Nothing Hidden Ever Stays

by HR Mason

  Aubrey’s body was weary and her mind was overworked. She didn’t know what to do with herself, all alone in the grand house, with nothing but countless hours stretching before her.

  She glanced up the large staircase, and shadows danced before her eyes. She thought she saw something move, but she looked away quickly, unable to deal with it. She just needed to take things one step at a time. Aubrey wanted to explore the second floor, but she opted to wait until daylight. Although she hated to admit it, she was spooked.

  She wandered down the hall in search of the kitchen, flipping on every light along the way in an effort to chase away the darkness. She saw Mr. Lemon’s business card lying on the counter and decided she would call him soon. She didn’t have a clue what she was doing, and she was going to need help.

  Aubrey had planned on heating up the chicken noodle soup for dinner but suddenly realized she was more tired than hungry. She explored the remaining rooms on the ground floor, discovering each one was more beautiful and grand than the last. She turned on the light in every room as she entered. By the time she ended her tour of the ground floor, the entire lower level of Desolate Ridge was illuminated.

  Exhaustion was creeping in like a dense fog, but Aubrey was afraid to go upstairs to find a bedroom. Instead, she wandered back into the parlor. There was a small sofa, and while it didn’t appear to be particularly comfortable, it was where she decided she would spend the night.

  She curled into a ball, draped the velvet throw blanket over her body, and closed her tired eyes. Before long, she was fast asleep.

  She sank quickly into the dream. At first it seemed she was looking at her own reflection in a mirror, but when she peered more closely, she realized it was someone else. The woman was nearly identical to Aubrey in every way, but her clothing and hairstyle were from a different era. She reached out and caressed Aubrey’s cheek. A sapphire ring, identical to the one Aubrey wore, glittered in the darkness.

  “It all ends with you,” the woman whispered as tears coursed down her face.

  Aubrey awakened with a start as she heard a loud knock on the front door. She wasn’t sure what to do, as she hadn’t expected guests. She felt frazzled and disheveled, certainly not up for entertaining.

  Jumping to her feet quickly, she smoothed down her wayward curls and opened the front door. Standing before her was a man dressed in a sheriff’s uniform.

  He was about her age, a head taller, sporting broad shoulders. He had shortly cropped sandy-blond hair, his chiseled jawline covered with scruffy facial hair of the same hue. The man’s handsome face created an attractive canvas for his jade-green eyes. His deep voice startled her, and she realized she was staring.

  “Is everything all right, ma’am?”

  “Everything is fine.”

  He raised a brow. “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. May I help you with something?”

  Aubrey had no idea why the sheriff was there. His presence caught her off guard, but at least he’d interrupted her disturbing dream.

  “A neighbor noticed all of the lights were on. I wanted to check things out. No one has lived here for several months.”

  “I’m… well, I suppose I’m the new owner. My name is Aubrey Ross.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Hank Metzger, the sheriff of Rossdale.”

  He gestured to his badge and gave her a lopsided grin. She noticed his teeth were slightly crooked, which suited him. His face would have been far too perfect otherwise.

  “Was there something else you needed, Sheriff?”

  Aubrey had no idea why, but she felt defensive. She was out of her element, uncomfortable in the strange house, and scared out of her wits to be alone. But she didn’t want him to know that. She was no damsel in distress.

  “I just wanted to be sure that everything was okay,” he replied.

  “Everything is just fine.”

  She didn’t return his smile. She took a step away from him and placed her hand on the door, a gesture that it was time for him to go.

  “Here’s my card. You be sure to call me if you need anything. Being in a strange place can be a bit overwhelming.”

  Hank handed her a business card and smiled again.

  “Thank you. I can take care of myself,” she said curtly.

  “I have no doubt you can. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  He gave her a long, lingering look before smiling again and returning to his patrol car. Aubrey shut the door tightly and locked it. She was about to return to her spot on the couch when a loud crash sounded from the kitchen.

  She panicked. Someone was in the house, and she’d just sent the sheriff away.

