Unearthly Things

by Michelle Gagnon

  He blinked. “What? But you said—”

  “I know what I said.” My hand was wrapped around the doorknob; it felt cool against my skin. Just walk away. Let them clean up their own mess for a change. “It just doesn’t feel right. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? You’re sorry?” He sounded disbelieving. “Janie, listen to reason. Can’t you see I’m just trying to help you?”

  I had to fight the urge to laugh. Since my arrival I’d been terrorized, insulted, nearly burned alive, and committed to a psych ward. Richard certainly had a funny definition of “help.” “Yeah, right. Like you helped Eliza?”

  He reared back. “What?”

  The look on his face should have stopped me, but I was too angry to back down. Instead, I spat, “It’s your fault she’s dead. You knew what Marion was like, and you brought her into this house anyway.”

  “I loved Eliza,” he said in a strained voice. “She was my daughter.”

  “If you loved her, you should have protected her.”

  “I tried!” he snarled, lunging toward me. I recoiled, pressing back against the door. Richard drew up short a foot away; I could see him fighting to regain control. Heavily, he repeated, “I tried. What happened to Eliza was an unfortunate accident.”

  “It was no accident,” I hissed. “Marion murdered her.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

  I shook my head; telling him about the dream would be a mistake. There was no way I’d give him ammunition to commit me again. Turning the knob, I said, “Tell John I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  “Stop!” With a look of panic, he grabbed my arm.

  I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. “Let me go, Richard. Right now.”

  “You don’t understand.” His eyes were wild, the vein in his temple pulsed. “I can’t be the Rochester who loses the house. Do you have any idea what people would say?”

  “I don’t care,” I snapped. “You made bad decisions, and now you’re going to have to pay for them.”

  He choked out a laugh. “Pay for them? Like you’d know anything about that. Why do you even care? It’s not like you earned that money.”

  “Neither did you!” I retorted. “You blew through everything you inherited, and from what I hear, that was a hell of a lot. So deal with it.”

  I fumbled for the knob. As I pulled the door open, he slapped a palm against it, slamming it closed again. I let out a small yelp of surprise.

  Richard loomed over me, his face inches away as he spat, “You’re nothing but a little piece of trash, just like your mother.”

  That did it; I was tired of these monsters badmouthing my parents. “Your own family hates you,” I said, seething. “And soon everyone will know what a loser you really are. My mother was a hundred times better than you.”

  Richard’s face went florid with rage. As if in slow motion, he drew his hand back.

  And suddenly I was on the floor, my head ringing. Sharp stabs in my chest as he kicked me, the crack of ribs breaking . . .

  And then, darkness.

  Chapter XVII

  I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.

  I woke up sneezing. Blearily, I opened my eyes. I was lying on my side, bare wooden floorboards beneath me. The room was dim, the only illumination a thin rectangle of light seeping under the door . . .

  With a jolt, I realized where I was.

  The attic.

  I was in the tiny room where they’d kept Eliza—I could just make out the crayon figures scrawled on the wall.

  Suddenly frantic, I tried to sit up, only to discover that my hands were bound behind my back with what felt like rope. My feet were tied, too. Every breath sent pain ricocheting through my rib cage, and there was a constant pulsing throb over my left ear. I lay on my side panting, trying not to panic as it all came back: he’d hit me. Richard had beaten me, right in the front hallway. I’d thought he was going to kill me . . .

  But instead he’d tied me up and locked me in the attic.

  I started hyperventilating, and my vision blurred. Had he completely lost his mind?

  I heard voices outside the door: Marion’s first, then Richard’s. I held my breath, listening intently.

  “She’ll tell everyone,” Marion said.

  “Shut up and let me think,” Richard growled.

  “That lawyer of hers called again. Richard, what are we going to do? The house—”

  “I said shut up!”

  Marion whimpered, making me wonder if he’d hit her, too. Then he muttered, “I can handle this. It’ll all work out . . .”

  It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. My heart thudded hard.

  “We’ll lose our membership in the club,” Marion fretted. “And Napa, where will we stay for—”

  “Jesus, you really are insane,” Richard said heavily. “Don’t you get it? She’s going to shoot her mouth off about Eliza, and you’ll go to jail. And I’ll be right behind you for hitting her. The house will be gone, who knows where the hell the kids will end up . . .”

  “No one will believe her,” Marion said dismissively. “Not against our word.”

  “She looks like hell,” Richard growled. “What do we tell them? That another one of our kids just happened to fall down the stairs?”

  “Richard—”

  “Just go to bed,” he barked. “I told you I’ll handle it, just like last time.”

  My panic kicked up another notch as I wondered how he planned to “handle” it. I should have just signed the damn papers. Then I’d already be on the plane home. At the thought, the tears started to flow.

  A long silence, then the door creaked open. I squinted in the sudden brightness. Richard stared down at me, his face cast in shadow.

  I licked my cracked lips and croaked, “Please untie me.”

  He shook his head. “Not until we’ve had a little chat.” He leaned against the doorjamb.

