On the way, he’d called June and told her that he was going to see Andrew and believed they were on the brink of a breakthrough. She wanted to come, too, but he gently convinced her to stay home, assured her that he’d call if they needed her help. He didn’t divulge his true reason for keeping her away: he was afraid to endanger her.
Combining the contents of The Nightmare File with what he’d learned of Andrew’s troubles made him feel as if he sat on a ticking time bomb. He didn’t want his wife to be around when the inevitable explosion hit.
He didn’t want to be around, either, in fact. But his involvement was no longer a matter of choice. It was mandatory.
His son needed him. It was as simple as that. For so many years, he had failed to have his son’s back. He could never erase his mistakes with Andrew, but he could do the right thing when it counted the most. Like now.
Purple-black thunderclouds made it appear as if night had fallen over the world. Blades of lightning lacerated the false twilight. Cold rain had begun to fall, driving into his face like bits of ice as he climbed out of the truck.
Clutching his briefcase, he hurried to the door.
“Hey, Dad.” Andrew let him inside. Carmen hovered behind him. Both of them wore hopeful expressions.
They thought he could solve their problems. Little did they realize that he sought answers from them, too.
They moved to the living room. He unlocked the briefcase, removed The Nightmare File, and laid it on the center of the oak coffee table, amongst other assorted papers.
“Anyone want some coffee?” Carmen asked. “Something to fire up our brain cells?”
“Coffee’s good, but this here will probably get your nerves popping.” He tapped the bulging folder. He shucked off his jacket, felt biting air. “Cold in here.”
Andrew and Carmen exchanged a look.
“That’s probably Sammy,” Andrew said. “He’s been hanging out with us, on and off.”
“Sammy?” Raymond frowned.
“Our resident friendly ghost,” Carmen said casually. “He met Andrew at Mourning Hill, decided to come home with him. He’s only a kid. He said he was lonely.”
“We’ve been chatting with him via computer,” Andrew said. He indicated the laptop in a partly enclosed corner of the living room. “He types answers to us.”
“I see,” he said carefully. He pursed his lips.
Under usual circumstances, he would have called the authorities to have his son and girlfriend committed to an institution. But these were, he had to admit, far from usual circumstances.
He studied the computer screen and the lines of text. He didn’t know the questions that had elicited these responses from the entity, but a reasonably coherent picture formed.
This was as bad as he’d worried it would be.
“We’ve got a ton of questions, Dad,” Andrew said. “But let’s cut to the chase. Who is she?”
Raymond sat on the sofa. Carmen brought coffee for everyone. He waited until she and Andrew were seated before he opened the file. He slid on his reading glasses.
“Of course, you’re talking about the heiress of Mourning Hill,” Raymond said. “Ready for this, kids? According to the records I’ve found, she’s one hundred and eighteen years old.”
Chapter 42
Eric spent Saturday afternoon at one of his favorite stores: Home Depot. He picked up lawn fertilizer, weed killer, and other landscaping supplies. The pursuit of the perfect lawn was a challenging mission, and stores such as Lowe’s and Home Depot offered an abundance of products that never failed to satisfy a home improvement fanatic such as himself.
Driving back to his house, he passed the charred ruins of Andrew’s home, the area enclosed within crime scene tape. He clenched the steering wheel a little more tightly.
Psychotic broad. He hoped the cops found her and threw her in the joint for a long time. Andrew believed that she would forever elude the law, but Eric’s deep commitment to the legal system led him to hope that justice would be served, and crimes would be punished. Andrew claimed she was some kind of superwoman—like a wacko Wonder Woman with psychic powers—and while Eric tended to believe his boy was telling the truth, no one was above judgment. Even if said judgment only came from the Man upstairs.
He reminded himself to call Andrew and check on how things were going. Andrew had called when he and Carmen had arrived at the lake house that morning, but Eric wanted to touch base with him again. Just to be sure. When someone was stalking your friend, you never could be too careful.
He parked in his garage. His wife’s spot was vacant. She’d gone shopping with her sister, to buy yet more clothes and baby items for the twins.
It was amazing to think that in three months, he’d be a father to twin girls. He still felt like a big kid himself.
He climbed out of the Cadillac Escalade, popped open the rear cargo door. As he lugged the bag of fertilizer to the corner of the garage, he noted that the inner door, which led from the garage to the house, was ajar a few inches.
He’d left the house after Pam, and he was certain that he had locked this door.
Or had he? He was forgetful sometimes. Thirty-three years old with occasional memory lapses. Years of toiling seventy hours a week at a law firm could have that effect on you. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten to lock up. He was only fortunate that, this time, Pam hadn’t arrived home first, or she’d give him an earful.
He took his time unloading the vehicle. He went to the door.
Before he could touch the door, it opened all the way.
On its own.
Chapter 43
Outside the lake house, thunder rumbled. Lightning flashes shattered the darkness, and winds sniffed around the windows, like creatures eager to come inside.
Dad had paused, letting Andrew and Carmen absorb his stunning revelation.
