“I left her for a minute.” My voice came in rough bursts as I attempted to control the fountain of regret welling up inside me. “One minute. To get her a fresh towel from the laundry room.”
There was no more I could say. Doctor Marx got the gist of it. As I dissolved into hysterics, she simply scooted a box of tissues across the coffee table between us. Patiently, she waited out my waves of grief as, for the first time, I allowed the full weight of my shirked responsibility to fall on my shoulders.
“The paramedics say she probably tried to get out on her own, slipped, and hit her head,” I sobbed, covering my eyes with my hands.
When I finally began to relax, hiccupping for breath, Doctor Marx asked, “Where was Bodhi?”
“He was out.” I sniffed, reached for a tissue, and wiped my nose. “When we had Kali, we tried to settle down for a while. That wasn’t his thing. He constantly wanted to be on the move. To make up for it, he occupied himself with other things.”
“What kind of things? Drugs?”
I shook my head. “No, Bodhi was never into substance abuse. He preferred to seek out natural adrenaline rushes. He raced street cars, went sky-diving, and played paintball. One time, I found out that he’d been bare-knuckle boxing in some kind of underground ring. We fought a lot then. All I wanted was him to come home safe, and I couldn’t help but think he was going to get himself killed.”
“Do you think Bodhi resented Kali?”
Kali had come out of the blue. That was certain. Her conception ended our extensive traveling plans. We landed in Los Angeles of all places, holing up in an expensive shoebox of an apartment in order to get our act together before Kali made her official appearance. But while I was happy to give up a trip to the pyramids in order to care for our newborn daughter, Bodhi often wished that Kali would age faster so that we could bring her with us on new adventures.
“Resentment may be too strong a word,” I said. “I don’t think Bodhi understood what it meant to be a father until Kali died. That was when he woke up. It was only after she was gone that he really appreciated what Kali meant to him.”
“And what about you?” asked Doctor Marx. “These dreams of yours seem to indicate that you’ve never forgiven yourself for what happened to Kali.”
“Would you?”
“This isn’t about me.”
I crossed my arms. The leather sofa felt clammy beneath me as I avoided eye contact with Doctor Marx.
“Bailey,” she said quietly. “Think about it this way. Kali would not want to see you suffer like this. You loved her for her entire life, even if it was cut tragically short. Learning to let go of your guilt does not mean you’re letting go of your child.”
“It was my fault,” I said, staring at a spot on the floor. “You’re talking about parents that had a child die due to something that was beyond their control, but this was my fault. I left her in that bathtub. I took my eyes off of her. She died because of me.”
Doctor Marx set her clipboard on her desk and took off her glasses. “Bailey, listen to me. You did not intend to do anything wrong. Your actions were loving actions. You are not a doctor, and no matter what, you cannot keep your child in a bubble to protect her from harm. Accidents happen, and it just so happens that a tragic one happened in your household. Blaming yourself only creates the illusion that control over situations like that is possible.”
I took a deep breath, trying to process Doctor Marx’s advice. No matter what she said, it seemed unlikely that I could ever forgive myself for leaving Kali alone that night.
“I want you to try something when you go bed tonight,” Doctor Marx said. “Clear your mind. Let your thoughts come and go as they please, but try to focus on achieving a sense of calm.”
I laughed humorlessly. “Doctor Marx, I haven’t been truly calm in a very long time.”
“Which is exactly why we’re going to practice together now.”
For the remainder of the hour, Doctor Marx taught me a myriad of breathing exercises to help me relax at night. Then she guided me through a meditation routine. By the time she excused me from her office, I was lightheaded, woozy, and ready for my second nap of the day.
“Same time next week?” she asked, opening a file cabinet to put away her notes for our session.
“Sure.”
“See you then.”
I glanced at the names printed on the tabs of the files as I gathered my things and walked to the door. Most of them, I didn’t recognize, but one in particular reminded me that I wasn’t alone in my quest for help. Ethan Powell had once needed Doctor Marx too, after the death of his father. With some luck and a bit of effort, maybe I could achieve some semblance of his self-satisfaction.
