Murder in the Shadows

by Jade Astor

  “What if Mikah isn’t really missing after all? What if he’s much closer to you than you ever expected?”

  “Huh?”

  “Think about it. At first we assumed the odd things happening to the people in this house were an inside job—in other words, one of the people working on the movie dumped the blood in Jamie’s room, put cleaning fluid in his makeup bottle, and maybe even killed Brother Lew for some reason we couldn’t figure out. The other theory we considered was that a trespasser committed those acts—someone who sneaked onto the grounds to make trouble. Now think about it this way. What if both of those options are true? What if Mikah heard about Logan’s new film somehow and followed all of you here. He hid out somewhere on the grounds, or maybe even in the house. You said no one goes up to the towers anymore. There are probably plenty of spots you can hide in if you put your mind to it.”

  “You think Mikah’s come back to take revenge on us?”

  “It’s worth checking into, isn’t it? I know it sounds crazy. But I was hoping we could take this information to Argo. I can do it myself, but it would be a lot easier if you came with me once the storm is over. We can have him check the house and grounds thoroughly and run some searches through the police database. Either way, we’d come out ahead. If he attacked Jamie and killed Brother Lew, we can help Argo catch him. If he just ran away to make a new life for himself, you’ll know for sure and you can get some closure. It makes sense when I say it like that, right? What do you think?”

  In response, Victor simply gaped at him. Slowly, the blood drained from his cheeks and his eyes grew bright and wet. He struggled to take a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry, Darian,” he managed to choke out. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Damn Sandra for putting this into your mind! For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure Mikah is dead. We loved each other. He would never have just taken off on me like that. Most likely he committed suicide. I’ve never said that out loud because I never wanted to face it. But if you really want to know what I think happened to him, there you go. Now drop it, please!”

  Tears spurting from his eyes, Victor lurched to his feet. He wobbled and grasped the edge of the table for support. Darian jumped up, too, reaching out to steady him.

  “Victor, wait. Can we talk about this rationally? I’m only trying to help!”

  Victor pulled away. “Fine. You and Argo can have as much fun at my expense as you like. Let me know if you figure it out. Maybe Logan will let you play the detective if he ever decides to remake that serial killer film.”

  “Wait a minute,” Darian called, starting after him. “I’m sorry, Victor. I didn’t realize—”

  Victor didn’t slow his pace. When Darian rushed into the hall, he nearly plowed into a shadowed figure lurking nearby.

  “Hey,” Chuck said, veering out of his path just in time. “I thought I heard raised voices. What happened? You okay?”

  Darian stopped, seeing no sign of Victor. He could hear his heavy footsteps, though, clumping up the stairs. He blew out a frustrated breath, knowing he’d blown things big time. Victor was wrong about one thing—he would never make a convincing detective, on-screen or off.

  “Yeah,” he said when he saw that Chuck was waiting for an answer. “Long day.”

  Chuck looked skeptical. “And a little too much wine, at least on Victor’s part.”

  “That’s about the size of it. I guess we could all use some rest. See you tomorrow.”

  By the time he reached the staircase, Victor was already gone. Maybe that was just as well. No need to make things worse tonight. Hopefully, the amount Victor had drunk would cushion his memory of their confrontation.

  Troubled thoughts rumbled through his mind like thunder while he changed into a t-shirt and lounge pants and crawled into bed. He wondered if Victor was right in assuming Mikah was dead. At a basic level, there was no real reason to doubt that Mikah had simply run away from college—and from Victor—to start a new life. College students pulled similar stunts all the time. Family pressure over his sexuality made such a scenario all the more likely. As for why he’d never resurfaced after all these years, there could be a simple explanation—maybe he’d found contentment, or even lasting love, and left the past behind. Or, less happily, he’d perished in an accident. None of those outcomes would incriminate Victor.

  Victor seemed so certain, though, and for that reason Darian couldn’t discount the possibility, however small, that Victor had been involved in his death. Maybe it had seemed like nothing at the time—they argued, Mikah or more likely Victor stormed off, and Mikah turned his anger and despair inward. If that were the case, though, why wouldn’t Victor admit it? Sure, the memory would be uncomfortable, the admission painful. But wouldn’t that be better than the other possibility Darian couldn’t seem to shake—that Victor’s involvement had been more direct? Even criminal?

