Raquel Byrnes (24 page)

“I-I…” So much longing and fear and desperate hope thrummed that I could only cling to him, bury my face in his chest, and cry. Shaking in his embrace, I tried to speak, to tell him how I’d never felt like this for anyone; how despite the danger and the unknown I couldn’t leave his side. “Simon, you’re…I’ve never—”

“Shh…” he breathed. Lifting my face gently, he brushed a tender kiss across my lips. “I love you, too, Rosetta. With all that I am.”

I kissed him then. My lips met his with all the hope and longing and fire to fight for what I’d found.

I won’t lose everything I love again. I just won’t.

29

The faint kaleidoscope of dawn skimmed the horizon and morning birds rustled in the trees with plaintive calls. We walked towards the house, Simon’s hand entwined with mine. Mist floated up from the ground and swirled at our feet, its ghostly waves illuminated by our flashlight. I was cold, tired, and scared.

“We should go straight to the observation deck,” Simon whispered. “If it’s locked, then we can deal with that.”

I tilted my head, looking three stories up to the deck. A faint outline of the ironwork railing scratched against sky. I wished the sun would rise faster.

“What about everyone in the house? Should we call the sheriff?”

“Let’s see what’s up there first.”

“You believe me, though, right, Simon?”

“I believe you.” He looked down at me and squeezed my hand. “I just have no idea what to say to Sheriff Levine at this point.”

We walked through the kitchen, up the grand staircase. We checked on Lavender. She was asleep in her bed, her raven hair spread over her pillow like a fan. I bit my lip, not wanting to leave her alone. “She’s OK,” I said. “Should we get your father?”

“No. We see what’s out there first.” Simon closed the door quietly, took my hand, and we mounted the last flight of stairs to the third floor. I pointed to the bulge on the study door; to the lock.

“Yeah, this is from one of the outside gates on the property. I think it’s older than I am.” He picked it up, squinted at it, and shook his head. “How could these things be going on in my own home?”

“I locked it again before I left. Should we go and find O’Shay? Get the key from him?”

“No.” Simon pushed me to the side, took a breath, and rammed his shoulder into the door. The frame splintered apart and sent the door flying inward. The metal flap holding the padlock to the door tore off and dangled from its broken hinge. He looked at me with a grin. “That was faster.”

I’d forgotten that under the clothes of a gentleman, lurked the body of the warrior on the shore. I followed him into the dark study and through the French doors, but the pounding of footfalls down the corridor stopped me.

“Someone is coming.”

“What in the blazes is goin’ on?” O’Shay appeared at the door out of breath, staring at the collapsed entryway with shock. He shone his light in my face, and I turned.

“I’m finding that out right now, O’Shay,” Simon said, already on the deck, and I turned without a word and joined him. He panned the flashlight back and forth.

“Right there,” I pointed to the deck floor, strained to see in the dark. “There should be drag marks.”

“I don’t see anything, love,” Simon whispered in my ear. “We might have to wait until light.”

“She’s turning you about, Simon,” O’Shay said from the doorway. “I don’t think she is right in the—”

“Do
not
finish that sentence, Mr. O’Shay,” Simon growled. “Not if you want to continue working here.”

“No one’s been out there since Ms. Ryan was there that night. I locked it up straight away,” O’Shay shouted out to us.

I tugged on Simon’s shirt.

“The drag marks ended here.” I pointed to the alcove. “But there was also a bloody T-shirt over there by the far railing. And where’s the broken telescope? If no one has been up here since me, it should still be here, right?”

“O’Shay,” Simon called.

He didn’t answer. His flashlight shone at us from within the study.

“I came back that night just a couple of hours after it happened, and there was already a lock up. Someone was here,” I said.

“And where is the branch you apparently saw?” Simon shone the light at the corner. There was nothing there. “O’Shay,” he called again. “Come here.”

I looked back at the study. His light remained fixed on us, but he didn’t respond.

“Mr. O’Shay?” I asked, walking back to the room.

The flashlight didn’t waver, and I squinted against the blinding beam searching for O’Shay’s form in the darkness. He wasn’t there. Simon grabbed the light.

“Left it on the desk,” he said and strode out into the hall. “O’Shay’s gone.”

