The only thing left for him to do was die.
His chest tightened with pain and he slid to the floor, down into the embrace of the darkness, and the shrieking of the night.
CHAPTER 3
The Pennywhistle was already a bustling madhouse when Mike Richards walked in, at quarter after six. His eyes scanned the room until he spied his friend, Alan Bryce, sitting with his wife, Jenny, at a table in the back corner. The couple were holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes in that moony, giddy, lost way unique to people in love or taking hallucinogens. Mike had never been a huge fan of gooey showings of love, but he figured Alan and Jenny deserved a grace period, as they were still in the thralls of post-honeymoon bliss. They’d only been back from Hawaii for ten days or so.
Jenny caught sight of Mike first, and waved him over to their table. At twenty-five, with her pink Strawberry Shortcake sweatshirt and cut off jeans, she looked ten years younger than she actually was.
“You’re late, Richards!” she said as she tucked a long strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and scrunched up her freckle-covered nose.
“But not as late as Rose,” Alan added. “It’s weird. You’re usually our resident space cadet. We figured she’d beat you by hours.”
Mike couldn’t really argue. He often got so lost in his work handcrafting furniture that time lost seemed to warp around him. But the fact that it was true didn’t mean he was going to take shit from Alan.
“You know how it is, Alan. Those of us not completely pussy-whipped don’t have to be so worried about our schedules.”
A mottled red colored Alan’s pale cheeks, and he gave a sheepish grin, flashing his middle finger at Mike. As enjoyable as it was, it really wasn’t difficult to make Alan flush. Just tease him, and his Irish heritage betrayed him every time.
Pushing Alan’s buttons wasn’t hard, but most people wouldn’t have dared. Blond and blue-eyed, he stood nearly seven feet tall and so broad he looked as though he’d have to turn sideways to get through most doors. If he ever grew a beard, he’d have been a perfect Viking. Most people were intimidated in Alan’s presence, unless they saw him handling the delicate objects for sale in Cat O’ Nine Tails, the antique store he owned on Elm Street in downtown Kingbury. Mike had known Alan since grade school and knew the guy was gentle as a lamb as long as you kept his alcohol intake to a minimum —
“Don’t poke the bear,” Alan warned.
Mike grinned. “Pooh bear, you mean. Oh, bother.”
Alan couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You’re an ass.”
“Indeed. I’m gonna grab a beer. You guys need anything? Lovely Jenny? Pooh bear?”
Jenny held up her nearly full glass. “I’m all set, Piglet, but thanks.”
“I’m good,” Alan said.
Mike headed off for the bar, and returned a few minutes later with a cold black and tan clutched protectively in his hand. He took the seat opposite Alan, lifted his glass in a silent toast to them, and drained the top quarter of his lager-and-Guinness.
“My God, man, go easy on that drink,” Alan chided him. “They will make more, you know.”
Mike shook his head, and took another sip, then licked the foam off of his upper lip. “All the teasing in the world will not take away the pleasure of this drink.”
He’d spent a long, unproductive day in his workshop trying to get the sketches right on the Dining Room Set he was making for Mabel Rutherford. He’d started on the commission almost two weeks before, and he’d hardly made any progress at all in the interim.
That got Jenny talking about her day, and the three of them fell into the relaxed banter of the closest friends. As the conversation went on, Mike found his gaze shifting toward the double doors that marked the entrance to the pub. He kept willing them to open and for Rose to enter, but they stayed firmly shut, thwarting him.
Six thirty came and went, and Mike began to worry that something had happened to her.
“You really think staring like that is gonna make her walk through those doors any faster?” Jenny asked with a sly grin.
Caught, Mike looked away, embarrassed. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on!” Jenny chided him. “We’re all friends here, Mikey. Might as well be family. Hey, we could be pretty helpful to the cause. But if you’re not ready to deal with it, well, then there’s nothing we can do to help you . . .”
