Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2)

by Laura Spinella

  The woman ran her fingers nervously over her long throat. She was tall, taller than Aubrey, an unusual thing in her experience. She smiled at Piper, an equally anxious gesture.

  “That and I don’t know whether to be fearful or hopeful that Marina misunderstood. She said you’re with the government, a task force involved with missing children.”

  “That’s right. I’m Deputy Chief Piper Sullivan. I work in conjunction with the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. This is Aubrey Ellis, Levi St John. They’re, um . . . they’re assisting me on cases involving two missing boys.”

  “So you have come about my son!” Suzanne’s attitude veered, going from uneasy to expectant, and Piper glanced at Aubrey and Levi. Suzanne came farther into the room, her fingers flitting over her mouth. “Tell me, please, is it good news?”

  “About your son?” Piper said carefully.

  “Yes. Of course about my son. It’s been ages since we’ve heard anything positive. Anything at all, really.” Her chin quivered, jarring her smile. “But I haven’t given up on Eli. He was always so determined. He can be quite tenacious.”

  “No argument from me,” Aubrey murmured.

  “Mrs. Serino,” Piper said loudly. “You said you haven’t ‘given up’? What does that mean?”

  “It means that once we’re all reunited, Eli will get a second chance. We’ll all get a second chance. I’ve been dedicated to practicing.” She glanced over her shoulder, then pressed a finger to her lips. “That part’s a surprise. Bruno prefers not to discuss our life after Eli returns. But I know he’ll be pleased too. How could he not?”

  “Pleased about . . . ?” Piper asked.

  “Pleased that I’ll be prepared when Eli returns home. Not everyone gets a second chance with their child. Do you know what I mean, Deputy Chief?”

  The remark seemed to fluster Piper, the clip of conversation not only confusing but suddenly personal. Aubrey interjected. “Mrs. Serino . . .” She took a step toward the woman, Levi following. “How is it you’ve been practicing on being a better mother to Eli?”

  Her expression muddled, like it was an absurd question. “I’ve read all the books on parenting—old ones and the newest titles. Uncommon Sense for Parents with Teenagers, When Good Kids Do Bad Things, Raising Your Wayward Teen . . .”

  Levi leaned in, whispering, “Maybe she means Resurrecting Your Wayward Teen.” Aubrey elbowed him.

  Suzanne continued to prattle on. “Why, I’ve all but memorized them cover to cover. I see now where Bruno . . . but especially me, where I went so wrong the first time.”

  “Really?” Aubrey said. “Parenting. That’s a topic with endless resources.”

  “To a point.” Suzanne Serino smiled, then didn’t. “After I felt ready, I moved on from the books. Of course, I’m still doing everything Dr. Klaussner recommends, but sometimes you just have to . . . fly on your own.” Her subtle smile returned. “I’ve learned so much.”

  “Have you?” Aubrey said.

  Suzanne inched closer, outwardly pleased to have an interested bystander. “Yes. I’ve been working on being precisely the kind of mother Eli deserved years ago. My son will be so proud of me.”

  “Mrs. Serino, I’m sorry,” Piper said, drawing closer. “But I’m confused. These missing boys may relate to your son, but as for Eli, he’s been—”

  “Waiting for just this moment.” Aubrey snatched the flow of dialogue, shooting Piper a shushing glance. “Could you tell us a little more? How is it you hope to . . .” A man appeared in the great room entry.

  “Hope.” The word echoed, commanding Suzanne’s attention. She turned. “Hope is what my wife hangs on to.” He strode forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Marina said you had visitors, darling. Seems we’ll have to review the house rules with her again.” He offered a stiff nod to the group. “Language barrier and new help; it’s difficult.” Suzanne stared at him, her face a combination of vagueness and need. “I’m Bruno Serino. Something I can help you with?”

  Piper went another round, stating who they were and that they wanted to speak with Suzanne regarding the whereabouts of two missing boys. Bruno never left the plane of smooth talking, calmly asking, “Wait one moment,” and calling for Marina. They stood in silence until the woman who answered the door turned up in the great room. “Marina, would you take Mrs. Serino back to the solarium? Later, you and I will discuss the rules about visitors.” Marina glanced back worriedly while taking Suzanne by the arm.

