She smiled. That was her and RW's saying since they were about eleven. It stuck with them and they still used it around each other to this day. They had been through some tough times. The worst of it had been when they were separated. Ever since graduation from middle school, they had been apart. Different schools, different towns. It was tough, but they had remained friends through thick and thin.
Eleanor's negotiating skills played a big part in seeing each other as often as possible. They even had their parents sign a document that guaranteed them summers together for as long as they were at school. It was easier for Charl to visit the Prouza family, than RW coming to her. She suspected that the Prouza's preferred having her around during summer vacations. RW was an only child and they felt Charlene's company did her some good.
That first year that she stayed with the Prouza's had been a lot of fun. Once safely home and all thoughts of running away had disappeared, they had had an amazing summer. They had shared a bedroom and that summer of five years ago had been a magical experience filled with laughter and joy. It was only when she had returned home that the problems had started with dear old Jim.
At some point, he had become a drunken, abusive piece of shit. The screaming matches between him and Mom were legendary. And then it warped into something darker after the first time he slapped her. When Charlene was fifteen, she started standing up to him, and then he included her in his verbal abuse. At sixteen, she got in his face and he slapped her. Charl responded with her own slap. That had been a mistake. Jim the snake recoiled and hit her with a fist to the gut.
That had left a bruise on her abdomen. It hurt like hell, but it got Eleanor involved. Not long after, Jim packed his bags, emptied what little they had in their bank account and hit the road.
After that, the sleeping part had never been a problem, it was falling asleep that posed the problem. For some reason, she kept waiting for Jim to come back. Expecting to hear his jingle of keys as he came home from the nearest bar, struggling to get the right key in the keyhole and then cursing as he realized they had changed the locks. She expected him to then bang on the door until either her mother opened the door, or the neighbors called the cops. She dreaded her mom opening the door the most. It would be equivalent to inviting a vampire into your home. He might be good looking and charming, but in the end, he was a bloodsucker that would bleed you dry.
Charlene's head swiveled slowly to the bedroom door. She still locked it out of habit, not because she didn't feel safe here. She knew it was silly and completely irrational. Jim would never come knocking on the door here. Yet, she locked the door every night.
This was the fifth year that she spent her summers here. The Prouza family were nothing but generous, accommodating, and friendly, but they would never be parental figures to her. Rosewater's mom was too self-absorbed and her dad too absent to ever be seen in that role, but they did open their house to her and they always treated her like family - in their own rich-people sort of way.
Charlene was grateful to them. She spent almost four months of the year with them and even though she was treated at times like the poor orphan that they had saved, she still enjoyed her stays. Time with RW was always the highlight of her year.
Which is why it was strange to wake up in the dead of night with something close to night terrors. She hadn't suffered from those for most months now. The bastard was out of her life for good, she hoped. She moved on immediately after Jim left and didn't spare him a single thought, but her mom could still be seen pining for that piece of human garbage that lifted a hand to her mom. Neither of them had seen the slavering, drunken pig in five years. The worst thing in her life had disappeared, but sometimes, Charl still had nightmares and she distrusted men slightly. And she still locked the door at night.
Charlene let out an explosive sigh and slammed her head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. She tried to think, tried to remember if it had been a nightmare that woke her.
She couldn't recall. She also had the sense that she didn't have a bad dream, that instead, she was dreaming about something where she had been a hero, helping people through some kind of catastrophe. So, no. A nightmare didn't wake her, it must have been something else.
Sighing again for effect, she got up and padded to the bedroom window overlooking the backyard. She could see through the thin veil of the lace curtain and nothing looked out of place.
Not that she expected anything to be out of place. This part of town was too upscale for anything to ever be out of place. And just to make sure, the rich people had private security firms that responded within two minutes should the grounds or house alarm ever be triggered. The Prouza house even had 24/7 surveillance by an off-site, dedicated Private Security Control Room. Mr. Prouza made sure that his little women would be okay when he wasn't around – which was a lot.
