However, after a few minutes, I muted the sound and simply sat staring at the moving picture without truly focusing on anything. I counted the seconds as they became minutes, ticking down the time I had to wait before I could be free of this place.
The moment I heard the sound of the front door opening, I shot to my feet and bolted down the stairs. Faith started when she saw me rushing toward them. I was probably a mess—hair all over the place, eyes red from crying, dry rivulets from long gone tears on my cheeks.
“Bellamy, is everything okay?” she asked.
Douglas gave me a curious glance, the lines in his face becoming more prominent. “Did something happen?”
“The kids are fine,” I told them, fighting to keep my voice even. “They’re sleeping. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to come back again. You’ll need to find another babysitter.”
Faith gasped, horror striking her face as I breezed past her for the exit and the freedom beyond it.
“Bellamy, wait,” she cried out. “Why? What happened?”
Two things tried to kill me, and your son is a deformed psychopath!
Without answering out loud, I broke into a run, making it down the stairs and to the circular driveway where their driver was pulling away to park their car for the night. Pulling into where he’d been parked, my dad sat behind the wheel of our car, looking at me expectantly through the window.
He frowned when I got in and slammed the door, falling back against the seat without a word.
“Everything okay, munchkin?” he asked, putting the car in gear and pulling away slowly. “How was your night?”
“Fine,” I lied. “Just tired. I want to go home.”
Pausing near the gate leading off the property, he turned to me. I could feel him staring at me, but closed my eyes and prayed he wouldn’t keep probing. I didn’t want to have to tell him about what happened. If I did that, I was going to have to admit that I had the same problem he did—I was starting to see things that weren’t supposed to be real.
But what if they are real?
The sudden thought struck fear in the pit of my stomach. It terrified me far more than the notion that I might be losing my mind. It meant that I was going to have to come to grips with a reality in which ghosts existed.
The next morning, I lay dozing in bed as late as noon. It had taken me hours to fall asleep after returning home, and even then, I couldn’t stay under. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the two white faces, their black eyes staring at me without blinking—I could hear their hoarse, rasping whispers. Then, there was Tate, one eye drooping and unfocused, the other narrowed and pinning me to the wall with a spiteful glare. His screams still rang in my mind, his accusations pricking my conscience. Aside from being scared to death by what I’d seen, I was embarrassed that when given the chance to speak to him, I’d choked and gawked at him like an idiot. It was no wonder he’d come to the conclusion that I’d snooped around his space for a glimpse of his infamous face.
It really hadn’t been so bad. I’d certainly never seen anything like it, but it wasn’t as if he had been covered in oozing boils or something. If anything, seeing him had only made me more curious.
What had happened to deform half his face, while leaving the other side practically untouched? With all the money the Baldwins had, why hadn’t the damage been fixed? Had that been what led him to go into hiding?
Whatever the case, I was never going to discover the truth, because I didn’t intend to go back to that house. It wasn’t worth my sanity… or possibly even my life. I didn’t know what those ghosts—or, whatever they were—wanted from me, but based on the way they’d both flown at me, it couldn’t be good.
The more I lay there thinking about it, though, the more curious I became about them. If Baldwin House was haunted, then what my dad had been trying to tell me about ghosts must be true. And if his claim that they seemed to want something turned out to be accurate, what did these women want? I’d never heard of any other Baldwin family members living in that house, but I supposed it was possible. Maybe they were ancestors of Douglas or Faith.
Shaking my head, I sat up in bed and attempted to divert my thoughts elsewhere. None of that mattered because I wasn’t going back. Ever.
Just as I’d stood, stretched, and removed the silk scarf protecting my hair from the friction of my pillowcase, my dad knocked on the door.
“Come in,” I called, sliding my feet into a pair of slippers.
Poking his head in, he gave me a concerned glance. “Hey, munchkin. Sorry to wake you, but someone is here to see you… says he works for the Baldwins.”
