Ariadne's Thread

by Marie Treanor

  “All I’m gagging for is to punch your face in,” she panted, straining her arms and bucking against the weight of his body.

  Holding her easily, he only laughed, a soft, surprisingly breathless sound. “Bollocks, my sweet. I bet you’re hot and wet already.” His eyes dropped once more to her breast, where the quilt had been pushed down in her struggles. “And that rather charming nipple looks pretty desperate to me, too.”

  “Get off me, you bastard,” she whispered. Just where the tears came from she didn’t know. She hadn’t cried in seven years, and she’d sooner have died than let him see her do so now. Through her hazy vision, she thought she saw storms rise and rage in his eyes, exciting, overwhelming, terrifying. And then his lashes swept down, veiling everything.

  She was almost surprised when he let her go.

  “Calm down,” he said contemptuously. “I’d sooner fuck Psycho-Weasel than you.”

  And his weight was off her. She could pull the covers up to her chin and sneer at him in his safe distance away from her.

  “Yes, well, I wouldn’t pin your hopes there either—not till you get the gun off him.”

  “Oh, I will,” he promised with rather worrying certainty. “One way or another.” As he walked toward the door, the kilted ghost moved deliberately into his path. Johnny didn’t hesitate, simply walked right through him. The ghost dissolved into throbbing air, then began to reform somewhat indignantly behind John Maxwell’s disappearing back.

  Johnny didn’t turn until he passed through the door. Even then he only glanced back over his shoulder to say, “I’ll leave you to your ghostly gigolos.”

  The door closed with a snap.

  Addie threw herself out of bed, fuming. “Bloody stupid, insufferable bastard of a…”

  Ghostly gigolos? What was that supposed to mean?

  “Thought you fancied a quick one for auld lang syne.”

  “Oh, I think she’s had one.”

  Had he guessed her sexual climax when he and Shug crashed in on her? And for some reason attributed it to the visiting ghosts? Why in the world would he have thought that? Unless…?

  “No,” she said positively, staring after the ghosts who floated up to the closed door and disappeared in John Maxwell’s wake. “It’s not possible.”

  And even if it was, why should he be so narked about it? The only reason she could find for that was even less possible. John Maxwell despised her. They’d met when he was drunk and bored and grumpy at his own party. She’d been a temporary distraction because she was different—a curiosity. But it had to be faced: even if he’d never found out about her part in the robbery, he would have looked right through her the next time they’d met. As it was, he hated her unconditionally for what she’d done, especially to Tammy.

  Addie pulled on her jeans, forcefully zipped them and threw on the camisole top and sweater. She still felt cold.

  ef

  There’d been an air of unreality about this entire adventure, Addie thought as she slammed out of the room in search of John Maxwell. Driving up to the Highlands on Hogmanay to rob a complete stranger was hardly part of everyday life, and this house was just plain weird. Ghosts of composers, naked ghosts and kilted ghosts who teased visitors… Come to think of it, the live inhabitants weren’t just your average family, either.

  Maybe she’d wake up soon and discover it was New Year’s Day, she had a hangover, and Kate wanted her breakfast… All would be right with her world. For the first time ever, she longed for the dreary little flat with its damp walls and miserable view. That was her reality.

  Instead of which, she was running along an unknown, spacious hallway just because she’d heard the owner’s footsteps go in that direction when he left. Coming upon a different, narrower staircase—the servants’ stairs, presumably, in bygone days—she leapt up them three at a time.

  As she neared the top, something caught her eye, a wisp of colour, whisking out of sight. She’d already started after it, glanced down the empty hall, even curled her fingers around the handle of the first door—it being the only one her quarry could possibly have reached in that time—when the uneasy thought struck her that what she’d glimpsed didn’t have to be Maxwell. She’d had an impression of blue, she was sure, and there was no blue in his kilt…was there?

  In this house, she could be chasing anyone, alive or dead, owner or burglar.

  Oh, well, I’ve come this far.

  She turned the handle and opened the door.

