Robert didn’t want to break her train of thought, so he just nodded along with her.
“And then there was a loud noise, like a screeching sound. And then…and then…”
A shadow passed over her face, a seriousness that overtook the sadness that had previously clung to her childish features. Robert suddenly stopped nodding and he unexpectedly shivered; it felt like the temperature in the room had dropped several degrees ever since Amy had started talking.
“And then I was up high, on a roof maybe, looking down. It was a long way down and I was scared. I had Mr. Gregorius—no, it wasn’t him. But it was like him—something like him. And it was raining; I was soaking wet. I looked down, Daddy, and I was soooo scared.”
Robert’s heartrate increased.
A roof? What the hell?
His mind returned to the tale that Ruth had told him in the tub.
Had Amy overheard them somehow?
He didn’t know how that was possible given the fact the door to their room had been closed when he had left Ruth and gone downstairs to pour his scotch.
He shivered again, and this time Amy took notice and looked up at him.
“You okay, Daddy?”
“Fine,” he said after clearing his throat. “And then what happened, Amy?”
Amy dropped her gaze again. She pulled Mr. Gregorius from the sheet beside her and began picking at the fuzz on one of his ears.
“He doesn’t want me to say,” she whispered so quietly that he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.
“Pardon, sweetie?”
Amy bowed her head, showing him her blonde hair.
“He doesn’t want me to say any more.”
Robert’s head snapped back.
“Who? Who doesn’t want you to say?”
Amy shook her head. Robert grabbed one of her arms and used his other hand to lift her chin.
“Amy, I want you to—” He stopped himself when he saw the tears welling in her eyes. His hand slipped away from her face and shoulder.
“It’s okay, sweetie. It was just a dream.”
He went to lay her back down again, but she resisted.
“No, Daddy.”
Robert shook his head.
“It was just a dream, now lie down. I’ll lie with you.”
“But I was awake, Daddy…I was still awake.”
Silence fell over them and Robert stared into his daughter’s eyes.
He was at a loss for words. After being here, living simply with no Wi-Fi and sparse, intermittent cell phone coverage, and looking after Ruth and Amy, some semblance of calm and clarity had crept over him. Part of him actually liked looking after them, as it made him feel important in ways that Wendy never had when she was still alive. But now…now things had gotten confusing again, and he found himself yearning for her advice.
Realizing that Amy was still staring at him, expecting an answer, he said the first thing that came to mind. He had meant for his reply to be comforting, but looking into his daughter’s eyes, however, he knew that he had missed the mark.
“Sometimes…sometimes nightmares can seem real when they aren’t, Amy. They just aren’t real.”
This time when he tried to lower her to the bed, she let him. He slid in beside her.
A few minutes later, Amy started snoring lightly. But for a long, long time, Robert stayed awake, staring at the ceiling.
I’m going to have another talk with Ruth tomorrow. And maybe Cal. Cal will know what to do.
Just as sleep began to overtake him, he heard that scratching sound again.
Robert closed his eyes and repeated the words that he had said to his daughter in his own head.
Sometimes nightmares can seem real when they aren’t.
And all of this felt like a nightmare to Robert.
A horrible, unbelievable nightmare.
Chapter 17
“What?” Robert nearly shouted into the phone. “What do you mean, you aren’t paying out?”
Amy looked up from her cereal, and Robert quickly turned his back to her as he continued in a hushed tone.
“This is ridiculous! How—what—?”
The woman on the other end of the line was sympathetic, but firm.
“Mr. Watts, our investigation revealed that not only was there a high likelihood that Wendy was using her cell phone when she crashed, but she had a blood alcohol level of point-oh-two.”
Robert was gripping his cell phone so tightly that his hand started to ache.
“So what? What is point-oh-two? That’s well below the legal limit. And the cell phone? How the—” He lowered his voice another octave. “—how the hell can you tell that she was using her phone?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Watts, and I understand both your grief and frustration. But this is what our investigation revealed. And in your policy, it clearly states—”
Robert was seeing red.
“You’re going to be hearing from my lawyer.”
He didn’t even wait for a reply before he hung up.
How can they do this?
He felt like swearing, crying, and punching someone all at the same time.
“Daddy?”
Robert turned to see Amy looking up at him from the large wooden table with wide eyes. “Everything okay, Daddy?”
Robert forced his emotions away and offered a pained smile.
“Everything’s fine,” he lied. “Are you done with your cereal?”
A quick glance revealed that she hadn’t eaten much, but her appetite wasn’t anything near what it used to be.
“Yes,” she replied hesitantly.
“Then why don’t you play outside for a bit? Daddy has to make a few phone calls.”
Her eyes darted to window. Last night’s rain had finally let up, but it was hazy and foggy out. The dark clouds above threatened rain again. And soon.
“Always raining in Hainsey County,” he muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Just take Mr. Gregorius and go play for a bit, okay?”
