The floating door looks like it always does. Even and gray, embellished with purple around its border. Most of all, untouched. Sure, the house heals itself, but a swelling instinct in my chest tells me that’s not the case this time around. Not when there’s nothing to heal.
My head blanks out, and Todd catches me.
“Hold up—you okay?”
“My mom,” I say, trying to catch my scrambling thoughts. I look to my forearm, where long red gashes dug in from her fingernails. I watched my skin bleed the minute her nails left me. But my skin—like everywhere else aside from the nice gash in my stomach—is completely smooth.
Oh my gosh.
The ground in front of me inverts like I’m standing on the bough of a ship, rocking over water. I clasp Todd’s shoulders. “The house—it’s me.”
“What are you talking about?” Todd’s gaze skims all over me, like I’m a book he’s trying to speed-read.
“It’s connected to me somehow.”
My blood runs a marathon in my veins. Todd’s hands brush along my arms, and he continues lugging me toward my front door. Joel’s car perches in the same spot it was two days ago. I don’t understand how they haven’t gotten ahold of him after all this time.
“Okay,” Todd says after a few seconds. “Let’s—we’ll just get your stuff. You’ll be all right.”
I think back to what Mom said. I thought her senseless babble was just that. Senseless. But there’s a chance it could mean something after all. It must be important, if it’s continually on her deranged mind. The thirteenth what? And the walls, what do the walls know?
“Just come, Pipes, you’ll be fine,” Todd says, supporting my waist to help me inside. “Don’t worry so much about this old house.”
“You don’t understand. Take me to the kitchen.”
“But—”
“Take me to the kitchen. Please.”
Todd helps me in, and I hobble in pain and reach for a knife in the bamboo block on the counter. One knife is already missing from the slots.
“I know you have to see something to believe it,” I say, gearing myself for the pain. That Russell Crowe guy in A Beautiful Mind didn’t know he was schizo until the end. I wonder if I can be crazy and not know I am.
Only one way to find out.
Todd’s brows crease. “What are you doing? Piper—wait!”
I grit my teeth and slice the knife across my palm. The house groans even louder, and though I feel the sting from the blade, it subsides, my palm healing instantly. Todd rushes to me and snatches the knife.
“What the heck are you doing?”
I force my palm to his face. He watches as the skin of my hand finishes healing, seals up before his eyes. Almost immediately, the house makes an intense groaning sound. The floorboards tremor beneath our feet, banging like a heavy bass line. A wide chunk of plaster drops from the kitchen wall and breaks apart like a snowball on impact, revealing the thin lath boards underneath.
“No way,” Todd says, bracing himself on the countertop and glancing all around.
“It’s true,” I say. So glad that worked. That means I’m not crazy. The fridge gives off a low hum, and Todd stands there and blinks.
“Say something,” I prod, unable to stand the unnerving silence.
Mouth dropped, his glistening eyes meet mine. “I think I believe you now.”
At his words, a shimmery, bleary sheen of gold dusts over everything. It frays the objects in the room with what looks like tampered sunlight. The china hutch stands in the same position, but one of its glass doors hangs open, and a few dishes are missing from it. Dread fills me. Another vision.
Ada crouches before the fireplace with a basketful of logs and kindling. She wears the same black dress from the night she kissed Thomas, but stains smatter her disheveled apron, and a few stray hairs escape from her tight bun. Using a long metal poker, she stokes the hissing fire several times and adds one more log. Her hands brush the white apron, leaving a smear of ash.
A black teapot whistles on the old stove—the stove now in the basement—diagonal from the hutch. Ada scurries to retrieve a cloth, and using the cloth as a hot pad, reaches for it.
“Miss Havens,” calls a gravelly voice from the adjacent dining room. Ada and I both jerk at the interruption. Todd scowls toward the stove, his eyes roving though I’m sure he’s unaware anything else is happening. His glance stays on the stove while Ada looks at the cloth in her hands, sets it down, and crosses into the dining room.
“Piper, what’s wrong?” he asks, still watching the cooktop.