Charlene didn't expect a would-be burglar dashing across the lawn. She suspected that perhaps an animal had woken her, maybe an owl. The back of the Prouza grounds bordered onto the edge of the Pootatuck State Forest. On that side of the estate (as Charlene referred to it, a quarter of an acre of backyard surely qualified as an estate), there was only a chest high picket fence and you could sometimes see deer in the woods beyond. There was also a massive red oak only hundred yards or so away from the fence. It was the biggest tree Charlene had ever seen outside of books or the internet. Its massive branches probably housed hundreds of birds and squirrels and although not all were nocturnal, one of them could have woken her.
She stared out the window for a few more seconds, thinking of nothing in particular, just taking in the tranquility outside. The moon was waxing at three quarters, coating the world in a light, dream-like shimmer. There was a slight breeze that barely caressed the leaves on trees, and there were scattered clouds in the air.
The huge sprawling backyard was asleep. Mrs. Prouza didn't much care for flowerbeds and fancy landscaping, which meant the backyard was mostly a velvety carpet of the finest Kentucky Bluegrass. Flowers and shrubs were banished towards the sides, next to the picket fence.
Charlene was on the eastern side of the six-bedroom house. From her vantage point, she could see the main bedroom on the western end. The lights were off, which meant that Mrs. Prouza was finally asleep. Notorious for going to bed late and rising even later, Mrs. Prouza only had the company of expensive wines and gins when her visitors left.
The Prouza mansion was shaped in a capital I. The bedrooms and bathrooms were situated at the ends, and the rectangular center was home to a lavish entry hall, two lounges, a restaurant-sized kitchen, and dining room with space for fourteen seated guests around a Victorian-era solid oak dining table. Both lounges opened up onto a massive deck and swimming pool with covered bar area.
Charlene picked up her phone and saw to her dismay that it was 05:00. It wouldn't be long before the sun came up. Rosewater usually knocked on her door just past seven. With nothing else to do and not sure if she'd be able to fall asleep again, Charlene made her way to the bathroom. Whilst passing water, she thought she might like a cup of tea. Done in the bathroom, she unlocked her door as quietly as she could. Like a thief in the night, she glanced both ways down the short hallway. Rosewater's door was slightly ajar and her light, feminine snoring drifted out.
She's sleeping on her back again, Charlene smiled. RW only ever sounded like that in her sleep when she was sprawled across the width of the bed on her back.
The hallway made Charl think of a luxury cruise ship. It had subtle running lights every six feet, lighting the hallway just enough to see by, but not enough to disturb your sleep, if you were one to sleep with your door open.
Charlene didn't feel apprehensive or scared at all. No intruder would be lurking inside the house. The state-of-the-art security system made sure of that. The armed response would be on the scene and arrest the would-be perpetrator before he even made it to a door or window.
But still, she was apprehensive about something. She couldn't shake the f
eeling that something was coming. Like an old timer sitting on a porch feeling a big storm was brewing. That was exactly what it felt like to her. Charlene couldn't shake the feeling that something was on its way. That something big was going to happen. She couldn't tell if it was something good or bad. Whether it would be life-changing or not. She had a feeling that something was brewing and nothing more.
She didn't have to tippy-toe down the plush, thick-carpeted hallway. She wouldn't wake anyone in her passing. She took three steps across from her bedroom and peered into Rosewater's room.
Unlike Charlene's room that had a view of the backyard and the sprawling woods, RW's room faced the street and the rest of Upper Havensford. The Prouza house was on the last row of houses on the hill, overlooking the rest of the town down in the valley. Even from RW's doorway, Charlene had an unobstructed view of the town hall and old Catholic church steeple, more than a mile and a half away. The town looked peaceful as well, so it also couldn't have been a far-off siren or something that had woken her. Charlene turned her attention from the open window to her friend. Rosewater was asleep on her back, one foot hanging out from under the summer sheets and off the bed. Even asleep, hair tousled and without makeup, her best friend was good-looking. Charlene couldn't help but feel a short, guilty stab of envy. She quickly shrugged it off. She didn't have an ex-supermodel mom, and that was okay. Not everyone could be born with a platinum spoon in their mouth. Charl smiled at her friend's sleeping form and turned from the end of the hallway towards the center of the house.