  Aubrey grabbed a heavy ornate candlestick holder from the table beside the front door and crept slowly toward the kitchen. She tiptoed down the hall and poked her head inside the doorway, then raised the candlestick holder above her head and stepped into the room, ready to attack whoever was there.

  The sound of a meow took her by surprise. There was a fluffy black cat standing on the countertop, peering over the edge at the bowl that had toppled over the precipice. The animal turned and stared at her, its golden yellow eyes glinting with mischief.

  Relief washed over her. She walked slowly toward the feline, hoping not to spook it as she placed her makeshift weapon on the counter. Reaching a tentative hand forward, she gently stroked the animal’s inky fur. Rather than running away, the cat plopped down and purred quietly.

  “Hello there, where did you come from?”

  Her voice sounded inordinately loud in the quiet room. She noticed a name tag attached to the cat’s collar.

  “Your name is Spectre? Someone clearly had a sense of humor.”

  The animal appeared to be well cared for and perfectly content in its surroundings. Carlton had mentioned caretakers, so she imagined they were the ones looking after it. She wasn’t completely alone in the house after all.

  “I know we just met, Spectre, and I’d like to be better company, but I’m tired. We’ll chat more tomorrow.”

  She returned to the sofa, pulled the blanket over her body once again, and drifted off to sleep in the well-lit parlor of Desolate Ridge. It wasn’t long before Spectre curled up in a ball beside her.

  9

  It was morning. Thankfully Aubrey had spent the remainder of the night in restful slumber, blissfully uninterrupted by strange dreams of women who looked like her.

  She yawned and stretched on the couch. She smiled when she noticed Spectre curled up beside her, quietly watching.

  “Good morning, little girl. You must have chased away my nightmares,” she said as she stroked the purring animal.

  Spectre rubbed her head against Aubrey’s leg and meowed loudly.

  “Are you telling me I should get up? I don’t even know what time it is.”

  Aubrey wandered into the central hall and glanced at the grandfather clock, surprised to see it was already eleven. She’d slept for fifteen hours straight! Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she realized she was starving. She wondered what was available in the kitchen.

  Rifling through the cabinets, she discovered the only food inside belonged to Spectre. She opened the refrigerator, frowning as she was greeted with nothing but empty shelves. Aubrey shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, no one had lived there for six months besides the cat.

  Of course, they had all known she was coming, so it would have been polite to supply at least a few staples. Maybe that’s what Carlton had been hinting at when he’d asked if she needed anything. She had clearly missed that opportunity. Disappointed, she decided her plan for the day had to include purchasing food, since the can of soup she’d bought wouldn’t last long. Aubrey grimaced at Spectre.

  “I’ll starve to death if I don’t go into town. But the last thing I want is to revisit that horrible store. I suppose it can’t be helped.”

  She meandered back to the foyer and spotted her suitcase sitting forlornly beside the front door.
Although she didn’t have many worldly possessions, she supposed it was time to unpack them. As she glanced furtively up the winding staircase, Aubrey’s palms began to sweat. She hadn’t forgotten the sight of the woman in the attic, or the strange footsteps she’d heard up there the night before.

  Although Aubrey was afraid to explore the rest of Desolate Ridge, she knew she couldn’t sleep on the couch forever. There were bedrooms up there, presumably with soft, cozy beds, and it was time to scout them out. It was daylight for the time being, and she intended to be finished before the sun went down again.

  Taking a deep breath, Aubrey slowly ascended the stairs, Spectre trotting along behind her. The smooth wooden banister felt icy cool beneath her sweaty hand. She reached the landing and flipped on the light switch, illuminating the area. Sunlight was peeking in through the clerestory windows lining the top of the wall, yet she still felt the need to chase away the darkness of the space, either real or imagined.

  One wall of the landing area boasted floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Another glistening chandelier hung in the center of the room. A royal blue velvet chaise lounge rested against the other wall. If Aubrey hadn’t been so much on edge, the space would have been a pleasant place to while away the hours.

