by Mari Labbee
Breathing was heavier now—someone nearby.
The all-too-familiar panic of late rose in Bri’s chest, and her breath came in quick, shallow gulps.
What is happening?
She couldn’t tell. The smell of roses, faint and slightly sour, closed in around her as a light broke through the darkness, small at first but growing into a bright circle. Had she died? Was this the way to heaven? With the light, she became aware that she was sitting on a large four-poster with sturdy carved wooden posts that held up a silken canopy, the edges fluttering softly above her. Across the bed, windows were framed with heavy drapes, in the same floral pattern as the canopy above. A flicker of light at the end of the room caught her attention, and she turned to look in that direction and to see what the source of the light was.
At the far end of the room, a woman, her back to Bri, stood in front of a beautifully carved wooden dresser, where a vase filled with roses—wilted and dying—sat on top. Next to the vase, a small candle emitted a circle of light.
The woman’s hair was a swath of glossy black curls that fell well past her waist. The woman was extremely careful not to make any noise as she searched hurriedly through one of the dresser drawers. Bri watched her curiously, wondering what she was looking for. The woman quietly closed the drawer she had just gone through, and then she just as quietly opened another and began her stealthy rummaging again.
Bri tried to calm her beating heart, which was thumping so hard that she was positive the woman, whoever she was, would hear it. As the moon emerged from behind the clouds, something else caught Bri’s attention. Through partially open drapes, she glanced out to see a lighthouse. Not just a lighthouse, she realized, but the lighthouse! Her lighthouse, and this was her room! She was in her own room, but it wasn’t her room; it was someone else’s.
Her mouth opened to scream, but there was only a suffocating fear in her throat that closed it shut. She sat up, eyes wide open. Her heart wasn’t pounding anymore; it was petrified. She wondered again if she had died, but then the pounding resumed, banging in her ears.
Hearing movement behind her, the woman spun around, and the two locked eyes for what Bri felt was an eternity. There was no doubt she had surprised the woman; that much was plain. The woman’s face glowed rough and big in the candlelight; everything about her was rough, but then Bri noticed something…familiar. The soulless eyes in that arresting face; Bri knew this face. The monstrously beautiful child from the lighthouse had grown into this woman.
Bri would have preferred to think that the woman’s eyes were merely hostile, but they were so much more. They reached out like talons.
The woman stood stone-still, like an animal, calculating its prey. She said nothing; she didn’t have to. Bri saw the malice dancing in her eyes—where it lived. Bri stared back, except there was nothing but fear in her eyes. It had taken a moment before the woman saw this fear, and when she did, her lips curled up into a perfect smile, and she mouthed something. Bri thought she heard a name.
Rosabel. The room went into a spin.
Without warning, Bri was suddenly outside and up high, a storm raging around her. She looked down to see a woman running from a house-her house. The woman’s hair trailed behind her as she ran across the clearing, golden and brilliant in the moonlight. She ran to the lighthouse, and behind her, three—no, four—people, lanterns aloft, gave chase. Suddenly Bri was at the top of the lighthouse. The woman had climbed over the parapet and stood at the edge now, looking down.
No! Wait! Bri shouted, but the woman had not heard.
Then, as before, water rushed toward her, she was falling, and a woman screamed.
Yanked roughly out of the dream Bri found herself in bed, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, smothering a scream. Slowly her shaking hand slipped from her mouth leaving an imprint on her cheek. A vise tightened around her throat, and there was a fire burning in her chest, so hot it hurt to breathe. She looked over at Matt sleeping peacefully, apparently undisturbed by her thrashing. There was no way to stop the tears, and she began sobbing silently.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It happened again, and this time Matt was with her. No one could protect her from this. She sat on the edge of the bed without making a move to stand up, afraid she might fall if she tried.
This is real, she thought. I am actually experiencing something…unexplainable.
These dreams were different from any she’d ever had in her life. They felt different, lingering physically. She thought about the stories. Maybe there was something to them. How else to explain this? Were these dreams or visions? Visions of things past? Oh…she didn’t want to think about what that might mean. She didn’t believe in hauntings or ghosts, or anything remotely related, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist.
Had the windows ever been covered with heavy floral-patterned drapes that hung to the floor? She looked out to see the lighthouse in the distance.
What secrets do you hold?
It was still dark out, but dawn wasn’t far off, and there would be no more sleep for her tonight.
Matt rolled over and squinted against the morning sun hitting his eyes, he turned over, but it didn’t do any good because sunlight pervaded every square inch of Bri’s bedroom. He hadn’t slept past sunrise in years, his internal clock always waking him just before, but it had failed him this morning, and he smiled thinking about why.
He reached over, expecting to find Bri there, but he was alone.
This was horrible; she knew that as she wrote the note that Matt would find later. Just three lines: I’m sorry. I forgot about an appointment. I’ll see you later. Short, curt, evasive. If she were the one waking up to this note, after a night like last night, she would assume she’d never see him again, that last night was a mistake. She had no idea how he would take it and felt bad about it, but she had to go.