  Jamie might have thought so, too. What if he hadn’t left Reece Hall out of spite, but fear that he would end up like Mikah?

  For an hour or two, emotion warred with exhaustion. Finally, his mind spun down and his eyelids drooped. He managed to cling to a few minutes of reasonably peaceful rest before it hit him.

  Why assume Jamie had left of his own accord?

  Jamie’s not coming back. Like Mikah didn’t come back.

  Darian snapped upright, his mind racing.

  Seconds later, the noises began.

  First came a series of bangs and scuffs, as though someone had opened a door, burst through it, and then beat a hasty track along the hall. Next came Sandra’s voice, shouting and cursing. Darian slid out of bed, grabbing his sneakers. He’d just put them on when pandemonium erupted outside his door.

  Chapter 16

  The voices got louder as he emerged from his room in time to see Logan and Chuck converging on Sandra, who stood in the hall with a blanket wrapped around her. Chuck flipped on the hall light, making everyone blink.

  “What’s going on?” Darian asked, joining their hastily formed huddle.

  “Someone was just in my room!” Sandra‘s face contorted with fury. Logan, Chuck, and Darian exchanged bewildered glances.

  “What? Who?” they asked, talking over one another.

  “How should I know? The room was dark and I was lying in bed without my glasses on! I heard the door open and saw a figure walk in. I jumped up and started yelling at him. He spun around and left pretty fast.”

  “A figure?” Logan repeated dubiously. “Come on, Sandra. Maybe someone took a wrong turn to the bathroom.”

  “No way. He was coming toward me with his hands out. He was holding something between them. Something that looked like—” she stopped, her eyes widening. “A scarf. You all remember it. Wes used it as part of his costume.” Sandra spread her fists as though clutching a length of rope between then. “He was holding it like this. Like he was trying to strangle me with it.”

  “Come on, Sandra. That’s nuts,” Logan said, though he didn’t sound as convinced as he’d probably meant to. “You think one of us sneaked into your room so he could strangle you? What would be the point?”

  “I didn’t say it was one of us,” Sandra huffed. “Haven’t you been listening? I couldn’t see who it was. Incidentally, I can’t help but notice that not every member of this production is present.”

  “Victor,” Logan said.

  Darian scanned the space behind him in the desperate hope of spotting Victor running toward them, his hair tousled from sleep and face slack with innocent astonishment. But the hallway stood empty.

  “And Wes,” Chuck pointed out. “They must be heavy sleepers.”

  “Or they’re pretending to be,” Sandra said.

  “One way to find out.” Logan gestured for everyone to follow him. “Let’s check their rooms.”

  “Wait a minute,” Darian said as they started forward in a group. “We can’t discount the idea of a stranger breaking in, either. What we ought to do is call the police.”

  �
�In this weather?” Logan scoffed. “You know perfectly well the roads aren’t safe. It would take them hours to get here, assuming they would come at all. Sandra, are you sure it wasn’t just a bad dream? I can’t help but notice you’re not hurt at all.”

  “That’s because I chased him out,” Sandra retorted. “Honestly, Logan, are you saying it’s fine for some maniac to attack and try to kill your sister as long as no one interferes with your precious film? How chivalrous of you. It’s nice to know you’ve got our backs while we stumble around in this creepy old dump of a house.”

  “I don’t think it’s impossible that you imagined someone who wasn’t really there. We were all under a lot of stress today. And you were working your way through those wine bottles right along with the rest of us, don’t forget.”

  They reached Wes’s room first, though Logan and Sandra were so busy bickering that they almost charged right past it. Chuck held up both hands to stop them while Darian raised his fist to knock on the door. It swung open at the first hint of contact.

  “Hey, Wes?” Darian started inside with Chuck right behind him. “You awake?”

  They spotted the crumpled figure on the floor at the same time. To judge by the two gasps behind them, Logan and Sandra noticed a half-second later.

