Second Child (47 page)

And so here they were, pulling into the village for the first time since that terrible summer five years earlier.

Now Charles lifted his right eyebrow a fraction of an inch. “We both managed to pretend nothing was happening for years,” he observed. “So why not go on?”

Melissa reached out to squeeze her father’s hand affectionately. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to,” she said. “I can drop you off in the village and go by myself. I’ll look at the house, and go to the ball, and you can sit in a bar and drown your troubles in booze.”

Charles put on an exaggeratedly aggrieved expression. “I never did that, and you know it.”

“Well, you had a right to,” Melissa replied. “How you could have stayed married to Mother all those years—” She cut her words short. They’d gone through that too many times to bring it up again. The subject of her mother was still painful enough for both of them that they rarely mentioned her anymore.

Now, as they passed through the village, Melissa gazed curiously around. “It never changes, does it?” she asked.

Charles shook his head. “That’s always been its appeal. Something to count on in a changing world.”

Five minutes later they pulled up in front of Maplecrest, but neither of them made any move to get out of the car. Instead they simply sat silently staring at the house in which both of them had spent every summer of their lives
until five years ago. But unlike the village, Maplecrest had changed.

It had the look of abandonment peculiar to all unused houses, a look that went beyond peeling paint and unkempt grounds. There was a lonely aura to the structure, as if it was consciously aware that no one wanted to live in it anymore. At last they got out of the car and let themselves into the house itself. They wandered silently through the stuffy rooms whose furnishings had long ago been covered with sheets, each of them preoccupied with their own memories. At last Melissa went upstairs to the room that had been her own.

But it was hers no longer. The furniture Teri had chosen was still there, and nothing about the room seemed familiar to Melissa. And that, she decided, was just as well. If she ever came back to Maplecrest again, at least this room wouldn’t haunt her, wouldn’t bring the past too close for her to deal with.

The things of her childhood were gone, stored away somewhere in the attic, she knew. Perhaps some other time she would return again and go through them. But not today.

Today it was enough to know she could walk into the house without a sense of fear and foreboding.

The memories were there, but the past was dead and buried.

At eight-thirty that evening Charles pulled the Mercedes up in front of the Cove Club, hurrying around to the other side to help Melissa from the car. In the lobby several people were gathered in front of the open doors to the dining room, talking quietly among themselves. A silence fell over them as they recognized Charles and Melissa Holloway.

Charles had changed little over the past five years—his hair had grayed at the temples, and permanent creases were etched into his forehead.

Melissa, however, had grown up in the years since these people had seen her last.

She was as tall as her father now, and her figure was slim and elegant, the puppy fat of her childhood long
gone. Her face had an enigmatic beauty to it, with high cheekbones and a jaw that was wide and strong. But it was her eyes that people always remarked upon. Large and dark brown, they sparkled with curiosity and good nature, yet there was a depth and wisdom to them that was far beyond her years.

Tonight, clad in a deep red dress that complemented her coloring perfectly and accentuated her figure to its best advantage, she could feel people staring at her.

Staring at her, but not laughing at her.

She felt her father’s hand tighten on her arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice so low that only she could hear it.

She smiled at him. “I’m fine,” she said.

An hour later she knew she truly
was
fine. The first few minutes after she and her father had entered the ballroom and the silence they had expected had indeed fallen over the crowd, she had felt a few misgivings. But, determined not to back away from the mass of surprised faces, she had moved forward, her hand extended, smiling warmly. And it had been all right.

Now, as the first strains of a slow waltz began, she felt a presence behind her and turned to see Brett Van Arsdale, even handsomer in his twenty-first year than he’d been when she’d last seen him. He was smiling at her uncertainly, and when he spoke, there was a slight tremor to his voice. He feels the way I used to feel, she thought. He doesn’t know if I’m even going to speak to him. But as he almost shyly asked her to dance with him, she nodded immediately and slipped gracefully into his arms. He moved her into the crowd and for a few minutes said nothing at all. Finally, he pulled away from her slightly, just enough so his eyes could meet hers.