Amy nodded and stood.
A pang of guilt and sadness hit him then, and he softened his tone.
“Just don’t go too far…stay on this side of the stones.”
Amy promised she would and then promptly left the room. Robert waited until he heard the back door close and then immediately turned his attention back to his cell phone. Ignoring the dozen or more missed calls and messages, he scrolled through his contacts, brought up his lawyer’s number, and clicked send.
It rang four times before the man picked up, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up.
Robert checked his watch; it was almost ten o’clock on a Tuesday.
“Hello?” the groggy voice asked.
“It’s Robert.”
There was a short pause.
“Robert…?”
“Robert Watts.”
There was a sigh and then the man started to breathe more heavily.
“One sec.”
Robert waited, his mind whirring.
How can they not pay up? And why the hell was Wendy drinking?
He turned his gaze skyward. He felt like screaming again.
“Ah, yes. Robert Watts. What can I do for you?”
“The fucking—”
“Wait, before you continue, I am obligated to inform you that any further discussion will incur my hourly fee, which is—”
“Yeah, I know what your fee is,” he hissed. “The insurance—”
“Robert, you must agree to the charge.”
“Fine. Fine! I agree, now are you ready to listen?”
Robert heard what sounded like a click and then rustling of a pad of paper.
“Go ahead, Robert.”
“The insurance company called and they are refusing to pay out Wendy’s life insurance policy. I mean, how can they do that? Don’t they have to pay out?”
“Woah, slow down. Why don’t you tell me exactly what they said?”
Robert bit his lip. He didn’t
want to slow down. This call was costing him money, money that he didn’t have. He took a deep breath.
“The insurance company claims that Wendy was using her phone during her accident and that her alcohol level was point-oh-two.”
More rustling of paper.
“Are you listening?”
“Uh-huh.”
Robert walked over to the rear doors, staring out as Amy slowly made her way further from the house, Mr. Gregorius held up to her face. Even from his angle, off to one side, he could see her lips moving.
Isn’t she getting a little too old to be talking to stuffed animals?
“Well?”
“Gimme a sec, just looking through your policy.”
Robert waited, tapping his foot impatiently.
“Ah yes, clause 17b. Blah, blah, blah, any alcohol level even below the legal limit may void any life insurance or major injury claim.”
“What? What does may mean? How can they do that?”
“It means that it’s up to their discretion.”
“Their discretion? Can they do that?”
“Technically, they can do whatever they want—or at least, they can try.”
Robert ground his teeth in frustration.
They can do whatever they want?
“So what can we do, then?”
Amy’s outline was getting smaller and smaller as she made her way further into the overgrown field behind the house. He realized that the area near the back of the property looked extremely muddy, and he could see more of the rocks as some of the ground had eroded from the heavy rain.
She shouldn’t be out there, he thought suddenly.
His lawyer sighed.
“Well, the only thing we can really do is file for an injunction and hopefully they will take another look. If they decide that their decision is final, however, then our only other option is to sue. But…”
Robert’s heart sunk, and despite posing the obvious question, he already knew the answer.
“But what?”
“But I need to warn you, Mr. Watts, suing the insurance company will take considerable time and money.”
Robert felt like crying again. Nothing was going right. Nothing.
“I’m sorry, Robert. But those are your options. How would you like me to proceed?”
Robert mulled his lawyer’s comments over.
What could he do? At last check, he had no money to his name. Zero. In fact, he had already maxed out his own credit card to pay for Wendy’s funeral, and the last of his savings, of Amy’s savings, had gone to paying the minimum toward Wendy’s bill.
He had less than zero; he was drowning in debt.
“Robert?”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t have any money.”
There was a long pause. Robert clung to the hope that his lawyer would be able to detect the pain in his voice, that he would go out on a limb and say that he would take pity on him and do the trial for free.
What was it called? Pro bono?
Or maybe…
“Can you just do the trial and if we win I can pay you from that?” His tone was soft now, desperate.
The man on the other end of the line exhaled loudly.
“I’m sorry, Robert. I just can’t do that. I have…I have bills to pay too, you know.”
“Fuck.”
The lawyer said nothing.
“Robert? Is there anything else? I mean, you still have some time for this hour.”
Robert thought about it for a moment. He realized that he hadn’t checked on the status of the letter that he had asked his lawyer to send to the bank about his mortgage. And he was an accountant, for Christ’s sake. No wonder no one would hire him…he couldn’t even keep his own finances—his own life—in order. How was he supposed to manage client accounts?
“The bank? Did you hear from the bank?” he asked.
There was some more shuffling of papers.
“Have you been checking your mail?”
Robert jammed a thumb and forefinger into his eyes.
“No…I’ve been, uh, away.”
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Robert, but the bank sent me a letter, said that they had been unable to reach you. They are going to foreclose. You’re—you’re—I’m sorry Robert, but you’re going to lose your house.”
