Night Journey (26 page)

“He wouldn’t stop crying.” Winifred stared at Ivy. She had to make her understand. “He cried and he cried and he cried. There was nobody here to help me. Caleb told me he was taking Ivy and the maid to church and he left me alone with Danny. But I know he was really with that trollop.” Her face turned red with anger and then crumpled in pain. “My head hurt so much, and the louder Danny cried the more it hurt.”

“Mama, you’re scaring me.” Ivy reached for Winifred’s hand, but she batted it away.

She paced and wrung her hands. “Don’t you see? I tried everything. I changed him. I fed him. I rocked him. But nothing worked. He just kept screaming. So I gave him some syrup. But he kept on crying. So I gave him some more.” Winifred stopped and stared out the window. “And then he stopped crying.”

Winifred stared at Ivy’s horrified expression. Her mind jolted and she realized what she had done. The horror she had suppressed so many years ago stared her in the face, raw and bleeding.

“I’m sorry…sorry…” Winifred stumbled backward, clutching the bottle. She fled, locking the door behind her.

Knowing what she had to do, she walked into Caleb’s upstairs study and removed a painting from the wall. She reached for the combination lock and moved the dial, backwards and forwards, and then back again until she heard it click. The safe opened and she took out the sapphire necklace, making sure to close the door and re-hang the painting.

Like a zombie, she walked into her bedroom and stared at the crackling fireplace. Caleb didn’t like to have a fire this time of year, but Winifred seemed always to be cold. No matter what she did, she could never get warm enough. She stoked the fire until it blazed with a fierce heat.

She spread her fingers toward the hearth, still holding the necklace in her right hand until the cold metal and stones began to heat up. Her fingertips grew hotter and hotter, until the pain from the heat became unbearable, and she dropped the necklace into the flames.

Winifred watched in fascination as the jewels burned and the gold chain melted. They cracked and popped until nothing was left but black, charred remains. What was left of the necklace gave one last, agonizing hiss before she added three more logs and the flames leaped up again, reborn. She then sat down at her desk, composed a short letter, sealed the envelope, and placed it on her bedside table before walking out into the hallway.

She stopped on the stair landing and listened, but Jared and Caleb had not yet returned. The silence reassured her as she made her way back to Ivy’s room and unlocked the door. Her daughter’s rhythmic breathing told her she slept. Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed at Ivy before closing and locking the door one last time.

Then she walked back to her bedroom, lay down on the bed, and drank the rest of the bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.
Margot glanced over her shoulder as she knocked on the back door of the Turner house. She tapped her foot and waited, praying that the note Ivy’d slipped into her hand at Winifred’s funeral had been correct and that her father would indeed be gone. After everything that had happened, the last person she wished to confront was Caleb Turner.

The door opened and Yolanda motioned for her to come inside. Margot followed the maid through the deathly quiet house, noting the dozens of flower arrangements scattered here and there. The scent of dying roses filled the house. She shivered and climbed the stairs.

Yolanda glanced over her shoulder before knocking on the bedroom door. “Miss Ivy? Are you awake?”

“What is it Yolanda?” Ivy’s shaky voice came from the other side of the door.

“Miss Margot’s come to see you.” The young black woman glanced at Margot, nodded, and then retreated down the stairs.

“Oh, Margot. Thank goodness you’ve come,” said Ivy, her voice trembling. “Everything’s been so horrible.”

“Kid, are you all right? I can’t believe your father won’t trust Yolanda with the key to your room.” Margot sank to the floor and leaned against the door, speaking into the keyhole. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here. I’ve been out of town all summer and I’d assumed you were gone, too. I came over the minute I heard you were in town, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“So much has happened. Did you know about Harry and me?”

“Yolanda told me. I still can’t believe it. It’s all so incredible.”

“I thought my parents loved me.” Ivy’s voice quivered. “I never would have believed they would do this to me.”

Margot choked back a sob and wiped her face with her hand. “Your father’s not starving you to death, is he? When I hugged you at the funeral yesterday you felt like a skeleton.”

Ivy’s voice seemed to recapture a tiny spark of her old self. “No. I’m getting plenty to eat. I’ve just been having a hard time keeping it down, although I’m trying to do better. I’ve heard it’s normal to lose weight for the first few months.”

“Oh, my God.” Margot sat upright and stared at the keyhole. “Are you trying to tell me…”

“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful? Now I have something to live for.”

