She stood. “No. I’m being silly, and I’m not giving in. We have less than three weeks until opening, and a lot of work to be done.”
She turned back to her paperwork. He sighed and left the room.
Itgot worse after that, as if in refusing to leave, she’d issued a challenge to whatever lived there. She’d now stopped laughing when she caught herself referring to the spirits as if they were real. They were. She’d come to accept that. Seeing the housekeeper’s picture had exploded the last obstacle. She’d wanted a haunted house and she’d gotten it.
For the last two nights, she’d woken to find herself alone in bed. Both times, Nathan had been downstairs listening to that damned music. The first time, he’d been digging through the boxes, wide awake, blaming insomnia. But last night…
Last night, she’d gone down to find him talking to someone. She’d tried to listen, but he was doing more listening than talking, and she only caught a fewum-hmms andokays before he’d apparently woken up, startled and confused. This morning, they’d made an appointment to see the doctor. An appointment that was still a week away, which didn’t do Tanya any good now, sitting awake in bed alone for the third night in a row, listening to the strains of distant music.
She forced herself to lie back down. Just ignore it. Call the doctor in the morning, tell him Nathan would take any cancellation.
But lying down didn’t mean falling asleep. As she stared at the ceiling, she made a decision. Nathan was right. There was no shame in flipping the house for a profit. Tell their friends and family they’d decided small-town life wasn’t for them. Smile coyly when asked how much they’d made on the deal.
No shame in that. None at all. No one ever needed to know what drove her from this house.
She closed her eyes and was actually on the verge of drifting off when she heard Nathan’s footsteps climbing the basement stairs. Coming to bed? She hoped so, but she could still hear the boom and wail of the music.
Nathan’s steps creaked across the first level. A door opened. Then the squeak of a cupboard door. Akitchencupboard door.
Grabbing something to eat before going back downstairs.
Only he didn’t go downstairs. His steps headed for the ones coming upstairs.
He’s coming up to bed—just forgot to turn off the music.
All very logical, but logical explanations didn’t work for Tanya anymore. She got out of bed and went into the dark hall. She reached for the light switch, but stopped. She didn’t dare announce herself like that.
Clinging to the shadows, she crept along the wall until she could make out the top of Nathan’s blond head as he slowly climbed the stairs. Her gaze dropped, waiting for his hands to come into view.
A flash of silver winked in the pale glow of a nightlight. Her breath caught. She forced herself to stay still just a moment longer, to be sure, and then she saw it, the knife gripped in his hand, the angry set of his expression, the emptiness in his eyes, and she turned and fled.
A room. Any room. Just get into one, lock the door and climb over the balcony.
The first one she tried was locked. She wrenched on the door knob, certain she was wrong.
“Mom?” Nathan said, his voice gruff, unrecognizable. “Are you up here, Mom?”
Tanya turned. She looked down the row of doors. All closed. Only theirs was open, at the end. She ran for it as Nathan’s footsteps thumped behind her.
She dashed into the room, slammed the door and locked it. As she raced for the balcony, she heard the knob turn behind her. Then the creak of the door opening. But that couldn’t be. She’d locked?—
Tanya glanced over her shoulder and saw Nathan, his face twisted with rage.
“Hello, Mom. I have something for you.”
Tanya grabbed the balcony door. It was already cracked open, since Nathan always insisted on the fresh air. She ran out onto the balcony and looked down to the concrete patio twenty feet below. No way she could jump, not without breaking both legs, and then she’d be trapped. Maybe if she could hang from it, then drop?—
Nathan stepped onto the balcony. Tanya backed up. She called his name, begged him to snap out of it, but he just kept coming, knife raised. She backed up, leaning against the railing.
“Nathan. Plea?—”
There was a tremendous crack, and the railing gave way. She felt herself falling, dropping backward so fast she didn’t have time to twist, to scream and then?—
—nothing.
Nathanescorted the innkeeper from Beamsville to the door.
“You folks did an incredible job,” the man said. “But I really do hate to take advantage of a tragedy…”
