by Chaz McGee
The butler’s wife had lost her vacant stare. Seeing what was happening to her husband, she stood and reached a knife on the counter within a few steps. She grabbed it and walked calmly over to Lamont Carter, the knife held high above her head. The butler saw what she was doing and began to flail. Carter looked over his shoulder and let go of the old man, darting to one side just as she slashed down with the knife, missing his body by inches. Carter stood with his back against the sink, staring at the old lady, as the butler slumped against the wall and gasped for breath.
‘Leave him alone or I will kill you,’ she said in the same, strangely deep voice I had from her earlier.
Carter did not move.
The old woman looked back at him with a blank stare then shuffled to her table. She placed the knife on it and sat down as if she had done nothing more important than shut the door. The silence in the room was profound.
I tried to understand what was happening, to read her memories in hopes of knowing what had motivated her. But her mind was blank. She had lapsed back into the void. Or, I thought, never left it in the first place.
Carter stared at her as if she was possessed. I was starting to wonder the same thing myself. ‘That’s it,’ Carter said. ‘The two of you will be gone by morning.’
‘You have no power over me,’ the butler said, rubbing his throat. ‘You can’t fire me.’
‘I can tell them about your wife,’ Carter said. His voice was devoid of any emotion. He was a robot fueled by hate. ‘If I tell them about your wife, how she does nothing and sits there staring into space all day, how she’s violent and threatens people with knives, you can bet she’ll lose her job. She’ll lose her health insurance, too. Who will take care of her then? You’d have to quit your job, wouldn’t you?’
The butler stared at Carter. It was impossible to read his expression but I could feel what he was thinking. He was old and he had seen angry men before, he had seen selfish men before, too. Perhaps he had even been there when hatred had overwhelmed others. He knew enough not to fight back.
‘I thought you’d figure it out,’ Carter said to him calmly. ‘Stop following me or you’re a dead man. Killing someone old like you would be as easy as pushing you down the basement steps. Your bones would break like peanut brittle.’
Lamont Carter had two men inside him. One was guarded and angry; the other violent and angrier still. Yet I had never seen him anything less than tender when it came to Dakota Wylie. I thought of the power she had to tame his hate and I knew that, without her, he would be lost. But what a terrible force they were when they were together.
The old butler watched Carter leave the kitchen before he rushed to his wife’s side. She was still sitting at one end of the kitchen table, staring into space. It was impossible to know whether she understood what had just taken place. He kissed the top of her head and held her close, as if she had been the one threatened and not him.
‘Something bad is going to happen, Muriel,’ he whispered to her. ‘I can tell. I felt it before and you know what happened then. I can feel death gathering around this house. It’s hungry. All we can do is make sure it’s not one of us.’
THIRTY-TWO
Three times before midnight, Carter descended the steps into his hell on earth and checked on Arcelia as she lay, gasping, trying to endure the spasms that overtook her body at increasingly frequent intervals.
I knew the baby was coming. I could tell because, despite the fear and hatred that filled the room whenever Carter came to check on her labor, I felt an undercurrent there, barely a ribbon, perhaps, of something pure and light growing inside Arcelia Gallagher. It was as warm as an ember inching toward flame. The life inside of her was gathering its strength, determined to make a great journey.
Arcelia herself was astonishingly strong. There she was, trapped beneath the world, all on her own and about to give birth for the first time. She had only her captor to keep her company and he was anything but supportive. He did not hold her hand, nor did he hand her badly needed water. He simply clambered down the steps, waited as long as he needed to in order to time her contractions and left again without ever saying a word. She could have been a cow giving birth to a calf for all he cared.
Just before midnight, as I was despairing that Maggie was getting nowhere with her attempts to find enough evidence in the abandoned car to bring a search team to the house, I felt a change come over Arcelia. The terror and the anger left her, to be replaced by something I had never experienced before. I could not tell if this was of her own will or a reaction she could not control, but all of her being seemed to turn inward as the hours passed. It was as if every scrap of strength she had, every hope for happiness, had been distilled and was now being directed toward that tiny life in her belly, toward her child, the child that, once born, would be taken from her while she was left to die.
The circumstances no longer mattered to her. She had astonishing strength. I stayed with her for long hours at a time, trying to bring her comfort, trying to will her all of the love I had not shown my own family when I was alive. Surely it was still there somewhere. Surely, knowing I was there and praying for her to survive, would do some good, wouldn’t it?
I think the other spirit was there as well. However unhappy he was, whatever it was that caused him to linger in this world, he seemed to have put his own needs on hold, as I had. I could feel little more than a presence, a comforting sort of solidity in the air, but I hoped it gave Arcelia Gallagher the surety that she was not alone.
There were times when I could not stand it any longer and I returned to the surface, my mind racing as I sought a way to let someone, anyone, know what was happening. It was maddening to see the world going on as usual – to see the forensics team still combing over the vehicle, inch by painful inch; to see Rodrigo lying in bed watching television; to watch as the old butler shuffled across the kitchen with a glass of milk for his wife, his bruised throat swathed in an ascot; to witness Alice Hernandez gently probing the butler for information, never noticing that he was hiding something from her. It filled me with despair to know that beneath their very feet, a woman lay trapped and in pain, faced with the impossible task of giving birth to one life while trying to save her own, yet none of them knew she was there.
