The Ghost of Second Chances

by Anna J. McIntyre

  The intruder grabbed hold of the doorknob and gingerly turned it while easing the door open just a few inches. Peering out into the darkened hall, the intruder spied Danielle Boatman making her way down the hallway toward the staircase. Light coming from several nightlights plugged into random sockets along the hallway made it possible to see.

  There was light coming from under the downstairs bedroom’s closed door. The intruder assumed Clint Marlow was behind that door. A moment later the sound of footsteps going up the stairs were heard and then, after a few minutes, the sound of a door on the second floor closing. Glancing back to the door leading to the downstairs bedroom, the intruder noticed light was no longer coming from under the door. Clint had turned off the bedroom light.

  Macbeth sat in the bushes in front of the empty house next to where Ian and Lily lived and watched Marlow House. When he had first arrived, he saw Clint and Danielle sitting in the living room. Considering there were no cars parked across the street and only Danielle’s car was in the driveway, he was certain they were alone.

  He had been sitting in front of Marlow House for about fifteen minutes when the living room window had gone dark. A few minutes later lights went on in the front bedroom. Unfortunately, the blinds were drawn, so he could only see silhouettes. First one, then two, and then one again, and then nothing. Eventually a light went on in one of the upstairs bedrooms. The light in the downstairs bedroom then went out.

  Macbeth continued to sit and wait in the bushes, shivering under his jacket that was not sufficient to ward off the evening chill, yet telling himself it would only be a few more minutes. He wanted to give them both time to settle in their beds before he went inside.

  Still standing in the closet, the door ajar, the intruder heard someone fiddling with the front door. A moment later, it started to open. A few moments later the intruder stepped out of the closet.

  Macbeth had already closed the front door and was heading for the downstairs bedroom before he noticed a person standing in the shadows. Startled, he clutched the gun and aimed it at the unexpected figure.

  “Mac, it’s me. Don’t shoot,” came a whispered voice.

  Macbeth lowered his gun and took several steps forward, careful to be as quiet as possible. “What in the hell are you doing here?” he asked in a whisper while taking a quick look down the hall at the closed bedroom door to Clint’s room.

  “You need to know something,” the person whispered and then pointed down the hallway in another direction. “This way.”

  “I’m going to kill you if you wake anyone up,” Macbeth grumbled as he followed the person down the darkened hall.

  The person opened a door and then stepped aside and pointed in the doorway. “It’s in there. I thought you should see this for yourself.”

  “How did you get in the house?” Macbeth asked.

  “Please, just look,” the intruder urged. “You’ll understand if you just look.”

  Macbeth walked to the now open door, trying to remember where it led. When he had stayed at Marlow House, he had never thought to open the door and always assumed it was another closet. Yet, when he stepped inside the dimly lit space, he realized it was not a closet. A nightlight plugged into a socket just inside the doorway provided just enough lighting for him to make out the steps a few feet from where he stood. This leads to the basement, he thought.

  Macbeth turned quickly to the person, who now stood blocking the doorway, facing him.

  But now, it was not Macbeth aiming a gun; someone was aiming a gun at him. Before Macbeth could utter a single word, the gun in the person’s hand went off, sending a bullet straight through Macbeth’s heart. The next moment, Macbeth tumbled down the stairs, landing on the concrete floor of the basement.

  The shooter turned abruptly, shut the basement door, and ran down the hallway toward the front door, tossing the gun into the powder room along the way.

  Heather wanted to put her cellphone on the charger before going to bed. The only problem, she couldn’t find it anywhere. It wasn’t until she found Bella sleeping on the middle of her bed did she remember she had put it in her jacket before going out to search for the cat earlier.

  Unfortunately, when Heather searched the pockets of her jacket a few minutes later, she didn’t find her cellphone. However, there was a nice big hole in one of the pockets. With a groan, Heather slipped on the jacket and headed outside to see if she could find where she had dropped the phone.

