The dim daylight returned, hidden beneath heavy storm laden skies and once again the colorful little garden stared innocently back at her. Kneeling down Olivia pressed her hand into the wet soil. This time she felt, rather than witnessed, the violent echo of fire and flame.
Drawing in a shaky breath her fingertips curled involuntarily, digging into the mud.
The garden was an illusion.
Beneath its pretty mask the stench of blood and death lingered. The ground was scarred from that night.
Straightening up, Olivia took another step back. Her heartbeat slowed and resumed its regular pace and the whispering in her ears subsided until once again all she could hear was the clatter of rain against the sidewalk.
‘Olivia?’
Her name was little more than a startled breath on the wind, whispered in disbelief.
Olivia turned slowly. Her penetrating gaze fell on a small, familiar looking woman of about her own age. Her vivid blue eyes were wide with shock and the errant locks of blonde hair, which had escaped the hood of her bright yellow windbreaker, were plastered wetly to her pale, heart shaped face.
A small, slow smile curved across Olivia’s lips. The face, although older, was one she knew very well.
‘Hello Louisa,’ she said softly.
The breath whooshed from her lungs and she found herself caught up in a tight, desperate hug.
‘I can’t believe it’s really you,’ Louisa whispered past the hot, hard ball of emotion burning at the back of her throat.
Olivia stepped back awkwardly at the sudden embrace.
‘I’m surprised you recognized me,’ Olivia tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘It’s been twenty years.’
Louisa blinked back the tears and shook her head.
‘What?’ Olivia smiled, ‘do I look that bad?’
‘You look beautiful,’ Louisa blinked again and wiped away a tear which had escaped. ‘I’d recognize you anywhere.’
She didn’t want to add that Olivia also happened to be the image of her dead mother. That had given Louisa as much a jolt as seeing her childhood best friend, something she was sure Olivia probably wouldn’t want to hear so she wisely chose to keep her mouth shut.
‘You look good Louisa,’ Olivia nodded to fill the awkward silence.
‘We thought you were dead,’ Louisa frowned.
‘What?’
‘We thought you were dead,’ she repeated, ‘after what happened…you know, with your mom. Jake and I didn’t know what had happened to you. We kept asking mom and dad where you were, but they just kept telling us that you were gone. Even the people in town didn’t seem to know what had happened to you.’
‘This’ll certainly give the gossips something to talk about then,’ Olivia muttered in resignation.
‘I mourned you,’ Louisa swallowed quietly, ‘Jake and I both did, every damn day.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia stared at her friend.
She could feel the hurt and confusion pouring off her in waves, so she did the only thing she could think of. She reached out and wrapped her arms around her.
‘Olive,’ Louisa breathed as she returned the hug.
There, in that one moment, that one childhood nickname, she understood why she’d come back. Because no matter how much it hurt her, this was the one place that had always been home.
‘Where have you been?’ Louisa asked in confusion.
‘Everywhere,’ Olivia pulled back with a sigh and shook her head. ’Nowhere…’ she added with small self-deprecating smile, ‘and every place in between…. it’s complicated,’ she finally shrugged.
‘Why don’t you come in for a coffee?’ Louisa nodded toward the tidy little house opposite.
Olivia stared at the little blue house, with its cheerful dollhouse shutters.
‘You still living with your parents?’
‘God no,’ she laughed, releasing some of the tension. ‘I’ve got my own place in town. Mom and dad are on vacation; I just stopped by to pick up the mail and water the plants.’
‘I can’t,’ Olivia muttered, her eyes still locked on the house she’d spent a good deal of her childhood running tame in, along with Louisa and her brother Jake.
‘Please,’ Louisa asked quietly, ‘I’d really like to talk to you.’
Olivia shook her head.
‘I can’t,’ she answered again, ‘it’s getting late and I need to get up to the lake house. I don’t even know if the electric is still on.’
‘The lake house?’ Louisa’s eyes widened a fraction, ‘that’s where you’re staying?’
