Comes the Night (23 page)

How could she go home? After everything.

She shook her head to dislodge the thoughts. She wouldn’t go there now. To those thoughts of Jason. She’d stay rolled up in the reprieve of last night’s casting as long as she could. And she’d stay rolled up in the blankets too.

“We’ll lock the door as we leave,” Alex said.

“Why?”

Brooke slung her book bag on her shoulder. “Yeah. Why?”

Alex’s face reddened. “Because... because someone might accidentally barge in. And then Maryanne would be caught. Questions would be asked. You know?”

On that lame excuse, Alex opened the door and walked into the hallway. With a little shake of her head after Alex and a wave to Maryanne, Brooke followed. And she locked the door behind her.

Maryanne lay back on the bed, smiled up at the ceiling. She stretched her arms out then folded her hands under her head. But no sooner had she closed her eyes, when they shot open again.

Thumps on the stairs. The doorknob was turning. A key in the lock? Aw, frig! Mrs. Betts? She had keys to all the rooms. Had she been caught after all? Crap. Oh crap oh—

Brooke opened the door and crossed the room to Maryanne’s bed with a bottle of orange juice swinging in her right hand. In her left, she carried a frosted sticky bun wrapped in a cloth napkin. “I snuck these from the breakfast room for you.”

“Betts didn’t catch you? Wonder why you were bringing food upstairs?” Food in the bedrooms was a definite no-no in Harvell House.

“Nah, Betts is in one of her moods again. All mopey and stuff.”

Maryanne cracked open the orange juice. “This is nice of you, Brooke.”

Brooke smiled, momentarily. But then the smile disappeared suddenly, almost as though she’d just realized it was there. Or more to the point,
unguardedly
there.

“Well, whatever.” She walked out of the room again, closed the door behind her.

Whatever, indeed.

Maryanne only slept till nine. Until
exactly
nine before she opened her eyes to stare at the mocking bedside clock. That was annoying. Sitting up in bed, she polished off the sticky bun and drank the rest of the juice before she tiptoed down the hallway to the bathroom, quietly took care of things there and then went back to the room. She dressed in comfy faded jeans and one of her favorite sweatshirts. The house was creepy quiet, as if it were itself in slumber. Outside, she could hear the November wind gently soughing around the old house’s corners.

Now what?

Sneak down the stairs and out the front door to explore Mansbridge some more?

Or sneak
up
the stairs?

As soon as the idea hit her, Maryanne was grinning with it. She’d sneak up to the attic. Explore a bit in the daylight hours. Alex had obviously poked around up there on her own. Brooke too. Why not her?

Maryanne carefully opened the bedroom door. Standing there, she could hear someone—John Smith? Patricia Betts?—walking on the hardwood floor down below. Taking a breath, she glided down the hallway and closed the door to the attic behind her. She turned the handle fully so it would latch silently into place, then climbed the stairs.

The Madonna was in full brightness such as Maryanne had never seen her before. The greens were all the brighter, the white cloth the baby was swaddled in, absolutely brilliant. The roses at the lady’s feet were a radiant, almost liquid-looking red. For a moment, Maryanne regretted she wasn’t out there in the sunshine. It was obviously a beautiful day outside, particularly considering how late it was in the season. There wouldn’t be too many more days as nice as this.

She stood there a moment, trying to persuade herself that she should go outside instead of hanging around the stuffy attic. To no avail. The pull to secretly explore this space was stronger.

Hands on her hips, she looked around. Dust danced in the beams of light that shone through the lone window. Everything else looked gray to graying. Silent and still. But somehow infused with life. She still ‘felt’ places. And this place—this one particular room—felt... Connie-full.

“Yes. That’s it,” she said out loud. “This room feels like Connie.”

It was true.

The more Maryanne knew of Connie Harvell, and now that she’d
met
Connie, the more this room truly felt like her. Felt like
hers
. Holding Connie’s secrets. There was an old wardrobe in the far corner by the stairs, and as Maryanne turned around, it caught her attention anew. She’d seen it before, of course, a dozen times. One side of it was blocked open by cardboard boxes marked ‘Books’. But the other side was firmly closed and she’d never maneuvered around the old furniture and boxes to see what, if anything, was inside it. Something of Connie’s, maybe?