  Heather had worked her way to the sidewalk when she heard an engine rev down the street. Glancing down the dark street, lit only by the moonlight, she noticed a car stopping in front of Marlow House. The next moment, it raced up the street in her direction.

  Heather quickly stepped behind a bush to conceal herself. She watched as the car sped by. It was the same car she had seen earlier—the one that had backfired.

  “What’s going on down there?” Heather muttered, wondering if she should call Danielle and see if everything was okay.

  Twenty-Two

  Cursing, Macbeth stumbled to his feet. Glancing behind him, he noted the basement was virtually black. He could only make out vague shadows. Turning back to the narrow staircase, he looked up to the now closed door leading to the hallway on the first floor. The nightlight’s glow cast dim lighting on the walls surrounding the stairwell. He wondered briefly if the door was now locked.

  Clutching his right hand, he looked down and was relieved to see the gun still gripped in his gloved hand. He had managed not to drop it during his unfortunate fall. Determined, he made his way up the stairs, trying to decide who to kill first.

  About the same time as Heather started looking for her cellphone, Walt heard what sounded like a gunshot. He had only been asleep for a few minutes when it jolted him awake. Moonlight lit the room. At first, he wondered if he had been dreaming. But then he heard the footsteps. Someone was running down the hallway, and then in the next moment he heard the front door slam.

  Walt’s first thought was Danielle. Is she all right? He reached for the cellphone on his bedside table. In his haste, he shoved the cellphone off the nightstand. It fell to the floor and slid under the bed.

  Grumbling under his breath, Walt, now sitting up on the mattress, awkwardly turned and set his feet on the floor. Headlights from the front window caught his attention. Standing on his right foot while bracing his hands on the edge of the mattress to balance himself, he managed to push off the bed and hop over to the window. Just as he got there, he pulled the blinds open and looked outside. He could see a car parked in front of the house. He then saw someone running out from the bushes in front of Marlow House. Whoever it was got into the vehicle. It was only a shadow of a person. Walt couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. In the next moment the car raced off down the street.

  Walt turned back to his bed, determined to retrieve the cellphone. He needed to check on Danielle. He just wasn’t quite sure how he was going to get down on the floor to reach it. Before he made his first hop, the closed door to his bedroom took on a peculiar glow. Walt paused and stared. In the next moment the glow swirled and morphed until what appeared to be a man came into full view.

  Walt’s eyes widened. “Macbeth?”

  Macbeth laughed as he pointed the gun at Walt. “I’ve come to kill you, Clint Marlow.”

  Reality dawning, Walt arched his brows. “Oh, really?”

  “I’m serious,” Macbeth snapped, unnerved by the man’s apparent lack of fear.

  “I’m sure you are.” Walt’s gaze moved from the gun held in Macbeth’s gloved hand to the bloodstain on the center of his shirt. “Can I ask you a couple of questions first?”

  “Trying to buy yourself a little time?” Macbeth sneered.

  “No, I’m just curious.” If it hadn’t been for the bloodstain on Macbeth’s shirt, Walt would be more than curious about Danielle’s current safety. However, he was certain the gunshot he had heard was the cause of Macbeth’s gruesome chest wound. He was even more certain that the k
iller had just driven off a few moments ago. Walt nodded toward Macbeth and asked, “So what happened?”

  His right hand now shaking, Macbeth held the gun tighter while pointing it at Walt and said, “You double-crossed me!”

  Walt shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “No, not that. I can understand why you might want to kill me. I was just curious what happened to you.” Walt pointed to the shirt. When Macbeth failed to look down, Walt pointed to it again. “Your shirt. The blood. I assume someone shot you.”

  Macbeth frowned and looked down. With his free hand, he touched the red spot.

  “Looks like it went straight through the heart.” Walt cringed. “Did it hurt much?”