“Does your father know? Why is he keeping you locked up like this?”

“I’m not sure if he knows, or not. If he does, he’s not saying anything to me. In fact, he’s barely spoken to me at all since the night he found Mama. I think he blames me for what happened.” Ivy sighed.

“How could he blame you? What he’s doing to you is criminal.”

“I told Mama I was pregnant the night she died, but I don’t think she said anything to Papa. She just went into her bedroom and drank that bottle of poison.”

Margot sucked in her breath. “I wondered what happened. Ivy, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. I lost my mother a long time ago—and apparently my father, too. I just hope Mama’s finally at peace.”

“So what happens now? Have you heard anything from Harry?”

“No. All I know is he’s in jail. Papa won’t tell me what he was charged with or if he’s gone to trial, or anything. But whatever it is, I know he’s innocent.”

“Ivy, this is absolutely insane,” said Margot, jumping to her feet and glancing around the hallway. “I’m going to go find something to break this door down and bust you out of here right now.”

“No, don’t do that.” Ivy’s voice was filled with panic. “It’ll only make things worse for Harry.”

“Then what can we do? I can’t stand to let your father do this to you.”

“Isn’t your fiancé, Sydney, a lawyer? Maybe he could help Harry?”

“Of course, he can. I’ll ask him tonight.”

“Oh, Margot. That would make me feel so much better. Papa took all that money Tyme gave us away from me, so I know Harry doesn’t have any money to pay a decent defense lawyer.”

“Don’t you worry about money, kid.” Margot squared her shoulders. “If anybody can get him off, it’s Sydney. I’ll have him working on the case first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you for everything, Margot.” Ivy ‘s voice trembled. “You’d better go now, before Papa comes back. I’ve got this terrible feeling he’s about to do something else—something I won’t like.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think he’s given up on his plans to force me to marry Jared. In fact, I think he’s more determined than ever. I’m beginning to think he’s going to keep me imprisoned forever unless I give in.”

Margot wiped away a tear and spoke softly into the keyhole. “Keep the faith, kid. You’ve got somebody else to think about now. Goodbye—for now.”

Margot stifled a sob as she walked down the darkened steps. She went into the kitchen and saw Yolanda standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup.

“I’m going now, Yolanda. Thank you for letting me talk to Ivy.”

Yolanda nodded and smiled. She laid the spoon on a tureen, led the way to the back door, and opened it. Margot stepped outside and then turned back to Yolanda.

“Did Mrs. Turner leave a note?”

Yolanda nodded and glanced over her shoulder before she whispered. “It said
Ivy must be saved. The cancer is spreading.
”

JOURNEY’S END

Emma woke up, shivering and gasping for breath.

She was cold—oh, so terribly, horribly cold. She could barely breathe and her body wouldn’t stop shaking.

Something covered her face. She reached up to pull it away and then tried to sit up, but she banged her head. Terror began to build as she lay there and wondered where she was. She’d never experienced such bone-chilling cold—or such absolute darkness—or such total silence.

Panic-stricken, Emma’s hands groped her surroundings. Her fingers touched cold, wet ice. It was all around her. Freezing her. Devouring her.

She whimpered and strained to see through the blackness. Terror threatened to overcome her, but she fought it back. Somehow, she had to remain calm. Breathing deeply, she counted to ten and worked to compose herself. The gelid air tortured her nose and lungs, but she continued on until her thoughts became more rational.

Wherever she was, the enclosure was small. She reached upward, testing her surroundings. The frigid ceiling was only inches from her face. The cold, hard surface beneath her intensified her discomfort. Her left arm brushed against the icy wall and she shuddered.

She explored to the right. Her fingers touched something solid and dry, covered with cloth. She yanked at the covering and pulled it forward.

Whatever lay beside her was cold and rock-solid. Wondering what it could be, her fingers grazed its surface. Course, grainy sandpaper chafed her fingertips. Traveling upward, its texture became smooth. Then she touched something soft. It felt like hair.

Cautiously, her fingers traveled back down across the rough surface until they found a gap. Her heart lurched when her fingers brushed against an uneven row of smooth, stone-like objects and she realized what she’d touched.

Teeth.

Emma screamed, over and over. Terror consumed her. She beat on the walls of her prison. She kicked the ceiling. When the violence of her struggle caused the corpse lying beside her to roll nearer, she wrenched up the volume.

And then suddenly, light and warmth came pouring in.

