DANGEROUS, Collection #1

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Aah!” Unable to help herself, she jumped. Blood rushed to her head, warmth following. Enough. “Jason!” she hissed. “Where are you?”

  A shuffle behind her alerted Echo. She started to turn. Her body was in that awkward position, half twisted this way, the other half that, when strong hands contacted her upper body. Jerked half off her feet, she went sprawling sideways.

  She tried to right herself.

  The person pushed again, toppling her forward onto her hands and knees. Not Jason. Jason would never do such a mean-spirited thing. He would never hurt anyone.

  “Wait, whoever you are!”

  Her cry was muffled by the door slamming shut, a metallic sound indicating a lock slipped into place.

  And Echo began to hyperventilate.

  She was trapped!

  CHAPTER TEN

  “NO, PLEASE! Don’t l-leave me here, p-please!”

  Echo nearly choked getting out the words. She’d always been terrified of closed spaces, ever since she saw Mama locked in that room, the straightjacket keeping her hands strapped to her sides. Mama had thrown her body at the padded walls and had screamed piteously for release, but she’d received no mercy. Not from the attendants.

  Not from her own loved ones, either.

  Eleven at the time, Echo had screamed, too, and had been dragged away from the exclusive private institution. Her grandmother had then lectured her on appropriate behavior all the way back to the big cold house she had lived in for six years. Miserable years but for the comfort she and Izzy had found in one another.

  And for months afterward she’d had nightmares about the padded room incident, nightmares that she rather than Mama was the one locked up.

  And now she was.

  Panic bubbled up in her chest and she gagged trying to scream for help. All that came out was a piteous sound that she didn’t recognize as belonging to her.

  She wasn’t to be pitied, Echo told herself furiously. She was the one who had taken control at seventeen. She had run away with Izzy and had seen her sister through her pregnancy. She had worked at jobs she’d hated to help support them. She’d done what she had to. She wasn’t weak.

  She wasn’t Mama.

  For that’s what she feared most.

  Pushing the fear to the back of her mind, Echo told herself there was no need to panic. Her hands were free, not attached to her sides. She took comfort in being able to move them. Now if only she could breathe normally. If only she could think rather than huddle on the cold, concrete floor, bathed in her own tears, washed by her old terror.

  A palm slashed at her face, removed the proof of her weakness. She closed her eyes and forced a deep, deep breath down into her lungs. She concentrated. Imagined the lock releasing, the door opening, her walking out of this space, whatever it was, of her own accord.

  Subtly, her mood shifted, and the horror subsided. She almost imagined a kind hand touched her cheek, as if to assure her she was in no real danger, that she would be all right. Her lids flashed open.

  She wasn’t alone.

  She sensed another presence.

  “Is anyone there?” she whispered.

  No answer. Rather no words spoken. But she felt... comforted. Imagined a warm breath ruffling her hair. A kind hand under the inner flesh of her arm urging her to get up, off the floor. She followed this curious instinct, and once on her feet, reached out in front of her. Solid material met her palms. Not the normal wood of a door or paneling, but something that felt thick and soft.

  Anxiety returned for a moment, and once more she saw the padded walls of the institution that had been her grandparents’ solution for Mama’s grief.

  But the presence soothed her, and the alarm subsided. She ran her hands over the material more carefully. This wasn’t the padding used to keep a patient from hurting herself, but the kind meant to muffle noise.

  “One of the secret rooms,” she whispered, feeling the wall until she found what had to be the door.

  As she’d expected, there was no handle, no easy way out. Neither could she find a hidden release. There had to be one, but where? She followed the wall to the left with her hands. Then suddenly there was nothing, and she pitched forward, banging a shin and catching herself on what felt like a stair.

  “Not one of the rooms, but a hidden staircase.”

  Hands exploring, she realized the stairs were very narrow, barely wide enough for a person to use, and very, very steep. Dangerous. But the size made sense if one wanted to keep the hidden staircase secret. Too much unaccounted for room in the living quarters would be a dead giveaway. Wondering where they led, she started to climb them, feeling as if she were being urged to do so.

  Crazy, that’s what they’d call her if she told anyone that she felt as if she weren’t alone. At least she wasn’t hearing someone she couldn’t see or touch.

  Mama had heard voices.

  Ignoring her racing pulse, the myriad questions urging answers she could not give, Echo concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, on feeling her way up, on searching the walls on either side for some indication of another door. Eventually, she reached a tiny landing where the stairs turned and continued upward.

  Pausing, she explored the walls and eventually was able to trace the outline of another door. This must be the main floor. As before, the opening was tightly sealed, and she could find no handle, no trick release.

  Trapped. But why. And by whom?

  She stilled for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation. One of the high school students would hardly know the house’s secrets, and so she didn’t believe any of them had played a nasty trick on her. And if she had been following one of the occupants, why hadn’t that person reassured her? Why lock her up rather than be revealed?

  Unless the person was doing something he shouldn’t have and therefore had good reason to remain anonymous. It would take a warped mind to trap another person in this endless dark for no reason.

  The presence pushed at her, urging her on.

