Threshold

by Sean Platt

  “All yours.” Scott handed a bottle to Carter.

  “Fair trade,” Carter said, handing him a card.

  Scott looked at the card. It had a woman’s name: Sandra Bryant. Beneath that, the word, Solutions.

  “What’s this?”

  “Sandra’s a family counselor, and an excellent friend of the Galloways. I strongly feel she can help you.”

  “Me?”

  “All of you, Mr. Dawson. Your family has suffered. You’ve been left to wonder. Too much, I’m afraid. First about Holly, now about all of this. You have questions. I believe it’s healthy to ask them. Sometimes, families need a leader to reach wherever they’re trying to go. That’s Sandra’s job. She’ll help you draw a map, then show you the X.”

  “How does she know where to draw it?”

  “By listening, of course.”

  “I don’t know.” Scott’s anger was creeping like a fever. “Is she trying to help me? Or us?”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Dawson? Forgive me. I’m older than I want to be, and my mind lets me know it.”

  “What if I didn’t want to use an old friend of the family? What if I agree you’re right, that maybe we could use some help, especially now that we can afford it, but I wanted to look online, find someone local with great reviews, and use them instead?”

  “That would be perfectly fine, Mr. Dawson, but why would you want to?” He lowered then lifted his eyes. “I don’t mean to misspeak, but if you want a solution, wouldn’t an authority help most? And isn’t an authority whoever has the most information? In this instance, wouldn’t that be someone with experience helping this family? I think the better someone knows the family, the more they’ll be able to do for you. But that’s just me talking. No offense taken if that card’s on the table when I return.”

  “Did Sandra treat Savannah?”

  Carter looked down, pausing in his answer just long enough for Scott to notice. “No. She never did. You’ll like Ms. Bryant. And she will help. I wouldn’t have handed you her card if I didn’t believe that.”

  “I know,” Scott nodded. “But I’m not sure how crazy I am about my daughter seeing a shrink. I don’t want her hopped up on drugs or anything like that. I knew a few kids who were sent off when they were her age. Things didn’t really work out for them, and from where I stood at the time it sure seemed like their parents had lost perspective. What if I’ve lost the ability to see Hazel from the side she needs me to most?”

  “I understand your concerns, Mr. Dawson, but Ms. Bryant won’t prescribe anything without your consent. And you don’t have to schedule a second appointment if you’re not pleased with the first.”

  Scott put his lips to his beer, picked up the remote, pressed play, and nursed his bottle to empty, just like Carter beside him, as they settled into Homeland’s comfortable racket together.

  After a while, Carter finished his drink, then leaned toward Scott and said, “Want another?”

  Scott nodded. Carter stood and went to the kitchen.

  The old man was right. As soon as Scott accepted that, he began to look forward to Hazel talking to Sandra. Sure, they all had stuff to work out, and had some healing to do as a family. But Hazel might be more than upset. She might be damaged. If so, that was at least partly his fault. This might be what she needed. Hazel’s problems could be as simple as missing her mother and needing another woman to talk to. But if they were more, the last thing Scott wanted to do was stand in the way.

  By the time Carter returned with the beers — just two, one for each of them — Scott felt infinitely better than he had just hours before.

  Carter set both beers on the table and looked up at the still screen. “You didn’t have to pause it.”

  “It would have been rude not to.”

  “Well in that case, thanks. Now let’s get this show going.” He laughed. “It’s a helluva lot better than I expected.”

  “Yeah.” Scott nodded. “It is. But I don’t want to watch another episode. I’d rather you tell me more about the Holly you knew.”

  “What would you like to know, Mr. Dawson? I fear the Holly I knew was somewhat different from the one you knew, and to be honest she could do many things that I imagine you’ll have a hard time believing.”

  He paused, as if waiting for Scott to argue.

  “My mind is open, Carter,” Scott said, even though it wasn’t. “Tell me.”

