Katherine curt and embarrassed, saying to someone, “Get Derek up, I’ll get my sister.”
Ellie on her back staring up at her stormy expression: “Don’t be jealous, Kat. Other boys might prefer you.”
Kat telling her to shut up and hauling her to her feet a trifle too roughly for Ellie’s liking. Ellie shoving her sister into Derek, who was staring at Ellie with a kind of fascinated disgust. Ellie saying to Kat, “You should have told him your GPA, he might have been interested in you.”
Kat’s face going hard, the entire bar ogling the scene: “For someone who gives up on things so easily, you sure don’t know when to quit.”
At the words Ellie came half-awake in bed, groaning, the sweat trickling over her jaw. Where the hell was Chris? She needed him to be here, to hold her hand, to slap her cheeks and rescue her from this maelstrom of hurtful memories before it could pull her down again, the sheets drenched and clinging to her calves, dragging her down…
…to Ellie’s first wedding reception. After returning to college and finishing up in a total of five years—something she considered an accomplishment given the fact she’d dropped out once and changed majors three times—she’d married Jason Halliday. Dreamy, affluent Jason Halliday, whose short game had garnered him an All-American honorable mention in golf, the boy whose dad owned several of the most successful Mercedes dealerships on the West Coast.
The boy who got drunk before his own wedding.
That part of him had excited her when they were dating, the rebel who didn’t give a damn what people thought of him and did whatever the hell he pleased. She’d gone to bed with him on their second date, though it hadn’t really been a date at all, just a party at his fraternity. From the beginning Jason Halliday had been different, his supreme confidence and devil-may-care attitude irresistible to her. When he asked her to marry him—they were at a bar, of course—she’d said yes, assuming it was a joke. Six months later she was propping him up as they hurried through their vows, Ellie thinking the entire time, For Christ’s sake, Jason, I like to have a good time, too, but aren’t you taking it a little far? Worried about what her parents would think, sickly mortified of what Katherine would say, Ellie did what she could to mask her groom’s inebriation, his cussing and lewd jokes during the picture-taking with the families, the grandmas smiling stiffly as Ellie blushed and prayed her new husband would stop dropping the F-bomb.
At the country club reception:
Beautiful night, beautiful crowd. Everything perfect except Jason, still nipping from a flask he’d smuggled in his tuxedo pocket. Removing her garter with his teeth in front of the hooting crowd, Ellie certain for one terrible moment he would attempt cunnilingus right there in front of everyone she knew. Jason smashing the cake in her face so hard he damn near broke her nose, Ellie pretending it was all a great time.
Standing with Katherine at the edge of the dance floor as Jason danced and flirted with the bridesmaids, Katherine saying, “Quite a man you’ve chosen for yourself, El.”
Ellie giving Katherine what she hoped was a withering look: “At least I’m married. Bet you never thought your kid sister would beat you to it, did you?”
Without missing a beat: “I only plan on doing it once.”
One wedding becoming another, Ellie’s ceremony with Chris:
Ellie sick with worry about whether her parents would show, knowing Katherine would come but wishing she wouldn’t. Katherine and her plain but steady husband and her too-adorable children…
Added strain from Chris’s stodgy parents and his horrid Aunt Lillith. She could feel the weight of Lillith’s stare, scrutinizing her, following her no matter where Ellie went in the outdated banquet hall they’d chosen for their reception. Cheap food, no dancing, the whole affair a pathetic shadow of the reception she’d had with Jason, which was painful and ironic, since she actually loved Chris. What was more, Chris was not only sober, he actually treated her like a human being.
Which made it a shame that she spent the entire day dreading what Katherine would say, what her parents would say, wondering if at any moment Aunt Lillith would sprout devil horns and lunge at her from her seat in the banquet hall. The reception half over before Katherine made her way over, Ellie’s mind an instant frenzy of defensiveness and anger.
But Katherine said, “I’m so proud of you, El.”
Steeling herself for the punch line, waiting for the dagger to jab and twist.
Kat went on, “We all make mistakes, and I don’t need to tell you that Jason was one of them…”
Ellie preparing to slash her sister’s face with her newly manicured nails.
“…but this time you got it right.”
Staring at Kat in astonishment.
“I mean it, El. Chris is a keeper. He’s sweet and sincere and intelligent.” Kat’s voice dropping to a whisper: “And he’s better-looking than Jason too.”
It was the only time that day Ellie cried, and not because her sister’s kindness had touched her, but because she’d lost most of what she considered her real wedding day worrying about nothing.
Now in her bedroom Ellie squirmed under the sodden sheet, moaning and sweating and enervated. She lacked the strength to cry out to Chris; she lacked the ability to stem the flow of memories.
And inside her head the haunting newsreel of the past continued to play.
