Daphne held up a hand. “Wait a second. There are a few things here that don’t make sense. Why would she lie about you giving her the locket? I don’t understand.”
I looked away. That waitress was talking to one of the customers, a studious looking woman with brown glasses, brown hair, and a black laptop. Was it my imagination, or did she look over at me? “She … she claims I left it on her pillow.”
“Could Stefan have left it there?”
I barked out a laugh. “No. He doesn’t know anything about this. And he certainly wouldn’t be rummaging around in my stuff.”
“And you definitely didn’t leave it on her pillow—you’re sure?”
“I … no.”
Daphne looked at me suspiciously. “What does that mean?”
I sighed, looking down. “It means I don’t think I did. I certainly don’t remember doing that. But I’ve been losing things,” I muttered into my coffee.
“You’ve been losing things?”
I still couldn’t look at her. “Well, misplacing is probably a better word.”
“Misplacing? What are you misplacing?”
I slunk lower in the booth. I couldn’t tell her about the knife, which I still hadn’t found. “My keys. The ibuprofen bottle. Other things.”
“And you think you may have ‘misplaced’ the locket, putting it on her pillow?”
“Well, it’s one theory,” I said defensively. “But I can’t believe I would do that. I mean, I use my keys all the time, so setting them down somewhere strange isn’t out of the question. But I hid that locket. I wasn’t carrying it around with me. So, how could I accidentally leave it somewhere?”
Daphne drummed her long, thin fingers against the table. “And you think the only way she would know where you hid it is if Nellie told her?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, sure, she could search my room, but that would take too long. Stefan’s office is right next to our bedroom; he would surely hear or notice if she was digging around in there. And, how would she even know the locket existed to search for it? She doesn’t know I found it. So, why would she even be searching my room in the first place? What would she be looking for?”
Daphne frowned. “That does make a certain amount of sense, but why would Nellie be possessing her? That was Mad Martha’s locket—wouldn’t Mad Martha be the one doing the possessing?”
That stopped me. I hadn’t actually considered that. “Maybe the locket makes it easier for you to be possessed,” I ventured.
Daphne started shaking her head, a confused look on her face. “But … wait a second. Didn’t you think Chrissy was possessed before she had the locket? None of this is making sense. I don’t understand—why are you so convinced Nellie is the one possessing Chrissy?”
Ah, the heart of the matter. Could I actually say it? Could I actually voice the thought that had been swirling around my head all night, not letting me sleep? I couldn’t even believe I was really considering it, but the more I thought about the locket around Chrissy’s neck, and what it all meant, the more sense it made. I looked around—the waitress was back behind the counter.
Daphne was waiting for me to respond, everything about her radiating calm nonjudgement. I had to take a chance. I had to talk this through.
Could I do it? Actually say, out loud, that I thought Chrissy was trying to seduce Stefan? Not as Chrissy of course, but as Nellie, as she possessed Chrissy’s body?
I sucked in a deep breath. “Chrissy has been acting … seductive.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow. “She’s sixteen. She’s a walking hormonal mess.”
I shook my head. “Not like that. She’s … She’s …”
“You guys want anything else?”
I jerked my head up. The waitress was standing there, looking at us. Actually, she was looking at me. How much had she heard? Had she been listening?
“Nothing, we’re good,” I said quickly.
She nodded and looked at Daphne. “We’re good,” I said louder.
Daphne glanced at me, and then up at the girl before indicating she could leave.
As soon as the girl was out of earshot, she leaned forward. “Becca, what is with you? Why were you so rude?”
“She was just trying to listen in on our conversation.”
Daphne’s eyes widened. “Becca, are you listening to yourself? What is going on? You’re acting paranoid.”
“I’m not paranoid! She was hanging around us on purpose—trying to hear what we were saying.”
Daphne was silent for a moment. “Becca, seriously, what is going on with you? You’re not acting like yourself. Do you remember the way you were fifteen years ago? About a week before Jessica disappeared? Exactly like this. Paranoid. And losing things. Like you are now.”
I froze. My mouth worked, but nothing came out. I was like this before? What did that mean? A cold feeling of terror began to creep up my spine.
Was I being possessed, too?
Daphne reached over to squeeze my hand, which had gone cold. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you. We’ll figure this out.”
My lips were numb, as my brain worked feverishly. If I was being possessed, it had to be by Mad Martha. And if I was possessed by Mad Martha and Chrissy was possessed by Nellie …
That would mean they were trying to relive their dysfunctional relationship.
And that would mean …
An image flashed in my head—Chrissy standing in her bedroom, bathed in moonlight. Why did you kill me?
Oh God. I couldn’t even think it. And I definitely couldn’t say it. Not to anyone—not even a good friend like Daphne. She would have no choice but to call the cops, as I would be admitting I was a danger … to myself and to Chrissy.
Daphne was talking, but I had tuned her out. “ … other explanations. Have you seen a doctor? Has Chrissy?”
I slumped in my seat. “Stefan won’t take Chrissy to a doctor.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t go.”