Charlene took four steps and was in her fifth stride when she stopped. Had she heard something? Charlene turned and looked back the way she had come. There was nothing.
The hairs on the back of her neck bristled awake.
She felt watched.
She was immediately reminded of the weird train ride. At first, she had thought that Eleanor was sick, or that she suffered from anxiety. But the longer they had been on the train, the more uneasy she became. She had been convinced that something unseen had been in there with them. She would have forgotten about it, would have ascribed it to her imagination, if it hadn't been for the woman's hair.
That had been the weirdest thing that Charlene had ever experienced.
Charlene recalled the experience as if it had happened only a few seconds ago. She had been looking at the spot in the aisle, in front of the rear doors. She had the unmistakable feeling that there was something there. Something that shouldn't be there. Of course, it was only a feeling. There was nothing there to see. She thought that Eleanor's weird mood had rubbed off on her. And yet, although her eyes couldn't see anything, her brain kept telling her that there was something there. Like now, the fine hairs on the back of her neck had been erect, as if they were tiny sensors aware of a presence that shouldn't be there. She couldn't explain it and was getting irritated with herself for feeling this way. There was no apparent reason for it. Just this unnatural feeling of being watched.
Charlene looked at the area before her and tackled it as a search and rescue mission, breaking the area up into grids. She started in the bottom right. Nothing out of place at the end of the corridor in the corner. There was a potted plant with almost neon green leaves. No one could possibly have been hiding behind it. Charlene was positive that she would even have been able to spot a chameleon from this distance. Right middle. Walls. Nothing more. Top right, nothing. Wall meets ceiling via an elaborate Victorian-style cornice. Top-middle. More wall, cornice, ceiling. Closer to her though, something caught her eye. The copper trap door ring attached to a short copper chain, was moving slightly, as if by a faint breeze. Apart from that, there was nothing out of place. Middle-middle grid. Nothing, except for the landscape painting depicting a farm scene, which looked out of place in the ultra modern Prouza Mansion. Middle-bottom. Nothing. Left-bottom. Nothing. Left-middle – nothing. Left-top, nothing. Nothing was out of place.
Charlene shrugged, trying to shake off the persistent unease she was feeling. It didn't help. She turned and intended to make her way towards the kitchen once more. She was now thinking of which type of snack would go with her tea, when she stopped and swirled around. She looked at the plant in the corner. Its bright green leaves were dead still. There was no breeze. Her eyes tracked back to the trap door ring. It had stopped moving. It had been moving a second ago, even if it was ever so faintly. As if it had been moving in a slowing arc and she had seen it just before it had returned to an inactive state. It was still now, but it had been moving. She was sure of it.
Could that have been what had woken her? Was someone up there at this very moment? Charlene was reduced to taking shallow breaths. Should I go up there? she thought. Why shouldn't I? the rebel shouted. Because there could be someone up there, the irrational piped in. Nonsense! the rational voice chipped in as well. Who on earth would be up in an attic at five in the morning?
Only one way to find out.
Charlene took a deep breath and reached for the trapdoor hook.
Rosewater woke from a light sleep. When it was so hot, she never slept deeply. The open window probably didn't help as it allowed every little night sound to travel into her room, but she didn't like having the air conditioning on all the time. A fresh breeze always felt better.
Eyes open, she glanced towards her door. Maybe Charl was up, she thought.
She couldn't see her friend's bedroom door from her vantage point, so she was forced to get up and walk the few steps towards the soft light of the hallway.
Her friend's door came into view and sure enough, it stood open. That meant Charl was up. The door was otherwise always locked.
