“I’d appreciate if Melanie said. “It is kind of awkward.”
“I know how frustrating it is to be helpless,” Sarah said. “When I had a heart attack a few years ago, I was unable to do anything for myself for weeks.”
“I never knew you had a heart condition,” Melanie said. “You seem so healthy.”
“I’m better now,” Sarah said. “I haven’t had a second attack.”
“Thank God,” Marc said, squeezing his wife’s hand.
Sarah turned to smile at her husband, and as she did so she noticed that Alicen was staring intently at the diamond ring she wore. Sarah smiled a little at her, thinking how different she looked from the VanBuren children. While they were listening alertly to the conversation around them, Alicen seemed lost in another world. And while they were beautiful to look at, Alicen was plain and overweight. A feeling of pity ran through Sarah. Poor child, she thought, deciding to talk to her to make her feel comfortable.
“Do you like my ring?”
Alicen nodded, staring as if entranced by the reflection of the chandelier on the facets. Sarah took it off and handed it to her.
“It’s beautiful,” Alicen said softly. “My mother had one just like it”
Now Derek recalled the engagement ring he had given his wife. It hadn’t been as big as this one, but it was as beautiful. He felt his stomach twist as he remembered the last time he had seen the ring on the charred, twisted remains of Elaine’s hand.
“You were wearing that the other day, weren’t you?” Melanie asked, cutting off Derek’s gloomy thoughts.
“I always do,” Sarah said. “It’s a family heirloom, passed down to me from my great-grandmother. It’s a very dear possession.”
Alicen, responding to a prod from Gina, turned to show the brilliant gem to her friend. The two girls sighed over it.
“All right,” Derek said then, “you’d better give that back.” He didn’t want the ring to make Alicen start talking about her mother.
“I’m sure Alicen wouldn’t hurt it,” Sarah said, accepting the ring and placing it on her finger.
After dinner, at Sarah’s request, Melanie took her guests on a tour of the house. They ended up in Melanie’s studio. Sarah noticed the yellow paint stain on the couch.
“Accident?” she asked, sympathetically, looking at Melanie.
“The dog ran through here one night and knocked over a few things,” Melanie said. A glance at Gary produced a smile from him, as if he were telling her he was glad she had accepted that reasoning. It was one less thing for Melanie to worry about, he thought. He had expected her to be upset after hearing Derek mention Janice’s name, but she hadn’t said a word about it all week. In fact, she looked very sure of herself tonight. Gary wanted to kiss her but restrained himself.
“May I have a glass of water?” Sarah asked, coughing a little.
“Let me get it for you,” Derek said.
“I’ll manage,” Sarah said. “I need to exercise to work off that delicious dinner.”
She patted her stomach and went downstairs to the kitchen. Passing through the dining room, she paused to smell the flowers on the table. She was admiring the arrangement when she heard the voice from the kitchen.
“Murderers!”
Sarah tilted her head. The voice had certainly come from the kitchen, and yet it sounded so far away. Was it one of the children, playing tricks on her? Trying to frighten her?
“Murderers!”
“The little monkeys,” Sarah said laughing, pushing through the kitchen door.
Her smile vanished in an instant. It wasn’t a child at all, but a woman, one whom Sarah recognized. Horrified, she took in the stringy blond hair and pale skin. It couldn’t be—this woman had been dead for six months!
“Oh, dear,” Sarah moaned, touching her forehead. She felt the cold of her diamond against her skin. Trying to tell herself it was only her imagination, she moved to leave the room. But an arm wrapped around her neck, drawing her back. Sarah grabbed it. Her fingers squished through flesh and blood and bone as if the arm were made of clay. But it wasn’t clay. It was much too real, squeezing Sarah’s neck tighter and tighter. She couldn’t scream.
“You saw me,” her assailant hissed.
“No,” Sarah managed to whimper.
“You saw me, and you have to die now!”
Sarah’s heart began to pound. Pain rushed from the center of her chest to her underarms. Sarah knew the pain—a heart attack. And she somehow knew also that she wouldn’t survive this one.
