by Adrianne Lee
Damn this fog. It hadn’t given an inch. He wanted to ram his fist through the glass and tear the cursed mist apart with his bare hands. The foolish notion only served to heighten his frustration. Swearing beneath his breath, he spun around and paced the floor.
Although the four walls seemed to grow smaller with each passing minute, he stayed in July’s room, gleaning what little comfort he could being in the presence of the only person in the entire household he knew he could trust without reservation. But his limbs tingled from the enforced waiting, and again and again, he trekked to the window, treading the same path across braided rugs and hardwood planks.
As the hour hand swept toward four a.m., Spencer thought he heard the wind whispering against the house. The harder he tried to listen, the louder came the rush of blood in his ears, blocking the sound. A fast trip to the window told him nothing new. The fog was still intact. Wishful thinking, he decided. Probably just the house creaking and settling, as usual.
Disheartened, he pulled a chair to the bedside, turned it backwards, straddled the seat, and laid his chin on the wooden backrest. As he stretched his legs, the toe of his shoe stubbed something solid beneath the fold of the bedspread.
Leaning over, he scooped a metal cylinder from the floor. It was an old flashlight. The plastic lens was cracked, a piece missing, and the beam of light cast by the tiny bulb hovered near death. He flicked it off and slid it to the bedside table, wondering what childish whim had driven his younger sister to procure the worthless thing.
Behind him the door opened. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother standing in the doorway. She was dressed for bed. A white nylon nightie winked from the gap in her flowing black robe as she swished into the room on high heeled mules. With her long dark hair hanging loose about her face, she looked absurdly young, almost innocent.
Her brows furrowed with concern. “Is she still asleep?”
Turning to regard July, he nodded. Cynthia crossed the room so silently that when her hand touched his neck, he jumped. Instantly she removed it, but he sensed her hurt and hated himself for distrusting his family, his mother in particular.
“There’s nothing we can do until this fog lifts. I’ve convinced August to lie down a while,” she said softly. “Don’t you think you should try to get some sleep, too?”
“No.” He spoke louder than he’d meant to.
July’s body jerked and her eyes fluttered open. She squinted against the light. “Spence?”
He angled around the chair and gently caressed her cheek. “Go back to sleep, twerp. It’s not time to get up yet.”
“Mommy?”
“We’re just checkin’ on you, sugah.” Cynthia adjusted the blankets at July’s feet which the child had kicked free during her restless slumber.
“I was dreaming.” As July struggled into a sitting position, her brows descended sharply. Fear and anguish telegraphed from her eyes. “April,” her voice caught, “fell off the cliff.”
“Oh, dear.” Cynthia rushed to soothe July, reassuring her that she had a nightmare, that April was probably only lost in the woods.
Spencer added his own assurances, but as much as he wanted to protect July, he pondered the wisdom of lying to her. He’d already experienced a dose of her perceptive powers. Had she sensed the tension among the adults and known they weren’t telling her their true suspicions about April? Had that brought on the bad dream?
July let Cynthia plump her pillows and ease her back to a prone position, but her little fists were still curled tight. “I’m afraid.”
Spencer’s gaze met his mother’s. He detested distrusting her, but had no help for it. Perhaps, he could help July. Let me try, he conveyed silently. Cynthia nodded.
Untangling himself from the chair, he set it aside and sank to the bed. His sister’s eyes were the size of golf balls, full of fear and misgiving, without a trace of sleepiness.
Spencer smoothed his hand across the soft skin of her forehead and cheek. “I know your dream seemed real, twerp, but it was only a picture your mind made up because you’re so worried about April.”
She looked anything but convinced.
He tried again, repeating his mother’s sentiment. “April is probably only lost in the woods.” The second these words left his mouth he knew July would realize even he didn’t believe this. Bearing that in mind, Spencer offered her the one truth he had. “As soon as the fog lifts we’re all going to go out and find her.”
“Can I come, too?”
“We’ll see.”
Looking somewhat mollified, July laid her head onto the pillow. As her eyes drifted shut, he whispered to Cynthia, “I’ll stay with her. Go see to August and get some sleep.”
She seemed about to offer him the same advice on sleep, but after a moment’s hesitation, she only nodded and left.
Spencer directed his attention to July. She appeared to finally be relaxing. As he watched, her left hand uncoiled slightly. A glint of color winked at him from the gap. Surprised, he leaned closer. He’d thought those fingers were curled from tension, now he realized she was clutching something in a life and death grip.
His curiosity aroused, he nudged the fingers further open with his thumb. July snapped into a sitting position as though her head were attached to an invisible string on which he had just jerked. Her fist locked on the object. Alarmed, he frowned at her. “What is it, twerp?”
July threw him a guilty look and shook her head stubbornly. “N… nothing.”
“All right. You don’t have to show it to me if you don’t want to.”
“I w-want to, but I c… can’t.” Cringing, July shrank into her pillow. A tear rolled down her freckled cheek. “I… I’ll g…get in trouble.”
“Not with me. It’d be our secret.”
She looked uncertain. “P…promise?”
“Promise.”