  “An open mind, well, that’s exactly what Holly had, and precisely why I believe she was able to do what she could. A skeptical mind will yield no results. If you believe that something is impossible, or that you simply cannot do it, then you’re greatly increasing the odds that you’re right.”

  That Scott found easy to imagine. Belief was easy for Holly, even when the same faith was impossible for him. “Life leaves little room for doubt,” she often said. “You can’t doubt yourself or your possibility, because positive thoughts breed more of the same. No different from the negatives. You’ll be a skeptic before you know it.”

  “So what is it that Holly could do?” He had already lost his taste for the conversation, and wished he’d never followed its trail. “What is it that I’ll have such a hard time believing?”

  Carter took a sip of beer, swallowed, then wiped his mouth. “What if I told you that Holly could move things with her mind—”

  “As in telekinesis?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dawson, as in telekinesis. And, as your daughter told you, Holly could also see the undead.”

  “Ghosts.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dawson, ghosts.” Carter set his beer on the table and said nothing more.

  After a few excruciating minutes of silence, Scott picked up the remote, pointed it at the screen, and took the next episode of Homeland off pause.

  * * * *

  HUDSON

  Hudson could hardly concentrate on the waffles; his mind kept turning from breakfast to Iris. He hadn’t called her yet, not since his father have interrupted what was sure to have been the best day of his life.

  He wanted to see her again — today, if possible.

  He gauged the table’s mood. Both his father and Hazel seemed to be doing well, so he took a chance. “So, are we going to draft a master schedule for who gets to leave the house and when? It would be a shame to mess up and lose the Publishers Clearing House just because we aren’t in sync.” He waved his hand among the three of them. “I want to go back into town today. Objections?”

  “Yes,” Hazel said. “You left yesterday. It’s my turn.”

  “But I actually have somewhere to go,” Hudson argued. “I made friends in town.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did,” he said, looking smug. “Ask Dad.”

  “He made friends in town,” Dad confirmed.

  Hazel whined, “Well, how am I supposed to make friends if I’m not allowed to leave? Two days in a row for Hudson isn’t fair, Dad, and you know it.”

  “I never said it was.”

  “So, can I leave the manor today?”

  “Yes, it’s your turn.”

  “That’s cool,” Hudson said, trying not to get pissed. It was probably better not to call Iris so soon. It might seem desperate. And while she seemed like the ideal girl, and perfectly suited for him, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be turned off by his puppy dog’s slobber. Back home, he’d always been too nice when it came to girls. Too eager. It was time to start playing it cool. He was already much more interesting than he’d been a month before, by way of his bloodline and address. Why not milk both for all they were worth?

  Dad looked at him with an arched eyebrow, clearly surprised by Hudson not putting up a fight.

  May as well earn points with Dad while I’m at it.

  “Plenty to do here.” He shoved a piece of waffle into his mouth, leaned back, and chewed. He looked at Hazel and felt good. Odd, but good. Being a big brother to Hazel, like he was yesterday in his room after whatever happened in the attic.

  He would do better from no
w on. Starting today.

  After breakfast, Carter came into the dining area with a package and handed it to Hudson. “Says this is for you.”

  He looked at the box wondering what it could be. It wasn’t big, but had some weight to it. He tore it open to find another box, one with an Apple logo beside the most beautiful words Hudson had ever seen: iPhone.

  “No way!”

  He looked at his Dad, then Carter, not sure who had bought it, and said thank you to them both.

  Dad said, “Next time you take off, I need to be able to reach you. Okay?”

  “Yeah!” Hudson said, eager to turn the phone on and see all the cool stuff it could do. He’d had friends with iPhones, of course, but the only thing Hudson ever had was a cheap prepaid cell that broke three months before he’d ever heard of Clovis Point.

  **

  Hudson finished breakfast, took his own dishes into the kitchen (hoping to see Mara, who was nice to him and also pretty), then lost track of hours as he started playing Z2134 on the PS4. The game was amazing — kind of like Resident Evil meets The Hunger Games, though he’d heard from reviews that the ending was a bit rushed. The graphics were amazing and the sound was off the hook, with explosions that rocked the theater-sized media room.

