THE DISTANCE BEWEEN STARS
NICOLE CONWAY
Contents
Also Available From Nicole Conway
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes copyright violation.
Copyright © 2017 Nicole Conway
All rights reserved.
Cover art designed by GermanCreative of Fiverr.com
ISBN -10: 1545399174
ISBN-13: 978-1545399170
ISBN: 978-1-5453-9917-0
Created with Vellum
To Emily Wilkes
Also Available From Nicole Conway
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1
INTERVIEW
—Joseph—
"I see here you have quite a lot of experience in construction work and even some personal security. This seems like a bit of a drastic change, Mr. Clancey." The old woman looked down her nose at me. Something about the pinched up, sour frown on her lips didn’t give me friendly vibes.
I nodded.
"Why the change?" Her eyes narrowed. She'd been sizing me up from head to toe since I walked into the restaurant. Granted, it was a pretty swanky place and I was the only guy there in flannel. Our waitress stared at me like I’d just stepped off an alien spacecraft whenever she stopped by to refresh our drinks.
I picked up the pen and started to write in my pocket-sized note pad. I slid it across the table for her to read.
Needing something more steady and long-term.
She pursed her lips. "I'll be perfectly honest, Mr. Clancey, I had intended on hiring someone much older than you are."
I raised an eyebrow, wondering why anyone would prefer an old handyman and groundskeeper. For experience? Eh, maybe. But if you wanted hard work done, better go with someone who was physically up to the task, right?
"I've already contacted your previous employers. They all seemed very fond of you." She looked down at the folder that contained what I assumed was my application. "I also contacted the police and had a private investigator make sure you had no past felonies. Not even a parking ticket since you turned eighteen as far as the police could tell."
Wow. She was a thorough old bird, I'd give her that.
"You have no family of your own. No wife or children. Your brother is a medical doctor." She stopped there and glanced up at me again. "But he wasn't able to do anything about your condition?"
I smirked and added another line to my sheet of notebook paper:
He isn't that kind of Doctor. He's an oncologist.
"I see. And what have your doctors said about your condition. Are you going to regain your speech?"
I shook my head slightly. It wasn't likely.
"Are you mentally stable? I've researched that some people with PTSD can be very unpredictable."
I've never tried to harm myself or others if that's what you're worried about.
She closed the folder. "Well, I suppose you are a good candidate for the position. Your background in security could be useful as well."
I wondered what kind of shrubs she had that might need a bodyguard.
"Very well, Mr. Clancey. I will offer you the job. You can begin on Monday at promptly 8 AM. I will go over the rules and procedures before you begin."
She stood up, moving faster than I expected for someone her age. The lengths fell out of her black broomstick skirt. She was a scowling old woman, thin as a reed, with graying hair stretched back into a tight bun. There was something very old school puritan about her—like she might be on her way to burn someone at the stake later.
Regardless, she kind of creeped me out.
I grabbed my Carhart jacket off the chair next to me and got up, cramming my notebook and pen into the pocket. Then I showed her a grateful smile and offered to shake on it. Seemed like the friendly thing to do.
The woman eyed my outstretched hand like it was something grotesque. "I'll see you on Monday. Don't be late," she said sharply right before she walked out, leaving my hand hanging awkwardly in the empty air.
2
GHOSTS
—Joseph—
Monday morning—8 AM on the dot—I was standing on the front porch of the Filibrault Manor, ringing the doorbell. The Army had taught me a thing or two about punctuality. Once I had a set time in my head that I had to be somewhere, I couldn't stand to be late. Old habits, I suppose.
Never in my life would I have imagined I'd be working at this old place. I'd driven past it plenty growing up. Honestly, it was a small miracle it was still standing. And now someone was actually living in it? Geez.
The Filibrault Manor was something of a local legend to those of us raised in the small city limits. It was the kind of place you dared your buddies to ring the doorbell at, just to see if Igor answered. Not that I’d ever tried it myself. I was usually the one doing the daring, back then.
The house was tall and spooky, with about thirty or forty windows, overgrown hedges, and a big weeping willow out front. Most of the shutters had already fallen off, and the few that remained were dangling by a nail or two. The gutters were rusting, the front porch was sagging, and the roof was missing quite a few shingles.
No wonder they needed a handyman.
Back in the day, when the paint wasn't chipping off and the sidewalk wasn't cracked from the growth of tree roots, it must have been an enchanting house. There were lots of older homes on this side of town, but none of them compared. The manor had tall circular tower with a cone shaped roof on the far side that made it look like a castle or a dollhouse. I leaned back a little to glance up at it.
