Through a haze of confusion and pain, Olivia saw Mathilde stagger to her feet … saw her fumble with her blouse … saw the blood streaming down onto her skirt …
“You’ll see,” Mathilde hissed again. “You’ll see I’m right!”
She yanked Olivia to her feet with surprising strength. Olivia felt herself spin out onto the gallery, then heard the door slam behind her. Somehow she managed to stumble back to her room and fall across her bed. Her arm ached where Mathilde had grabbed it—her head was throbbing where she’d hit the furniture. Closing her eyes, Olivia tried to will the pain away, and wept until she sank into a deep, exhausted sleep.
The rain had stopped.
Olivia sat up slowly, looking around her room. Another tray of food had been left on the table, and the smell of old stew hung faintly in the air. Getting up, she sampled several spoonfuls, her stomach grinding. As she stared at her disheveled appearance in the mirror, the morning’s events came back with a rush. She covered her face with her hands and sank down again at the foot of the bed.
Mathilde … Skyler … that room … None of it—none of it—made any sense, only the icy knowing inside her that something terrible was going on.
“She almost came in and found us …”
Me? Olivia thought. Was Skyler talking about me? Then that must mean Skyler had been hiding in the nursery when Olivia had gone in there that morning, when she’d seen the mess of blood and skin on the floor. But he hadn’t been alone—she was sure she’d heard another voice whispering from the corner. And she was equally certain that it hadn’t been Skyler’s voice begging her to leave.
Jesse?
“Where is Jesse now?” Mathilde had asked him. “Where did he go after you left him?” And Skyler had said he didn’t know …
Could all this really have something to do with Jesse?
Olivia got up again and walked to the doorway, staring out at the dripping moss. The fog looked almost thicker now, and the air felt even heavier with still-unshed rain. She shivered and went back to the nursery, stopping at the door in surprise.
It was locked.
Through the smudged glass, she could see the fireplace, cold now, empty of coals and ashes as if it had never been used. The floor was clean and looked freshly swept. The floorboards of the gallery were clean, as well.
What is going on around here? I’ve got to find out what’s going on—
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, images and sounds flashing relentlessly through her brain. Blood and pain and someone choking, Skyler’s rage, Mathilde’s triumphant sneer even as she’d lain there, bleeding over the floor.
“Jesse,” Olivia murmured, and she opened her eyes, half expecting to see him materialize out of the fog around her.
Jesse would know. Jesse would be able to tell her something.
But how do I find him?
She had no desire to see Skyler or Mathilde again, and she was afraid if she searched for Yoly she might run into them somewhere downstairs. Thinking back, she tried to recall Jesse’s answer when she’d asked him where he lived. On the other side of the bayou, he’d said—back behind the house.
And then she remembered the pier she and Skyler had gone to that morning, far beyond the outbuildings and the fields, when he’d tried to coax her into the boat that was tied up there—and “there’s someone I want you to meet,” he’d said, only she’d been afraid to go with him …
Had he been talking about Jesse?
After satisfying herself that no one was watching, Olivia took off through the backyard and past the outbuildings. She wasn’t sure she could remember the way, but it was more open out here than in the gardens, and she easily found the path worn into the well-traveled earth. She recalled skirting the few patches of woods and having to cross the straggling field, and then suddenly there she was again, with the bayou straight ahead.
She glanced nervously up at the sky … the swirling tatters of fog … the black bunching clouds. Surely it wasn’t going to start raining again and get darker—foolishly, she’d gone off without protection of any kind, not even the small comfort of a candle.
She found the pier just beyond a thinning clump of weeds. A small wooden boat was tied there, practically invisible in its natural camouflage of water and mud and mist. As Olivia squinted off across the bayou, she felt a quick surge of apprehension. The fog was so thick she couldn’t even see the opposite shore. What if there’s nothing on the other side at all and I just keep floating and floating forever …
There wasn’t a sound. Nothing moved. The bloated sky seemed to be holding its breath … waiting.
