Sindy stormed through Coffin Manor. She didn't know precisely what she was looking for, but it wasn't any more explanations from Abby.
Lied.
About something important.
Really important.
And Nate! Of course Abby had told Nate. Their whole relationship was weird. Nate obviously worshiped Abby, and she knew it. She'd never actually said as much, but there was no way she could miss it. And Nate was clearly positioning himself as the nice guy that Abby would someday notice. It was dishonest and more than a little creepy, but the two of them were still peas in a pod. Still sharing secrets even she didn't get to hear. No matter how much she tried to drag Abby out into the light, she always returned to that comforting little hole she shared with Nate.
It was impossible, and Sindy was beginning to wonder if it was even worth it.
Sindy stopped at one of the doorways of Coffin Manor. It was impossible to say which one, other than that it was not the front. The distinction between "side" and "back" doors was erased when the entire place was in the middle of construction. She stepped through, shivering in the chill autumn air, and found that she was not outside. She was in the skeleton of a new addition. The air was insistent with the aroma of raw wood. Plastic on the walls crinkled in the breeze. She hugged herself, stepping further into the strange, unfinished new room.
The ceiling was vaulted. It extended a good fifty feet into the air until it just stopped. She couldn't imagine what this place might be. Her own home, which had a street number instead of a name like 'Harwich Hall' or 'Coffin Manor', would never have anything so grand. There was a good reason for that, too.
She wasn't supposed to know, but Sindy had overheard her mother on the phone with the accountant. The Endicott fortune was dwindling, fast. Sindy had lingered in the doorway while her mom and the accountant talked about "options." Her mom sounded desperate and scared. That word, "options," was terrifying-when adults started talking about options, there were never any good ones. Any day now, Sindy expected to hear that they would have to move.
The unfinished addition had an eerie beauty about it. The white sheets standing in for the walls made her think of ghosts. The biting autumn breeze that slithered through the gaps in the sheets carried the smells of the surrounding forest's seasonal death. She pretended she could smell candy and the pumpkin patch set up on the edge of the O'Sullivan property. Sindy shivered again, but it was a pleasant one: the shiver of an unexpected caress.
"Sin?" The voice came from behind her, swallowed up in the echoless chamber of the unfinished room.
She turned. Eleazar Grant stood in the doorway. They called him Laze, but Sindy disliked it. She thought his name had a certain power to it, like all the Biblical names that had fallen out of fashion. It helped that he was a handsome boy with a tragic air about him. His long, thick, pale hair was a perfect counterpoint to her own, but his eyes were deep and nearly black, set into deep, dark pits. He always looked like he had a horrible secret that he could never tell, except maybe through poetry. He wore all black, accented by occasional bits of silver from jewelry or zippers.
"Hey," she said.
"What are you doing out there?"
She hugged herself against the cold. She found that even though she was chilly, she liked it. "Just walking around. I got lost."
"You look cold." He took off his jacket and walked over, holding it out for her.
"What about you?"
"I'm fine."
She took the jacket, and inhaled the scent as she put it on. Maybe it was a stray breeze off the Atlantic, but she swore she could smell the salt off the jacket itself. She huddled into it.
"Thanks," she said.
"You want to go back into the party?"
Sindy looked through the doorway, where she could hear the thundering beats, rendered muddy by distance and obstruction. "No."
"Good, me neither. You mind if I stay out here, too?"
She felt the question as a spark in her heart. She nodded, then listened to the question again in her head, and whispered, "No."
"You want me to get us some drinks?"
She nodded.
"I'll be right back."
"I'll be right here."
He smiled at her, and she didn't remember seeing him smile before, or at least not like that. His eyes gobbled up the light, and shone with twin stars, before he went back inside. Sindy smiled to herself and pulled his jacket closer around herself.
24
Culmination of the Dream
Abby stayed in the room alone for some time after Sindy left. She couldn't blame her friend for what had happened. This whole mess was nobody's business but hers, sure, but that didn't mean she should exclude her closest friends. The three of them had an unspoken treaty. What Nate heard, Sindy heard, and vice versa. They both confided in Abby, but not in each other. As they'd grown up, Nate and Sindy had grown further and further apart. Lately, that distance had been accelerating. Sindy wanted to spend all her time with Bryce and his friends. Nate hated them.
Her little group was clinging together on borrowed time. Abby thought she might have just blown it up. She didn't want to choose between Nate and Sindy, even if in a small way she already had. Somehow, she could make this work. She could be friends with Nate, and Sindy, and Bryce.
She'd dreamt of being in Bryce's house for years, but she hadn't planned on being alone while a party blared all around her. She wanted to run back to the simple comfort of Nate's company. They could watch his movies, make caramel corn, and give candy to all the cute kids from the neighborhood. In this big, loud, alienating place, it sounded like the best thing in the world.
Abby began to feel like she wasn't in the house at all. She wished for her mom. All she wanted was a little bit of acknowledgement. Constance had never been the warmest woman, but she could be counted on for a hug, a kiss, and a kind word when it was needed... except during functions for the Daughters of Arkham.
