A heartbeat later, she slipped out of her coat, suddenly feeling as if she couldn’t breathe with it on.
She didn’t even know she moved. All she knew was that she stood at the top of the stairs looking down into the cellar.
There was a light on but all she could see was a few feet in diameter of the earthen floor at the bottom of the old wooden stairs.
She should walk away. She didn’t need to go down there in the dark. The police were coming. She was afraid. The dark…
She had a flashlight in her purse.
Now the only sounds she heard were her own breath, blood rushing through her ears, and rain pelting against the roof and windows with the beginning of another storm.
She really planned to move away and close the door. She really did. Or at least grab the flashlight in her purse.
But then Will stepped into the light at the bottom of the stairs. His white shirt was covered with dirt and not white at all. His sleeves were rolled up. Dirt smudged his face in many places where he’d obviously attempted to wipe away sweat as he maneuvered the shovel.
“Victoria…Torrie…”
Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name on his lips. She could never ignore the deep richness of his voice. Nor could she deny that it was his voice she’d heard a few minutes ago, just as it was his voice she’d heard all those years ago when she was a little girl.
She shook her head slightly, not even knowing for certain if he’d be able to see that from where he was below her. She had to swallow and clear her throat before she could speak. “I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Come down here, please,” he said as if the police coming to Hargrove House meant nothing.
“No.” She gripped the doorknob tightly as if that act alone might keep her feet firmly planted on the floor. “It’s dark… The party…”
“I need you, my love,” he said. Obviously her ‘no’ meant as little as the police. “Please come down. There are things we have to do before we can enjoy the party. And you know I would never hurt you.”
She did know that. At least she liked to think she did. “Your room upstairs is completely empty,” she said.
“Yes, and once you come down, I’ll be able to explain everything. But I need you down here with us.”
“Us?”
It was the word us that caused her to take the first step. The next thing she knew she stood one step up from the dirt floor of the cellar, and Will stood before her. Her injured foot didn’t even hurt any longer.
Given his height, he was now at eye level with her.
He reached out and took her hand. His hand was warm, but dusty and rough and callused.
“Us?” Torrie asked again, her heart thumping so hard in her chest, it hurt.
“All of us.” Will looked away and toward the far end of the room.
Torrie followed his gaze. She sucked in a breath through a tight throat at the sight of four children. Eleanor, Alexander, Violet, and a boy who looked like Alexander. He held a red ball as he did in the painting and could only be Aiden. He stared at her, his blue eyes appearing unusually bright through the dirt that covered his face.
Alice stood behind them, staring at her anxiously.
“What do you have in your hand?” Will asked.
Without a word, she held out the crystal.
“Ah, we’ve been waiting for that to be returned to the house. Thank you.” He took it from her.
Torrie forced in one breath after another. Each one came out with, “Oh…Oh…”
Then she took in the rest of the room.
And thought she might faint at the sights of the holes in the cellar floor—six large holes—six open graves. The shovel—a well-used tool of late—rested against the wall.
“Who—who are you? Really?”
He watched her expectantly, as if she should remember something she couldn’t. “I’m not William Dalton.”
“What a surprise,” she muttered flatly.
“I’m William Hargrove. This is my house. I built it.”
“Right,” she said sarcastically. She turned away, having every intention of leaving.
He grasped he arm and stopped her. “And you are Victoria Hargrove, my wife.”
“No…”
“Yes, and I—we—were all hoping it would come back to you, that you would remember. And it did in a way because you designed the house as it was, as it was meant to be as you decorated it once before when we lived here more than a hundred years ago. You knew, you just knew, how it was supposed to look, what the wallpaper should look like, where the furniture should go. You knew everything without my telling you. And yet, you didn’t remember us.”
But she did, didn’t she? She met him and his children and immediately wanted to be with them. Her heart remembered them. Torrie swallowed hard and said nothing.
“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for our children not to run into your arms? Do you have any idea how hard it has been for me not to touch you?”
“Yes, yes I do,” she said softly. Then she shook her head and went on more firmly, “It isn’t true. It can’t be true. But, fine, I’ll humor you, even though I know it isn’t true, and it isn’t even possible. What…What are you doing? What are you planning? Are you planning to kill us and bury us down here?” She met his gaze as evenly as she could and thought: I won’t let it happen. “I’ll fight you until I have no strength left, but I won’t let you hurt these children.”
“Of course not. I would never hurt you. I would never hurt them.” He nodded to the children and Alice. “I did everything I could to protect them then, but I couldn’t. No, my Victoria. I would not bury anyone down here. And I cannot kill any of them, either. We are already dead.”
“What?” She might have fallen had he not still held her hand.
“We, my children and I—our children—were buried down here. It has taken me a long time to be able to free myself of this cold, dark place. Of course once I was free, I then freed each of them.”
To her amazement, he turned to the boy with the ball. “I’m sorry, dear Aiden, it took so long for me to find you. He buried you so far away from the rest of us.”
“You’re crazy.”