I frowned. “It’s okay. I was already awake. Would he happen to be in a wheelchair?”
He nodded. “Yes. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? You seemed upset when we left their house last night.”
I shrugged and forced a smile, not wanting to worry him. “That would be Ezra. It’s nothing… I had some issues with Max, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle. I’m sure he just came to talk to me about it.”
Dad’s frown deepened, and he stared at me in a way that clearly said he didn’t believe me. He knew there was more going on, but seemed content to leave me alone about it for now. It was one thing I always appreciated about him—his ability to give me the space I needed to work through things on my own. He always insisted on letting me be independent, so that I would be prepared to handle things once I was out on my own.
“Okay,” he relented. “Store needs to be open in less than an hour, so I’m going to walk over right now. He’s waiting on the porch, and there’s coffee made if you want to offer him some.”
Already rifling through my drawers for something to wear, I called out to him over my shoulder. “Wait for me. I’ll come with you as soon as I’m done talking to Ezra.”
“No,” he argued. “I want you to take the day off. I mean it, Bellamy. You better not bring your butt downtown unless you’re there to hang out and shop or something.”
I rolled my eyes, retrieving a pair of shorts and T-shirt. “Okay, but only if you let me take care of dinner tonight.”
“You got it,” he replied, before closing my door and leaving me alone.
I dressed quickly, pulling my hair back and slipping on my glasses before throwing on a pair of flip-flops. Making my way to the kitchen, I found Dad still there, stuffing his lunch into a paper bag. Once he kissed my cheek, he left for the bookstore, reminding me about the coffee.
Glancing through the blinds, I spotted Ezra sitting in his chair beneath a tree in the front yard, near the little table where my mother used to sit and read in the mornings over tea. Quickly pouring two cups, I laced mine with cream and sugar and left the other black. Walking out onto the porch holding both cups by their handles in one hand, I took a deep breath. It had been easy to blow the Baldwins off last night, because I barely knew them. Ezra, I couldn’t turn my back on so easily. He’d never been anything but kind to me, and he deserved an explanation for my sudden decision.
He smiled at me as I approached. “Hi, Bellamy.”
I wanted to smile back, but found myself feeling too anxious. “Hi. I brought coffee, but didn’t know how you liked yours, so it’s black. I can go back in for cream and sugar if you want.”
Accepting the mug from me, he shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I prefer it black.”
Watching him from the corner of my eye, I took a sip from my mug. As he stared off across the yard, he appeared more relaxed than he did at Baldwin House.
“You’re wearing sweats,” I commented, for lack of anything to say. “And a T-shirt.”
He chuckled. “I get weekends off, so I hang up my suits until Monday. I was just on my way downtown to the gym, and I thought I’d stop by.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, I pursed my lips and shook my head.
“What?” he quipped. “Dudes in wheelchairs work out.”
I lifted my cup to my lips. “Do they also drive five minutes o
ut of their way just to ‘stop by’ someone’s house for coffee?”
Leaning toward me, his face became serious. “They do when they care about the person they’re visiting and are concerned.”
Sighing, I set the cup aside and braced my elbows against the table. “Ezra—”
“Tate told me what happened,” he said, cutting me off.
My mouth fell open as my eyes almost bugged out of my head. “He did?”
Ezra nodded. “I got a call from him this morning, then one from Mrs. Baldwin informing me that you’d quit.”
I lowered my eyes, unable to decide how much to tell him about what had happened. “I thought one of the kids had gone up there, so I followed,” I said, which wasn’t a complete lie. I had thought the person running the halls in a nightgown had been Emma. “I ran into him up there… It was an accident and I regret it ever happened. But he…”
Pausing, I fumbled for more words. I didn’t want to speak ill of Tate, even after he’d scared the daylights out of me.
“Bellamy,” Ezra said, his voice firm but soft. “I didn’t come here to get on your case about going upstairs. I came to offer you Tate and the Baldwins’ most sincere apologies.”