“I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am,” he said, his voice trembling once more. “I mean, it’s not just me—everyone feels terrible about the way we used to treat you. I know it’s too late to make it up to you, but—”

Melissa pressed a finger against his lips. “It’s not too late,” she said. “And I know how everyone feels. I’ve seen it in everyone’s eyes all evening. But we don’t need to talk about it, Brett. The past is the past, and all the ghosts are gone.”

Brett was silent for a moment, but then his head cocked. “Would you tell me something?” he asked.

Melissa smiled mischievously. “Maybe. What is it?”

Brett hesitated, then finally spoke the words that had been in his mind for five long years. “It’s about D’Arcy. Do you think … well, do you think she was real?”

Now it was Melissa who was silent for a long time. At last she nodded. “For me she was. She was part of me. And in the end, I think she was real for Teri, too.”

Brett frowned. “But Teri killed herself.”

“Maybe she did,” Melissa said, her voice solemn. “But maybe she didn’t. Maybe D’Arcy killed her.”

They danced on, letting the strains of music envelop them, and then, as they slowly walked off the floor when the dance was over, Brett asked one more question. “What about your mother?” he asked. “What happened to her?”

Melissa felt a slight chill come over her for a moment, but quickly shook it off. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice firm. “And I really don’t want to know, either.” And it was true. Finally, tonight, the last of the past was truly behind her.

Three thousand miles away, in a mansion high in the hills west of Los Angeles, Phyllis Holloway sat nervously on the edge of a chair, watching the young woman who was even now reading over the last of her references. As the woman looked up, smiling, Phyllis breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was going to be all right.

“Well, everyone certainly seems to be happy with your work, Mrs. Holloway,” she said. “And I think you’re exactly what we’re looking for. Shall we go upstairs and introduce you to our baby?”

Phyllis’s heart fluttered with anticipation. From the moment two hours ago when she’d first walked into this house, it had felt right. Large and airy, it occupied two full acres on the very crest of the hills, with a panoramic view of Los Angeles on one side and the San Fernando Valley on the other. There was an Olympic-size swimming pool and a pair of tennis courts, along with perfectly tended formal gardens that reminded her of home.

Home.

Except that Secret Cove and Maplecrest weren’t home anymore, would never be home again. Indeed, she’d had to promise never to return to the East Coast at all, in exchange for Charles’s agreement not to prosecute her for child abuse.

As if she’d abused Melissa! Just the thought of it was still enough to make her blood boil.

All she’d
ever
tried to do was teach Melissa proper behavior. And what had she gotten in return? Not a trace of the gratitude to which she was entitled. Far from it—she’d been dismissed from the house as if she were no more than a servant, divorced with a settlement that hadn’t been enough to support her for more than a year, and forbidden ever to see Melissa again.

But she was a survivor, and this job, with a middle-aged lawyer and his young wife, was perfect.

She would have her own suite of rooms on the second floor, right next to the nursery, and live here as a member of the family.

And eventually, when the marriage inevitably failed …

She put the thought out of her mind as the woman—what was her name? Emily!—as Emily opened the door to the nursery. A soft gurgling sound emerged from the crib that stood next to the open window, and Phyllis strode across the room, crouching down to look at the baby about to be entrusted to her care.

A pair of dark brown eyes, large and serious, stared up at her from the crib. The tiny face was almost perfectly round, but with a deep dimple in the center of its chin. “Well, aren’t you just the most precious thing I’ve ever seen,” Phyllis crooned. She lifted the infant out of the crib, cuddling it close.

Almost instantly, the child began to cry, and Emily hurried across the room to take it from Phyllis. But Phyllis turned away and shook her head. “No, no—she’s got to get used to someone besides her mother holding her. And it doesn’t hurt a baby to cry now and then, you know. It’s perfectly natural.” Her eyes shifted back to the sobbing infant in her arms, and she snuggled it closer. “But you’ll be all right, won’t you? You’re going to love me as much as I love you, and pretty soon, you’ll be just like my own child.”