‘Yeah,’ Olivia admitted, ‘Evie left it to me in her Will.’
‘I heard about Evelyn,’ Louisa nodded, ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ she shrugged. ‘I’m not even sure why she left me the house.’
‘Why wouldn’t she?’ Louisa frowned in confusion, ‘she adored you.’
There was nothing Olivia could say to that. Even as close as she’d been to Louisa as a child, she wasn’t about to admit the sad pathetic truth to her. Her great aunt hadn’t wanted her. After the death of her mother and grandmother, and the subsequent arrest of her father, the authorities had contacted Evelyn as her only living relative, but she hadn’t wanted her. In fact, she’d flat out refused to take custody of her. The hurt had stung hot and bright at the time, after all she’d only been eight years old, but over the years she’d learned to live with the rejection.
Shaking off her bleak mood she turned back to Louisa.
‘I should get going, it was good to see you though.’
‘Olivia wait!’
She turned back to her friend and stared thoughtfully for a moment before pulling in a slow inhale.
‘Look,’ Olivia offered, ‘why don’t you give me a couple of days and then come up to the house and we’ll talk.’
‘Do you really mean it?’
‘Sure,’ Olivia nodded.
‘Give me your phone,’ Louisa held out her hand.
Olivia watched as she took her cell and programmed her number into it before sending herself a text, so she’d have her number too.
‘Call me if you need anything,’ Louisa offered genuinely.
Olivia nodded in acknowledgement before turning and heading back to her car. While they’d been talking the rain had let up to a fine mist, but it was already too late. She was pretty much soaked to the skin and shivering.
Sliding back into the driver’s seat she blew out a long breath. She was going back to the lake house. As a child it had been her favorite place in the whole world, but after the last twenty years of pain and resentment she had no idea how she was going to feel when she actually walked through the door.
She started the car, pulling away while a hot, uncomfortable ball of awareness churned once again in her stomach. Part of her still couldn’t quite believe she was back in Mercy. She’d spent the last two decades bouncing around from place to place. From Lawrence to Georgetown, Philadelphia to Boston, New Hampshire to Rhode Island, until she’d ended up in Providence where she’d stayed the longest.
She’d spent most of her childhood bounced from group home to foster family and back again. After all no one wanted to adopt the kid of a murderer, not even her great aunt it seemed, but she supposed she couldn’t blame her.
When she’d gotten word that Evelyn had passed away she’d grieved. Despite everything that had been left unsaid between them she hurt regardless. When her great aunt’s lawyer had tracked her down in Providence and informed her that she was the sole beneficiary of Evelyn’s estate, to say she’d been surprised would have been an understatement.
In fact, she’d opened her mouth with every intention of telling the lawyer to just sell the house but somehow that wasn’t what came out. She’d signed the papers, taken the keys, then she’d packed up her beloved, banged up old Camaro and hit the road.
She headed across town to the outskirts until she reached the edge of the woods, then turned onto a dirt road which wound be
tween the trees. Despite the number of years that had passed she knew exactly where she was heading. Everything was so heartbreakingly familiar her heart clenched painfully. The last time she’d been down this road, she’d been with her mother.
Swallowing hard against the deep ache in her throat she blinked back the hot tears stinging her eyes and focused on the road. The light was failing and although the rain had almost completely stopped, the wind had picked up. Even with the windows rolled up she could hear the roar of it through the trees, vast and ponderous like a freight train. With every gust, a myriad of colored leaves broke over the windshield like a wave, catching in the wipers.
Suddenly the canopy of trees parted, and the house came into view. Cradled lovingly by the surrounding trees, the house tugged at her. She stopped the car and gazed up at the familiar steep gabled roof and overhanging eaves.
It was a stick style Queen Anne built on the site of its predecessor, a wooden framed house built by her ancestor Hester West and her sister Bridget when they co-founded the town back in 1704.
