What did surprise me was that she seemed earnest about it. There was a large possibility that she bought into her own bullshit. She seemed to believe she was more sensitive to things that weren’t there, and I was still trying to figure out how and why she had figured out Meredith’s name.
“I didn’t,” she said. “I told you, she told me.”
I glared at her. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You said that you wondered how I had figured out Meredith’s name, or how,” she said. “I didn’t figure anything out. She told me.”
I stopped, puzzled. “I told you. I didn’t say anything.”
“You did,” she replied. “And I wish I had a better explanation for you, but I don’t. That’s the best I can do. Trust me, I’ve been wanting a better explanation myself for years and years, but it simply doesn’t exist.”
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long have you been trying to find out why it happens?”
She licked her lips. We were at the bottom of the steps. She turned to me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Since I was a little girl,” she said. “Ever since I can remember… I’ve always been able to do this. My parents didn’t like it. My siblings didn’t like it. The only person who understood was my grandmother.”
I cocked my head. “There’s a history of this in your family?”
“Yes,” she said. “People respected my grandmother when she first said she could communicate with people in the afterlife. She wasn’t a fraud, and she didn’t do it for money. But my father never believed her, and when he was only eighteen, he left, and he didn’t see her again until my brother and I were in the picture.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess he wanted her to meet her grandchildren.”
I wanted to contradict her, but she seemed so sincere. I knew talking to her wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
“I’m going back to work,” she said after a little while, and began to climb up the stairs.
I followed, lagging behind her.
***
It was late when I woke up. Sunshine came in through the half-open windows and I realized I was on an unfamiliar bed only minutes after I had opened my eyes.
I didn’t know when I had gone to sleep, but I saw the fancy quilt on top of me and realized that I had fallen asleep in what had been used as Lily’s bed the day before.
I didn’t remember falling asleep. I must have been so tired, I thought. I poured over papers and surveys and symptoms for what seemed like forever, coming to no conclusions, as Lily stayed up and typed things on her laptop, occasionally stopping to read or to stretch.
I had been hungry, tired, thirsty, all of those things, but I didn’t think there was a time for a break. That was why I was so baffled by where I woke up.
Thankfully—mercifully—the side of the bed that Lily had slept on was made, though I could faintly smell her perfume on her pillow. This felt weird and intimate, and I didn’t want it, though there was a part of me that felt like I might have.
But no.
I was just lonely.
There had been no women after Meredith, and for good reason. I could never give them what I had given Meredith, and even with her, I had never managed to give her all of me. That had been one of our issues, but we were working on it.
And then she had died, and there was nothing else to work on. There was nothing else to improve on, or to try and be better at. Our relationship had never gone where it was supposed to, and I often wondered if it would’ve been happy if we had been married. I liked to think that it would have been, but it was hard to say.
Whatever had happened between me and Meredith, it was private. It belonged to me, and only me, and I didn’t want to share it with anyone.
Especially someone who was probably lying.
I stretched and decided that it was time to go downstairs. I didn’t remember when I had last eaten. I walked over to where the water bottles were and noticed that the blanket was crumpled up and a few bottles had been taken, presumably downstairs. I grabbed one, opened it and drank it without reservation.
Maybe all I had needed was a good night of sleep to regain my composure, I told myself, before going downstairs.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LILY
2019
I was downstairs preparing breakfast when I heard footsteps coming toward me.
I turned around to see a disheveled looking Dr. Arnaud. He had slept in his jeans and his button-up green shirt, and I was able to tell, even without seeing his body, that there were marks on him from how he had slept.
“Good morning,” I said. “How did you sleep?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a mystery, so I guess I slept okay,” he said. “I… woke up in your bed. Why?”
“You don’t remember?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Do you drink coffee?” I ask as I poured water—from the bottles we had bought—into the machine.
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you. So what happened?”
“You were tired, you fell asleep in your chair. I asked if you wanted to lie down on the bed. You said you thought that might be weird. I told you you could go elsewhere, but you were so tired, you just told me not to get any ideas.”
“And I got into bed with you, just like that?”
I smiled. “No,” I said. “Not just like that. You got on top of the comforter and kept moving to the other side of the bed, which was honestly pretty unnecessary since that bed is so big. Anyway, you fell asleep after a little while, and I was tired too, so I went to sleep. When I woke up, you were under the comforter and you were completely out of it. You seemed tired and I didn’t want to wake you up.”
He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing a little. “Why?”
“Because,” I said. “You worked until late and I’m not an inconsiderate asshole. Then I came downstairs and decided it was time to throw together some breakfast, because I couldn’t remember the last time I ate.”
He blinked. “Oh.”
“Do you remember any of this?”
He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “No,” he said. “Not at all.”
