“Fine, I’ll get out if you want me out so badly,” I said, trying laugh at myself for jumping.
“Yeah, I wanted you out of the closet so I shut the door,” Jefferson said, reaching out to open it. I could hear him trying to turn the handle a few times with no luck before turning to me, the dim moonlight from outside the house streaming under the door being the only thing reflecting on his eyes.
“I can’t get it open.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I said in annoyance, pulling on the string of the old light bulb that had chosen the worst possible time to burn out. Giving up on that, I fumbled around for my flashlight and clicked it on, just as the fact that we were trapped in the closet sank into my brain.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying not to let my claustrophobia get the better of me. I was somewhere in a wide open field. No one was around me. I was free to walk anywhere I chose.
“Deacon!” Jefferson shouted. “Brighton?”
His voice shattered my self-made method of coping. “Please stop shouting,” I said in a choked voice. I kept my eyes closed tightly. “Just . . . just be quiet for a minute, okay?”
“They have to know we’re in here or they won’t know to get us out,” he said, his voice much too close to me.
I was suddenly aware of his heart beating against my cheek, the sound of his breathing, and the way his clothing rubbed with every miniscule movement. I began to sweat. Every sound seemed magnified in the small space and it only made the walls feel that much closer.
“Stop breathing,” I pleaded, my heart rate picking up and my breathing becoming shallow. “Just don’t breathe or move or . . .” My words trailed off as my throat caught.
“Sadie, you need to calm down,” he said.
I felt him pull my flashlight out of my grasp and swore I could actually hear the blood flowing through his veins.
“You need to take a deep breath. You’re hyperventilating.”
“There’s no deep breath to take,” I said. “There’s no air in here.” My own heartbeat pounded in my ears.
I could hear my rapid shallow breaths as if they were being broadcast over a loudspeaker, and I was quickly growing lightheaded.
“What are you guys doing in there?” Brighton asked on the other side of the door.
“The door is jammed. Can you lot get it open?” Jefferson asked, his voice so loud and close that it was deafening.
“The power went out in the house,” Deacon said, his footsteps on the carpet outside sounding miles away.
If I could just get on the other side of the door, I’d be okay. As it was, I felt like the walls of the closet were crushing me on either side, pressing up against my arms and burying me under the suffocating piles of old coats. I tried to back away from Jefferson but didn’t make it an inch before my back hit the wall.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered.
“Can you please try to hurry and unjam the door?” Jefferson asked, his voice falsely calm. “Sadie’s freaking out in here.”
I heard Brighton mumble something to Deacon about me being claustrophobic, but I was too far gone in my panic to really make it out.
“Sadie, just hang in there for a second,” Brighton said a little louder. “We’re going to get a letter opener or something to unlock the door.”
I knew she understood irrational phobias better than anyone in the world, since there wasn’t a single phobia she didn’t already possess.
“We’ll be right back,” Deacon called.
My chest rose and fell faster and faster until I didn’t think I could possibly breathe anymore.
“Sade, listen to me,” Jefferson said in a low, quiet voice, placing his hands on my arms and making me feel even more enclosed. “You need to calm down. I know you don’t think there’s any air in here, but just take a few deep breaths. Please.”
I grimaced at his words and tried taking a deep breath, but ended up hiccupping instead, my brain fuzzy from the lack of oxygen in the closet. Jefferson turned off the flashlight and stuck it in his pocket.
“You need to try to focus on something else,” he said, beginning to rub his thumbs over my arms in what was supposed to be a soothing way. “Think about all of the great evidence that’s probably in this closet. We can explore it more once we get the door open.”
“Why do you carry your dad’s wedding ring around with you?” I asked, voicing the first distracting thought that came to mind.
It was all I could do. He stopped rubbing my arms but I didn’t open my eyes to see his face. I didn’t want to be reminded of just how small the closet was. I could already feel the walls against my sides and back, and Jefferson was pressed up against my front. There was no room anywhere. I could feel my breath come back and hit me in the face as it bounced off of his neck.
“It’s the only thing I have from my father,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if I cared that he kept talking or not. All I could really focus on was the stale air and the bead of sweat that was slowly trailing down my temple.
“He died of cancer when I was really little,” he continued, and I tried desperately to focus on his voice and ignore the pressure of the wall against my back or Jefferson’s heart against my cheek.
“Sorry,” I managed to choke out.
“My mum is really cold. Not motherly at all. But my dad was the warmest person in the world.”
I tried to say something but my throat was too dry, so I continued to listen in silence, focusing on slowing down my breathing.
“My dad was a brilliant businessman and he was quite wealthy. When he died, all of that went to my mum, which was perfect for her. She wasn’t really cut out to be a wife or a mother. She was cut out to be a rich socialite. Ingrid Temple, mother of the year,” he said.
“And?” I asked, looking up at him as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness.
His hands left my arms and he brought them together in front of my chin in the small space, probably playing with the ring again, although I wasn’t about to check.
