Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

“Wow! That is so cool!” He said half in envy, half in admiration.

In the face of his excitement, she almost regretted saying anything and cautioned him, “Please don’t tell anyone beyond your family, okay?”
 

His face fell, but he nodded and said solemnly, “I swear I won’t tell.”

She shook his hand and said, “Okay. Will you help me haul the boxes upstairs before you go?”

They dragged a dozen or so boxes up the stairs and around the u-turn midway. Their noise broke the dusty stillness on the second floor momentarily. Marianne was glad she had company for this job. The little second floor always seemed eerily silent, like it was waiting for something.

Michael, impervious to any spookiness, bounced back down the stairs and shouted a goodbye as he dashed out the door. Marianne followed more slowly and went to join Oscar on the sofa. He had stayed out of the furniture moving earlier. Now he yawned and stretched elaborately and sat up. She stroked his fur and rubbed his chin and behind the ears until he purred.
 

After a little bit, she made their respective dinners. While hers cooked, she inspected her work in the hallway. It was dry to the touch, and she turned the light on to see the effect. It was a huge improvement, and she smiled. Mrs. Thomas was going to love it. After dinner she spent some time in the office and the bedroom, putting things away and organizing her space. Once or twice she felt like someone was watching her. Oscar was sitting up on the desk and staring watchfully at the door with his crooked tail twitching rhythmically. Marianne glanced automatically in that direction herself and felt someone’s presence. It wasn’t angry, so she thought it might be Anne Rutherford.

“Hello, Anne,” she said conversationally. “I hope you don’t mind the painting I’ve been doing. Someone doesn’t like it, but I hope you do. You wouldn’t know who the Angry Ghost is would you?”

There was no answer that she could discern, so she continued. “Today I talked to the man who lived here after you died and George sold the house. He seemed like a nice guy and told me that the person who lived here after him was a man named Adam Sullivan. He was an electrician, and Markus said he wasn’t a very nice man at all. Is that who is living here besides you and me? Sometimes when I have the radio on, it gets all crackly and the lights flicker a little. Is that you or is that Adam, the electrician? Is he the one who locked me in the basement and yells at me in my dreams?”

A precariously balanced stack of papers at the edge of the desk slithered suddenly onto the ground making her start. “Is that a yes?” she asked softly. A few moments later Marianne felt the other presence fading into the empty room and strained her senses to ‘hear’ any other response. She didn’t know how to interpret the fall of the papers. It could easily have been a coincidence of gravity and not a ghostly communication at all. Eventually she gave up, tidied the mess, and went into the living room to watch a rerun on TV. Oscar returned and curled up in her lap.

Before she went to bed, she opened all the windows to let the cooling night air into the house and ventilate the paint smell. Lingering in the office, she smiled, enjoying the look of the fresh paint and the order that was distilling from chaos. Her bedroom was similarly starting to look more lived in. She sighed. If she could resolve the unwanted roommate problem and remain undiscovered by her crazy ex, she could make a new life here.
 

In her dream, she was walking down a street in a place that was part New York City and part small town in the poorly lit twilight of dreamtime. Someone was following her, but she didn’t know who it was. Looking for something that was always just around the next corner or on the next block, she walked and walked. Her tension grew as her sense of being followed increased. Whoever it was seemed to be getting closer. She turned down her own street and tried to run, though her steps felt no faster. She reached the Violet Lane house and hurried up the front steps. The door was locked, even though she could hear people inside. She pressed the doorbell and hammered on the door, trying to get in. There seemed to be a party with quite a few people who were all talking excitedly. When the door opened, she pushed her way inside.

She passed through the crowd of men and women in forties style clothing like a ghost in her own house. Thinking to get away from her pursuer, she went to the bedroom in the back of the house. There, she found a couple talking. The woman had dark, carefully curled hair that framed her pale face. Heavy, dark framed glasses did not hide the dark smudges under her eyes. She was wearing a one-shouldered evening gown. The man had a neatly trimmed beard and cold blue eyes. They ignored Marianne as if she were invisible.

He addressed the woman coolly, “You will play beautifully, my dear, as you always do.”