  “Wes, what the hell?” Chuck asked, dropping to his knees beside Wes and grabbing his limp shoulders. “You okay, man?”

  He rolled Wes over as Logan and Darian crowded in to help. Sandra switched on the light, but stayed in the doorway. Wes sprawled on his back, unmoving, his big limbs splayed out in four different directions. His face looked waxy, and his beard-fringed mouth hung open as though he had dropped to the floor mid-scream.

  Logan pushed forward. “Is he drunk? Or…?”

  “I don’t think he’s drunk. Look at that.” Darian pointed to a long red welt running from Wes’s left ear to about the middle of his neck.

  “Strangled.” Sandra choked out the word. She clutched at the wall as her whole body sagged against the doorframe. “Just like someone tried to do to me.”

  “He can’t be dead,” Chuck insisted, panic driving his voice up a full octave. Frantic, he seized Wes by both arms and shook him so roughly his head banged the floor. “Wes, man, wake up! Breathe, damn you! Come on!”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t—” Logan began, but a glare from Chuck cut off his objection.

  “Wes, talk to us,” Chuck pleaded, almost in tears. Darian, back on his feet, started to push past Sandra and sprint back to his room, where he’d stupidly left his phone on the nightstand. A welcome sound stopped him: a loud, drawn-out groan in Wes’s recognizably deep voice.

  “Tried to stop him.” He began to thrash his head back and forth, forcing Chuck to move back. “Saw him sneaking into Sandra’s room—”

  “Wes, take it easy!” Before he could finish, Chuck hauled him into a sitting position and braced his back against the bed. “Calm down and try to breathe.”

  “If he’s talking, he’s breathing,” Logan said. “Let’s give him some space. Hey, one of you get the man some water!”

  “I’ll go,” Sandra offered. “There’s some in my room.”

  Darian crouched down while Chuck and Logan coaxed Wes back to coherence.

  “What happened?” Logan demanded. “Wes, can you tell us?”

  “I just did,” Wes grumbled, lifting one hand to the ugly red welt at the edge of his beard. Between deep, shuddering breaths, he coughed out his story. “I heard Sandra yell and caught him running past my door. Grabbed him, pulled him inside. We started fighting. He got behind me. Felt something slide around my throat.”

  “The scarf,” Sandra said, returning with an unopened spring water. “It had to be. He stole it from the prop room.”

  She handed the bottle to Logan, who twisted off the cap and held it up to Wes’s lips. Wes drank slowly, gratefully, making loud gulping sounds. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a piston.

  “Couldn’t breathe,” he went on once he’d swallowed and coughed. “Tried to shake him off…couldn’t. Next thing I knew I was on the floor. He must have thought I was dead. Left me there. After that…not sure.”

  “After that, we got here,” Logan said. He squeezed Wes’s meaty shoulder. “Glad you’re okay, Wes. Really glad.”

  “You are okay, aren’t you?” Chuck prompted nervously when Logan lowered the water bottle.

  “Yeah. No harm done. I’m even tougher than I look, I guess.” When he finally opened his eyes and looked up at Sandra, Wes’s whole body slumped with relief. “You’re really okay? He didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m fine,” Sandra said, close to tears all over again. “You might have saved my life, Wes.”

  “Nah.” With a visible effort, Wes swatted the air between them. His big, clumsy hand reminded Darian of a bear paw. “He wouldn’t have gone through with it. He just lost control for a minute. I’m sure it’ll all be okay.”

  Chuck, still fidgety, finally asked the question no one else seemed able to. “But who are we talking about? Who did this?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Wes stared down at the floor for a moment. Then he shot Chuck a pitying look. Or maybe, Darian thought, it was really directed at him. “The only member of the cast who isn’t here. Victor.”

  “I knew it!” In a flash, Logan was on his feet, swinging the water bottle like a club. “Come on, Chuck. Let’s go find him. Uh…you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Darian. You can stay here and look after Wes.”

