Threshold

by Sean Platt

  Still in disbelief, Scott said, “I’ll make sure to tell them.”

  Davenport gave Scott a final smile, a two-fingered salute, then climbed into his rental, pulled out of the driveway, and shrank down the street as Scott stood there, the envelope in his hand practically screaming at him to open it. But he couldn’t do anything but stare in disbelief. After what felt like forever, he turned and started walking back on shaky legs toward the house.

  Things had been too hard for too long.

  Ever since the Dawsons had lost it all in 2012, life at large had felt a bit too hard. Yet Scott still managed to hold onto hope for a better tomorrow. That wasn’t his nature, but it was Holly’s. When the numbers finally refused to work, quitting months after they should have, Scott found himself upside down, sobbing in an icy tub for hours until she found him, then dabbed his tears and whispered until he stopped crying.

  They slashed their income in half and said all was well. Scott could finally become the father he wanted to be, the kind he’d always imagined being. He lost his business, but gained presence, and in the last five years had grown to know his children in ways that few fathers ever could.

  As a family, things were improving.

  But Holly’s disappearance ended that. Hazel’s quirks were getting quirkier, Hudson’s moods were getting moodier, and Scott felt rage creeping through his every crevice.

  Holly had given them balance, and now she was gone.

  Scott looked up at their old home as he stepped onto the porch, then over to the dining room where his children stared through the window, trying to untangle his expression. He swallowed, then crossed the porch into the house, envelope shaking in his hand.

  It was time to say goodbye to what wasn’t working, time to believe in the impossible just like Holly would have wanted.

  The children erupted in questions.

  “Pack,” he said. “Three days, and we’re gone.”

  Hudson said, “We lost the house?”

  “Probably, but who cares? We won’t need it where we’re going.”

  “Where are we going?” Hazel asked.

  “Someplace better than here.”

  * * * *

  SCOTT

  Clovis Point was right outside Galloway Falls, Oregon, as Davenport promised. But Galloway Falls, it turned out, was a long way from the airport.

  They flew into Portland, then took a small private plane to the coast, where their driver, Johnston, whisked them through the rocky headlands looming high above the sea. Sprawling vistas spilled over craggy rocks scattered along the shoreline like broken soldiers. The coast was carved with rivers and patched with forests, all under a mournful gray sky churning with clouds that unleashed a deluge on their drive’s final hour.

  Scott and his kids sat in the back of the car — a Jaguar XJ8L — with Hazel to his right and Hudson to his left. When Scott wasn’t sizing up his surroundings, he found his attention drifting to the back of the driver’s head.

  Johnston was long and lean — didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on his body — with a face as long as the rest of him. He seemed to have a mountain of hair, but it was all stuffed up under his charcoal driver’s cap. Scott could see tufts of silver locks falling out in small, curled ribbons from the side. He stayed mostly quiet through the drive, opening his mouth only to remark on scenery, or announce an upcoming landmark.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Hazel whispered many times while staring out the window, past raindrops racing down the glass. Johnston smiled like he’d painted their surroundings himself.

  “There’s no place prettier than Oregon.” He met their eyes in the rearview. “Not in America, and not in the world. Most folks just don’t know it. Even folks from around here don’t know what they’re looking at, even when they’re staring right at it.”

  “What do you mean?” Hudson asked.

  “Well, it’s a bit of distance from here, but take the fossil beds — millions of years’ worth of history there, buried in layers of volcanic tuff. A window back millions of years just sitting there, waiting for discovery.”

  “That sounds cool,” said Hazel, awestruck.

  “That it is, Young Miss Hazel,” Johnston said.

  He fell silent for many slow forest miles after that, saying nothing until they were passing through a small downtown nestled by the surrounding woods. “Just a few minutes now.” Johnston smiled into the rearview.

  They left downtown, continued along a winding wooded road, until trees began ceding some of the land for homes.

