“Close the curtains.”
To Addison, it seemed a far-out request. “What?”
“Close the curtains so no one can see inside.”
“I can’t. I don’t know where they are.”
“Straight in front of you. Walk slow. You’ll get there.”
Addison took several steps forward. She reached the other side of the room and waved a hand across the air until the she felt the cold, hard glass in front of her. She stretched both arms out to the side, curled the edges of the pleated cotton fabric in her fist, and drew the curtains closed.
She turned.
A faint orb of light illuminated the room, soft and dull at first. An image shaped to life a few feet from where she stood.
Vivian looked at Addison then turned, her eyes coming to rest on a coat closet. “It’s okay. You can come out. We talked about this. You know it’s what we have to do now.”
“Is … Grace inside the closet?” Addison asked.
Vivian nodded. “I thought she’d come out this time, but she won’t.”
“Can I try?”
Vivian shrugged. “Guess so.”
Addison bent down in front of the closet door but didn’t open it. “Grace, if you can hear me, please know you don’t have to be afraid. It’s okay. I want to help you. You and Vivian both.”
No reply.
“I’m going to open the door to the closet and back away,” Addison said. “You come out whenever you’re ready.”
Addison grasped the round, wooden knob in her hand and tugged the door back, waiting until it was three quarters of the way open before she peeked around the door’s corner. “She’s not here. Where did she go?”
Vivian shrugged. “She disappears sometimes. She’s probably somewhere in the house. Maybe with Mama. She likes to watch her when she sleeps.”
Addison knelt in front of Vivian. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Do you mean, do I know I’m dead?”
Addison nodded.
“Yes. I know.”
“Does Grace know?”
“I think so. She doesn’t like to talk about the night we died.”
“Because of what happened?” Addison asked. “What really happened?”
Vivian nodded. “And because Grace is scared to leave. She won’t, so we’re stuck here.”
“Could you move on if you wanted to, without Grace?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t tried. Even if I could, I’d never leave her here alone.”
“You’re a good sister, Vivian.”
Vivian tilted her head to the side. “How can you see us? No one else can.”
“When I was a little girl, younger than you, I received a gift.”
“A present?”
“No, not the kind you open. It lets me see people like you even though you’re not alive anymore.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure how it happens. I just know I see the people I’m supposed to see when I’m supposed to see them. In my family, the gift passes down from mother to daughter when we’re five. Only, my mother didn’t use her gift, and when it passed to me, she didn’t want me to use mine either.”
“Why not?”
“She had a bad experience as a child. She didn’t understand she could help people trying to move on from this life to the next.”
“Like the woman in the pink dress? The one buried in the cemetery?”
Addison raised a brow, surprised. “Like her, yes. How do you know about Roxy?”
“She waved at me. She said you were a nice lady and not to be afraid to talk to you because you could help me.”
Two thoughts occurred to Addison simultaneously. First, the day she saw Vivian and Grace at the cemetery, Vivian might not have been waving at her but at Roxy. Second, maybe that’s how it worked. After one person moved on, they chose who she helped next. “Vivian, what do you remember about the night you died, about when you and Grace were playing in the attic?”
“It’s hard for me.”
“What’s hard?”
“Remembering.”
“Why?” Addison asked.
“The longer we’re here, the more I forget.”
“I need you to try for me. Okay?”
Vivian nodded. Addison continued.
“On the night of your parents’ party, you were sent away after dinner. Then what happened?”
“Grace heard someone in the attic, and Mama said no one was allowed in there without her permission.”
“Why not?”
“It’s where she kept all the special stuff. The things she didn’t want us to play with.”
“So the two of you decided to go to the attic and check it out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Who did you see when you got up there?”
“Boys.”
“What boys?”
“I don’t know. Their faces are blurry now. I try to see them sometimes, try to remember, and I can’t.”
Had Vivian blocked out all of her memories because they were too painful to see?
“Can you remember how many boys were in the attic?” Addison asked.
“Two. Wait, three. I think.”
“Were they your age—older, younger?”
“They were … taller than me, I think.”
“So they were older. How much older?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who opened the attic window?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“It was hot. We were sweaty from playing the game.”
“What game?”
“Hide-and-seek.”
Addison glanced around the room, noting the size. It was equivalent to a classroom in an elementary school. And sparse. With the exception of the coat closet, only a few boxes of toys remained. None big enough to hide inside. “There aren’t a lot of places to hide in here.”
“It used to be filled with stuff. Mama took it all out.”
“When you were playing, who took Grace’s doll and threw it onto the roof?”
Vivian’s face scrunched up, and she uttered two words that would change everything. “What doll?”
CHAPTER 18
Was it possible Vivian was lying about the doll? No. She couldn’t be. Looking at her now, the child appeared flummoxed by Addison’s question. And yet, there had been a doll, a doll that was the core everything. Every clue, every suspicion, every conclusion.
If the doll had nothing to do with their deaths, what did? Or who?
