Santiago tried to tune out Sam asking Ms. Green…Lauren, to follow him downstairs so he could show her how to operate the system.
Stepping into the shadowy room, Santiago pulled out his pen light and scanned the cluttered dimly lit space, then found the metal chain to turn on the naked bulb. Outside, a horn blared in triplet, followed by two doors slamming and the voices of Ms. Audrey and Aunt Lina. Santiago smothered a groan. He’d rather stay up here for the rest of the day than deal with the two of them fawning over that train wreck of a woman.
He didn’t get it. Why were folks so willingly drawn into her web of chaos? Normal people. People who should’ve known better. Walked right into it, got wrapped up, and devoured as she pleased.
“Won’t be me,” he muttered, sitting on a crate in the center of the room as he scanned it. There were two windows on oppositesides of the room. One facing the lake and one facing the front yard.
He rose and moved around a few items to get to the window overlooking the lake. He pulled back the doily-like curtain and saw child-sized handprints in the dust on the window and on the sill beneath it.
A cool breeze swept behind him, floorboards creaked. The fine hairs all over his body rose to attention.
“Be at ease,” Santiago said without turning, while stepping away from the window.
He’d been around the dead enough to know when a spirit wasn’t far. Though he wasn’t certain if it was the spirit of the Moor child, Deborah, or one of the many others who’d died in this house. He knew what that energy felt like.
“You watch here…over the lake, so you probably know me, Deborah,” he said, believing that, even if others died here, this was her house and she was the only one he should rightfully address. “I’m a Freeman, descendant of the blood pact,” he said. “I know you’ve been here a long while, seen a lot of things, things no one should have to. When I’m in the water, I’ve seen some of what you must have seen from this window all those years ago. I’m sorry about that, sorry that you had to witness such ugliness. I’m here looking for answers to this latest death, but I don’t want to cause any disturbance. Doesn’t look like anything up here has been disturbed in many moons so I’ll be on my way.” He moved toward the stairs and paused, looking at a corner deeply shadowed and yet…there was the outline of a small shape. He knew it was not a figment of his imagination. “The house has a new owner. She’s not from Shrouded Lake. I have a suspicion on where she’s actually from but that’s not for a child’s ears. Good luck little one, because I’m not sure who’s gonna need it more.”
It was so quiet.
Insects, darkly shadowed water, vegetation…they were her only companions tonight. The brisk breeze was also present, creeping beneath the blankets she’d wrapped around her body before coming out to sit in the rocking chair on the deck outside her bedroom. The chill kept her awake, it kept her feeling instead of sinking into a despair that had no bottom.
Yes, she’d bought this house to be the everlasting thorn in Stillwater’s side, but in this moment, without the distraction of other human beings, she only had the cold, her rage, and this unsettling place. They were keeping her afloat. Them and the fear. The fear ran a distant second to the rest, but not so far behind that she could pretend that she wasn’t living in a centuries old house with what was reported to be a nearly centuries old ghost.
She told herself that the random creaks were the house settling; that the sense of not being alone was just a natural reaction to the hypervigilance that came from being somewhere new. Hell, she could tell herself anything, but recent events proved that the discrepancy between what she thought and what was actually real could hurt her.
And this new lack of trust in herself, it was the most violent thing Derrick and her family had done to her; stolen from her.
Her phone vibrated on the table beside her. She startled at the sound.
Putting down her glass of wine, she picked up her cell. A notification reported that her voicemail was 90 percent full.
She scrolled through all the unread voice messages. Most were from her mother. A few from the job, but she’d told themunequivocally that she wouldn’t be accessible for work, so it was more than likely some of her coworkers were calling about the canceled wedding.
Two messages from her sister and the most recent from Derrick.
It was almost ten o’clock at night; she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. She did go through and listen to, then delete, some non-family related messages.
The four coconspirators would lose their voices before she listened to what they had to say.
It was unsettling how just over a week felt like a different life. Less than a week from now she would’ve been a married woman. That would’ve also felt like a different life, but that’s the one she’d chosen, had planned for. This one was…this one she was making the best of until she figured out in what direction her future would go. She took another sip of wine. This life was not so bad, she could?—
There was a thump in her bedroom, like a body had fallen. She nearly jumped out of her chair, her heart threatening to jump out of her freaking chest. Struggling to free herself from the blankets, she fell to her knees and crawled over the threshold into the bedroom. She kicked herself free from the covers and paused on all fours, eyes scanning the dark room as her ears strained to hear where the sound came from; if it would come again.
After a few moments of silence, she crept to the side of the bed fumbling to turn on the lamp, and sure enough the room was empty.
Which didn’t make her feel any better.
She hadn’t imagined the sound and she sure as shit didn’t want to contemplate the alternative. Which was ghosts, ghosts were the alternative.
Or, she told herself, there was an alternative to the alternative, and all this stress and emotion caused her to momentarily lose touch with reality.
“You know what,” she said, rising to grab the knife she’d slid between her mattress and the box spring, then edged toward the door. “I might prefer a murderer.”
At least she could fight a flesh-and-blood human.
Reaching for the closed door, she paused with her hand on the knob, took a breath and snatched it open, prepared to stab somebody in the chest or gut. Of course it wouldn’t be that simple.
She turned on every light switch she passed, checked every room in the house, purposely excluding the attic, and made sure the doors and windows were locked before she set the security system. Assured the house was secure, she went back to her bedroom, shut and locked the door, then placed the knife back in its resting spot.