  Stalling, she whispered, “Who are you?” not really expecting an answer.

  And of course there was none but a reassuring feeling and an invisible pressure propelling her upward.

  She continued her climb. Stayed the awful feeling that she was indulging in an exercise in futility, that there was no way out. Wondered if Dunescape Cottage really was haunted, whether Donahue Vanmatre was playing guardian angel. Groped her way to yet another turn in the stairs. And another landing. The second floor.

  This time she felt a slight irregularity in the outline of the door. Her heart pumped with excitement. Enough room to force her fingertips through. Enough hope to make her feel light-headed. She pulled and the panel whispered open to yet another dark space. Heart thumping, she waited. Waited to hear a noise or see a light.

  Waited for the presence to join her.

  But she knew she was alone. Whomever or whatever had guided her was gone. She was on her own.

  Blindly, she reached out, her hand immediately tangling in something soft and giving. Material.

  Clothing?

  She inched forward, both hands contacting other different fabrics. Giddy from the excitement of knowing she must be in a bedroom closet, she laughed. Behind her, she heard the panel swing closed with a soft shush, as if the hinges had been oiled lately, unlike those of the lower level door. Shouldering through the garments, she smacked into what had to be the closet door. She her palm down the wood to waist level and found the knob. As her fingers curled around the metal, her breath came shallow and furious.

  Thank goodness the knob gave easily. Freedom. With a gasp of relief, Echo stumbled into a large space a shade less dark than the closet. A night light on a dresser lamp glowed softly against the opposite wall of the bedroom.

  But whose room?

  Her eyes adjusted quickly and drawn like a moth to a flame, she passed the canopied bed and approached the brass and stained glass lamp perched on the antique, hand-carved rosewood chest. G
azing at the contents on the surface, she realized she was in Sibyl Wilde’s quarters.

  The bone and shell necklace she had so admired lay spread before a framed photograph, the subjects a much younger Sibyl and an older woman whose strong mahogany features were complemented by the brilliantly patterned caftan and head covering she wore. The resemblance between the two was faint yet unmistakable. They posed, arms linked, in front of a long table covered with an embroidered cloth on which sat burning candles, small pots— one of which held a dark red substance— and a plate of what looked like bones.

  Though she had a liberal view of spirituality and other people’s beliefs, Echo couldn’t help but shudder as she stared at the ritual altar in the photo.

  Then her gaze hit upon a small turquoise pouch embroidered with strange yet familiar symbols. Its drawstrings loose, the cloth bag lay open. Unable to stay her curiosity, Echo put out a finger to lift the material.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  Startled, she whipped around to face Sibyl Wilde who stood in the doorway. Not having expected to meet the nurse face-to-face, she had no ready explanation as to why she was in her room. She only knew she didn’t want to share the truth, not until she figured it out.

  “Sorry.” Echo apologized with the appropriate amount of embarrassment. “I wanted to talk to you about Miss Addy. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

  Sibyl’s look said they both knew this was a lie, but the nurse didn’t challenge Echo. Her mouth was tight, accentuating the mole at the corner. Her amber gaze shifted to the chest and the objects that lay there. “I see you’ve met Grandmama Tisa.”

  “I thought so. And isn’t that an altar?”

  Sibyl inclined her head and came closer. “Though she was brought to the United States from Haiti as a very young woman, she already had developed her gifts.”

  “What kind of gifts?”

  “As an obeah woman, she had visions and could make many powerful spells. Good fortune. Love. Cures from illnesses.”

  “And this?” Echo asked, indicating the pouch. “Did your grandmother make it for you?”

  “That’s to keep me in good health. Somehow I went off and left it today.”

  Sibyl quickly rectified the situation, picking up the pouch and slipping it in her skirt pocket before Echo could get a closer look. And she hadn’t confirmed that Grandmama Tisa had made the pouch for her, either. Odd enough that an educated nurse would use an old superstition to keep her well. But might she have made the pouch herself?

  “I hope your forgetting it doesn’t mean you’re in for the flu or something,” Echo joked.

  “I seriously hope not.” Sibyl flashed her a sly expression. “Since I had my flu shot and I am well-stocked with vitamins and herbal preparations purchased at a health food store. I believe in covering all the possibilities in life.” She hesitated a moment, her amber gaze penetrating as if she were trying to see into Echo’s very soul. “Now about Miss Addy?”

  Echo’s excuse for being in the room. “I was wondering how she was taking our being here. Her reaction to my finding the button worried me a bit, and I haven’t seen Miss Addy since.” Without thinking, she added, “And now I understand the button has vanished again.”

  A curious expression flashed across Sibyl’s features, one Echo couldn’t read. “While Miss Addy is prone to excitement one moment, she might forget what was bothering her the next. She seems resigned that the fundraiser will go on as planned.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Attend to your young charges. Miss Addy is my responsibility.”

  Echo was startled by what sounded like a warning, and from a nurse who’d only been in the Vanmatre employ for a short time.

  “Of course. I’d better see what they’re up to,” she said, grabbing the opportunity to get out of a sticky situation. “It’s probably nearly time to get them headed for home.”

