Raquel Byrnes

  “I’m sorry, Rosetta.”

  “Please stop saying that.”

  “I had no right to get close to you, not with what happened before.”

  “You don’t know what happened before, Simon.” I put my hand to the ache at my temple, tired. “You said the first one was two years ago. Have they been happening all along since then?”

  “No, they stopped just as suddenly as they’d started two years ago. Then it happened again about a month ago. I don’t know why.”

  I sat up, alarmed. “You mean when I got to Noble?”

  “A week or so after, I think.”

  “And you never went to the doctor?”

  “I…they stopped,” Simon said and shrugged. “I thought it was grief or something like that.”

  “But they started again, and every time you come out of one of these, you don’t remember anything, right?”

  “No.” He shook his head, his face full of sorrow. “I wake up and don’t know where I am or how I got there. Sometimes I lose hours, Rosetta, hours at a time.”

  “Then why don’t you get help?” I asked, exasperated.

  “Because of how it looks. I lose time, and my wife just happens to go missing during that time, too? Lavender can’t take…” He shook his head. “I thought I was protecting her, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Something is going on here that is tearing this family apart,” I said and pushed off from the wall. I took his hands in mine. “I can’t explain what happened before, but you didn’t do anything to me tonight.”

  “What happened to you?” He searched my face with a look of alarm. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, not hurt, but scared.” I told him about waking up with the lock of black hair woven into mine.

  “Someone was in your room?” Anger flashed in his eyes. “They touched you?” He strode to the door, his fists clenched. “I’ll wake the entire household. We’ll question everyone. This will not happen.”

  “Simon, wait!” I ran to stop him. “Look, we know it wasn’t you. There’s no way you could have sneaked into my room and done that. Not in the shape I found you in. Besides, why would you? The whole thing is so bizarre.”

  “All the more reason,” he growled, his hand on the door knob. “No one should lay a hand on you. No one.”

  “Please, just wait a second.” I eased between him and the door, my hands on his chest. “We need to be smart about this. If we go about this logically, retrace your steps, we can eliminate you as—”

  “Smart, Rosetta? We wake the staff and find the perpetrator.”

  “And then what? We won’t know why this is all happening.”

  Simon’s gaze slid from mine. His brows furrowed as if he were mulling something over.

  “You need to leave here. Lavender needs to leave. I’m calling the Kane Academy in the morning. The boarding school will take her early with a large enough endowment.”

  “Simon,” I tried to settle the desperate fear in my gut. “Lavender should leave, yes. To be safe, but I won’t just leave here. What about you?”

  “Rosetta, I won’t put you in danger. Not more than I already have. It was selfish and blind to not see that before. You have to leave Shadow Bay. Tomorrow morning.”

  “What? No!”

  “You’re being unreasonable.” Simon shook his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

  I jutted my chin, eyes holding his. “I believe you’re innocent.”

  “You have no evidence that I am.”

  “Simon, you were hurt when I found you. The cut was on your head. And when you changed shirts, I saw the scar on your side. That injury was fresh too.”

  “Proving I’m dangerous,” Simon said and pulled his hands from mine. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Until what?” I said stepping into him. “You could barely walk, barely stand. The only thing you’re capable of in that state is falling. I don’t believe you could harm anyone but yourself like that.”

  “But she went missing the night of my first blackout, Rosetta. We had a fight, and she ran off and then nothing.”

  “About what?”

  He backed away, shaking his head.

  I asked again. “Tell me, Simon.”

  “I blamed her,” Simon snapped, his face filled with anguish. “It was Lavender’s birthday, September first, but all I could think about was my son. He’d died only two weeks before. I tried to smile, to sing to her, but we all felt it. Lucien was not blowing out candles with her. He was gone. She insisted I should be celebrating, too, and I had…I had the most terrible pain in my head. I said things to her, Rosetta. I hurt her, and the next day she was gone. Whether I hurt her myself or drove her to jump from those cliffs, it was my fault!”