“Vivian,” Addison began, “the police found a doll on the roof the night you died.”
“Well, I didn’t put it there.”
“I believe you, but someone did. The police decided you and Grace fell from the attic window after trying to retrieve the doll from the roof.”
“What does retrieve mean?”
“It means trying to get something.”
“Grace wouldn’t ever go on the roof. She wouldn’t even climb trees with me.”
“Who else knew this about her?” Addison asked.
“I don’t know. Just me, I guess.”
“Are you saying your parents didn’t know? Or your brother?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Did you play with dolls? Did Grace?”
“Nah. Mama bought them for us, but we liked other things, like Mr. Potato Head. Did your mom buy you a Mr. Potato Head?”
Addison didn’t hear the question. Her mind was elsewhere, processing what Vivian had told her so far. A doll was found on the roof, except Vivian had no recollection of it. Grace was afraid of heights. Neither of the girls liked dolls, so it was unlikely either of them would have cared enough to go after it.
“Vivian, do you have any idea how you died?”
“I see pictures in my head sometimes. They’re really fuzzy, like when we used to drive in the car real fast on the freeway and I looked out the window at all the trees.”
If Addison was going to get to the truth, s
he needed to jog Vivian’s memory. “I’m going to try something, and I don’t want you to be afraid, okay?”
Vivian nodded. “Okay.”
Addison walked to the attic window, brushing one curtain panel to the side with a hand. She felt a sharp pain and looked down. Her finger was bleeding, having been cut on a sliver of wood next to a bent, rusty nail jutting out from the corner of the windowsill.
“What are you doing? Don’t open the curtains. Someone might see!”
“It’s okay. I have to do this, Vivian. Trust me.”
Addison closed her eyes and pressed both hands onto the window ledge. When her eyes opened, the room had changed. The attic was no longer bleak and depleted in contents. It was filled to the brim with furniture and boxes, all sorts of play toys and unwanted items. Music boomed through the house, the tune a familiar one—something her own mother played when she was a child. “Jive Talkin’” by the Bee Gees. The sound permeated every orifice, drowning out everything else in its wake.
A pig-tailed girl in a yellow dress faced the corner, counting. “Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.”
The girl turned, hands on hips, sizing up the room like a predator stalking its prey. The girl was Grace or Vivian, but Addison couldn’t determine which.
The girl said, “Ready or not, here I come.”
She tore through the room, yanking lids off boxes, opening dresser drawers, glancing behind a piano, an old wooden bed frame, a mirror. Seconds later she clapped her hands. “You’re busted, Viv! I got you! Boo-yah!”
Vivian’s head poked out from behind a painting of a fruit bowl slanted against the wall. “Take a chill pill, Grace. It’s just a stupid game. Don’t be such a cheese weasel.”
“Yeah, but I gotcha. You’re it!” Grace’s exuberance changed when her attention deviated to an object in Vivian’s hand. “What’s that?”
Vivian flattened one hand over the other, concealing the item between them. “What’s what?”
“What you’re holding in your hand. What is it?”
Vivian jerked her hand behind her back. “It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried. Tell me what it is.”
A boy popped out of a cardboard box a couple feet in front of Vivian. At least, Addison assumed he was a boy. He had light brown hair, parted in the center with layered, backward-facing curls framing his face. His long, feathered bangs fell over his eyes, making it impossible for Addison to get a good look at him. He patted down his back pockets, stuck out a hand, and said, “Hey, that’s mine. Give it back!”
“Give what back?” Vivian sneered. “Thisss?”
“You shouldn’t have … you shouldn’t have taken it. It’s not yours.”
“I didn’t take anything. You dropped it when you were hiding. I picked it up. Finders keepers.”
“It’s … that’s … not for you. Don’t open it.”
Vivian’s shoulders bobbed up and down. “Too late. Already did.”
The boy’s face reddened. “I’m not playing anymore, Viv. Give it back. Now. Stop horsing around.”
Vivian giggled, whinnied, and galloped to the other side of the room. The boy followed. Addison looked on, hoping to catch enough of a glimpse of the boy’s face to determine he was Derek. Vivian was right. He was taller, and older than the girls by a few years or more. His high-pitched voice indicated he hadn’t matured yet.
Vivian stuck a hand out the attic window, dangling the item between two fingers. “You want it? Come and get it!”
“Stop it,” the boy said. “It’s not funny.”
Vivian lowered her hand so it couldn’t be seen, looked at the boy and said, “Oopsies.”
The boy raced to the window, a look of relief on his face when she lifted what appeared to be folded paper over her head and said, “Psyche!”
“Give it, Viv. Give it here!”
The boy’s tone had changed. It was different now. Hard. Demanding. And something more.
Furious.
Vivian gripped the paper, waving it over her head. The boy careened into her and reached out, snatching the paper away at last and shoving into his back pocket. The weight of his body too heavy to sustain, Vivian stumbled back, her hand grasping for the wall as her body fell out the window. She started to say, “Help!” but it was too late. She slid out the window and was gone.