  The curtains had been haphazardly pulled back to let in the pale light of the early winter’s morning. It was a child’s room. A model train set had been built in the middle of the floor, which was also scattered with Lego bricks and Bionicles and toy cars. On the wall were pictures of animals and footballers, and, in the far corner above the single bed, a chart of a piano keyboard.

  Reluctantly, Addie’s gaze fell to the bed. The quilt had a child-sized hump in it. She could almost have believed said hump was asleep, except that it shook the quilt.

  Oh, Jesus, how much worse does this have to get? Why did nobody mention a child?

  Because they’re afraid you’ll hurt him, idiot.

  She could go straight back out, pretend she hadn’t seen him, leave him to his solitary terror of the strangers in his house. No one else needed to know. And she needed no further complications.

  But Kate’s mother could no more ignore a frightened child than she could voluntarily stop breathing.

  “Hey, are you awake?” she asked calmly, keeping her voice soft, casual, unthreatening. The quilt shivered some more, but didn’t move. “Just want to be sure you’re all right.”

  As she spoke, she walked nearer to the bed till she could see two huge brown eyes and a thatch of black, tousled hair.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Addie said. “I didn’t know you were here either. What’s your name?”

  “Jack,” said the quilt uncertainly.

  “I’m Addie.”

  The quilt moved down a little. A white-faced boy of about seven or eight looked up at her, trembling slightly. “Where’s my dad?”

  “Well,” Addie confessed, “I’ve only just got here, and I’m not very sure who your dad is…”

  “My dad’s John Maxwell.” There was a hint of pride, even of pitying contempt aimed at her for not knowing anything so obvious.

  “Of course he is,” Addie murmured. In fact, there was a startling resemblance. “I’m not quite sure where he is, to be honest, but he’s around somewhere. He’s all right, you know.”

  “I know that,” Jack said bravely. “It’s just that he told me to stay in here until he came back—and that was hours ago and he hasn’t come back.”

  “He probably thinks you’re asleep,” Addie said comfortingly, even while fresh guilt twisted through her. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” He gave her a quick, cheeky grin. “Actually, I was going to sneak down to the kitchen and get something when I saw you coming up the stairs.”

  “Hmm. And you really want to do what your dad said… Tell you what, you stay here, and I’ll go and forage for some breakfast and bring it up to you.”

  “Yes?” The boy’s rather beautiful face perked. He wasn’t shaking at all now.

  Addie nodded. Her eyes, scanning the room for possible hiding places, had come upon a vaguely door-shaped break in the Glasgow Rangers wallpaper. You couldn’t see it at all from the bedroom door. “What’s through there?” she asked. “A bathroom?”

  “Yes, and a big walk-in cupboard.”

  “Well…tell you what, Jack—just until your dad says everything’s OK again…if you hear anyone coming, go through there and shut the door. I’ll knock like this…” She beat a quiet um-tiddly-um-tum on the bedside table, “and you’ll know it’s me. I’ll tell your dad to do the same. Otherwise, you hide—OK? Just like a game.”

  “A game,” he repeated uncertainly.

  “Well, almost a game,” Addie amended. “They’ll go away soon, but
there are some funny people about just now that you don’t really want to meet.” Trust me on that, son, I’m one of them. She gave him a quick wink as she stood. “Me and your dad will look out for you, OK?”

  The boy actually smiled. “OK.”

  ef

  This has gone far enough.

  Marching downstairs, she knew she had to find a way to end this. No way was Shug or anyone else with a gun threatening that child or his family. They had to get out of here now.

  Well, right after she’d got the poor wee thing some breakfast.

  There had been some food set out in the dining room, but what the Maxwells’ guests had left, their burglars had largely consumed. Since there was no one around, Addie stuffed a couple of pieces of cherry cake into the capacious pocket of her sweater, then wrapped a slightly curly slice of ham and the last bit of smoked salmon into a crumpled napkin and stuck that in her pocket too. From the drinks table, she swiped a small bottle of Schweppes lemonade and made her way past the sitting room—Helen Maxwell appeared to be asleep on the sofa. Beside her, the incredibly old lady still sat unmoving, almost as if she were dead. Uncle Herbert and Liz Conway were in the two armchairs, and Jim sat opposite them, looking worryingly sleepy considering Maxwell’s shotgun lay across his knees. There was no sign of any of the others.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway still said twelve o’clock.