Rosewater felt a soft pang of sadness in her heart. It wasn't fair that someone had the need to sleep with a locked door. Especially her best friend since kindergarten. Rosewater wished there was something more she could do. She loved the fact that Charl spent her summers here, but she was sure that wasn't enough. It always felt like she had abandoned her bestie when she had needed her support the most. Of course, it wasn't her fault that her parents decided to move all the way out to the sticks five years ago. Dad said it had something to do with spending the happiest parts of his childhood in Havensford. As always, no one else had a say and they had simply packed up and moved away from her life and friends in NY. The worst part wasn't relocating to a small town where she knew no one, but that it had forced her and Charlene apart. All of a sudden within the space of two months, they were no longer in the same school, and they didn't live near each other anymore. Surprisingly, their bond seemed to strengthen.
Charl was a happy-go-lucky type of kid until she turned thirteen. By fifteen, she often sounded sallow and morbid. RW thought it was because they didn't see each other often. It was only later that she had learned of Jim's drinking problem and the abuse that he dished out over the years. Rosewater only learned the truth a year after the abuse started when the two girls had a heart to heart one evening. She had never even suspected that her friend had been physically and mentally abused. RW hadn't been sure how to react to the unexpected and shocking news. In the end, she had done the right thing by simply being there for her friend.
They had pledged there and then to be friends for life, reaffirming their already unbreakable bond. Although it had been a childlike promise to make at thirteen, unsure of what would happen or where life would take them, both girls had somehow known that it would be a promise for the ages.
Rosewater made an effort never to treat Charl differently. That included feeling sorry for her. Charlene was strong and would hate for anyone to pity her. She would see that as a sign of weakness on her part and she didn't allow that in her life. She was always the strong one, always in control. Rosewater respected that. She also respected the hell out of her friend for not wallowing in self-pity as so many others would have after years of abuse. To Charl's credit, she never gave an indication of what had happened to her. Sometimes the anger would shine through, but that was as far as it went. It was as if she had a firm ha
ndle on her rage and had been able to close that dark door firmly behind her.
Until you saw little things like the locked door at night.
Rosewater knew better than to ever bring it up. There was no point in it really. Why have her friend dig up the old memories? Rosewater would always be there for her friend and if Charlene ever had the need to talk, she would listen. And she never spared more than just a second of pity for her friend. If Charlene ever saw her with as much as a hint of pity, she would surely bitch slap her. Or not speak to her for a long time. Charlene didn't want to be known as the poor kid who came from an abusive home, and RW knew better than to treat her as such.
Rosewater loved her friend too much for that kind of drama, so she made sure there were no signs of sadness on her sleepy face. She was about to cross from her bedroom door to knock on Charl's door when she stopped in the middle of the hallway. The attic stairs had been lowered. Light filtered down from the hole in the ceiling.
What on earth could Charl be doing up there?
CHAPTER 19
The attic wasn't as large as Charlene expected it to be. Instead of covering the entire roof, it seemed that it only stretched over her and Rosewater's bedrooms and bathrooms. Truth be told, that was probably a good size for a small house, but this was the Prouza mansion. The attic covered only about a quarter of the entire roof.
It was surprisingly clean for an attic, which meant that the cleaners came in here every now and again. There was only a fine layer of dust on the floor. This allayed any fears she might have had that someone had been in the storage room. There were no footprints to be seen. No one had been in here since the last clean.
Charlene looked curiously about. There were four LED Edison-type bulbs hanging from the rafters, which offered ample light. For convenience, there were two light switches for the attic. One against the wall at the bottom of the pull down stairs, and the other in a straight vertical line, inside the attic. Charlene wasn't a hundred percent sure why you needed a light switch there, but that was beside the point. She was here to see what the attic offered, not wonder about the lighting setup.
Stirring Embers: An urban fantasy action adventure (The Light and the Void Book 1) Page 13