I took my time on my way home, wiping the evidence of tear tracks from my cheeks. The fresh scent of tree sap helped clear my mind as I trekked up the southeast footpath to the house. It was a hot day, and the afternoon sun permeated the thick branches of the trees to warm the back of my neck. I stopped to sit on a large boulder, propping my ankle up against the rock to catch my breath. Nearby, a stream gurgled, and my parched throat wished that I’d brought a water bottle on my trip into town. The hot air shimmered around me, a sure sign of dehydration.
A twig snapped. I spun around, searching the trees for the source of the noise. No one emerged, but I had the eerie sense that someone was watching me. Uneasy, I heaved myself off the boulder and resumed my walk to the top of the bluff. My ankle ached with every step. I glanced over my shoulder.
There. Behind a particularly wide fir tree. A shadow lingered.
“Hello?” I called. “Who’s there?”
No one answered. I squinted in the hazy sunlight. There was definitely a person standing just beyond the border of the dirt path. I could see the outline of the tall figure. They stood hauntingly still, as if whoever it was didn’t feel the need to draw breath.
Despite the sun overhead and the sweat on my forehead, a chill swept over me. I turned my back on the figure and picked up my pace, stumbling over the uneven terrain.
At once, something slithered across the leaves behind me.
I broke into a disjointed run, landing heavily on my good foot to avoid damaging my ankle any further, but my footsteps weren’t the only ones on the path. Ahead, I caught a glimpse of the Winchester house through the leaves of the trees. Some of the guys were hauling the vintage refrigerator out to the truck. If I could get close enough, whoever was following me would have to give up the chase or risk being pounded by twenty burly construction workers.
Just as the thought crossed my mind and I put on an additional burst of speed, someone tackled me from behind. My breath whooshed out of my lungs as I went crashing to the ground, tucking my head in and somersaulting over my shoulder to avoid injuring myself further.
“Help!” I yelled, struggling against the weight that pinned me to the ground. Covered in dirt and leaves, I managed to flip over to face my attacker.
It was Milo.
“I need to talk to you,” he gasped. He looked even more terrible than the last time I had seen him, almost as if he was wasting away. His cheeks were hollow and gaunt, and his usually luscious hair was limp and damp with sweat.
“Milo, get off!”
“I need to talk to you,” he said again.
I bucked my hips, dislodging Milo just long enough to squirm out from under him, but he seized the plaster cast around my ankle and pulled me back. I yelled in pain, kicking out at Milo with my good foot.
“I need to talk to you.”
Something was wrong with him. His eyes had glazed over, and he apparently couldn’t say anything else. I decided to try a different tactic. I stopped struggling, drawing my legs into my chest. Milo sat cross-legged in the dirt. He stared directly at me, but his vacant eyes did not seem to accept his surroundings.
“So talk,” I ordered. I glanced at the house again. Bodhi was up there somewhere. If I could fish my cell phone out of my pocket without Milo noticing, maybe I could get Bodhi to
call the paramedics. Milo clearly needed help.
He sat with his mouth wide as though he were screaming internally. Then, with no warning whatsoever, he reached up to wrap his fingers around his own neck and squeezed.
“No!”
I shot forward, ignoring the pain in my ankle to seize Milo’s wrists and attempt to pull them away from his throat. But Milo was a strong, wiry guy, and no matter how much I wrenched at his hands, he continued to strangle himself.
“Help!” I cried again. I slapped Milo’s reddening face, hoping to snap him out of his delirium, but his knuckles turned white as he exerted even more pressure. “Milo, stop!”
“Bailey?”
Bodhi’s faint call echoed through the trees.
“Here!” I yelled, still fighting Milo. “Come quickly! Something’s wrong with Milo!”
The trees parted, and several pairs of boots thundered down the dirt path. I breathed a sigh of relief as Bodhi, Ethan, and two other construction workers appeared in my line of sight. Bodhi knelt beside me and picked a leaf out of my messy hair.
“Bailey, what happened to you?”
“It’s not me. It’s Milo!”
“Where is he?”