  “Simon…” My heart broke for him. For never being able to take back hurtful words, never being able to ask forgiveness. I reached for him, but he turned away, strode from me. “It was an accident. Your father said it was.”

  “But not Nalla,” Simon said. “I know what she thinks. I know what they all think of me.”

  “Not Josif, Simon. Not Yasmine and others.”

  Simon turned back to me, his face lined with pain. Clearing his throat, he continued. “When I woke up, I was covered in scratches.” He rolled up his sleeve and showed me the light crisscross of scars on his bicep.

  “I saw the same kind of marks on O’Shay when he came out of the brambles. You could have gotten those the same way.”

  “What if we fought some more? What if she tried to defend herself and I, in my anger—”

  “No. You needed help getting to the couch, Simon.” I shook my head.

  “There’s no proof I’m like that during a blackout. You only saw me after. You know the last thing I remember? Tucking Lavender in bed last night and coming here to work. That was hours ago. You don’t know what I could or couldn’t do during those hours.”

  “But you don’t either. You can’t disprove my version. You don’t know that she jumped and didn’t fall, Simon.” I reached for his hand, held it to my cheek. “You might not trust yourself, but I do. You couldn’t do what you fear.”

  “Why do you refuse to believe me when I say that you are in danger if you stay with me?” He hooked my chin with his thumb and fingers forcing me to look up into his eyes. They burned with intensity and sorrow. “You must leave here.”

  “I won’t.” I tugged from his hold, lip trembling. “And you can’t order me to leave. You and me on the boat. That was real to me. I meant what I said, and I’m not leaving. I won’t walk away when you and Lavender need me most. Look at what’s happening to her. She’s terrified of ghosts and secrets and she…she’s falling apart. I know what it’s like to be alone, Simon. I know what it’s like, and I won’t let her—” A sob tore from me, and I wiped my tears angrily. “I won’t let you two face this by yourselves.”

  “Rosetta…” His jaw worked, and he hugged me and kissed my hair. He was so warm. So strong. How could I leave him to fight this alone?

  “I-I…” So much longing and fear and desperate hope thrummed that I could only cling to him, bury my face in his chest, and cry. Shaking in his embrace, I tried to speak, to tell him how I’d never felt like this for anyone; how despite the danger and the unknown I couldn’t leave his side. “Simon, you’re…I’ve never—”

  “Shh…” he breathed. Lifting my face gently, he brushed a tender kiss across my lips. “I love you, too, Rosetta. With all that I am.”

  I kissed him then. My lips met his with all the hope and longing and fire to fight for what I’d found.

  I won’t lose everything I love again. I just won’t.

  29

  The faint kaleidoscope of dawn skimmed the horizon and morning birds rustled in the trees with plaintive calls. We walked towards the house, Simon’s hand entwined with mine. Mist floated up from the ground and swirled at our feet, its ghostly waves illuminated by our flashlight. I was cold, tired, and scared.

&nbs
p; “We should go straight to the observation deck,” Simon whispered. “If it’s locked, then we can deal with that.”

  I tilted my head, looking three stories up to the deck. A faint outline of the ironwork railing scratched against sky. I wished the sun would rise faster.

  “What about everyone in the house? Should we call the sheriff?”

  “Let’s see what’s up there first.”

  “You believe me, though, right, Simon?”

  “I believe you.” He looked down at me and squeezed my hand. “I just have no idea what to say to Sheriff Levine at this point.”

  We walked through the kitchen, up the grand staircase. We checked on Lavender. She was asleep in her bed, her raven hair spread over her pillow like a fan. I bit my lip, not wanting to leave her alone. “She’s OK,” I said. “Should we get your father?”

  “No. We see what’s out there first.” Simon closed the door quietly, took my hand, and we mounted the last flight of stairs to the third floor. I pointed to the bulge on the study door; to the lock.

  “Yeah, this is from one of the outside gates on the property. I think it’s older than I am.” He picked it up, squinted at it, and shook his head. “How could these things be going on in my own home?”

