by Sherry Soule
I shrugged. “Nothing. Just the designs for Ravenhurst. Architect stuff.”
He reclined in his chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I thought…” His face softened, the suspicion leaving his eyes. “You’re right, Shiloh, I should’ve told you.”
My heart slowed. He doesn’t know about me. About my powers.
He exhaled, gesturing to Madison. “So you see? Ravenhurst isn’t haunted. I intended to confess everything—”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.”
A lump rose in my throat. I looked from Trent to his younger sister. Their differences were glaringly apparent. Can’t Trent see how much Madison closely resembles someone else?
“I’m confused,” I said. “Um, why do you think you’re related?”
Lines formed between his eyebrows. He licked his lips. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you look nothing alike,” I answered calmly, but a pang hit my gut. My voice refused to speak my suspicions aloud. I stared at Madison and Jillian’s face swam before me.
Madison’s eyes skipped from one object to the next, never focusing on one thing for more than ten seconds. Until…until those strange eyes fell upon me and darkened.
“Why she here?” Madison asked in a child-like voice.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Trent replied. He placed a reassuring arm over Madison’s shoulder. She snuggled closer to him. “I wanted you guys to finally meet.”
“I have to go,” I said. “It was nice to meet you, Madison.” I started to rise, but Trent waved me back down.
“Why?” His voice had a sad timbre to it. Thick with things unsaid. “Please stay. We can hang out. Watch a movie. Clear the air.”
“Why bother? I hate secrets.” My parents kept secrets too. Especially Jillian. Now Trent.
He snorted. “Oh really? Well, trust is a two-way street, babe. I know you’ve been keeping things from me too. Now about Madison—”
“She won’t understand the house!” I blurted, then blushed from my toes to my scalp.
“What—”
I put one hand up. “You’ve had your say and you’re right. I haven’t been honest with you either.” My tone sounded loud, bordering on hysteria. “But you need to hear it.” I blew out a breath and said, “Ravenhurst is haunted. I should know, I can sense things with my, um, superpowers. Well, actually...” I paused and looked him in the eye. “I can see ghosts. Talk to them too. Your uncle and I have been working together to find a way to cleanse your house.”
His mouth fell open. He sat back and stared at me as though I was completely nuts.
“The point I’m trying to make is—don’t shake your head—it’s true. Ravenhurst is a beacon for otherworldly creatures, a haven for evil. You’re not safe here. Either is your, um, sister.”
The queerest expression darkened his gorgeous features “What the hell is wrong with you?” His tone was harsh, “Damn it, Shiloh! This house is not haunted! Whatever you think you’ve heard, it’s just been Madison. Or one of the maids, who looks after her while I’m at school.”
“This isn’t about Madison sneaking around the house. Ravenhurst is haunted. Haunted!” I insisted, sitting up and pounding my fists into the sides of the chair. My stomach ached. Like his words were stabbing me in the heart. He was supposed to be my best friend. My boyfriend. He was supposed to believe me. But he never had and that hurt worst of all.
I sat there with my heart breaking. My pride stinging. My chest hollowing out.
Madison rolled her head back and snorted, apparently mocking me.
My eyes searched the room for the shades. Shadows flickered; rolling smudges covered the far wall. I opened my mouth to summon them, but my throat closed. They stared, red eyes blinking. The grandfather clock noisily ticked away the time and the shadows grumbled. I stayed locked in silence. Unsure if exposing all of my secrets was a smart thing to do. Or dangerous. Or if Trent could see the same things I saw. Things that lurked in the dark.
“I can prove it,” I said.
“Not sure I like Shiloh,” Madison said. She flared her eyes at me, turning them from soft brown to dark green. So much like Jillian’s eyes. Our mother. I knew what that meant.
“Shiloh,” Trent said, “prove what? You’re kinda overreacting.”
“Am I?” I stiffened, anger bubbling in my gut. “I’vealways been melodramatic. What can I say? It’s a flaw.”
“Everyone has flaws,” he said softly.