I wanted to laugh. How could a doctor help with a possession? What I probably needed was a priest or exorcist.
Or maybe I needed to do that séance, after all.
Daphne squeezed my hand. “Let’s take this one step at a time. I think seeing a doctor is the first thing to do.”
I nodded, dropping her hand.
I wondered if I should just turn myself in to the cops. Or, maybe a mental hospital. Was that the safest, most prudent course of action? Maybe in the short term, but it wouldn’t help Chrissy. Everyone would just think I was crazy. Stefan would definitely think I was crazy. And if he decided to stay in that house, then Chrissy wouldn’t get the help she needed. She’d have no one. What would happen if the possession continued? Would both Mad Martha and Nellie try to possess her at the same time? Would she end up killing herself, if that happened?
I had to do something.
“Becca, are you okay?” Daphne waved her hand in front of my face. “Are you listening to me?”
I started to gather my things. “I’m sorry. I just remembered something I need to do. I’d better get going.”
Daphne opened her mouth like she was going to say something else, and then clearly changed her mind. “Okay. I’ll text you some doctor recommendations. And you’ll let me know what the doc says, right?”
I nodded, just wanting to get out of there. I needed space to think and figure out what to do.
Daphne slid out the booth and walked with me to my car. She hugged me tight, and I inhaled scents of lemongrass and lavender. Such calm, relaxing scents. I so wished those scents would bring me peace, but I suspected nothing short of a miracle would do that right now. “We’ll get through this. Call me.”
I closed my eyes and, for a moment, leaned against her and let myself despair. A part of me was feeling guilty for not telling her everything. Maybe tu
rning myself in really was the best move. Maybe that would break whatever spell or curse the house was under. I mean, if I was really possessed, would I be able to stop myself from doing what they wanted?
No. I had to go home and figure it all out. I would be very careful. But I had to get to the bottom of what was happening.
“I’ll call you,” I said as I slid into the car.
I considered my options as I drove. Over and over, my thoughts returned to the locket. That seemed to be the place to start. I couldn’t help but feel the locket was accelerating whatever had already been put into motion, and if I could just get it back, maybe then things would calm down enough so I could safely leave the house without feeling like I was leaving Chrissy alone and unprotected.
I decided I’d worry about the rest once I actually found the locket. That was what needed my attention right then—find it, get it out of the house, and away from Chrissy.
I let myself in the front door. The house was quiet—so much so that I wondered if anyone was even home. I checked upstairs. Stefan was in his office, door closed, on a conference call. I peeked in, mouthed “Where’s Chrissy?” He responded, “Out. How was the job hunt?”
I blinked. Job hunt?
Oh. My lie. I held my hands up in an “I don’t know” gesture and then crossed my fingers.
He smiled, gave me the thumbs up. Good girl. Glad you’re on board. Trust me, this is for the best.
I backed out of the room and closed the door before he could sense the truth and question me. I didn’t have time for more lies. This was my chance.
I quietly opened her bedroom door, revealing an empty room. I had no idea how much time I had—Chrissy could be home any moment, or Stefan could suddenly decide he needed some refreshment, and head down to the kitchen.
I started with the dresser and her jewelry box. Nothing. Not surprising, but a little disappointing. I did a quick search through her closet and chest of drawers, but found nothing but clothes.
The nightstand didn’t reveal much, either—a glass filled halfway with water, an earring, and her iPad. An uncomfortable feeling started buzzing around the back of my head. In New York, her room was full of personality—a unique blend of upscale design elements and her cherished teddy bear collection. This room was bare of anything that said “Chrissy,” other than her clothes.
Come to think of it, where was her teddy bear collection? Where was her modern asymmetrical black-and-white bedspread trimmed in hot-pink with matching pillows? Where was her massive nail polish collection? I saw only two colors on her dresser next to her jewelry box.
Why hadn’t she moved her things in?
I headed over to the bed, which still sported its original homemade quilt. I halfheartedly checked under the pillows. Chrissy had said I left the locket on her pillow after all. Next, I ran my hands under the mattress.
And felt something hard.
My heart started to pound as I pulled it out. Could it be the locket? No, it didn’t feel right.
It was the chef’s knife.
I stared at it, my hand numb. My mouth dry, I could taste terror in the back of my throat.
Why in God’s name was it hidden in Chrissy’s room? Under her mattress?
Did she put it there?
Or did I?
Like when I put the locket in her room?
I felt dizzy and nauseous. I had to get out of that room before I fainted, or worse. I turned and lurched toward the door.
My knees buckled as I saw it.
Another message on the mirror—a message that wasn’t there before, when I came in.
Different words, but still of smoke and blood.
Beware. It’s here.
Chapter 31
When I finally regained my senses, I found myself huddled on the floor of Chrissy’s room, still holding the knife. The words in the mirror were gone. The room was empty.
I had no idea what had happened. Did I faint? How long was I out?