“She’s one hundred and eighteen?” Andrew said. “I can’t believe it. She looks—”
“Twenty-five?” Dad said. “I know. She looked to be in her mid-twenties when I met her, too.”
“You’ve met her?” Carmen asked. “When?”
“When I was in college at Georgia Southern,” Dad said. “Junior year. That would’ve been about, what, thirty years ago?”
Nervous energy propelled Andrew to his feet. He paced across the living room.
“What happened?” he asked his father.
Dad stroked his chin, remembering.
“I met her on campus. At a frat party. Wild place. Cats were doing their stepping thing, hollering, trying to impress the ladies. She was there, sitting in a corner away from the action. She was the finest woman I’d ever seen in my life, but hardly any of the cats there were hitting on her—well, only the drunk ones were, and she was brushing them off like flies. She had the kind of looks that can intimidate a cat.”
Andrew nodded. He’d initially been hesitant to approach Mika, too.
“Anyway, I’d knocked back a couple of Buds myself, so I was a little loose. I talked to her, said I hadn’t seen her around campus and knew I would’ve remembered her. I’d never forget a girl like that, man. She talked to me; she was polite, friendly. ‘Sophisticated’ is the word I’d use to describe her. Said her name was Tina—name’ll make sense later.
“I thought she was out of place at this loud party. I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk outside. Wanted to get her to myself for a while and really lay down my game, know what I mean? She was fine with that. We ended up going to her place. Mourning Hill.”
“Wow, you guys didn’t waste any time,” Carmen said.
“No kidding,” Andrew said.
Dad smiled a little. “Must say, my game was pretty strong back in the day. But I found out later that my macking didn’t have much to do with why she took me home with her. She had chosen me. It was only a matter of me making the first move.”
“Sounds familiar,” Andrew said.
“The estate blew my mind,” Dad said. “It was
huge, full of antiques and period furniture. But a lot of the rooms were dusty, didn’t look like they’d been lived in for a long time. She said that her parents had died and left the house to her, so she didn’t use many of the rooms. A caretaker looked after the place for her. I met him. Tall, thin, older gentleman with white hair.”
“Walter,” Andrew said. “I met him, too. He looked old back then?”
“Like he was eighty if he was a day,” Dad said. “But he carried himself like a young man.”
“Sure did.” Andrew recalled the caretaker’s unexpectedly firm grip and hawk-sharp eyes. “Maybe he’s been sipping from the fountain of youth, too.”
“Could be,” Dad said. “Anyway, we went to her room . . . and, let’s just say that we got close.”
Blushing, Andrew avoided Carmen’s gaze; he didn’t want to remind her of the intimate episode he’d had with Mika.
“While she was asleep,” Dad said. “I got up and explored the house. Found out very quickly that there was a lot of strange stuff going on there. I heard whispers, screams, footsteps. Saw doors that opened and closed on their own. Ghosts, man. I never believed in that shit, but I couldn’t deny what my eyes were telling me. That place was full of ghosts.”
A cold breeze swept through the living room; Sammy, making his presence known.
Dad had paused, his eyes spooked. Then he went on: “And I saw cats, too. Big, gray cats that would run into rooms and vanish into thin air.”
“We know all about the cats.” Carmen fingered a long scratch on her forearm.
“What’d you do?” Andrew asked.
“What do you think? Grabbed my clothes and got the hell out of there. She woke up when I was leaving. I apologized for rushing out but told her that her crib was haunted and I couldn’t take it.”
“What did she say?” Carmen asked.
“She laughed. She said that she was happy to see me go, since I wasn’t her soul mate anyway. Said she’d selected me for this close encounter, but had seen in my eyes that I wasn’t the one. For once in my life, I was glad to be rejected. I split and never went back—and tried to forget everything about that weird-assed house.”
Dad quieted. Sipped his coffee. The mug shook slightly in his hand.
Andrew finally sat down again, in front of his father.
“Guess what, Dad? She thinks I am the one. She’s been stalking me like you wouldn’t believe.”
“What’s been going on?” Dad asked.
He gave his father an abbreviated version of what had happened.
“I’m so sorry we didn’t discuss this sooner,” Dad said. He lowered his gaze to the floor. “Could’ve helped you out.”
“It’s not your fault,” Andrew said. “I could’ve been more open with you, too.”
An awkward silence came over them. He looked away from his dad and studied the raindrops streaming like a flood of tears down the glass patio door.
He sensed that his father wanted to say more. He wanted to say more, too, wanted to delve into an honest and profound exploration of his feelings. But his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth.
The silence might have stretched on interminably if Carmen hadn’t broken in and said, “We know that Mika found out about Andrew when you guys had the accident and he went into the house to find a phone. But I’ve been dying to ask you a question, Mr. West. Why did you drive there in the first place?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you that, too,” Andrew said. “We were on the way home from Savannah, then you got off the highway and went there and wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Why?”
Dad dragged his hand down his face—a gesture familiar to Andrew. He unconsciously did the same thing when he was confused or stressed.
“I was in a trance, that’s all I can figure,” Dad said. “I don’t remember anything about it. She must have drawn me there, somehow, as crazy as that sounds.”