Slowly, she un-fisted her hand.
Rhinestones glinted at him in garish profusion from the turtle-shaped object that lay in her tiny palm.
“April’s turtle earrings,” he whispered. He smiled at July, his heart going out to the child who obviously wanted something of her big sister to hold on to. “It’s all right, twerp. I know April wouldn’t mind that you went into her room and took this.”
July’s face paled, and, impossibly, her eyes grew wider. “I didn’t get it from April’s room.”
A sudden premonition struck Spence. He felt his pulse wobble. “W…was April wearing her turtle earrings when she went out for her walk?”
Pressing her lips into a flat line, July answered with a nod of her head.
His heart stopped then restarted with a skip as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where did you find this?”
Tears puddle in her dark eyes. “Y…you’re m…mad.”
“What?” He realized he was holding her too tight and loosened her grip. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad, sweetheart. I just need to know where you found the earring.”
“I…I w…wasn’t supposed to…” Sniffling, she trailed off and turned her eyes away from his.
With his heart threatening to escape his chest, Spencer hauled her out of the covers and onto his lap, hugging her gently this time. “No one’s going to get mad at you, twerp. You’ve found the only clue so far that might lead us to April, but if you won’t tell me where you found it, I can’t help her.”
He felt the tension in her body ease. Swiping the sleeve of her pajamas under her nose, she snuffled. “I…I found it on the cliff.”
If Spencer hadn’t already been sitting down, he would have collapsed. Somehow, for July’s sake, he managed to keep his tone level. “Which cliff?”
“The one you can see from the living room.”
His gaze fell to the flashlight on the bedside table, and he guessed what the child had done, why she feared punishment. She must have waited until the grownups were outside and Aunt March was occupied elsewhere, then helped herself to a leftover flashlight and, defying orders to stay indoors, con
ducted her own search for April.
Unwished for images of the horror they would find when the fog lifted, when dawn came, ravaged his mind. Clinging desperately to his young sister, Spencer tilted his head back on his neck and closed his eyes, fighting the bile burning up his throat. The blood in his veins flowed icy, yet his body felt sweaty. Shaking uncontrollably, he dropped his chin to his chest, grazing the top of July’s head.
She crooked her neck and lifted her tear stained face to him. Her lower lip quivered. “April fell off the cliff, didn’t she?”
Chapter Nineteen
The cracking branch resounded like a gunshot to April’s terrified ears. As the limb broke free, she pitched away from the cliff wall.
Falling.
Her heart and stomach vied for position in her throat.
“Noooo!” Grappling frantically, she struck out with her foot. It hit solid granite. She shoved hard. Her body lurched left. Was it enough to center her above the flat shelf?
Dear God, please!
April plunged.
Faster.
Crashing waves chanted her dirge.
Icy water sprayed her pants leg, plastering the wet wool cloth to her calves like manacles of death.
Hope slipped away.
Then her foot struck ground. The impact jarred her body, twisted her ankle. Slammed to a stop, April crumpled like a boneless corset, vaguely aware that she’d missed landing on the pointed tip of the torn tree branch by mere inches.
For several minutes, she lay there, afraid to move. Her breath refused to lengthen into more than gasps and her heart had skipped and skittered so often through this ordeal, she was amazed at the ferocity with which it now walloped her rib cage.
But the damp, pebble-thick ledge supporting her felt as blessed as a down-filled pillow. The idea made her laugh, a long, high-pitched giggle that had nothing to do with humor, and had all the suggestions of hysteria. April clamped her mouth shut. This was no time to fall apart. She’d survived the worst already.
As her mind started to function normally, she recalled Spencer’s words about erosion and wondered how solid the ledge actually was. Slowly, April untangled her limbs, scooted her bottom into the mouth of the cave and pressed her back against the dirt and granite wall.
An oddly rancid scent wafted to her from inside the cavern. She peered uneasily into the inky depths. What could be in there that would create this odor? A dead animal? April shuddered. The only critters anyone ever mentioned in connection with the caverns were rats. The thought made her skin crawl. Maybe she should wait here on the ledge with the relative comfort of moonlight and familiar twinkle of the stars through the swirling mists.
But wait for what—some passing boat to see her? And how long might that take? Days? Weeks? Long enough for her to starve or freeze to death? No—as the waves viciously crashing on the rocks below tauntingly reminded her—this black abyss was the only way to safety.
Besides, misty patches were rising across the water, growing thicker as the minutes passed. April knew the weather could get densely, bone-chillingly foggy with little or no warning. The thought of the warmth of Calendar House made her acutely aware of how cold she was. She started to stand. Pain seized her ankle and raced up her left leg. Oh God, had she broken something? The ramifications of this possibility penetrated her shock. It was one thing to fantasize about traversing the cavern through the dark, past pitfalls and rats, to reach one of the sealed accesses in the basement. But injured?
Wincing, she sank back to the ledge, gingerly lifted the pant leg as high up her thigh as it would go, bent at the waist and gently patted the length of her leg. Her fingers were numb with cold and prodded too roughly a couple of skinned areas. April hollered “Ouch!” each time this happened; finding the verbal release soothed her nerves. At the end of her search, she pinpointed the center of pain, but had encountered no places where bone protruded flesh. A pent-up breath rushed from her lungs.