“What do you mean? He’s right—”
But when I looked again, Milo had vanished from beneath my fingertips. It was only me, kneeling on the path, crying and covered in dirt.
“He was there,” I said, glancing left and right to make sure Milo hadn’t run off into the shadows again. “I swear—”
Bodhi lifted me from the ground, carrying me past Ethan and the other workers. “Let’s get you inside.”
“We’ll check around,” Ethan said in a gruff tone. “Just in case.”
“Thanks, Ethan,” Bodhi said.
I buried my face in Bodhi’s shoulder as he toted me to the house, but the darkness behind my eyelids wasn’t enough to block out the image of Milo’s reddening face as he tried to kill himself.
19
Hanging Out
Clear blue. I floated in the bay, my arms stretched out wide to welcome whatever eternity lay in wait. There were no clouds in sight. Everything was bright and endless. Sunshine sparkled on the surface of the water, warming my skin. I breathed a sigh of relief. If only I could feel this sort of inner peace at every moment of my life.
The scene shifted. Something pulled at my waist, tugging me beneath the surface of the water before I could take another breath. The sky rippled as I went under willingly. There was no sense in putting up a fuss. It would be over in a few minutes. I let myself sink, watching the sky roam farther and farther away.
Then I looked down into a bathtub. Kali stared back, her light hazel eyes identical to mine. Dark curls bloomed around her pink cheeks in the water. She reached out. Little fingers. Little hands. Asking for me. Her tiny mouth opened, and she coughed, releasing a baby-sized air bubble. It rose to the surface and popped. I stared back, unmoving. My arms wouldn’t reach for her.
Kali’s brown eyes morphed into blue ones. Suddenly, the body in the bath was Caroline. The white subway tiles of the Winchesters’ first floor bathroom made her tan, freckled nose look pale. Hands encircled her throat. Not my hands. They held her down. She thrashed, splashing water over the lip of the tub. Her face turned blue.
I woke screaming. I felt it tear out of my throat. Felt the ringing in my ears. A ripping sound resonated through the room. I’d literally torn the sheets from the mattress. Beside me, Bodhi rocketed up, groping around in the night like a panicked blind man. He found my hands, clenched in the sheets, and pried my fingers apart.
“Bailey. Bailey! Stop. Stop screaming!”
With a jolt, my mouth snapped shut. I hadn’t even realized that my vocal cords were still working on overdrive. I drew in a raspy breath. My throat burned with the effort. Bodhi cradled my face between his warm hands.
“Hey. Look at me. Look.”
I found his warm brown eyes with my own.
“You’re okay,” he promised. He swept my sweaty hair away from my forehead, where it lay plastered to my scalp. “Everything’s okay.”
“She’s dead.”
“Who?”
“Kali. Caroline. Everyone.”
In the light of the moon, Bodhi’s jawline rippled, his teeth grinding together at my declaration. “Not everyone. You and I are alive.”
I pushed Bodhi’s fingers away from my face. I needed air. Space. He understood, backing out of my personal area. I kicked the heavy quilt off my legs.
“Can you open the window?” I asked.
Bodhi crossed the room to draw the curtains back and lift the frame. The window was just large enough to let a draft inside. I inhaled the salty scent of the air.
“That was bad, Bailey,” Bodhi said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “That’s the worst I’ve ever seen you. What did you and Doctor Marx talk about yesterday?”
I wiped my forehead with the hem of my shirt. “It’s not because we talked. I think Caroline had something to do with it.”
“You think Caroline is messing with your dreams? Can she do that?”
“I felt her there,” I said. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep, but the horrors of the past waited in unconsciousness. “It’s hard to explain. It was like when we were in the basement with her. You feel something. You know you’re not alone, but there’s no rational proof to back you up.”
Bodhi curled up at the foot of the bed like an oversized cat. “Do you think she’s trying to tell you something?”
I hugged my legs into my chest and rested my chin on my knees. “If she is, she’s not doing a very good job.”
“I’m starting to think that this lack of sleep is causing you more trouble than anything else,” said Bodhi, propping his head up on his elbow. “You start hallucinating after three days of insomnia. I looked it up.”