  He had the sound system cranked loud to block the storm outside: wicked, relentless, battering the manor. Brick and windows accepted their punishment, but between slapping rain and shuddering eaves, blankets of bright light flashing in the charred sky, and roaring, rolling thunder, things seemed to be quickly going from bad to worse.

  Things were also terrifying on-screen. Hudson was down to no energy. One — maybe two — swipes from a zombie would send him to nothing. He was surrounded, in a skyscraper in the Outback, as zombies swarmed on the lobby stairs below. He felt stupid being scared, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. Fear was part of the game, and Hudson supposed, part of the manor as well. A zombie grabbed his character, spun him around, and feasted on his neck. Hudson screamed, on-screen and in life as thunder boomed, lightning flared, and a mountain of zombies piled atop his twitching corpse.

  The screen filled with blood, and his character was brought back to the last save point.

  “Crap.” Hudson tossed his controller onto the carpet and sank back against the couch. He wasn’t going to spend another twenty minutes getting back to where he’d been. He hated games with crappy save systems.

  He stood from the too-comfortable couch and stretched, then left the media room, trading it for the hallway and his daily walk through the manor. Hudson had yet to explore the eastern wing since the first day’s tour, but wasn’t in a hurry. If this was his new home, he wanted to know it well.

  After fifteen minutes, Hudson ran into no one. The manor was silent, save for the storm, which thickened every room in echoes and shadow. The kitchen, living rooms and parlors, every hallway, and all of the rooms were empty. Hudson wondered if everyone was outside, then realized that was part of the manor’s odd magic: It was large enough that everyone could be inside and he wouldn’t even know.

  Hudson knew that Dad was going to the creek with Hazel but couldn’t remember if they’d come in to tell him they were leaving while he was playing the game. He seemed to remember something about a shop in town — a more likely destination given the storm.

  He felt a sudden ache, a need to connect, with someone. Anyone. Carter, his father. Hazel.

  Hudson pulled the iPhone from his pocket, and dialed Iris.

  No answer, until voicemail on the fifth ring.

  “Um …” he started, feeling totally stupid. “I guess you’re not there. I’m here in the storm. Well, not in the storm. I’m actually in the house … or the manor … whatever you call it. So, wow, it looks like I’m leaving the world’s worst, and probably longest message … or I will have once I finally finish rambling … I’m really sorry … I wish I knew your password so I could call you back and erase this, but I don’t … so you’ll have to erase it yourself, and not hate me too much when you hear it.” Hudson laughed, feeling painfully awkward, and not in the “cool way” that some girls liked so long as you were good looking, but the dorky sort of awkwardness that remained strictly in the domain of nerdy virgins. “Call me back … if you want.” He almost hung up, then added, “This is Hudson. The guy you met in town, who lives in Galloway Manor.”

  Hudson hung up, hating himself.

  Oh, my God. I did not just leave that message, did I?

  Hudson wandered the apparently empty manor like an idiot, wishing he hadn’t been so stupid, feeling lonelier than he was used to, and more than he was comfortable with. As he was about to head to his bedroom, a girl’s voice called his name.

  “Hazel?”

  No response. Outside, lightning crashed, followed by what sounded like bombs.

  He heard his name again, but just barely, seeming to come from the end of the hall.

  “Hudson …” the voice giggled.

  Hazel!

  He recognized her voice, even if she was trying to disguise it. He smiled. His sister was trying to scare him, because she didn’t realize that he couldn’t be scared — video games and a handful of movies aside. Yet, there were countless places to hide, and Hazel had the upper hand, so she could startle him.

  Unless …

  Hudson grinned, remembering the manor’s security app which Carter had already showed him how to install. He pulled it up on his phone and saw two red dots blinking in his wing — his, and Hazel’s, hiding three rooms away behind the door with the silver handle.