  Macbeth glared up from his shirt, aimed the gun at Walt’s chest, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

  Macbeth pulled the trigger again. Again, nothing happened.

  “I’ll give you a hint,” Walt whispered. “It’s not a real gun. It’s only an illusion.”

  His expression going blank, Macbeth dropped the gun. It vanished before it hit the floor.

  Macbeth looked back to Walt. “What just happened?”

  “My guess, someone killed you. It would probably be a good idea if you told me who.”

  “No…this can’t be happening…” Macbeth shook his head.

  “That’s what they all say,” Walt said with a shrug. “So tell me, who killed you? Did you see your killer? I’m sure whoever it was ran out of here just a few minutes ago before you came in my room.”

  Macbeth stood paralyzed for a few moments, unable or unwilling to respond. Finally, he shouted, “No!” and then ran from the house, moving through the front wall and heading to the street.

  “I really should have gotten the name of his killer,” Walt grumbled under his breath. “I don’t think I’m as good at this as Danielle is.”

  The gunshot had also woken Danielle. Like Walt, she sat up in her bed, wondering briefly if it had been a dream. Snatching the cellphone off her nightstand, she debated calling or texting Walt to make sure everything was okay downstairs. If he was asleep and it was only a dream, a call would wake him, and Walt seemed to need his sleep. She decided a text message would be the better option.

  Walt, is everything okay down there?

  After sending the text message, she sat and waited for an answer. After a few minutes with no response, she thought, He’s probably sleeping…but maybe he’s not…maybe he can’t answer…

  Still looking at her phone, it began to ring. But it wasn’t Walt calling.

  “Heather?” Danielle answered.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you, but I wanted to make sure everything is okay over there.”

  Still holding her cellphone to her ear, Danielle looked over to the closed bedroom door. “I thought I heard a gunshot. It woke me up.”

  “It was probably just the car,” Heather said.

  “What car?” Danielle asked.

  “That’s why I’m calling. I saw this car I’ve never seen before drive up our street twice tonight. Both times it parked in front of your house. It backfired when it drove by. That’s probably what you heard. The car is kind of a wreck.”

  “Why was it parked in front of my house?” Danielle asked.

  “That’s why I was calling, to make sure everything is okay,” Heather told her.

  “I tried texting Walt, but I think he’s asleep. He didn’t answer my text. I suppose I should go down there and see if everything is okay.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, the car’s not there anymore,” Heather told her.

  Laverne told them to let her out of the car. At first, they didn’t want to. But she insisted. They dropped her off by the pier and drove away. Instead of starting for home, she strolled down the pier while listening to the waves crashing against the weathered structure.

  When she reached the end of the pier, she leaned against the railing and looked out to the ocean. The moon overhead cast a golden light across the dark water.

  “I’m going to have to tell them my part in all this…” she said aloud. There was no one to hear her; the pier was empty save for a few diners coming and going from the café on the opposite end of the wooden walkway. “Will they understand? Would they admit they’d do the same?”

  After ten more minutes of reflecting, she turned and started walking toward the café.

  “Isn’t it freezing out there?” Carla asked Laverne when she walked into the restaurant a few minutes later.

  Laverne pulled the knit hat off her head and shoved it into one pocket of her down parka. “It’s not bad, not if you’re dressed warm.” She then pulled the gloves off her hands and shoved them with the hat and took a seat.

  “You alone?” Carla asked as she stepped up to the table, menu in hand.

  “Yes. It’s just me. Have any apple pie?”

  “Sure,” Carla said. “You want it hot?”

  “Sounds good. With vanilla ice cream?”

  “How else?” Carla laughed. “Coffee?”

  Laverne shook her head. “No. I’m having problems sleeping as it is. I don’t need any caffeine this late. Maybe a glass of milk.”

  Carla nodded and then headed off to get Laverne’s order.

  When Carla returned to the table, she set Laverne’s pie and ice cream, along with a glass of milk, on the table. Instead of asking if she could join her, she simply took a seat across from her in the booth. “I haven’t seen you in here for a while.”

