Ghost House Revenge (3 page)

“Are the kids in your class nice?”

“Real nice,” Gina said. “How come you look so worried?”

“I hate school,” Alicen said. “All the teachers I’ve ever had have been mean to me.”

“My teacher is nice,” Gina said. “So stop worrying.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Melanie poked her head in and
said, “Do you know it’s almost eleven? Come on up to bed.”

“Let me put this book away first,” Gina said.

“Well, Alicen,” Melanie said, “how do you like our fancy library?”

“Oh, I love it,” Alicen said, with more enthusiasm than Melanie had witnessed all
day.

“You’re welcome to use it any time you like,” Melanie said. “If you don’t find what
you want, I can drive you to the library in town.”

“Thanks,” Alicen said.

Melanie leaned against the door as the two girls filed out of the room. She hadn’t
been near the public library since—well, since Gary’s accident. Libraries depressed
her. They reminded her of a librarian friend she’d had. But that friend
had died last year, violently. And though it wasn’t her fault that Janice was dead,
she still felt guilt twisting at her stomach whenever she thought of her. Why? Why
so much guilt?

Stop that
, Melaine told herself.
It’s the past. It’s over!

With memories of Janice still heavy on her mind, she went to Alicen’s room. The girl
was surprised to see her and jumped under the covers as if ashamed of the pretty gown
that hung over her fat body.

“How do you like it here so far?” Melanie asked.

“It’s nice,” Alicen said softly.

“I’m glad you like it,” Melanie said, wanting to put her arms around the girl. But
something in her manner held her back, and she simply said good night.

Alicen settled back against her pillow, all the while thinking how nice everything
seemed to be. She hoped Gina would become her friend. Then, exhausted after a long
day, she fell asleep immediately. Her dreams, of her mother, were sweet. Alicen was
completely unaware of the woman standing over her, considering her as a pawn in a
diabolical scheme.

Alicen’s fears about her first day at Saint Anne’s were completely justified. It began
when she learned that she had been assigned to the dreaded Mr. Percy, who really did
look like the Scrooge in Gina’s book. He had white hair and a pointy nose, and he
seemed to always be scowling.

He had put her in the seat directly in front of his desk, wanting to keep an eye on
his new student. Alicen sensed he was watching her, waiting for her to do something
wrong. She looked around the room, lost and afraid among unfamiliar faces. Alicen
began to chew her lower lip as she studied the pretty blond girl next to her.

“Eyes front Miss Miller,” Percy snapped. “Let me tell you, I don’t tolerate daydreamers
in my classroom. Don’t let me catch you again, unless you want to spend your first
day in the principal’s office.”

“Yes, sir,” Alicen said, feeling tears of humiliation burning in her eyes. She blinked
them away.

She tried her best to concentrate that morning, although her mind wandered whenever
Percy had his back to her for too long. She knew already that she hated him. Why did
she have to be in his class? The principal had said Gina’s class was too full, but
couldn’t they have made room for one more student? And worse than that, Gina’s lunch
hour was later than hers. So, this first day, she was forced to eat alone.

As she sipped at a container of milk, she noticed a nice-looking boy with red hair
approaching her. Not wanting to talk to him, she ducked her eyes and pretended to
be busy with her sandwich. When she next looked up, he was sitting across the room.

The afternoon passed more quickly than the morning, since Percy was concentrating
on literature. Alicen became caught up in a story, but she was still glad when the
bell rang. Like a drill sergeant, Percy barked at them to get on two separate lines.
Alicen was surprised to find the red-haired boy from the cafeteria standing next to
her.

“Hey!” be hissed. Alicen ignored him, but the boy persisted. “Don’t let Percy get
you down. No one else listens to him, either.”

Alicen managed a smile but didn’t say anything. A few minutes later, they were outside,
and the two lines broke as children scattered across the schoolyard. The redhead was
still with her.

“My name’s Jamie Hutchinson,” he said. Alicen noticed the braces on his teeth and
felt a little less flawed herself.

“I’m Alicen Miller,” she said.

“Where do you live?” Jamie asked. “Did you just move to Belle Bay?”

