Blood Roots
Page 23
And it was so still, lying there on the steps in the dark, stretching on and on and on across the steps in the dark, and as Olivia slid slowly down the wall and held out her hand to move it, she felt the sticky skin and the matted hair and the nose and the mouth with no breath coming out, and the wide-open eyes and the slick, gluey mess around the neck—
Her scream filled the stairway.
It shattered the silence and echoed through the dark.
And then it shuddered deep into the veins of the old, old house, rousing secrets and sadness and shame.
28
MAMA OH NO MAMA I didn’t mean to do it I couldn’t help it I just don’t want anyone to touch me anymore not ever again not even you oh God oh God—
And Olivia knew it was Helen lying there on the stairs, just like she’d known it was Mama lying there on the floor in the attic, only Olivia thought she’d only been dreaming then, that she’d only been dreaming that she hated Mama so much and felt sorry for Mama so much, poor Mama poor sick Mama trapped with your demons and your hate and your pain—she thought she’d only been dreaming that Mama had finally remembered to bring her something to eat, nice raw meat with the dirty fork and the nice sharp knife …
And she began to remember it now, all of it, more clearly than she’d ever remembered it before, the sound the knife had made, ripping through flesh and bone, and the sound the blood had made spurting out and how it had tasted squirting into her mouth and how it had felt running down her cold, naked body. And still she thought she’d been dreaming—only dreaming—until the sun came up and Mama was sprawled on her back with only a deep wide gash where her neck should have been, red blood curdled there between her chest and her staring eyes—staring like Skyler had stared—staring and not believing what Olivia had done … why’d you do it Olivia, why’d you do it my pretty pretty girl now I can’t save you now I can’t ever keep anyone from touching you ever ever again—
Olivia lifted her head into the black, foul air, and she thought.
Maybe I killed Helen.
Maybe I only dreamed I killed Skyler and I killed Helen instead …
But of course that was ridiculous, she told herself, Helen was my friend, I loved Helen in a way …
Sadness and fear and horror welled up inside her, and she felt like she was going to be sick.
She had to get out of here.
She had to get out of here, away from the darkness and the house and from Helen’s body sprawled in the staircase, and as Olivia finally managed to clamber over it, she forgot to be careful, and she slipped and slid the rest of the way down.
It seemed to take forever.
At long last her foot touched something solid and level, and she ran hard into a wall. Frantically she ran her hands up and down the barricade in front of her—along each side of her. It has to be here somewhere—it has to be here—it can’t be another cruel joke—a stairway that doesn’t lead anywhere and I’ll have to go back the way I came, back to Helen and back to Skyler and back to God knows what—
She didn’t care now who heard her.
She started beating on the wall with her fists, pounding and searching, and without warning one of the boards moved beneath her hands, and a glimmer of light showed through.
Olivia pushed, and then she pulled, and finally she worked her fingers in beneath the crack and heard the wall give a reluctant groan as it slid sideways.
She fell out, sobbing.
She seemed to be in another small space, another sort of hidden closet, and this time she shoved with all her strength and watched in amazement as doors swung open into a quiet, shadowy room.
Her room …
She was in her armoire.
In one split second memories flooded back to her—the shadowy movements in her room, Helen in her closet, the feeling of being watched, the wound on her thigh—
She hadn’t imagined it, then.
Someone had been here. It had been real.
Skyler …
Olivia stood and stared at her doorway, at the fading light of late afternoon. She half expected to see Skyler standing there, the garden shears hanging from his stomach, a sly grin on his face. It’s impossible—it’s impossible—I know I killed him—I know it—
She knew he was hiding from her somewhere, waiting for her somewhere, playing with her, enjoying every lazy minute of his game—
She hurried to the door and hung back in the niche, her heart hammering frantically, her breath rasping in her throat. Mathilde would be with him, Mathilde who had even more reason to hate her now, and they would watch her and they would follow her and they would silently surround her when she least expected it—
Helen—oh my God, Helen—what happened—who did this to you—
Olivia closed her eyes and turned her head, resting one cheek against the scabrous wall. Helen had pushed her underneath the cabin last night, Helen had tried to hide her last night, and now Helen was dead. Olivia fought to keep her thoughts in check, to think rationally. What should she do? Try to get back to town—get help? But how? She had no transportation, she didn’t even know the way. She had no belongings, no personal identification of any kind. And even if she could get to town, even if she could find someone who would listen to her, what could she tell them?
I found a dead girl in a hidden stairwell …
But Helen would be gone by then. She knew as sure as anything that somehow Helen would be gone if she tried to bring someone back here.
Skyler tried to rape me and I killed him but he’s still alive—
Skyler would take off his shirt and shrug his shoulders and smile in slow amusement.
I’ll sound crazy, I’ll sound insane …
She had no evidence. She had nothing concrete to go on—only visions and dreams, images and feelings, fears and unanswered questions. She could only imagine how she would look to someone in town, with her bare feet and her ragged clothes and her cuts and her bruises—and people stay away from here, people are afraid of this place, the cab driver said so, why would anyone listen to me and come back here with me to investigate?
