Page 58
If they find you
Your soul will lose hope…”
— EXCERPT FROM THE SHERIFF’S LOG
The signs of a headache are already blossoming beneath my eyelids. Rolling over in bed, eyes still closed, a heaviness pounds against the middle of my forehead. Flipping over on my back the pain rolls across both eyes, eventually settling in the same position.
Extending a hand, I reach for a pillow and drape it across my face. Maybe suffocation might ease the ocular discomfort.
Slowly I peel open my dry eyes, still grainy and blurring at the edges. In the periphery, bright light dapples across the room, a sight both welcome and irritating.
Last night, sleep evaded me. Many thoughts were toiled and played with, ending up with the suspicion that the journal was likely a manuscript belonging to Sara Wren. There were no clues alluding to her being the deceased wife. So the question persists, who had died in this house? And considering there were no real working lights in the house, I spent most of the evening squinting at the pages.
Was Sara in love with two men? Or was this something completely fictional she crafted? Are the names anagrams of other names?
Ripping the pillow off, I blow my curls away from my face. Many mysteries are afoot, and I wonder if Sara’s writings—even if fictitious—revealed clues to the estate’s eccentricities?
A yawn escapes. Conspiring with no success has its dues. Groaning, I rip the covers off and proceed to get dressed for the day.
Daisy is already waiting at the door when I open it. She’s wearing a navy-blue pantsuit complete with pointy heels that makes her look like a property manager ready for financial discussions. All that is missing is a clipboard for her to check items off.
“Breakfast,”—she points to the silver platter laid out on the console table—“I’ll give you ten minutes.”
Hurriedly food is shoveled into my mouth much to her chagrin and Misty’s entertainment. When my stomach rumbles no more, everything is set aside and I straighten my shoulders.
“Come on, you have a guest.” Daisy walks away waving me to follow along.
“Really?” I hiss, catching up to her.
“It’s the Sheriff,” Daisy says.
“The Sheriff?” I whisper, moving closer to her. This is it he’s going to arrest me. Instead of having someone on my side, I went and stole his motorcycle.
You should have listened to me.
Ignoring the voice in my head I keep walking.
“He wants to speak with you. I saw him lingering at the edge of the driveway again, beyond the curve. His new vehicle is parked there. Easy to notice. Gunmetal gray, five seconds from falling apart and dark windows.” Daisy turns to leave.
“Wait—” I grab her shoulder, pulling her back to me. She was always disappearing and I find I hate miscommunication.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners and she places a hand on my shoulder. “Is everything okay? I’m taking you the long way.”
“Oh—I thought you were leaving again. And I have to tell someone about what I saw.”
Daisy gestures for me to continue as we pass a few doors.
Not knowing where to start, I tell Daisy of the creature-like things. “Two days ago, the weirdest thing happened to me. The house—the other side of the house—there was this creature—”
“Did you go to the East Wing Marisa?” Daisy’s stops. Her cold hands curl around my shoulders, then she shoves me into an alcove.
“What—” I begin, but she puts a finger to her lips as she peers around the corner, looking left then right. Misty stands guard near my legs.
“Look—I know we had that conversation the other day about the pool, but the East Wing is not safe. There are things—”
“What things?” I interrupt.
“Listen…I can feel your attraction for the Doctor.” She twists her fingers against her chest. “How do I say this?”