Olivia slipped the rope from its mooring and stepped down into the bow. There was a paddle in the bottom, and she aimed it downward over the sides, hearing a soft wet gulp as the water swallowed the blade.
She fought off a fresh wave of panic as she eased the boat straight into the fog. She felt like a part of some strange dream, gliding through a silent gray cloud. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to get to the other side. Without warning the boat hit, then shuddered, and Olivia teetered precariously as she stood and searched the embankment. There didn’t seem to be another dock where she’d landed, but there was a tree, and by stretching a little, she was able to grab a low branch and tie on.
To her surprise she stepped out onto a path—not a very good one, but good enough, narrow and muddy up the side of a steep slope. The fog was thinner here, and she could see ahead quite a distance, to where the footpath disappeared again into a thicket of trees. She threw one last glance behind her, gave the rope an extra tug for good measure, then followed the path to see where it led.
It was a lot more wooded on this side of the bayou—wooded and snarled with overgrown vines and dead trees. If it hadn’t been for the pathway, Olivia would have given up and turned back, but as it was, she kept doggedly on, following its intricate twists and turns through a gloomy maze of tangled trunks and broken limbs. After another fifteen minutes, she slowed down and again reconsidered turning back. She tried to catch a glimpse of sky through the clotted branches overhead, tried to see just how dark the sky had really grown since she’d come into the forest. This time she made up her mind to leave, when suddenly the trees began to thin and a hazy clearing came into view.
Olivia paused, her eyes making a quick, thorough search of the enclosure, and then she stepped out into it, quietly amazed. Rising up out of the weeds was a small whitewashed building with a steepled roof—its heavy wooden door sagging sideways in its arched entrance. Close behind it huge trees dripped their moss over the rooftop, and from one shuttered window, a patch of light glimmered through from the other side.
“A church,” Olivia whispered, for standing there in the mist, the little building seemed only a continuation of her dream upon the bayou. As she went cautiously up to the door and put her hands against it, she half expected the whole scene to evaporate beneath her fingertips.
The wood was damp and very warped. She gave a tentative push but nothing happened. Gritting her teeth, she put her shoulder to the center and heard a slow, reluctant groan as it gave beneath her weight and began to swing inward.
The first thing she saw was a blaze of light—orange and yellow and blue fire throbbing at the end of a long black tunnel, filling the darkness with a wall of flame. As Olivia shielded her eyes against its glittering brightness, the darkness seemed to shift itself around her and change shape, and she realized she was looking down the center aisle of the church, facing an altar covered with candles. Glancing to either side, she saw lines of wooden pews, eerily vacant, though the flickering shadows made it seem as if ghostly faithful bowed their heads and stirred in silent prayer. Fascinated, she started forward, her eyes riveted on the candles, her heart quickening. There was a strange aroma in the air—sweet yet cloying—as if flowers and incense could not quite mask the odor of something dank and unpleasant. The peculiar smell filled the little church, and as Olivia reached the altar, her head swam wit
h it, making her dizzy.
There is no God, Olivia—if there was, He would have saved me, but He didn’t save me, He didn’t come and He didn’t care and that’s why I’m going to save you, to keep you perfect and pretty and oh so special … I’ll save you from them, Olivia, just listen to Mama now, I’ll save you my pretty girl …
“Mama?” Olivia whispered.
The sound of her own voice frightened her, brought her back sharply to the present. She stared hard at the candles and she remembered how once she had gone into a church, gone into a church when Mama didn’t know, to try to find out who God was and why Mama hated Him so much, as much as she hated Grandmother … And she remembered the soft, pulsing echo of words she couldn’t understand, and the cool stone bowls of holy water … the crosses and sweet-smelling smoke … statues looking down benignly from their niches …
And there was a statue here, too, not a little ways from the altar, and as Olivia stared at its sharp silhouette, a trick of the light caused its shadow to move across the floor, across the boards, toward her feet.