“No time like the present.”

Maryanne realized she was talking to herself again, and laughed. Quiet would do that to a person. Well to her, anyway.

She almost tripped over a half-crushed wicker basket as she made her way to the wardrobe, but caught her balance. Whew! They’d have heard that downstairs if she’d hit the floor. She resumed picking her path, mentally figuring the best way to move the big boxes without creating a lot of noise. But when she got to the wardrobe, she saw she wouldn’t have to move them after all. There was plenty of clearance to get the door open. Almost as though they’d been pushed aside already. All she had to do was pull the door open and find... Nothing.

Not so much as a worn shoe on the floor of it, or wire coat hanger dangling down from the rod above. Maryanne snorted a laugh at herself. All that mental buildup just to find—

The door to the attic creaked open on the floor below.

Maryanne’s heart thundered.
Someone was coming up the stairs
! Oh crap, some
ones
! There were at least two sets of footfalls clomping on the stair treads.

Were they looking for her? Had the school called the house?

She told herself there were worst things than being caught jigging school. To which she replied,
Yeah, like being caught up here in the off-limits attic while jigging school!

Crap! She had to hide, and time was running out.

The wardrobe! It was plenty big enough—and looked solid enough—to hold her. With the footsteps growing louder, Maryanne ducked inside.

Of course, she immediately had visions of spiders. God, she could almost feel them brushing her face as she reached out to pull the door closed.

Well, almost closed. She left the door cracked open just enough to peek through.

Patricia Betts came into her narrow view first, standing on the attic floor. Someone was with her, and it didn’t take many mumbling words for Maryanne to know it was the caretaker, John Smith.

Maryanne held her breath as Mrs. Betts looked around, her eyes quickly raking past the wardrobe. And she stopped breathing entirely as she eavesdropped on the conversation.

Mrs. Betts’ hand flew to her forehead, then quickly down again. “I’m telling you, John... I don’t like it. Why was this door unlocked? He must have... he must have been up here. Why?”

“Patricia, you’ve got yourself worked up over nothing again. It’s his house.”

C. W. Stanley?
Was that who they were talking about? Had to be. He was the guy who owned Harvell House.

“What business would he have up here?” Her voice was more exhausted than shrill, but there was conviction in it. “None! Kassidy said she saw him—this time she was sure it was C. W.—looking in the parlor window last night. Staring right at her. And I... I saw him on the second floor myself just last week, banging on some floor boards.”

“Were the girls around?”

She shook her head. “No. It was during school hours. And for once, everyone had gone to school.” She huffed a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t know what’s going on this year. We always have our girls, but this year even the
good
ones are cutting class.”

Guilt clawed Maryanne as she watched Betts shake her head.

“Well, if the girls weren’t around, what’s the problem?” John said. “It’s C. W.’s house. He may have leased it to the school for a dollar for use as a residence, but he still holds the deed. He’s probably just checking on the old place.”

“Or checking on me.”

And there it was. That frazzled, downcast and worried look on Betts’s face. The one she wore too often.

“I’ve no family, John. No place to go. No savings to speak of. If C. W. wants me gone, I’ll be out on the streets.”

“Then say nothing about his... visits.”

Mrs. Betts slashed at the tears on her cheeks. “But what if... what if I’m right? What if he is... lurking around the girls, leering at them? How do I say nothing? You see the predicament I’m in. If I say anything and I’m wrong, I’m damned. If I say nothing and he... ” She let her voice trail off.

John sighed. “Kassidy tells stories. Everyone knows it. C. W. just likes to talk to the girls. Feel young. Feel useful. He sees himself as some kind of surrogate grandfather.”

Mrs. Betts sighed. “Maybe.”

“Have you ever really seen him do anything wrong?”

Maryanne herself couldn’t imagine it. Betts shook her head. She drew a shaky breath as she looked around the attic.

“You’ll... you’ll watch out for things around here?”

“Always have. Always will.”

“I’m probably worrying over nothing.”

“I know it.”

“And get a new lock for that door!” Mrs. Betts was on the stairs, but calling over her shoulder. “The last thing we need is the girls snooping around up here!”

