A Murder at Alcott Manor

by Alyssa Richards

  “What do you mean brilliant show? You saw us?” Mason asked.

  Asher leaned against a tree and examined his nails. “No, I was a little late for the festivities this time. You should have thought of me sooner, Layla! I could have joined in on the fucking fun, yes? A great time to be had by all. Besides, everyone performs better with an audience.”

  “You sonofabitch.” Mason took several steps in Asher’s direction and Layla scooted in front of him and focused his face on hers. “Mason. Mason! Wake up. Let it go, it’s just a dream. He’s nothing!”

  “That’s right, ole boy. Settle down.” Asher patted the space in front of him as if he told a dog to sit. “I’m nothing. In fact, I’m not even here. And I wouldn’t be able to do anything with this.” He pulled a long hunting knife from his sleeve.

  Layla gasped and shook Mason. “Wake up, wake up!”

  “Tell you what, Lay. Come with me and I’ll leave him alone.” Asher waved the knife.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She held firm to her new life and refused her old one with every ounce of her strength.

  “No? Not even to protect your hunky boyfriend? The one who so lovingly cast you over for the cheerleader in high school?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, asshole.” Mason’s hands clenched into fists and he stormed toward Asher.

  Asher’s eyes fired with malicious delight and he spun the knife in front of him.

  He obviously knew that the two of them were together and Layla knew he would kill Mason for that alone. So she did the one thing she knew she could do to save Mason, and possibly his life—she sprouted huge angel wings and flew in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Wake up!” she screamed and spread her wings wide and sudden.

  Mason gasped and disappeared in an instant.

  The night air around her was heavy and quiet, and she quickly realized she had left a dream and entered a nightmare. If only she had woken up when Mason did, but her body must have been too tired.

  Now she was alone with her abusive ex-husband, in a world where anything was possible.

  Asher shuffled toward her slowly, casually.

  Layla spread her wings and flew backward several feet, distancing herself from him.

  “Those are a nice touch, Lay. I ought to get some of those for myself.” He pointed to her wings, silent for a moment and obviously thinking about how to get what she had. Or maybe how to one up her. Or worse, how to take away what she had made for herself.

  “Knock yourself out, Ash.” She had never called him Ash, no one did. And her tone carried a devil-may-care attitude. But beneath that cover, she was trying to think how she could defend herself.

  How do you kill a ghost?

  When he had been alive, he was protective of certain things: his business, his children. Even her to an extent because he needed a mother for his girls.

  Her girls.

  That gave him certain vulnerabilities. But now, he had nothing to lose. Not his reputation, not her, not even his life. If she had to kill him to protect herself, she wondered, how in the hell would she do it?

  “Come to the manor with me, Lay. Our home sweet home. I want to show you a few things I’ve done.” His tone was serious.

  “What have you done?” She panicked at the thought that he might have destroyed the manor the way he did before he died.

  “Just made some minor adjustments, that’s all. Come with me and I’ll show them to you.” He extended his hand to her as if they were friends.

  She refused his gesture but decided that for as long as she was asleep, there was no way to get him away from her. She could fly away but if he’d already found a way into her dream, he’d just follow her. Whatever adjustments he had made to the manor were sure to be a disaster in the waiting. She decided it was better if she knew what they were.

  “I’ll meet you in the foyer of the manor. Keep your distance from me or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Oh, my, look who finally gave birth to a spine. We should throw a party for the new arrival.”

  Every fiber of her being vibrated with hate. And though she knew it wouldn’t do any good, she wished him dead. “Maybe you should try growing a new body part, too. Like a heart.”

  She didn’t wait for his response, even though she knew one was coming. He opened his mouth and she dashed to the manor in a head start.

  He arrived in the foyer a half second after she did.

  “Touché,” he said. “I’m going to have to get better at navigating this world.”

  She kept a quiet distance from him and prepared herself to move or leave entirely. There was no telling what he was up to.

  The workers had left the house dark and she hadn’t been there to turn on any lights. So the manor was as cool and silent as the historic graveyards that Layla and her sister roamed as teenagers. Beautiful and haunted, with no signs of life.

  “What is it that you want to show me? Unlike you, I’m going to be awake soon.”

  “Well, then by all means. On with the fucking show. Actually, I guess that’s your department isn’t it? Mine is just…a show.” He manifested a black top hat and bowed slightly like a gentleman, a magician or ringmaster. His smile was slightly clown-like—insincere and frightening.

  She listened with every antenna for that shift in energy that took place before Asher struck. That subtle stillness that meant lightning was about to explode and she would end up nursing her own injuries.

  A confusing mix of guilt and obligation smeared her insides and sucked at her strength. The same weakening emotions she’d fought whenever she was around her mother or Brooke.

  “I get your jealousy, Asher. I might feel the same way if I no longer had a life to live or a body to live it in.”

  Asher clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and walked up the grand staircase to the second level. This was the same area where he’d fallen. “My how you’ve blossomed. Humor, wit, strength. I would even consider being married to you again.”

  “How flattering.” A cold, nauseating sweat covered her at the thought.