The cab driver …
Olivia wasn’t sure that she had really heard him that night along the bayou.
Olivia wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
She crept fearfully along the gallery and down the stairs. She pressed back against the wall of the veranda and strained her ears through the seeping twilight. Just because nothing’s moving, just because I can’t hear a single sound doesn’t mean he isn’t out there—doesn’t mean Skyler isn’t out there somewhere waiting to crawl out and catch me as I try to go by …
She ran as quickly and as noiselessly as she could, beyond the outbuildings, through the woods and fields, until she reached the bayou. She found one of the boats at the dock, but the other was missing, and she stood there for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. Suppose Skyler or Mathilde had already taken the other boat, had already gone over to the other side, suppose they were waiting for her there …
And she wondered what she could possibly be thinking of, going back to the church, going back to Jesse, after seeing him with Skyler in the cabin last night, after hearing him with Skyler in the cabin last night …
But he was trying to protect me … I remember that … he told Skyler not to hurt me … not to let Mathilde hurt me … and it was Jesse who saved me from Skyler today in the cemetery, it was Jesse …
As she rowed across the water, she felt eyes watching behind every cloud of moss. She could see the other boat now, wedged against the opposite shore, so she floated farther downstream and tied up in a thick patch of marsh grass. She hurried along the path through the dead, dead trees, ready to hide at the slightest sound or movement. When she finally entered the church, it seemed to be deserted.
The altar shimmered as beautifully as before, only now many of the candles had melted away, leaving only pools of colored wax. The church was damp and cool, quiet creaks of old wood settling, wind whispering b
etween the cracks. Olivia stood silently in the center aisle and let her eyes wander slowly over the corners, along the sides, into the alcoves and niches and shadows, searching for Jesse.
The only presence she felt was her own.
She ventured in farther and hesitated beside the candles. It was so peaceful here. In a strange way she felt protected and safe, despite the fears she had brought with her from the house. It seemed almost irreverent to call out to him and disturb the stillness. She remembered him mentioning that his room was in the back, so she looked until she found a passage that led off behind the altar, and she followed it.
She found the room with no trouble at all—just a tiny space for sleeping, nothing more. Beyond that a short hallway led to a rear door that was standing partly open, and she crept up to it, suddenly aware of voices.
Standing behind the door, she peered cautiously around its edge and into a small, moss-drenched clearing. To her surprise she could see Jesse sitting on a tree stump and Yoly bending over him, buttoning his shirt in place. He seemed weak, as if he couldn’t quite hold himself up, and his face was ashen. Yoly put something into a basket and knelt down in front of him, her voice measured and clear.
“You know what’s happenin’, don’t you. You know what this means.”
“I …” Jesse drew a deep breath, shuddering, as if the effort were painful for him. “I suspect what it means.”
“She’s dyin’, Jesse. It could happen today or tomorrow or a month from now, but there ain’t no way around it—Miss Rose is dyin’ sure. And the house … it’s goin’ with her.”
“I’ve thought it for a long time. When I couldn’t make the walls hold together anymore … when I couldn’t put the bricks back into place anymore …”
“And when I couldn’t keep the dust away.” Yoly shook her head. “We gots to face facts, child. None of us knew—ever knew—what it would mean, that awful night. It was somethin’ we found out gradually … through all the years and years since. And now we’s findin’ out somethin’ else.”
She reached out and took hold of his shoulders.
“We’s findin’ out how it ends.”
A breeze sighed, fluttering long gray ribbons of moss.
Jesse’s hair ruffled around his face, and Yoly gently brushed it back with her fingers.
“Does it hurt much?” she asked worriedly.
His head moved just a little. “It comes and goes. It’s … bearable.” He looked up then and managed a faint smile. “I’m glad, you know,” he mumbled. “Finally. I’m … tired.”
Yoly gazed into his eyes. She shook her head and stood back up. She stood over him a long while, then she picked up her basket and turned toward the church when Jesse’s voice stopped her.
“Don’t tell Skyler,” he said softly. “He’ll be so scared.”
Yoly glanced back at him. He held her eyes with a stare that was almost pleading. Yoly nodded and walked away.
Olivia just had time to hide before Yoly came in the door. She ducked into the tiny room and pressed back into one corner, but Yoly continued on through the church and out the other door without stopping. Olivia waited several more minutes before finally stepping out into the open.
Jesse’s head lifted at once. He watched as she moved toward him, and he seemed to draw himself up with a supreme effort.
“Olivia,” he said haltingly, “you … you shouldn’t—”
“Be here. Yes, I remember.” She crossed the last few feet and looked down at him, trying to keep her voice under control. “But I needed to see you. I needed to talk to you. Something’s—”
She broke off abruptly, biting her lip. Her hands clenched at her sides, and she slid them behind her back so he wouldn’t see. She began again, carefully, carefully, because there were things she shouldn’t have overheard, things she shouldn’t have seen, because he had been in that cabin last night—
“Something’s happened to Helen,” she finished.