“Help me—please,” begged Emma. Loud, wracking sobs tore from her throat when she saw a man wearing a billed cap peering down at her. She’d never been so glad to see another human being in her life.

Strong, calloused hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her backward. She gasped when she saw the body of an old man whom she had touched moments ago. His sunken, dead eyes stared gruesomely from a skeletal face; his cancerous lips were peeled back, as if snarling in eternal agony. She turned her head and tried to banish the vision and the smell of death from her mind.

The man who had rescued her picked her up as if she was a feather and set her down lightly onto the floor. He wrapped her in a blanket and then guided her to a small folding chair. She sighed with relief, and then looked into the face of her savior.

He was a big, lumbering, giant of a man with innocent eyes like a child’s. His mouth opened in disbelief, displaying a set of yellowed, crooked teeth. He wore a dark blue uniform, with the words HOSPITAL SECURITY – ANDY FARMER printed on a name tag.

“Miss Anna, are you all right? We thought you was dead.”

Emma’s teeth chattered and she pulled the blanket tighter. Frigid air penetrated the room, but a pungent chemical smell burned her eyes and nose. The odor reminded her of the biology lab in college. She glanced toward the source and saw the open door from which she had been pulled. The cadaver’s head was barely visible, but she could still remember its macabre face, staring sightlessly. She was relieved when the security guard went to the freezer door, slammed it shut, and latched it.

What had he called her? Miss Anna? Confused, she stared at her surroundings. This room looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. When had she seen that long, steel table attached to the sink? Or the wooden door of the built-in freezer? Or the room over there with the shelves lining the walls?

She remembered going back to the hotel after Allen and Phoebe’s wedding reception. Her head had ached, but she hadn’t wanted to spoil Zan’s fun. And then…no, it wasn’t possible. She must have dreamed all that other stuff.

But how did she end up in the freezer? And why did this strange man call her Anna? A sudden, twisting pain in her abdomen almost felled her, and she doubled over, gasping for breath. She clutched her stomach and noticed her hands.

They were the hands of a stranger.

She gasped and spread her fingers. They were long and thin, with short, rounded nails. And freckles? They were all up and down her arm. Where did those come from? What had happened to her tan and her white-tipped French manicure?

Emma jumped up from the chair and ran to the mirror above the sink, fighting back the intense pain in her stomach. She looked at her reflection, stunned by the face that stared back at her.

She gazed into the mirror, confused, as she ran her stranger’s fingers across the hollowed planes of an alien face. This woman, whoever she was, looked emaciated and ill, with sunken eyes and dull, brittle red hair. Her skin was ashen and her boney frame wasted, but her abdomen was hard and swollen, straining grotesquely against the thin cotton gown she wore. The stench of illness enveloped her. Another sharp pain tore through her gut and Emma clutched her distended stomach.

“Miss Anna, you’d better come back and sit down.” The guard put his arm around her and helped her back to her seat.

“Who are you?” Emma stared at the man, trying to recall where she’d seen him before.

He looked surprised. “You don’t remember me? I’m Andy. We wuz good friends until…”

“Until what?”

“Well…until you died, of course.” He cocked his head to one side and stared at her. “I sure am glad they wuz wrong about that.”

“Where are we?” Emma gestured around the dimly lit room.

“I’m afeared this be the morgue, Miss.” He lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. “Hospital patients ain’t s’posed to see whut’s down here—least not the live ones.”

So she was back in the basement of the hotel. But everything seemed very different and bizarre. She thought about her recent experiences—being trapped inside the wall, the hospital emergency room, and seeing her dead family in Heaven. And then she remembered the corpse on the gurney that first night and she knew that it and the face in the mirror were one and the same. She must still be dreaming, but it certainly seemed real. This was the longest, most vivid dream yet.

“Andy, what’s in there?” Emma stood up and walked toward the room with the shelves, shocked by what she saw. Dozens of jars lined the walls, filled with strange objects. She shuddered when she saw a human hand suspended in formaldehyde, a brain, and other body parts she couldn’t identify.

“Miss Anna, you oughtn’t be lookin’ in that room.” Andy hustled her aside and slammed the door shut. “Come on, let’s get you outta here.”

He wrapped the blanket around her skeletal frame and guided her down the hall. Her bare feet were cold as they touched the stone floor. They passed the hotel’s laundry room, but it looked very different now, with old-fashioned wringer washers and big steel tubs. The place where the New Moon Spa had once been was now a bowling alley.