And now Robert began to cry. Not heavy weeping sobs, but he felt cool tears spill down his warm cheeks.
“Is that all, Robert?”
“Yeah,” he whimpered. “That’s it.”
“Good lu—”
Robert hung up the phone, and for a long time he didn’t even move. Even though he was still staring out the window, he wasn’t really seeing anything.
How did this happen? How the fuck did I let this happen?
Then he picked up his phone again, and dialed.
A man answered on the first ring.
“Robbo? That you? How are things—?”
“Cal?”
His friend immediately recognized the distress in his voice.
“Shit, Robert, what’s wrong?”
Robert wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Everything. I think—I think I need your help. Can you come up here?”
Cal’s answer was immediate.
“I can be there tomorrow, Robert. Keep tight.”
Chapter 18
Almost immediately after he had hung up his phone, he heard Ruth holler for him from upstairs.
“Robert! Robert!”
Robert used his t-shirt to wipe the rest of his tears away and sniffed hard. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to help dress a sick elderly woman, but it dawned on him that Ruth—or, more specifically, her house—was his last chance of regaining some semblance of his previous life.
Never had he ever wished anyone dead, not even Landon, despite the rage that he felt toward the man, but now…
Robert shook these thoughts away. No matter how bad things got, he wouldn’t allow circumstance to change who he really was.
“Coming,” he replied.
“Robert!”
He picked up his pace toward the stairs.
“Coming!” he shouted back, taking them two at a time.
In a few seconds, he threw the door to the Ruth’s room wide, ignoring her previous instructions for him to stay out. To his surprise, she was sitting up.
A second later, the smell hit him.
“Oh God,” he said, instinctively covering his nose and mouth with his forearm.
“I had an accident,” she said bluntly, not even a hint of embarrassment in either her voice or on her face.
The woman had balled up the sheets and placed them at the foot of the bed. Even from several feet away, Robert noticed several brown smudges on the white fabric and his stomach did a small flip.
“Shit, okay. I’ll get something,” he said, thankful that he had forgone breakfast that morning.
He was no rookie when it came to cleaning up shit—in fact, he had done most of the diaper changes when Amy had been young, what with Wendy working the long hours that she had—but there was just something about adult ‘accidents’ that was different.
In the bathroom, he retrieved several towels, a roll of paper towels, and two damp cloths.
Then he headed back into Ruth’s room and began cleaning her up. The woman remained stoic during the entire process, and he felt an odd sense of respect for her. It took a special type of person, or someone who had seen or been through a lot, in order to be unfazed by shitting oneself.
When he was done, after having to head back to the bathroom for reinforcements more than once, he helped Ruth into the wheelchair. But before wheeling her out of the room, he felt inclined to ask her about the previous night. Although the accident didn’t seem to affect her, he thought that she was perhaps vulnerable and might open up a little after he had cleaned her.
“Ruth…about your daughter, about Patricia, is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Li
ke what?”
“Like what happened to her before?”
The woman’s voice was flat and even.
“She fell off the roof.”
“Yeah, but before that.”
And this time Ruth hesitated, reinforcing the notion that there was something she was keeping from him. But fearing that forcing the issue might cause her to clam up, Robert elected to change tactics.
“What about your husband? Is he the one with the mustache in the photograph over the fireplace?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“But is that him? I mean, you mentioned him last night about how times got tough…”
Ruth’s hands bony hands went to the wheels and she spun herself around so quickly that Robert, leaning on the back of the chair as he was, almost fell over.
“I said I don’t want to talk about him. You’d be best served not to talk about him either.”
She leveled her green eyes when she said this, and Robert saw something in them that he had never seen in the short time he had spent in her presence.
Fear.
Robert swallowed hard and changed subjects again.
“And the girl?”
Her eyes narrowed, becoming hard again.
“What girl?”
“The one over the fireplace, the one—” He caught himself before he said beside your husband. “—uh, the blonde one.”
Wendy surprised him by smirking.
“Ah, yes. Jacky. She was Sean’s daughter. Stayed with us until the end. Like Sean, she helped out. This is a big place, Robert, and I don’t know if you realized this, but it takes a lot of work to keep it tidy.”
Until the end.
What the hell did that mean?
“What happened to Jacky?”
Ruth shrugged, her narrow shoulders rising and falling.
“She left…when things got tough, she sought greener pastures, I guess.”
“And Sean?”
“Sean stayed until the end. But now…well I told you already, he only runs a few errands every now and again. Like the letter.”
And there it was again: until the end.
He assumed that she meant until Patricia’s ‘accident,’ but he didn’t press the issue. And then what Ruth said next put an end to the discussion.
“I’m hungry, Robert. Take me downstairs and fix me something to eat.”
Shallow Graves (The Haunted Book 1) Page 10