  “I hope Mom can find us here,” Hazel said.

  Scott flinched, waiting for Hudson’s response.

  “Oh, here we go again.”

  “What?” Hazel whined.

  Scott shot his son a look and shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was invite their old pain to a new place.

  “Nothing,” Hudson said, glaring at Scott before rediscovering his iPad.

  “What?” Hazel repeated, egging him on.

  “Enough,” Scott said.

  Hazel returned her attention to the passing scenery.

  Scott couldn’t help but see a miniature version of Holly. Hazel looked just like her mother did as a child. And, before Holly’s disappearance, had the same sort of confidence.

  But lately Hazel was becoming insistent that her mother was still alive and somehow visiting in her dreams. Every time she’d talk about the dreams in the morning, it would piss Hudson off. He’d call her an attention-seeking baby, and sometimes worse.

  And while Hudson hadn’t said it in so many words, Scott could tell what his son was thinking: Holly was dead. She wasn’t ever coming back, and Hazel was just in denial.

  On the scale of hope, Scott felt himself unfortunately closer to Hudson than Hazel. But of course he couldn’t admit that to anyone. Whenever he was around others, old friends and neighbors, he could feel their judgment like waves of heat wafting off of their bodies.

  Oh, look, it’s Scott.

  I wonder if he killed her.

  Or maybe he was such a shitty husband that she ran off with a lover.

  Scott wasn’t sure what he hated more: the not knowing what happened, or having to pretend for his children that everything would be okay, and that mommy would be home soon.

  Perhaps worse than not knowing if she was alive was how her absence was slowly killing their family.

  Before Holly’s disappearance, the family was chatty, trading stories, rumors, and jokes in bellows and whispers. Their home was rarely silent. After she went missing, loss was a blanket on their lives. It changed them, and they each found themselves settling into their own breed of silence, not quite knowing how to relate to new versions of each other. The spoke that held them together had gone missing from their wheel.

  In the last few days, though, chatter returned. Not a lot, and never in bursts as it once gushed, but curious questions were given voice. Out loud wondering was back. Scott hoped Davenport hadn’t flown into Las Orillas with an envelope and empty promises, but even if they went back home with nothing, Scott was already grateful to see a change, a spark, in his children. It helped him believe that more was possible, and maybe coming just past the bend.

  As the car turned off the road and pulled up to a looming black iron gate, the rain stopped, and the clouds seemed to part as if the heavens themselves were proud to reveal the sight below.

  A driveway that looked a half-mile long winded through a well-manicured lawn replete with colorful flowers and impressive hedgerows, leading to a house on a hill. But it wasn’t just a house. With its steep-pitched roofs, towers, and turrets, it was practically a castle on a hill looking down on what appeared to be a guest house and perhaps a garage. Beyond the manor stretched rolling knolls, brilliant and lush, and tall trees that looked centuries old, growing thicker the farther you went from the house. It was hard to tell where the grounds ended and the woods began, and all of it left Scott breathless.

  “Oh my God,” Hazel said beside
him, echoing the words he might have uttered if he could pick his jaw up off the floor of the car.

  The castle looked like something out of a Disney park. Years had done little to dilute the manor’s majesty. The brick had been brushed by age, but still seemed regal with deep shades of red and clay. Walls were ornamented with mosaics and strange symbols Scott had never seen. He couldn’t be certain about the number of stories because of how they were stacked, but it was definitely the largest house he’d ever seen this close.

  The garage was past the last gazebo. Johnston parked and the Dawsons piled out. Scott started to thank the driver, wondering if he should tip him.

  Johnston nodded toward the front porch at a pair of somethings that were probably supposed to be stone gargoyles. But they were long and lean rather than squat or gothic. Tall like sticks, eight feet from toe to nose, and nothing but muscle. “Davenport was supposed to—”

  The driver didn’t finish. The manor’s double doors swung open, and the lawyer stepped outside. He passed the odd stone creatures and took two steps at a time across the lawn toward them.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Dawson. Thank you for coming.” Scott shook his hand, then the man turned to Hazel. “What do you think?”