  Lying at his feet made me painfully aware of my helplessness. “I’ll give you the money,” I offered. “All of it. I don’t care about it anyway.”

  Richard snorted. “Please. Everyone cares about money. They might pretend they don’t, but they’re lying to themselves. Without it, everything is meaningless.”

  The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them. “My mother didn’t care. Neither did my dad. They gave it all up, just so they could be together.”

  “And you think that’s romantic?” he jeered. “Your father was an idiot. He could’ve owned this town, and he threw it all away.”

  “Because none of it mattered to him,” I said disdainfully. “The stupid parties, the cotillions. Nobody aside from people like you cares about that sort of thing.”

  “Of course they care. You’re just as naïve as he was.” Richard shook his head.

  “You need to let me go,” I urged. Talking about the past wasn’t going to solve anything; it was the future I was worried about. “I’m supposed to be sleeping at my friend’s house tonight. If I don’t show up, she’ll call the cops.” At least, I fervently hoped Kaila would; she and her mom might just assume my flight had been delayed, or my plans had changed.

  “By the time anyone starts looking, it’ll be too late,” Richard said ominously.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The finality in his tone terrified me. Panic overrode my physical discomfort; my whole body started trembling.

  “You shouldn’t have asked so many questions,” Richard said over his shoulder as he stepped back into the hall.

  I called after him, “Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here!”

  The door groaned as it closed behind him. A click as the bolt engaged.

  I was trapped. />
  I lay there, hyperventilating, listening to his heavy tread descending the staircase. There was a soft thud as the door at the bottom closed; no doubt he’d locked that one, too.

  I’d been frightened when I woke up; now I was scared witless. Should I scream for help? Who would even hear me? The Rochesters had probably sent the staff home.

  Helen and her family weren’t expecting to hear from me for a few days. Kaila would wonder why I hadn’t shown, but in actuality it might be a day or two before she got suspicious.

  No one was looking for me. And by the time they started to, whatever Richard had planned would be over and done with. The room went dim around me. Bright stars spiraled through my vision, and my ears roared. It was like getting sucked under the waves, the surf consuming me . . .

  No, a voice in my head insisted. You’re stronger than this.

  Gradually, the tide receded.

  With great effort, I drew my legs close to examine my bindings. The rope was thin and black, wrapped numerous times around my calves. I tried to shift my feet, rubbing my ankles together. After a few minutes, I’d only managed to painfully chafe my skin.

  Panic flared again. I took a few seconds to relax my breathing the way I would after a wipeout, then told myself, Okay. Hands next. My wrists were bound so tightly, I’d lost all feeling in my fingers. Still, I struggled with the cords. Richard knew his knots, that was for sure; they didn’t give at all.

  I finally gave up, defeated.

  You’ve got options, I tried to reassure myself. You just need to figure out what they are.

  Maybe I could roll to the door, edge up it, and try the knob. I’d heard the bolt turn, though. And even with my hands free, I couldn’t pick a lock like Daniel could.

  Daniel. Thinking of him, my shoulders slumped. How would he feel if I just vanished? Sad? Relieved? Maybe he wouldn’t feel anything at all.

  I started to tremble again, which sent jolts of pain through my damaged ribs. God, how could my parents have been so wrong about these people? It sounded as if Richard had always resented them. Had they just not realized it?

  What was going to happen to me?

  “Please,” I said out loud. “Someone, please help me . . .”

  There was a sudden chill.

  I tried to peer into the shadows, but the room was just as bare as it had been when Daniel and I explored it. The temperature kept plummeting. A breeze wafted past my cheek, even though the doors and windows remained closed.

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I shifted to see what it was—then froze.

  The ball of light was back.

  It was the size of a basketball now, hovering a few feet away. I sucked in air, staring at it.

  Fighting to quell my fear, I said softly, “Eliza? Is that you?”

  The ball started to bulge at the edges, stretching while simultaneously fading. As I watched, mesmerized, it slowly morphed into the faint image of a young girl: the same one I’d seen in my dream. She shimmered, as if trapped underwater. She was wearing a pale white nightgown, the edges frayed. Her eyes were big and bottomless, her hair so pale it shone. She stared at me, looking unnervingly like Nicholas.

  “Eliza?” I whispered.

  She nodded slowly.

  In a trembling voice I said, “You tried to warn me, didn’t you? You tried to scare me away from here.”

  Eliza nodded again. The motion made her image shift, as if she was having a hard time holding herself here.

  “Well, you could’ve been a little clearer,” I muttered.

  A faint smile curled at her lips. In her bottomless black eyes I saw tiny glimpses of what looked like clothes flying through the air . . . I squinted hard. My room: getting trashed and rearranged. I understood. Nicholas hadn’t been lying; it was never him. Eliza was just a kid. Scare tactics were probably the best she could come up with.

  “I’m so sorry about what Marion did to you,” I said.

  Eliza just stared as the images faded, not responding. I wondered if she could talk; it didn’t seem like it.

