Unearthly Things

by Michelle Gagnon

  The shaking intensified, and I tried to scream, but no sound came . . . then suddenly I was airborne, flying.

  A sharp jolt through my whole body as I crashed into something solid, then kept going, tumbling down the stairs. I felt myself shatter like a china doll.

  As I lay there at the bottom of the staircase, panting, the sliver of moon vanished. I slipped into darkness, entering the place that deep down, I’d always known was waiting for me . . .

  I awoke with a start. It was still light outside, probably late afternoon. The bedspread was damp from my tears. I rolled over on my side and stared at Nicholas’s castle. A battalion of silent knights lined the ramparts, holding their swords at the ready.

  The dream still held me in its grasp. It had felt so real. Of course you’re having nightmares about Marion, I thought. Not really surprising after what she did.

  This seemed like more than that, though. I tugged the comforter up around myself, shivering; the room seemed even colder than normal. Unnaturally cold. I drew in a deep breath, trying to quell my fear.

  “Hello?” I said tentatively. “Eliza?”

  I sat up in bed, shivering. As the minutes ticked by, I started to feel foolish. It was just a nightmare. As horrible and crazy as Marion was, she wouldn’t have killed her own child. Right?

  I shook it off. I had more pressing concerns right now; I had to get back to the people who cared about me. My hair felt stiff from salt water. I shuffled to the bathroom and took a shower. When I came back into the bedroom, towel-drying my hair, I saw that something had been left for me.

  My cotillion dress hung on the door. It looked even redder against the white wood. I went over to it, feeling another pang of sadness. Daniel would never see me in it now; I wouldn’t be walking in on his arm. Remembering all the hateful things he’d said that morning, my jaw clenched. Even if he apologized, I didn’t think I could forgive him. Which meant there was nothing holding me here now.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I closed the door and carried the dress to the bed. I wrapped my hair in a loose bun to keep its dampness from damaging the silk, and slid it on.

  Stepping in front of the full-length mirror in the corner, I actually caught my breath. The dress was even more beautiful than I remembered. I turned in a slow circle, flashing back to the flirty texts I’d sent Daniel from the fitting room. That was just a week and a half ago; it felt like a lifetime.

  “Stunning,” said a husky voice.

  Startled, I whipped around. Richard was propped against the doorframe. His tie was loose, dangling below his open shirt collar. He held a nearly empty tumbler in one hand.

  “Thanks,” I said warily.

  He stepped into the room, listing as if battling a strong breeze. “You know,” he said, slurring slightly, “You look just like your mother.”

  I stepped back, trying to keep some distance between us. “That’s weird. People usually say I look like my father.”

  Richard shook his head vigorously. “Nope. You’ve got Halina’s face. It’s funny, she wore a similar dress when I took her to the cotillion.”

  “My mom went to a cotillion?” I said dubiously.

  Richard laughed sharply. “That’s how she reacted when I asked her. Took me nearly a month to talk her into it, she kept saying she hated those things, everyone would be staring at us . . .” He lapsed into silence, glaring at the floor. “We had a great time until John swooped in. As always, he had some sort of drama going on with his date, and he begged Halina to help him out.”

  “Really? That doesn’t sound like my dad,” I said skeptically. Neither of my parents had ever even mentioned other relationships; it had never occurred to me that they might have dated other people.

  “Trust me. John could be a real piece of work sometimes,” Richard muttered. He took another slug of whiskey. I took a few steps back, trying to get the bed between us. The way he was looking at me over the rim of his glass sent a frisson of fear down my spine.

  The ice cubes clattered as he dropped it back down by his side and continued, “He was just ticked off that Halina came with me. That was John all over. It wasn’t enough that he already had everything, he had to take what was mine, too.”

  I bit back a retort; there was no doubt in my mind that my mother had never been his. She’d probably only agreed to be his date out of pity. But saying that might set him off.

  Richard raised the glass back to his lips, then frowned when he discovered it was empty.

  “I . . . I think they probably just fell in love, and didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” I finally stammered, surreptitiously taking another step toward the bed. I’d managed to put ten feet between us, but he could close that in three strides.

  “Ha!” Richard snorted. His cheeks were bright red, and he was weaving. “Your mother didn’t care which of us she got in the end.”

  “She wasn’t like that!” I snapped, unable to contain myself anymore. “They got married even though it meant they’d be poor! They never cared about money. Not like you do.”

  Wrong thing to say. Richard’s knuckles went white around the glass. He sneered, “You think you’re better than me, too, don’t you? Just like she did.” His voice rose as he practically shouted, “I’m a goddamn Rochester!”

  He’d marched forward as he said it, closing the distance between us until he loomed over me. Gone was every trace of the man who had offered to be my friend.

  I wanted to defend my parents, to defend myself. But he was drunk. Volatile. Stronger than me. And we were basically alone in the house. John was probably out somewhere, and Alma was two floors down, too far away to hear me scream.

