The path spit him out before a lit pool bordered in bullnose tile. The water threw rippling caustics on the surrounding trees so that the whole of the night—and he with it—felt oddly submerged as he entered the pool house.
The interior was full of wide wicker chairs and matching cocktail tables. Several Grecian sculptures lounged beneath hanging baskets of lobelia. The air was thick with humidity, the glass panels gray with condensation. Pillowed by the quiet, Thomas’s footsteps echoed like thunder.
So, too, did the single, disembodied sniffle.
Nearby, a pale crush of tulle peeked out from behind a standing statue of Venus. He edged silently closer, until the tulle gave way to a girl, her bloodied hands held before her, her shoulders racked with sobs.
“One,” he heard her whisper. “Two. Three.”
The sound snatched the air clean out of his lungs. Her voice was startlingly low and a little bit rough, like water tumbled over stone. His surprise quickly gave way to relief.
“Four,” she went on, pinching each fingertip in turn. “Five—”
“Vivienne.”
She froze like a hare, her hands flying over her mouth.
“It’s okay.” He held up his hands. “It’s just me.”
Carefully, she drew up onto her knees. He followed her lead, crouching before her. It should have felt ridiculous—huddling in the corner like children, watched by the gods and draped in ivy. He held himself still as Vivienne assessed him through nervous, darting glances.
You’re okay, she finally signed.
“Me?” He glanced down at himself. “Yeah, I’m all right.”
She looked bewildered, as though she’d expected otherwise.Nothing hurts?
The question caught him so off guard, he laughed. “No,” he said. “Nothing hurts.”
With a quiet sob, she folded in on herself. He caught her as she collapsed, gathering her into his lap.
“It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “You just—you can’t take off on me like that, all right? Not without giving me a second to—to—”
A second to what? To compose himself? To come to terms with what he’d seen? He had no idea what point he was trying to make—no clue which was the right thing to say. He wasn’t sure there was one. He settled for drawing her closer, resting his chin on the crown of her head.
“I’m not going anywhere, Vivienne. Okay? It’s you and me.”
The lights clicked off. Both of them sat up straight as total darkness fell. From the direction of the house came the sound of screams. Vivienne shot to her feet, and Thomas after her.
“It must be the storm,” he said as the screams turned to laughter. Lightning rendered the pool house all in silver, throwing the sculptures into stark relief. “I’m sure it’ll come back on any minute.”
The sky flashed white again. In the stroboscopic flicker, Thomas thought he saw one of the statues take a step.
“I think someone’s in here,” he whispered.
He heard the creak of the floor just before the impact, but it was too late to turn and intercept it. Something hard slammed into the back of his head, sending starlight shooting across his field of vision.
The last thing he heard over the ringing in his ears was the clear, unmistakable sound of Vivienne Farrow’s scream.
“For Scylla is not mortal; moreover, she is savage, extreme, rude, cruel, and invincible.”
Homer’sThe Odyssey
Vivienne was dreaming of the house again. The boarded windows. The river-thin hall. The open cellar door, its shadows writhing down and down
Vivienne, said the dark.You stand so very close.
Usually, when she dreamed of the house, she was alone. She’d claw at the door and cover her ears—do whatever she could to drown out that black, beckoning voice. This time was different. This time, a boy stood at the mouth of the cellar. He was sopping wet and as white as a corpse, impetigo mottling the corners of his smile.
