The Haunting of Maddy Clare (11 page)

“The recorder isn’t fixed yet,” Mr. Gellis continued. “There will be no camera this time either. I rely on you to take accurate mental notes. We’ll need to debrief you the minute you get out of there, so please try to stay collected. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Very good.”

I stood and took my empty cup to the sideboard. I stood there for a long moment, with my back to both men. I had not looked at Mr. Ryder, and likely he had not looked at me, but I was so painfully aware of his presence that my equilibrium was beginning to crack. Just the knowledge of him in the room made the knot of longing in my stomach unbearable.

“Mr. Ryder—” I began.

“For God’s sake.” His voice was low and rough. I could not remember the last time I had heard him speak. “My name is Matthew.”

I turned and looked at him, surprised. He was scowling at me with his dark eyes that missed nothing. He pointed at Mr. Gellis. “And that is Alistair. If he won’t put a stop to this
Mr. Gellis
nonsense, then I’ll do it myself. It stops here.”

Mr. Gellis frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “It doesn’t seem a bad idea, I suppose. And we’ll call you—” He cocked his head at me. “What is your first name, Miss Piper?”

It took a moment to realize that neither of them would ever have heard my name. “Sarah,” I said.

Mr. Gellis—Alistair—suddenly smiled at me, one of his sweet, lopsided smiles. “Lovely. Now, Sarah, we have to go. Are you ready?”

I smiled back at him, relieved to see his charming side. “Certainly.”

“Very well.” He stood, and came toward me. To my surprise, he took me gently by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “I know I can be rather distracted at times,” he said sincerely. “I don’t suppose I’m as kind as I could be. I warned you when we met, I’m not much used to female company, so I must apologize for my boorishness.”

“Oh,” I said, helpless.

“You have done very well, you know. You did well your first day in the barn, and yesterday with the interviews. Very well indeed. I wanted you to know that.”

I was blushing now. “Oh. Well.”

“You’re brave to go again. Most girls would have been running straight back to London by now.” He gave me another smile, and as I felt rather warmly toward him, I returned it. To my shock, he pulled me gently to him and gave me a hug—a chaste one, to be certain, but still a hug. His arms came around me and his hands pressed my back, as I felt myself flush down the front of him and I turned my cheek to rest briefly on his collarbone. He smelled of tangy cologne and clean wool. My arms were pinned under his, so I did not have the chance to raise them and hug him back. Before I could respond, he had let me go.

I was blushing furiously—a fact that I knew well would be misinterpreted by both men. I looked at Mr. Ryder—Matthew—but his face was a careful blank, and he simply sipped his coffee. Alistair was looking kindly at me. I blushed harder. Alistair was
terribly handsome, a fact I had known from the first moment I saw him. Handsome, and smart, and easy to be around. But my crush of the first few days had been exactly that—a temporary crush. As much as I liked Alistair, the physical closeness of the hug had only brought home the fact that I felt nothing more than amiable friendship for him. It was Matthew who kept me awake at night, whose image I saw constantly in my daydreams. But to blush at Alistair’s hug meant I must be smitten with him, and both men would think it so.

I did not know what to do about Matthew thinking I had feelings for Alistair. Perhaps he simply didn’t care. It was too difficult to untangle, and too embarrassing to contemplate. Besides, I could not think of it right now. Maddy Clare awaited me in the barn, and today I had something to say to her.

The barn was again silent when I went inside. Mrs. Clare did indeed leave the barn locked, as Alistair had said; with more of my senses about me this time, I noted that she—or Mrs. Macready—would come to the barn, unlock it, and go away again before my arrival. Neither Mrs. Clare nor Mrs. Macready ever went inside anymore.

I had nothing with me this time. My hands were free, and I had left off my coat and hat.
I am becoming experienced at this,
I thought wryly.
An experienced ghost hunter.

I stood in the barn for a long moment, looking around at its abject destruction and listening. Though it was a beautiful day outside, there were no swallows in the barn. There was no sound at all.

I closed my eyes. I had no sense of Maddy’s presence, but I plunged ahead nonetheless.

“Maddy,” I said aloud, and my voice sounded small in the dense air. “It’s me again. My name is Sarah. Sarah Piper.”

There was no response.

“You played a little joke on me, last time,” I went on. “It was well- done indeed. Perhaps I offended you with my camera and recorder. I’ve brought neither of those things this time. It’s just—you and me.”

Still no sound, but—oh, yes, the air was growing closer, closer by the minute. My breathing grew shallow. I made a note of it.
Maddy’s presence makes the air like breathing clotted cream.

She was around me now, somewhere. A quiet scuff behind me. I did not turn.

There was no heat, no sense of danger yet. Just a waiting, and a very vigilant watching. I could feel her eyes on me.

I began to shake. My giddiness was gone, and I was feeling the fear now, the fear of truly—without any sort of doubt—being in the presence of an undead soul.
My God, she is actually here, actually listening to me.
It was terrifying, and yet, for the first time, I could see a glimmer of what powered Alistair’s obsession, what drove him to seek ghosts at any cost. What made him wish so terribly to be in my place at just this moment.