My eyebrows shot up so far, they almost flew clean off my face. “You what?”
Leaning back in this chair, he braced one arm on the table. “There’s something you should know about Tate. The person you encountered last night… that isn’t who he really is. He’s been sick a long time, and it hasn’t been easy for him.”
I finally gave in to curiosity and asked the question I’d been holding back since first setting foot inside that house. “What happened to him?”
“Two years ago, Tate developed Parry-Romberg Syndrome,” he said. “It’s a rare disease that causes the fat and facial tissue beneath the skin to degenerate. In most cases, it only affects one side of the face.”
“Is it fatal?” I asked. “Can it be cured?”
Ezra sighed as if uncertain how to answer my questions. After a moment, he took a deep breath, letting out on a long, slow exhale. Then he began again.
“The disease is rare, and Tate’s case is even rarer. Parry-Romberg isn’t fatal, but it’s very painful—causing migraines, seizures, and problems with his eye on the affected side. There are medications and surgeries that can be used to treat the disease, but nothing seems to have worked. He tried the prescribed medications, and they only seemed to make him degenerate faster. At one time, it appeared he had gone into remission, so they tried reconstructive surgery using donor fat grafts. The disease flared up again, and his body rejected the grafts, so they had to be removed. Everything that has gone wrong to make his disorder worse has happened.”
I placed a hand over my gaping mouth, my chest feeling as if something held it in a vise. It wasn’t pity I felt… it was grief. Nothing could have prepared me for the truth of Tate’s secret.
“That’s horrible,” I whispered, for lack of anything better to say.
He nodded in agreement. “After a year, he stopped trying. He didn’t want to be seen in public, so his parents allowed him to be homeschooled. He has a high school diploma, but I fear he’ll never use it. Nothing will convince him to resume a normal life or go to college, and because his parents have nothing to give him but money and things to keep him comfortable, they allow him to go on that way—closeted away in his wing of the house, alone.”
Remembering the ghosts wandering the halls on the third floor, I began to wonder if there might be more to this than Ezra was telling me. I could understand Tate being shy about his appearance, but in my gut, I knew there must be something else. The boy I’d encountered in that room had been tortured, and it wasn’t just migraines causing him pain. Something in me wanted to know exactly what.
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.
“Because you seem like a kind person,” he replied. “A person who can understand how Tate’s sickness has affected this family—those two kids. Max acts tough, but, deep down, he’s suffering. His parents have devoted so much time and money to seeking cures for Tate that they’ve ignored their other children. To escape the air of sickness and despair hanging over that house, they bury themselves in their work and leave those two to fend for themselves. I think you’re just what they need, Bellamy.”
Ezra seemed to know exactly what to say to pull on my heartstrings, but my very rational mind kept reminding me of what I’d seen. If I went back into that house, would those things come after me again?
“Having a good babysitter isn’t going to fix that family,” I mumbled.
He shook his head. “No, it’s not. But maybe for the summer, you can make things better for Max and Emma. Tate has promised that what he did won’t happen again, and the Baldwins are prepared to double your pay if you’ll consider coming back.”
That gave me pause. It would seem the Baldwins really were desperate. It was no wonder they couldn’t keep a nanny or babysitter—between Tate and Max’s attitudes, and wraiths haunting the halls at nights, the poor women were probably sent screaming for the hills.
“Can I have some time to think about it?” I asked, still not willing to say yes, but uncertain if saying no would be a good idea either.
Ezra nodded. “I can give you until tomorrow. Then I’ll have to try to find someone else.”
“That’s plenty of time,” I replied.
“Great,” he said, backing his chair from the table. “You have my number. Just give me a call when you’ve reached a decision.”
Standing, I stood to face him, hands in my pockets. “I will.”