I stood and glowered at him. “Gee, I’m still kinda fuzzy on exactly what yours is. Oh, yeah, it has something to do with you being pig-headed The thing that pisses me off the most is that I tried to talk to you about the house and you always got upset—like you didn’t believe it. But I think you lied about that too.”
Trent sighed. “Everybody lies, Shiloh.”
“That’s comforting.” I hedged toward the doorway.
“What’s wrong now?” Trent’s voice sounded ragged and torn. “I thought you’d understand.”
“Well, news flash—I don’t.”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “This is getting us nowhere.”
My head throbbed and I backed away from them. At the doorway, I paused and opened my mouth to say something else, but Madison stood as if propelled by an explosive force and rushed past me. Upstairs a door slammed.
I knew it was time to tell him about his mother. Drawing a deep breath, I steadied my voice, “Trent, I need to show you something I just discovered. I’ll be right back.”
I ran upstairs and back into the attic, I flung open the chest containing Claire’s letters. I would show it to him and we would uncover the truth. Discover why his father was paying Madison’s bills…unless.
Jillian and Maxwell Donovan?
I mentally slapped myself on the forehead. Of course. I’d been so caught up in my own drama I hadn’t realized the obvious. Madison was my half-sister and Trent’s. Can my life get any more bizarre?
Yet I paused in the doorway floundering in indecision and weighing the consequences.
Will Trent hate his father even more? Will I destroy any chance they have at mending their relationship? Or worse, will he hate me for showing him the letters? Will this tear our families apart?
Clutching the letters to my chest, I ran downstairs and toward the center rotunda. As I started down the stairs, someone moved out of the pocket of darkness and pushed me. Hard. For a second, I teetered off balance. “Help!” I wobbled, my arms frantically reaching for the banister.
My answer was two hands and a swift shove. I tumbled in a rolling heap down the stairs. Waves of pain crashed over me, holding me under in a sea of agony. All the way down, down, down. Until my head collided with the hardwood floor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A throbbing in my head made me reluctant to open my eyes. My vision blurry. I took deep breaths until the waves of dizziness lessened and I was strong enough to raise my head. I leaned on one elbow. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.
A door opened, admitting a nurse at least six feet tall with short fiery-red hair, wearing scrubs and clogs. “You’re awake? I’m Nurse Gwen. Let me fetch the doctor.” She whipped around and closed the door.
Collapsing on the thin mattress, I surveyed my foreign surroundings. Stark white walls, a metal-framed bed, and a nightstand. Solitary window with security wiring. Somewhere a loudspeaker called out codes and someone howled loudly. Fluorescent light glared down from the ceiling. Whiffs of bleach wafted from the bedding and the antiseptic scent gave me nausea.
I had no memory of how I’d gotten there.
No shadows danced on the walls. Eventually they would come for me. I had no protection here. I was weak. Defenseless. Vulnerable.
I yanked off the crisp sheets, and swung my legs over the cold metal bed. Someone had dressed me in a scratchy hospital gown and had wrapped my right wrist in an elastic Ace bandage. I had scrapes and bruises on my arms and legs. My arm had a puncture wound where some
one must have inserted a needle. I raised one hand to touch the gauze at my temple and noticed a white band on my left wrist: Valley Grove Psychiatric Hospital: Ravenwolf, Shiloh
Holy crap! I’m in the nut house…
The door opened and this time a forty-something-year-old man with salt and pepper hair and a moustache, wearing a lab coat, entered the room. He was short, probably five-foot seven, with a stout frame and large hands. Hairy knuckles too. He approached the bed, laying a hand on my arm. “Hello. I am Doctor Matheson, one of the doctors here.”
My muscles went rigid beneath his fingers. Ha! More like a prison.
“I’m sure you have lots of questions.” He glanced at his clipboard.
“Actually—I do.” I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from trembling. “Why am I here?”
“You don’t have any recollection of the events before your admittance?”
“No. I mean, yes—but I’m not crazy!”
My outburst made him restrain a smile. “We don’t use that term in here.”