A haunted look crossed her face, and she put her hand to her head saying, “I don’t feel very well. I’d rather not. Can’t we just tell them I’m not well?”

He said sternly, “We’ve been through this. You are fine, and you will play. They are all expecting you to play. You can’t disappoint them.”

She said with a hint of pleading, “Then let me take my pills. It helps with the pain.”

He said, “You can have your medicine afterwards. You know your wits only get duller. Come now. Chin up. You will do this.”

Marianne, standing in the doorway, couldn’t help herself. She burst out, “Can’t you see, she doesn’t feel well? I’m sure everyone would understand if you just told them she was sick.”

He turned and pierced Marianne with a glare. “You have no say in this matter. This is my house, and you don’t belong here.”

The dark haired woman behind him said, “Who is it?”

He said, “No one. Finish dressing, my dear. It is nearly seven o’clock.” He pushed Marianne out of the room and grabbed her wrist. His intense blue eyes bored into her. “In fact,
you
are not to disturb our guests. He will be here for you soon. You can wait down here.”
 

Suddenly Marianne found herself at the top of the basement steps with the door shutting behind her, and the lights shutting off. Terrified, she turned and grabbed for the door handle, but the wood was smooth and blank. I’m trapped in the damn basement again, she thought. But I took the lock off! She heard the doorbell chime and felt a sense of dread. He’s here. He’s come for me! She stumbled down the steps in the darkness and felt her way across the now cluttered floor with her hands outstretched. She kept trying to open her eyes and see better but could get no more than a glimpse or two. She ran painfully into the boards of the coal bin, groped her way to the opening and climbed on top of the dirty pile of coals, trying to get to the window she’d already broken. The coals shifted beneath her causing her to lose traction. She scrabbled more and more desperately trying to reach the elusive window and freedom. Behind her she heard the door open again and a man’s voice say with satisfaction, “She’s down here, waiting for you.”

Then she heard Geoffrey’s voice say clearly, “Perfect.”

Marianne clawed her way out of the nightmare, heart pounding. The cool, quiet darkness of her bedroom took some time to penetrate her anxiety. She took deep breaths and slowly let them out, trying to calm herself.

This kind of dream was new. Parts of her dream had felt almost like a window on the past, and other parts had the now familiar sense of true dreaming. She’d never had them mixed together before. She didn’t like it at all.

One thing was clear: George Rutherford was a very controlling man. If that was a window on the past, he’d clearly made Anne’s life miserable. Marianne remembered that Anne had died of cancer. She didn’t know what kind, but Anne had it for a while before she died, and George valued her ability to play more than he considered her comfort. He also didn’t appreciate Marianne’s interference and had the ability to see and hear her when others did not.
 

Another worrying aspect of her dream was hearing Geoffrey’s voice. It was a very disturbing idea: dead George helping Geoffrey find her by locking her in the basement and holding her there. Could George somehow lock her in again for real? Could he actually hold the door shut and keep the window from breaking? Well, she didn’t have to go down there ever again. Maybe George had another way to lock her in her own house? Or lock her out? Her heart began racing in anxiety again.

Night fears. These are night fears, she told herself over and over without success. I am seriously not going to sleep after that, she realized. Turning on her bedside light, she got out her research notebook and wrote down her dream as she remembered it. The only silver lining was that unless there was compelling new evidence that Adam Sullivan was a better candidate, George Rutherford was definitely her angry ghost. Then she got a book to read for as long as it took for daylight or sleep to come. Oscar put his paw over his eyes and tightened his curl next to her on the coverlet.

Chapter 20

Bleary eyed, Marianne awoke a couple hours later around dawn. She had slept badly, her anxiety waking her regularly. Feeling hollow and shaky, she got up, showered, and ate some eggs and toast for breakfast. The shower was unexpectedly cold as if the hot water was out, and she sighed, mentally adding ‘check the heater in the basement’ to her to-do list. Fortunately, a decent breakfast always helped after a bad night. She drank herbal tea for comfort as she debated whether it was too early to call Sarah and Kelly on a Sunday.