The original West house had been little more than a cabin and had nestled amidst the woods overlooking the lake, until it was damaged by a fire in the late 1800s. Unable to be salvaged, they’d pulled down the ruins and built the Queen Anne in its place.
Local legend said that a West had lived on this land for the last three hundred years. Maybe that was why she found it so hard to let go or move on. She felt the bonds of blood, love and hate, wrapped around her like vines, binding her to the end, and to the house itself.
Olivia stepped out of the car and gazed up at the house. The wind tugged and pulled at her, teasing her clothes and dancing up her spine with sly spindly fingers. The hiss of churned up leaves filled the quiet air, making it sound as if the house itself was sighing, like it had been waiting for her.
She slowly climbed the steps to the wraparound porch and pressed her palm to the door, drawing in a breath.
‘This is my house now…’
The old porch swing to her left suddenly moved in the wind, creaking loudly on rusted chains. A wave of leaves rustled, rolling over her feet in a mad tumble of yellow, red and gold. Feeling a strange prickle of awareness at the back of her neck, and a heaviness settle somewhere between her shoulder blades, she turned around, her narrowed gaze scanning the tree line, but nothing seemed out of place.
Her brow creased at the sudden sense of unease that washed over her. It was strange, she’d never been afraid of the woods or the seclusion before. The house, the woods, the lake… they’d always been a place of wonder and magic to her, but now, standing on the porch gazing out into the dying light… it almost felt like she was being watched.
Rolling her shoulders to shake off her uneasiness, she fumbled in her bag for the keys the lawyer had given her and quickly unlocked the door.
The air inside the house was silent as she stepped into the hallway. She could hear the shriek and call of the wind and the rustle of leaves behind her, but the house was still, like it was holding its breath.
The dust sheets hung like great shrouds across the furniture, twitching slightly in the errant breeze that had followed in her wake.
She dropped her bag to the floor just inside the threshold, as the door clicked quietly closed behind her, leaving her standing in the oppressive stillness.
Slowly she stepped forward, wandering down the hall. Her heels clicked against the parquet flooring as her fingertips lightly pulled the dust sheets from mirrors and framed pictures, letting them drift ghost-like to the floor, setting the dust motes spinning madly in the dying light, like tiny fairies.
Reaching out, she flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. She tried a couple more times, nothing. She’d obviously have to call the electric company, first thing in the morning she realized, looking down at her watch. It was later than she thought.
Making her way through to the kitchen she stared at the dark cherrywood cabinets and worn rose-colored walls. Some things never changed, no matter how many decades passed. Rummaging through the drawers she finally managed to locate a flashlight, but when she flicked it on, it sputtered once, then twice, before it died.
Muttering under her breath Olivia headed back through the rapidly darkening house to the library. Opening the door, she felt a rush of recognition. Despite the failing light, the feel and smell of the room was so familiar her stomach jolted.
Her gaze scanned the room, noting the candles scattered throughout. She headed toward the fireplace, to the two tall pillar candlesticks book-ending the mantle.
Her fingertips grazed the cool metal of the candlestick and traced upward along the smooth scented wax. Taking in a quiet breath she blew slowly and deliberately against the wick. It burst cheerfully into flame, hiccuping and dancing merrily, bathing her face with a soft warmth.
Olivia’s gaze slid to the opposite end of the mantle where the candlestick’s twin waited patiently. Once again, she drew in a breath, feeling the warmth and heat gather in her throat as she blew gently against the wick. This time the heat radiated outward, rippling through the room, like a small pebble breaching the surface of a still pond. Each candle placed carefully around the library simultaneously burst into flame, illuminating the room with a soft warm glow.
Holding her hand close to the flame, as if she were coaxing a small skittish animal, she watched as the flame bobbed on the wick a couple of times before tipping onto her fingertips. It danced along her skin until the flame sat in her palm.
It didn’t burn; it was nothing more than a warm tingle. She studied the flame, her gaze tracing the fine threads of gold, red and orange which made up its substance as the memory of her grandmother’s voice whispered at the edge of her mind.
