The Haunting of Winchester Mansion Omnibus

by Clarke, Alexandria

  “I read your letter today,” he said suddenly, the light wind carrying his voice across the deck and into the house.

  I would never understand how he did that. I hadn’t made a noise, yet Bodhi somehow sensed me watching him. “You did?”

  He took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder. “Mm-hmm.”

  “I didn’t think you read Flipping Out anymore,” I said, lingering in the space between the deck and the living room.

  “You left your laptop on the balcony earlier,” Bodhi replied. He stretched his arms overhead, the muscles in his back and shoulders standing at attention. “The page was still up.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, don’t apologize.” He rose from the deck in one continuous motion. He always had a fluidity to him after meditating, something that I had forgotten about until just now. He met me in the door frame, taking my hands in his. “I’m proud of you for writing that.”

  My bottom lip trembled. “You are?”

  Bodhi smiled and threaded his arms around my waist. “So proud. But I need to say something too.”

  I tugged on one of his long curls and watched it spring back into place. “What’s that?”

  He hugged me tightly to him, making sure to catch my eye. “It wasn’t all your fault. What happened to Kali. I was responsible too. I don’t think I ever apologized to you for the way I acted while Kali was alive.”

  My fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of Bodhi’s T-shirt. This wasn’t something we usually talked about. “No, you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “I was a jerk. For some reason, I thought having Kali meant I couldn’t have other things that I wanted. I loved her though.” Bodhi’s voice cracked, and he crumbled. “I promise I loved her, Bailey. I never wanted that to happen.”

  “I know,” I whispered as he folded into me. “I know, baby.”

  The setting sun bathed us in its pleasant glow. I closed my eyes, tilting my head so that it rested in the crook of Bodhi’s neck. His skin was warm and soft, and his pulse beat out a steady rhythm. I pressed onto my toes and kissed his battered temple. The swelling had gone down, but the yellowing bruise looked uglier than ever.

  Bodhi took my fingers and kissed them one by one. “I love you.”

  Something released inside me. As if there’d been a padlock on the door to my heart. It popped open and everything gushed out, flooding me from head to toe with a rush of heat and happiness and confusion.

  “I love you, Bodhi.”

  He squeezed me so firmly that my feet left the ground when we kissed. I half-laughed, half-cried into it as relief surged through me. We had a long way to go—there was no doubt about that—but in that moment, I was purely myself and Bodhi was purely Bodhi for the first time in five years. I laughed, laughed, laughed. What a feeling to be myself again.

  Bodhi set me down again with a grin. “Get anything good for dinner?”

  I walked into the kitchen, dumping the bags on the counter. “Deli meat, olives, a fresh baguette, pasta salad, actual salad. A bunch of stuff. What would you like?”

  “Mm. Pasta salad to start.”

  I popped open the container and handed Bodhi a plastic fork. We leaned on the new granite countertops, taking turns as we ate from the same box. Fifteen minutes later, all of the containers lay open like a buffet, and we took bites from whichever item we pleased. I sat on the counter, kicking my bare feet out like a little kid, while Bodhi did a hilarious impression of one of the guys from his construction crew. We roared with laughter, and when the sun set and the kitchen darkened, we hardly noticed.

  “In all seriousness,” Bodhi said, chuckling as he popped a martini olive into his mouth. “What exactly is our plan for the next few days?”

  The mood sobered immediately. In the freshly remodeled kitchen, I’d almost forgotten that we were staying in the infamous Winchester house and that a greater task lay in wait.

  “According to Patrick, we have until Saturday night to find a way for them to cross over,” I answered. My appetite abandoned me. I threw a half-eaten piece of prosciutto back into the deli tray.

  “Five days.”

  “Yup. And so far, we have no idea where Ethan’s hidden his boat, that rope, or the bodies.”

  Bodhi frowned as he kneaded a piece of crusty bread between his fingers. “If we’re trying to rescue the kids, we don’t need to worry about the boat for now. That’s more for the police, and I’m sure they’ll find it eventually.”

  “Maybe they would,” I agreed. “If they were even looking for it.”

