by M. S. Parker
“You’re like a kid in a candy store.” Shaking my head, I tried to find some of the excitement he felt, but it wasn’t there.
I wasn’t…bored, or apathetic—for once—but the light-hearted exuberance he felt seemed to completely escape me. My heart ached inside my chest, and I couldn’t understand why.
“How did she die?”
“She killed herself.” He opened a door and slid inside, only to re-emerge a few seconds later. A cobweb clung to his hair, and I brushed it aside before we started on to the next room. “She was involved with this guy—another member of the Hollywood elite—Glenn Jackson.”
Uncle Daniel paused, sighing. “He was terribly talented, you know. One of the best. But while Glenn might have been a good-looking guy and a great actor, he was apparently something of a heartbreaker. He left a slew of ladies in his wake. Most of them were fine with his love ‘em and leave ‘em style, but there were some…” His words trailed off, and he sighed. “Florence was one of the worst. When he left her, it destroyed her. She killed herself. And she wasn’t the only tragedy in his world—they seemed to follow him.” He came to a halt in front of a door and shot me a grin. “This is it.”
For some reason, I felt lightheaded. I didn’t know why. My ears popped, the way they would if I’d been on a plane, and my heart began to hammer away in my chest.
I don’t think I should go in there, I thought.
How crazy stupid was that?
As my uncle swept his flashlight around the room, I eased in, keeping my back to the wall.
It was like a sad, lovely dream.
Cobwebs lay thick over everything, but under them I could see an old-fashioned dressing table, the kind that had a full, fussy skirt to go along with it. What looked like makeup still littered the surface, and I found myself drawn closer, despite my uneasiness.
“This is amazing,” Uncle Daniel said behind me.
“Yeah.” I reached out and touched a golden tube, then a brush. The dust was thick under my fingertips, and a cold chill ran down my spine—but for some reason, the brush felt warm under my hand.
I sat down in the chair without thinking.
It creaked ominously, and part of me thought it might be a good idea to not sit in something so old and fragile, but I couldn’t move.
A sharp noise, jangling and discordant, had me jumping.
Uncle Daniel gave me a pained look. “Sorry, sweetheart. A phone call, I gotta take it.”
I nodded and got out of the chair, still looking around. “Should I…”
“Oh, you’re fine. Just don’t touch anything, okay?”
I smiled at him and turned back to the room, still sketching my light around it as he slid outside, partially closing the door.
There was a small desk in the corner, just as feminine and delicate as the dressing table. Moving closer, I darted a look toward the door. I couldn’t hear Daniel’s voice anymore.
There was a small book on the desk—a journal, I realized.
My fingers shook as I reached out to touch it. “Don’t,” I said, grimacing a little because I knew I wouldn’t listen to myself. The thing was so old, it was a miracle it hadn’t fallen to pieces. Instead of listening to my own advice and common sense, I picked the journal up.
It didn’t feel fragile.
It felt warm. Very warm and solid.
I almost dropped it.
But instead, lip caught between my teeth, I eased the cover open.
Florence Wood.
The name was written in delicate script along the first page.
It was her diary.
I went to put it down, feeling like a voyeur.
A door slammed.
Startled, I dropped the diary, and it fell to the floor. Swearing, I went to my knees, searching the floor with the thin beam of the flashlight as I hunted for it. Passing my hand over the floorboards, I muttered to myself. “Don’t touch anything, Maya,” I said. “Good advice.”
Yeah, so why didn’t I take it?
There was a ridge in the floor, and I paused for a second, before feeling my way along the ridge. There was a seam there. “Whoa.”
I saw the diary just as I found the latch.
“Oh, cool,” I murmured.
Even though I knew it was the last thing I should do, I pulled on the latch, and with a groan, dragged up the floorboards to reveal a dark cavern. The opening yawned in the darkness below me.
“Secret room.” I couldn’t help it. I started to grin. “That’s so cool.”
Angling the flashlight, I studied the odd contraption that led down into it. I couldn’t quite call them stairs—they were too short, stilted and steep. It was more like a ladder.
Curiosity tore at me, and I hesitated only a minute before sitting on the lip of the entry and sliding my legs down. I had to put the flashlight down as I tried to find my footing, but I couldn’t quite hold it and still manage the strange grip of the steps.
“I’ll just use my phone,” I muttered. I propped the flashlight so that the end of it was on the diary, giving me a little more light as I started down. With my feet on the floor, I looked around, feeling a weird sort of triumph.
Once down, the flashlight wasn’t giving off much light, so I pulled my phone from my pocket and turned it on. It was brighter than the flashlight, but the beam didn’t penetrate the gloom quite as far, and I found myself inching deeper and deeper into the little room.
It was narrow, the roof low, but like the room overhead, it was elegant and feminine. A pretty chair in a corner, a small bed tucked against the wall. There was a giant stuffed bear on it, and the table next to the bed held a vase. I eased closer. The light from my phone glinted off something on the table and I reached out, picking up the chain.
A delicate golden heart swung from the necklace.
A locket.