  Laverne shrugged and picked up a fork and stabbed the pie. “I don’t come to the north end of town much.” She stabbed the pie again, capturing a bite on the tip of her fork.

  “I see your brother in here from time to time. I think he has a thing for Danielle Boatman. The one who owns Marlow House. It’s just down the street.”

  Laverne was just about to pop the bite in her mouth when she paused and looked at Carla. She studied her a brief moment and then ate the bite. After she swallowed, she said, “My brother does a lot of talking. I don’t think they even know each other.”

  “Oh, they do. Know each other, that is. Of course, I can’t really blame Chet for having a thing for her. Danielle is single, good looking, and has a crap load of money. If I didn’t like men, I would consider her.” Carla laughed.

  “Even if my brother likes her, I doubt he has a chance.”

  “I have to agree with you,” Carla said in a whisper. With one finger she absently twisted a lock of her pink and purple hair. “I know Chris Johnson likes her, and he is way hot. I don’t think he has any money, but with his looks, I don’t even care about the money.”

  Laverne reserved comment and took another bite of pie.

  Carla released hold of her hair and leaned over the table toward Laverne. In a hushed voice she said, “Now Clint Marlow is staying over there. Just the two of them. I heard she isn’t taking any other guests. I don’t really care for the guy; he’s a little full of himself, if you ask me. But he’s got some amazing blue eyes.” Carla paused a moment and considered what she had just said. She then added, “Now that I think about it, both him and Chris have incredible blue eyes. Bedroom eyes, my grandma used to call them.” Carla sat back in the booth and sighed.

  “I’ve heard around town that Clint Marlow is kind of a jerk. I don’t imagine Danielle Boatman is actually interested in him.”

  Carla shrugged. “Maybe not. But I heard from Marjory over at the Mercantile that Danielle went in there a few days ago and bought a bunch of men’s clothes. Even slippers. When Marjory asked Danielle who they were for, she said they were for Walt Marlow.”

  Laverne frowned. “You mean Clint Marlow?”

  “Apparently he wants to be called Walt now. I guess that’s his real name. He’s named after the guy who was killed in Marlow House.”

  “Which one?” Laverne muttered.

  “Obviously, Walt Marlow,” Carla said with a giggle.

  Laverne shrugged. “He probably asked her to buy them, since he was planning to stay
at Marlow House after he got out of the hospital. He probably lost everything he had with him in the car accident.”

  “Perhaps,” Carla shrugged.

  Twenty-Three

  Laverne was still walking on the pier and had not yet stopped for her pie and ice cream when Danielle was huddled on her bed, talking to Heather on the cellphone.

  “I’m going to check on Walt,” Danielle finally told Heather.

  “I want you to call me in ten minutes and let me know everything is okay. You got that? If I don’t hear from you, I’m calling Chris, and we’re coming over there.”

  “I’m sure everything is okay,” Danielle told her. “Like you said, it was just a backfire I heard.”

  “Okay. But still, they were stopped in front of your house twice. Just call me. Promise?”

  “Fine. I will.”

  When Danielle ended her call with Heather, she tossed her phone back on the nightstand and climbed out of bed. After slipping on her robe, she went to her bedroom door and eased it open a few inches. Peeking out into the upstairs hallway, she glanced around. Like downstairs, nightlights provided dim lighting. All was quiet.

  She hadn’t seen Max since he had jumped up on the chessboard earlier that evening, ending Walt and Chris’s game. Danielle wondered if the cat was sleeping downstairs with Walt.

  She stepped out of her bedroom into the hallway and tiptoed to the railing and looked to the first floor. No lights were on downstairs save for the nightlights. With a deep breath, Danielle started down the stairs, holding onto the railing as she went. There was no sound aside from the ticking of a nearby wall clock and the light touch of her feet as they went down the wooden steps.