  I took another step back, until the backs of my thighs hit the bed. Richard’s gaze had turned inward, as if he’d gone to another place, swallowed up by the past. Fighting to keep my voice casual, I said, “I should go get changed.”

  Thickly, Richard said, “She was so beautiful. I would have done anything for her. Anything.”

  Run, the little voice in my head urged. I made a move to the right, trying to get around him.

  His eyes narrowed, and he said gruffly, “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. I just . . . I want to get changed,” I said, hating the pleading note in my voice.

  But I’d never felt so afraid: not in the elevator, or during the fire, or even at the asylum. This was a different kind of terror.

  Richard advanced another step and growled, “I’m not done with you.”

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye; John had stepped into the room. He held his hands open by his sides, as if braced for a fight. In a measured voice, he said, “And here I thought the cotillion wasn’t for another week.”

  Richard turned toward him, an ugly expression twisting his features. “Get out. We’re talking.”

  “Nice to see you too, Dad,” John said lightly. “If you don’t hurry, Janie, we’re going to be late.”

  “Late for what?” Richard asked suspiciously.

  “Janie has an appointment,” John said. Making a big show of checking his watch, he frowned and added, “If you still want a ride, we better get going.”

  “Right,” I said gratefully, darting around Richard. On the way to the bathroom, I scooped up my clothes. “Be right out!”

  I closed the door behind me and locked it. The dress nearly ripped as I yanked it off; not that it mattered, since I’d never put it on again. I could still feel Richard’s eyes roving all over me. Trembling, I slipped on John’s shapeless sweatsuit, leaving the dress in a pile on the floor. I splashed some water on my face, then leaned against the sink, bracing my hands against it. Richard’s ugly words cycled through my brain. What would’ve happened if John hadn’t shown up?

  A knock at the door. Through it, John said, “Janie?”

  “Yeah?” I called out, a quiver in my voice.

&nbs
p; “He’s gone.”

  I opened the door. John was standing there, his face etched with concern. “I was . . . I thought . . .”

  “I know.” Without warning, he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. “It’s okay.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Tears spiked my eyes again.

  “Any time.” He released me and stepped back, leaving an ache inside me; I hadn’t been ready for him to let go yet. But now we were left standing there, staring awkwardly at each other. “I was thinking, it’s probably a good idea for you to find another place to stay.”

  “Definitely,” I agreed, cursing myself for falling asleep that afternoon. Instead, I should’ve been formulating a plan. “I need to buy a new phone, can you drive me?”

  “Sure. And after that, I can help you find a hotel, if you want.”

  I considered for a moment. The thought of being alone in a sterile hotel room wasn’t appealing. Plus, I’d have to charge the room to my card, and Richard might be able to track that.

  “I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter XV

  Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?

  I rapped on the door again, willing it to open. Please be home, I thought. Please, please, please. I can’t handle any more weirdness tonight. John’s SUV was idling at the curb behind me. If Helen wasn’t here, I’d have to find a hotel and hope for the best.

  The thought was depressing, though. I really didn’t want to be alone.

  When the front door finally flew open, I did a double take. Helen looked like a tiny, futuristic Joan of Arc. She was wearing what appeared to be a full suit of armor, complete with enormous spikes that descended from each shoulder. Some sort of fur stole was draped across her shoulders, and her hair was spiked into a faux-hawk. There was a white handprint across her face, as if she’d been slapped.

  If it weren’t for the glasses still perched across the bridge of her nose, I honestly might not have recognized her.

  She stared back at me, looking equally surprised. “Janie! You’re okay!”

  “Yeah, I am.” I gestured toward her outfit. “Isn’t it a little early for Halloween?”

  “Oh, this?” Helen glanced down, as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “It’s my cosplay costume for Comic-Con. What do you think?”

  “It’s really . . . impressive,” I said, taking it in.

  “Made these out of craft foam, but they look real, don’t they?” she said proudly, jabbing at the spike on her right shoulder.

  “Definitely,” I agreed. “Who are you?”

  “The Dragon Born,” she said, sounding hurt. “From Skyrim?”

  “Of course.” I nodded, even though I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Maybe Daniel is right, and I’m not a very good friend, I thought guiltily.

  “Don’t even bother pretending,” Helen said with a grin. She squinted past me toward the street. “That’s not Daniel’s car.”

  “No, it’s John’s.”

  “Re-al-ly,” she said, drawing the word out with all sorts of extra syllables.

  I sighed. “It’s an incredibly long story. Listen, can I spend the night? I’m kind of stuck for a place to stay.”

  She examined me warily. “It depends. You won’t choke me in my sleep, will you?”

  I flashed back to her horrified expression as they pulled me off Georgina at school. “This was probably a bad idea,” I muttered, turning away. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “I’m kidding, silly,” Helen said, rapping me on the shoulder. “Get in here.” She waved toward the car. John lifted a hand in response; I could see his puzzled expression, and wondered what he thought of Helen’s get up. “So that’s evil Georgina’s older brother? He’s hot.”