“Who…put me in here?”
“You were admitted yesterday by your mother.”
Soul-bruising betrayal squeezed me like a vice clamping my heart. Everyone I loved had abandoned me. Locked me away. And I couldn’t bury the pain of betrayal.
“There’s been some sort of a mistake.” My breathing rapid and irregular, I clenched my hands. My voice sounded gruff and strange to my ears. “Someone pushed me down a flight of stairs. I belong in a regular hospital—not in the psych ward!” I knew I shouldn’t direct my anger at him, but I couldn’t help it.
I wished I knew who or what had tried to kill me. Again. It could’ve been anyone. Esael? Claire? Jillian? Trent? Madison?
“I need you to remain calm, Miss Ravenwolf, so we can help you.” Doctor Matheson raised his bushy brows. “Are you saying you don’t remember attempting to commit suicide by throwing yourself down a flight of stairs?”
“Aren’t you listening? Hel-lo. I just told you—I was pushed. P. U. S. H. E. D.”
“Just relax,” he suggested, his eyes studying me and appraising the situation. “Your mother informed us of the special circumstances.”
All the fire left my belly and I slouched, misery etching across my face. “What? I’m so confused.”
“Apparently, you had a psychotic episode at Maxwell Donovan’s home. You harmed yourself by leaping from the upstairs rotunda. When your mother brought you in, you were unconscious, bleeding from a head injury, and had sprained your wrist. You were lucky your injuries weren’t worse, young lady.” He gestured toward my bandages. “Since your physical injuries weren’t great but you’d made a suicide attempt, we’re required to monitor you.”
I hunched my shoulders with a scowl. “You can’t keep me here against my will. I need to call my dad. He’ll straighten this out.”
Doctor Matheson yanked at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Yes. We can. You made a suicide attempt. Under California code section 5150, we can hold you up to seventy-two hours without your consent to make sure you don’t attempt suicide again. Longer if we feel you need care.”
“Can I use the phone? I wanna call my dad.”
Matheson pursed his lips and tightened his cheeks. “Not right now, but probably later.”
“So what happens next?”
“You’ll be on antipsychotics and attend therapy sessions daily until we deem you’re stable. That may take a few days, or even a few weeks.”
My stomach lurched. A few weeks? I can’t stay here a few weeks. More teens could be sucked dry!
I stared at the floor, at my bare feet that needed a serious pedicure. Coldness filled my body.
“Why did you harm yourself?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I raised my head and kept my gaze fixed on the door.
“Fine. I can see you’re upset. I’ll give you a chance to rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” He walked to the door.
The latch rotated and my muscles tensed. My feet touched the cold tiles. My heart beat faster and faster. I scooted to the edge of the mattress, my eyes fixed on the door. The shrink clutched the handle and when he had the door open—I sprang into action.
I practically leapt from the bed, shoving him aside and shot like a cannon out into the corridor. I didn’t know which way to turn.
“Nurse! Nurse!” Matheson shouted.
To my right, two men in white uniforms looked up from a chart. Turning in the opposite direction, I sprinted along the corridor, flying past the nurse’s station. I slid to a stop at the elevator and pushed the button; simultaneously, the double doors opened to let a doctor out. I dashed inside and punched the lobby button on the panel just as the two men were almost on top of me. Bending over to catch my breath, I glanced up, and caught a glimpse of my distorted reflection in the mirror-like walls. I didn’t recognize myself. Like staring at my evil twin. Hair short—short!—and wild and tangled. A massive lump under the bloody bandage near my temple. Skin pallid and eyes hollowed out. The thin gown short and baggy. At least I wore underwear.
Breathing fast and hard, I watched the elevator’s glowing number panel: 13…12…11…10…9…
The elevator lurched to a stop, throwing me off balance. I whimpered at the ache in my injured arm as I hit the floor. My eyes found the video camera attached to the ceiling. Piercing scream of the building’s alarm system spurned me into action. I pushed myself up. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I sucked in a breath. Damn! I was trapped. Stuck between floors.
