—
I’m halfway through my second cup of coffee when I ask Emily if she wants to see the attic.
“The attic?” She raises an eyebrow. “What’s up there?”
I place my mug at my feet. “It’s where I hear the footsteps.”
Emily goes very still. “What footsteps?”
I open my mouth to answer, but a wave of nausea stops me. It rumbles through my stomach and starts creeping up my throat. I clutch the edge of the couch, bending forward. Reaper wakes up, meows.
“You okay, lovie?” Emily’s voice seems to come from far away.
Sweat gathers on my forehead. My face is burning hot. Emily’s standing over me now, her palm on my left shoulder. I reach up and cling to it, squeezing tight as another wave of nausea roars through me.
“Bloody hell, you’re in bad shape, aren’t you?” Emily says. “Sarah, we need to get you to the doctor’s. I don’t think you have the flu.”
Her lovely voice fades in and out. I catch only a word here and there. When the nausea finally passes, I look up weakly. My face feels sunburned.
“There’s something in the attic,” I breathe. “Ever since I moved in, I’ve heard things up there.”
She believes me, I can tell. Her soft brown eyes widen, and she looks over her shoulder like someone’s about to come running down from the attic with a hammer or something.
“Have you gone up there?” she asks tentatively, removing her hand from my shoulder.
“Not for a while,” I admit. I stand up slowly. My knees wobble, but they hold me up. I chew the inside of my cheek, my eyes on the top of the stairs. “I found something up there once…”
Again her voice fades in and out like a flickering light. I have toconcentrate hard to hear. “Like what?” she asks. “I hate attics. They make me claustrophobic.”
I tear my eyes away from the stairs and focus on Emily. It strikes me that she reminds me of a Jersey cow. She’s all docile and calm, with big, soft eyes.
“I found a note in the attic,” I tell her, remembering the terrifying night I discovered the note in the cradle.
To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch. “What did it say?”
“It was a threat.” I close my eyes. “It said, ‘Hi Sarah Slade! Is that the name you’re going by these days? Would be a shame if people found out who you really were. Wouldn’t it?’ ”
“My God, lovie!” Emily cries, gripping my forearm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s not the only note I’ve found.”
She grips my arm tighter, leans in. “Tell me.”
So I do. I tell her about the note on my laptop, the one about the cat food and anti-depressants. And I tell her about the strange phone call with the hairdresser. The appointment I didn’t make. The DVD. The note on my car.
But I sure as hell don’t tell her about the bloodstained hammer. Or that I hid it under the cradle in the attic. Joe…God, where is Joe? My brain throbs like it’s trying to expel the memory of him. Don’t go there, I tell myself. Don’t go there. I’m sure Joe’s fine. He’s fine.
I turn to Emily instead. “Please,” I breathe. “I need to check the attic again. I’m too scared to go up there alone.”
She bites her lip. She doesn’t want to go up there. But I get the feeling that she wants to help me. Like a good therapist, she wants me to confront my fear, and she’s willing to do it with me. Lovely Emily.
She straightens up, nods reluctantly. “Okay,” she says grimly. “Let’s go.”
—
I climb the attic stairs, gripping the banister weakly. It’s only seven steps, but my legs shake alarmingly. I have to pause for breath at the fifth step. I wipe sweat from my forehead. My heart pounds, and I see stars. My left knee gives out and hits the wooden step hard. Pain shoots all the way up my leg. My head droops. It’s so hard to look up. Behind me, Emily gasps. I keep my eyes shut, but I feel her at my elbow, the heat of her hand at the back of my neck like a hot-water bottle. I thrash out, pushing her hand off me. I’m so hot, too hot. I try to stand, but she holds my shoulders, preventing me from moving. “Don’t get up too quickly,” she cautions. “Just wait. Just breathe.”
So we wait. And we breathe in the musty attic air.
