He tried the knob on the thick door, but of course it was locked. Hearing his wife get to her feet, he rapped hard, then noticed the red emergency buzzer in the wall.
“There are no more chances,” intoned the creature behind him. “She must be stopped or there will be no future.”
“Go back to bed!” To his dismay, Pete heard a note of fear in his voice. His finger trembled as he jabbed the button. The distance was greater than he’d realized, and his arm muscles went into a spasm, stopping him short.
Bella laid her hand on his shoulder, and Pete felt energy surge through him. Or perhaps something else was entering him from his wife. In an instant, his mind cleared, his body grew powerful and the masquerade of old age fell away.
Now he understood what he had to do. He had to go back to the house. And he must hurry.
With a grunt, Pete shoved the door with an unnatural strength. He could feel the metal yielding and was about to apply his full weight when an orderly pulled from the other side and set him free.
Pete spared a last glance at his wife’s body, collapsed on the floor. “Take care of her,” he told the confused man, and strode into the corridor and away.
Chapter Eighteen
Sharon had to find Greg and get him out of the house. Thinking she could stay for one more night had been a terrible mistake. The anniversary had begun at the stroke of twelve, and she could feel a pent-up fury being unleashed around her.
In the hallway, her breathing echoed off the walls. Where could Greg have gone?
Maybe he hadn’t simply been sleepwalking. Maybe he’d awakened and gone in search of entertainment. Greg still had a childish grasp of time, and he might have mistaken the bright moonlight for dawn.
Sharon reached the head of the stairs at the same time as Jody, coming up. “Oh, my!” The older woman clasped one hand to her chest. “You startled me. I heard someone moving around up here but I didn’t know who.”
“I’m sorry.” Her landlady’s arrival eased Sharon’s anxiety. “Did Greg wake you? Is he downstairs?”
A shake of the head killed her hopes. “He’s missing, then?” Jody pointed past Sharon, toward the far end of the corridor. “Have you checked the attic?”
“I don’t think he would go up there by himself.” She stopped, remembering Greg’s tantrum at bedtime. “The toy soldiers. He was asking for them.”
“He shouldn’t be up there alone,” Jody reproved. “It’s a frightening place for a child. He must be terrified.”
From the moment her son entered the world, Sharon had been amazed that she experienced his pain even more strongly than her own. Now she could feel his panic mounting up there in the dark, surrounded by looming shapes.
All along, Ian had focused on the threat to Sharon because of her resemblance to Susan. She’d feared for Jody because of her age and possible health problems. What if they’d both been wrong? What if Greg was the one in danger?
“I’ll go get him,” she said.
Jody pulled her kimono-style wrapper tight. “Is there anything I can do?”
Sharon couldn’t ask Jody to call the police and report some vague suspicion about a ghost. She didn’t even know for sure that her son was upstairs.
“Just wait here.” She touched the landlady’s arm gratefully. “In case he shows up, I know he’ll feel safe with you.”
“Of course,” Jody said.
Sharon hurried down the hall and took the attic stairs so fast she hardly noticed them. She didn’t want to think about the cool draft coming from overhead, the draft that told her the door stood open. She didn’t want to notice the dusty smell or the prickle on the back of her neck. She just had to find Greg and get him out of there.
At the top, she called her son again. Receiving no answer, she stepped onto the passageway that ran the length of the attic. Despite the glass door of the balcony on her right and several small windows to the left, moonlight barely disturbed the shadows. She flicked the light switch, but they didn’t come on.
The problem must be the old wiring, Sharon told herself. There was nothing supernatural at work.
She reproved herself for not bringing a flashlight. If Greg had brought his own small one, she didn’t see any evidence. She hadn’t thought to bring her cell phone, either, but there was no way she would leave to fetch it now that she was here.
In the dimness, she saw that the Gaskells had removed the circle of chairs after the séance. Sharon tried to spot the box with the soldiers but either she’d misremembered the location or someone had moved it.
Greg must have gone farther.
She pressed forward, calling out and watching for a thin beam of light that might signal his presence. A movement off to her left startled her, and Sharon jerked around.
A patch of moonlight was dimming and brightening as something nebulous moved rhythmically across a window. After a moment, she realized she was staring at a thick spider web that wavered in a draft.
She had to stop scaring herself, she thought, and moved cautiously onward.
Ian awoke with a deep sense of satisfaction and reached for Sharon. The bed beside him was cold and empty. As he sat up, he noticed that the hour was just past one o’clock. He’d been asleep less than an hour.
“Sharon?” No response, and he found the bathroom empty. Still sleep-drugged, Ian wondered where she could have gone this time of night.
He remembered that this was the anniversary. But how could anything have touched her here, in her apartment, sleeping beside him? Any noise or struggle would have awakened him.
Pulling on his clothes and sliding his feet into his loafers, Ian went to investigate Greg’s bedroom. The boy was gone, too.
Sharon wouldn’t have sneaked her son off to a hotel in the middle of the night. They must be in the house.
Ian made a quick check of his studio. His gaze fell on the painting, and the face startled him. He had thought it belonged to Bradley but now he could see that it was his own.