Abby made up her mind. She was going to walk out to the road and call Nate. She'd tell him everything, apologize for the lie, and face the music. He would be mad, but he'd take her home. She would feel guilty, but at least she would feel like a person. She could fall back into tradition and eventually the two of them would feel so much better.
She sped up as she walked through the house. She had only a vague idea of where she was going. Harwich Hall was all right angles and regular rooms; you could predict where you might end up. Coffin Manor was this bizarre mutant house that sprouted rooms and hallways at random. Abby wondered if even Bryce or his mother knew their way around. Maybe the ever-expanding grounds were just as much a mystery to the people who lived here as they were to her.
Abby followed the music, hoping to find an exit, but the hallways just kept branching and turning. How she had found that empty room? She didn't even know how she could get back to it, now. She felt like she was walking through one of her nightmares.
A strange memory blasted into her consciousness: the night of the carnival, running through the woods, thorns raking her face. She paused, trying to understand what she was seeing, trying to remember what she had been running from. Nothing came. It was a faceless menace, and she couldn't even be certain it was a physical thing. It felt like the night itself, swallowing up everything behind her in blackness.
Just as her memories had been.
She emerged into the front hall. The door was still open. The pathway to the gate shone in the moonlight.
"There you are."
She turned and saw Bryce. He was shining with sweat from the dance floor, and his smile was utterly brilliant. Abby's knees turned to jelly. "Hey. I was just..."
"Don't tell me you were going."
"Um. Okay?"
"I was looking for you. Heard you were around, but couldn't find you."
She curtsied and instantly felt silly. "Here I am."
"Come on. Let's dance."
She couldn't have refused him if she tried, and she didn't want to. She t
ook his hand, warm and comforting, and allowed him to draw her close. He grinned at her, and she could think of nothing else.
25
Alone
The front door was unlocked, but Nate didn't know if rich people ever locked their doors. He wondered if wrought-iron gates and privilege was enough of a shield for them. There wasn't much crime in Arkham, but Nate wouldn't have left his front door unlocked under any circumstance. His parents had drilled him quite thoroughly about the ever-present threats of kidnappers and perverts, and when his parents weren't home, he had to look out for Veronica.
The door only creaked a little as he eased it open. It was a normal sound and somehow that was worse than the sepulchral groan of a haunted house. He would have preferred to confirm his assumption that this place was empty, haunted, and someone else's problem.
Abby was sick. He couldn't let a perfectly normal door creak stop him.
"Hello?" he called, though he knew that Bertram would have answered him if he were there.
There was no sound.
The front hallway was all dark woods and even darker paint. The art on the wall had a distinctly American feel with bold landscapes and dying soldiers. The light, provided by antique glass lamps, always made Nate think of a library. He waited in the doorway, not wanting to venture any further inside. It was like there was one of those force fields from Star Trek barring his way inside. He strained to hear any sound beyond his own breathing. The house was utterly silent. Harwich Hall was big, but the sounds of a party should have carried to front hallway. He couldn't hear the tinkle of glassware. There were no conversations, no clicking of heels on the hard wood.
"Abby?"
If she responded, that would be permission to enter. Nate could see Abby's room from where he stood. The light was off, but that didn't mean she wasn't home. He looked at the stairs, but still he didn't move.
The silence had somehow grown louder. Intellectually, he knew that he was hearing the rhythmic thump-squish of blood rushing through his head, but holding onto rational thought was a battle he was on the verge of losing. The silence had become something else, something just on the edge of recognizable. It moved and scraped at the extreme range of his senses.
Nate looked down at the threshold again. This was ridiculous. The only barrier here was in his mind. There was no one inside the house; he was hearing blood, and wind, and absolutely nothing else. He couldn't help himself, though; the superstitious, monkey part of his mind saw a predator in every shadow.
Where was the party?
The party at Harwich Hall every Halloween was something he accepted on faith. He had never seen the party, but he knew it was there. And since the party guaranteed Abby to him for one night of the year, it never occurred to him to doubt its existence. He imagined it was the way his mother thought about God.
He turned around, halfway convinced that the cars would be gone. They were all still lined up end-to-end with only scant inches in between. He could see the dim outlines of other cars parked down the street, too. Tons of people had arrived at this party... and then they'd vanished.
Nate looked into the house again. Everything seemed to be telling him to walk away. He could take the sandwiches home and share them with his sister. Veronica was probably stuffed full of candy and could use some real food. But, Abby might be inside. He wouldn't leave if there was a chance to see her.
He shivered and took a step over the threshold. The thrill of this simple act staggered him. He wasn't breaking in. Not really. Not even legally. The door was unlocked and he had called out twice.
"Abby?" he said again. Superstition said that three was a magical number; it warded off danger.
There was still no response. Nate could feel something deep in the house listening to him. He knew it was there. Nate didn't know if it was waiting patiently for prey or if it worried it would be discovered.
He took another step inside. This was it. He was too far from the doorway to claim this had been an accident. Nate forced himself to take another three steps, then he headed directly for the staircase. He stepped lightly. This isn't exactly sneaking, he told himself. Thieves sneak. I'm just delivering sandwiches.