“My mum couldn’t stand having all of my dead father’s things in the house after he died, so she sold all of his stuff,” he said. “Didn’t even keep a picture of him up. Although I did manage to lock his office and told her that if she broke the lock and went inside, I’d tell all of her socialite friends what a terrible mother she really was.”
I could tell this was an extremely personal memory that he probably didn’t want to share with me, and I wished I could tell him I was probably only hearing half of what he said, so his secrets were safe.
“I managed to steal his wedding ring out of her room one night and I’ve hidden it from her ever since. She thought she’d just lost it.”
I managed to slow my breathing down, listening to Jefferson’s voice right in front of me and focusing on the words he was saying.
“I know I kind of worship my father, but when you lose someone so young, you only really remember the good things about them, you know? But I’d rather put my dad on a pedestal than be like my mum, who finds any opportunity to bring up every fight they ever had.”
“Why don’t you wear the ring?” I asked, my eyes still closed as I continued to slow my breathing. “Why do you keep it in your pocket?”
“It never really fit me before.”
“But it does now.” I finally gained control over my breath, although I kept my eyes closed.
One thing at a time.
“This sounds ridiculous, but I just wasn’t sure if it was okay to wear it,” he said. “If I’m worthy to wear it. The odd Parrish kid who stole his dad’s wedding ring and unsettles his family with his ‘intensity.’”
He laughed, but it sounded hollow. I knew I should be comforting him when he was bearing his soul to me, but I was having a difficult time opening my eyes. It was the first time Jefferson had acted like a human being and I couldn’t even enjoy it because I was terrified
of the stupid closet.
I took two deep breaths, telling myself that when I opened my eyes I was going to concentrate only on Jefferson’s face. I would try to read his expression and say something that would comfort him. I wouldn’t pay any attention to the walls around me.
When I parted my lids and looked up at him, he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the plain gold wedding band he had pinched between his fingers, his brow furrowed and his dark curls covering his forehead.
Ignoring my racing heart and the coats that engulfed me, I pulled the ring from his grasp and slowly slid it over his ring finger on his right hand. He let his large green eyes flick up to meet mine in the darkness, looking confused.
“It’s never wrong to try to connect with someone you’ve lost,” I told him, pursing my lips. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to remember your dad.”
I let my hand cup his cheek, hoping I was being at least a halfway decent friend and comforting him somewhat, since I was the one who’d forced him to reveal his sadness in the first place. I was sure he wouldn’t have opened up like that to me if the situation hadn’t been desperate.
He looked down at me with his big sad eyes, and I could almost understand where some of the mood swings came from. He was fighting an internal battle over his feelings toward his family. It was, unfortunately, something I did often, being the not-favorite daughter.
“I think it would make your dad really happy if you wore his ring,” I finally said.
Jefferson’s brows knitted together as his eyes roamed across my face. He looked like he might say something for a moment before his long arms encircled me and pulled me into him, engulfing me in a tight hug. He rested his cheek on the top of my head, my face slightly smashed into his neck, but even in the middle of my claustrophobic panic attack, I didn’t mind.
I let my arms circle around his waist and held him like that in silence for a moment, rubbing his back soothingly. I wasn’t really sure what I should say to him, but it felt like this silent gesture was better than any words I could offer.
I had to wonder if Jefferson’s obsession with paranormal investigation came from his desire to connect with his father again, but that was a question I’d leave for another time.
“Thank you, Sadie,” he said into my hair, still holding me tightly against him.
“It’s just the truth, Jefferson.” I pulled away slightly, looking up at him and feeling like I might almost understand the bizarre Parrish for once. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Thanks for listening,” he said with a small smile.
Then, the door swung open in a sudden burst of light.
Jefferson immediately dropped his hands from where they had somehow come to rest on my waist, and I pulled away from him as much as I could in the small closet, banging my elbow on the wall behind me and bringing my hand up over my eyes to shield them from the bright flashlight either Brighton or Deacon was shining into the closet.
As they lowered the light slightly, I was expecting a questioning look from Brighton or some inappropriate comment from Deacon, but instead, both of them stared at the back of the closet with open mouths. Jefferson and I followed their gaze curiously until we found the source of their wonder.
The back of the closet had a small panel of wood that didn’t match the rest of the wall.
Chapter 13
“What is that?” Brighton asked, trying to get to the panel before realizing there was no possible way we could fit another person into the closet with us.
“Sadie, why don’t you step out into the hallway,” Jefferson instructed after clearing his throat. “Get some air.”
As much as I wanted to see what was behind that mismatched panel, I didn’t need to be told twice. I practically jumped through the open doorway out into the hallway that suddenly seemed so much colder than the cramped closet.
“Wait, don’t touch it!” Brighton shouted, startling me. “You guys, this place is a historic site; you can’t just rip down the walls. It’s bad enough that we’ve blown the power.”