The Pennywhistle was a Tuesday night ritual for them. Sure, they all hung out here more than just Tuesday nights. The food and the atmosphere were both perfect comfort. The place had the best Cajun popcorn shrimp known to man, an incredible bread bar, and a selection of beers from around the world. Everything on the menu was excellent, and on weekends they had live entertainment. Mike loved hanging out there, especially with Alan and Jenny. But Rose had been a big part of his motivation ever since their little group had clicked. When Alan and Jenny had first gotten together, and Mike had found out Jenny’s best friend was the somber girl who’d hidden behind her dark, curly hair all through junior high, he’d been surprised. But the first time Rose had joined them at the Pennywhistle, the surprise had been even greater. Rose had an effect on him that was nothing short of enchantment.
He shook his head, laughing softly. Jenny was trying to get him to talk about how he felt, but if he ever said anything so ridiculously romantic out loud, Alan would crucify him for all eternity. Nothing short of enchantment. He was an idiot. Yet, just because it sounded absurd, that didn’t meant it wasn’t true. Whenever he saw Rose, she took his breath away.
Jenny knew. She was a perceptive woman, and had wheedled the whole, sad truth out of him one drunken Memorial Day weekend down at Alan’s cabin on the Sharpe River. As the last orange of the afternoon had faded into twilight, she had listened to Mike pour out his secret while her giant fiancé snored happily beside her on a deck chair, his head resting in her lap.
Since then she had been teasing him unmercifully, trying to goad him into asking Rose out. Jenny just didn’t understand that no matter what she said he was not going to risk losing Rose’s friendship by trying to create a relationship when there wasn’t one there. If he ever got the feeling Rose had any romantic interest in him at all, maybe that would change. But for now —
As if she’d read his mind, and knew he was pining for her arrival, Rose burst through the double doors, her short black hair wild around her face, brown eyes wide and unfocused. She looked around the room, her brain not seeming to register what she was seeing because she looked right at Mike twice without recognizing him.
“Rose!” he called out, his voice barely loud enough to pierce the wall of sound that filled the pub.
She turned, her eyes finding Mike’s face in the crowd, and gave him a shaky smile before pushing her way through the busy pub toward their table. Rose looked windblown and disheveled, and Mike recalled his earlier worry about her lateness with fresh concern. Rose was not one given to slouching on her appearance. She always wore a light dusting of make-up, and kept her short, curly brown hair in check with barrettes.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Rose said breathlessly as she slung her backpack across the back of the empty chair and sat down. Her cheeks were flush with color, and Mike could detect a hint of sweat underneath the fresh citrus bouquet of her perfume.
“No worries,” Alan smiled.
“Well, Mike was kinda worried —” Jenny began, a devilish smile playing at the corner of her lips.
He was gonna kill Jenny.
“Evil, Mrs. Bryce,” he said.
Rose gave them all a strange look, but let it pass. She licked her lips, her brow furrowed slightly.
“Seriously, Rose, I was starting to wonder if everything was okay,” he said.
A grateful smile touched her lips, but did not take the distracted worry from her eyes. “I guess I’m okay, now. But the weirdest thing happened on my way over here.”
All the amusement left Jenny’s face. Mike had seen how stress
ed out Rose was from the moment she came through the door. Jenny was just getting it now, that this wasn’t Rose being flighty.
“What? What’s wrong?” Jenny asked.
Rose sighed, already calming down. “I don’t know. It sounds really stupid, but on the way over — I walked, even though I was running late — and there was something out in the woods. I couldn’t see it, but it made the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard. Like the wind in the trees, but almost . . . human sounding, too —”
“Probably a coyote,” Alan replied. “I’ve heard ’em out at night, and it’s pretty creepy.”
“It wasn’t a coyote,” Rose said, her voice firm. “It wasn’t anything like that. I know what a coyote sounds like, and just about anything else that you might hear in these woods. Whatever it was, it gave me chills I can’t even describe. I was too scared to move. I just stood there until it stopped and then I ran as fast as I could.”