His words part my mind in two halves and I struggle. I don’t want to ignore him, but I refuse to miss a second of the vision.
“Just—gimme just a second.”
I shift to find Mr. Garrett perched at a clean version of our dining table, no longer smothered with papers. Instead, it holds overdone place setting with plates, a bowl to the side, and at least five utensils. A napkin is tucked into the collar of his white, high-necked shirt.
“You called, sir?” Ada asks.
Garrett sets his fork down and offers a stubby hand. Uncertainty rests on her face, but Ada takes the gesture, and in one quick lurch, she’s pulled onto Garrett’s lap.
I don’t know much about the 1800s, but I’m pretty sure stuff like that wasn’t cool. And the fact that it’s that psycho Garrett guy makes my stomach squirm, especially after I watched him board her up under the stairs.
“Really, sir,” Ada says, her back straighter than a fencepost. “This is quite out of line.”
She moves to stand, but Garrett’s lip snarls, and he holds her dress in his fists, keeping her in place. The color drains from her face.
“Have you thought more of my offer, Miss Havens?”
The black teapot continues singing at a high pitch. Her throat is tight; a muscle leaps in her jaw, and she twitches. “Please, sir. Release me—the kettle will soon boil over.”
She tries again to stand, but he slams her back down. A whimper leaks from her mouth. Sheer fear rests in her eyes, but she doesn’t peel them away from his intense gaze.
“I’m not a patient man, you know,” he says, brushing bloodstained fingers along her porcelain collarbone. “But then, you know me well.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, but it’s barely a whisper.
“And I take what I want. Does the fact that I’ve given you a choice mean nothing?”
I simmer inside. You call this giving her a choice? Ada’s chest rises and falls, and air streams loudly from her nostrils, as if she’s swapping thoughts with me.
“I’m done waiting, Miss Havens.”
His hand finds the edges of her apron, and he rubs the white fabric between his fingers. She stiffens, chest heaving. I dig my nails into my palms, a bead of sweat trickling down my back.
“Surely, you know what your answer must be.”
She grimaces as his mouth edges closer to hers. A tear leaks from her eye.
Finally, Ada swats his reach with a wail and leaps from his lap, blush high on her cheeks. The chair scrapes against the floor as Garrett rises, and he snatches her arms.
“No!” Ada cries at the same time I say, “Let her go, you sicko!”
I burst into their past bubble, but though my steps creak on the floorboards, neither of them so much as twitches in my direction. Todd follows close behind, saying, “Who are you talking to? Piper!” But I ignore him.
I’m tempted to take a swing at Garrett. But it wouldn’t do any good. This happened. It happened. Years ago. In my house. I want to run. To close my eyes, to cut through time and save her. But all I can do is stand there, frozen.
The door slams open, and Thomas enters the kitchen with an armful of wood, probably to resupply Ada’s dwindling basket now abandoned in the kitchen. The logs tumble like barrels to the floor, and he charges in. Redness climbs up the sides of his throat, adding fury to his agonizingly beautiful glower.
“Mr. Garrett!”
Ada slith
ers along the wall, away from Garrett, her face a bruised mess of blush. One hand quakes at her throat, and she scurries into the kitchen. I peer back to find her resting her weight on the counter near the whistling kettle on the stove. Her arms tremble like they’re supporting an entire building instead of just her torso.
Garrett doesn’t have the gall to look ashamed. Just wrenches the napkin from his collar and points the white cloth in Thomas’ direction. “You saw nothing, Thomas. Understood?”
No, Thomas! Go to her, save her!
Thomas’ eyes veer to Ada, and then he lowers his head. “Of course not, sir.”
“Leave us.”
Thomas gives a slight bow, but starts when a heavy crash comes from the kitchen. Ada lets out a fractured squeal. Her hands shake as she wipes stray hairs from her face. Steaming water spills down the once-again buttoned front of her dress and she cries out again, as if she can’t help it.
Garrett kicks his chair back and glares at her from across the archway dividing the kitchen from the dining room. His eyes look her up and down in disgust. I swear the guy snarls.