Something evil walked this house tonight. Viewing the image of himself attacking Sharon, Ian feared that whatever was on the move would be coming for him, entering him, using him. His turn had arrived, but his turn to die or his turn to kill?
He must have possessed some primitive instinct, because the hair on his arms began to bristle an instant before he heard the door shift on its hinges. “I’ve been looking for you,” said the flat, cold voice.
This late at night, the signals had switched over to blinking yellow on the main streets. Pete raced through them, too riveted to care how fast he was driving.
He had a mission.
As he turned onto Harbor Boulevard, a battered pickup pulled out of a restaurant parking lot and veered erratically across two lanes of traffic. Pete flashed by, not swerving, although his bumper missed the side of the truck by inches.
Nothing could hurt him tonight. The spirit was with him.
You have to stop her or there will be no future.
How could they have missed the truth all along? How could they have allowed that woman to go on living in the house?
Pete patted the tire jack on the seat beside him, his hand curling at the memory of the heft. He wasn’t sure whether he would need it when he arrived. He knew only that when he got home, he would receive another message.
And he would obey.
Icy minutes ticked by with no sign of Greg. Sharon began to consider the possibility that he hadn’t come up here.
Could he be downstairs in the kitchen? Perhaps he’d been hungry.
She seized on this possibility. There was nothing she wanted more than to leave the attic, except to find her son. Maybe she could do both.
Near the end of the pathway, Sharon tried his name again. Her eyes adapting to the dimness, she noticed an open box. There were the soldiers, spilling out.
A week ago, the box had been on the other side of the attic, near the staircase, but someone might easily have shifted such a small thing. She recalled Greg telling her that he
and Lisa had played here while Jody was watching them.
If Greg had come upstairs tonight, he wouldn’t have left without the soldiers. Maybe he was here, and she’d just missed him.
“Honey?” Sharon noticed a dark shape on the floor, half-hidden behind an armchair. “Are you asleep?”
She knelt and touched the rumpled form. A piece of rough cloth yielded to the pressure. With a twitch, the heap stirred, and something small and rat-like scurried away.
Sharon cried out and jumped back. Her calf scraped painfully against the edge of the box.
Gulping in the musty air, Sharon wished her heart would quit pounding so fast she could barely think. She’d allowed an old dust cover and some kind of rodent to panic her. A chipmunk that had climbed here via the tree branches. Nothing more than a chipmunk.
Obviously, Greg wasn’t here or he’d have reacted to her scream. He must have gone downstairs. Maybe he’d already come across Jody and was safely tucked away in her rooms.
Sharon could go downstairs now. The ordeal was over.
A board creaked behind her. She was about to attribute the noise to the house settling when she caught the unmistakable shuffle of a stealthy footstep. From the way the floor yielded, the intruder was too heavy to be her son. And the sound was between her and the stairs.
Sharon pivoted. Silhouetted in dim moonlight, a large black shape moved toward her cautiously from about twenty feet away. Judging by its groping movements, she realized the man’s eyes hadn’t adjusted.
“You won’t get away,” he growled. “Come out here where I can see you!” The harsh voice sounded like the one that had issued from Ian at the séance.
As the figure passed through a patch of relative lightness, she saw something metallic in his hand. A large kitchen knife.
Disbelief froze Sharon as images collided in her brain. Bella last night, sneaking into the bedroom. The attacker in the dream and Ian in the painting, thrusting her toward the cliff.
They had come together right here. Warning after warning had pointed in the same direction, and at every step Sharon had thought she could circumvent the danger. Yet here she was, her efforts come to nothing. She wasn’t sure how, but someone or something had manipulated her with the skill of a master.
She couldn’t stand here replaying the past while there was still a chance for escape. Sharon grabbed one of the eight-inch toy soldiers. Too light to use as a club but with the bayonet pointed upward, it might be able to inflict some pain or at least block a blow.
The intruder stood with head cocked, listening. Blinded by the dark, he couldn’t see her. Sharon fought to control the raggedness of her breathing to keep him from hearing, but sooner or later the man’s eyes would adjust and he would spot her.
Trying to move without noise, she edged off the path between the welter of furniture and boxes. Each step raised dust, nearly choking her, and spider webs broke across her arms.
She had to circle him and reach the stairs. Had to sneak past
Debris crunched beneath her slipper.
The tall figure reacted instantly. He lurched toward her, banged against a chest and cursed hoarsely. Too close for comfort, he slashed out wildly into the darkness. Sharon ducked behind a clothesline hung with clothes bags.
When she dared to peek out, the intruder was standing motionless, no doubt listening. He waited with the air of a man who owned the darkness.
There had been something vulnerable about his clumsiness, but now Sharon felt only stark dread. She crouched only a dozen feet away, her hands damp with fear.
“Come out,” he barked. “Let’s get this over with.”
Abruptly, she saw the man’s gaze sharpen and fixed on her. She couldn’t read his expression, despite the moonlight behind her. But she could see the way his muscles tensed as he lunged forward.