“Pretty,” I murmured, blowing some of the dust from it. I sneezed, some of the dust flooding my nose and tickling my throat.
Eyes watering, I started toward the ladder, the necklace still swinging from my hand, the heart swinging against my thigh. I really should get out of there, but I was…fascinated.
Had Florence come down here? Had the necklace been hers? The bear? Had she laid on the bed to rest between takes?
I eased closer to the bed, eying it dubiously. It was rotted through and through, and the quilt was shabby and gray, but I had the weirdest image in my mind—if I closed my eyes, I’d see this room as it should be, as it had been.
Amused by the idea, I did just that.
But when I opened my eyes, nothing had changed.
“Silly girl,” I whispered, shaking my head.
I turned back to the trap door that would lead me back up to the main floor, but before I could start up the stairs, I paused and looked back, remembering the necklace.
I sucked in a breath, gaping at the room.
Brilliant light greeted me.
The bed was covered with a fluffy white comforter, dotted with little purple flowers.
The bear was white, too, with a silly purple bow around its fat neck.
I yelped, surprised. Falling back against the ladder, I clapped a hand over my eyes.
I hit the ladder—hard—and ended up on my ass.
Overhead, I heard something thunder and crash—oh, shit.
The door.
The door had closed—
My phone hit the floor, and the light went out.
Panic choked me and I went to my knees, sweeping my hand around for the phone, but I couldn’t find it.
“Don’t panic,” I said.
Uncle Daniel was just outside the door.
“Don’t panic.”
But I couldn’t help it.
I was about ready to panic like fucking hell, and the longer I went without finding my phone, the worse it got.
I sucked in a breath, not realizing how stupid it was until it was too late. But the dust didn’t choke me.
I smelled…roses.
&nb
sp; A shiver raced down my spine. My fingers hit the wall and I braced my back against the wall, slowly standing up. Sweeping out with my hand, I searched for…something.
I didn’t know what.
When my fingers hit the lightswitch, I laughed, almost hysterically. There wouldn’t be any light here.
None.
This place was abandoned—like haunted house, creep park abandoned. Did my uncle know this room was even down here?
But none of that knowledge kept me from flicking the switch.
The light that flooded the room was too bright—and weird.
It buzzed.
I gulped back a breath, my heart slamming so hard I couldn’t even breathe.
“Shit,” I whispered. “Shit.”
The room looked just as it had in that blink before I’d fallen.
There were roses in the vase on that little table by the bed.
The teddy bear with his big, black eyes and that floppy purple bow around his neck. Head spinning, I looked down at the necklace and saw that it glinted soft and gold, no longer dusty and dull from years of neglect.
“Oh, shit. Oh, shit.”
A door opened.
I felt a rush of cold air whisk over me and I spun around, looking up, my uncle’s name already on my lips.
But it wasn’t Daniel.
A man glared down at me.
“What are you doing down there?!” he demanded. He beckoned at me impatiently. “Nobody should be down there.”
I looked behind me, feeling like I was about to go insane. What was going on?
“Come on, come on,” he said impatiently. “She’ll be here soon.”
“Who?” I asked, confused…and a little scared. “And I’m sorry, but where did you come from?”
He looked at me like I had lost my mind. “I don’t think you’re in the position to ask questions here, girl. How did you get down there anyway? That’s Miss Woods’ personal space.”
“Miss…” I clambered up the stairs, staring at him. Oh, man. Was I having some kind of flashback? I’d only ever done cocaine and some weed. Could they give you flashbacks? Had I fallen and hit my head? Was this a nightmare? “What do you mean, Miss Wood?”
He caught my arm and started to drag me unceremoniously across the floor. I couldn’t help but notice how bright and shiny and clean everything looked.
“Would you stop jerking on my arm?” I demanded, trying to twist away from him. Acutely conscious of the necklace now, I palmed it and then slid it into the pocket of my jeans, glaring at the man who was still half-dragging me down the hall.
“Be quiet,” he ordered brusquely.
“I…” Shaking my head, I looked past him, staring at the door.
That was where I saw it:
A wall calendar.
My mouth fell open.
“What?” I whispered.
The calendar read…June.
1962.
4
Maya
June 1962.
Sucking in a breath, I stared at the calendar for a hard moment, then rubbed at my eyes. I wasn’t seeing this.
I wasn’t.
“Miss!”
Shaking myself, I focused on the man standing next to me. It was a joke. Had to be.
1962.
Sure.
“Where’s Daniel?” I asked, trying to smile.
“Who?” He looked confused and shook his head. “I don’t know who Daniel is, but you better stay out of Miss Woods’ private quarters. I don’t care if you’re part of her crew or not. She needs her own space to decompress.”
He frowned at me and shook his head, before turning on his heel and walking away.
“Miss Woods,” I muttered to myself once I was alone.
Turning, I looked around the room and bit my lip. It was the room I’d been in just a few minutes ago—or at least it seemed to be. Just a lot cleaner. Brighter. Less abandoned. And of course, that calendar on the wall was weird.
Weird.
A laugh that bordered on hysterical escaped me.
No. It wasn’t weird. It was a calendar from over fifty years ago—that wasn’t weird. That was fucked up.