  “I locked it again before I left. Should we go and find O’Shay? Get the key from him?”

  “No.” Simon pushed me to the side, took a breath, and rammed his shoulder into the door. The frame splintered apart and sent the door flying inward. The metal flap holding the padlock to the door tore off and dangled from its broken hinge. He looked at me with a grin. “That was faster.”

  I’d forgotten that under the clothes of a gentleman, lurked the body of the warrior on the shore. I followed him into the dark study and through the French doors, but the pounding of footfalls down the corridor stopped me.

  “Someone is coming.”

  “What in the blazes is goin’ on?” O’Shay appeared at the door out of breath, staring at the collapsed entryway with shock. He shone his light in my face, and I turned.

  “I’m finding that out right now, O’Shay,” Simon said, already on the deck, and I turned without a word and joined him. He panned the flashlight back and forth.

  “Right there,” I pointed to the deck floor, strained to see in the dark. “There should be drag marks.”

  “I don’t see anything, love,” Simon whispered in my ear. “We might have to wait until light.”

  “She’s turning you about, Simon,” O’Shay said from the doorway. “I don’t think she is right in the—”

  “Do not finish that sentence, Mr. O’Shay,” Simon growled. “Not if you want to continue working here.”

  “No one’s been out there since Ms. Ryan was there that night. I locked it up straight away,” O’Shay shouted out to us.

  I tugged on Simon’s shirt.

  “The drag marks ended here.” I pointed to the alcove. “But there was also a bloody T-shirt over there by the far railing. And where’s the broken telescope? If no one has been up here since me, it should still be here, right?”

  “O’Shay,” Simon called.

  He didn’t answer. His flashlight shone at us from within the study.

  “I came back that night just a couple of hours after it happened, and there was already a lock up. Someone was here,” I said.

  “And where is the branch you apparently saw?” Simon shone the light at the corner. There was nothing there. “O’Shay,” he called again. “Come here.”

  I looked back at the study. His light remained fixed on us, but he didn’t respond.

  “Mr. O’Shay?” I asked, walking back to the room.

  The flashlight didn’t waver, and I squinted against the blinding beam searching for O’Shay’s form in the darkness. He wasn’t there. Simon grabbed the light.

  “Left it on the desk,” he said and strode out into the hall. “O’Shay’s gone.”

  “And where’s Mrs. Tuttle? Her room is on this floor. She should have heard you break down the door and come running.”

  “Let’s find out.” Simon shone the light down the corridor to her door.

  Her door stood ajar and we entered it, flicking on the lights, and stopping short. Her room was empty, her bed not slept in.

  “Tuttle?” Simon called and checked the closet. “Her things are here.”

  “Boy, you better have a good reason for disturbing me at this hour,” Davenport’s baritone sounded from the door. He raised his brow at me. “I should have known you’d be involved in this ruckus somehow, Ms. Ryan.”

  “There’s something very wrong going on here, Father,” Simon intoned.

  “How did you even hear us?” I asked Davenport. “You’re a floor down.”

  “I wasn’t in my room. I thought I was sneaking down for a plate of cake when I heard all the running around downstairs.”

  “Running around downstairs?” Simon looked at me. “No one has been running.”

  “Yes, yes, down by the solarium.” Davenport pointed with his cane. “Is someone going to tell me what’s happening in my own home?”

  I didn’t have a chance to answer. Simon ran for the stairs pulling me with him. We rounded the last of the steps leading to the foyer, my heart pounding as he pushed through the solarium’s glass door. He stopped short, and we stood in the dark, dank of the unused room, listening. I tried the light switch but nothing happened.

  “Don’t you guys ever buy light bulbs?” I asked exasperated. “When is the last time you used this room?”

  “There’s a door to a corridor in here somewhere,” Simon whispered and shone the flashlight around the solarium.