  Aubrey walked slowly to the balcony, peering over the edge of the banister, looking far below to the ground floor of the foyer. Suddenly she wanted to dance. She felt an intense urge to waltz, although she’d never done so in her life. Aubrey had the bizarre and unexplainable impression that being up so high made her feel as if she were flying. The landing area was at least sixteen feet high. Gripping the ledge, she leaned over a bit farther.

  Without warning, her hands slipped from the railing, her body thudding against the balustrade.

  With a gasp, she pulled herself to her feet, hands shaking, and caught her breath. If it weren’t for the thin wooden spindles, Aubrey would have careened straight to the ground below.

  Backing away from the balcony, she tried to gather her wits. Sinking onto the chaise lounge, she tried to make sense of what had happened. Without a doubt, Aubrey knew she hadn’t slipped. She’d been pushed. She’d clearly felt the impression of flattened palms against her back, propelling her forward, trying to shove her over the edge and onto the gleaming hardwood floor below.

  But that was ridiculous. She couldn’t have been pushed. There was no one else in the house.

  Aubrey reasoned that she must have lost her balance. There was no other logical explanation. Nevertheless, she wanted to get as far away from the railing as she could.

  Trying to calm her nerves, she backed out of the room and continued on toward the hallway, noticing there were seven doors, six of which were open. Three well-appointed bedrooms sat to the right and three to the left. One of them, the master suite, was massive and boasted an opulent four-poster bed across from a large stone fireplace. There was an attached bathroom with a basin sink and a claw-foot bathtub.

  Aubrey deposited her suitcase in that room, deciding she might as well take the best for herself.

  Wandering back down the hallway, she approached the seventh door, which was closed. She ran her fingertips over the old polished wood of the door, feeling a strange longing to open it. Her hand gripped the crystal doorknob, but as she turned it, a woman’s voice whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She pulled her hand away from the knob as if it were on fire. The sapphire ring glinted and gleamed, squeezing her finger so tightly it nearly cut off her circulation. She tried to twist the band, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Aubrey spun around to see who had whispered in her ear. No one was there but Spectre, who meowed loudly, pacing back and forth quickly across the hardwood floor in an obvious state of agitation. Clearly something had also spooked the cat.

  Aubrey’s heart pounded. She’d heard the same voice the day before. It had seemed so real, but it couldn’t have been. Her overactive imagination must have gotten the best of her. Shaking her head, she reached for the knob, turning it quickly before she could change her mind.

  The heavy door creaked open on its hinges. Aubrey peered upward into the unknown, the wooden attic stairway curving around to an area that couldn’t be seen from where she was standing. She needed to know what was up there. She’d told herself she was going to explore the entire house, and she intended to see it through.

  Apprehensively, Aubrey stepped onto the bottom stair, the old wood moaning and sighing beneath the weight of her small body. With trepidation, she made her way up the stairs, telling herself it was only an attic. It was just another room. No matter how many times she said it, she remained unconvinced. A dark, ominous feeling permeated the area; a sinister ambience, invisible, but almost tangible.

  She reached the top and looked around. Old furniture was covered in white sheets, haunting, standing like ghosts in the dimly lit room. Dust covered everything like a thin blanket of snow. Unlike the rest of the house, the attic was musty and unkempt. It was obvious that no one had been there in quite a while.

  Secrets hung in the air. Aubrey felt the frantic tug of the room itself, clawing, trying desperately to hold on to its long-preserved enigma. The energy in the attic shifted as her footsteps disturbed the space, fluttering like desiccated leaves in a pile.

  Large wooden trunks that appeared to be as old as the house itself stood as sentries, guarding the treasures of the past that lay inside. Gigantic wardrobes lined the walls. Aubrey wondered what mysteries she might unlock if she could work up the courage to look.