  A ladder leaned against the second floor railing and he jiggled it such that metal rattled against metal. “See this?” He held up a screwdriver like a magic wand and warped circus music began to play in the background, as if it came from an old crank organ. “I’ve figured out how to entertain myself around this place. Just enough weight toward the top of this thing and someone gets to experience what I did—a brilliant fall right into the afterlife.

  “Seems like Mason likes to work with his hands, doesn’t he? Not often, but occasionally. Wouldn’t it be something if he died exactly the way that I did? Or any old way, really. I’ve been very busy around here. I may have even left a little something for you.” He twirled the screwdriver around his fingers like a baton. “Of course, if he died first, you’d be considered something of a black widow. Especially after that whole Brooke thing years ago and then my death, of course.”

  She swallowed hard at the thought of Mason being hurt and at her being taken away from her girls. “You should go home, Asher. Cross over. Call it a night. You’ve had your chance at life.”

  “I’ve tried that, but oddly enough I can’t seem to swing it. Something about the house just wants me here, I guess. Maybe it knows that I was its rightful owner.”

  She would tell Mason about the ladders, say that she saw someone fiddling with them and that they weren’t safe. That would at least make him cautious enough to double check his equipment.

  She checked her watch for the time. It was late. She tried to will herself to wake up, but nothing budged. God, she hoped her body was okay. She walked back toward the staircase; it was time to leave.

  “Or maybe it wants you to pay a price for what you did.”

  Asher paused as if she might have a point. Then a young woman in a navy bustled dress hurried down the stairs. A wide navy ribbon tied her dark hair at the nape of her neck, and her curled ponytail
bounced with her every step.

  Asher shook his head. “No, I think maybe it’s just possessive. You know there’s another party going on in here, like the house leads a double life. No one ever really leaves Alcott Manor.”

  She thought of the clock on the wall in the summer quarters. The one that appeared in her dream but wasn’t there before or after. She also thought of the nanny and the baby and the dog. The house did lead a double life.

  “But here’s my point, Lay. In spite of everything you’ve done to me, I’ve decided to take you back. Permanently. So, you can join me the easy way. Or I can give you motivation.”

  “What would motivate me to spend eternity with you in Alcott Manor?”

  “Mason.” Asher gestured to the ladder he had altered. “You can come willingly, or Mason dies. Got it?”

  Panic thrummed in Layla’s chest. “No, Ash. I’m not coming with you. And neither is Mason.”

  “It’s your choice. One way or the other, you will be with me. The question is, will you sacrifice Mason in the process or will you let him live?” He turned as if he were going to leave and then shook his finger in the air. “Next time you dream, and there will be a next time, I won’t announce myself.” He pulled the same knife from his pocket that he had shown her earlier. “And then one of you will come with me, come hell or high water. Hey, where did those glorious wings of yours go?” He pointed with the knife.

  She checked over her shoulder and noticed that they were gone. Sometimes they did that, they disappeared if she forgot about them.

  When she turned forward, he had shifted close to her on that top step and she lost her balance trying to get away from him.

  “Hey now.” He grabbed the outside of her arm and his grip was cold and dead. “Don’t go anywhere, Lay. I was hoping you might wear some teeny tiny lacy underwear and then we could pretend you’re a magazine model. You could do it these days, you know.” He traced her waistline with the tip of his screwdriver.

  “Stop calling me that and let me go.”

  “Oh, by the way, do you think that old saying is true, Lay? You know, that old wives tale?”

  She twisted inside of his tight grasp that felt like skeleton fingers and for a moment she thought her arm might break.

  “The one that says if you see yourself die in a dream, you’ll die in real life!” His voice pitched high on the last word and he threw confetti.

  He let go of her arm with a shove and she screamed, tumbling backward in a free fall down the stairs.

  25

  Layla, Mason, and Dixie waited several hours for the hospital to complete all of the tests the ER doctor ordered, including a CAT scan. Finally, the short, stout man with graying hair and half glasses near the end of his nose stood in the small sterile room with the three of them. He told Layla she was very lucky, that she only had a moderate concussion and ultimately she would be fine. There was no neurological damage.

  She breathed deep with relief, thankful she wasn't permanently injured. Then she wondered how many times Asher had hurt her and her response had been something similar. The last thing she should be feeling right now was grateful.

  “You should carpet those stairs of yours,” the doctor lectured Mason with a wave of his reading glasses. “That was a hard hit she took.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a half-nod. “Thanks.”

  Layla and Dixie exchanged a glance. They both knew that Mason’s stairs were already carpeted. Rail to wall.

  “The nurse is preparing your discharge papers. It will be just a few minutes. Here are your aftercare instructions.” He handed Mason a sheet of printed directions. “Ice, ibuprofen, and rest are the main items. The nurse will go over the rest of it with you.” On his way out of the room, the doctor waved to Layla. “Take care, now.”

  After the heavy door shut, Mason rocked on his heels with his hands in his pockets and read from the handout. “Trauma consistent with fall on hardwood stairs.” He raised an eyebrow in that sarcastic doctors-know-nothing kind of way. “I don’t have any hardwood stairs in my house.” He kissed her temple with a delicate touch. “I don’t know why you got back in bed after you fell. You should have woken me up right away.”

