by Amy Cross
“The average man is an idiot,” Mr. Nash says suddenly, getting down onto his knees and squinting as he examines the model. “If the world were filled with men of my standard, oh...”
Again, his voice slips into a mumbled whisper, before he suddenly reaches across the desk and picks up his revolver. Clearly struggling to even see properly, he checks the chamber to make sure there are bullets, and then he pauses as if he's suddenly shocked by something. In his drunken state, he seems almost to be hearing voices in his head.
I have to get back to Mary.
I promised I'd be back soon.
She must be wondering where I am.
Suddenly Mr. Nash mumbles something unintelligible and struggles to his feet, grabbing a paperweight from his desk and bringing it over to me. Still muttering under his breath, he slips the paperweight into my hands and then forces me to hold it up, and I immediately realize that he means to try another bout of target practice.
“They mock me,” he mutters, shuffling back past his desk and then stopping in front of the window and turning to aim at the paperweight. “Can you believe that? They have the temerity, those pathetic and insignificant wretches, to mock and -”
Suddenly the gun fires, and I flinch as a shower of plaster rains down on me from above. When I dare to look up, I see that the bullet hit the wall several inches from the paperweight.
Still muttering under her breath, Mr. Nash leans against the desk for a moment, as if he might be about to pass out. I wait for him to try shooting the paperweight again, but now he almost seems to have fallen asleep. Staying completely still for a few minutes, I tell myself that I have to be patient, although eventually I start wondering whether Silas might let me leave.
“The other one,” Mr. Nash mumbles finally, lifting his head and looking over at Silas. “Maybe you should bring the other one up here.”
“She can't hardly walk,” he replies. “I haven't checked on her for a while. She might even be dead by now.”
“Well, go and take a look. If she's got a pulse, bring her up here. And use the back stairs, so none of the guests can see.”
Sighing, Silas turns to leave the room.
“Leave her alone!” I shout, panicking at the thought that he might be going to fetch Mary. “Please, don't hurt her!”
As soon as those words have left my mouth, I know I've made a terrible mistake. Turning to Mr. Nash, I can already see that I've piqued his curiosity.
“You've seen her, have you?” he mutters with a faint smile, before aiming the gun at me again. “You shouldn't go poking about, young lady. That's a sign of bad character.”
“Leave her alone,” I stammer again, still holding the paperweight up. “Please, I'll do -”
Before I can get another word out, the gun fires for a second time. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, just as a loud blast fills my ears, and the paperweight falls from my hand. As I open my eyes again, I see the paperweight hit the floor and roll, although it doesn't break. At the same time, Mr. Nash is laughing hysterically, and I turn to see that he's slumped back down in his office chair. He seems vastly, vastly amused by something, although I'm relieved to see that he's set the gun down, and a moment later Silas steps over to the door and leaves the room.
“Can I go?” I ask, once I've been left alone with Mr. Nash.
He doesn't reply. He doesn't stop laughing. Finally, after a couple more minutes, I dare hurry to the door. Behind me, Mr. Nash is laughing louder than ever.
***
“I'm back!” I shout, hurrying through the darkness until I reach the room where I left Mary earlier. “I'm sorry I was so long, but I'm back now!”
Stopping in the doorway, I see to my immense relief that she's still where I left her. The candle has burned down quite considerably, but at least it still casts a flickering light as Mary keeps her eyes fixed on the opposite wall. She hesitates for a moment, and I can see a hint of fear in her eyes, but I can't blame her for that. She must be in immense pain, and she probably thought that I'd abandoned her.
“Mr. Nash was drunk again,” I explain, stepping forward. “I haven't had time to find a wheelbarrow, but I'm worried he might send Silas down to hurt you, so we're going to have to move right now! I'm going to take you to the road, and from there we're going to walk and walk until somebody finds us. I know there's a chance we'll be brought straight back here, but we just have to hope for the best. If we meet somebody who's kind, everything might be alright again!”