  “But Bruno,” she said, not quite willing to be led away. “Our guests. They say they have news about Eli.”

  He approached his wife, gently taking her hand in his. “And I’m going to find out anything they have to tell us. But remember, stress isn’t good for you. Dr. Klaussner would be disappointed to learn you deviated from the program.” Anxiousness faded to dutifulness, and Suzanne exited.

  Piper didn’t demand the subject of her inquiry stay put, and Aubrey assumed it meant she had a plan B. Impatience was a default setting when Piper felt close to solving a case—the driving hope of getting a child back alive—and the deputy chief got right to her point. “Mr. Serino, I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest Mrs. Serino is not . . .” Having steamrolled into the thought, Piper aimed for a gentler landing. “Well,” she said softly.

  “I take it you spoke with Suzanne long enough to realize her reality and actual reality aren’t quite parallel.”

  It was Levi who stepped into the conversation. “Your wife believes your son to be missing, as opposed to deceased. She indicated—”

  Bruno held up a hand. “Suzanne’s emotional state has deteriorated over the years. In fact, I returned early from a business trip abroad because Marina became concerned about Suzanne. I don’t know if you’re aware of how our son passed—”

  “Very,” Levi said. “I covered the story years ago for the Hartford Standard Speaker.” He hesitated. “I, um . . . I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Bruno narrowed his eyes. “Then I suppose you all know the grisly details, including how the press crucified Suzanne and myself for Eli’s suicide.”

  It would not be in Levi’s wheelhouse to pull punches. “I’m aware that your jet-setting lifestyle was called into question.”

  “Jet-setting . . . perhaps for my wife. I assure you, my focus was business. Either way, no worries, Mr. St John. While the law couldn’t pursue charges, fate has seen to comeuppance. After the initial shock of losing a child, Suzanne’s been subject to years of guilt. First the authorities, then the press. It grew worse when friends abandoned Suzanne at her most vulnerable. Yet without a doubt, it’s self-inflicted culpability that’s been most traumatic, wreaked havoc with Suzanne’s mind. Her perceptions. They’ve spiraled steadily, deteriorated until . . . well, until it resulted in what you just witnessed.”

  “Would you mind clarifying?” Piper asked. “What, exactly, it is we witnessed?”

  “A woman who can’t distinguish reality from fantasy.”

  “You’re going to have to elaborate, Mr. Serino,” Piper said. “The lives of two boys may very well depend on it.”

  “I’m sorry, Deputy Chief . . . Sullivan, was it?”

  She nodded.

  “You mistook my housekeeper’s faux pas as an invitation. I’ve no desire to further discuss my wife’s illness or my son’s death with you. I’ve already said more than I care to about Eli. If you don’t mind . . .” He pointed toward the massive entry.

  From the inside jacket of her suit, Piper produced a warrant, dropping it on the coffee table. “On the contrary, Mr. Serino. We have a court-ordered right to be here, search the place if we like. Yesterday, I amassed enough suspicion regarding your wife’s behavior and unusual travel pattern in the last six months—numerous flights between Philadelphia and Laughlin International Airport, near Santa Claus, Arizona.”

  “I didn’t realize interstate travel was illegal.”

  “No. But the purchase of a firearm by a known mentally ill pers
on is.”

  “That’s absurd. Suzanne doesn’t own a firearm. You’re mistaken . . . or—”

  “We’ll get back to it, Mr. Serino. But also know we have a receipt from an Enterprise car rental. It’s billed to your wife’s credit card, a franchise located one block away from a Glenmore, Pennsylvania, ice rink where a boy went missing. Trust me. It was all the judge needed to hear. Question is, would you like to hear this in your living room or the Boston agency office? I assure you, Suzanne will not appreciate the amenities. It’s up to you.”

  After a moment, Bruno pointed to the high-end furnishings, his teeth slightly gritted. “Would you all care to sit?”

  Levi did the majority of the talking, Aubrey detecting a weave of subconscious thoughts between him and Piper. Bruno Serino was already on the defense; chances were he’d respond better to a man. Clearly, Piper didn’t like it. But if it got them to those boys, she was willing to give Levi the reins. It began with a brick-by-brick inquiry, navigating deftly. Before long, in reply, Bruno Serino painted a detailed portrait of his wife’s condition.