  The similarities between the way Brooke died and Layla’s injury wasn’t lost on her. She was just far luckier. He held her hand in his and she tried to find the words to tell him what happened. For his own safety.

  “Mason—we have to talk about what happened last night. There’s something you need to know.”

  He rubbed his hand over his face, tired from long hours from waiting and worrying. “Let’s get out of here first. I’ll bring the car around and I need to make some calls.”

  “Are people working at the manor today?” She heard the panic in her voice.

  “A few crew members were going to do a walk-through and prepare a punch list.”

  “They wouldn’t get on any ladders, would they?”

  He gave Layla another kiss. “Not a chance. That’s my job.”

  “Stay off the ladders, Mason. I had a dream and...it means something, so everyone needs to stay off the ladders.”

  “I’m not going to the manor today,” he said in what she thought must be his most soothing tone. “Just going out to the parking lot to get the car. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded, but he didn’t understand. He couldn’t possibly, no one would. The singular idea that he could get hurt or worse played front and center in her mind. She had to figure out how to get rid of Asher.

  Mason pointed a playful finger at his mother. “Don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”

  Dixie tried to grab his finger and missed. “What fun would that be?” When Mason was out of the room, her smile disappeared and she whispered to Layla with all seriousness, “What’s happened, sweetheart?”

  Layla thanked Dixie for coming to the ER, it had been her only request. Given the supernatural ilk of her problem, there wasn’t anyone else she could trust.

  After a deep exhale, she gave Dixie a quick download—her lucid dreaming and how that began, how being around the manor sometimes affected reality through these dreams, that Asher was still attached to the manor and somehow he had access to her through these dreams.

  She left out the sexy details where Mason was concerned. But she made sure to communicate that he had indeed made an appearance in her dreams and there was some evidence of that the next day.

  “He’s sabotaged the ladders and maybe other equipment, too. He shoved me down the stairs in my dream and that’s how I ended up with this concussion.”

  She exhaled with some small relief that she had been able to tell at least one person, that she didn’t have to explain anything, and that Dixie didn’t judge.

  Mason’s mother covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers and Layla knew she understood how dangerous this was. “Explaining this to Mason will be like trying to convince a dog not to run outside of his fenced yard. He won’t believe there are consequences. Has he seen Asher?”

  Layla nodded and pressed against the pain that throbbed in her head with a regular beat like a flashing red light. “Last night’s dream. He wanted to go after him as soon as he saw him, but Asher had a knife. I got Mason to wake up before anything happened.”

  The air in the small sterile room became heavy and slick and Dixie’s face tightened. Without looking down, she reached into her oversized slouchy purse and pulled out a black velvet pouch.

  She shuffled a stack of rectangular tarot cards and Layla thought of Asher’s parting words before he shoved her down the stairs. “Dixie, if you see yourself die in a dream, do you die in real life?”

  She inhaled long and slow, as if Layla had just asked the one question she wished she hadn’t. She pointed to Layla’s head. “In your case, with your dreams, I think we have to carefully assume that that might be true.”

  Layla swallowed the metallic taste of fear that flooded her mouth. She had hoped that since she knew she was dreaming, that might make a diff
erence. Asher wouldn’t care if he took their daughters’ mother away from them. And she would never forgive herself if something happened to Mason in her dreams. “I have to find a way to tell Mason.”

  Dixie shook her head. “He’s always leaned into the luxury of not having to believe in this realm. Unlike me. Given what I see, I don’t have a choice. And he's never gotten over what happened to our family when he was little. It was awful. Reverend Milligan probably still has a doll in my likeness with pins through the head.”

  Layla pulled on her jeans, the pain in her head worsening when she stood. Asher’s warped smile flashed in her mind.

  “How am I going to get him to believe me?”

  Dixie stopped shuffling the cards. “I could try to talk to him for you—”

  “He needs to hear it from me.” Layla pulled on her T-shirt and thought about how Mason would react. He would think she was crazy.

  Dixie spread a line of tarot cards on the over-the-bed hospital table. “Pick four with your left hand.”

  She did as she was told. She had pulled cards with Dixie before, but not for many years, and she curled her hands into fists while she waited.

  “I don’t typically like to do quick readings, but if Mason found me doing this he’d have a fit. So we have to hurry.” She glanced toward the door then quickly flipped the cards.

  Layla’s heart tumbled. The first card was entitled The Devil. A monstrous beast stood in-between a naked man and woman, holding chain leashes that connected to the iron collars they wore.

  Dixie placed one finger on the devil. “This is Asher. He’s between you and Mason and he has too much control over the both of you. Neither one of you knows how to get away from him.” Her eyes moved back and forth as if she were reading something. “He wants to even the score, honey. He wants revenge. He blames you for what happened to him.” When she looked up, the color had left her face and her lips were drawn in a thin line. “He wants you dead. And with him.”

  She pointed to the next card. “This one is the Tower card, that’s you and Mason.”