  “Solid point.” He dunked the bread into a cup of olive oil and took a bite. “But let’s focus on getting what we need to help Caroline and Patrick. The rope and their bodies. Piece of cake.”

  “Ugh, don’t say cake and bodies so close together.”

  Bodhi rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of his baguette between my lips to silence me. “We need more information about Ethan. I’d say we should check his house again, but I keep thinking he’s going to show up out of the blue and pretend like nothing’s wrong. That would not exactly work well in our favor.”

  “Actually—” I countered, mumbling around the food. “Patrick let slip that he drained Ethan’s energy before he pushed him over the edge of that cliff.”

  Bodhi’s eyes widened in alarm. “He did what?”

  “Long story. Anyway, it apparently takes humans at least three full days to recover from a draining like that. They’ve clocked it before.”

  “How very reassuring,” Bodhi deadpanned.

  I ticked off the days on my fingers. “Patrick drained Ethan on Saturday night, which means he needed yesterday, today, and tomorrow to recover.”

  “So we should expect Ethan to come looking for revenge sometime on Wednesday?” Bodhi confirmed.

  I lifted my shoulders. “What are the chances he decides that it’s not worth the trouble and moves on to some other no-name town?”

  “That would be good for us,” said Bodhi. “Not so great for Caroline and Patrick.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Bodhi cleaned up, closing the containers and storing them in the massive, pristine, and vastly empty refrigerator to eat at a later date. “So Patrick has no idea what Ethan might’ve done with the bodies?”

  I shook my head, hopping off the counter to help Bodhi. “Nope. He doesn’t remember, and neither does Caroline. I guess there’s a blank period between life and afterlife.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Ethan could’ve done anything with the bodies. Burned them, buried them, thrown them in the ocean.”

  “We’re talking Ethan Powell here, Bodhi,” I reminded him. “We have to consider what we know. He’s the most well-liked man in town. That’s how he’s managed to go so long without being discovered.”

  Bodhi’s brow crinkled as he lost himself in thought. “He also owns a lumber mill with plenty of machinery that would aid in destroying a body.”

  “Yeah, but how much of a mess would that have been?” My nose wrinkled at the gory imagery in my head. “Ethan wouldn’t have risked something like that. Besides, Ethan killed Patrick and Caroline in this house. I doubt he would’ve towed two bodies through town for everyone to see. No, he must’ve buried them close.”

  “Or he threw them over the bluff,” Bodhi suggested. “That would’ve been easiest, right? Everyone would’ve assumed they died along with their parents.”

  “Two things.” I held up one finger. “First, Patrick sustained injuries that obviously weren’t from a boat crash.” I held up a second finger. “Second, if Ethan had thrown them over, their bodies would’ve most likely been stuck in the rocks, not washed out to sea. The police would’ve found them.”

  Bodhi considered this as he framed me against the countertop, his hands on either side of my waist. “Can I just point out how attractive you are when you’re playing detective?”

  I tickled his side. His abdomen contracted as he laughed. “We’re not playing, Bodhi. Don’t
forget that.”

  He drew away, apologetic. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just nice to be with you again.”

  I linked my fingers through the belt loops on his shorts and tugged him toward me. “Hey. We are with each other. And getting closer every day.”

  Bodhi rested his forehead against mine. “I guess it’s crazy to worry about our relationship when a homicidal murderer has just added us to his hit list.”

  “It’s not crazy,” I told him. “It’s human. We’ll work on both.”

  His fingers found the tension in my neck, and he massaged the muscle there. “Okay. We still need to figure out a plan though.”

  I rolled my shoulders beneath Bodhi’s touch, pondering our limited options. “What’s on the agenda tomorrow? Do we have time to go into town?”

  “We’re installing the rest of the deck tomorrow,” Bodhi answered as he focused on releasing the strain from my body. “And then I figured you and I could sit down and map out our plans for the remainder of the first floor.”

  “Let’s put a short hold on the plans.” I lazily closed my eyes. “I’m thinking we should find someone who was close to Ethan. Maybe we could trick them into giving us a hint about the bodies.”