  “No need for that. Just help me up and I’ll be ready to roll.” Shaking his head as if to clear it once and for all, Wes stretched out a hand and let Chuck haul him up. “Sorry, Darian. I can only imagine what you must be feeling. You don’t have to be involved in what comes next, though. Logan, Chuck and I will take care of this.”

  “We’re not going to hurt him,” Logan hastened to add, apparently alarmed by Darian’s expression. “That’s not what Wes meant.”

  “It’s okay,” Darian said. By then his whole body had gone numb. He assumed his stomach must be churning, but he couldn’t say for sure. He barely felt his feet on the floor or Wes’s steadying hand on his back. So it hadn’t been Jamie, trying to stir up attention. It hadn’t been Mikah, mysteriously returned from the dead, bent on revenge. It had just been Victor all along. Just as Argo had suspected. “I’m coming with you.”

  Finding Victor’s room unlocked, they went in and turned on the light. A bottle of wine sat on the nightstand, apparently the same bottle he’d fumbled with in the kitchen. The cork stuck up at an angle, as though it had been jammed back in place in a clumsy, drunken gesture. Victor himself was sprawled in his bed. One of his arms was curled around his pillow, crushing it against his face. The rumpled linen case hid everything except one ear and a puff of spiky hair. The other arm drooped off the mattress, his outstretched hand dangling inches off the floor.

  Halfway under the bed, only inches from his fingertips, lay the scarf.

  He seemed surprised, but not alarmed, when he opened his eyes and saw them standing over him with grim expressions.

  “Hey. What’s going on? Did I oversleep? It can’t be morning already. Can it?”

  “No. It’s the middle of the night.” Logan pointed under the bed. “What’s going on, Victor? Where did you get that scarf?”

  Scowling, Victor turned over and groped around on the floor. Logan put his foot on the scarf and moved it just beyond his reach.

  “Answer the question,” Sandra demanded. “What is that scarf doing here?”

  “Dunno. What’s the big deal? Someone probably left it in here. Or maybe I picked it up by accident.”

  “Is that the best you can come up with?” Sandra snapped. “Pretty lame, Victor. Why not say one of the ghosts in this house put it there? That would be slightly more believable.”

  “Huh?” Victor’s confused gaze sought Darian’s. “What ghosts? That’s nuts.”

  “Yup. I think ‘nuts’ about covers it.”
<
br />   “Why did you break into Sandra’s room?” Logan pressed. “And why did you try to throttle Wes?”

  “Why did I—what? I’ve been right here, asleep, since dinnertime. Ask Darian. He saw me go upstairs.”

  “It’s true. I did. But I have no idea where you went after that.” Darian pointed to the bottle of wine on the nightstand. Victor hadn’t taken it from the kitchen with him. “Obviously you’ve been out of your room at least once since then. When did you bring that up?”

  “I didn’t,” Victor insisted. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”

  Logan hesitated, mulling things over while a howling gust of wind provided an eerie soundtrack. Finally he turned to Sandra and Wes with an imploring expression. “He did seem to be sleeping pretty soundly just now. And it was dark in the hall, right? Do either of you think you could have been mistaken about what—or who—you saw?”

  “Really, Logan? Are we back to that again?” Sandra burst out. “Why do you want to cover up for him? It’s always about the film with you. Didn’t you learn anything after the first disaster? You knew the risk when you asked him to play Thaddeus, but it was all about getting access to the house, wasn’t it? Your perfect set for Shadowfall Manor. You had to have it, just like you had to have Mikah last time.”

  Tensing, Victor pushed his quilt aside and sat up. He was fully clothed, Darian noticed, except for his shoes. “Shut up about Mikah,” he growled.

  Sandra pretended not to hear him. “Well, I won’t stand around and be collateral damage to your overblown ambition. I don’t care if it takes the cops the rest of the night to get here! He attacked me and I want him locked up!”

  “We’ll deal with this again in the morning,” Logan said, fixing Victor with a stern look that silenced him for the moment. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, Victor. Most likely this was some kind of sleepwalking episode brought on by drunkenness, but we’ll see what Argo thinks once the storm ends. For the moment, we have no choice but to stay put.”