“You clumsy little…” His nostrils flare, but he seems to contain himself and tugs the bottom of his suit coat. He sits again, and his fork clinks against the plate.
Thomas glances once at Garrett’s back and then rushes to help Ada. The skin of her palms has become starkly red, and tears stream down her cheeks.
“Are you all right, Miss Havens?”
Ada shakes the water off her burned hand. “Dear me,” she says, staring at the wetness on her dress. “It looks as if the stars have fallen, haven’t they?” Her breathy voice weakens, but she pushes through.
This time Thomas nearly drops the kettle. He meets her gaze, and she gives him a subtle nod while Garrett eats his meal at the table.
“What was that?” Todd asks once the glow fades and the kitchen returns to its normal stillness. Worry masks over his ardent expression. “You were standing here, but…you were somewhere else.”
I inhale a slow breath. Though I know the outcome of all this, I still don’t get how Garrett can be so twisted. Todd takes me by the shoulders. So many times, he’s had my back. I have to tell him.
“You believe me, right? About my house?”
His brows crinkle. “Why does that matter?”
“Because if you still don’t believe that, you won’t believe this.”
Todd winds me close. My feet trip over each other as I try to avoid the soreness at my side, but his arms are secure. I bury my face in his chest, but even that can’t erase what’s in my mind. The dirtbag tried to force himself on her. Yeah, it was just a kiss, but back then that was bad enough. I don’t want to picture what would have happened if Thomas hadn’t busted in.
“Tell me.” Todd’s voice anchors me to reality. “Whatever you say, I’ll believe it. I promise.”
I take his hand and lead him into the parlor.
“I’m seeing—” I wince as we near the bureau where the black and white photographs sit.
With a gasp, I recognize Mr. Garrett’s face in the portrait beside Ada’s. The square line of his wide jaw and gruff set of his forehead. The aggressive yet striking gleam in his eyes. The long sideburns.
“There.” I point to it. “I’ve been seeing him. And her.” I point to Ada’s striking creamy skin and hawk eyes. “She was his servant. He wanted to like, get with her, but he caught her with another servant.” I scan for Thomas’ face, but he didn’t make the wall. “So he killed her. Here in my house.”
“Geez,” Todd says.
I slope against the wall for several seconds, trying to collect my breath. Todd’s face hardens, but I can tell it’s more out of concern for me than disbelief. We pause there for several more seconds.
Voices float from somewhere nearby, hitching the skin at my back. Todd shows no signs of recognition whatsoever.
“How can you not hear that?” I whisper, turning to the source. The room switchbacks in and out of focus like a camera shot transferring between the fireplace down here and the landing upstairs, until the images stop flickering and remain on the landing. Though I know we’re downstairs, I’m seeing straight into the bedroom door right next to the servants’ staircase.
Unlike the other rooms in the house, this one is extremely plain. No paper on the walls, no fancy curtains. Just two narrow beds with white linens, a simple washstand and cupboard for clothes. It’s one of two servant rooms that we never use.
Ada’s figure ghosts through until she’s fully formed. Instead of her servant attire, she wears a simple but fitted yellow dress that cinches and makes her waist look like a Barbie’s. She peeks around the corner of the hallway, and when she reaches out, Thomas’ figure appears in her grasp. She lures him into her room and doesn’t wait for the door to close before pulling him to her and pressing her lips to his.
I smack Todd’s stomach, my heart a pulsing lump in my throat. “You seriously don’t see that?”
Thomas flicks a hand behind him at the door, but it doesn’t close all the way. Neither of them notices—they’re plastered together in a haze of closed eyes, desire and kisses.
They cling to one another as if they’ll drown without the other’s touch. One side of Ada’s closet stands open and empty, and an old-fashioned satchel sits beside her bed.
“You mean they’re there, right now?” Todd asks. He scours the area for some sign of what I’m claiming I see.
I feel like a peeping Tom, but even as I close my eyes, they’re there. Ada stumbles, trying to move but not let go of Thomas, whose hand cups her face while his other compresses her body to his.