  “He’s a lot of things,” I muttered, dragging my duffel inside. I still wasn’t sure what to think about him. Daniel’s warning lingered, but despite his snarky manner, John had always been kind to me. Earlier tonight, if he hadn’t shown up when he did . . . the memory of Richard’s hot, boozy breath chilled me again.

  “You okay?” Helen asked as I took off my shoes in the front hall.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” She shook her head. “Jeez, Janie. You’ve set a whole new bar for gossip at Hamill. You’re practically a legend now.”

  “Great,” I mumbled.

  “Actually,” she said, leading me up the stairs, “You’ve got a cheering section. You’re not the only person who felt like choking Georgina Rochester. But no one else was brave enough to try it.”

  “More like stupid enough,” I mumbled, following her down the hall to her room.

  “Of course I don’t condone violence, unless it’s virtual,” Helen said loftily. “But I doubt she’ll be spreading rumors for a while. Is it true that her mom checked you into a mental hospital? Or were they exaggerating about that, too?”

  I dumped my duffel in the middle of her room, which looked like the aftermath of a foam factory explosion. “Yeah, she did.” I sank down in her desk chair and added, “Plus, I have a grandmother that I didn’t know about. Daniel dumped me. And oh, my new dad used to have a thing for my mom.”

  Helen’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head.

  “Wow.” Helen plunked down on the floor in front of me, sending smaller scraps of foam flying. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Is that okay?”

  “Sure,” she said cheerfully. “You hungry? My folks went out, so I ordered a pizza. Hope you like sausage.”

  The mere fact that she wasn’t pressing for details brought fresh tears to my eyes. I really didn’t have the energy to explain everything that had happened over the past few days. I grabbed Helen’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks.”

  She squeezed back. “Sure. What’re friends for, right? C’mon, let’s get you some food.”

  Judging by Mr. Briggs’s response, I probably should have practiced what I was going to say before calling him. But finally getting my parents’ attorney on the phone was such a relief that I’d basically just babbled for ten straight minutes, relaying everything that had happened since my arrival. I could understand how it all might sound nuts. Still, his attitude was irritating.

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’ve lost me here,” Mr. Briggs said.

  “At which part?” I asked impatiently.

  A long pause, then he said, “Perhaps you’d better start over.”

  I sighed and flopped back down on Helen’s bed. She was probably in the library right now eating lunch. I remained persona non grata at Hamill, which was fine by me. We’d gone shopping yesterday for some new clothes; it felt weird, whipping out that black card at the register. Even more disconcerting was how quickly I’d gotten used to it.

  I drew a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. I needed him on my side. Which meant I should stick to the most important—and damning—parts.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “So apparently my grandparents left me some sort of trust?”

  “They did,” Mr. Briggs acknowledged. “But as I explained in our initial meeting, there are very strict guidelines for how and when that money will be released to you. A third of it when you turn eighteen, another third at twenty-four, and the last when you’re thirty.”

  “Okay,” I said, not wanting to admit that the whole money thing hadn’t even registered at the time. Those seemed like random ages to me, but whatever. Probably smart of them not to just hand it over in one lump sum; someone like Georgina could easily blow through a fortune in a few years. “And until then, my legal guardians are in char
ge of it?”

  “Technically, no,” he said guardedly. “The executor of the estate administrates it; in this case, that would be the Rochesters’ family attorney. The Rochesters are allowed to draw on the account to cover any costs associated with caring for you.”

  “Okay,” I said, thinking it through. “And we can check that balance, right? To see how much has been taken out?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But before we go any further, Janie, I should tell you that the Rochesters’ attorney contacted me.”

  My pulse quickened. No wonder Mr. Briggs was acting so skeptical. “What did he say?”

  He cleared his throat. “Apparently you’ve been acting erratically since your arrival, claiming that the house is haunted. And you’re hearing voices.”

  “Bastards,” I muttered. Daniel was right; I should’ve tried harder to get in touch with Briggs last week.

  “Are you saying that’s not true?”

  “Well, not exactly true,” I hedged. “But yeah, there’s been some weird stuff going on.”

  “The Rochesters also maintain that you tried to set your bedroom on fire, though they’re not pressing charges.”

  “That wasn’t me!” I protested. “Someone else set that fire.”

  “And apparently you’ve been suspended from school for attacking Georgina Rochester?” he added, a note of disbelief in his voice.

  “She went after me,” I said, sitting bolt upright. “I was just defending myself!” I should’ve known that the Rochesters would mount a smear campaign to cover themselves. The worst part was that on the face of it, everything they’d told Briggs was true, and impossible for me to contradict. “Did they tell you that they tried to lock me up in an insane asylum? If Marion hadn’t—”

  “Listen, Janie,” Mr. Briggs interrupted wearily. “I understand that this has been an extremely difficult adjustment for you—”

  I snorted. “Have you ever been locked up in an insane asylum under a false name?”

  “But in light of this letter,” he went on, ignoring me, “I’m afraid that your options are limited.”