  An old Bible, layered in at least twenty years’ worth of dust, sat on a stand to her right. Curious, she opened the front cover. Her eyes widened when she saw a handwritten account of marriages, births, and deaths in the Ross family. She noted the slanted handwriting of the first entry. Squinting to read it, she managed to make out the names of Marshall Ross and Marie Stockton. It was dated 1819.

  A creaking sound on the other side of the room caused her to jump. She slammed the Bible shut, trying to spot the source of the noise, but she saw nothing. Spectre looked pointedly at her, waiting to see what Aubrey would do next.

  Deciding the Bible would be a good way to trace the crooked branches of her family tree, she grabbed the book, tucked it under her arm, and descended the attic stairs quickly. She turned off the light and slammed the door shut with a thud. If she never went up there again, it would be too soon.

  10

  Aubrey returned to the bedroom she’d claimed as her own and deposited the worn Bible on the bedside table. Unable to process anything at that moment, she decided she would peruse the information later. Still spooked from her experience in the attic, she took a few deep breaths and willed her heart to stop racing.

  Once she’d calmed down, she changed her clothes, freshened up for the day, and headed downstairs. Spectre followed behind her like a shadow, seemingly glad to have a new companion. The feeling was mutual.

  Aubrey had survived the task of exploring the rest of the house, so next on her list was procuring food.

  “I don’t want to go into town, Spectre, but there’s no food here. Maybe someone would bring it to me if I asked, but I’m not asking,” she said.

  She fumbled through the kitchen cabinets, finally finding several sets of keys labeled “House,” “Bentley,” “Mercedes,” “BMW,” “Jaguar,” and “Cadillac.”

  “Haven’t these people ever heard of a Toyota? I suppose I’ll take the BMW. See you in a bit, Spectre.”

  Aubrey grabbed the keys for both the house and the car, slipped her purse over her shoulder, and headed out the front door, locking it securely behind her. She didn’t know where she was going, but Carlton had mentioned a garage.

  She ambled to the side of the house, taking in the scenery as she went. The day was overcast, and the trees surrounding the estate had mostly lost their leaves. She spotted what appeared to be a rose garden in the distance. Crooked branches silhouetted an arch across the gray skyline. The grounds of Desolate Ridge were as i
mmaculately cared for as the house. It was a breathtaking view.

  As she rounded the corner, she saw a large building made from the same brick as the house. It had five bay doors, which more than likely concealed the five vehicles. Walking inside, she saw them lined up before her. They were shiny and well-maintained, not a speck of dust on them. She pushed the button on the key fob, and the lights flashed on a sleek BMW sedan. It was difficult to grasp that it all belonged to her.

  “This is unbelievable,” Aubrey whispered under her breath.

  She opened the door of the car and slid behind the wheel. After pushing the garage door opener above the visor, the bay door slid open slowly. She started the vehicle, carefully backed out, and headed down the winding driveway. She wasn’t sure if she remembered the route back into Rossdale, but she was going to give it a try.

  Aubrey neared the end of the driveway and the gate glided open. She took a left out of the driveway and headed down the road. Desolate Ridge wasn’t too far outside of the boundaries of Rossdale proper, so it wasn’t long before she arrived.

  She drove down Main Street, pulled into the parking lot of Lawson’s General Store, and parked the car. Her stomach rumbled loudly, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since the previous day. She needed food and coffee, and she needed it quickly. Looking across the street, she noticed a small diner. The sign said Rebecca’s Place.

  She had worked in diners since she’d graduated from high school. They were comfortable and natural, far more familiar than driving a BMW or owning a mansion. She locked the car, sprinted across the street, and ducked inside the small restaurant.

  The bell on the front door jingled as Aubrey entered, and everyone in the diner stopped eating and looked her way. Spoons and forks froze midair, and all conversation ceased. Curious glances mingled alongside outright hostility.

  She was beginning to understand the citizens of Rossdale had no love for strangers, especially ones who happened to carry the Ross family name. She was unsure how they knew who she was, but clearly they did. It was a very small town, after all, a town that happened to be named after her family. Remaining anonymous was a pipe dream.