Falling Into Forever

by Delancey Stewart

  “You think I’m going to die?” I was trying for light, but the question came off dire. There was definitely something up there, maybe it was a real possibility.

  “I’ve seen a lot of movies,” she said, looking uncertain about my impending demise. “We shouldn’t split up.”

  “Maybe it was nothing,” I suggested, knowing that saying it would not make it true. I was going to have to go up there.

  “A nothing that screams and then crashes onto the floor.” Her face was pale and her body looked as if it was completely stiff. No one was sleeping here tonight if we didn’t figure this out.

  I sighed, gripping the frying pan tighter and running a hand through my hair, undoubtedly sending it standing on end and pointing in all directions. “Okay. I guess we go up, then?”

  She wiped her hands down the front of her jeans, took a deep breath and then met my gaze. “Let’s go.” She turned around quickly and picked up a butter knife. I didn’t comment. But I didn’t think the threat of being buttered was going to frighten even the wariest of intruders.

  I turned toward the back stairway, and her arm caught my shoulder. Despite my fear, there was something nice about the way she grabbed me, the idea that she needed me.

  “Hey, wait. All the lights are on now, right?”

  “Power’s back on, yeah,” I answered.

  “Good,” she said, whispering now, like she didn’t want whatever was up there to hear us discussing the house’s utilities. “Maybe we should take the main stairs.”

  “You don’t want to surprise the murderous thing that is probably going to kill me?”

  “I just . . .” She squeezed my arm, as if pleading with me silently. “It feels safer. The back stairs are so dark and narrow.”

  “Sure.” I didn’t think it mattered much one way or the other.

  Darkness hovered just outside the streaky windows of the first floor as we moved, and it felt almost like an entity watching us from out there. We moved to the foot of the stairs, the house moaning and complaining around us with each step as I shivered with anticipation and not a little fear. There was really no sneaking through this creaky old place.

  Addison’s hand slipped from my shoulder to my elbow as I climbed the first stair, and she set herself right against my side. I turned to look at her, unsure whether to be charmed or annoyed by her appropriation of my arm, but she looked so frightened when she returned my gaze with those huge dark eyes, I just tried for a reassuring smile.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s fine,” I told her, and together, we moved as quietly as we could up the stairs. At the landing, darkness stretched itself down the hallway and crept into each of the four bedrooms. I reached for the switch, but nothing happened when I pressed it. I cursed myself for not trying all the switches earlier.

  “Bulbs are out,” I suggested, wishing I felt half as sure as I was acting. Addie pulled her cellphone from her pocket and switched on the flashlight. The hallway was empty. Creepy as hell, but empty.

  We continued toward the nearest bedroom, and I flicked the light on as we entered. I was relieved the electricity wasn’t out on the entire floor. The room looked exactly as it had earlier—dusty, but empty, the sagging old bed sitting against the wall looking sad. Nothing was amiss, and there was no ghostly presence screaming at us. I felt tension mount in my shoulders, wishing we could just find an easy explanation and get on with it.

  We turned and investigated the next bedroom over, which was also empty of deadly ghosts or scary screaming things. The room I’d chosen as mine was in order, and the last bedroom—the master, where Addison would sleep—appeared undisturbed, except that her suitcase had fallen from the end of the bed where she’d set it, and the contents were scattered across the floor. The stress in my body dissolved.

  “That explains the crash,” I said.

  “How would that happen?” She stared at her upended bag.

  “I guess it just slid off. The mattress probably isn’t flat, and the house shifts a little now and then, I suppose.”

  She did not look sold on this suggestion, and if I was honest, it seemed far-fetched to me too. But what other explanation was there? Ghosts had pushed her things to the floor? I couldn’t believe that.

  Addison dropped my elbow and moved to put a few of her things back into the bag. I caught sight of a flimsy-looking piece of pink silk tucked among her clothes and my stupid mind went off on a tangent, wondering exactly what that was and what it might look like on her.

  I stood still, watching her move around the room nervously, righting her belongings.

  “Hey, you know these work better if you inflate them?” I pointed to the air mattress that lay flat beneath the sleeping bag she’d unrolled.

  “I couldn’t make it inflate. I felt stupid and didn’t want to ask for help.” She looked so sad as she told me this that my heart crumpled a little in my chest. Was I that much of a dick that she hadn’t felt comfortable asking for help with the air mattress? I stepped over to it and unscrewed the valve. The mattress made a gentle hissing sound as air began to push inside.

  “Thanks.” She turned to face me, wringing her hands before her narrow waist. “So, what now?”

  “Um . . . I guess we could plan which projects we’re going to approach tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “So we’re going to pretend that whole screaming thing didn’t happen?”

  “I’ll just check the attic.”

  She waited at the bottom of the stairs as I checked the space above, and she seemed as relieved as I was that there was nothing there.

  We went back down to the dining room, but the tension that had lain between us earlier had vanished. Instead, we fell into a comfortable togetherness, discussing the many projects ahead of us and talking about what would be involved in each. It was nice, if one could overlook the creepy factor of everything that had just happened. I had the sense that Addison and I worked well together, that we were compatible partners. It was nice—enjoyable, almost—not to feel challenged at every turn, which was how I’d spent my whole relationship and very short marriage to Shelly.