Feeling fairly certain the worst she may have suffered was a fracture, she struggled to her feet and cautiously plied her weight to the aching limb. Pain zinged from the ankle in question, but if she was careful, she could stand on it, even hobble. It was probably only sprained. Still…could she negotiate the maze of passageways?
Quit thinking negatively, she warned herself. She’d made it this far. Why be defeated by dwelling on the difficulties ahead? April wasted forty seconds arguing with herself, then suddenly her trepidation dissolved in the blaze of rage. How dare anyone try to end her life? How could she even have considered letting them get away with it?
Scooping up the tree limb to use as a guide or, if necessary, a weapon against small furry creatures, she limped into the dark hole.
Beneath her the ground dipped and rose in no particular pattern. She moved cautiously, deliberately, wielding the heavy stick like a blind person might a white cane, pausing when the pain in her ankle became too fierce. As the noise of the surf died away, the silence increased until the only company she had was the growling of her stomach.
She refused to let herself think of how hungry she was, or how terrified of the dark, or how frightened July and maybe even Spence would be when they found her missing. But she couldn’t repress the haunting question of who had pushed her off the cliff.
Had the same person penned the anonymous note, left the headless Barbie on her pillow? She had been so convinced these were the deeds of a coward, as were the attempt in the garage and the voice in the dark basement—for now she was certain there had been a real voice, not one dredged from her sick mind. But the wine racks and the shove from the cliff were acts of desperation.
A chill tore through April, and for a moment, she stood still and hugged herself. Who wanted her dead? And why? The blackness pressed in on her as menacingly as the adversary whose identity and motive she couldn’t fathom. Was the faceless someone afraid of what she would remember when the past came back to her? Was that the reason behind the attacks?
She shook her head as though that would rattle loose another chunk of the blockage, but as usual, the harder she tried to remember, the greater the throbbing at her temples. Forget it, she instructed herself.
Clinging to her shredded courage, April limped on. Her arm was starting to ache from the weight of lifting the cumbersome branch to whisk away unseen cobwebs. She lowered it to the ground and tapped the un-seeable passageway floor. Almost immediately, gauzy fibers crisscrossed her face. April squealed and slapped at the webs. For several seconds she was subjected to shudders as she swung the limb through the area near her head.
Feeling only half convinced no spiders were crawling in her hair, she forced herself to start moving again. Her foot landed in a hole, jarring the tender ankle. A sharp pain shot up her leg. As much from frustration as agony, she swore as loudly as possible.
From somewhere ahead there came an answering rustle.
Eying the darkness apprehensively, April froze. The odd stench seemed even stronger here. She swallowed past the lump building in her throat and took a cautious step forward. Her pulse thudded in her ears. She took another step.
The sole of her shoe connected with something slick. Instantly, her right leg slid forward, the left backward, leaving her sprawled on the ground like a collapsed tepee. Something slimy and smelly smeared across her hand. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she wiped it against her slacks. Cursing and moaning, she managed to stand. But the fall had exhausted her. For what seemed like an hour, she leaned against the cavern wall, breathing too hard. As some strength returned, she pushed away from the wall and forced herself to move.
An agitated rustle split the silence around her.
April’s heartbeat quickened. She had to get out of here, back to the safety of the house. Feeling foolish, she started to whistle, much as Lily had whistled on that fateful day twelve years ago when she’d interrupted Spencer and April’s first kiss.
A sudden flapping jerked her to a halt.
Her eyes widened, but saw no clearer
. “I…is someone there?
A screech had April slamming her back to the wall. She heard the whoosh. Then flapping wings. Something grazed her hair. And another and another.
Bats!
She swung the branch, but the attacking swarm broke her grip. The limb fell. April covered her head with her hands and dropped to the cave floor, screaming.
The startled creatures screamed back.
Like a bolt from the blue, inside her mind April heard another’s screams. Her mother’s. Suddenly, behind her closed eyes, she started to remember, to see.
April realized she was reliving again the incident in the basement right after Lily had interrupted Spencer and her first kiss. Now, she was standing in the shadows of the basement stairs, listening to the clump of Spencer’s shoes ascending the risers. When he reached the halfway mark, she heard Lily say, “Oh, darling, you startled me.”
The footsteps continued upward to the landing.
“I need a little winey-poo for my empty glass.” Lily’s voice sounded slurred. “Lord, I didn’t know how I was going to manage that spooky ole wine cellar alone, but as you can see, I’m desperate. Come along, darling.”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“Had enough? Well, maybe you’re right, darling.” Lily had dropped her voice seductively. “What do you suggest instead?”
There was a whisper of fabric and then silence. April crept from her hiding place. The scene that met her eyes set her back on her heels. Spencer was kissing her mother.
But no.
His hands were on her upper arms, and he was trying to disengage her hold. Lily was the one doing the kissing. Jealousy and anger tangled inside April, but she held her tongue.