  Judging from his on-screen map, her room had only one doorway, so she wouldn’t be able to sneak away.

  He would scare her.

  Hudson slowly approached the door, watching the red dots close in on the screen. He debated whether to open the door and yell BOO!, or stand outside the door and make creepy sounds until she ran out crying for mercy.

  Hudson could barely contain his laughter while inching toward the room. He alternated looking between the door and the dots as he nudged against the wood.

  He reached for the doorknob, trying to stay silent. Then he paused, remembering Carter’s admonition on their first day — that they weren’t to enter the room with the silver handle. He’d not thought much about it since, almost forgetting the old man’s warning. In fact, when Carter had first ordered them away from room, Hudson had made a mental note to go inside at his first opportunity. Somehow, he’d forgotten all about it.

  Screw it. It’s our house, now. Why wouldn’t we be able to go wherever we wanted?

  He looked at his screen, saw Hazel’s red dot, and smiled as he reached for the doorknob.

  His fingers touched the cold metal and her dot vanished from the screen.

  What the …?

  He let go of the doorknob and looked at the screen, waiting for the dot to return.

  It didn’t come back.

  Two thoughts came to mind: If Hazel was hiding in the closet, maybe she’d be obscured from the cameras. Or, and this thought chased any notions of scaring her, Hazel went out the window, onto the balcony, and into the storm. It was just the kind of careless thing that she’d do, to put herself in danger, and them both in trouble.

  He threw open the door, calling Hazel’s name, his eyes on the closed window. He went and checked it: locked. Rain pelted the glass as he turned away from the window. That left the bathroom and closet. But the bathroom door was shut, with a giant wooden board nailed sloppily across it. The doorknob had also been removed.

  He pushed at the door, but it didn’t budge.

  He leaned down and looked through the hole into the pitch black darkness beyond.

  Something about the room made him think that there was no way Hazel would hide in there even if she’d managed to open the door.

  That left the closet.

  As Hudson approached the closed sliding closet doors, he suddenly realized what the room was. The walls were covered in posters of musicians from the eighties: Madonna, Du
ran Duran, Wham!, a guy he’d never heard of named Jack Wagner, and a poster that read FRANKIE SAYS RELAX.

  Pink and purple wooden letters spelled Savannah over a bed filled with stuffed animals, including several unicorns.

  He felt as if he’d stepped back in time into a perfectly preserved time capsule, a place that had never been touched, aside from dusting, since the day Savannah died.

  He turned from the closet and continued to look around, studying the pictures in frames on her dresser and hanging on the wall.

  Savannah was beautiful. Long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. He wasn’t sure how old she was when she passed, but she seemed near to his age in a few of the photos. She was also smiling in most of the pictures, which seemed surprising given that Dad had said she’d killed herself.

  He wondered what could make the smiling girl in these photos turn down such a dark path.

  He spotted a brown wooden chest, about the size of a shoe box, sitting atop an otherwise empty desk. He went to the chest, cautiously lifted the lid, and began sifting through photos of the girl with a bunch of people he’d never seen, save for a few with a slightly younger Carter.

  Hudson finished flipping through the photos, then looked around Savannah’s room, wondering how long they would leave it like a museum. Forever, he supposed. It wasn’t like Carter and staff were real people who used real people logic. The manor seemed to operate under its own reality, under rules from a Great Uncle who was no longer among the living. Hell, maybe this was one of the rules in the will — leave my daughter’s room as-is.

  Hudson approached the closet.

  “I know you’re in there, Hazel. Come out.”

  He was no longer in the mood to scare her, and wasn’t sure if it was the room itself that made him nervous, or being caught by one of the staff. He reached out, slid one of the closet doors open, and was met by the scent of moth balls and a row of neatly hung formal-looking dresses and blouses hanging beside bright neon clothing and jeans that practically screamed Eighties!