I could not bear to leave Arcelia Gallagher alone for long and so had no idea whether Maggie and Calvano had found anything to lead them closer to her. I saw Alice Hernandez on her cellphone once, crouched behind the corner of a bookcase in the sitting room where no one could overhear her. But I came upon her too late to hear what she was saying. Just as I arrived, she stored her cellphone back in her pocket and began to dust the shelves again.
Close to midnight, I found Dakota Wylie in her bedroom, pacing restlessly from window to window, her sheer negligee trailing after her. She was not any more pregnant than I was. But she knew the baby was coming. Her pacing told me that.
I wondered if she knew where the baby she waited for was coming from. Her mind seemed so fragmented, so incapable of holding a single thought and so muddled with bits of fiction and reality that I wondered if, perhaps she was descending into madness. Only a desperate woman would be able to believe that taking another person’s baby and passing it off as her own would fool anyone for long. Maybe she thought Carter had arranged to adopt a newborn and knew little else. I could not tell what she knew even when Carter came to visit her, for he was full of information about media interest in her upcoming birth and predictions that she would garner every entertainment headline as soon as they released the photos to publications.
He predicted a bidding war, and when I looked at Dakota Wylie’s altered face I had to wonder about his grasp of reality. Yes, they might pay for photos of her with her child, but the headlines that went with those photos would destroy her psyche forever.
Dakota did little but stare dreamily out the window, thinking of how her husband would welcome her and his baby back with open arms. Carter gave her another handful of pills t
o take and she licked them from her palm dreamily, swallowing them without water. He had her doped to the gills. If he was able to keep a doctor from examining her, it might be easy to see her loopiness as exhaustion. She might be able to pull off playing the part of a new mother after all.
‘I have to go check a few things,’ Carter told Dakota. He led her gently back to her bed and helped her into it, then arranged the bedclothes around her and turned out the lights. ‘Just sleep. When the baby comes, I’ll bring it to you.’
‘How can you expect me to sleep?’ she drawled back in a sleepy voice. ‘It’s so exciting. I’m going to be a mama.’
A flicker of impatience rippled across Carter’s face and I felt a glimpse of what he was feeling. Dakota drifted through the world without any awareness of how complicated and hard it could be, leaving it to him to navigate the rough spots. She had no idea what it took, but that was his job and he would have to do it.
As Carter left the room, he ran to Alice Hernandez just outside the door. Startled, he dismissed her with a wave. ‘Ms Wylie is sleeping,’ he said. ‘You’re dismissed for the night. We have it all under control.’
‘Have all what under control?’ Alice asked back, doing her best to sound as if English was not her strong suit.
‘Ms Wylie’s care, of course,’ Carter said sharply. I felt a flash of impatience flare in him. ‘I am sure you are tired. It’s been a very long day. You do not have to work until this late at night.’
Coming from anyone else, it might have sounded normal. But Lamont Carter was not the type to be thoughtful of others. It aroused Alice’s suspicions even more. She looked at him a moment too long and then nodded, walking down the hall without answering. I could not tell if it would be enough to inspire her to keep a closer eye on him tonight, though.
Was there no one who could help?
As Carter strode through the hallways, coiled and intent on finishing his plan, I despaired anew that anyone would discover Arcelia Gallagher in time. When Carter headed for a side door, I knew he was going to check on her again.
I followed him as he slipped through the rose garden, glancing from side-to-side to make sure he was not being observed. The moon was covered in clouds and the grounds were cloaked in darkness, making Carter nearly invisible. In a moment, no one would be able to see him.
I had not counted on the old butler. As Carter cut across a corner of the backyard, I saw the old man framed in the kitchen window. He still wore an ascot wrapped tightly around his neck to hide the bruises from Carter’s earlier attack. He had seen Carter slipping from hiding spot to hiding spot and his suspicions were aroused. Unconsciously clutching the ascot to protect himself, the old butler watched Carter heading toward the great lawn. I was at his side within seconds, frantically trying to reach him, trying to access them through his memories, to do anything I could to get him to follow Carter.
The butler was old and physically weak, but he was not a coward. He knew that Carter had to be up to something – and he was angry at himself for not fighting back earlier when he had been bullied. Shutting the other kitchen door to keep his wife from wandering away, the butler stepped out into the night and began to follow Carter.
He had to hurry to keep Carter in his sight, but the night shadows made it easier for him to stay close without being seen. As for Carter, he was too focused on making sure Rodrigo was still in his room to notice the butler. Not once did he look behind him.
The butler stumbled over the roots of a tree, losing his balance. But he reached for the tree trunk and caught himself in time. I died a thousand more deaths in that interval. He was too old and frail to recover quickly from a fall. I put the thought out of my mind and continued onward with him. He reached the edge of the great lawn in time to spot Carter on his knees, searching the grass for the hidden handle.