“You think that’s why I saw Milo on Monday night.”
He bit his lip, as if hesitant to continue the conversation. “Bailey, he wasn’t in the woods. Ethan and the crew combed every inch of land around the house. There was no sign of Milo. If he was in such bad shape, I doubt he would’ve made it so far.”
“So then he wasn’t in the backyard either.”
“I don’t think so.”
Even with Bodhi’s level head, I found it hard to believe that I’d imagined both events. They were so vivid, just like Caroline’s presence in my nightmares. “It doesn’t make any sense,” I told Bodhi. “Why would I be seeing things?”
“Stress, lack of sleep, change in medication,” Bodhi listed. “Bailey, I want you to take it easy for the next couple days. Caroline’s investigation can wait. You’re no good to her like this anyway.”
I silently agreed, but Caroline was far from patient. It had been three days since the two of us sat together on the office floor, watching the Winchesters’ home videos. She hadn’t contacted me since then, but a feeling of urgency coursed through my veins, as though my heart pumped blood at a faster rate to encourage me along. I needed to slow down enough to gather my thoughts. I needed more information to figure everything out. But why did Caroline’s unexpected appearance in my usual nightmares make it feel like time was running out?
Bailey and Bodhi: Flipping Out
Summer is winding down, flippers, and we are finally making serious headway on the Winchester house. The kitchen and living room are stripped bare. The bay windows are gone, replaced by the biggest sliding doors we could order. I’ve reorganized the entire first floor so that we can tackle the rest of the rooms, which by the way was no easy feat with a fractured ankle. There’s good news on that front too. I’ve finally conquered my stubbornness. Temporarily, at least. Black Bay’s family doctor warned me that if I didn’t give my bones a break (no pun intended) that they would never heal. As such, I’ve stayed off my feet as much as possible, and what do you know? My ankle has stopped throbbing every time I put weight on it.
This weekend is Black Bay’s infamous s
ummer festival. Apparently, the entire town pitches in to prepare for it, including a lot of the guys that Bodhi and I employ to renovate the house. We gave them Friday and Saturday off, because who are we to tamper with tradition? In the meantime, Bodhi and I are working alone. It’s just like the old days before we could afford to pay anyone else to help us. You may think I’m crazy, but there’s something romantic about sweating the days away, getting down and dirty with just your husband. Wow. That sounded racier than I intended it to be. Then again, it’s been a wild couple of days!
Anyway, we can’t wait to kick it off with the locals tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be sure to take plenty of pictures. I want you all to experience the full force of Black Bay’s small town charm. Hell, I might even take a few videos. Apparently, the flag football tournament can get pretty rowdy!
Stay tuned,
Bailey
The summer festival was all the locals could talk about. The park lawn had been mowed in anticipation of the flag football tournament, lemonade stands and food trucks appeared in the streets, and a small stage had been erected for whatever performances were being featured that year. It was the first community event that Bodhi and I really wanted to go to. Before we moved to Black Bay, we had never lived long enough in one place to get to know the people in our neighborhood. Here, every person we ran into encouraged us to go to the festival. For once, Bodhi and I were excited to spend some time out and about with each other.
“It’s the best event of the year,” Ethan promised to me one day as I watched Bodhi install new wood flooring in the living room. A couple guys helped lay down the planks, and they nodded in agreement with Ethan’s words. “Everything’s local. Great beer, good music, and excellent company. The two of you can’t hole up in this house forever. It will do you some good to get outside and socialize.”
So we planned to take Saturday easy. Blissfully, my sleeping habits had improved over the last few nights without rhyme or reason. According to Bodhi, I still tossed and turned, but ever since I’d focused more of my attention on rearranging the Winchesters’ personal items rather than combing through them for clues, my nightmares were less vivid. I expected Caroline to disapprove of my relaxation techniques, but she had been inactive ever since I’d seen her in my dreams. On some level, I felt guilty. My promise to help Caroline pass over was wearing thin, but I justified it by telling myself that as soon as I fully recovered, I would jump back into the mystery surrounding her and Patrick’s deaths.
The Haunting of Winchester Mansion Omnibus Page 20