“Uncle Daniel?” I called out quietly.
He had to be somewhere. This was a trick or something. A prank. It was…it was…
Something on the table caught my eye and I blinked, a wave of dizziness washing over me. The diary. I’d just been looking at that diary. Nervous, I picked it up and flipped through it.
There were a few days missing, I realized.
“This is crazy,” I muttered. Rubbing the back of my neck, I went to put the diary down, but stopped, and flipped through it again. It wasn’t the same as what I’d seen before. Several pages were missing.
The ones I’d seen at the end had been…sad.
Full of despair and loss, hopelessness.
These pages though…they were happy. Hopeful. What in the world had changed in the span of a few days? A few weeks?
Oh, man…I sound like I’m actually…I didn’t know what to think.
The diary, though. The diary. How could I explain all this craziness? The diary. The difference in the rooms. The difference in the diaries? Like…why were there days missing?
A strange little voice in my head murmured, Maybe they just hadn’t been lived yet.
A shout outside the door had me jumping, and I looked around guiltily. I had to get out of there.
With every passing second, I stopped thinking it was likely that Uncle Daniel would show up and tell me this was some kind of prank for a reality TV show. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money, or the resources, but why would he do this?
The sharp edge of the heart’s point cut into my palm as I slid outside, my grip on the locket getting tighter and tighter.
Outside the room, there was a flurry of activity. A few people looked at me, their gazes bouncing off me for a moment, then returning. Blood rushed to my face as I realized how much attention I was attracting, although it wasn’t hard to figure out why, not once I looked around.
I was Latina, but that wasn’t really what had people looking at me.
My darker hair and pale skin didn’t stand out all that much, really. However, the skinny-strapped tank top and my low-riding jeans seemed to draw some attention—probably the top more, although I didn’t see anybody else in jeans. Most of the women were wearing skirts or dresses, the men in dapper suits that would have looked right at home on Wall Street.
“Miss?”
I glanced over at a man standing just off to my right, and realized he had probably been trying to catch my attention for a minute or two. “Yes?”
“You’re in the way!” He flapped his hands at me, and automatically I stepped aside. A split second later, a heavy rack of clothing was pushed in front of me.
I stared at the pretty dresses for a long moment, then looked down at my clothes, acutely aware of how out of place I looked.
Really, I wasn’t showing that much skin, but my clothes were so…casual. The jeans that had seemed perfectly acceptable earlier made me stick out like a sore thumb now.
I rubbed at the back of my neck and shot another look at the rack of clothing.
My head was spinning.
Too many voices. Too much to see. To process.
“Have you seen Miss Woods?”
The voice came from nowhere.
I looked around, trying to figure out who’d asked.
“Anybody know where Miss Woods is? Her lunch is here.”
Miss Woods. Miss Woods.
The necklace in my hands seemed to burn hotter and hotter, pulsating in time with my heart.
“Miss Cruz!”
I spun around and gawped at the man in front of me.
He was trim and handsome, though probably in his early fifties. But that wasn’t the reason I stared. It was because he looked at me like I was really there.
“Miss Cruz?”
Okay, this was getting really weird. How
did he know my name?
“Yes?” I said cautiously, shooting another look around and hoping to see Uncle Daniel lurking in a corner, although how could he have pulled off something like this? Unless he had David Copperfield or somebody like that on standby, there was no way he could have pulled this off in the split second I’d gone and blinked. Maybe I’d hit my head when I’d fallen…
The man was either unaware of how preoccupied I was, or he didn’t care, because he planted himself in front of me and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m going to need an answer, Miss Cruz. Were you able to get one?”
“Excuse me?”
He looked put out. “I understand this is your first day and you’ve been thrown into the thick of things, but if you want to survive being an assistant here, much less an assistant to one of the biggest up and coming stars in the business, you need to focus.”
His brows beetled over his dark eyes, and he shook his head at me.
“I…”
His mouth drew tight. “Didn’t you speak to Miss Woods? Did she give an answer or not?”
“Miss Woods…” I glanced over my shoulder at the door to the dressing room. “She…um…yes.”
“Yes? Perfect.”
Yes? “Wait!”
He scowled, but I didn’t think it was at me precisely. Shooting his watch a look, he cocked a brow. “I’m a busy man, Miss Cruz.” Then, to my surprise, a smile softened his face, making him look even younger than I’d first assumed. “Although, maybe I’m too busy if I’m trying to rush out on such a beautiful woman. By the way, I know you’re new in town. Did you have plans for the night?”
“Plans?” Yes. I wanted to wake the hell up from this crazy dream. But I was starting to think it wasn’t a dream. I was starting to think it was real—very real.
Somebody bumped into me, and I glanced over just in time to see a man in a blue jumpsuit dip his head at me. “Apologies, miss.”
Miss.
Everybody was calling me miss.
The clothes.
This was all beginning to feel far too surreal—and far too real.
“Why don’t you be ready at seven as well?” His eyes flicked over me, and he smiled. “I assume your luggage has arrived? If not, we can see about finding you something to wear.”