I could feel the old butler’s heart beating in his chest as surely as if it had been my own. It felt like a jackhammer. The old man knew that something was up. He looked back toward the house, one hundred yards in the distance, looming up in the night, and I could feel his longing to return to the safety of its rooms. Lights glowed in a handful of windows, a cheery reminder that it would be easy to come in from the darkness. But curiosity kept him there, behind a hedge, picking out the figure fumbling in the grass. Something else kept him there, too – I could feel old regrets in the butler, along with shame and a weary recognition that he had failed to act when he should have in the past. I could not sense the circumstances, but I could feel him gathering his courage and resolving to stay where he was. This time, he would take a stand.
Carter found the handle and lifted the hidden hatch upward, then disappeared down the entrance hole into the earth. A few seconds later, the hatch was lifted back into place above him, rendering the opening invisible. But the old butler had seen what Carter had done.
He did not waver in his watch. He stood in the darkness, trying to control his ragged breathing, his old hands trembling with both excitement and a touch of palsy. He hated Carter and this, he knew, might be his chance to get revenge. He knew Carter was up to something, but I do not think he realized it had anything to do with Arcelia Gallagher yet.
The minutes stretched by, each an eternity. High above, stars started to emerge from the darkness, appearing to blink on one by one as the wind swept the cloud cover across the night sky. The air was cool and smelled of fresh growth. For those above the earth, it was a heaven sent summer night. For those below, who could say? I did not dare leave the old butler. I feared he would lose courage if I did. Whether I was helping him or not, I was there by his side, willing with every fiber of my being that he stay strong.
After what seemed like an hour, but could not have been more than five minutes, the hatch opened and Carter re-emerged into the night. His eyes swept the dark lawn to see if anyone was watching, then he clambered up the ladder and replaced the hatch after him, sealing Arcelia Gallagher in her tomb. He had not been down there long and he carried nothing in his hands but his lantern. The baby had not yet been born. But I knew Carter would be back soon.
The butler had grown rigid and his breathing had become more rapid, perhaps dangerously so. But I did not have time to worry about him. Carter was darting back across the lawn, heading for the house to make more of his phone calls to the West Coast. He had photo auctions to conduct and tabloids to call. He had money to make. Arcelia Gallagher was just a means to his ends.
The butler stood immobile until Carter disappeared into the darkness of the distance, then waited a moment longer just to be sure. His heart was pounding in his chest and I could hear a roaring in my ears. The old man was alive, too alive. I feared his frail body could not take it. Finally, he moved cautiously toward the hatch and across the lawn, each step tentative as he sought his way through the night, fearful he might fall. It was all the harder for him because he did not want to take his eyes from the spot where Carter had emerged from the earth. It was slow going, but at last he reached the area and carefully dropped to his knees, wincing at the pain it caused him.
He searched the cool grass with his hands, seeking the handle he knew was nestled in among the grass. He found nothing. I wanted to scream in frustration, what if he was in the wrong place? Even I, who had watched Carter go in and out of the hatch all day, could not be certain of where the opening lay.
The old butler remained calmer than I did. He shifted his position slightly and leaned as far forward as he could, and checked the new perimeter all around him, finding nothing. Adjusting his position yet again, he searched a wider circle being careful not to miss an inch of grass. It was maddening. It was frustrating. It sent me spiraling into even greater depths of despair but, at last – at long glorious last – the old man found what he was looking for.
With a glance to make sure that Carter was not coming, the old man tugged on the handle hidden in the grass. The hatch hinges had been well wheeled and the lid opened easily. The old man peered down into the darkness.
I could hear Arcelia’s moans coming from below. I found her lying back against the dirt wall, her legs stretched out and her hands cupping her belly. Despite the coolness of the underground room, her body was drenched with sweat. She was breathing rapidly and fighting to stay in control. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she was too intent on bringing her baby into the world to have noticed the hatch opening above her. What if she did not notice the butler above her at all? There was no way he could clamber down that ladder. What if he simply shut the lid and left?
The metal stairs rattled violently. Arcelia looked upward. Was the butler actually trying to come down? No, there was no one on the steps. It was my fellow traveler, the unhappy spirit who had terrorized the house for so long. He was up to his old tricks, but this time they might save Arcelia.
‘I need a doctor,’ Arcelia shouted towards the opening. ‘Please, if you want my baby, you have to bring me a doctor. I think something is wrong. I can’t do this by myself.’
She laid her head back against the wall and panted.
The old man’s voice wafted into the room from above. ‘Who is that? Who is down there? Are you OK? Who are you?’
Hope flooded through Arcelia Gallagher in a tidal wave of adrenaline. She sat up straight and her voice rang out strong and clear. ‘Help me,’ she shouted. ‘My name is Arcelia Gallagher. My husband is Danny Gallagher. I have been down here for days. Please. Don’t go anywhere. You must help me. My baby is coming. I need help.’
There was a silence and I feared irrationally that the old man had given up and left.
‘I can’t make it down the ladder,’ he finally said, sounding apologetic. ‘I’m going to go for help. I’m sorry. But I will be back soon, I promise.’
‘No,’ Arcelia shouted helplessly. ‘Don’t leave me. Please. He’ll come back. Please don’t leave me down here alone.’