I wait, but Mary doesn't look at me. She hasn't even acknowledged me since I returned, so I kneel next to her and place a hand on her shoulder.
“Mary!” I hiss. “We have to go!”
Suddenly she turns and looks down at her shoulder, as if she's shocked.
“Mary!” I continue, glancing briefly back through the doorway to make sure that there's no sign of Silas coming down to fetch her. When I turn back to my sister, I find to my relief that she's finally looking at me again. “You have to listen to me! You have to believe me! It's not safe for us to stay here! Silas will come down soon, and then there'll be nothing else we can do, so we have to move!”
I wait, but she's just staring at me.
“Mary -”
“Ruthie?” she whispers.
“I'm right here,” I tell her, worried that she might be slipping away. She seems dazed, perhaps even a little confused. “Do you think you can walk?”
She hesitates for a moment, before slowly shaking her head.
“I'll carry you,” I continue, even though I'm not sure I'm strong enough. Nevertheless, I reach my hands under her burned body, and then I start to lift her from the concrete floor.
She immediately lets out an agonized cry, and I pull back. She's gasping now, clearly suffering, but I don't know how else I'm supposed to get her out of here. My mind is racing and I keep telling myself that there has to be a way, but I'm not very smart and I'm worried I'll let my sister down. Just as I'm about to start really panicking, however, I remember that Mrs. Crandall showed me some laundry trolleys earlier in the day. One of those, filled with sheets, would be much better than a wheelbarrow.
“I know what to do!” I stammer, getting to my feet and hurrying back to the door. “Wait here!”
“Ruthie...”
“Just wait!”
“Ruthie, look at me!”
Stopping in the doorway, I turn to her.
“Is it really you?” she whispers, her voice trembling as if she's more afraid than before.
“We don't have time!”
“But are you really there?” she continues. “Ruthie, my darling Ruthie...”
I wait for her to finish the sentence, but she seems almost to be falling asleep.
“I'm going to find a trolley,” I tell her, terrified that Silas might arrive at any moment. “There'll be time for us to talk later, but right now I have to get you away from here!”
Turning, I make my way back to the stairs and up to the main part of the hotel. This time, I'm much more careful to make sure that Silas isn't lurking anywhere, and I manage to make it all the way to the laundry room without seeing another soul. I fill one of the trolleys with sheets, before wheeling it out into the corridor and pushing it toward the door that leads down to the basement. My arms are already aching, and I still don't know exactly where I'll take Mary once I get her outside, but I'll figure that part out later. I still have hope, and I know that anybody we meet on the road has to be kinder than Mr. Nash.
Right now, I just have to make sure Mary doesn't scream when I carry her up the stairs. I might have to put my hand firmly over her mouth, but if that's what it takes, then that's what it takes.
“I'm back!” I tell her as soon as I get back down the stairs. “I know it's going to hurt, Mary, but I have to take you up to the next floor. And then -”
Stopping suddenly, I see that the candle is no longer burning in the next room.
“Mary?” I whisper, stepping forward into the cold air. “Where are you?�
��
When she doesn't reply, I reach down to the spot where I left her. Although my hands quickly find the candle, which has been knocked over and snuffed out, there's no sign of my sister, not even when I fumble in the darkness and check the rest of the room. In the few minutes I was gone, she's somehow disappeared entirely.
“Mary!” I hiss, starting to panic. “Mary, where did you go?”
It takes me several more minutes to check the room without any light, but finally I'm certain that there's no sign of her. Heading back toward the stairs, I look for any hint that she might have tried dragging herself to safety, but it's almost as if she simply disappeared without a trace. Finally, I make my way back up the stairs and into the main part of the hotel, but I don't even know where to begin looking. I can't call out, because then other people would realize that something's wrong and Mr. Nash might decide to punish us. Instead, I make my way through all the rooms near the top of the stairs, while telling myself that whatever she decided to do, Mary can't possibly have managed to get very far.