  “So I guess it makes the most sense to get the place livable first,” she said, recapping what we’d been discussing.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll clean. Once we can see what we’re really dealing with, we’ll get into the bigger tasks and figure out what we can do ourselves and what we’ll need to pay for.”

  “Cleaning, I can probably handle,” she said, one side of her mouth pulling down doubtfully. “But I’ve never done any kind of . . . manual labor.”

  There was something charming about her admission that she wasn’t much of a do-it-yourselfer, and I couldn’t help the smile that took over my face. I hadn’t really pictured Addison Tanner hanging drywall or pouring concrete anyway, but the fact she thought she should apologize for not knowing how to do any of that was cute. “That’s okay.”

  “I mean, I guess I’m saying I feel like I might not be very helpful. Might not really pull my weight.”

  “Maybe this is the perfect opportunity to learn a few new skills.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I mean, I can’t imagine you’ll need to learn to lay tile or anything for your life in New York.”

  She hesitated, her chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “I’m not sure I have a life in New York anymore.”

  She hadn’t told me much about her life, or why she’d left, but it didn’t feel like the right time to ask. “If you’re really interested in design and décor, you could definitely head up that department. I’m clueless on that stuff,” I told her.

  She frowned. “I don’t really have experience though. I don’t want to screw things up.”

  “This is the perfect opportunity to learn. It can’t get worse than it is,” I said, giving her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “Nowhere to go but up, right?” I stood and folded up the laptop. “Should we head up?”

  Addie g
azed uncertainly at the stairs through the doorway. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  We switched off the lights, and made our way together up the grand staircase of the old house. As we took turns in the single bathroom and said our goodnights, I tried to keep my mind focused on the work that lay before us. Not on the beautiful woman who would be settling down to sleep just a room away.

  Not on the fact that she’d have to change her clothes just on the other side of that wall.

  And definitely not on the fact that whatever feelings I had about Addison Tanner had shifted in the very little time I’d spent with her. I didn’t want to think about how easy it was to be with her, or how pretty her dark wide eyes were, or how nice it had felt when she’d gripped my arm.

  I sighed deeply, laid down on the air mattress on the floor, and closed my eyes.

  12

  Thumps in the Night

  Addison

  I was not exactly a fanciful teenager, eager to believe the stories I’d heard my whole life about the Easter Mansion being haunted. But I’d also never expected to find myself stretched out on the floor in said mansion, trying to fall asleep to the dulcet tones of creaking floors, swollen pipes, and potentially miserably ghostly entities. And while we’d spent a surprisingly nice evening after the otherworldly scream and the upending of my suitcase, this place was still super creepy. The odds of me drifting peacefully off to sleep seemed very low.

  But maybe making decisions about changing your entire life on what some might call a whim was more tiring that I’d considered. Because a few minutes after stretching out on the surprisingly comfortable air mattress Michael had loaned me—after he’d shown me how to inflate it, I found myself sinking into sleep. But my dreams weren’t peaceful.

  I dreamt of dark dusty rooms filled with fog and shadow, movement in the periphery of my vision that disappeared as soon as I turned to look, and someone crying in some distant room of the house—a baby.

  Though I slept, I was aware of my body’s restlessness, and so I lingered in that half-waking state where dreams mixed with reality and my brain never quite shut off, as if it knew that remaining vigilant would be the best plan when sleeping in a creepy old house some lady willed you just to try to end a feud.

  The scream that cut the air, catapulting me violently out of my half-sleep was one hundred percent inhuman, that much I knew.

  I was on my feet without making a conscious decision to get there, and those same feet were already carrying me to Michael, though I definitely didn’t make a decision about that. I burst through his closed door, panting and gripping my pillow to my chest, to find him sitting up and looking around, the light on his phone illuminating the room.

  “What was that?” I asked, my voice a panicky whisper.

  “Same thing we heard earlier, I guess.” Michael had clearly been sleeping, and his hair stuck up on end, giving him an adorably disheveled little boy look that was contrasted sharply by his bare chest, which was well muscled and dusted with light hair. “You okay?” He asked.

  I came back to myself slowly then, realizing too late that I was standing in his room, half dressed in only a long ragged T-shirt I’d gotten for attending some corporate event years ago. It wasn’t the way I’d normally present myself to a near-stranger. “Uh, yeah. Sorry to barge in. I was asleep,” I said, feeling abashed.

  “It’s okay.” He stood, revealing a pair of loose flannel pajama pants and bare feet. “Want me to check it out?”

  “If it’s the same thing as earlier, we won’t find anything,” I said, late-night cynicism and fear making a less-than-optimistic combination.

  “Sounded the same.” He sounded as tired and resigned as I felt. Would we live with this screaming fear for six months? Were we already so willing to accept it?

  I sighed, relaxing the tension that had me gripping my pillow tightly to my chest, and my shoulders fell as I met his gaze. He must’ve seen my hesitation to go back to my room alone, my understanding that there was no way I’d be able to sleep now. Not alone.

  “I’ll help you move your stuff in here if you want.” He sounded neither generous or annoyed, just tired.