  She shrugged and said nothing, instead chewing her lip. Scott wondered where her awe had gone.

  “I think it’s awesome.” Hudson was smiling like a happy drunk. “How old is this place?”

  “Quite. It’s been in your mother’s family forever.”

  Hudson shook his head. “No flipping way.”

  Hazel held her silence.

  Scott looked around at the trees, gardens, and fresh white paint on the sharp-cornered gazebos. The gleam of a greenhouse sat neatly between the farthest two. Though the rain was gone and the sun was high and warmed the world below, Scott felt a sudden chill.

  Davenport thanked Johnston, then gestured toward the manor doors. “I’m sure you’re eager to discover what this is all about. I apologize for all the secrets, Mr. Dawson, but again, I can only act as instructed by the will.” He smiled. “Fortunately, that’s over now that you’re here.”

  He started up the steps as Johnston carried bags from the Jag to the stairs. Scott followed with Hudson and Hazel beside him, his son uncharacteristically close. Hazel cried just as Davenport started through the doorway. Scott turned to find her standing behind them, rooted to a spot about fifteen feet back.

  He went to Hazel, leaned down, and looked her in the eyes. “What is it, honey?”

  “I don’t want to go in there, Daddy.”

  He looked at her. “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why, Hazel?”

  “I don’t want to say.” Before Scott could ask why not: “You won’t believe me, and he’ll make me feel bad and say I’m only trying to get attention.” Hazel thrust an accusing finger at her brother.

  “Oh my God. Really? This crap again?”

  Scott turned to Hudson. “Please.”

  Davenport stood patiently, not wanting to rush the family’s moment.

  “It’s okay.” Scott took Hazel’s trembling hands, ice cold in his. “Tell me why you’re scared. I want to know.”

  “Because she doesn’t want us here.”

  “Who doesn’t want us here?” he asked, figuring she meant Holly.

  Hazel pointed to a second-story window, two spires over. “Her.”

  Scott looked up, but saw no one. Still, another chill ran through him. “There’s nobody there.”

  Hazel looked up, then shook her head. “There was a girl. A girl with long blonde hair. Up there. She was staring.”

  “So.” Scott shrugged. “Haven’t you ever stared out a window?” He laughed. “I’ve seen you do that, honey.”

  “There’s something about her … something wrong.”

  Davenport raised his eyebrows, seeming to assess her.

  Scott wanted to kill this quick. Hazel was seconds from tumbling down one of her irrational rabbit holes. Once at the bottom he wouldn’t be able to pull her back with a hundred yards of rope. Once Hazel got hysterical, Hudson became a jerk, saying things you should never say to your kid sister, and it would take every molecule of Scott’s patience to regain control.

  If Hazel saw a girl in the window, then the girl probably lived there, or was maybe Davenport’s daughter. Scott didn’t want his daughter freaking out and offending people.

  Scott smiled, still kneeling. “It’s okay, sweetie. Everything is fine. I’m right here by your side. But we have to go inside if we want to hear what Mr. Davenport wants to tell us. Aren’t you curious?”

  “Not enough to go inside.”

  “Please, Hazel.” Scott squeezed her hand tighter.

  She met his eyes, looked back to the window, then let out a tiny sigh.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Davenport smiled at the Dawsons, then turned the knob. Scott stood and glanced back at the window to where the girl was supposed to have been standing.

  He saw only cream-colored curtains, but felt Hazel’s chill. She took his hand, and together they entered the manor.

  * * * *

  SCOTT

  They crossed a massive foyer, filled with sky high ceilings and art that seemed to hang nearly from roof to floor. After what felt like a minute of walking they turned right down an endless hall, passing many closed doors until they reached the end and entered a sprawling library, where Scott was surprised to see nobody waiting.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Davenport was so precise about the day and time, Scott expected to find a room full of waiting people.