His gaze met hers again, and he shook his head, and to her astonishment, his smile was genuine. “I don’t understand why you can’t remember, my love. Do you remember the story I mentioned to you when we first met in your office, the story of how someone murdered the family and buried them in the cellar? Well, it is true.”
“No. This is impossible.”
“Yes. It was at your birthday party, just like tonight is a party and it’s your birthday.”
“How did you know that today was my birthday? Really?”
“I already told you, I know everything about you, my love. Anyway, it was a party I wasn’t sure I should plan because you had a broken foot from falling in the drive, and I wasn’t sure you would be able to dance at your party should I throw it for you,” Will explained.
“No,” Torrie put in.
“Yes, and another man coveted my wife and my money. So he murdered my children and then me. He buried us down here. And he took you away. My own brother, Nathan, the bastard. It was why it took me so long to find you—find your spirit, your soul, recognize what makes you—you. You may be in a new body, born in a different year, a new era, but you are still the beautiful woman I married. I didn’t know where he’d taken you. Imagine my surprise at finding you lived mere miles away from here, that as a child you stepped right up the porch and through the front door when for an entire century, kids, drunks, and adventurers sneaked into the house.”
“No,” she breathed again. “I called the police. They’re on their way. I think I hear their sirens.” Then the dream came flooding through her memories like a flash again. Only this time, it was more vivid. It was so horrifying, she swayed at the impact. Any second she was bound to fall into his arms. Her knees felt like rubber.
Torrie had screamed and when there was no response from her husband or her family to her screams, she knew they were lost to her forever.
With her hand in his, he brought it up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. The touch of his lips sent a ripple of warmth up her arm. “Yes. I just needed you down here with us so we would be a complete family again. Don’t you understand?”
“No…”
“I couldn’t protect them or you then, but I can now. You have to help me, though. Tell me what you remember about Nathan.”
She wanted to refuse. She wanted to close her eyes and forget. She did close her eyes, but she then saw Nathan more clearly. “He came into the ballroom. He was angry and shaking. He seemed hysterical, laughing and saying that even though he didn’t get invited to my party, he was here anyway. He said he left me the greatest birthday present in the cellar. I started screaming. I knew you—all of you—were…” She found herself unable to say the word dead.
“Where did he take you?” He kissed her hand again. He was so warm.
Torrie knew if she stepped down into his arms, she would no longer have to fight off the shivers that moved through her. Again, she shook her head. “How am I remembering this? Don’t…Don’t make me remember…”
“You must.”
“Why must I? I’m already here. No, stop, none of this can be real. I’m not your wife. I shouldn’t be able to remember any of this. I can’t…” She couldn’t possibly be his wife. She had never known him before he walked into her office.
“Stop fighting this, Torrie. Stop fighting me. Trust me, my love. Tell me where he took you.”
“I don’t know!” she screamed at him. “I never knew. I only knew that when he didn’t get what he wanted from me, he put me in a sanitarium. He left me there. They put me in a tiny room in the dark. I was so afraid. I don’t even know where it was. I only know I prayed for death every day, and finally my prayers were answered…” Just as she suddenly couldn’t stop the horrifying memories that were hers and somehow not hers, she couldn’t stop the tears in her eyes. She couldn’t stop them from spilling one after another down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me tell you anymore.”
“Oh, Mama…” Violet said softly. Her tears equaled Torrie’s.
“Just step down here with us, Victoria. You can be with us. We can be together, and we can change the way things are. You’ll see. Please, trust me. I love you, my darling…”
“Please, Mama…” It was Eleanor, with Miss Velvet in her arms and tears in her eyes, too.
Then Aiden, the boy with the red ball ran closer. “Yes, Mama, please…”
“Don’t leave us down here for eternity, Torrie,” Will pleaded. “We’ve searched and waited long enough. We can fix this. I need you. Our children need you. Please…”
And Torrie didn’t know if she fell or if she stepped. But she suddenly felt the cool earth floor beneath her feet through the slippers. At the same time, she was lost in his arms…
Chapter Ten
Chief of Police Alan Bradford sat at the dining room table early Sunday morning. His notes were open before him. It wasn’t that things didn’t make sense; it was that nothing connected correctly, in his opinion.
Rex Walker, two of his work crew, Paul Dix and Gavin Fullerton, and Susan Schmidt all sat at the table, too.
“I want to thank you all for coming so quickly,” Chief Bradford said. “I got your numbers from Ms. Reynolds’ notes.”
“What’s happened?” Susan Schmidt asked, her words laced with fear. “My heart’s been pounding since you called and got even worse when I got here and saw so many police cars and an ambulance.
“We’re not sure. Have any of you seen or heard from Torrie Reynolds?”
“No.” Susan replied.
The men voiced the same. “Why? Has something happened?” Rex asked.
“We’re not sure. All we’re certain about is there are several things that don’t add up.” The Chief looked at his notes. “She made a 9-1-1 call and said she’d fallen and hurt her ankle.”