“After what I’ve seen her do, that doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Andrew said.
Thunder bellowed, shaking the house. The lights flickered, and then steadied.
Andrew glanced at the light fixture. Although Sammy had said they were safe there, he’d hate to be caught in a dark house without power.
Dad continued, “Over the years, I managed to convince myself that none of the things I thought I saw at Mourning Hill had ever really happened. Hell, I pretty much forgot about her, too. Then we had that accident. And after the accident, I started to have nightmares about that place.”
Andrew noted the shadowy rings under his father’s eyes. “You’d said something before about not being able to sleep.”
Absently, Dad touched his temple, where the bruise had faded to a faint, thumb-size imprint. “I’ll tell you about the dreams in a bit. But man, they got so bad that I realized I had to learn more about the house, see if I could figure out why I was having the dreams.” He tapped the manila folder he’d placed on top of his briefcase. “The Nightmare File here is the result of my research. Credit goes to my wife for digging up most of the info.”
“The Nightmare File?” Carmen said.
“The name fits in more ways than one,” Dad said. He opened the folder, and shuffled the papers. “Let’s start from the beginning. . . .”
Chapter 44
Eric watched the door open on its own. Immediately, he rationalized how it had happened: the wind must’ve pushed the door. He or Pam must’ve left a window open, and air currents drifting through the house made it appear as if an invisible force had opened the door. That had to be the answer.
But cold pincers seemed to squeeze the flesh at the back of his neck.
Andrew’s stories about the psycho broad with super powers had creeped him out. He was overreacting to completely ordinary phenomena.
He stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. The door remained closed.
See? Just wind.
Chuckling at himself, he headed toward the kitchen. He stopped when he found someone sitting in his living room.
A young, beautiful woman reclined on the sofa, legs crossed prettily. She wore a black cat suit that hugged every curve of her shapely, taut physique. Polished black boots with silver buckles and pointy toes. Like an actress on her way to an audition for an ill-advised Catwoman sequel.
She had cats, too. Two large bluish-gray felines flanked her on either side; another lounged on her lap. She idly stroked the animal’s fur.
Eight intelligent eyes watched him. He went rigid.
He knew who this woman had to be, but the question burst out of him: “Who the hell are you?”
“You know who I am,” she said. “Where is Andrew?”
“I don’t know where he is. Since you burned down his damn house, guess he had to find somewhere else to live.”
She clucked her tongue. “You’re his best friend, Eric. You know full well where he’s gone. He’s outside my range. I can’t sense him.”
Can’t sense him? This woman was as weird as Andrew had said.
“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” he said. “Get out of my house.”
Mika lifted the cat off her lap and placed it on the sofa cushions. The three felines watched him, as if he were a tasty mouse.
She rose. She was not physically imposing at all. But Eric, remembering Andrew’s tales of how dangerous this woman was, steeled himself for a fight. Or to cut and run.
“Oh, Eric,” she said. “Why do you have to make this difficult for yourself? Simply tell me where my man has gone, and I’ll leave.”
“Number one: he’s not your man. Two: I don’t know where he is. Now get out.” He pointed to the door.
She began to strut across the living room. She carried herself with icy poise, as if she were running the show and he was merely a minor piece in her game plan. He swallowed. He wasn’t easily intimidated, but her self-possession was frightening.
“You’re lying to me,” she said. “I can’t tolerate liars. I’ll ask you one more time, and if you don’t answ
er honestly, this is going to become messy: where is Andrew?”
Energy emanated from her body. He felt it in the air, like static electricity crackling through the distance between them.
Andrew’s warnings echoed in his thoughts. Although he was much bigger than this woman, she was no ordinary person. There was no shame in fleeing to avoid disaster.
He ran to the door.
A large vase that stood on the table in the entry hall flew through the air and crashed into the side of his head, shattering into dozens of pieces.
White pain blossomed in his skull. He spilled onto the foyer’s hardwood floor.
Bitch threw a vase at me, he thought dimly. Without even touching it . . . He blacked out.
Eric awoke to a nightmare.
He was in the dining room, sitting in a chair at the head of the long cherrywood table. Wrists tied behind him with what felt like an extension cord. Ankles bound to the chair legs with the same.
He had been stripped to his boxer shorts. Sweat dripped down his face in cold rivulets, spattered his lap.
His head throbbed from where the vase had struck him.
The cats sat on the table, aligned in a row like little soldiers. Crouched, they stared at him with their unnaturally aware green eyes.
A carving knife lay on the decorative runner in front of him. It was taken from his own cutlery collection. He’d used that same knife last Thanksgiving to carve the roasted Butterball turkey.
Mika was nowhere to be found.
He tried to break his bonds. But he was strapped in tight.
“Help!” he said, praying that a next-door neighbor would hear. “Someone help me!”
Music turned on, coming from the stereo system that distributed music throughout the house. It was a Public Enemy song, “Fight the Power.”
Hearing the banging music made his headache pound harder, but it answered his question, too: Mika was still around.
He shouted louder: “Help!”
Within the Shadows Page 25