They walked toward an elevator and climbed inside. It was quite different from the one Emma remembered. Andy showed her to a little seat in the corner where, presumably, the operator would normally sit. She huddled on the chair while he closed the door, and then the folding cage. Then he pulled backward on a controller and the car began to rise. It stopped after going up only one flight, but Andy had to juggle the controller several times before he managed to make the elevator car align with the floor.

“Sorry, Miss Anna.” Andy apologized for his awkwardness. “I’m not too good at runnin’ this thing.”

They walked out of the elevator, past the lobby, and down another hallway. Emma craned her neck and gawked at the purple paint on the walls, the brightly painted beamed ceiling, and the Art Deco posters. The red velvet Victorian chairs and pipe organ were gone. A cubist art painting hung in the spot where Morris the Cat’s photo had been.

Andy led her down a hallway, past a door marked
Dr. Baker’s Office
and into a room bearing the sign
Nurse’s Station
. She felt suddenly weak in the knees and Andy helped her to a chair when she stumbled.

“You’d better sit down, Miss Anna,” Andy said. “I’m gonna go see if I can find somebody on duty. Okay?”

Emma nodded and sank into the chair. A savory smell caused her empty stomach to growl and hunger pangs momentarily outweighed the intermittent, stabbing pains. She saw a bowl of soup with steam still rising and a plate of crackers sitting on a desk. The tantalizing smell was sheer torture.

She stood and walked over to the food. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone. Surely one little sip wouldn’t hurt, and maybe a cracker or two. Her hand trembled as she reached for the spoon and popped it into her mouth. It was delicious, and before she knew it, she’d ravenously drained the entire bowl and devoured all the crackers. She felt a lot better and some of her strength returned.

When the food was gone, guilt overwhelmed her. She wondered if she’d get into trouble for her thievery. And then she noticed the desk calendar, turned to the page marked Sunday, October 23. But it was the year that caused her to gasp and to make her eyes widen.

1938.

Emma glanced up, startled when she heard voices approaching. Andy and a pretty young woman in a nurse’s uniform walked into the room. Caught in the act. She’d eaten this poor woman’s meal.

“I’m sorry,” Emma apologized, hanging her head in shame. “I was just so very, very hungry.”

“Oh, you poor little dear.” The nurse put her arm around Emma and helped her back to the chair. She wrapped the blanket around her and tucked it under her feet. “Of course you were hungry. You were in a coma for almost three weeks. You must be starving by now.”

“Hadn’t we oughta find Miss Amiss and tell her what happened, Jennie?” Andy frowned and glanced from Emma to the nurse. “She’s cold and barefoot. She needs to get back to her room and go to bed.”

Jennie looked pensive. “Her room’s already been reassigned to somebody else. The hospital’s pretty full right now.” She put her hands on her hips. “Where’s Dr. Ballew? I thought he was on call tonight.”

“Ahh, he’s off drunk again. I ain’t su’prised he made a misstep, declarin’ her dead an’ all. I doubt it’s the first time.” Andy wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in dismissal. “He’s prob’ly in his office, sleepin’. Where’s Miss Amiss at?”

“She took the rest of the night off,” said Jennie. She patted Emma on the shoulder. “That big facial mole is bothering her, so her mood’s even worse than usual. I hate to wake her up for this. She’ll be furious, and I don’t want her to take it out on poor Mrs. Schmidt.”

Emma sat and listened to the exchange between Andy and Jennie. Apparently they thought she was somebody named Anna Schmidt, who had been in a coma and been declared dead by a drunk doctor. Judging by the looks on their faces and the tones of their voices, this Miss Amiss was not a pleasant person. How much more detailed was this dream going to get?

“What’re we gonna do? It’s almost four in the mornin’,” asked Andy.

“I know a room that’s empty on the second floor. It’s really just a storage room, but there’s a bed in it.” Jennie’s face appeared excited, then changed to an expression of uncertainty. “Do you think it would be all right to put her in with Michael?”

Confused, Emma glanced from Jennie to Andy. Had she heard it wrong? First she’d said the room was empty, and then she’d indicated the room already housed someone named Michael. At this point, she was so cold and exhausted she didn’t care who she roomed with as long as she could just climb into a nice, warm bed—anything but a morgue freezer.

“Come on, sweetie. You wanta give it a try?” Jennie looked at Emma expectantly. “You’re not afraid of him, are you?”