Hail Mary full of grace . . .
Die!”
. . . the Lord is . . .
Something muddled her thoughts. Sarah saw lights flashing over her head, blinding lights. She couldn’t close her eyes.
This can’t be happening.
“DIE!”
Oh, please, God, I’m so afraid. I’m so fri—
Sarah Kaufman prayed no more. Her murderer stood back, letting the body sink to the floor, and looked at her handiwork. There were no marks on Sarah’s neck.
The ghostly being grinned. She had taken life, and she wanted more. . . .
Marc Kaufman turned around from a painting of Fire Island and said to Melanie, “You don’t suppose my wife got lost somewhere in this big house?”
Melanie laughed. “She probably stopped to talk with the children. I’ll go rescue her.”
She left the room. For some reason a sudden chill rushed over her as she descended the stairs, a cold feeling in her stomach. She had felt like that after hearing Derek mention the name Janice, but she had forced her fears away. After all, it was a very common name. It was only a coincidence that Derek had mentioned it. But why did she feel that same way right now, when nothing had happened?
Sarah wasn’t in the playroom. Melanie went to the kitchen and pushed at the door. It wouldn’t budge.
“Sarah?” Melanie called, pushing heavily against it with her shoulder. “Sarah, are you all right?”
No answer came, and Melanie stepped back to ram her body against the door with all her strength. Breathing heavily from the effort, she stumbled into the kitchen—half-tripping over Sarah’s prone form.
“Oh, my God,” Melanie whispered.
Sarah was staring up at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her wide and glassy eyes were fixed on the overhead light.
Melanie sank to the floor, reaching to touch Sarah’s face. Still warm. She looked so terrified—what had she just seen, Melanie wondered? She looked around nervously. But the kitchen was empty.
It was Kyle who broke her spell. Melanie jumped to her feet when she heard the door open, blocking her son’s way. He looked up at her in confusion and said, “I just wanted a glass of milk. What’s the matter?”
“Kyle, honey,” Melanie said, pushing him gently from the door so that he wouldn’t see Sarah, “run upstairs and get Mr. Kaufman. Tell him his wife had an—an accident.”
“What happened to her?” Kyle asked, trying to look around his mother.
“Kyle, please—”
“I’m going,” the little boy shouted, running away from her.
Melanie turned back to Sarah. Why couldn’t she stop looking at her? What in the hell did she expect to find in that frightened expression?
Marc and Derek entered the kitchen a few moments later.
“Gary’s calling a doctor,” Marc said. “Kyle said my wife hurt herself?”
“I—I think she had a heart attack,” Melanie said.
Marc’s reaction upon seeing his wife was barely audible. “Oh, dear Lord, Sarah—”
Without wasting a moment, Derek pushed Marc aside and dropped down next to Sarah’s body. At his instruction Melanie left the room to find a blanket. Derek pressed his mouth to Sarah’s, vainly trying to get her breathing again. She did not respond.
“I’ll try CPR,” he said, looking up at Marc.
“Just help her, please!”
Now Derek pressed the palm of one hand against t
he back of the other, interwining his fingers. He positioned himself over Sarah and pushed down on her chest. The muscles in his arms trembled with the effort, yet none of that strength would seep through to Sarah’s heart.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, standing. ‘There’s nothing more I can do.”
“Sarah . . .”
Sirens sounded in the distance just as Melanie returned with a blanket. Derek took it and laid it carefully over the woman. Marc watched all this, stunned and not believing. He hardly noticed the ambulance attendants when they lifted Sarah’s body and carried it out of the house.
Marc rode in the back of the ambulance, biting his knuckles. He was so shocked that he did not notice the heirloom diamond missing from his wife’s finger.
Melanie had another dream that night. She woke up with a start to feel a cold touch on her arm. But then she saw the woman with dark hair and somehow lost her fear. Without protest, she followed her downstairs. The woman turned to her. “It is beginning again.”
