A Twisted Ladder (47 page)

She would run. Busted foot or not. At least it would be over soon. She rolled to her feet and limped to the door.

And he was indeed waiting.

BAYOU BLACK, 2009

M
ADELEINE THOUGHT THE BAYOU
had seemed dark. Though mid-day, the overcast skies had thickened, and the Spanish moss swayed on the trees like the hair of mermaids swimming through the tides. Madeleine had taken the boat out for a quick jaunt before her real estate meeting with Nida. Her senses had never felt so awake. She wanted to touch everything, smell it, experience it. And she carried her luxury of sensations after making love to Ethan. That, too, she’d experienced with this new acuity.

She’d lingered too long out there and had to tether the boat at the dock instead of pulling it onto the little trailer. She’d do that later, after she met with Nida. She prided herself in her ability to do these things alone.

Her hair was blowing into her eyes as she stood on the porch of the little cottage, talking to Nida and Thibby, and she kept tucking errant locks behind her ear. That wind was heavy with the scent of water. Funny how you can barely smell clean water if you put a cup of it right up to your nose. The scent came through best when atomized. She couldn’t get enough of that scent.

“As long as you ask a reasonable price,” Nida was saying, “you can probably sell the old place within two or three months.”

Madeleine said, “That’s good news. I need to turn it over as fast as possible.”

Nida and Thibby looked at each other.

“The insurance come through on the big house in the Quarter yet?” Thibby asked.

Madeleine shook her head. “Given the circumstances, they’ve decided not to pay out.”

“Well can’t you sue?”

“I could try, but it’s kind of hard to look them in the eye and demand compensation. I mean, one of the deed holders deliberately burned the place down.”

Nida clucked her tongue and seemed to be at a loss for words.

Madeleine didn’t tell them the worst part, that the LeBlanc estate would be liable for the other two damaged houses, and the insurer wasn’t going to pay for those either. Selling the Creole cottage on Bayou Black would bring in only a modest sum, but every bit helped.

“Don’t worry baby,” Nida said. “We’ll find you a buyer.”

Madeleine hugged them both and waved good-bye.

She opened the front door to take a final look around, telling herself that she needed to make sure all the windows were locked. She needed to do something, anyway, though she wasn’t sure what.

She felt she’d collected all she could in trying to learn what had gone wrong with Marc—Mémée’s diary, Chloe, Emily Hammond. But she hadn’t quite held these facets up to the light yet, see what shines through . . .

The little cottage looked so different with all the furniture gone and the wood floors scrubbed to a gleam. No lingering scents of garlic and paprika; no clues that she or Marc or Daddy had ever been there. Clean and cold. And somehow the house already felt invaded, like a snake had slithered inside when she wasn’t looking. Her sharpened senses knew this. The new window in her mind.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Sam’s name on the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Maddy, it’s Sam. Are you anywhere near the flower shop?” The tone in her voice was strained.

“I’m in Houma, honey. What’s the matter?”

“It’s Anita Salazar. My intern.”

Madeleine’s fingers gripped the cell phone. “Is she all right?”

“I don’t know. She’s gone missing. She was supposed to be driving down to Florida, but she never showed up and her family’s worried.”

Madeleine felt her stomach tighten. “Maybe she’s out with friends. She could be anywhere.”

“They found her car. She’d been staying with a friend in Houston. She’d gotten up early in the morning and left with her suitcases. The suitcases made it into the car, including her purse and her wallet.”

“My God. Have they called the police?”

“Yes. They’re saying they can’t file a missing person’s report until she’s been gone for forty-eight hours.”

Madeleine was silent for a moment, unsure what to say, and then: “Listen, honey. I’m wrapping up here and then I’ll be heading home. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but Vinny’s on the way.”

“Good. I may be a few hours but I’ll call you as soon as I get back. OK?”

“OK.”

They rang off. Madeleine covered her mouth and gazed through the front window. She barely knew Anita, but she hated to think anything could have happened to the bright, vibrant girl. And Sam, with her empathic nature, must be sick with worry. She’d grown close to Anita over the time they’d spent together in the flower shop. Madeleine wished she could be there right now to put her arms around Sam’s shoulders and comfort her.

The lights went out.

Madeleine jumped. She could still see well enough from the daylight, even though it was cloudy out. Her hand went to the light switch and flipped it off and on, but nothing. She walked to the kitchen and tried the switch in there. It worked.

Must be a burned-out bulb
.

But when she returned to the front area, she smelled burning hair. And she heard a thump.
Bom-bom
. A double thump. Rhythmic like a heartbeat, but very slow and hollow. Madeleine turned slowly in a circle, looking for . . . she didn’t know what.

“Madeleine . . .”

A child’s voice, coming from the closet. Severin’s voice.

Madeleine’s heart sped and then cramped. Chloe and Oran were both in New Orleans, so why would Severin be here? She felt suddenly overcome with dread. She opened the closet door.