A candle, she thought suddenly, I’ll light a candle for that statue—for it seemed to her in that cold empty church that the statue must be some lonely, forgotten saint stuck far back there alone, away from the light and the translucent beauty. And as she bent forward to pick one up, there was the faintest stirring of air at her back, and the church door swung shut with a groan.
Gasping, Olivia swung around, her eyes scanning the vast cavernous emptiness.
Candlelight crept between the pews and down the side aisles, dancing upon black shuttered windows, teasing into corners too far away to be seen.
Unsettled, she turned back to the altar and reached again for a candle … raising her eyes to the statue …
Seeing only an empty space …
“You shouldn’t be here,” the voice said behind her.
And as Olivia froze in terror, the statue pulled itself back into the shadows along the wall and melted into the darkness.
22
OLIVIA’S HEART SEEMED TO stop.
She whirled around just in time to see the vague figure near the door, fumbling at the latch, head bent, face hidden.
“Wait!” she cried out. “Who are you?”
The door blew wide, and for just a moment the figure was silhouetted there, a phantom in the midst of boiling fog. Olivia started down the aisle and felt eyes upon her, resigned and waiting.
“Jesse?” she murmured. “Is that you? It’s Olivia.”
He hesitated. When he spoke his voice sounded anxious, though not unkind. “What are you doing here? Did someone bring you?”
“No, I’m alone.”
“You should never have come.” He drew in a long, slow breath. “It’s much too dangerous.”
“I was trying to find you.”
He pulled the door firmly shut, and Olivia looked up into his shadowy face. Then his movements slowed … stopped. He stared at the floor, then his eyes settled softly upon hers.
“You still shouldn’t have come here.” He moved away and started back up the aisle. Olivia stood there feeling confused and foolish. After a moment, she turned toward the door, but Jesse’s voice stopped her.
“Don’t go,” he said quietly,
Olivia turned back in surprise. She couldn’t see him anymore, but his voice seemed to be very near the altar.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Olivia followed the sound, but it had faded into nothingness. “It’s just that so much has happened at the house today. Terrible things—things I don’t understand.”
The silence stretched on and on. The shadows flickered uneasily, as if he had moved away again, back even farther beyond the candlelight.
“What kinds of things?” he mumbled at last, and it was almost a hollow sound, Olivia thought, an empty sound, and very tired.
“In the room upstairs,” she began. “The nursery. It’s supposed to be locked, only I’ve been in it before. And this morning there was—” She broke off, determined to control the shaking in her voice. She took a deep breath and proceeded calmly. “There was blood all over the floor. It almost looked like someone had been … killed in there.”
She waited for Jesse to say something. When he didn’t, she closed her eyes and went on with the memory.
“I had the feeling someone was hiding in that room—I’m almost positive I heard voices, but it was very dark. No one believed me when I tried to tell them about it.” She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Later on when I went back again, I heard Skyler and Mathilde in the nursery. I couldn’t hear everything, but it sounded like they were having a terrible argument. I didn’t want to listen, but I couldn’t help it …”
Olivia’s voice trailed away. She was angry at herself, angry for being afraid, angry for having come here in the first place. Jesse wasn’t saying a word, just letting her go on and on and make a fool of herself—he was probably upset with her, for eavesdropping, for having a wild imagination, for not minding her own business—
“Don’t be afraid,” Jesse said quietly. “Go on.”
She ran one hand hastily over her eyes. She forced steadiness back into her voice.
“I hid. Skyler ran past me, and when I looked out again, there was blood all over the gallery. I found Mathilde in the nursery. She was …” Olivia stopped again, took another deep breath. “Covered with blood. She was almost laughing at me, saying things that didn’t make any sense, and she wouldn’t let me help her. I think she was really hurt.”
Olivia stared into the shadows. Jesse said nothing, and this time she couldn’t keep the quivering out of her voice.