“What is?”
But there was no answer. Melanie felt her eyes closing, unable to stay awake. When she opened them again, she was back in bed with Gary snoring beside her.
9
Sarah Kaufman was laid to rest in an ancient family plot two days later. On her death certificate, heart attack had been written under cause of death. Marc Kaufman, though deeply grieved, accepted that. It did not occur to him to ask if his wife’s death had truly been from natural causes.
Melanie, feeling as great a loss as if Sarah had been a dear friend, walked slowly to her car from the graveside. She was sweating in the hot May sun, her dark brown suit making her uncomfortable. Underneath its bandage, her palm began to itch. Melanie tried to endure the pain, to make it dominate the memory of Sarah’s face. But that look of horror hovered in her mind like a dark cloud, menacing her.
“Wait a minute,” Melanie said to herself as she took off her jacket and got into the car. “Sarah had a heart attack. That’s all. It has nothing to do with anything that ever happened in my house.”
She turned on the radio to drown out her thoughts. But still her memory was overpowering. Vivid pictures came to her of the night of Gary’s accident. She could hear the screams of her children, echoing her own screams. She could see Gary flying out the window, glass sparkling in the moonlight.
And she saw a blond-haired woman sitting in her kitchen, looking up at her with wide blue eyes. . . .
“GO AWAY!” Melanie shouted at her memories.
She gritted her teeth and concentrated on the road ahead, but still there were tears on her cheeks.
“You’ve been crying,” Gary said when she got home. “Funeral upset you?”
“No,” Melanie said. “I was thinking about the—well, remembering the look on Sarah’s face.”
“Why?” Gary asked. “It was sad that she died, and a shock, too. But she did say she had a heart condition.”
“She looked terrified, Gary,” Melanie said. “As if she had seen something.”
Gary sighed very deeply and said with patience, “Melanie, she didn’t see anything. What would she see in an empty kitchen? She had a heart attack—maybe she’d rushed down the stairs too quickly when she left us.”
“I don’t know, Gary,” Melanie said. “I wish I could believe it was that simple. But I had another one of those ‘dreams’ last night.”
“What dreams?” Gary asked with concern.
“Do you remember the night you found me in the kitchen? When you said I was sleepwalking?”
“Yes?”
“I had two more of those dreams,” Melanie said. “Once that night Alicen saw a face under her floor grating, and again when Sarah died.”
“Both highly emotional incidents,” Gary pointed out.
“Maybe,” Melanie said. “And maybe they were only dreams. But I heard once that recurring nightmares mean there’s something heavy on your mind. What could a girl in old-fashioned, ragged clothes mean? Or the kitchen? It’s always in the kitchen.”
“Symbolism,” Gary said. “Is the girl so hard to figure out? She represents the olden days—Jacob Armand’s days. You’re thinking too much of him, Melanie. No wonder you have nightmares.”
“I don’t know.” Melanie sighed. “It seems the woman was trying to give us a warning. She even said: ‘It’s happening again.’ ”
“You’re the one who always insists it’s happening again,” Gary said. “You just put those words in another woman’s mouth. Your dreams simply state what’s on your mind.”
“Okay,” Melanie said. “Then what does the kitchen symbolize?”
Gary waved his hands. “I don’t know. Oh, God, Melanie! Don’t start talking about evil doings in this house. Your dreams are simply the result of too much emotional stress. They aren’t a warning of anything—except, maybe, that you need to get your mind off of all this.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my mind,” Melanie said darkly.
“Melanie, look,” Gary said, losing patience, “Sarah Kaufman died of a heart attack, that’s all! People die in houses all the time.”
“They seem to die more often in this house, don’t they?” With that, Melanie turned abruptly and went to her studio.
What was wrong with him? Melanie pondered as she daubed paint on her canvas. Why couldn’t he, just for once, give her the benefit of the doubt? Sarah must have seen something! It had started this way the last time, so subtly, the old lady next door dying on the hill between their houses.