There was a figure standing in the window.
Or was there? As soon as I had convinced myself to look back and check, it was gone. Nothing but drapes covering the dark glass pane. My skin did that prickly thing as chills climbed my spine. Creepy.
Maybe the place really was haunted.
The old woman answered the door wearing basically the same disapproving scowl and black
ensemble as before. This time it was a straight skirt and a long sleeved blouse with a high neck. She studied me, my well broken-in work clothes and scuffed up boots, and puffed an impressed sigh. "Well, at least you're on time."
I smiled.
"Very well. Come in."
It was as though the house swallowed me whole. As I stepped inside, I was suddenly immersed in darkness and the rich smell of furniture polish. The house was every bit as gloomy on the inside as it was out front. The windows were covered with heavy embroidered drapes that pooled on the dark wood floors. Victorian era furniture with clawed feet crouched in corners and along the walls. Narrow hallways trailed off around abrupt corners like crooks in a maze. All the knobs were glass, all the fixtures were brass, and I couldn’t take two steps without a floorboard groaning under my feet.
"You may call me Mrs. Pearce," the old woman announced without looking back. "I'm the housekeeper, in charge of all operations within the household. I run a very tight ship, Mr. Clancey. My employer doesn’t like any inconveniences and we run on a strict schedule."
She sounded very proud of that fact as she walked on briskly, nose in the air, leading me deeper and deeper into the house. I kept expecting us to reach the back door but it was as though the interior of the house defied physics. Heh—bigger on the inside, I guess you could say.
Suddenly we stopped.
To the left was a tall doorway that led into a kitchen fit for a premiere chef. In there, all the fixtures looked brand new. The gas range stove was made of polished steel, and I had to admire all the attention to detail. Someone had spent a lot of time putting in that mother of pearl tile backsplash.
A short woman stood at the deep stainless steel sink with her back to us. Her black hair was tied up into a neat bun. I couldn't see but it sounded like she was washing dishes.
"This is Mrs. Rhonda Nelson. She is our hired chef. She also maintains some of the daily household tasks."
At the mention of her name, the woman turned around. She was much older than I expected. But her dark eyes glittered in the dim light, shining behind her narrow framed glasses as she looked at me and grinned. There was something comforting about her smile.
Mrs. Pearce made a small gesture to me. "Rhonda, this is Mr. Clancey. He's the new groundskeeper. Please bear in mind he's a mute so any responses from him will have to be in writing."
A mute. Funny how when you become disabled you become something other than human. I’d gotten good at holding my poker face, but it was like a sucker punch to the gut every time someone called me that.
"Rhonda serves our meals daily as well as afternoon tea. You are permitted to partake; we only ask that you inform her in advance so she has prepared enough." Mrs. Pearce began to turn away to continue her tour.
Rhonda winked at me. "I also put the coffee on early and leave egg salad sandwiches fixed in the refrigerator. You can have as much as you like."
I was starting to like Rhonda.
After a marathon tour of the house’s first floor and all its gloomy, elaborate rooms, Mrs. Pearce led me outside and introduced me to the work shed. It was mostly hidden behind two huge oak trees, the tin roof slumped under the weight of many years’ worth of fallen leaves and branches. This would be my domain.
The inside wasn’t much better off. It was a wreck and most of the tools were either ancient or hadn't been used in years. I was going to need to bring some things from home. But otherwise, I could make do.
"I operate on a three rule system, Mr. Clancey." She leered down her nose at me severely. "Show up on time, do your job, and you must never, ever, go upstairs without myself or Rhonda to escort you. I cannot stress the importance of this. I realize there will be a great deal of work to be done on the second and third floors, but you must not go up without our knowledge and presence."
Was she afraid the ghosts would get me? I tried not to smirk at the idea.
"If you think you can handle these simple rules then all will be well. You are permitted a one-hour break for lunch. Your work day will conclude at 5 PM although during the winter months we ask that you depart before sundown."
Definitely ghosts.
"Does this sound achievable for you?" Her brow arched sharply.
I nodded, smiled, and started rolling up my sleeves.
She pressed her lips together in a stern but approving expression. "Good. I will leave it to you, then."
That's all I needed to hear.
Once I was alone in the shed, I got to work. I began dragging everything out and sorting it into two piles: the "crap to throw away" and "might be salvageable." I worked all morning straight up till noon. After loading all the garbage into the bed of my pickup, I went in for a few of those promised sandwiches and coffee.