With every ounce of strength left in my body, and even with the throbbing in my wrist, I struggled to pull those two doors apart. The opening was about twenty inches wide. Jumping to grab the ledge, I hoisted myself up, scraping my knee. I got my head and shoulders out, but my bottom half was stuck. I squirmed and transferred my weight, finally squeezing through the gap. Without warning, the doors began to jerk shut, like the hungry steel jaws of a shark attempting to sever a leg, and I hauled my legs clear just as the doors closed.
“There she is!” An orderly pointed at me.
Scrambling to my feet, I bumped into a startled nurse carrying a tray of pills, and the meds flew into the air, scattering across the floor. I spotted double doors on the right, and thrusting them open, I burst into a recreation room filled with patients. I squatted behind a sofa. Two orderlies scanned the room from the entrance. I waited until they moved away. Then I crept, crouching down along the row of windows.
Damn! Safety glass on these too.
Gazing at the ground below, I knew I was only making matters worse.
From out of nowhere, I was tackled from behind and thrown to the floor. I fell on my side, the breath rushing from my lungs. Two attendants struggled to hold me down, but I fought back—hard. Struggling and thrashing, I raked my nails down the side of the orderly’s face who held my left wrist and he yelped. The other man wrestled me to the ground, straddling me, and I bit into his shoulder. He cried out and clutched the wound. With both hands, I shoved him off and jumped to my feet. I spit the guy’s own blood into his face.
Standing with my feet apart and fists up, I faced the two scrub-clad orderlies. One guy was a short Caucasian and the other a tall African-American. They eyed me uneasily, their fingers tensing. I caught a glimpse of Nurse Gwen moving stealthily behind them holding a big needle, and I chose that moment to strike first.
Energy crackled around me, raising my hair like static electricity. Magick pulsated on my skin. It gave me strength and power. Most of all, courage. I called out, “Magick, come to me, make me strong. And set me free!”
I lifted a knee and hit the guy closest to me in the groin. He blanched, doubled over, and fell to the ground. The other man lunged at me, so I leaned forward and headbutted him in the face. He pitched backward, dark arms flailing, and smacked into the wall behind him. In the same motion, I pounced onto the fallen man, ramming a fist full of magick into his chin. I didn’t pause to savor my triumph; as soon as his head rebounded from the hard fl
oor, I was moving again, twisting away from the dazed orderlies as Nurse Gwen swooped in.
“Damn it!” she barked. “Hold her down! She’s in a psychotic break. Someone get me some Haldol!”
The two men stood and dusted themselves off. I jumped to my feet. Magick thrummed in my veins. They closed in, angry faces and auras thunderous.
Without realizing what was happening, I found myself flat on my back, sucking in deep breaths of air that seemed devoid of oxygen. I’d been slammed violently against the linoleum floor from the side. The ensuing tunnel vision that threatened to take away my sight cleared in time for me to glimpse the dark head of my unseen attacker. He put his two meaty hands on my shoulders and pinned me to the cold floor. One of the other men seized my ankles. Before I could kick him in the face, a hypodermic needle was plunged into my butt.
I screamed in protest until the sedative slipped through my veins. I stopped squirming. My limbs were drugged and submissive. Whirling blackness came again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I woke up, my brain was foggy. I was back in my hospital room, prone on the lumpy bed. The door opened and Matheson poked his head in. “Hello, Miss Ravenwolf. Feeling better?”
No! This isn’t fair. Please let me go home.
Somehow, I had to convince them I wasn’t a nutcase. But I was pretty sure yesterday’s escape attempt wasn’t going to help my defense. If I didn’t behave, things were going to get worse. I’d be in this sterile room for the rest of my life, recoiling from shadows.
But who can blame me for trying to escape? Once freedom is taken away, most of us would die fighting for it rather than be locked in a cage.
“Everything’s still sorta confusing.” Tears spilled forth and my stomach slid into my feet. “Is this,” I said, sitting up and gesturing with my head at the locked door, “really necessary?”