“If you really think we’re going to ignore the fact that a ghost led us to this secret compartment, you’re mental,” Jefferson said. He was, once again, taking no time at all to flip his mood like the light switch it was.
“A light turning on in a closet is not a ghost leading you to a clue,” Brighton countered.
“You’re right,” Jefferson agreed, surprising me. “But a light suddenly turning off as a ghost locks you in a closet is another story.”
Brighton was silent for a moment, narrowing her eyes at the impossible Parrish, while Deacon stood on the sidelines watching the whole thing unfold. Eventually, Brighton shook her head, glanced around the empty house, and then nodded at Jefferson.
“I’m pretty sure our time is almost up and I don’t know when the docent will be here to lock up, so whatever you do, do it fast.”
“Right,” Jefferson said, turning to pull the panel away from the wall.
I stood on my tiptoes to see around Deacon’s tall frame as Jefferson wedged his long fingers underneath the old wood and pulled as hard as he could. It didn’t take much force before the panel popped off, releasing a little cloud of dust in the process. A small compartment lay behind the old wall, too deep and dark to see the end of it.
“I bet there are so many spiders in there,” Brighton said with a shiver. Jefferson ignored her as he rolled up the sleeve on his white collared shirt and stuck his arm into the dark space. He immediately screamed out, causing all of us to jump. He laughed at how jittery we were.
“Very mature,” I said. “Is there anything useful in there or did we just get stuck in a closet for no reason?”
“Feels like another letter. And a necklace of some sort.”
“Hello?”
The four of us jumped even higher than we had when Jefferson had yelled, and I think, for a moment, we honestly thought the newcomer was a ghost. The small older woman who rounded the corner with her flashlight and grey tied-up hair, however, was slightly more frightening than a ghost as we stood in front of the closet we had just vandalized.
Deacon, who was much quicker on his feet than the rest of us, stepped forward to greet the docent, who had come to show us out and lock the building after we left. He used his frame to block her view of the giant hole in the wall.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, trying to be charming.
At least this woman was far beyond dating range. Maybe for some reason that made her less intimidating to Deacon.
“Can you direct me to the fuse box?” Deacon asked. “We seem to have lost power.”
“I was wondering why it was so dark in here,” she said, failing to notice the nervous smiles our group wore. “It’s right this way, dear.”
Deacon threw us a look over his shoulder that said “hurry up” before the two rounded the corner. Brighton took a deep puff on her inhaler and closed her eyes. I could only imagine how painful it had been for her to refrain from using the inhaler while the woman was in the hall with us.
“We’ve got this,” I said, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder. I turned to Jefferson. “Fix it!”
“You’re so bossy.” He slid the letter and necklace into his pocket and replaced the wood panel. It seemed to pop right back into place, luckily, and Jefferson quickly moved the coats on their hangers so that they covered the wall before stepping out of the closet and dusting his vest off.
He smirked. “And you doubted me.”
“Let’s just pack up the rest of our stuff and get out of here,” I said. “Deacon can only distract a woman for so long.”
“Ouch,” Jefferson said.
“No, she’s right,” Brighton said, apparently regaining her ability to breathe. “I love him, but he’s too scared of women. It won’t take him long to realize that he’s actually trapped alone with someone of the opposite sex and he’ll start to freak out.”
“Fair enough
,” Jefferson agreed.
~
“Boston isn’t exactly a small city,” Deacon said around a mouthful of noodles, passing the Chinese take-out box to me.
I scooped my own noodles out and shoved them unceremoniously into my mouth before passing the box on to Jefferson.
“That’s what public records are for,” I said. “We can check a census or something to see if there’s any record of an Eva or Thatcher living in Boston around 1937.”
“First names won’t be enough,” Jefferson said, passing the Chinese food back to Deacon after taking some. “We really need to figure out last names if we’re going to narrow our search down.”
“Well, we don’t have last names,” I said, “so I guess we just have to hope there aren’t too many Thatchers in Boston in our timeframe.”
We all sat in a clump on one of the full-size beds in the hotel room, a couple of Chinese food boxes between us as we tried to stick to our minuscule budget without starving to death.
I watched curiously as Brighton poked the contents of the take-out box with her chopsticks. “Brighton, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to see if there are any noodles in here that you guys didn’t get your germs all over,” she answered in the most serious tone I’d ever heard her use.
“No one’s touched this box yet,” Deacon said, looking very anxious to deliver this good news. “You can have it.”
“She bloody well can’t.” Jefferson snatched the unopened box from his cousin for a moment, before I was able to steal it right back and hand it to my germaphobe of a friend.
“Leave her alone, Jefferson,” I said “Sure, she might die ten years sooner than the rest of us because all that hand sanitizer and clean water has killed her immune system, but at least she won’t have to swap spit with us.”
“Thanks for the help,” she said sarcastically, although I noticed she didn’t complain about getting her own box of food.
Parrish Page 11