  According to him, her psychosis had begun with small pockets of delusions that manifested into wider spans of neurosis. Suzanne Serino’s mind-set had spread from a puddle of grief into a sea that had swallowed her.

  The year after Eli’s death, Bruno attempted to combat depression and guilt with trips abroad, an exotic extension of her jet-setting life. “I tried to put more substance into our itinerary, hoping Suzanne would find solace in more inspired, soul-searching destinations.”

  “Did you also buy her a copy of Eat, Pray, Love to read on the planes?” Piper said under her breath.

  “Touché, Deputy Chief. Not long into our travels . . . India . . . the Far East, it became apparent our lifestyle was doing Suzanne more harm than good. Eventually, we returned to Surrey, our house.”

  “The one on Acorn Circle,” Aubrey said.

  “You know it?”

  “Quite well. And how did that go?” A soft pinging rose, and she saw Levi’s alerted gaze. Eli’s father and Piper appeared oblivious to the sound.

  Bruno Serino sat heavily, his line of vision on a well-stocked bar. “Unfortunately, the house proved more debilitating than our travels.”

  “How so?” Levi asked.

  “I, um . . .” Bruno averted his glance to the Oriental rug beneath his feet. “This is going to sound ludicrous, but . . .” He looked up. “According to Suzanne, the house was . . . haunted.”

  “Really?” Levi said as if he’d never encountered the word. “Can you elaborate?”

  “At first it was solely Suzanne’s perceptions. My work requires extensive travel. I’m very dedicated to Serino Enterprises. My wife’s claims began with hysterical phone calls about lights blowing out when she’d flip a switch to more pronounced things, like books and bric-a-brac flying off shelves; the slamming of Eli’s bedroom door became a nightly occurrence. Once, she sat at the dining room table and innocently picked up her wineglass. She insisted it shattered in her hand, of its own volition. I found that incident particularly disturbing.”

  “And why’s that?” Levi asked.

  “Because she ended up with eight stitches in her hand. I found it remarkable that Suzanne would self-inflict pain to such an extent. Aside from that, she spoke continuously about noises coming from the lower level—”

  “Tell us more about that, Mr. Serino, the lower level.” As Aubrey inquired, the pinging noise grew more acute. Still, neither Piper nor Bruno appeared aware.

  “We’d built a custom indoor ice rink for Eli. The boy went through hobbies like the chewing gum we provided by the case. But this hobby seemed to stick. He was obsessed, even if he wasn’t terribly good. We thought the rink would keep him occupied, out of trouble.”

  “More like out of your way, Dad . . .”

  Aubrey cued to the voice, bracing for Eli’s presence to produce more than words.

  Bruno shifted in his seat. “Once Eli was gone, we had the floor drained, shut the rink down. I was determined to move on. Suzanne . . .” He brushed an arm through the air in front of him. “She couldn’t. She called while I was on a trip to Amsterdam, insisting there was something wrong with the heat. The house, according to her, was freezing. Particularly curious, being as it was early June.”

  “New England weather can be wildly unpredictable,” Piper said, her Southern twang seeming to agree.

  “Precisely what I told her,” Bruno said, nodding. “Suzanne went to the basement, intending to go to the furnace room. Instead, she ended up in the ice rink. She, um . . . she was startled to find the water system turned on, the floor refilling.”

  “And this couldn’t be attributed to a mechanical malfunction?” Levi asked.

  “Perhaps.” Bruno’s glance evaded his visitors. “But this disruption to my business trip . . . it was the fifth call; the fifth time Suzanne had made such a claim.”

  Aubrey bobbed her head in a subtle gesture; the tale did not come as a surprise.

  “I blamed all the wild stories, the crazy incidents on Suzanne’s state of mind. That’s rational, right? I assumed, in Suzanne’s declining mental state, that she was probably responsible . . . like the shattered wineglass. When I was home, nothing so bizarre occurred. Eventually, there was only one reasonable solution to our housing situation.”

  “And that was to move,” Levi said.

  “Yes.” He closed his hands into tight fists. “My reassurances weren’t helping; Suzanne was slipping further and further from reality. I was done reasoning with her, insisting she was enabling her own delusions with these ghost stories. At dinner one night, I made an announcement, I told her I’d put the house on the market.”