From a distance, I could hear Stefan’s soft murmurings, presumably because he was still on the phone. I couldn’t have been out for that long. And Chrissy apparently wasn’t home yet either, so no one was any the wiser about my actions, thank God. The last thing I wanted to do was explain myself.
I stumbled to my feet, my entire body shaking, and staggered out of Chrissy’s room. As quietly as I could, I shut her door and made my way down the stairs to the kitchen.
I was shaking so hard, I could barely fill the tea kettle, and I splashed the water all over my shirt. I made a strong pot of tea, loading it up with sugar and cream, and sat at the table to drink it. Normally, I didn’t put either of those ingredients in my tea, but I seemed to vaguely recall something about sugar being good for shock.
It took a while, but the shaking finally stopped. Slowly, I got myself back under control.
But, with that control came the realization that I had no idea what to do next.
I knew I still needed to find the locket. But if it wasn’t in Chrissy’s room, where was it? Did I need to search the entire house? That might take a while.
And if it did, what else might happen while I searched? Would Chrissy get worse? Would there be more sleepwalking incidents? Could those sleepwalking incidents turn violent?
Why did she hide a knife in her room? Was it to defend herself?
Or to attack?
I shivered violently, spilling my tea all over the table, before forcing myself to swallow more. I couldn’t go there. Not if I wanted to be of any help to Chrissy.
Instead, I focused on the knife itself. What was I going to do with it? It’s not like I could put it back where it belonged in the knife block—I might as well hoist a banner announcing I had been snooping in Chrissy’s room. But, where else could I put it? Should I try to hide it somewhere in the kitchen? No, too risky. What if Chrissy found it again? Somewhere else in the house? No, what if Stefan accidentally stumbled upon it? How would I possibly explain that to him?
For lack of a better option, I finally wrapped it in a dish towel and buried it at the bottom of my purse. At least at that moment, it felt like the safest option.
With the knife secured, I turned my thoughts back to my next steps. Acting normal seemed like a good plan. I glanced at the clock. What would I normally be doing at this time? Ah, making dinner. Mechanically, I moved into the kitchen.
I decided I’d keep my eyes and ears open, and search for the locket whenever I could.
And I wouldn’t sleep.
Sleeping meant dreaming. Sleeping meant possibly losing control.
Definitely better not to sleep. Besides, as a bonus, that also meant I wouldn’t bump into Aunt Charlie and her tea, or Nellie, or Mad Martha.
“What are you doing?”
Stefan’s voice jolted me from my thoughts, and I jumped, dropping the potato I was peeling. “God, Stefan, you scared me.” I put my hand to my heart—tried to slow down my breathing. I’d had more than enough shocks for the day.
He took a couple of steps into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” he asked again, his voice quieter.
I fished the potato out of the sink to wash it off. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m making dinner.”
“We’re going out tonight. Don’t you remember?”
I looked blankly at Stefan, as my brain slowly registered the fact that he was wearing pressed khaki pants and a crisp, button-down shirt—definitely dressier than what he normally wore, working from home. He had shaved as well, but there was a puffiness around his eyes that made him look tired. He sighed loudly. “The Ellison’s. Remember? To help you find a job.”
Oh, God. I felt a sinking pit of dread in my stomach. Now I remembered. We were going to their house for dinner. Chrissy was at a friend’s house.
Stefan made a point of looking at the clock. “You don’t have a lot of time to
get ready.”
“Uh … right. I’ll go now,” I said, my gaze darting between Stefan, the clock, and my half-peeled potato. What do you do with a half-peeled potato? Would it keep in the fridge? Should I just throw it out? Maybe I’ll try the fridge first. I opened the door.
Stefan took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Did you say you were following up on leads today?”
Did I? I couldn’t remember anymore. It felt like a week had gone by since leaving Chrissy’s room. I nodded, feeling like that was the safest answer.
He made a point of looking me up and down. “You wore that to look for jobs?”
Oh no. I quickly dropped my gaze to see what I was wearing. Green tee shirt. Jean shorts.
I closed my eyes and swallowed. Crap. What was I thinking when I left the house? Why didn’t I dress up to see Daphne?
“I wasn’t thinking,” I said, which was the truth. How did other people keep all their lies straight?
“Rebecca, how do you expect to a get a job when you show up so … unprofessional?” He gestured at me.
I hung my head. “You’re right. I should have thought it through.”
“I know you don’t want to get a job, but I thought you agreed. I thought you were on board with it.”
“I was. I am. I’ll do better,” I said, trying to edge past him. “I’ll go change.”
He paused and cocked his head, studying me. “Did you actually job hunt today?”
My stomach flipped into a massive knot. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. My harmless little lie that seemed like such a good idea earlier was starting to feel not-so-smart now. “Of course,” I said, my voice sounding a bit strangled. “What else would I have been doing?”
“I don’t know, Rebecca. What else would you have been doing?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I really should get ready. We don’t want to be late.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Go get ready.”
I turned to leave the kitchen when he called me back. “You didn’t happen to run into anyone while you were out job hunting, did you?”
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 24