He had given me lines to say, so I took a breath. “Maddy, your work in this world is finished,” I said from memory. “You must let all of this go. There is somewhere else for you, somewhere that is waiting for you. If there is a light, Maddy, you must go toward it.”

I scrambled and tried to remember the rest, but behind me was another sound, a quick scraping, and an old lantern, which had been lying in a corner, sailed through the air from behind me, high in an arc, and hit the back wall of the barn with a terrifying crash. The glass of the lamp blew to pieces.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I would take it, then, that
Maddy did not much like my little speech. I closed my eyes. She was still listening, I could tell. I had no idea how I knew—perhaps Alistair was right and Maddy could channel into me somehow—but I knew she still listened, that she was not angry, not yet.

I deviated from the script. I had a question of my own to ask her. “Maddy. What does
I will kill them
mean?”

A dead silence.

“Who?” I continued. “Who will you kill? I don’t understand. Or did you kill someone already? When you were alive? What did it mean?”

A small scuff, not a foot behind me; she was close, then. I closed my eyes. The air was so thick I could not breathe, and I realized I could no longer speak even if I had wanted to. She was too close.

There was a trickle of icy air on the back of my neck. I felt the hairs stand up like tiny pins, painful on my skin; a swift unearthly inhalation, choking and clogged.

And then she grabbed me.

I could not scream. I tried and tried, my mouth open, as I gasped for air; tried and tried and tried to scream, in a terrible pantomime I would relive in my nightmares for months to come. I was frozen, unable to move or run, and an icy grip took my upper arms, and lifted me from the floor.

The grip pinched; it was so cold, it pierced the skin of my arms with pain. I kicked my legs, only faintly, as I could hardly move, and tried to wriggle from the hold, but it was like iron. I was lifted, suspended, unable to get away. It was like being caught in a giant spider’s cocoon, invisible and inescapable.

There was a voice, but it was not human. It was not a voice. It was in my head, deep inside my brain, and it was indescribable.

I can smell him on you,
it said.

I tried and tried to scream.

The grip pulled me higher.

I can smell him. A man. I can smell him ON YOU.

Through my haze of panic I thought briefly of Alistair, hugging me before I came here. That simple, friendly hug. It was a lifetime ago.

Who is he? Who is he? Who is this man who smells so?

By pure, terrified instinct, I tried to shut my thoughts down. I would not think of Alistair—would not give him to her. I shut my mind, thought of nothing.

There was a low, sickening chuckle deep in my brain. I thought I would go mad.

You smell of man, little girl. You smell of man. He’s all over you.

And then:
Bring him to me.

I tried again to kick my legs. Oh God, oh God—

The grip let go and I fell to the floor. My feet went from under me and I landed on my knee. I had not realized how high I had been, but the fall told me I had been hanging some five feet in the air. I scrambled back up and ran for the door.

Nothing followed me; there were no visions this time. I had my orders. Maddy Clare let me escape the barn, where I could finally scream and scream.

B
ring him to me.

How strange it must have seemed on that beautiful spring morning, to see a woman run from the barn at Falmouth House, screaming hoarsely into the warm air.

I ran up the rise past the house on legs that shook. I was as near to hysterics as I have ever been; I could still feel the clammy invasion of Maddy inside my head, and every time I thought of it I wanted insanely to shut off my brain, to scratch through my skull with my fingernails. My arms were seared with pain. She had
touched
me. The tears on my cheeks were icy.

Over the rise I stumbled into something hard—a man, steely and warm. He gripped me about the waist. I thrashed away from him, and he let me go only to regrasp me from behind, his arm under my rib cage. A large hand touched my face, gently worked my gasping jaw shut. His voice came near my ear.

“Hush,” he said. It was Matthew Ryder.

I quieted at the sound of him, still heaving for air. His arm
tightened about my waist, and I was pressed full against him, so much so I could feel he was out of breath, too. I felt him exhale against my neck.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head. The feel of him was making me sane again. My body was quieting against his.

“My God,” he said. “I was waiting for you back there and you started screaming. You terrified the hell out of me.”

“Maddy,” I managed. My throat hurt.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “She’s gone now. Do you hear? She can’t hurt you. We’ll go back to the inn.”

I nodded. My body was relaxing against him. His arm still pressed around my waist. My breathing slowed. He didn’t move, and we stood there for a moment, pressed together. I was aware of the warmth between us, the cool air around us, and for a long moment I simply let the feel of it wash over me, the feel of being close to him for the first time.

You smell of man, little girl.

The thought made me stiffen and he let me go, probably thinking I was pushing him away. We would never understand each other, it seemed.

He came in front of me and looked me over. His dark eyes took me in. His soft, sensual mouth was pressed into a grim line, and I knew he had been truly worried for me.

“Thank you,” I whispered to him, but he had already turned away and walked over the rise.