  I debated as deliberately as one can do in a state of terror in the middle of the night. Mom would not like me sleeping in the same room as a Tucker. But if he was going to kill me, he could just as easily walk down the hall to do it, and the man did not seem inclined to take the feud to that level. He’d actually been very kind so far. “Yeah, okay.”

  We went to my room and gathered the sleeping bag and air mattress, laying them in the room Michael had been sleeping in, situating me against the wall farthest from him in order to preserve at least the feeling of privacy. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t comforting to see his things there, to know I wasn’t alone.

  “This okay?” He asked, smoothing the bag and standing to look down at it.

  I dropped the pillow to the head of the bag and gazed up at him. “Yeah. Thank you.”

  “It’s fine,” he said. His voice was toneless, and I still couldn’t tell how he felt about having me crashing into his room in the middle of the night like a terrified toddler. At least I wasn’t demanding a story or to sleep with him.

  A few minutes later, we were both on the ground in the dark, the not-quiet of the old house settling around us again as I tried to forget the high-pitched misery of the scream I’d heard. I didn’t know what it was, but I was more willing than I’d ever been before to believe in ghosts. Shrieky, wailing ghosts.

  The rest of the night passed eventually, the long hours of my wakefulness consumed by my thoughts of the choices I’d made recently, and those that had been made for me, punctuated by the steady sound of Michael’s soft breathing. Something about the constant and reassuring sound gave me the space I needed to consider all that had happened in my life. Luke’s departure after so many years together. My near-breakdown in my boss’s office. My decision to come back to Singletree. And now this. The choice to move into a deserted and dilapidated house with a man I didn’t know and had been bred to detest.

  Life was strange, and mine recently had been a steady string of disappointment, but I thought that was because I’d allowed myself to depend completely on someone else to fulfill me, to make me happy. A man.

  And I would never make that mistake again. I’d find my own happiness without having to depend on anyone else—especially a man. I’d learn a few things working on this house, sell it as fast as was possible, and take the money right back to New York to fund the life I should have been living. On my own. Independent.

  When shades of orange and red filtered across the walls as the sun rose through the dense trees outside, I heard Michael begin to stir. After a few minutes, he whispered across the room.

  “You awake?”

  “Good morning,” I returned.

  There was something intimate and fragile about whispering through the quiet morning air, and I found myself liking it.

  “Did you sleep?”

  “Not really.”

  “I did,” he said, and I could hear the rustle of his sleeping bag as he stretched. “No more screaming, right?”

  “I didn’t hear any more.”

  “That’s good. We’ll figure out what it is,” he said. “It’s probably just some bird outside or something.”

  Except we both knew perfectly well that sound had been inside the house. Still, it was sweet of him to try to comfort me.

  We each lay quietly for a few moments, soaking in the sleepy atmosphere of morning, of that fuzzy border between sleep and wakefulness.

  “Addie?” Michael said after a few minutes of silence.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said.

  And though I didn’t answer, his simple statement and the honesty it contained made me happy in some inexplicable way.

  I actually managed to doze for another half hour or so, and Michael must’ve been content to do the same, because when I woke again, it was to him pulling
clothes from a duffle bag, bent over a chest beneath the window.

  I sat up, surprised to have fallen back asleep. “What time is it?” I asked.

  He straightened and shot me a lopsided grin. “Almost nine. We slept in.” The sun caught his hair from behind, and lit it in shades of dark red laced with gold. I had a sudden urge to put my hand into it, feel the thick burnished strands with my fingers. I swallowed hard.

  “I guess I should get up.” Suddenly, I felt shy in my nightshirt, as if I’d come back to my senses and realized that exposing half my body to a near-stranger wasn’t exactly considered good manners. I huddled in the sleeping bag, waiting for Michael to leave the room.

  “I need to check in at the store,” he told me. “But I’ll be back by noon and I’ll bring supplies for cleaning. You’ll be okay until then?”

  “Yeah,” I said, doubting seriously whether I’d be okay if I stayed here alone. I already knew I’d be right behind him. I’d return Mom’s car and probably spend my morning at Mom’s shop until he came back. Enduring an inquisition, but it’d still be better than being here alone. “Um, Michael?”

  He straightened and turned to face me. “Yeah?”

  “I’m really sorry about barging in here last night. It won’t happen again. Just . . . I got scared. Sorry.”

  His face rearranged itself into an expression I expected he must’ve used with Daniel when he was small—his eyes were soft and his lips turned up at the corners. “It’s no problem. Although,” he cleared his throat, his face hardening a bit. “Daniel will be joining us tomorrow. He might think . . .”

  “Oh, no,” I interrupted. “He won’t need to think a thing. I’ll be fine. I’m going to get my own air mattress thingy today, and maybe some ear plugs or something, and I’ll be just fine in the other room.”

  Michael looked a bit skeptical, his half-smile sliding sideways, but he said, “Okay. Great.”

  As he pulled on a T-shirt and picked up a few other things from his bag, he spoke again. “Oh, hey. I forgot to show this to you.” He turned and crossed the room, handing me a box. It was dusty and faded, and looked like a shoebox.