Nothing. But no, not nothing. A rat was lying on the floor inside the closet. Limp, front teeth exposed in a grimace around a length of black wire, a brown stain on the baseboard. It was falling back slowly from the small ledge as though it had been on its feet and had only just gone limp. But Severin wasn’t in there. And even as she looked, Madeleine wondered if she’d even heard Severin’s voice at all, or whether she’d imagined it.

The rat moved. It jerked with a suddenness that made Madeleine jump. Its head smashed into the baseboard where the brown stain was, and then it fell limp against the floor again, making a double thump. Like a heartbeat. The head was wedged atop the base molding and was rolling back down slowly, teeth still clenched at the wire. When it reached the bottom, it would complete the circuit and jump again.

Madeleine recoiled. Her purse slipped from her arm and fell to the ground. The rat had chewed through the exposed wiring, clearly, but the horrific sequence was too bizarre. Almost staged. As if for her very benefit.

She wanted to run from the house. But she had to see. Had to see beyond that rat, because she knew there was something else in there. Marc had told her what to do, and her father had shown her how.

Like putting stars to sleep, only backward
.

She closed her eyes, allowing it to come forth. She imagined that a layer was peeling away. And it did. Inside her mind, the veneer lifted. Much more easily than she would have guessed.

Something scratched her foot. She opened her eyes.

BRAMBLE. IT CURLED ACROSS
the floor. Coiling, wrapping, unfolding; moving easily, even gently. A thorn had scratched her ankle. It had come from the closet.

On the floor of the closet, with her hand on the rat, was Severin. She was naked and squatting. Her long, matted hair tumbling down the length of her spine, her body streaked with filth. She was looking at Madeleine. Her lips were pulled back, but it looked more like she was baring her teeth than smiling.

“Come play a little some with me.” Severin’s voice was childish and soft.

Madeleine screamed. It came from a strangle in her throat. She stumbled backward but her feet caught in the bramble. She turned, deliberately turned her back to Severin.

My God, I truly am losing my mind. Just like Daddy
.

“I said, come play with me.” Severin’s voice, though still soft and childlike, grew harsh.

Madeleine turned a loathing glance toward her, her body shaking with fear and revulsion. The child lifted the rat by its tail. It stared with dead, glassy eyes and wooden-looking teeth. This time, when it fell, its teeth released the wire.

“You can play a little some with this beast. It listened to the whispers. I’ll get another.”

“No,” Madeleine whispered. “Not real. Not real.”

She stumbled across the bramble to the door, reeling, unable to endure the toxic air inside the house, and found her way to the porch. She was gulping for oxygen as the breeze washed over her.

I must be sensible. I need to act with presence of mind
.

She walked, shaky at first, around the side of the house to the electrical panel and tried to pull the breaker. She had to shut off the electricity and disable that faulty wire. Her hand shook, and she had to pull twice, but she managed it.

I’ll turn the other off too. I’ll put the layer back. Hide the bramble
.

She stepped back to the porch. She’d dropped her keys and purse inside. But as she put her hand on the door knob, she faltered.

From within the house, the floorboards creaked.

“Oh my God,” Madeleine whispered. She had to think.

I am hallucinating
.

No other explanation. Her mind tumbled with wild psychoanalysis.
Schizophrenia. Just like my father
.

She opened the door.

Severin was standing there, and her matted hair stretched to her bony legs. Her nude body was shadowed and gray despite the brilliant rays streaming through the cloud break. Madeleine stepped back, knowing that what she saw wasn’t real, and yet that knowledge didn’t help. She folded her arms and turned away. The bayou spread before her. The place where she and Marc used to escape.

She should get to a hospital. She was having an extreme episode, and needed treatment.

“I told you to come play.” Severin moved toward Madeleine, her tiny feet shuffling.

Madeleine backed into the porch swing, sitting abruptly. Trying desperately to ignore this image of Severin.

It isn’t real. It’s just a figment of my imagination. It isn’t real
.

“It isn’t real!” Madeleine said aloud, willing the hallucination away. “It isn’t real!”

She realized then that she was sobbing, burying her face in her hands.

“Don’t make tears,” Severin said. “Here, I’ll push you.”

The porch swing began to rock gently back and forth, and Madeleine’s body shook. Suddenly she could not bear to have the girl at her back anymore, and she leapt to her feet. She clutched at the porch rail, her legs threatening to give way. She had to get away from her. She had to think.

She stumbled down from the porch and made for her truck on unsteady feet.

“Where are you going?”

Madeleine stopped. The keys were still in the house. A cold wind stirred from the bayou and lifted a thick dirty tendril of hair into the child’s face. She was staring at her from the porch, blocking the front door. Madeleine couldn’t bring herself to brush past her to get inside. Inside, where the briar was still curling and unfolding. She looked out toward the water. The boat was rocking at the dock.