“Yes, but that was some time ago, perhaps as long as a week, maybe two. I don’t remember the exact day. I know she went to the Urgent Center and got an X-ray. You could find out the exact day if you contact them,” Susan put in. “Her car got stuck out in the drive. Her shoe heel broke and she twisted her foot the night before in the rain. Has something happened to her?”
“We aren’t able to find her. Her car is here. Her purse and phone and computer are here. But there’s no sign of her anywhere. Except for her coat laying on the kitchen floor, there’s no sign of foul play. No sign of anything. Just an empty house.”
The Chief let out a huff of frustration. “When was the last time any of you saw her?”
“When I wallpapered the last bedroom. I thought perhaps I’d see her last night.”
“Why would you think that?” the officer asked.
“There was supposed to be a party. She talked about the party a great deal, said Mr. Dalton was throwing an open house and told me to stop in, but when I came by last night, there was no sign of a party.”
“What time was this?”
“About six thirty or a quarter of seven, I guess,” Susan replied. “There were a few lights on, but no activity, no cars parked. I rang the bell. No one answered. I figured I made a mistake on the date. I didn’t go around back to see if her car was here.”
“Her 9-1-1 call was made at six fifty-four. And an officer arrived here at three minutes after seven. He found the house empty and thought it was the wrong address given until this morning. Torrie Reynolds’s assistant called and stated she’d been trying for some time to reach Ms. Reynolds and was worried since she couldn’t. Then we found her car parked behind this house, so we thought we’d better check further. Did you feel there was anything out of the ordinary about the day or about Ms. Reynolds the last time you saw her?”
Susan thought for a long moment. “Well, the truth is, I thought there were a few things that were out of the ordinary.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that this was the easiest job I’d ever seen anyone pull together. Whatever Torrie wanted for the house, Torrie was able to get—without waiting. All she had to do was call or order on her computer, and the orders showed up quickly—sometimes in the same day. Like the wallpaper for the last bedroom was really strange. I know this sounds bizarre, but she had it painted before I papered it because she said no ideas came to her what to do with it, whereas for the previous bedrooms, she had everything down to the last detail. There’s even a train set in one of the bedrooms. But she was rather blank on this last room for a whole week. Then the entire idea hits her, and just like that,” Susan snapped her fingers for emphasis, “she gets the paper and everything she needs for that room in a few hours.”
“What about this William Dalton, the man who’s paying for all of this?”
Rex, Gavin and Susan all sat dumbfounded again.
“What about him?” Rex asked.
“Well, I can’t seem to find him, either,” the chief replied. “His number was in her notes, but the number has been disconnected. The only address is this address. And despite all our efforts and a search of the area, we can’t find either Ms. Reynolds or him. In fact, the only close Dalton I can find lives in California. His name is Riley William Dalton. He claims to be the great-great-great grandson of the original owner of this place. He told me on the phone that he has ownership of this property, but he never hired anyone to fix it up, even though he planned to do just that. It’s as if the person who hired Ms. Reynolds or the person who set up the bank account and paid you doesn’t exist. The checks that he wrote to pay you drafted through the bank through a legitimate account with the Dalton Vineyard; no one seems to know how the money moved. It’s like a dead-end. If one of you could tell me what he looks like…”
Again, they
looked at one another.
“Don’t tell me you never saw him?” Chief Bradford asked.
They all three shook their head. “Never,” Susan said. “Torrie even mentioned him often when I was here working saying that I would probably see him around and I said it was about time. But I never did. The house was as quiet as this except for the noise Rex and his workers made.”
“When she made the 9-1-1 call, she mentioned Will—that’s what she called him—was digging in the cellar. Do any of you know anything about that?”
Again, it was Susan who had to answer. “Torrie mentioned she heard shoveling down there and asked if I ever heard it, too. I never heard anything except the sounds of these guys doing their work or installing cabinets and stuff like that. I never heard anything in the cellar. Were there any signs of any digging in the cellar?”
“There was a shovel against the wall, but no signs of any earth moved,” he explained. “The K-9 unit didn’t sniff anything out of the ordinary, either. If there had been any body buried down there, the dog would have alerted us. We’re checking it for prints, but doubt it will lead anywhere.”
It was a short time later that he walked the three bewildered workers to the door and allowed them to leave.
The Chief looked around, taking in the house. Hell, from the piano to the sconces on the wall, Victoria Reynolds hadn’t missed a beat. The house was perfect. Too bad there was no one to live in it. Riley William Dalton was due to arrive in a few days to see it.
In the hall, he noticed the framed photos on the wall. They were old, all black and white, beautifully framed and arranged.
In the first, a man and a woman sat on the front porch of this house sipping tea.
The chief studied the next, recognizing the same couple stepping onto a train. It wasn’t his imagination that Torrie Reynolds held an uncanny resemblance to the woman in the old photo.
In another, four children, two girls and two boys who were obviously twins stood near a gazebo. They were the same children in the large portrait that hung in the ballroom that he’d seen when he searched for Torrie Reynolds.
Hargrove House: The Haunted Book One Page 21