On her way to Pegottie, she thought about the dreams, and she began dissecting them, going through each one frame by frame like a movie, but it was all so confusing. The first dream might have happened earlier than she initially thought. Those first sleepless nights she attributed to stress, waking up in a sweat with no memory of a dream were the beginning, she was sure of it. She focused on the timeline.
The first dream she remembered was just a jumble of images: water rushing toward her and a scream, actually more of a shriek, now that she thought about it. The night she discovered the red-silk walls, she dreamed she was in the lighthouse where she saw the little girl with piercing emerald eyes standing over her, staring at her, malice so palpable it lingered even after waking. The dream of the woman painting the mural in the great room followed. Was it possible those dark red streaks across the sky were really her blood? Finally, the dream from last night, the woman in her room, searching for something. Bri was positive that the woman in this dream and the little girl from the lighthouse were one and the same; those eyes were unforgettable, and the evil she had seen in them had only grown stronger. And the woman who ran from the house was the one who painted the mural. She was being chased by others, but who were they? The woman had climbed to the top of the lighthouse and stood at the edge before those same final images flashed again, and just before Bri felt herself falling through space, which could only mean one thing. The woman had fallen to her death from up there. Did she jump? Was she pushed? It was an obvious end if the dreams were to be believed. Bri wondered why and felt unimaginable sadness.
A passing motorist gave a little honk and glared at her as they passed. Bri glanced down. Thirty-five miles an hour. She was so lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed slowing down. She wasn’t in a hurry, anyway; it was early still, and she’d be in Pegottie well before Dana opened her office. There was only one way to shed light on this. She was going to have to find out what happened in that house, what actually happened. She needed facts, and that’s what she was setting set out to do. Armed with facts, she’d tell Matt what was going on. Otherwise, he would just think she was delirious, which wa
s what she would think if the tables were turned. She had no idea what she might find or what it would prove, but she had to search for answers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Dana was a hopeless workaholic and was usually scheduled three deep every minute of every day; Bri hoped she wouldn’t mind her showing up unannounced. That was partly the reason she’d left the house so early; if Dana were to be caught, it would have to be early before her day got started.
The cross-street stoplights of Pegottie were just resetting themselves from overnight, blinking yellow only. Only Pegottie Harbor showed signs of life at this hour. She turned on Windsall and slowed down as she drove by Dana’s realty office. No one was there yet, but Bri knew she wouldn’t have to wait too long. Her stomach growled—loudly—so she turned around. The bait shops and boating-supply outlets on the harbor were bustling at this hour, and so was the coffee shop at the end of the pier. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon wafted in through the car window, and suddenly she was ravenous.
The guilt pangs were a little sharper now in the bright morning light. It had been cowardly of her to leave that note instead of just telling him what was going on, but then she thought about how that conversation might have gone. She could have lied to him and said she had an appointment she forgot about. But he would’ve seen right through that and known she was lying, which would have been worse. So this was the right decision. There was no roadmap for this. She would have to trust her gut, and right now her gut said get some answers.
Bri pushed the plate that had held her “land lubber” breakfast of corned beef hash and eggs away from her. For all her hunger, she only managed half of it. She took a sip of coffee, decaf. The clock on the wall said it was ten minutes to eight, time to see Dana. Setting a ten-dollar bill on the table, she grabbed her purse and left.
The lights of the realty office weren’t on. Dana hadn’t arrived yet, so she parked across the street to wait. The office’s front wall was a window, allowing passersby to easily look inside. A digital display played featured properties, loans, and the most recent interest rates on a loop during business hours. The building was the first one off the main street on a well-traveled cross street, and she was pretty sure the Domkes owned rather than leased the property. She had to admire their business sense and only hoped that her own business plans would pan out, but she was having her doubts. At 8:15 a.m., Dana turned the corner, and that was a good thing. Bri was at her wit’s end; the waiting was driving her nuts. Dana walked quickly up the sidewalk toward her office, distracted by a million things. As always, she’d already been up hours answering e-mails and going over her schedule. Her purse and an overstuffed tote bag were slung over one shoulder. She rushed, looking down at her phone, all the while flipping through a key ring for her office key, so she didn’t notice Bri walk up.
“Good morning, Dana.”
Dana jumped, and her hand flew up to her chest.
“Oh my God!”
“I’m…oh…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Bri apologized.
Regaining her composure quickly, Dana scrunched up her chubby face. “Did I forget about an appointment with you?” An unlikely scenario.
“Oh no, no…I was just hoping for a moment to talk to—”
Dana interrupted her. “Is something wrong? You…you look…kind of tired.”
Dana was good at blurting things out. Bri had forgotten about that, but she also knew it was the truth and could only imagine how tired she must look.
Without an invitation from Dana, she reached out and took the tote bag from her. “Here, let me help.”
Dana let her help but eyed her curiously. Finding the key to the office, she unlocked the door, and with an automatic gesture, she ran her hand along the wall immediately to the left of the door and flipped on four light switches simultaneously. The offset lights above that mimicked natural light flickered to life.