The opening bars of her favorite tune rang. The ID said “Grandma S.,” and she answered with alacrity.

“Grandma!” Marianne was so relieved to hear from her.

“Hello, Marianne. It’s so good to hear your voice! I got home last night and saw your message. I hope it’s not too early to call. Is everything all right?” Selene said anxiously.

Marianne laughed shakily and replied, “Yes and no. I had a really horrible nightmare last night and didn’t sleep well at all. Other than that, things are mostly okay.”

Selene sounded audibly relieved. “I’m glad. Tell me about your nightmare. It sounds like it was a doozy.”

Marianne hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then decided to share her dream and some of the other eerie occurrences, trusting her grandmother would understand. She finished by saying, “The worst thing was I think Geoffrey was at the top of those stairs.”

Selene listened attentively all the way through before she said, “I wondered if something was going on. I dreamed you were trapped in a dark room a few days ago and wanted to call you, but I’d left home without taking your cell number so I couldn’t call sooner. Last night my dreams were troubled again, and I felt I should call you as soon as possible.”

Marianne was stunned. “You dreamed about me being trapped? Grandma, I was locked in the basement here for real a couple of days ago! I got out on my own, but you dreamed it? Have you done this before?” She asked incredulously.

Grandma Selene had the grace to sound a little embarrassed. “Yes, dear. I sometimes have dreams that have come true or that told me about events far away before I learned of them the conventional way.”

Marianne paused before she said, “Did you know I dream true?”

There was a pause and Grandma said contritely, “Yes, dear. I have known for a while that you have the same talent as I do. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. Please forgive me.”

It was Marianne’s turn to be silent a moment with her thoughts whirling.
 

Her grandmother said pleadingly, “If it makes any difference, I wasn’t sure until a year or so ago when you told me about your dreams of Geoffrey’s indiscretions. I hope you’re not too angry with me…”

“No, I’m not mad at you, Grandma! I’m relieved! I didn’t know where this came from, and now I know it’s you. I sometimes wondered if I’d been cursed by a wicked witch at birth or something!” She took a deep steadying breath, feeling a little lightheaded. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone. Thank you for telling me. Did you know Mrs. Thomas’ house was haunted when you suggested I move here?” She asked suspiciously.

Grandma Selene was shocked. “No! I knew she had trouble renting it, of course, but I didn’t know it was for that reason. Did she know?”

“Actually, yes, she did. I talked to her a few days ago, and she admitted that she was aware of it.”

“Bloody hell!” Selene’s cultured British voice muttered. “I’ll be having a conversation with the old dear.”

Marianne was startled. Her grandmother was usually so ladylike. It was very unusual for her to swear.
 

“Is it bad, Marianne?” Her grandmother said with concern.

“Well…” Marianne found herself relating more fully everything that had happened, including her research that indicated Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford were her ghosts.

When she was done, Grandma Selene said, “Well, it doesn’t surprise me that your extra ‘roommates’ are the Rutherfords. I knew them when I was much younger. Poor Anne! George did not treat her well at all. I remember going to their house once for a concert. He was very proud of her talent, but he showed her off like a prized poodle. Later, when she got ill—you know she died of cancer?—he still insisted she play for his friends and lodge mates. George was a piece of work. His whole family was, really. His parents were very controlling and rather frightening as I recall. I was a little worried about Geoffrey, honestly, when you first got married. But he seemed to treat you well. At first anyway.”

“What?!” Marianne yelped. “How does Geoffrey fit into this?”

“George Rutherford had a brother and a sister,” Selene explained. “They were all born around the turn of the twentieth century. George’s sister married into the Chubb family and had children in the 1930s right before the Second World War. Geoffrey’s father is one of those children. He could be a right bastard at times. Geoffrey was their last child, and I’m afraid he was quite spoiled. I did hope he had escaped the genes for a controlling nature, but it seems he did not. I’m so sorry, Marianne.”
 

Marianne was absolutely blown away. In one sense, this revelation made Geoffrey’s behavior so much more understandable, still inexcusable, but at least understandable. On the other hand, it was horrifying to realize she was related to the cold, angry ghost of George, however distantly, by marriage.