But this time, Melanie vowed, I’ll be ready for it.
As she worked on her painting and occasionally stopped to look out of the studio windows, the beautiful sunny day gradually overcame her fears and worries. When she saw the school bus pull up, she was no longer in a dour mood. She watched the children climb the hill, racing each other. Kyle was first to reach the steps, Alicen last. Just a few minutes later, Kyle burst into her room.
“Hi, mom!”
“Hi,” Melanie said, laughing. “How’d you get up here so fast?”
“I ran all the way,” Kyle panted. His fair skin was flushed red. “I told Gina I could beat her upstairs.”
Gina entered the room a moment later, panting, too. Alicen, who had obviously given up, came in after her, breathing normally.
“You win, Kyle,” Gina said. She fished in her pocket and produced a quarter for her victorious brother.
“My kid’s a gambler?” Melanie asked.
“I didn’t think he could do it,” Gina admitted.
Now Kyle climbed onto one of the stools in the room, his book bag on his lap. From it he produced a box made from ice cream sticks, painted bright yellow. He held it out to his mother.
“Look what I made,” he said proudly. “My teacher said it was the best one in the class.”
“Well, good for you, Kyle,” Melanie said. “It’s very nice.”
“I’m going to give it to dad,” Kyle said. ‘To put in his office.”
“You should give it to mom,” Gina said. “Mother’s Day is coming up soon.”
She turned to Alicen and without thinking said, “What are you going to give your mother for—”
She cut herself off, her eyes opening wide. Looking at her mother for help, she began to blush. Then she turned back to Alicen and said, “Gosh, I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking, and—”
“It’s okay,” Alicen said, though she felt a pain deep inside. “It’s okay.”
Melanie, seeing how uncomfortable both girls were, quickly changed the subject. “Say, when is that class trip of yours?”
“It’s tomorrow,” Gina said.
“Already? Well, you’ll have a great time.”
“I can’t wait to go,” Gina said. ‘I’ve never been to a planetarium.”
“You know,” Melanie said, “I think there might be some books on the planets in our library. Why don’t you go see?”
Gina pulled Alicen out of the room. “Let’s go look, okay?”
Melani
e laughed. With kids like that, how could she ever have sad thoughts?
Alicen had tried to pay attention when Gina read off the statistics of Jupiter and Saturn. She had tried to listen to the conversation at dinner and to laugh at a joke Kyle told. But she was still smarting from the way Gina had carelessly mentioned Mother’s Day. She hated that holiday, when people sent cards and flowers to their mothers and stores were filled with sentimental posters. Why did they all have to remind her she didn’t have a mother?
She put her forehead down on her desk and cried softly. It just wasn’t fair! Some people had mothers and treated them horribly. But she wouldn’t, if her mother was alive. She’d be good to her, better than her father had ever been.
“Oh, mommy,” she whispered. “Why did Gina have to make me think of you dead?”
She sat up, shuddering. Drying her eyes, she looked over at her clock and noticed it was well past midnight. She’d have to fall asleep now, or she’d never be able to get up for the class trip. Trying to wear herself out, she got up and paced the floor. The rug felt soft and warm beneath her feet. She did not go near the grating.
“Mommy,” she whispered. “Mommy, mommy . . .”
Something creaked behind her.
“Aaallliiicceeeennnn!”
The voice sounded hollow and far away. Her heart beating loudly, Alicen hurried to the door to lock it. Who was out there? Was it just Kyle, teasing her? Or was it someone else?
“The door is locked,” she whispered aloud. “I’m safe in here. I’m safe.”
But suddenly she didn’t care who was in the hallway. Her muscles became like jelly, too weak to support her body. Her eyes drooped shut as she sank to the floor. Without warning, she had fallen asleep. But this wasn’t a real sleep that took her over.
In a minute she was on her feet again. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. Though the hallway was pitch black, she didn’t have to grope her way to the stairs. It was as if some unseen force had her by the hand and was leading the way downstairs.
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