Rhonda was still cooking, but she didn't say much as I sat at the end of the counter, ate, and began making up a crude to-do list for this week. Taming some of those shrubs would be a battle in itself. Hedge clippers weren't going to cut it—literally. I was going to need to rent some more heavy-duty equipment.
I'd start on the grounds and assess the damage and repairs on the house as I went. That was bound to be a bigger job. The roof alone was going to take a month or so if I did it all by myself. I gnawed on the end of my pen and thought. I'd have to make up a supply list, too, so I could get the funds from Mrs. Pearce for all the materials.
"A lot to do, isn't there?" Rhonda smiled as she walked past.
I puffed a heavy breath, rubbing my forehead. Yes. There was a lot to do. This place had suffered more than its fair share of neglect. Reviving it was a tall order for one person.
Two sandwiches later, I went back outside to get started. The sky was gray and overcast, as it often was in this part of the country. We didn't see much sunshine. It suited me fine. I liked the deep, cold winters, the dense forested slopes of the mountains that made mosaics of warm colors in the autumn, and the perpetual smell of an impending rainstorm. Something about it all spoke soothing words to my soul and kept the flames of memory at bay.
I worked again until nightfall. Rhonda wasn't in the kitchen and Mrs. Pearce was nowhere in sight when I went to grab my coat. I left a note saying I would be going the next afternoon after my lunch break to purchase some tools and materials so I'd need her approval. Then I got in my truck and to leave.
I was fiddling with the radio, looking for a station that wasn't on a commercial break, when I got that weird prickly feeling on my arms and the back of my neck again. It was that eerie sense of being watched.
I glanced up, my eyes catching movement in the upstairs window of the circular tower again. Someone was watching me. It looked like a girl, but I couldn't make out the details. Suddenly, the curtains snapped shut and she was gone.
That was the first time I saw her.
3
HELLO
—Joseph—
I woke to the sounds of combat.
Not literal combat—not anymore. No, I had traded the popping report of gunfire and distant pulsing of helicopters for a much different but no less dangerous war zone.
I could hear them screaming downstairs—my brother and his wife. Most days at his house started like this. It didn't take much to set her off, and for a pretty, soft looking woman she sure had a wicked mouth on her. That’s saying something, coming from a former U.S. Army soldier.
To be honest, I didn't like my sister-in-law. And Kara Anne wasn't my biggest fan, either. She blatantly avoided me most of the time, but I guess she didn't realize that being mute didn't mean I was deaf or stupid as well. I heard the things she said whenever my back was turned. She thought having PTSD meant I was going to randomly start running through the streets shooting people like Rambo. Naturally, I couldn't exactly sit her down and explain to her that wasn't the case. And honestly, she probably wouldn’t have cared, anyway. She wasn’t a big fan of listening to anyone.
But it wasn't just me, or the fact that I lived in her house, that set Kara Anne off. There were plenty of other thin
gs that pissed her off as much or more than I did. I took some comfort in that.
I rolled over, glancing at the clock. 5 AM. They were at it earlier than usual. She must've started right in on him before he got ready for work. I didn't know how he did it. Jacob is a softer guy than I've ever been. He was that kid on the playground who cried if someone knocked him down. And me … well, I was usually the one doing the knocking.
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't a bully, but I guess you could say I've always been the rough and tumble sort. That little "maybe you should back down" voice in my head didn't get much stage time.
In my youth, I'd been the source of a lot of my parents' sleepless nights and visits to the ER and the principal’s office. I had basically lived in a perpetual state of being grounded for something stupid I’d done. I had never gotten in serious trouble, you know, like getting arrested. Even so, I knew my parents must've been counting down the days until my high school graduation. I was probably the reason for every gray hair on their heads.
Jacob couldn't have been more different. He was smarter, softer, more tender hearted. He was the kind of guy who spent his evenings in bookstores, or playing tabletop games with his science club friends, so you can imagine our shock when he turned up with this busty little blond with a mouth like a sailor. Our parents didn't like her, Mom especially. I knew I’d never forget the look of suppressed horror on her face when Jacob dropped to a knee at Christmas Eve dinner and proposed to Kara Anne. But we'd tried to do the decent thing and make her feel welcome.
After all, Jacob was crazy about her.
I got ready for the day, pulling on a set of old work clothes and boots before running my electric razor over my chin a few times. I took a minute to tidy up my closet-sized bedroom. I didn't have much in the way of earthly possessions so it never took long. With a deep breath and a few seconds of mental prep, I stuck my head out into the hall to see if the coast was clear.
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