  “Eliza,” I said. “Is there any way you can untie me?”

  She hesitated, then nodded again.

  “Great,” I said, relieved. “I think we have to hurry, though.”

  Suddenly she vanished. I whipped my head around, trying to catch a faint glimmer—but she was gone. Just as I was about to call for her again, I felt cold, icy fingers on my wrists. The knots started to give.

  I held my breath, hardly daring to believe this was happening, and trying not to be creeped out by it. The ropes loosened. A few tugs, and my hands were free.

  Relief flooded through me. “Thank you,” I gasped, shaking out my fingers to get sensation back in them. “Thank you so much, Eliza.” I reached down and struggled to untie my ankles, wincing at the pain in my ribs. It felt like an eternity, but probably only a few minutes passed before I was completely free.

  I stood slowly, unsteady on my feet. My head pounded, my wrists and ankles ached, and the stabbing pain in my ribs was even worse when I was upright. I touched a hand to my temple: it came away sticky with blood. That steeled me: I was getting out of here. And then I’d make sure Richard and Marion ended up in jail for what they’d done to both of us.

  I turned in a slow circle; there was no ball of light, no shadowy presence, but somehow I sensed that she was still with me. “Eliza, I owe you my life. Thanks again.”

  A click as the door to the room unlocked. Hurrying forward, I pressed my ear against it. Nothing but silence on the other side. I eased it open. The attic hallway was dark; there was no one there.

  Holding my breath, I carefully stepped out and hurried down the corridor. I flinched every time a board creaked, my heart pounding unnaturally loudly. It was quiet below. Marion was probably in her bedroom, per Richard’s orders. He could be anywhere—though I suspected he was holed up in his study, downing a few drinks while working on his plan. If my luck held, it could be hours before they realized I was gone.

  I charted a course in my mind: first, down the attic stairs, where hopefully Eliza had unlocked the door at the bottom. Then I’d take the back stairwell down two flights to the pantry off the kitchen. From there, I could sneak out the back door and make my way around the house to the front gate. Once I reached the street, I’d run down the block. And if they chased me, I’d scream bloody murder until one of their rich neighbors called the cops.

  You can do this.

  The door at the base of the attic stairs slowly creaked open. I held my breath as I went through it, grateful that I was still wearing my sneakers. As quietly as possible I made my way down the hall, past the ruins of my old bedroom. Quickening my pace, I practically jogged toward the servants’ staircase that divided the two wings of the house. It was narrow and dark; rarely used by anyone except Alma.

  I drew a deep breath and turned the knob.

  The stairwell door didn’t budge.

  Frowning, I tried again. Nothing. I strained with all my might, throwing my back into it, but the door refused to move.

  Something brushed against my feet, making me jump. I suppressed a scream, stifling it in my throat. Looking down, I discovered a mangled stuffed rabbit staring up at me from the floor.

  What was Bertha doing here?

  I nudged the toy aside with my toe and tried the door again.

  Another nudge. I cursed when I saw that Bertha had shifted and was now resting against my right ankle, as if pleading to come with me.

  “Eliza!” I hissed in a low voice. “Let me out!”

  The bunny slowly shook from side to side.

  “C’mon!” I begged. It didn’t seem fair. I was so close, and up until now, she’d been helping me. So what had changed?

  One of Bertha’s paws lifted, pointing down the hall. My brow furrowed. “I can’t go that way, they’ll
catch me!”

  The rabbit’s arms waved insistently.

  I let my head drop against the door. I’d been so close. What the hell did Eliza want from me?

  Suddenly, I got it. Nicholas. Eliza wanted me to take Nicholas. “I can’t!” I whispered.

  In response, Bertha started hopping down the hall. I groaned. Was I really supposed to wake a sleepy six-year-old and drag him from his home? Wouldn’t that make me a kidnapper? I tried the door again, struggling with the handle. But it was as if a giant was pushing it closed from the other side.

  “He’ll be okay!” I insisted. “They’re not going to hurt him.”

  Bertha didn’t seem to agree. Obstinately, that damn rabbit kept heading for his room.

  I swore under my breath. There was no point in trying to reason with a five-year-old, dead or alive. “Fine. But this is a lot more dangerous for both of us.”

  My ribs throbbed as I bent down to snatch up the rabbit. I raced down the hall, thankful for the thick rugs that muffled my footsteps. Passing my room again, I took the corner at a near run and skidded to a stop outside Nicholas’s bedroom door. Drawing a deep and painful breath, I pushed it open.

  Nicholas was awake.

  He sat up in bed, blinking at me. “Janie? Why did you take Bertha?”

  “I didn’t, exactly,” I said quickly, keeping my voice low. “Listen, Nicholas, we have to leave. Right now. I’ll explain later.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He shifted his legs out from under the covers and got to his feet. I stared at him: he was fully dressed. As I watched, he started to pull on a pair of shoes.

  “Why are you dressed?” I asked in a whisper.

  “Eliza told me to be ready,” he explained. “Can you tie the laces for me?”