yes. But that’s not the coolest thing.”
“Then what is, señorita?”
“I think it’s Stephen Novak’s handwritten journal.”
“Lemme see it.” He lunged and snatched the book from my grasp. He thumbed through it, stopping and reading a page here and there. “This is full of cool stuff. Names. Dates. Holy balls. I’m not sure what they all mean, but this is incredible. I wonder who knocked it off the shelf for you to find?”
“What are you talking about? Chauncey and I were alone.”
“The obvious cause is a spirit. Come on, you’re the granddaughter of a medium. You heard Marisol. Yous haz the skillz.”
I forced a smile at his pitiful attempt at humor.
“I mean, even if somehow a book was to fall due to natural causes, what are the chances it would be this one? I looked at the titles in the library. I bet this is the only book in there that isn’t boring as hell. I have to tell the others.” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “This is awesome. Great job.” He ran from the kitchen, the book clutched in his hands.
The Shattered Seam (Seam Stalkers Book 1) Page 7