Reaching the dining room, I hurry between the tables and stop at the window, looking out at the patio in case there's any sign of her. At first, I don't see anything at all, but after a moment I realize I can see movement out in the trees, as if someone is in the forest and heading toward the lake.
“Mary?” I whisper, trying to figure out why she'd do such a thing, before realizing that she might be delirious. Filled with panic, I take a step back, before turning and running back out of the room. “Mary!”
It takes a few more minutes until I manage to get out to the patio, and then I hurry past the chairs and tables and run into the forest. I can't see anyone now, of course, and the entire forest is pitch-black, but I can just about make out the moonlit shimmering lake far off in the distance. I can't quite believe that Mary is apparently able to move so quickly, and after a few more paces I start wondering whether perhaps I was mistaken, but then I spot a silhouetted figure far off between the trees.
It's not Mary.
It's a man, and he's carrying something.
He's carrying a girl's body.
“Mary!” I scream, racing forward between the trees. Silas must have gone down to the basement and carried her out, and I have to stop him before he reaches the lake. As I continue to run, however, I feel as if I'll never catch up, and I lose sight of the silhouette a few times before finally I burst out from the tree-line and find myself on the lake's shore.
I look both ways, and I quickly spot Silas standing at the end of the little wooden jetty. Staring at him, I'm horrified to see that he's wrapped Mary's body in blood-stained sheets, and he's using ropes to tie rocks to her feet and neck.
“Mary!” I scream, racing toward them. “Stop!”
Before I can reach the jetty, however, I see Silas shoving the body over the edge, sending her crashing into the water.
“Get her out of there!” I yell. “She'll drown!”
Scrambling along the jetty, I rush past Silas as he walks the other way. When I reach the end, however, I look down into the moonlit water and see nothing but darkness.
Behind me, Silas is whistling as he wanders back toward the forest.
“Help me!” I scream, turning to him as I break into a series of desperate, breathless sobs. “You have to help me get her out of there! Please!”
Ignoring me, and still whistling, Silas strolls out of view, leaving me to turn and look back down into the water. After a moment, realizing that there might still be a chance, I swing my legs over the side of the jetty and drop down, crashing into the water and finding that it's much deeper than I'd expected. My feet aren't even touching the bottom of the lake, and I tread water for a moment before diving down in a desperate attempt to find my sister.
After searching for almost a minute, I come back up for air, but I know I don't have any time to lose. I have to find her soon, so I dive down again, swimming deeper and deeper into the darkness, reaching out and hoping that my hands will finally feel her somewhere in the depths.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time morning comes, and rays of sunlight reach across the still, glittering lake, I've finally given up the search for my sister. I know it's too late, that she's been down in the water for a couple of hours now, and that she must surely have drowned.
And perhaps she was dead even before she was dropped down there. Perhaps Silas and Mr. Nash killed her before she was taken from the basement.
Sitting on the edge of the jetty, sobbing as I think of how close I came to saving Mary, I feel for a while as if I might never be able to move again. Part of me wants to put rocks in my pockets and jump back into the water, to sink down and join my sister so that we can be together forever. Before I do that, however, I know that I have to make sure that the people who killed her are forced to pay for their crimes. And as I stare down at the water, I feel a slowly rising sense of anger in my chest, before finally I turn and look up at the hotel high on the hill.
I'm going to go to Mr. Nash. I'm going to kill him. And I'm going to do it right now.
Part Five
Ellen Nash - 1945
Chapter Sixteen
Dear Mother and Father,
I am writing this letter from my own private desk in my own private bedroom at the Lakeforth. This is no exaggeration, nor is it intended to sound boastful. I merely wish to assuage your concerns, and to assure you that Jobard Nash is taking great care of me. I cannot imagine that any other newly married woman has ever been so looked after by her husband.