“I’ll do it this very morning,” John said.

Oh, damn! A lock on the attic door.

And Maryanne’s heart beat harder still.

Alex

I
T WAS TWELVE
noon and Alex and Brooke were at the mall.

“What do you bet Maryanne’s still sleeping?” Brooke asked.

“Either that or staring up at the ceiling, bored out of her mind.”

Alex found herself holding her breath as she and Brooke strode—well, Brooke strode, Alex just walked—past the shops and into the food court. Automatically, she checked out the exits. She could see two. One by the smoke shop and one by the cinemas. Good. That was good.

Money in hand, Brooke volunteered to get their orders at Submarine Sam’s while Alex found and held a seat in the food court, which was filling quickly.

Alex twisted in her seat, wishing Brooke would hurry. Though she’d never admit that to anyone. Never show it in a million years. Except—crap!—she
was
showing it right now! She’d been scratching her sweaty left palm.

She stopped immediately and folded her hands on her lap as she sat straight in the chair. Then, realizing how dopey that must look, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her pea coat and slouched down in the seat, throwing her head back.

Better.

It was the crowd.

It was being so enclosed here. Again she checked out the exits.

She sighed. It wasn’t abating, this claustrophobic feeling she’d had since the rape. It was still there, ready to erupt the moment the walls closed in.

The only relief she got from it was when she cast out. She never felt a bit claustrophobic when she was out there in cast form. Fear took a back seat. Well, except for worrying about their bodies, so helpless back at Harvell House. If only that insulation from her phobias would last longer when she cast back in.

She looked around the food court—the crowd was buzzing. The cool kids were going with their tall, non-fat, half-caf lattes. Kassidy and Leah were hitting on a couple of guys from the community college. Successfully, it appeared. And everywhere—at every table—people were talking. Yes, this would be the best place to learn what, if any, rumors were flying about the Mansbridge Hellers. And the best person to supply them would be—

“Hey, Alex!”

Dani Mann.

Alex turned to see Danielle Mann smiling at her. She’d been dressed as a sparkling fairy godmother last night and the occasional bit of glitter still shone in her hair. And OMG, was that a touch of green clinging to the side of her neck? She and Frankenstein must have gotten more than a little friendly.

“Hey, Dani,” Alex said. “Have a seat.”

Dani slid into the bolted seat across from Alex, settling her poutine and Pepsi-laden tray on the narrow table.

“You guys peaced early last night.” Dani’s eyes roamed the food court as she tucked into her gravy soaked fries.

“Yeah. Just... not in the mood.”

“And after you worked so hard on your costume!”

“Right.” Alex grinned. “The dance just seemed... pretty lame.”

“Oh, it got better as the night went on.” Dani waggled her eyebrows. “Especially for me.”

“You and Frankenstein?”

“The one and only. Also known as Huxley Burns.”

“Don’t think I know him.”

“You’ve probably seen him around, though he doesn’t come here much. He’s a jock, into health food and all that.” Dani saluted the notion with a fork full of cheese. “You’d probably recognize him without the green paint though. At six-two, he’s hard to miss. He hangs around with Bryce Walker a lot. You know Bryce, don’t you?”

Alex’s attention perked, but she just lifted a casual eyebrow. “Bryce Walker? Isn’t that Seth Walker’s younger brother?”

“Older brother, actually. He’s a year behind Seth in school though. Childhood cancer—leukemia. From what I understand it’s a miracle he’s alive. But he missed two years of grade school because of it.”

Oh shit. Alex had known a girl back in Halifax who’d been stricken with leukemia in middle school. She’d recovered and was now studying nursing in Fredericton. But it had been touch and go—mostly go—for a while. Alex felt a pang of sympathy for Bryce Walker, but tucked the feeling away. She was here for gossip. She had to stay focused. “Was Bryce at the dance?”

It was all she needed to say. Dani shook her head. “No, he wasn’t out last night. I guess the horses had a scare or something and he wouldn’t leave them.”

“I saw Seth at the dance. He and his girlfriend... ”

“Melissa Kosnick.” Dani rolled her eyes. “Those two—all over each other. And I thought Huxley and I were bad! But Seth and Melissa... don’t it just make you want to—”