  Addie walked casually into the kitchen and found Tammy extricating herself from Gavin’s arms. “Look, Gavin,” she was saying impatiently, “I can’t think about stuff like that just now. There’s a bunch of psychos in my home, threatening my family. Whatever you and I have going is kind of irrelevant right now.”

  “I just want the right to protect you,” Gavin protested. Neither of them was aware of Addie’s presence.

  “It’s not the right that matters, it’s the ability,” Tammy snapped.

  Phew, right in the gonads, Addie judged as Gavin’s lips tightened, his arms falling to his side.

  Tammy muttered, “And none of us have the ability right now. The bad guys have the guns. Look, I’m going back…” As she swung away from him, her gaze collided with Addie’s, and she broke off. She lifted her arms in a mockery of surrender.

  “Bang bang,” said Addie lazily. “Got any bread?”

  Tammy opened the sliding lid on a bread bin and pushed the crusty bread toward her. When she reached for the knife, Addie was before her. Gavin brushed past the pair of them and marched back in the direction of the sitting room.

  “Trouble in love?” Addie enquired.

  “Not as much as you,” Tammy retorted.

  Cutting the second slice, Addie glanced at her. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning at least my lover isn’t toting a gun.”

  “Congratulations,” Addie said mildly. “But where is my trouble in that?”

  “Because yours is. Yours is the one who’ll go down for life. Sooner or later.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Shug’s not my lover. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake of a perfect life?”

  “Not the Psycho-Weasel,” Tammy said impatiently. “The other one. Jim! The last time I saw him, he still had our shotgun.”

  Laughter bubbled up at that, obliterating the humiliation and fury at being linked to Shug. “Oh, no, you’re barking up the wrong tree there.”

  Still laughing, she slapped some butter on to the bread and added it to the stash in her pockets. Tammy’s gaze dropped, following her actions.

  “For later.” And before the girl could respond, she added, “Where’s your brother?”

  “Upstairs with the Weasel and Godzilla.”

  Addie’s lip twitched. Godzilla did seem a trifle unkind to poor Malky. “I hate to imagine what you call me,” she murmured.

  “That’s easy—Bad Hair.”

  She’d been called worse. It shouldn’t have made her cringe inside, or blush with shame outside. But the very triviality of it hurt.

  Is that all I’ve become?

  Impatiently, she jerked her head to the doorway. “Come on, back to the party.”

  Tammy cast her a glance of venom not entirely free of curiosity, but obediently walked past her and out of the kitchen. Addie paused to take a deep breath, then followed her. She felt very small and cold.

  Tammy was crossing the hall toward the sitting room. A movement to the left caught Addie’s eye, making her blink.

  Then, without further warning, something erupted from under the stairs, like a huge ripple of air, rushing straight at Tammy while it gathered and formed into the shape of a human, a woman with long hair and a wide-open, silent mouth. An insubstantial creature of fury, it threw itself upon her with such force that Tammy stopped dead in her tracks.

  “What…?” she began, puzzled.

  For a moment of sheer terror, Addie stood rooted to the spot. This ghost looked so much less substantial than the others she’d seen in this house, and yet this was the one that scared the crap out of her. Its open mouth elongated, almost like a cartoon kiss that seemed to fasten on Tammy’s face, as if it was drinking…

  The air was freezing cold, making Addie gasp aloud—which at least broke her paralysis. Suddenly furious—she’d had enough of bullies for one day—she threw herself across the hall, shoving Tammy aside, and glared into the questing mouth of the apparition. It held the shape of a refined, beautiful woman, beautiful bone structure, shimmering skin and flat, malevolent eyes.