His glance was quick, almost sharp, and in one split instant she saw a glimmer there, as if somehow he knew what had happened and at the same time didn’t want to know.
“What?” he murmured. “What are you talking about?”
“When I couldn’t find her today I got worried,” Olivia said slowly. “So I went upstairs to look in her room.” Careful … careful … “I didn’t see her, but there was … this smell.”
His eyes dropped immediately. He didn’t move, just stared at the ground and the trampled weeds and the raw brown places where the grass wouldn’t grow.
“There’s a stairway hidden in the walls,” she went on, and she was surprised at how calm she sounded now, almost mechanical, almost matter-of-fact. “It goes from the armoire in my room to the third floor where Skyler sleeps. And Helen was in there, and she was dead.”
The silence dragged on and on.
“My God,” Jesse murmured, and his voice was so low she could hardly hear him. “My God—”
Olivia sank to her knees in front of him and peered earnestly up into his face.
“Jesse,” she begged, “what is going on? What is happening in that house?”
He kept his eyes away from her. She could see the muscles moving along his cheeks, and his face seemed to drain even more.
“I didn’t know.” He shut his eyes, pain furrowing along his brow. “Are you sure?”
And in her mind Olivia was back again, back in the foul dark place with the body sprawled at her feet and the house holding its breath all around her.
“It was dark … I was scared—”
“Did you try to help her? Maybe she just fell—”
“Are you listening to me!” Olivia’s voice rose, and she leaned closer, trying to make him understand. “Did you hear what I said? Someone killed Helen—there was blood all over her throat! All I wanted to do was get away from there—”
“Why were you even there in the first place?” He was looking at her now, and he sounded almost angry, his face like a white, white mask with wide dark holes for his eyes. Olivia stared at him in dismay, then stood up, stiff and shaking.
“I told you, because I was scared! Because Skyler was coming after me—”
“Coming after you? What do you mean, coming after you?”
“Have you forgotten what happened at the cemetery this morning!” And she was shouting, she could hear herself from a long way off as if she were someone else, some total stranger desperate to be believed. “Don’t you remember what he tried to do to me!”
“I’m sorry,” Jesse mumbled, and he looked shocked, watching her, shocked and bewildered and frightened watching her now.
Olivia saw his expression, and she was glad she was frightening him, glad someone else was frightened besides herself, and she rushed on breathlessly, unable to stop.
“Well, there’s more to the story you don’t know about! There’s a whole lot more to the story!” And tears were rolling down her cheeks, blurring Jesse’s face, but still she couldn’t stop, words tumbling out recklessly—
“I killed him! Do you hear me? I killed Skyler! I stabbed him right there in the cemetery, and I knew he was dying, even while he was locking me up inside the mausoleum! And I was terrified—it was dark and I was so terrified! And there were people in there with me—real people—Mathilde and Yoly and two men I couldn’t see, and some poor woman on the floor who was screaming and begging for them to stop, to stop touching her! I saw them—I heard them! Something horrible was happening, and I wanted it to stop, but it wouldn’t! And I couldn’t get away—I couldn’t get out!”
She was sobbing now, huge racking sobs going all the way through her, and Jesse’s face was only a shadow beyond her streaming tears. She saw him stand up and come toward her, and she pulled violently out of his reach.
“Yoly said the door was open! Yoly came by and found me and said the door was open all the time! And then I saw Skyler upstairs in the house, and he was alive! There wasn’t a mark on him, Jesse, not a single mark on him!”
“Now,” Olivia cried, “aren’t you going to tell me it’s impossible? Aren’t you going to tell me I’m imagining things?”
Jesse said nothing. His arms went around her and held her tightly, even as she twisted and raged at him, even as she beat at him with her small, angry fists.
“Let’s go inside,” he whispered. “Olivia … please … let’s go inside.”
She couldn’t fight anymore.
She felt him lift her in his arms and take her into the church, into the tiny room at the back. He lowered her gently onto the bed, and he sat beside her, smoothing her hair from her tear-stained face, whispering softly as he held her.
“You’re going to be all right,” he promised. “It’s going to be all right …”
Her sobs eased into deep, deep sighs, and she rested her head against him, trembling, empty and numb.
“You don’t believe me,” she said, but he shushed her and rocked her gently.
“Yes. Yes, I do believe you.”
“How can it happen? How can it be real?”
“Sleep now,” he whispered. “Sleep …”
29
“DIDN’T YOU KNOW SHE was coming?” Skyler’s voice … vague and ghostly … as if he were speaking down an endless tunnel.
“No … who is she?” And Jesse’s voice, sounding strange and faraway …
“She’s Father’s ward. I heard him talking to Yoly about it. She’s been away at boarding school in France, and her mother just died, so now she’s come to live here with us.”
“How fortunate …”
“Not so fortunate. Father’s already warned us, we’re to have nothing to do with her.”
“Nothing?”
“Romantically, that is.” Skyler’s laugh, low and suggestive. “But who ever said lust was romantic?”
“Stay away from her. The last thing she needs is someone like you scaring her to death.”
“I don’t intend to scare her, I intend to be perfectly charming.”