‘Fire, little one, is the first skill learned and the last lost…’
The flame burst into life in her palm and Olivia smiled. Fortunately for her it was also her strongest skill. The power pulsed along her skin, the fiery threads wound down deep into her flesh like the roots of an ancient tree, separate, but also very much a part of her. Dropping to her haunches, she blew against the flame in her hand, watching as it separated and scattered across the fireplace in a rush of heat, igniting the dry logs and roaring to life.
Satisfied the fire had caught, she stood and stretched. As she did her gaze caught on a silver-framed photograph of a familiar face. Sucking in a sharp and painful breath, feeling her heart pounding loudly in her ears, Olivia reached out with trembling fingers to grasp the frame.
The night her mother had died, she’d been dragged away from Mercy with nothing but the clothes on her back. She didn’t own one single photograph of her mother. For the last twenty years her mother had existed only in her memory.
Tracing her shaky fingers across the dusty glass, Olivia found herself gazing upon the face of her mother for the first time in two decades and found her memory to be nothing more than a pale specter.
Seeing her mom smiling back through the lens of a camera, frozen, immortalized in that one moment of time, caused a deep, painful ache in her chest. She’d been so young, so vibrant, and completely unaware of the violent fate which awaited her.
Olivia tried to swallow past the hot, hard lump burning at the back of her throat, but as she tore her gaze away, her eye caught her own reflection in the mirror mounted above the fireplace and she realized, for the first time, how much she looked like her mother. It wasn’t just her long, dark wavy hair, or her whiskey colored eyes, but her face, the shape of her nose, the curve of her jaw. She was the image of her mother. No wonder, she thought with a heavy heart. No wonder her aunt hadn’t wanted her, she probably couldn’t bear to look at her.
The sudden wrench of grief drove Olivia to her knees. Her legs simply collapsed beneath her as she clutched the photograph to her chest and rocked. The tears came hot and fast and she allowed herself to finally do the one thing she’d held back since she drove into town.
She curled into a tight ball of misery and wept bitterly.
She couldn’t say when she fell into an exhausted sleep, but her dreams were filled with flame and ash and dust. The house burned around her. She could hear the groan of the timbers as they splintered and gave way. Her father’s face towered above her, cold and malicious as he clutched a knife in his hand, dripping with her mother’s blood.
Turning away from that terrible image she saw her grandmother in a crumpled heap in the corner of the room, lying in a pool of her own blood, her dress alight as she was consumed by the inferno.
The flames licked against Olivia’s skin and she shivered. Her brow folded into a confused frown; the flames should have burned but instead they were cold. She shivered again and this time her breath was expelled from her mouth as a fine mist. Suddenly, her body was wracked by a deep shudder and her eyes opened on a gasp.
It took her a moment to realize where she was. Unfolding her stiff limbs, she pulled herself up from the shabby, threadbare rug. The fire had now burned down to embers and the candles in the room had gone out. Looking up into the dim light, she realized the window was wide open, the curtain billowing ghostly white in the freezing night air.
Frowning to herself, Olivia walked stiffly over to the window and leaned out. The cloud cover from the earlier storm had burned away, leaving the night air crisp, clear and freezing. The moon split the sky like a great silver disc, reflecting upon the surface of the lake and bathing the surrounding woods in its ethereal light.
Shivering, she closed the window and locked it. Strange, she thought to herself, she didn’t remember opening the window.
Turning her back, she once again felt the uncomfortable prickle which started at the back of her neck and rolled slowly down her spine. She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched.
Convinced it was just the stress of being back in town, she shook her head, dismissing the vague feeling but as she turned to move back into the room, she froze mid-step.
The photograph, which had caused her so much grief, no longer lay upon the rug in front of the fireplace where she’d left it, but instead rested once more on the mantle, looking for all the world as if it had never been moved.
The Clockwork House Page 37