  “Who would we ask though?”

  “Who did Ethan have a really good relationship with?”

  Bodhi scoffed. “Everyone.”

  “Then it should be easy to dig up some information. We’ll start at the Sanctuary.”

  The pads of his fingers dug into the base of my skull, smoothing the tendons there. An involuntary moan escaped from my lips. Bodhi chuckled, and he flipped me around to find better access to my shoulders. His breath tickled the hair at the nape of my neck.

  “Want to go upstairs?” I murmured, bracing myself against the countertop.

  His calloused palms traveled south and dipped under the hem of my shirt.

  “Oh, do I.”

  I slept so soundly that night that by the time I woke up on Tuesday morning, I felt more refreshed and awake that I had in years. Bodhi was already up, and even though I woke up alone in bed, I didn’t feel lonely. The echo of cookware clinking together and the savory scent of crisp bacon found its way up the stairs as Bodhi made breakfast. I smiled and snuggled into the warm sheets, not quite ready to get up. My laptop lay on the bedside table, so I pulled it over and booted it up.

  As the webpage for Flipping Out loaded, I tried not to let my anxiety get the best of me. I needed to check how my followers had reacted to my personal letter. The page buffered at an agonizingly slow rate. The temporary Wi-Fi that we had set up at the Winchester house wasn’t exactly top notch. Finally, Flipping Out’s welcome screen greeted me.

  And my inbox had maxed out at over five hundred new messages.

  I clicked on the first one, steeling myself for constructive criticism, but as I read the short email, my mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Dear Bailey. First of all, I am so sorry for your loss. Even if it was five years ago, I know how hard it can be to push through losing someone you loved. I enjoyed Flipping Out from the very beginning, and that won’t change. Stay strong. Karen.

  The next several messages expressed similar sentiments. Most of them were concise. Others contained big blocks of text recounting life stories that mirrored my own. All of them made me want to cry.

  Dear Bailey. THANK YOU! I have never read such an honest blog post before, and I just wanted to say how grateful I am that you finally opened up to us. I, too, have lost a child. Your blog was a major part in helping me cope with the heartbreak. We are here to love and support you. Love, Emily.

  Dear Bailey. My wife was the one who introduced me to your blog, and I’m more addicted to it than I care to admit. You and Bodhi are our role models. We’re often told that our relationship won’t work out because of how young we are, but knowing that you and Bodhi have fought through such a tragedy inspires us more than anything. We are so sad for your loss, but we hope that you continue to confide in your followers. Much love, Dylan.

  Dear Bailey. You are the strongest woman I know. I admire you so much. Never apologize for doing the things you thought you needed to do in order to stay sane and healthy. Keep up the phenomenal work. Sincerely, Sandy.

  I spent so long combing through the influx of well-wishes that Bodhi actually came up to the bedroom to check on me. He had a plate of eggs and bacon and a glass of orange juice in hand as he inched the door open with his hip.

  “Bailey? Are you okay?”

  I sniffed and blotted my eyes with the corner of the bed sheet. I gestured to the open laptop. “They read my letter.”

  Bodhi set the plate of food on the comforter and rested his chin on my shoulder to read through the visible replies. “Baby, these are great! Why are you crying?”

  I laughed, the sound getting stuck in the back of my throat. “Because they’re great!”

  “People love you, Bailey,” Bodhi said. He brushed his lips across the skin of my shoulder. “I can’t believe you ever thought they might think otherwise. Now eat your breakfast. We’ve got work to do.”

  In the lull after the morning breakfast rush, the Sanctuary was rather docile. A group of students who attended the nearby state college studied in one corner, hunched over a communal organic chemistry textbook. A cute elderly couple lounged in a pair of leather armchairs by one of the large windows, reading each other passages from their respective sections of the newspaper. The counter space was clear except for two young boys sitting at either end—each about ten or twelve years of age—swatting a poppy seed bagel across the bar top between them. The dark-haired boy nearest us, who looked vaguely familiar for some reason, rocketed the bagel toward his friend. The fairer boy attempted a block but missed, and the bagel shot off the end of the counter and onto the floor, sending poppy seeds flying in every direction.