“I came here yesterday,” Alicen told him. Then, surprised that she was suddenly talking
so much, she added, “I live with Gina VanBuren. Do you know her?”

“Not really,” Jamie admitted. “I’ve heard of her, though.”

Alicen looked around uncomfortably. “There’s Gina now!” she cried. She left Jamie
without saying goodbye.

“Nice meeting you,” Jamie called as he watched her run toward the bus.

Gina grabbed Alicen’s arm and took a quick glance at Jamie. “Who was that?” she asked.
“He’s so cute!”

“His name is Jamie Hutchinson,” Alicen reported.

“Gee, you’ve got a boyfriend already!” Gina squealed.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Alicen said, annoyed.

* * *

When they arrived home, they found Gary and Derek in one of the upstairs hallways,
supervising a group of carpenters at work on Gary’s therapy room. The banging of hammers
and buzzing of saws was deafening.

In the studio Melanie, in a blue smock, was busy at work on a new painting. A photograph
of Belle Bay’s town square was pinned to a bulletin board beside her easel.

“Hi, mom!” Gina cried. “What’re you painting?”

“A picture of the town square,” Melanie said. “I hope to sell it to the mayor or some
other local politician. Oh, guess what? I’m going to have another one-woman show.
I’ll have to paint a lot of pictures of Long Island since it’s my home now.”

She promised the girls they could go with her to visit Montauk Point and Jones Beach
and other local sights. Gina started enthusiastically to plan her summer vacation,
talking of nothing else for the rest of the day. But all Alicen could think about
was school and how much she dreaded going back.

When she went to bed that night, she whispered out loud, as if her mother were there
to hear her, “You’d make it okay, wouldn’t you? I wish you’d come back to me, mommy!
I need you!”

Tears filled her eyes, and she turned and stared out the window. The moon was bright
and full Alicen gazed at it and tried to remember her mother. The memory of her mother’s
beautiful, smiling face was still with her; Alicen had made it a point never to forget
that face. She had heard adults at the funeral whispering that her mother had been
horribly disfigured in the car accident, but she refused to believe they were talking
about her. She stamped a picture of her mother in her mind that showed her always
smiling, always willing to play with her little daughter. Not like her father.

Alicen’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a strange, high-pitched laughter. Terrified,
she pulled her quilt over her head and held her breath. Was someone in the room, listening
to the thumping of her heart? The laughter came again, and she realized it wasn’t
in her room at all. It had come from the kitchen below, filtering through the grating
in the floor.

Alicen was about to get up and tell her father, but she was afraid. This was his first
private job in three years, and he’d warned her she had better not do anything to
jeopardize it.
Anything
.

“And that means acting like a baby, the way you did at the Laines’ house,” her father
had said.

Alicen had awakened in the middle of the night, crying out for her mother. Her screams
had so frightened the Laine children that their parents decided she couldn’t stay
with them any longer. Derek couldn’t afford to send her to a boarding school, so the
two packed their bags together. Alicen knew it was her fault that her father had lost
his job. So tonight, she pretended she didn’t hear the laughter. This time, she swore,
she wouldn’t have nightmares.

Trembling, she put her fingers in her ears and blocked out the sound. She didn’t hear
the click of Derek’s door across the hall. He had also heard the strange cries and
was on his way downstairs to investigate. The long hallway that led to the stairs
was pitch black, lit only by dim moonlight filtering through an amber stained-glass
window at its end. Obviously the VanBurens were fast asleep, too far at the front
of the house to have heard the noise. Derek, deciding he could handle the situation
himself, groped his way down the dark staircase.

He stopped short when he heard the laughter again. Then he took a deep breath and
burst into the dining room, switching on the overhead light. He scanned the room,
taking in the table, chairs, and bay windows. The windows were locked tight. Everything
seemed to be in order. Even the fireplace, black and yawning, gave no hint of hiding
an intruder. Everything was so silent that Derek could hear a ringing in his ears.

“I must have been dreaming,” he said softly, running his fingers through his tousled
hair. But then he noticed the kitchen door. Could the prowler be hiding in the kitchen?
It suddenly occurred to him that if there was an intruder, he might be armed. Derek
wasn’t afraid, but he wasn’t about to take chances. He needed a weapon.