The office was divided into two halves and very modern. Semicircular cubicles with glass-top desks separated by short walls offered a modicum of privacy for one-on-one client meetings. Dana’s desk was the first one on the left, surrounded by a half wall of glass.
That prime spot gave Dana a great view of the street outside and the best advantage at anyone walking in.
Dana set her things down on the desk and then took off her jacket and fussed with her hair a bit. They were the gestures of a nervous person trying to appear calm. Perhaps she thought Bri was there to lodge a complaint of some kind, and she was bracing herself for it. Then she smiled, and Bri was sure of it; she was bracing herself for the worst.
“What can I do for you today, Bri?”
Now it was Bri’s turn to be nervous. She had no idea if she’d get what she wanted out of Dana.
“Dana…I was wondering.”
Bri spoke slowly, deliberately, unsure of the words to choose. Dana lowered her chin and looked at her expectantly.
“I was wondering…if…if there was any way I could speak to the former owner of the house?”
Dana’s eyebrows rose.
Bri wrung her hands. “I know you told me they were private people and wanted to handle everything through you, but…”
She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. What would happen if Dana didn’t agree to this? She needed to convince her to give her the previous owner’s name. She had to talk to them, find out what, if anything, had happened to them.
“Is there some kind of problem with the house?” Dana asked, continuing quickly, not giving Bri a chance to answer. “Because as you know, it was disclosed that the age of the house would require extensive work. I think you were quite aware of that, and my clients had several inspections conducted to make sure all defects were disclosed before escrow closed. And all the improvements you wanted prior to closing were completed.”
She was about to go on, but Bri jumped in.
“Yes, yes, of course. No, there’s nothing wrong with the house. I…I just have some questions I’d like to ask, and it would be so much easier to speak to someone in person.”
Dana sat back in her chair, regarding Bri. At least a minute passed before she sat forward and answered.
“I don’t think so. The former owner made it very clear that all negotiations and communication was to be done through me. I don’t think I can help you.”
Bri took a breath and collected her thoughts as she thought of what to say next.
“Dana. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. I really can’t go into it, because it’s just too long and complicated, but I promise you that I wouldn’t be asking this if I didn’t really need to speak to them.”
Dana did not take her eyes off Bri, trying to read her as she thought it over. The usually smiling eyes were ringed with heavy shadows, and Dana had to admit, Bri seemed slightly unhinged. She took pity on her and agreed to make a phone call to see what she could arrange.
Bri paced the sidewalk outside the real estate office, glancing inside every few seconds. Her nerves jangled as she watched Dana talking on the phone. It felt as if an eternity had passed since Dana picked up the phone. She kept switching the phone from one ear to the other as she talked. It was taking longer than Bri expected-not a good sign. Dana was probably trying to convince them. Then, again, she could be talking about the weather—who knew? Dana could carry on about absolutely nothing for breathtakingly long periods before she ever got to her point. In fact, there was a chance she hadn’t even gotten to the reason for the call yet. Finally, Dana hung up and waved her inside. She was writing something down as Bri walked in. Dana tore the page off the notepad and held it out.
Angela Buonaterra. Below it a Boston phone number.
“I have no idea why, but she agreed to talk to you, and actually…she didn’t sound surprised to hear from me.” Dana looked up at Bri curiously.
“Of course she wanted to know what you wanted, but I told her I didn’t know and that you’d call her later this morning.”
Dana push
ed away from the desk and got out of her chair, a sign that signaled, this meeting is over.
“That’s her office phone; she’d rather you call her there, and she’ll be in after ten.”
Bri wanted to hug her. “Thank you so much, Dana. I really, really appreciate this.” She folded the notepaper and slipped it into her jeans pocket.
Dana stood; her initial worry had turned into curiosity. Being the consummate professional, she would never ask what was going on, but Bri could see she wanted to know what had brought her in.
Bri pulled open the front door to leave but turned to look at Dana. “Thank you so much for this favor. I know it’s not a standard request.” She wanted to say more, but all she could do was give Dana a small smile before she left. She was one step closer—maybe—to some answers.
Dana watched Bri jog across the street, get into her car, and drive away. And Angela, without a doubt the most motivated person she’d ever worked with, who had wanted to sell the property at all cost, had been adamant about not meeting or talking to the buyer, and yet had agreed to speak to Bri. What was this all about? She wondered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Angela softly hung up the phone. Her hand lingered on it for some time before she walked away from her nightstand and headed to the bathroom. Dana’s call was and wasn’t a surprise. She had expected that the new owner of the house might one day want to talk to her; she hadn’t expected it would be so soon.
In the bathroom, she turned on the light and, as always, began examining her face in the mirror. She did this before doing anything else—before brushing her teeth or doing her hair. Slowly she turned her head from side to side, studying every angle, looking for a new line, a new blemish.
It hadn’t always been this way. This ritual started sometime in her forties, right about the time her hair started graying. Now in her sixties, the whole thing had gone gray, and she’d stopped dying it over ten years ago. It was a bright silvery white, and for the most part, she thought it looked good, nice against her Mediterranean skin, regal almost, but sometimes she felt it aged her, and she wondered if she should start keeping up with the dark brown again.