  She felt Sibyl’s eyes on her back all the way out of the room. Surely Sibyl herself hadn’t had anything to do with trapping her in the hidden staircase, though Echo was certain the nurse must know about the passage, considering the entrance to her closet had been left open, almost as though she’d been meant to find the way out.

  Or to find Sibyl’s room.

  But by whom? Sibyl or someone else. Someone who didn’t like the nurse?

  Thinking about Sibyl possibly following in Grandmama Tisa’s footsteps filled Echo with a sense of unease. Almost a premonition of something being very wrong. Maybe that had been planned. Considering the way Bram felt about people who’d taken advantage of his aunt in the past, she couldn’t believe he knew about Sibyl’s background. Should she tell him? Then she’d have to explain everything, and she wasn’t prepared to share her evening’s experience with anyone yet.

  The information about the nurse could wait a while longer, she decided, as she checked the progress on the second floor before descending into the dark, uninviting bowels of the manor once more. And Bram was the first person she saw halfway down the stairs. When his deep blue gaze lit on her, his expression changed subtly. Softened.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  “Wandering around, checking things out.” A half-truth.

  “You’ve been gone so long, I was nearly ready to send out a search party.”

  Something she would have appreciated. “How flattering.”

  “The question is, would you have wanted to be found by me?”

  Something invisible and unexpected surged between them, rooting her to the bottom stair. Attraction, pure and simple. And, she realized, it went both ways. Her stomach did a tumble and she had to remind herself to breathe. Echo hadn’t expected Bram to reciprocate her feelings. But there he was, staring at her as if he wanted to drag her off somewhere.

  Jason’s, “Hey, Auntie E, come check this out!” snapped her out of her musing.

  “What?” she asked, her natural suspicion ripe.

  He put on a hurt expression. “We’re almost finished down here. It’s way cool. I just wanted you to check out what a great job we’ve done for yourself.”

  “Coming?” she asked Bram.

  He shook his head. “I was going to find Lena about dinner. See you shortly.”

  Concealing her disappointment, Echo trailed Jason along the maze and tested out some of the special effects, most of which had been made possible by the expertise and with the help of several parents.

  Mirrors and strobe lights in one room gave everything an eerie, surreal feel, which Jason assured her would scare the stuffing out of the customers when “monsters” came after them. The “victims” would feel like they were only able to move in slow motion. The hanging threads were more subtle, but they made her swipe the itchy feeling from her face. And she was impressed with the wind-tunnel effect in a darkened room. Those wearing skirts or loose clothing would certainly be busy keeping their costumes together.

  Throughout the tour, Echo made certain she didn’t venture alone into any part of the maze -- one bad turn was all she could tolerate right now. The house seemed to be taking on a life of its own for her.

  And while she might be willing to chance losing her heart in this place, Echo wasn’t willing to chance losing her mind.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I HAVE NOT lost my mind, Donahue.”

  Bram froze at the library door when he heard his aunt’s voice, then started when he realized he was actually straining to hear a reply -- as if there would actually be one.

  “Please, don’t look at me like that,” his aunt went on, her voice shrill. “Don’t be angry with me any more. You know I had to do it!”

  Bram quietly opened the door and entered the room to watch her, expression intense, shout at one of the empty high-backed chairs that faced the blazing fire.

  “They have to believe in you, or...”

  She stopped in mid-sentence, her head snapping up, her shocked gaze locking with Bram’s. She blinked. Her expression grew confused.<
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  “It’s Bram, Aunt Addy,” he said, stepping closer. “What is it you had to do?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head and her body trembled as if she were frightened of him. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear!”

  “It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right.”

  But his calm reassurance made her more frantic. “No! It isn’t!” She edged around him. “It won’t be unless...” With a gasp, she ran out of the room.

  Bram thought to go after her, then changed his mind, fearing he’d only make it worse. He shook his head. Aunt Addy thought he was her enemy, when all he wanted was to make certain she was all right. Troubled thoughts about her fate running through his mind, he wandered over to the ever-present fire and stared into the flames. Bad enough that he knew she talked to the supposed ghost of his father. But finding her actually doing so was far more disturbing.

  An ember popped and a draft caught Bram where he stood. The shift in air pressure made him start, for he grew immediately and physically uncomfortable, hot and cold at the same time and filled with unease, as if someone else were inside his skin with him.

  What the hell was going on? He wasn’t susceptible to suggestion!

  He was a lawyer, for God’s sake, a man who dealt in facts, in tangibles, so why did he have this overwhelming feeling that a presence was trying to make itself known.

  What the hell are you doing down here?

  He stood frozen, his eyes widening, as the voice from the past haunted him. Down where? Here? The library?

  I know her as well as I know myself!

  His father’s voice.

  This man’s a liar...

  Feeling icy sweat dribble down the center of his back, Bram stared down into the empty chair Aunt Addy had been addressing. Still empty.

  Could he possibly be feeling his father’s presence?

  No sooner had he considered the idea than the discomfort diminished, as if, in guessing the correct answer, he had been rewarded.

  Within moments, his physical being went through another transformation, returning to normal. The room was comfortable once more. All was as it should be.