“And where’s Mrs. Tuttle? Her room is on this floor. She should have heard you break down the door and come running.”

“Let’s find out.” Simon shone the light down the corridor to her door.

Her door stood ajar and we entered it, flicking on the lights, and stopping short. Her room was empty, her bed not slept in.

“Tuttle?” Simon called and checked the closet. “Her things are here.”

“Boy, you better have a good reason for disturbing me at this hour,” Davenport’s baritone sounded from the door. He raised his brow at me. “I should have known you’d be involved in this ruckus somehow, Ms. Ryan.”

“There’s something very wrong going on here, Father,” Simon intoned.

“How did you even hear us?” I asked Davenport. “You’re a floor down.”

“I wasn’t in my room. I thought I was sneaking down for a plate of cake when I heard all the running around downstairs.”

“Running around downstairs?” Simon looked at me. “No one has been running.”

“Yes, yes, down by the solarium.” Davenport pointed with his cane. “Is someone going to tell me what’s happening in my own home?”

I didn’t have a chance to answer. Simon ran for the stairs pulling me with him. We rounded the last of the steps leading to the foyer, my heart pounding as he pushed through the solarium’s glass door. He stopped short, and we stood in the dark, dank of the unused room, listening. I tried the light switch but nothing happened.

“Don’t you guys ever buy light bulbs?” I asked exasperated. “When is the last time you used this room?”

“There’s a door to a corridor in here somewhere,” Simon whispered and shone the flashlight around the solarium.

Windows blackened with grime made up the outside walls and ceiling. The metal rafters of the roof rose to the sky in a gentle arch as high as the third floor. It must have been beautiful when in use. He panned the walls, and I took in trellises tangled with dried vines, barren flower beds, and a suite of wrought iron furniture pushed up against the windows. A chandelier dangled from a chain just below the apex of the arch, the heavy iron lacework dusted with the dirt from years of disuse. The whole of the outside was covered in overgrown ivy, and I realized why I hadn’t really noticed it while walking by the house.

“I think it’s over here.” Simon stopped on the fourth wall, his light resting on a large marble fountain. The three large bowls spread out like inverted umbrellas. The top and smallest tier was crowned with a fish. “I remember my grandfather mentioning a door just behind that fountain. It leads to a room behind the library wall, I think. I never played in it. It was sealed over.”

“Do you hear that?” A low thump-thump-thump floated to us from the wall. “That’s it. That’s what I’ve been hearing!” I squeezed his hand when the moan came. “Please tell me you heard that.”

“I heard it.” Simon moved forward. He handed me the flashlight and felt along the wall.

Wispy tendrils of spider webs floated above us, and I wiped at them with a shudder.

Davenport poked his head into the doorway, his eyes full of curiosity. “What are you two up to?”

“What’s behind here, Father?” Simon said from the shadows, his voice strained. “Do you remember?”

“It was the casino room my grandfather built during the prohibition.” Davenport ambled towards me. “That’s been sealed for decades, Simon. From before you were a born.”

“How do you get in?” Simon asked. “If I remember it has something to do with the fountain.”

“Yes, yes.” Davenport pushed past me, and the two of them pulled and tugged on the fountain to no avail.

“Twist the fish,” I said. “The fawn statue in the library opens a corridor by twisting on its base.”

“Worth a try,” Simon said and put his hands on the head and tail of the fish statue that crowned the fountain. He turned it and a grinding noise came from behind the trellis on the wall. A puff of cool air burst from the crack revealed in the wall.

“How many corridors does this place have?” I asked with awe.

Simon pushed on the panel, and the door swung inward revealing a darkened hallway. Another moan escaped the depths of the corridor; floating out at us with wavering anguish.

“Do you have your weapon, boy?” Davenport asked and yanked on the handle of his cane. A concealed dagger pulled away in his hand.

“I do,” Simon pulled the gun from underneath his shirt. He held his hand out to me. “Rosetta?”

Taking his hand, I followed between the two men. My breath came in strangled gasps as the darkness engulfed us. Simon shone the light down the hall. Multiple footprints peppered the dusty floor. Evidence that we weren’t the only ones down here. The thumping continued, growing louder as we went, then whispers. Urgent and harsh from behind a second door. Light seeped out into the darkness from the crack underneath it.