  The lawyer smiled. “You’re it. This is the family required for the reading.”

  “What? What do you mean, we’re it? You mean the will’s already been read and we’re the last to hear it? Why the exact date and time then?”

  “Because that is how the will states things must be. And no, Mr. Dawson. The will has not been read. You are all that remains of the family.”

  “Really? Nobody else?”

  Davenport’s smile grew cold and sad, suddenly filled with something that made Scott afraid. The lawyer looked down, eyes grazing the plush carpet before returning to Scott. “I’m sorry, but your wife, and your children, are all that remain of the Galloways.”

  Davenport turned, walked toward a large mahogany desk, and sat as the Dawsons took their three neatly arranged chairs: Scott in the middle, Hudson to his right, and Hazel on the left. “Well then, let’s get started.”

  Davenport shuffled papers, moved them to the desk’s corner, put on his glasses, then slid a tablet toward the Dawsons and pointed at the screen. “That’s the same thing I’ll be reading. I thought you might like a copy to look at as I go over it. I’ve also sent you a copy by email. Just drag your finger to scroll.” He tapped the screen. “Questions?”

  The children were silent. Scott shook his head.

  “Okay, then.” Davenport cleared his throat and read:

  I, Alastair Galloway, declare this as my Last Will and Testament.

  I give, devise, and bequeath the residue and remainder of my Estate to Hazel and Hudson Dawson, in the absence of their mother, Holly Dawson, maiden name Florence. The Estate shall remain in the sole custody of Mr. Scott Dawson, legally betrothed to Mrs. Dawson, and guardian to Hazel and Hudson, disbursed in the sum of $1,000,000 United States Dollars for every calendar year spent in its entirety at Galloway Manor.

  Davenport stopped reading and looked up at the family.

  Scott was speechless. He knew Davenport had said their housing situation would be taken care of, but even as they entered through the iron gates, he didn’t think they’d be getting this house. He looked at his children to see if they were as shocked as he was.

  Hudson’s eyes were giant. “This house is ours?” He looked pained, like he wanted to say more and was throttling his smile for fear of a joke.

  Immediately, Hazel’s eyes began to well up.

&n
bsp; Scott set a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “We can’t leave our home. What if Mom comes back?”

  “She’s not coming back, dummy.”

  “Hudson!” Scott gave his son The Look.

  Hazel folded her arms across her chest, seeming to sink deeper into the large chair. “You don’t know that!”

  “If I may,” Davenport interrupted.

  Scott nodded.

  “Miss Dawson, I understand your concern, which is why we’ll arrange to purchase your old house from the bank. Should your mother return, she will find her home as it was, and we’ll leave word of your whereabouts. We’ve also arranged for movers to pack your old house and bring your belongings here, should you approve.”

  “I don’t know why we can’t just live there.”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.” Davenport smiled kindly at Hazel. “The will is explicit that your family must live here. Your mother, should she return, will also be welcome to live here with you, as it is her family’s estate.”

  Hazel rubbed her eyes. Scott squeezed her shoulder tighter. “It’s going to be okay, honey. If Mom comes back, she’ll find us.”

  “If?” Hazel met his eyes.

  “When,” he amended.

  Scott gave Hudson another look to make sure he kept his mouth shut while Hazel calmed herself. Then he turned back to Davenport, still in disbelief. Scott had expected a longer reading — two paragraphs? — and too many questions left him clueless about where to get started.

  “That’s it?”

  Davenport adjusted the tablet so it was facing him, dragged his finger across the screen, then turned it back toward Scott.

  “As you can see, the will has many provisions, so it isn’t just what you’ve heard.” Davenport tapped the screen. “Totals are here at the bottom so you can see the estate’s value, valid as of this last quarter. But yes, Mr. Dawson, essentially, this is it.”