The flashlight still pressing his belly and the cans of beer finished, Chris entered the main clearing at just before eleven. The hands of his watch glowed, but he suspected he’d be able to see their positions even had they not, so bright were the moon and stars tonight. Grinning like an idiot but unable to suppress his joy, Chris charged up the hill and did not pause until he reached its crest. The beer had given him a buzz—since his college days he seldom drank more than one or two—and the combination of alcohol and physical exertion was creating a sweaty kind of euphoria. The sweet fragrance of wildflowers drifted over him. Pivoting slowly on his heels, he took in a panorama of the meadow, even more glorious tonight than it had been the first time he’d visited. He chided himself for not yet bringing Ellie here. Before today’s incident with that stupid Rottweiler, she’d seemed to be coming around to the charms of the place. Not convinced they’d made the right move yet, but definitely regarding it with more of an open mind. Standing atop the hill, he had no doubt this view would erase whatever misgivings she still harbored. How could it not? The clearing, he now estimated, was closer to twenty acres than fifteen. Perhaps even more. The entire meadow was bathed in a ghostly silver; the tall grasses undulated in the warm spring breeze.
Chris surveyed the western horizon, where the ancient oaks and poplars rose higher even than the hill upon which he stood. He continued his turn until the pond came into view, the moonlight glimmering on its unbroken surface.
He caught sight of the other clearing, and all at once his good spirits disappeared.
Impossible, he told himself. I’m not really seeing this.
But he was.
Firelight. Flickering luridly on the trunks of the trees on the far edge of the smaller clearing.
But how…
Chris’s lips became a thin line.
Trespassers. That was how. The sons of bitches had parked along one of the country roads and hiked across his land to spend the night here. Who knew how many times they’d done this?
His chest began to heave, his fists to clench.
Goddamn them, they had to know he’d taken possession of the estate. The way Campbell acted at the library, the whole town knew everything about Chris and Ellie and their move.
He pictured the trespassers down there, burning his wood and defiling his land. Probably saying, Who gives a fuck about the new owner, he’ll never be the wiser anyway.
Wanna bet? Chris thought.
Skin ablaze, he started down the hill.
Ellie sucked in a hissing breath and sat up in bed. She realized she’d been crying. Her upper lip was coated with mucus and her eyes were bleary
. Worse, her throat felt like she’d gargled acid. The awful cough medicine taste still lingered on her tongue.
She gazed at the open door and frowned. If she’d been yelling all that time, why hadn’t Chris come?
Perhaps he did, she told herself. Maybe he came and held you. Who knows what he did or didn’t do? When you take Darvocet, all bets are off, remember? You might have stripped naked and done the chicken dance, so calm down before you condemn the poor guy.
She blew out foul-tasting breath and made a face, the noxious taste so bad she felt as though she’d been dragged across a river bottom with her mouth open. She peeled the clammy sheet off. At least her leg no longer ached. She supposed the Darvocet would ease the pain of her accident another few hours. Then, maybe, she could get some sleep that didn’t feel like a drug-induced haze.
Her arms weak and rubbery, Ellie reached over and twisted on the bedside lamp, which splashed its dim, buttery light across the room. She tugged a tissue from the box and wiped her upper lip clean. Then she blew her nose and lay on her side, panting from the effort. Maybe, she speculated, God was getting even with her for running over the dog.
She slid her legs toward the edge of the bed and slowly got to her feet. The wood floor bit like frost, and the soaked nightgown clung to her parasitically. She shuffled into the bathroom, reached down and, shimmying a little, she peeled off the nightgown and slapped it over the edge of the tub. The exertion made her light-headed, and she leaned against the tub, her naked rear end mooning the open doorway.
If Chris comes now, he’ll get an eyeful.
Yeah, she thought, that’s all he’ll get. Right now sex is the last thing I need.
The skin on the backs of her legs tightened, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable.
Someone was staring at her.
She whirled and saw Petey watching her from the hallway shadows.
The animal’s eyes on her crotch.
Ellie forced a laugh. “Nice view, huh, boy?”
Petey stared at her sex, his body strangely still.
But that wasn’t quite right, she realized with growing alarm. His body wasn’t unmoving. To the contrary, his glossy black coat shook with barely perceptible tremors. His glassy eyes gleamed with a voracious need that made her reach back, pull a towel off the shower rod and cover herself. Wrapping the fuzzy yellow towel around her breasts, her mid-section, she said, “Where’s Daddy?”
The animal moved quietly away.
She exhaled pent-up breath. The sedative, she thought. Your imagination’s running away with you, Ellie.
The way Petey looked at me wasn’t imagination.
Oh right. Your sweet family dog wants to rape you. For goodness’ sakes, would you get it under control?
Head clearing, she went back to the bedroom and put on underwear, sweatpants, and a T-shirt. She checked the clock, realized she’d been out for less than an hour. She’d certainly packed some unpleasant memories into a short period of time.
She’d find Chris and join him in whatever he was doing. If he was writing, she’d find a book to read and sit near him. He surely wouldn’t mind this once. The combination of Petey’s leering and her bad experience with the Rottweiler had fried her nerves; she needed the salve of her husband’s presence. She started down the stairs. Halfway to the first floor a knocking sound arrested her movements.