The baby kept crying for a moment, and then, as if sensing some sort of unseen danger, turned silent. But its eyes, wary now, remained fixed on Phyllis.

Phyllis smiled reassuringly at the nervous young mother who was still hovering a couple of feet away. “You see?” she asked. “It’s going to be fine, and you aren’t going to have to worry about a thing. I’ll treat her just as if she were my own.” She was silent for a second or two, then spoke once more, barely audibly, almost to herself. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll treat her just as if she were my second child.”

J
OHN
S
AUL
is the author of twenty-eight nationally bestselling novels, including
Suffer the Children, Punish the Sinners, Cry for the Strangers, Comes the Blind Fury, When the Wind Blows, The God Project, Nathaniel, Brainchild, Hellfire, The Unwanted, Creature, Sleepwalk, Second Child, Darkness, Shadows, Guardian, The Homing, Black Lightning, The Presence,
The Blackstone Chronicles,
The Right Hand of Evil,
and
The Manhattan Hunt Club.
John Saul lives in Seattle, Washington.

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A scream shatters the peaceful night of a sleepy town, a mysterious stranger awakens to seek vengeance.… Once again, with expert, chillingly demonic skill, John Saul draws the reader into his world of utter fear. The author of twenty-six novels of psychological and supernatural suspense—all million copy
New York Times
bestsellers—John Saul is unequaled in his power to weave the haunted past and the troubled present into a web of pure, cold terror.

Something is happening to the children of Eastbury, Massachusetts … something that strikes at the heart of every parent’s darkest fears. For Sally Montgomery, the grief over the sudden death of her infant daughter is only the beginning. For Lucy Corliss, her son Randy is her life. Then one day, Randy doesn’t come home. And the terror begins …

A horn honked, pulling Randy out of his reverie, and he realized he was alone on the block. He looked at the watch his father had given him for his ninth birthday. It was nearly eight thirty. If he didn’t hurry, he was going to be late for school. Then he heard a voice calling to him.

“Randy! Randy Corliss!”

A blue car, a car he didn’t recognize, was standing by the curb. A woman was smiling at him from the driver’s seat. He approached the car hesitantly, clutching his lunch box.

“Hi, Randy,” the woman said.

“Who are you?” Randy stood back from the car, remembering his mother’s warnings about never talking to strangers.

“My name’s Miss Bowen. Louise Bowen. I came to get you.”

“Get me?” Randy asked. “Why?”

“For your father,” the woman said. Randy’s heart beat faster. His father? His father had sent this woman? Was it really going to happen, finally? “He wanted me to pick you up at home,” he heard the woman say, “but I was late. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Randy said. He moved closer to the car. “Are you taking me to Daddy’s house?”

The woman reached across and pushed the passenger door open. “In a little while,” she promised. “Get in.”

Randy knew he shouldn’t get in the car, knew he should turn around and run to the nearest house, looking for help. It was things like this—strangers offering to give you a ride—that his mother had talked to him about ever since he was a little boy.

But this was different. This was a friend of his father’s. She had
to be, because she seemed to know all about his plans to go live with his father, and his father’s plans to take him away from his mother. Besides, it was always men his mother warned him about, never women. He looked at the woman once more. Her brown eyes were twinkling at him, and her smile made him feel like she was sharing an adventure with him. He made up his mind and got into the car, pulling the door closed behind him. The car moved away from the curb.

“Where are we going?” Randy asked.

Louise Bowen glanced over at the boy sitting expectantly on the seat beside her. He was every bit as attractive as the pictures she had been shown, his eyes almost green, with dark, wavy hair framing his pugnacious, snub-nosed face. His body was sturdy, and though she was a stranger to him, he didn’t seem to be the least bit frightened of her. Instinctively, Louise liked Randy Corliss.