  “Leave her alone,” Addie shouted. She wasn’t sure how or why it had detached from Tammy at her intervention, but she continued to act from instinct. “Get away!”

  Vaguely she was aware of Jim’s sudden appearance at the sitting room doorway, his anxious, “Addie, what’s up?” But she couldn’t take time to answer him. She was staring down the ghost and trembling so much she thought her knees would give way, with the cold as much as the fear.

  Abruptly, the apparition swirled away, dissolving into transparent molecules that vanished into the air.

  Tammy said shakily, “What the bloody hell was that?”

  Addie squared her shoulders, which had slumped with relief. “You tell me.”

  “I couldn’t see anything,” Tammy protested. “I just felt something—pulling at me. Weird. Was it scary?”

  “Fucking scary,” Addie acknowledged, then glanced at the other girl. “But remember this before you start gloating—whoever or whatever it was, it was after you. Not me. And not him.”

  Tammy blanched. “Why would any of them bother with me? They’ve never come near me before. Or if they have, I’ve never seen—or felt—anything.”

  “I don’t know,” Addie said thoughtfully. “What’s changed?”

  Tammy shrugged. “Nothing. I haven’t even lived here for two years. Maybe I haven’t been home often enough and it’s punishing me… Or maybe it doesn’t like that I’m back. Addie—what did it look like?”

  In spite of herself, Addie shivered. “A woman, tall, beautiful, dark haired. Bones.” She drew in her cheeks, eloquently tracing imaginary cheekbones over her own.

  “Oh, shit. Sounds like Julia. My late sister-in-law.” Who had been murdered, possibly by her husband, John Maxwell. Something seemed to wrench in Addie’s stomach, a muddle of fear and unspecific pain.

  Jim spoke in a voice of disgust. “I have no idea what you two are talking about. Go and do something useful—make some tea.”

  “Make it yourself,” Addie retorted. “God knows you’re big enough and ugly enough. She’s going to sit down.”

  “And who’s going to watch her and the others?” Jim enquired.

  Addie said, “For Christ’s sake, Jim, who’s going to do anything to piss us off while Shug and Malky are loose about the house with firearms pointing at members of their family?”

  As she spoke, she was already running for the stairs. Jim shouted after her, “And where the hell are you going?”

  “To find the master of the house and get some answers,” she said grimly. Right af
ter I’ve delivered breakfast to the hungry hunter on the second floor…

  On the first floor, she could hear Shug’s voice raised angrily, and Malky’s deeper rumble. She suspected the ghosts were still winding up the intruders. Ignoring them all, she sprinted in the other direction till she again found the narrow stairs, and leapt up them as silently as she could.

  The first door was still shut, and all was quiet inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, she tapped um-tiddly-um-tum on the door and smiled when she heard the boy’s voice call out with delight.

  “Yes! Come in.”

  Addie pushed open the door to see Jack jumping up and down on the bed in his pajamas. And John Maxwell slowly standing from where he sprawled beside his son.

  Chapter Seven

  The way he took the boy’s arm, drawing him back behind his own body, was not lost on Addie. His dark eyes flashed total menace. Nor did the knowledge that she deserved it make her feel better.

  Jack said, “It’s all right, Dad, it’s only Addie. Did you remember my breakfast?”

  “’Course I did,” said Addie casually. Walking forward, she emptied her pockets on to the bed. With a crow of delight, Jack fell on it, stuffing the cake into his mouth before he remembered to mumble “Thank you.”

  Addie lifted her gaze to his father’s frowning face.

  “No point in hiding him if he starves to death, is there?”

  His frowned deepened. “Hiding him?”

  “We’ve got it all arranged,” Jack said, swallowing audibly and reaching for the ham. “I’m going to hide in there if I hear anyone else coming. If you’re not here.”

  John Maxwell curled a skeptical lip. “And who all is aware of this hiding place?”

  Addie shrugged. “The three of us, unless Jack’s told any other visitors.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t care what you believe. So long as you don’t blab it to anyone else in a tantrum. Jack, I’ve got to go just now—and I think maybe your dad should come, too.”