“It was a pretty exhausting day. Did you manage to get any work done?”
He laughed dryly. “Nothing of value, I’m sure. Not if I don’t remember going to sleep. What about you?”
“I do remember going to sleep, but I don’t remember anything of value either,” I replied. “My work is mostly done at night, so I must have been really exhausted.”
“Spirits only come out at night?”
“No,” I said. “There are just less distractions around, which makes it easier to listen to other people.”
“But there are no distractions here.”
“Really? Are you sure about that?” I asked, looking right at him.
He smiled. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, I’ve been scrounging for something to eat, but I can’t find anything,” I said. “Nothing for breakfast.”
He approached me. He opened the cupboard next to me, and began to get spices out, until he had lined the kitchen counter with spices like garlic, cumin and cayenne.
“They have these here?” I asked.
“I expect people stay overnight,” he said. “Some of them probably want to cook. Have you eaten yet?”
“No.”
“I’ll make breakfast,” he said. “We should probably go out and do a supply run. I mean, I definitely want to go back to my hotel, have a shower, get a change of clothes. Brush my teeth.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can call Basil and get him to bring some stuff, but I don’t know how long we’re going to be here for.”
He stopped taking things out of the cupboard. “How long do you think we’ll be here for?” he asked, looking right into my eyes.
“I don’t know. I’m here for as long as it takes.”
He smiled at me. “You really do want to get results, don’t you?”
“I do. It’s important that I do.”
“For your wallet?”
“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Because people are getting hurt.”
“And you’re helping out of the goodness of your heart.”
I tutted. “And I presume you’re not charging for your own services?”
“Of course I am charging. But I do have something to offer.”
I tried my best not to laugh at him. I didn’t know how many of these arguments I’d had throughout my life, but I knew that they never ended in anybody agreeing with anybody else.
“Sure,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Whatever. How do you want your coffee?”
“Is there cream in the fridge?”
I walked over to the fridge. I opened it, and then turned to look at him. “Yes. There is. There’s also milk if you want that.”
“Cream is fine. Don’t serve it yet, I’ll make some breakfast. I found a can of chickpeas, I can make us some shakshuka.”
“What’s that?” I asked, taking the cream out of the fridge. This all felt strangely domestic, I thought, even though we were in a bare breakroom with a capacity for at least fifteen people. There were dishes and cups left in the draining board and the back of the counter was lined with tall glass containers with people’s names on them.
It looked a little eerie, I thought, knowing that they weren’t there, and they wouldn’t be there until whatever was happening in the castle was sorted.
“If you like tomatoes, you’ll probably like it.”
“Okay,” I said, my stomach growling. I wasn’t going to say no to someone cooking me breakfast, even if that someone was kind of a dick. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, flashing me a smile.
I grabbed my cup of coffee and sat at one of the tables near him. We talked about the weather as he kept making breakfast, as if this was the most innocuous conversation ever. It was weird how hot-and-cold he could be, but I didn’t think I could blame him.
If I was in his position, I would probably be angry too.
The coffee was exactly what I needed. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I felt the effects of the caffeine. “Whoever got this coffee has good taste,” I said.
He laughed. “You got it from the cupboard?”
“Yes,” I said. “None of my things are here. You’re cooking breakfast from stolen food, so don’t judge me.”
He craned his neck to look back at me. “That’s not why I’m judging you.”
I laughed despite myself. “Well, that’s good to know, at least.”
He was finished soon. The food was perfect—exactly what I needed. Filling, smoky, tasty. “I didn’t take you for much of a cook,” I said. “But I was clearly wrong.”
“This is one of my go-toes,” he replied, smiling at me. “It hardly takes any time to cook and it’s not terribly unhealthy.”
“Do you cook a lot?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “No,” he said. “Not as much as I would like. I’m busy. What about you?”
“No, but it’s ‘cause I’m bad at cooking,” I said.
We both laughed, and the tension felt like it was finally beginning to ease off, but only for a second.
A thunderous sound came from above. It didn’t just sound like something had dropped, it sounded like something had crumbled, as if the roof had folded in on itself.
We looked at each other. “What the hell was that?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. The sound was almost hollow, and it felt like it was practically above us. The bedroom at the end of the steps was on the other side of the castle, after climbing a bunch of stairs and walking through a very long hallway.
It happened again.
“No one else is supposed to be here, right?” I said quietly.
Whatever was directly on top of us sounded feral. The sound kept growing, and it almost felt like the roof was about to collapse on us.
Dr. Arnaud shook his head. “Where in the world is that coming from?” he asked.
We both looked up. The sound continued.
“We have to find it,” I said.
“You’re right,” he said. “How do we get to that part of upstairs?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “You think Overstreet has a map of this place?”