With a nod, he turned his chair and drove it toward the big black pickup truck parked on the curb. As I gathered our coffee cups, he produced a set of keys and pressed a button on the fob, which caused the driver’s side door to begin to open. Instead of swinging on a hinge like a traditional car door, the entire thing slid forward like a panel, a humming noise emanating from it. It revealed a small platform, which Ezra backed his chair onto. Then, the ramp began lifting him into the car as the door pressed back inward. From where I stood, I got a glimpse of the interior, the steering wheel and dashboard outfitted with a series of knobs and handles—which I assumed he would use to drive using his hands. Once inside, he waved at me through the window before cranking the car. A few seconds later, he had disappeared around the corner, on his way downtown.
I washed our cups and placed them in the drying rack after I went back inside. Hunger made itself apparent now that the nerves over Ezra’s visit had dissipated. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Taking a quick peek in the fridge, I reminded myself that we needed groceries before Monday. I made a quick sandwich and grabbed an apple before retreating to my room. I would take Dad up on his offer of a day off, and while I was at it, make a decision about whether or not to return to Baldwin House.
I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and prepared to fire up Netflix for a veg session. I was two bites into my sandwich when I noticed the blinking light on my phone. I’d left it inside while talking to Ezra. Picking it up, I unlocked the screen to find that I had a text message from a number I didn’t know. The area code was local, so I opened it, brow furrowed as I chewed and tried to figure out who it might be.
Is this Bellamy? the screen read.
For a moment, I hesitated to answer. If someone had my number, shouldn’t they know who they were texting? This had horror movie written all over it.
Cautiously, I texted a reply.
Who is this?
Good strategy. Get them to reveal their identity first. Your move, mystery texter, I thought.
Tate Baldwin.
I stared at the screen in silence for a full minute—until the words began to swim and my vision blurred. Blinking, I looked again and found the response unchanged.
Ezra gave me your number, he said in a follow-up.
Yes, this is Bellamy, I replied.
Taking another bite of my sandw
ich, I chewed and waited for his reply.
I wanted to personally apologize for what happened last night. I’m really sorry.
I paused between bites, almost losing my grip on the phone. Never had I expected him to ask for forgiveness himself. Sending Ezra to do it had seemed like a jerky rich-guy move, and it hadn’t really affected my decision about returning. The kids had been my main reason for hesitating to say no. But now… what was I supposed to think? Tate had gone out of his way to get my number from Ezra so he could say sorry to me himself. Sure, he had texted instead of calling, but the guy had been shut away for two years… he’d probably forgotten how to socialize.
It took me five minutes to respond while I tried to think of an answer. ‘I forgive you’ didn’t seem quite right. After all, he hadn’t been the only one in the wrong. I’d been on the third floor and gotten myself into that situation. My staring had been responsible for his outburst, probably making him think I found him disgusting. Guilt assailed me at the memory. Stuff like that was probably why he didn’t go out in public. I had to make amends for it, which meant there was no way I could avoid going back.
Picking up my phone, I dialed Ezra first.
“Hello?” he answered, his voice breathy as if I’d interrupted his workout.
“I’ve made up my mind,” I told him.
“That was fast,” he said, laughing.
“You can thank Tate,” I replied. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Ezra paused for a moment, and I could hear the music from the gym in the background. “Thank you,” he finally said. “See you then.”
I hung up, and then opened my conversation with Tate. Without hesitation, I typed a message and hit ‘send’ before I could talk myself out of it.
I’m sorry, too.
The following Monday, I arrived at Baldwin House bright and early, ready to get back to work. My hands began to shake when I pulled up in the driveway, but I reminded myself that I had nothing to worry about as long as I stayed away from the third floor. Tate wouldn’t be a problem anymore, if his text messages were any indication. It was the ghosts I needed to worry about—but as far as I could tell, they confined themselves up there. The sun was high and bright, meaning no dark shadows for anything to hide behind or jump out of.
Bellamy and the Brute Page 7