  “Oh, I bet that went over well.” Aubrey was hardly thinking of Suzanne Serino’s reaction.

  “Excuse me?” Bruno said.

  “Tell me something, Mr. Serino,” she said. “You never believed the things Suzanne experienced in the house? You thought it was all her imagination, or more precisely, a symptom of her psychosis?”

  His fisted hands slid into a twisted knot.

  “It will sound ridiculous if I tell you.”

  “Try me,” Aubrey said. “I love a good ghost story.”

  Bruno made eye contact with Aubrey. “It was, um . . . it was my last morning in the house; I was alone. I spent time in Eli’s room. I talked to him.” Bruno shrugged. “The way anyone might speak to someone who’d passed—just to the air, really. You know?”

  Aubrey asked, “And what did you tell the air?”

  “I said we had to go—that for Eli’s mother’s sanity, we needed to move. Perhaps, in hindsight, I was harsh with my words. But it’s not as if . . .”

  “As if what?”

  “As if Eli was actually listening.”

  “You don’t think so?” Aubrey said.

  “Well, of course I didn’t . . .” He seemed to retreat from his defense. “Not at that point. I was speaking symbolically—to an empty room.” He hesitated. “But I did challenge Eli, ask him if his suicide wasn’t enough. What more did he want? I was angry. His death, it was so . . . unnecessary. My God, you can’t begin to imagine what it was like that day, to come home from an exhausting trip to find your son . . .” Bruno lurched from the chair, his fist thudding into the fireplace mantel. “The boy could have had the world.”

  “All I wanted was you . . .”

  A hum rang from Aubrey’s throat; it carried a sound of empathy for Eli.

  “I said no son would want this for his mother—her ongoing suffering.” Bruno scraped a hand over his face, blinking at the spent ashes in the hearth. “But I did tell him that he was no longer a part of our lives.”

  “I was never a part of your life. You ask him, lady . . . ask him what else he said . . .”

  In a room of common people, common sense would say to end it there. Whatever blame belonged to Bruno Serino, his torment was palpable. But this was not a room of common people, and a fast tug to Aubrey’s hair
was a curt reminder. “Damn it,” she hissed, grabbing her head. While Levi and Piper offered wary glances, Eli’s father was too lost in his memories to notice.

  “Fuck him. Distraught isn’t accountability. Make my father tell you what he said!”

  “Mr. Serino, is that all? Did you offer anything else, maybe parting words as you left Eli’s bedroom that day?”

  He looked at Aubrey as if she could see into his head. A shame-filled confession dragged from his mouth, perhaps a burden he’d been carrying like a sack of rocks. “I, um . . . I said I wished Eli had never been born.” Still poised by the fireplace, he looked at a photo of Eli that seemed to look back. “Then I moved on. I threw some odds and ends, spare hockey paraphernalia . . . bubble gum Eli chewed constantly, a knit cap he wore, into a box and sealed it. Then I went to the master bath to take a shower.”

  “And that was it?” Aubrey tilted her head at him.

  “Not exactly.” Bruno pressed a closed fist to his mouth. “When, um . . . when I got out of the shower, I reached for my robe. As I put it on, I looked into the bathroom mirror. In the steam was a date—‘June 29.’” His cold gaze was racked with disbelief. “June twenty-ninth was Eli’s birthday.” He pursed his lips. “Below the date were the words ‘Sorry. Still here.’”

  Piper hummed under her breath. “After that, I guess you didn’t waste any time packing.”

  “After that, I did everything I could to preserve what was left of my wife’s sanity. You can’t imagine the horror . . . realization of seeing something like that. I mean, who would believe such a thing?”

  Aubrey raised her brow. “Who indeed.” She found him undeserving of validation; Eli’s presence was not about offering closure. Her attention was drawn away from the people in the great room. Eli was the strongest entity, and Aubrey felt the anger that drove him transform into simple sadness.

  “Your wife’s sanity,” Piper said. “It brings me to the point of our visit today. That warrant, Mr. Serino.” She pointed to the document. “We have reason to believe that Suzanne is involved in the disappearance of two boys.”