“On three,” Simon said over his shoulder, and Davenport grunted his agreement.

He held his hand up in the beam of the light counting out on his fingers; one…two…three!

He rushed through the door, gun coming up, his arm pushing me behind him. The door banged against the wall, followed by a scream. In the beam of Simon’s light; the frightened faces of Mrs. Tuttle and O’Shay stared back at us. In their arms, the prone figure of a man jerked with spasms within their grasp. His feet banged the walls and a painful moan tore from his grimace.

“Please, Simon,” Mrs. Tuttle cried. “Please don’t hurt my son.”

“What is wrong with him?” Davenport demanded, his face crinkled with revulsion. “Is he possessed?”

“He’s having a seizure,” I said, peering out from behind Simon’s bulk. “He’s epileptic, isn’t he, Mrs. Tuttle?”

“Yes…” She cradled his head in her lap, her small hands struggling to quiet his attack. He looked young; not more than my age. His dark hair was plastered to his face with sweat. “They’re getting worse, Rosetta,” she cried, her face a mask of worry. “I don’t know how to help him.”

Simon put his gun away, knelt to help her. A small camping lantern illuminated the scene in an eerie orange glow. He shook his head, empathy on his face. The seizure slowed, losing its grip on the boy.

“Why isn’t he in a hospital, Tuttle?” Simon asked.

“He’s wanted,” O’Shay said and rubbed his face. “He’s wanted by the sheriff.”

“For what?” Davenport asked.

“I think”—Mrs. Tuttle wiped her face—“he’s been breaking into people’s homes.”

“But that’s not all that bad,” Davenport said. “I have lawyers—”

“Someone died, Mr. Hale,” O’Shay cut across him. “A woman was killed.”

“They think he did it, Simon.” Mrs. Tuttle held her son close. “Tobias is wanted for murder.”

30

Tobias lay unconscious on the couch in the library, his pasty skin sheened with sweat.

Mrs. Tuttle wiped at his forehead and mouth with a handkerchief. She held his head in her lap and whispered to him with trembling lips. Despite her and O’Shay’s protests, Davenport called Sheriff Levine and found out he was still on Noble at an inn in the village.

We milled around the first floor of Shadow Bay Hall, waiting anxiously for the ambulance and cruisers to show up.

Simon went up to check on Lavender. Something ate at him, and I had an idea what it was.

“He’ll have the best representation, Mrs. Tuttle,” Davenport assured her. “You can’t go on hiding him in the bowels of this old house. He’s unwell. He needs help.”

“Yes, Mr. Hale.” Her voice held resignation, and it broke my heart.

“I better go and wait for Sheriff Levine.” Davenport checked the mantel clock and cleared his throat. He left the library, the step-tap of his cane the only sound in the room.

I brought over some gauze and antiseptic I’d found in the bathroom and knelt down next to her and Tobias, dabbing a cut on his forearm.

“This is a bad gash,” I murmured. “Did you stop this bleeding with a T-shirt by any chance?”

She met my gaze with sorrow.

“Ms. Ryan, I am so sorry for the fear O’Shay and I have caused you to endure here. Yes, it was Tobias out on the deck last night. I left him there to get the first aid kit, and you stumbled onto the whole situation before O’Shay could run up and watch him for me.”

O’Shay cleared his throat. He stood in the corner, hands in his pockets.

“So the noises, the moaning,” I said to her. “They were all Tobias having a fit back there behind that wall?”

“And when you were snooping around in here, I followed you into the corridor, but you slipped away,” O’Shay said. “I only wanted to keep you from finding Tobias.”

I rocked back on my heels and rubbed my temples. Where I expected relief at having my phantoms explained, I only felt confused.

“So, the…the form I saw in the woods,” I said and looked at her. “That was you?”

“Yes, with the lantern. You must have seen me walking in the fog.” She looked at the library shelves, a tear falling. “I was in my nightgown out looking for Tobias in the fog with my lantern. O’Shay’s shots warned me to your presence, and I…I tried to run past you. I hoped the mist and the dark would hide me.”

“Yes, well it did that,” I said and stood. “And the braid in my hair? The ghost line in the cemetery? What was the purpose behind those things? Misdirection?”

“The what?” Mrs. Tuttle regarded me with confusion. She looked over at O’Shay who shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”