The boy backed away, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Grace ran to the window and looked down. “You killed her! You killed my sister!”
“No … I … it was an accident. Grace, please. I didn’t mean to …”
“You killed my sister! I’m telling!”
Addison was so caught up in the vision, she almost didn’t hear her name being called. “Addison …. Addison! Someone’s coming.”
No, not now. Not when she was so close. She needed to see the rest, see how it all ended.
“You have to hide!” Vivian warned. “Hurry!”
Addison lifted her hands from the window frame. The attic door opened and Rose walked in, a Winchester bolt action rifle aimed at Addison’s chest. “Don’t move.”
“Rose, I—”
“I knew it! I just knew there was something off about you!”
“Please. I meant no harm.”
“How did you get in here … into my house, into my attic?”
“Through an open window.”
“I don’t have open windows. All of my windows are sealed and locked. Unless …” Rose’s voice trailed off, pondering the possibilities. “I should have known. You opened one of them earlier today, didn’t you? What were you trying to do, rob me? Well, joke’s on you. I don’t keep anything of value in here anymore.”
“I wasn’t trying to rob you.”
“How did you manage to get in here?”
Addison slid a hand partway inside her jacket then stopped when she heard the action of the bolt putting a shell in the chamber.
“Utt … utt … uhh …” Rose mocked her. “You keep those hands where I can see ’em.”
“I was just going to give you the key.”
“What do you mean ‘give me the key’? The key was lost ages ago.”
“I found it.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Where?”
“Behind some books in the library. If you’d just let me reach into my jacket, I’ll get the key and show you.”
Rose shook her head. “You’ll do nothing of the kind. Not another word. I’m calling the police.”
“If you could just hear me out, I’ll tell you—”
Rose stepped forward, pressing the butt of the rifle against Addison’s chest. “Not. Another. Word.”
CHAPTER 19
A call to the local police was made. Rifle still poised and ready, Rose placed the call on speaker, explained the “emergency” and offered her home address. The male voice on the other line rattled off some additional questions and then asked Rose to remain on the line. To Addison’s amazement, she didn’t. She snapped her flip-phone closed and pushed it back inside her pocket.
“I hate these things, you know?” Rose said. “These cell phones.”
Addison’s reaction was to remain quiet, smile and nod, and prepare herself for what came next. With the police in transit, there was no need to make things worse than they already were. She’d made a mess of it all, and no quick fix or well-crafted remark would save her this time.
Vivian remained in the room beside Addison, her eyes squinted, like she was thinking, formulating a plan. “Tell her I’m glad she redid my room. She sews in there now.”
Addison considered the request then shook her head, knowing what a dangerous thing it would be to mess with a woman who not only held a loaded gun in her hand, but who wouldn’t believe her anyway. There was no point in saying anything.
“What are you doing?” Rose asked. “Why are you bobbing your head around?”
“Sorry. No reason.”
“There must be a r
eason.” Rose’s eyes darted around the room. “You’re not alone, are you? Who’s with you? Your boyfriend Luke?”
“It’s just me. I came alone. He doesn’t even know I came here.”
Rose ignored her, hollered, “Whatever you’re planning, Luke. Don’t bother. Take one step into this room, and I’ll shoot.”
“I told you, he’s not here. I can call him if you’d like, prove to you he’s not with me.”
“The only thing calling him would prove is that he isn’t in this room. Just how stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t. I just thought it would put you at ease.”
“At ease? You must be joking. You broke into my house tonight. And if someone as scrawny as you can do it, imagine who else can. I don’t think I’ll ever be at ease again.”
“Can I … ask you something?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Addison took a deep breath in. “You like to sew, right?”
“That’s what you wanted to ask me? You were shown around earlier. You’re well aware I have a sewing room.”
“It used to be Vivian’s room.”
That did it. Rose’s eyes almost doubled in size. “Don’t play with me, child. Whatever you’re trying to do here, it won’t work. And it’s not funny.”
Vivian pressed a finger to her lips. “Tell her the new wallpaper’s nice, but I like the old paper better. The one with bright pink and orange flowers on it.”
Addison inhaled a lungful of air. This was crazy, too much, far too much. She couldn’t. Or … could she? Beneath Rose’s jaded, acrimonious layers was a woman who’d hardened after losing her precious daughters, a woman who may have been giving and kind until her life took an unexpected turn.
Maybe what the moment needed was a dose of the erratic.
“I can sometimes communicate with those who are no longer living.”
Rose’s jaw fell open. “Don’t. Don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”
“The new wallpaper is nice,” Addison said. “But Vivian liked the old paper better.”
“Stop this,” Rose warned.
“Pink and orange flowers. They were—”
“Enough!”
Sirens sounded below.
Addison Lockhart 02-Rosecliff Manor Haunting Page 6