Dull, persistent, like a broken machine struggling to find a gear.
Damn. She blew a bit of hair out of her eyes. If it was the plumbing, they’d have to call someone first thing in the morning. Combine that bill with the deductible for the wrecked Camry, and this week would take a hefty bite out of their checking account.
So much for building their dream home.
She chuckled at her own impatience, as if they were going to break ground any time soon. She hadn’t even seen the site yet; perhaps she wouldn’t like it. Ellie flipped on the kitchen light and froze.
The basement door stood wide open.
Okay, she told herself. What’s the big deal? Chris went down there earlier and left the door open. Or he’s down there now investigating that thudding sound.
Ellie bit her lip, a new brand of fear causing her heart to speed. The problem sounded as if it were growing rapidly more severe. What if it was the furnace or the water heater?
Ellie reached the open doorway and gazed down into the dimness. The odor wafting up the grungy cement walls reminded her of her ill-advised backpacking trip. In rural England she and her boyfriend had been caught by a sudden downpour and had sheltered under an ancient stone bridge. From the road the idea had seemed both logical and romantic. She had followed the boy down the shallow embankment assuming they’d make love in the sand, build a fire, and eventually spend the night listening to the creek bubble beside them. What they found instead was a dank, fetid wasteland littered with jagged rocks and a dismaying array of refuse. The bridge had been built over a bend in the creek and the result was that every cigarette butt, every wrapper, and every dead tree limb that had fallen in the water had washed up here. They cast about searching for a suitable place to sit—their potential lovemaking a distant, curdled memory—and chose a low-ceilinged spot only to find moments later that there were several used condoms and rusty hypodermic needles half-buried in the mud. As for what happened next… Ellie shivered and thrust the memory away.
But the smell under the bridge, God that smell was very much like the odor plaguing her now, and the connection was enough to give her pause before plunging blithely down the steps in an attempt to diagnose the thud.
“Chris?” she said in a hushed voice.
She wondered why she was being so quiet.
“Chris?” she said, louder this time.
Still no answer.
Shit.
She backed away from the top step and leaned against the counter. If Chris wasn’t down there, where was he?
More importantly, Kat’s voice spoke up, if Chris didn’t open the door, who did?
That’s easy, she returned. It’s an old house. The damn thing groans and creaks all the time. Is it really such a stretch to assume that the door got blown open by a draft?
This is the first time it’s happened, El. Peculiar timing, don’t you think?
Shut up, Kat.
Ellie flipped on the basement switch.
A disheartening lack of light issued forth. She knew waiting any longer would only psych her out, so she took a couple steps down and winced at the way the stairs groaned. She paused and gazed down at the shadowed concrete floor. From her vantage point she couldn’t see much of the basement, but she could tell it was even darker down there than it was in the stairwell.
She’d need a flashlight.
Remembering the one under the sink, Ellie trotted back up the steps and across the kitchen.
She opened the cabinet, squatted, and frowned at the bottles of bleach and window cleaner.
Then it clicked. Two mysteries solved, she thought. The flashlight was with Chris, who’d gone exploring. It was the only logical explanation.
Relieved to know where her husband had gone, but slightly wounded he’d abandoned her, she stood and considered. Clearly, something was amiss in the basement. The thudding was becoming a booming. She could simply wait the sound out, see if it stopped on its own. Or she could head to town, find someone who could help.
It’s going on midnight. It’s pointless to go all the way to Ravana.
The sound heightened, thumping, pounding, the floor beneath her seeming to pulse. The idea rose in her that the entire house had awakened like some long-buried beast and she was now listening to its cruel heart circulating its lifeblood until it could suck her down its ancient gullet.
Ellie moaned. Maybe she’d go sit in the car.
Wimp.
She peered into the basement. She damn well wasn’t going down there without some kind of light.
She strode over and opened one of the kitchen drawers. Inside she found the bulky silver lighter
Chris had once purchased as a prop for a story he taught. Something about a man who bet people they couldn’t make their lighters light ten times in a row. If the lighter failed once, Chris explained, the man got to chop off the little finger of the person’s left hand. Shivering a little, Ellie tested the lighter, watched as it flared to life.
Then, she made her slow way back to the basement door.
She couldn’t believe Chris had left her again. The insensitive jerk.
Take it easy on him. You were out cold. He thought you’d be conked until tomorrow morning.
She sighed. He still shouldn’t have left. She was worried enough about her gynecologist appointment tomorrow as it was. What if she found out there really was a reproductive issue?
Making her way down the steps, she focused in on the noise. God, it was loud, a maniacal horde of blacksmiths down there hammering a seething row of forges.
What the hell could make that kind of noise?
She reached the base of the stairs and peered into the murk. To her surprise and dismay, there was only one yellow bulb down here, and it was spattered with what looked like decking stain.
Or dried blood.
Don’t even go there, she told herself. It’s not blood, and this is not the Amityville freaking Horror. You’re safe, Ellie.
There was a dog in that movie too.
The Darkest Lullaby Page 9