  Windows blackened with grime made up the outside walls and ceiling. The metal rafters of the roof rose to the sky in a gentle arch as high as the third floor. It must have been beautiful when in use. He panned the walls, and I took in trellises tangled with dried vines, barren flower beds, and a suite of wrought iron furniture pushed up against the windows. A chandelier dangled from a chain just below the apex of the arch, the heavy iron lacework dusted with the dirt from years of disuse. The whole of the outside was covered in overgrown ivy, and I realized why I hadn’t really noticed it while walking by the house.

  “I think it’s over here.” Simon stopped on the fourth wall, his light resting on a large marble fountain. The three large bowls spread out like inverted umbrellas. The top and smallest tier was crowned with a fish. “I remember my grandfather mentioning a door just behind that fountain. It leads to a room behind the library wall, I think. I never played in it. It was sealed over.”

  “Do you hear that?” A low thump-thump-thump floated to us from the wall. “That’s it. That’s what I’ve been hearing!” I squeezed his hand when the moan came. “Please tell me you heard that.”

  “I heard it.” Simon moved forward. He handed me the flashlight and felt along the wall.

  Wispy tendrils of spider webs floated above us, and I wiped at them with a shudder.

  Davenport poked his head into the doorway, his eyes full of curiosity. “What are you two up to?”

  “What’s behind here, Father?” Simon said from the shadows, his voice strained. “Do you remember?”

  “It was the casino room my grandfather built during the prohibition.” Davenport ambled towards me. “That’s been sealed for decades, Simon. From before you were a born.”

  “How do you get in?” Simon asked. “If I remember it has something to do with the fountain.”

  “Yes, yes.” Davenport pushed past me, and the two of them pulled and tugged on the fountain to no avail.

  “Twist the fish,” I said. “The fawn statue in the library opens a corridor by twisting on its base.”

  “Worth a try,” Simon said and put his hands on the head and tail of the fish statue that crowned the fountain. He turned it and a grinding noise came from behind the trellis on the wall. A puff of cool air burst from the crack revealed in the wall.

  “How many corridors does this place have?�
� I asked with awe.

  Simon pushed on the panel, and the door swung inward revealing a darkened hallway. Another moan escaped the depths of the corridor; floating out at us with wavering anguish.

  “Do you have your weapon, boy?” Davenport asked and yanked on the handle of his cane. A concealed dagger pulled away in his hand.

  “I do,” Simon pulled the gun from underneath his shirt. He held his hand out to me. “Rosetta?”

  Taking his hand, I followed between the two men. My breath came in strangled gasps as the darkness engulfed us. Simon shone the light down the hall. Multiple footprints peppered the dusty floor. Evidence that we weren’t the only ones down here. The thumping continued, growing louder as we went, then whispers. Urgent and harsh from behind a second door. Light seeped out into the darkness from the crack underneath it.

  “On three,” Simon said over his shoulder, and Davenport grunted his agreement.

  He held his hand up in the beam of the light counting out on his fingers; one…two…three!

  He rushed through the door, gun coming up, his arm pushing me behind him. The door banged against the wall, followed by a scream. In the beam of Simon’s light; the frightened faces of Mrs. Tuttle and O’Shay stared back at us. In their arms, the prone figure of a man jerked with spasms within their grasp. His feet banged the walls and a painful moan tore from his grimace.

  “Please, Simon,” Mrs. Tuttle cried. “Please don’t hurt my son.”

  “What is wrong with him?” Davenport demanded, his face crinkled with revulsion. “Is he possessed?”

  “He’s having a seizure,” I said, peering out from behind Simon’s bulk. “He’s epileptic, isn’t he, Mrs. Tuttle?”

  “Yes…” She cradled his head in her lap, her small hands struggling to quiet his attack. He looked young; not more than my age. His dark hair was plastered to his face with sweat. “They’re getting worse, Rosetta,” she cried, her face a mask of worry. “I don’t know how to help him.”

  Simon put his gun away, knelt to help her. A small camping lantern illuminated the scene in an eerie orange glow. He shook his head, empathy on his face. The seizure slowed, losing its grip on the boy.