My cheeks roast with embarrassment, and the memory of Todd tugging me to his lap, the feel of his lips against mine, floods in.
The vision changes again. The far end of the parlor still appears as if the landing has replaced the fireplace. This time Ada emerges from her fully closed door. She wears the same yellow dress, only this time an elegant green coat with pointed lapels covers the top half. The satchel rests in her hand, but she nearly drops it when she turns and finds Mr. Garrett in a tailored suit breathing down her neck.
She lets out a small squeak, but quickly composes herself. A rounded straw hat with a delicate pink ribbon sits tipped on her head.
“I’m seeking other employment, Mr. Garrett,” Ada says. Redness blotches her cheeks.
Beside his sideburns, a muscle in his jaw twitches. His eyes stray down and take in the satchel now in her hand. Ada’s chest pumps, her neck constricted. With excruciating slowness, Garrett’s glance veers back to her face.
“Like hell you are,” he snarls. “You’re mine.”
Fear threatens her composure; her shoulders rise and fall rapidly. “No, sir. I launder and mend your clothing. I build your fires and make your bed. That is all.”
Garrett’s mouth bunches into a sneer, and he snatches the tip of his white bow tie until the strings dangle at his throat. “It is all when I say it is. Do you think I don’t know why you want to leave? You will leave here when I say.”
Ada’s cheeks flush. She takes a step back, holding up her chin in that way I’ve become familiar with. Her voice grows stronger and shakier at the same time. “I know what you are doing in the basement, why the men have gone missing. I won’t be a part of it. I won’t—aah!”
Garrett’s beefy hands grip her arms, shaking her with every word. Her head bobs like she’s made of rags. “You, a servant with dirt and filth on your hands…with deceit in your heart; you think you’re above me? You would have died without me. I gave you a life, a home. I offered you my hand…”
Ada thrusts away from him and straightens her hat. She hasn’t once let go of that satchel.
“Accepting is impossible, you know it as well as I.”
His face falls, and for a tiny minute I almost feel sorry for him. Wanting someone while they want somebody else? Sucks.
“Why?” he asks. A slice of agony tints his voice. “It is not so impossible.”
Ada adjusts the satchel so she holds it with both hands in front of her. Her voice quivers with fright, and though she keeps her head up, her eyes focus on a spot beyond him. “You said it yourself. I am a servant. Dirt, filth…”
“That’s not it, is it?” Mr. Garrett goes on, taking a single, unwanted step toward her. “You love him. Thomas.”
“Please let me go. I beg you.”
He seizes the satchel from her and draws her to him. She yelps, pulling away. “I need a thirteenth specimen, Ada,” he says in a sultry, toxic caress. “I will have your body, whether you give it to me freely or I have to take it in pieces.”
“Monster!” she cries, breaking free of him. “What you do is ungodly, and I hate you for it!” She gasps, as if realizing she’s said too much.
“Hate,” he repeats, taking slow steps toward her.
“No!” she shouts. “Thomas!” But Mr. Garrett holds her against his body. She thrashes, but his arm snakes around her neck and he pushes her head forward against his elbow. Her struggles slow against his arm until she falls limp in his grasp.
“Monster, indeed,” he mutters, staring at her wilted form, his fingers trailing down her throat.
Ada! She isn’t dead—she can’t be. I saw him board her up! To my relief, her chest lifts and falls.
“I can think of some better things to call you,” I say, steaming, but the image shivers and fades away until I’m back in the parlor with the striped wallpaper and Todd. The deep velvet curtains and elegant fireplace, the figurines of women with umbrellas and sitting on benches are back as well, taking the place of any sign that the bedrooms or landing had been there at all.
“What?” Todd demands. “What now?”
“What can I do?” I ramble, one hand on my stomach. “I don’t even know if what I’m seeing is real, but he’s either just killed Ada or he’s about to.”
“Who? And what do you mean, he’s about to kill her?”
I think back to when I’d seen her under the stairs in Dad’s library. But she’d been untouched then—no mangled limbs or blood or anything. So at least he didn’t hurt her.
Phobic Page 18