Looking around, he spotted a pearl-handled pistol on the mantel. It looked like an
antique, and Derek prayed the intruder wouldn’t know the difference. Refusing to let
himself be frightened, he shoved through the kitchen door and switched on the light.
The white refrigerator and oven gleamed innocently. He could see his reflection in
the backdoor window as he moved carefully around the kitchen. No one was hiding here.
He went to the back door and twisted the lock. It was one of those doors where one
needed a key to get out as well as in. There had been no time for a prowler to escape—if
indeed it was a prowler he had heard.

He sank into a wooden chair. “I’m sure I heard something.”

It might have been his imagination. After all, this was an old house, with creaking
boards and drafts. He had heard some explainable noises, and nothing more. Laughing
at himself, he stood up and headed out of the kitchen.

The door to the basement started to rattle.

Derek turned abruptly, aiming the gun. Why hadn’t he thought to check the cellar?
Was that just the wind? He heard a scratching noise. The wind didn’t scratch. . .
.

Derek refused to be afraid. He reached and jerked the door open. His gun was pointed
at the black, shiny nose of a puppy.

“I don’t believe this,” Derek groaned, putting the gun on the counter. He knelt down
and stroked the little Weimaraner’s ears.

“How’d you get stuck down there?” he asked, wondering if a puppy’s high-pitched yapping
could sound like laughter. “There’s a good boy. Poor doggy, locked in a cellar.”

He peered down the stairs into the inklike blackness. “Locked in a dark and cold cellar,
too,” he said. He stood up and beckoned the dog. Lad followed him from the room. Derek
returned the gun to its stand on the mantel, then headed upstairs, Lad at his side.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed by the incident, he decided to keep it to himself. Afraid
of a little puppy!

He had no idea that Lad hadn’t barked once that night.

The therapy room was completed just a few days later.

“It’ll be best to get your muscles toned,” Derek said as he fastened a cushioned leather
cuff to Gary’s left ankle. “Once you’re used to this equipment, you can move on to
bigger and better things.”

“Like walking, I hope,” Gary said. His leg moved up and down with little difficulty,
the cable squeaking from newness.

“Let me add a little more weight to that,” Derek said. “It looks too easy.” He added
a ten-pound weight. This time Gary groaned when he moved his leg.

“Pretty soon,” Derek said, “you won’t feel it. For a guy who broke both legs, you’re
in pretty good shape, Gary. Say, nobody ever told me the details of your accident.
If you don’t mind, I’d be interested.”

“They didn’t tell you what kind of injury you’d be dealing with?” Gary asked impatiently.

“Of course,” Derek said. “But part of therapy is knowing how the accident occurred.
I want to know on a professional basis, but if you feel uncomfortable about it, then—”

“No, it’s not that,” Gary said. “It’s just that we don’t like to talk about it. Let’s
just say I came into one of the rooms up here one night and found a prowler. We had
a fight, and he pushed me out the window. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Derek said, wondering why Gary was so reluctant to talk about the accident.
He decided it was some family matter and did not pursue it.

Gary asked when he would be able to start using crutches.

“I want to warn you,” Derek said, “practicing with crutches is a frustrating and sometimes
painful process. You’ll probably fall down a lot, and you’ll need your muscle strength
to get back up again. But don’t worry. One of these days, you’ll be playing racquet
ball with me.”

“I don’t know how to play,” Gary said.

“If you promise to cooperate with me,” Derek said, “I promise to teach you the game.”

The two men shook on it and continued with the routine. They could hear Melanie down
the hall, singing as she worked in her studio.

“Melanie’s a beautiful woman,” Derek said. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“I know,” Gary said. He studied the sadness in his therapist’s eyes for a moment,
then asked, “What was your wife’s name?”

“Elaine,” Derek said. “She was beautiful, too. Her hair was clear down to her hips,
and the lightest blond color. She was only thirty-two when she died. Her car was—uh,
was struck by a drunk driver doing ninety. The engine exploded.”