He pursed his lips in thought. “No,” he said. “But I think one of those tourist brochures probably does.”
“Right,” I said.
We both got up at the same time, both of us looking up for a second, mesmerized by the fact that the sound didn’t seem to be stopping. If anything, it seemed to be getting louder.
I hurried toward the entrance, where the brochures were laid out. I grabbed one and opened the back, where the map was. Dr. Arnaud walked up to me and stood by my side.
“Here,” he said, his finger pointing at a staircase I had never seen before. “In the back. Behind the bookshelves in the library.”
“A secret entrance,” I said. “That’s weird.”
“This place is weird,” he replied.
I nodded. I definitely agreed with that, if with nothing else that came out of his mouth.
“Come on,” he said. “I think I know where this is.”
I followed him out of the breakroom and through to the other side of the first floor, until we were in an unlocked office that looked more staged than used. He went to the back of the room, where the tall bookshelves lined the wall, and pushed and pulled at them. I joined him, starting from the left while he had started from the right.
He pulled something, and the wall started to creak. “Voila!” he said. “I think I found it.”
I watched as the bookshelf moved back, revealing a passage that I hadn’t known about before. I looked down at the map, and it was there. It was probably one of the highlights of the tour, I thought.
“It’s narrow,” Dr. Arnaud said. “Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t kidding, the stairs were very narrow, to the point where I was surprised my body fit in them. There was no endpoint, and I couldn’t see any light switches, so I was worried I was going to trip.
Arnaud must have read my mind, because he turned to me before he kept climbing up the steps.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he said. “I don’t want you to trip.”
“What if you trip?”
“Then at least I won’t be alone,” he said. I could hear laughter in his voice. I hesitated, but only for a second. I put my hand on his shoulder, which was stronger and leaner than I had imagined, though my touch was very light.
“Hold on,” he said. “I seriously don’t want you to fall.”
I held on. The sound got louder, and it happened in quicker bursts. Whatever was happening felt like it was getting louder, even though I was certain we were getting away from it.
We got to the top of the narrow, dark stairway, and stepped onto a landing that led to a small hallway. The noise seemed to be coming from our right, so at least we appeared to be on the level with it.
“This place is so disorienting,” he said. “You still have the map?”
“Yeah. It’s in my back pocket.”
Not that it would do us any good, I thought. It was dark and narrow in this room and it was hard to breath. There were only about two feet between us and I could smell the tomato and paprika on his breath.
I could also smell his scent, which was masculine, and I shook my head. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about anything like that, and certainly not with Dr. Elias Freakin’ Arnaud, who clearly hated me.
I didn’t know what had gotten into me. Perhaps it was the setting. There was something unnaturally unsettling about it, and perhaps that was what was making me think of this man in… well, any other ways than I originally had.
I looked around, trying my best to stop thinking about him. “Here,” I said when I saw a sliver
of light. “That way.”
I had to go past him, moving back toward the wall so that I managed to give his body a wide berth. It was, in effect, impossible, especially when he was heading the same way.
We heard the thud again. I jumped, startled. It was closer than I had originally thought, and even though morning, and I knew the sun was shining outside, something about the darkness made me uneasy.
“You can go ahead,” he said.
I nodded and pressed my back against the wall, trying my best to keep away from him. I stumbled upon something with the side of my foot and felt myself fly forward as I lost my balance.
He reached out before I had reached the floor, holding me upright, his hands around my forearms. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said. “Just… a little disoriented.”
“There’s no ventilation here,” he said. “We really should go.”
“Right,” I said.
“Seriously, go ahead.”
I followed the light and found myself taking a sharp right corner, where I saw another flight of stairs.
I took on it even though it was dark. I didn’t want Dr. Arnaud to touch me again, because something about him touching me was giving me weird ideas that made no sense. I felt my breath began to quicken as my legs tired out. These were a lot of the stairs, and it was difficult to navigate in the dark.
“Are you doing okay?” Dr. Arnaud called from behind me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just… trying to stay focused.”
I was. The sound was getting louder and louder, to the point where it was annoying.
“Come on,” I said, speeding up slightly. I finally got to the top of the stairs and noticed the small room we were in. It was circular and open, and it took me only a few seconds to realize that we were on top of a tower.
Dr. Arnaud came up to stand next to me, his gaze settling right where I was staring.
He cocked his head. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady. “Am I losing my mind, or is that a cat?”
“That’s a cat,” I said. The cat was clearly upset, meowing, and stepping over something that seemed to be a loose brick or something, which I assumed was the reason it had been so loud downstairs. Still, the cat was light, and the ruckus made little sense. “How did it get up here?”
The Healing Process Page 6