Jobard is frightfully busy with the business of running the hotel, of course, so I don't see him very often. Some days, I'm lucky if he can spare time for dinner. Even then, I can tell his mind is elsewhere, but this is simply how life must be when one's husband is such a busy, successful and ambitious man. I know you had reservations, but I can honestly say that I cannot imagine a better husband. Jobard Nash is a magnificent man, and strong as an ox. Our life together here makes me very happy.
I shall write to you again soon, hopefully with some good news about our endeavors in the family department.
Yours with love,
Mrs Ellen Nash
July 23rd, 1945
***
“You mustn't be too hard on yourself, darling,” I say with a sigh, as I stand in the doorway and watch Jobard pacing back and forth past the window, as if something out there is bothering him. “It takes time to gain the recognition you deserve. You've already achieved so much, far more than any other man could have managed. This hotel is utterly magnificent.”
I wait for a reply, but he seems utterly absorbed by his own thoughts. I have long known that Jobard is a rather intense man, and truly I love him for this quality. Lately, however, I have begun to feel that he could lighten up just a little. It wouldn't kill him to take a day off work, or even an evening, yet here he is once more in his office well past dinner. If this is how things are when we have only been married for two weeks, I cannot imagine the course of the rest of our lives.
He hasn't even spared time for a honeymoon.
“Are you scared?” I ask.
Again, he doesn't look up. “Of what?”
“Of losing it all. Of going back to -”
“Don't talk nonsense!” he mutters. “I built this place up from nothing! How could I possibly lose it?”
“Perhaps you should come downstairs with me, then,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “To the dining room. Just for once. The Sawards are almost done, and I'm sure they'd like to speak to you before they retire for the night.”
“The who?”
“The Sawards. Mr. Bernard Saward is an eminent travel writer. He and his wife are currently enjoying a tour of the shires, and I feel sure that if you were to spend some time with him, in return he would -”
“Go and entertain the man,” he replies, interrupting me. “That's what you're good at, after all. It's one of the reasons I knew I had to take a wife. It's your job to play the hostess, Ellen.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I'm sure this isn't the only reason he married me, but something causes me to hold back. Instead of arguing with my husband, I make my way across the room and join him at the window. Looking out, I see the well-lit patio arranged around the new swimming pool, with several of the hotel's guests having already made their way out there after dinner. The scene is quite delightful, and I shall go down myself and mingle soon enough, but I haven't quite given up hope of persuading Jobard to come with me. After all, he works far too hard.
“My darling,” I say finally, “what troubles you so?”
Stopping next to me, he stares out at the scene for a moment.
“Do you see her?” he asks after a few seconds, his voice tense with concern.
“See who?”
I wait for a reply, but now he seems once more to have turned inward. Sometimes, I can be standing right next to him and yet I feel that he has no idea I'm even in the room.
“I see two ladies out there,” I continue, forcing a smile. “One wearing a frightful turquoise dress, and the other wearing a rather more tasteful number in pink chiffon. The one in turquoise is Mrs. Saward, I'm afraid, but one simply can't buy taste. Mutton dressed as lamb, if you ask me.”
Again, I wait.
Again, Jobard says nothing.
“My dear,” I add, “is -”
“You see nobody else?” he asks, interrupting me again. “You have seen nobody else at all, nobody at the edge of the light? Not even a -”
He stops suddenly, as if some desperate inner trouble has briefly risen again and filled his mind.
“You have not seen her once,” he continues, “since you arrived at the Lakeforth?”
“Seen who?”
I look at him, watching his face for some hint of a clue, but finally I turn and look back out at the patio. At first, I simply watch the bright lights and the guests who are down there, but a moment later my gaze is drawn to the darkness beyond the patio, where the grass runs toward the vast, dark forest and the lake. I know I am perhaps being a little foolish, but I can't deny a very faint shudder as I think of such a huge, untamed plot of land. Sometimes, I almost feel that this hotel is surrounded by a kind of darkness that watches us all.