Mike let his fingers brush against the wool of Rose’s sweater. He could still feel the cool of the evening air lingering in the thick fabric.
Alan leaned toward her, over the table, his gaze intense. “It could have been a ghost, Rose. Did you see anything weird?”
Most people would have thought Alan was joking, but they’d all heard him talk about ghosts before. As a child, he claimed to have seen them all the time. It had been ten years or more since the last time. Mike thought Alan had just grown out of a childhood phase, the way some kids did their imaginary friends. But it was obvious that, to Alan, they’d been very real. And he missed them. Jenny had once said that she thought the ghosts were why Alan loved antiques so much — the only way he could still connect to the past — and Mike didn’t argue the point.
Rose blinked and stared at him. “I don’t . . . I’m sorry, Alan, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Alan arched an eyebrow and sat back. “Fair enough. If you’ve got a better explanation for what you heard.”
“I’m sure there’s a logical —” Mike began, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Dave McKeegan, the Pennywhistle’s sole proprietor and bartender. Dave had a shock of gray hair and a round belly from imbibing too much of his own trade. At fifty-something, Dave usually had a twinkle in his Irish eyes, but tonight it was gone.
He put a fatherly hand on Rose’s shoulder.
“Rose, honey, there’s someone on the phone for you.”
Rose gave him a quizzical look.
“I don’t —”
Dave shook his head.
“It’s important. Why don’t you take it in the back room.”
Rose stood, her knees nearly buckling under her weight. Jenny was immediately at her side, taking her arm, and helping her toward the back of the pub.
Mike watched as the two women disappeared behind the bar.
“What’s going on, Dave?” Mike asked. “What’s the phone call?”
The Pennywhistle’s owner cast a regretful look toward the back of the pub.
“One of the nurses up at the home. Said Rose told her she was on her way here. Just wanted to let her know . . .”
“Oh, God,” Mike said under his breath,
Dave nodded.
“I expect she’s in for a bit of a shock.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Jenny leading Rose back to the table. Rose’s face was ashen, and tears slid slowly down her cheeks.
“He’s gone,” Rose said, picking up her backpack and slinging it thoughtlessly over her arm. “Heart attack. I shouldn’t have let her make me go. He was so scared, and she made it worse . . .”
Rose trailed off, her face full of bitterness. She didn’t need to elaborate. They all knew who she was talking about. Rose’s grandmother was known throughout the whole village as a terrible shrew.
With a sigh, Rose glanced around at her friends. When her gaze fell upon Mike, her eyes went wide.
“Mike, your nose —”
He reached up a hand and touched his upper lip. A moment before she’d spoken, Mike had felt the thick wetness there. Now he pulled his fingers away and saw that they were stained red.
“What the hell?” he muttered, grabbing for one of the cloth napkins that lay crumpled on the table.
His nose was bleeding. The copper scent of blood filled his head.
Where had this come from?
“You okay?” Rose asked.
He nodded, holding the napkin against his nose, head back slightly. That was just like Rose. Scared to death in the woods, in tears over her grandfather’s death, and asking him if he was okay because he had a stupid bloody nose.
“Just a nose bleed,” he said. “It’s nothing.
CHAPTER 4
“Just take it. You’ll feel better. I promise.”
Rose looked questioningly at the small white and yellow pill that sat squarely in Jenny’s hand before reaching out tentatively. It was nearly weightless in her hand. It was odd to her to think something so small was imbued with such power.
She swallowed the pill, chased with a long swig from the glass of apple juice Jenny had poured for her earlier. Though she knew it could not possibly work so quickly, she thought she could feel the pill start to disseminate throughout her body.
As much as she didn’t like anyone looking after her, Rose was glad Jenny had insisted on taking her home. Her apartment wasn’t very far, but she didn’t feel like walking alone. Jenny’s rusted blue Mustang had been a welcome sight to Rose parked in the lot behind The Pennywhistle.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you tonight?” she asked, standing in the small kitchen of Rose’s apartment.