The panic came in a wave. Sharon fled, not caring how badly she bruised herself. A high, shrill noise filled her ears as she shouldered through the mass of shrouded garments. Not until she felt cold air against the inside of her throat did she realize that she was screaming.
Every gap between looming shapes steered her not toward escape but to the side, toward the glass door. On the balcony, someone might hear her screams for help. She had to get the door open. She had to get out there.
No one in this house would help her. Certainly not the man she had come to love, the man she had taken into her bed tonight.
She could see him now, struggling to push aside the cluster of garment bags. The moonlight from the doorway reached far enough to show her the features she knew so well, even if her disbelieving brain had not already recognized his voice.
The man pursuing her was Ian.
Pete turned off the main road four blocks from the Fanning house and gunned the engine, roaring through the residential streets. Another turn, and flashing lights hit his eyes. Only a quick slam of the brakes prevented him from smashing into the rear of a police car.
The street ahead lay blocked. People spilled out of a brightly lit house, some heading for their cars, others fleeing on foot. Officers had corralled a group of young men on the sidewalk.
Pete cursed under his breath. Apparently a party gone out of control, which would not be unusual in Fullerton on a Saturday night.
He was about to back up when another cop car arrived in his wake, blocking him. Apparently the driver had noted his screeching near miss, because the officer got out and headed toward him.
Pete debated trying to run. From here, he could reach the Fanning house on foot. On the other hand, he could also get shot.
At worst, the policeman would give him a ticket. He just hoped the process didn’t take long.
Pete pulled out his wallet. Rolling down his window, he extended the driver’s license toward the officer.
They recognized each other at the same instant. It was the man who’d taken Bella into custody the previous night. Romero, that was his name.
“You in some kind of hurry, sir?” asked the officer. “You could have hit somebody.” He glanced at the license and waved dismissively.
“Trying to get home,” Pete said. “I’ve been at the hospital with my wife all day. I guess I’m tired and upset and not paying attention.”
“That’s how a lot of accidents happen, people driving when they’re not in good shape.” The policeman leaned close, probably to get a whiff of Pete’s breath and make sure he hadn’t been drinking.
“You’re right.” Pete felt pressure start to build in the back of his head. He knew, without any rational explanation, that if he started the car, the pressure would ease. But he couldn’t leave until the officer gave him permission.
“You live around the corner, right?” Romero straightened, apparently satisfied that Pete wasn’t drunk. “You know these people?” He indicated the party house.
Pete shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“Too bad. We could use some help ID-ing the residents.”
Another officer strode toward them, and the pair put their heads together. The dull ache spread from Pete’s crown toward his temples. He needed to get going, but he was wedged between cop cars. The only way out would be to turn sharply toward the two men, who stood chatting as if he didn’t exist.
He decided that speaking up couldn’t hurt. After all, the officer hadn’t pulled out a ticket book. “Excuse me,” Pete called. “I need to get home.”
“Just a minute, sir.” Romero gave him a distracted nod and returned his attention to the newcomer.
The pain began to throb. Pete gripped the wheel and wondered how much more he could endure.
The glass door was locked. Sharon wrenched so hard the panes rattled, but the thing didn’t budge.
She’d made quicker time between the obstacles than Ian, with his greater bulk, but only seconds separated them. Desperately, she lifted the toy soldier and battered the glass. Despite the shock waves rolling through her arm, the thing thudded uselessly.
Nearby, she heard Ian trip and l
and hard. The impact shook the floor. A groan told her he’d hurt himself, but surely that couldn’t be enough to delay him for long.
Sharon poised on one leg and kicked as high as she could with the rubber heel of her slip-on. The shock of the impact sent pain pulsing to her hip. She heard a cracking noise and feared for a moment that one of her bones had given way.
Then she saw the pane dislodge. Not shattered, but she’d managed to break the aging seal that held it in place. Furiously, she kicked again until the glass toppled to the floor with a hollow clunk. Reaching through the yellow warning tape Jody had attached, she tried to open the door from the outside.
The handle didn’t budge.
Forcing herself to think clearly, Sharon brought her hand back in and felt the inside surface of the lock. Her fingers revealed what she hadn’t been able to see, a small key left conveniently in place.
Such carelessness wasn’t like Jody. Greg could have unlocked this door and gone out on the balcony. But Sharon didn’t care why the key was there, only that it turned, and the deadbolt snicked open and she could at last push the door out of her way.
The widow’s walk moaned as she stepped out. Her stomach twisted with fear, but although the thing swayed, it held her weight.
Hanging on to the door pull, she shouted for help with all her might. The unearthly pitch of her voice rang across the neighborhood and echoed back to her.
“Did you hear something?” Officer Romero frowned at Pete.
He struggled to make out the policeman’s voice over the thrumming in his temples. “Not really.”
“Don’t tell me they turned on the damn stereo again.”
The second cop shook his head. “Naw, the party’s breaking up. There’ll be hell to pay when Mommy and Daddy get back from out of town.”
Ahead of them, officers stuffed a couple of teenagers into patrol cars. The other partygoers had vanished.
“Okay if I leave?” Pete asked.
Touch Me in the Dark Page 23