The house didn't look familiar to him anymore; everything had taken on a strange and otherworldly air. The paintings almost seemed to move. The furniture cast shadows that were too long and the curtains billowed and swelled with what Nate assumed was murderous intent. He tried his best to concentrate on the task at hand, but he couldn't. The persistent tingle on the back of his neck kept telling him that someone was right behind him. Whenever he turned to look, there was nothing.
He walked-almost-ran up the stairs, stepping as close to the wall as he could to minimize the creaking. Abby had taught him that trick. Sneaking upstairs right now seemed both wrong and necessary. If there really was something-no, someone, if there were someone-in the house, he thought it would be best if he passed unnoticed. If someone was here, it wasn't the Thorndikes or their servants. This was something-dammit, someone-else.
Best do this quickly and get out.
At the top of the stairs, Nate turned toward the east wing. Abby was the only one who had a bedroom on that side of the house. The two older Thorndikes slept in the west wing. Bertram had living quarters somewhere on the third floor. Downstairs, it had been eerie to see lights blazing in empty rooms. Up here, the lights were off. This was scarier. The hallway seemed longer than it ever had before.
He had the intense feeling that someone was watching him. The presence lurking in the house, listening to his calls, had come closer. Nate turned. There were deep shadows all around. It didn't occur to him to look for a light switch. The darkness was deep enough to hide a person and the furniture, curtains, and paintings all appeared to be doing just that.
It felt suicidal to turn his back on the hall, but he had to. He had come this far and he was going to Abby's room. The bag of sandwiches crinkled a little in his hand. Bringing them here felt childish and pointless now. He didn't want to be found dead, clutching a bag of Fluffernutters.
Nate's steps were quick. They grew quicker by the second as the feeling of being watched grew more and more intense. It felt like someone was directly behind him, precisely mimicking his every movement. He couldn't look over his shoulder; that would only make it real. If he didn't see it, maybe it would go away.
Nate stopped at Abby's door and waited. Shadows seemed to move in his peripheral vision. You're seeing things, he told himself. Your visual cortex is being starved of stimuli, so you're hallucinating.
"Abby?" he said to the door. The house swallowed his voice. "Abby?" he said again.
There was no answer. Despite everything that was happening, he could never imagine Abby hiding on the other side of the door. Nate could trust her. Always.
He knocked. Maybe she was asleep. "Abby?"
Still no answer.
She wasn't home. She was probably with everyone else, wherever they were. But he still had to check. He had to be certain. He cracked the door to Abby's room, whispering her name into the gap. Nothing. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open all the way.
Empty.
Nate stared, taking in all the little details. Abby's bed was made, stuffed animals arranged just-so by the pillows. Some of her makeup was out on the table. He didn't see her purse.
Nate shut the door and turned back toward the stairs. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his questions and doubts. Had she been initiated into the Daughters of Arkham at the last minute? Had she vanished with the rest of them? Or worse... Had she lied to him?
He paused for a moment. A deep, primal instinct instructed him to turn his head very slowly and carefully. He held his breath, turned, and there it was.
There was a roughly man-sized silhouette outlined against the curtains at the end of the hall. The moonlight stabbing through the curtains gave the shape a strange silver halo and cast shadows so far down the hall that they touched Nate's feet. He looked down. For a moment,
he could see the shadow shifting and writhing, as though it was trying to grab him and draw him in.
Nate could hear the blood in his ears again. His heart felt like it had been frozen solid. It threatened to shatter right out of his chest.
He could not move. He stared at the silhouette at the end of the hall, like a mouse hypnotized by a snake, unable to flee to save himself. The shape pinned him in place, as sure as if its shadow could touch the solid world.
The silhouette cocked its head, and the moonlight revealed a nightmare.
It was the shape of fear.
Nate turned and sprinted away. He didn't realize until much later that he had been screaming.
26
The Unexpected Visitor
Mr. Harris watched Nathan Baxter's face as it turned stark white. He watched his eyes bulge out and his mouth fall open so that little, guttural sounds of fear and disgust could come tumbling out. Nathan stood there so long that Mr. Harris thought the boy might remain there until he literally dropped dead from fright.
Mr. Harris hoped that would not happen. Nathan Baxter was his best student. Someday, he'd likely have his pick of the Ivy League. If all that had ended over an honest mistake, Mr. Harris wasn't certain he could have forgiven himself.
But what was the boy doing here? It wasn't a surprise that Nate felt welcome in Harwich Hall-he seemed friendly with Abby Thorndike-but to see him here on Halloween night was quite surprising, indeed.
Mr. Harris had noticed Nate halfway through his own slow circuit of the house. (Empty, as expected. He'd found nothing of note.) He'd been taking his time, stepping lightly and leaving no trace. The last thing he needed was for that Bertram to catch his scent.
He'd spotted Nate peeking into the house from the rosebushes, and he'd thought the boy might leave after that. Instead, he'd snuck into the house as bold as you please.
Mother of Crows: Daughters of Arkham - Book 2 Page 12