Rose didn’t relish the idea of being alone, but she wasn’t going to impose.
“I’m staying at the cabin while my parents are away, remember? I wouldn’t even go back up there tonight, but I haven’t been back to let Lucy out or fill her bowl since this morning.”
Jenny shrugged. “I can sleep at the cabin. I’m rustic.”
Rose gave her a sad smile. “That place is hardly rustic. Outside, sure.”
“What, you mean you’re not roughing it, up there?”
It was a joke between them. They called the place a cabin because it was up a long, woodsy mountain road and from the outside, it had that big old cabin look. But Rose’s parents did well for themselves, and inside, the place was practically luxurious, and bigger than it looked.
“I’ll be all right,” she promised. “Besides, you need to go home to Alan.”
Jenny took her hand. “You know I’m only a call away if you need anything.”
Rose couldn’t help, but smile. Having Jenny for a best friend was a lot like having a second mother.
“Go,” Rose said. “I’m fine. I took the pill. Now I’ve gotta get up to the cabin before I pass out. I’m just gonna curl up in my parents’ bed with Lucy and go to sleep.”
Jenny sighed, picking up her purse from the counter. “All right. Let’s go. I’ll walk out with you.”
Rose set her juice glass in the sink, shut off the kitchen light, and they left together.
Outside, on the street, Jenny gave her a hug and then climbed into the Mustang, which was parked right in front of Rose’s little red Honda. She gave Rose a wave as she started the car and drove away. Rose stood on the sidewalk, shivering a little, looking forward to wrapping herself in one of her mother’s Pueblo Indian throws as soon as she got to the cabin. She watched until the mustang’s taillights faded away into the darkness.
Only then did she unlock the Honda and slide behind the wheel. The idea of the big, empty cabin up in the woods would not have been at all appealing if it weren’t for the big, gangly, black Labrador she knew would be waiting for her, tail wagging.
As predicted, Lucy practically tackled her when she opened the door. Rose bent down on the threshold and put her arms around the silly, sloppy dog. After a few seconds, she realized that she’d started crying again. Lucy licked salty tears from her cheeks and barked happily.
“Goofball
,” Rose said.
Lucy ran outside to pee.
“Come right back in,” Rose said. “I’ll get you some food.”
The dog didn’t go more than twenty feet from the front door to do her business, watching Rose the entire time, eyes alight with the promise of food.
Rose had been staying at her parents’ cabin — if one could call it that with its huge plate glass windows and modern, stark lines — for the last few days ostensibly to look after Lucy, who was really her father’s dog. For Rose, it was sort of a vacation from her apartment. Downtown Kingsbury was alive with music and art and the bustle of tourists, but sometimes she liked the quiet of the woods.
It hadn’t been hard for her parents to entice her into house sitting. They knew how much she loved the house, and Lucy. All they had to do was call and ask, and Rose was there in a heartbeat.
Now, she wondered what would happen. Her father had nearly three more weeks of scheduled speaking engagements in the U.K. and Ireland. But Pappy — her mother’s father — was dead. They’d have to come home, now. Tonight, she didn’t mind the thought of leaving the cabin behind. As small as her apartment was, the big house on the mountain trail made her feel even lonelier.
Lucy trotted back through the door, and Rose closed and locked it, again absurdly grateful for the dog’s presence. Still, she felt more isolated than she ever had before.
It’s lonely out here in the woods, even with goofy Lucy for company, she mused as she began the walk through the four-bedroom house, securing all the windows and doors and extinguishing any forgotten lights. She stripped off her clothes and took a long shower, then pulled on a tank top and boxers, the pill Jenny had given her working its magic, lulling her grief and anxiety enough that she felt she could actually sleep.
In her parents’ master bedroom suite, she found that Lucy had made herself at home. The dog’s shiny black coat glowed in the lamplight where she was sprawled on the linen duvet that covered the king-size bed. It was such a silly picture that it made Rose giggle.
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