  “Score!” cried the dark-haired boy, pumping his fist. He cupped his hands to his mouth to create a makeshift megaphone. “It’s Anthony Lido with the game-winning goooooooal!”

  Ava emerged from the Sanctuary’s kitchen and reached across the counter to smack the dark-haired boy lightly across the head. “Anthony, you make another mess in my café and I’ll ground you both until Christmas.”

  “Ms. Miller, you can’t ground me. I’m not even your son.” Ava fixed him with an intimidating stare. The boy raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. You can ground me. Just don’t tell my dad, or I’ll have to mop the floor at the restaurant for the next month.”

  The blond boy hopped off his stool to fetch the mistreated bagel. “No one likes the poppy seed bagels, Mom.”

  “And yet I don’t make them for the two of you to play bagel hockey, Max.”

  “I like the poppy seed ones,” I piped in.

  Max’s shoulders dropped as he stared at me like I’d set fire to his baseball card collection. “Way to pick sides, lady.”

  Ava knocked her son over the head with a broom and dustpan then thrust both objects into his small chest. Across the room, Anthony sniggered. “Clean up your mess. And be polite. Anthony?”

  Anthony straightened, assuming perfect posture. “Yes, ma’am?” he replied in an innocent tone.

  “Your forehand needs work.” As Max finished sweeping the poppy seeds into the dustpan, Ava walked over to the Sanctuary’s door and held it open. “Get to school, boys. You’re late already.”

  “But I haven’t had breakfast,” Max protested, swinging a backpack across his shoulders as Anthony bounced off his stool.

  “Eat your bagel next time,” Ava replied. Max paused at the door, frowning, and Ava leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  Anthony pranced by, tightening the straps on his own backpack as he stood on his tiptoes to reach up toward Ava. “Do I get a kiss too, Ms. Miller?”

  Ava relented, planting one on Anthony’s roguish cheek too. As the boys trotted off, Ava shook her head. “Stay out of trouble!”

  Bodhi and I took seats at the counter, still chuck
ling at the boys’ antics. The countertop was speckled with crumbs and remnants of their game.

  “Sorry about that,” Ava said, brushing the seeds to the floor with her hand. “They’re a bit of a handful sometimes.”

  “No worries,” Bodhi replied.

  “Was that Alex Lido’s son?” I asked Ava.

  Ava nodded as she emptied the espresso filter of the cappuccino machine and poured fresh grounds into it. “He’s a character, just like his dad. Cappuccino, Bailey?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Bodhi? Tea?”

  “Green, please. With honey.”

  “Coming up.” Ava bustled around, scooping loose leaves into a small teapot to steep. As she filled it with hot water, she asked, “How’s it going up at the Winchester house?”

  “It’s coming along,” Bodhi answered. He nudged me discreetly. “Although it’s a little difficult to concentrate when one of the guys is missing.”

  The cappuccino machine gurgled as Ava tended to it without looking. “Oh, Ethan,” she said sadly. “You haven’t heard from him at all?”

  We both shook our heads. I kept my gaze on the countertop, crushing a wayward poppy seed beneath my nail. Bodhi was a great actor. The despondent hunch of his shoulders and his unhappy frown almost convinced me that he really was worried about Ethan. I, on the other hand, had trouble creating an iota of fake sympathy for a man who murdered an entire family and got away with it.

  “Why would we?” Bodhi asked. “I doubt we would be his first point of contact, right?”

  Ava combined the cream and espresso in a fresh mug and set it down in front of me. “Oh, I just figured since he was heading up to your place the last time he was seen—”

  I choked on my first sip, and coffee splashed over the lip of my mug. Bodhi silently handed me a napkin. I wiped hot milk from my nose. “What do you mean? Who saw Ethan last?”

  “Pam Lopez, I think.” Ava poured a cup of steaming tea for Bodhi, who stirred in a spoonful of local honey. “They ran into each other on his way up. Weren’t you sick that day, Bailey? He said Bodhi asked him to check on you. Right, Bodhi?”