“I think Skyler hurt her. I think Skyler did something horrible to her. And I think there’s something horrible going on in that house.”
She gazed at the floor, at the shadow patterns pulsing around her feet. For a split second it was as if all the candle flames paused together in midair, then flickered wildly together in the exact same rhythm, in the exact same rhythm as her own heartbeat. She pressed a hand to her chest and looked up again, searching the darkness, seeing nothing.
“Jesse?” she called fearfully.
“Yes. I’m here.”
He was at her back, and Olivia hadn’t known it. Now she swung around with a gasp, and he caught her hands in both of his. His face looked eerily pale in the distorted light, his eyes even larger, his body still bathed in the swimming shadows.
“Olivia …” he began, and his voice was cautious, yet very firm. “Olivia, whatever happened between Skyler and Mathilde is no concern of yours. They’re always hurting each other. It’s one of the things they do best.”
“But she was bleeding! I know what I saw—”
“You saw something, and I believe you. But maybe it was Skyler who was hurt—and then, when they fought—” Jesse broke off abruptly and slid his fingers beneath her chin. “What happened to your face?”
And Olivia remembered then, remembered how Mathilde had attacked her that morning, the woman’s razor-sharp nails slicing across her cheeks.
She turned out of his reach and heard him sigh.
“Mathilde,” he said flatly.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she mumbled. “I hardly feel it at all.”
“The point is,” Jesse began, but Olivia cut him off.
“The point is, that there was so much blood. I know what you’re saying, Jesse, and maybe you’re right. Maybe they fought and Mathilde attacked Skyler—but there was so much blood! And that still doesn’t explain that horrible mess I saw there on the floor in the first place.”
“It could have been anything,” Jesse reasoned. “It could have been some kind of animal. Yoly or Helen could have killed a rat up there and hadn’t cleaned it up yet.”
“Killed it how?” Olivia asked, dismayed. “Jesse, it looked like skin to me. And flesh. And blood. Human, not rat—”
“It was nothing.” Jesse’s hands were on her shoulders now, forcing her gently back to look at him. “Ol
ivia, listen to me. You … you can’t go around suspecting everything you see. You can’t go around talking about … about visions and feelings and suspicions …”
He looked up toward the ceiling. His voice seemed different somehow, panicky just below the surface of soothing calm. As Olivia stared at him, he seemed to gather himself together, and his fingers tightened on her shoulders.
“I’ve told you before. This family is different. Eccentric and … and strange to outsiders. And fiercely protective of their privacy. Please don’t go around inventing things to be afraid of—”
“But I’m not inventing them.” Olivia searched his eyes pleadingly. “I didn’t invent the things I saw—the things I heard. You said yourself that you’d heard something in the cemetery before—”
He gazed back at her, a sad smile flickering over his lips. “Yes.”
“Then were you lying to me? Did you invent that just to make me feel better?”
“No. No, I wasn’t lying. But I would never have told anyone else.”
“But if it’s true—”
“That’s not the point.” He hesitated, as if not quite sure how to explain. “Sometimes I hear things that others don’t hear … feel things that others don’t feel.” Sadness touched his smile again and shone from his deep dark eyes. “I suppose it’s a gift in some ways. But you see …” He leaned closer, his voice low and urgent. “It can also be a curse. When you sense things that make you afraid. When you perceive things that make you unhappy.” He sighed then, and his body seemed to sag. “I learned a long, long time ago … things don’t have to be seen to be real.”
Olivia gazed back at him, caught in the spell of his eyes. His body was close, and throbbing shadows enclosed them more tightly, wrapping them in deep silence. At last Jesse seemed to rouse himself, and his voice was so low that Olivia had to strain to hear.
“You seem to have this gift, too. But whether it’s a blessing or a curse, it has no use for you here. If they feel they’re being watched, they may … want to get rid of you.”
Blood Roots Page 18