The Space Between (7 page)

Rather than spend all day ten feet below ground level giving himself the creeps, he grabbed the lantern and made for the ladder. He realized he still had the lock, and let it drop back to the floor where it left a small scar upon impact. He climbed, keeping the lamp at eye level to maintain his balance. Just before his head emerged from the hole, something caught his eye in the small space between the barn floor and the ground upon which it had been built. The space was only a few inches tall, but as the light rose past it, Isaac thought he saw something tucked back a foot or two from the edge.

He took a step back down, holding the lantern just below the entrance. The light crept into the narrow area and landed upon what looked like the bottom edge of a book. Isaac didn't bother reaching out for it; the opening was too far away from the ladder. However, if he swung around to the backside, he might be able to lean out far enough to reach it. It was worth a shot, and if it didn't work, he could always come back with something that would.

Isaac reached up, setting the lantern on the barn floor just outside the trap door. Enough light spilled down into the hole to allow him to move around the ladder, but he would have to grope blindly for the item stuck in the crevice. Being very careful, he positioned himself on the opposite side, let go with one hand, and leaned out toward the wall. He had to put one foot on a higher step to gain more distance. When he felt the wall against his palm, he slid his hand up the wood until it reached the small, open space. Then, leaning out as far as he could, Isaac pushed his hand back into the dirt and darkness until his fingers bumped something that slid away from him. He lifted his hand until he could feel the rough wood of the barn floor against his knuckles, stretched his arm to its limit, and lowered his hand upon the object, making sure he had a good grip on it before pulling himself back with his other arm.

The strain on his arms and legs was beginning to be too much. Isaac reached up and tossed the object though the entrance. He rested a moment before trying to get back around the ladder, which proved a lot more difficult because of fatigue and the pain that was rising again in his back. He hissed, scolding himself for the second time that day, and just hoped he would be able to get out of bed the following morning.

Once out of the strange room below, Isaac grabbed the lantern and turned to find what he had snagged from its obvious hiding place. It was, indeed, a book. Small, about half the size of a standard hardcover novel, and bound in thin, brown leather. Stamped across the front in a delicate, flowing script were the letters "MJC". Flipping through the dry, yellowed pages, Isaac saw that the text inside looked to be written by a feminine hand, though he was no expert.

Being careful with the old spine and brittle paper, he opened to the first page and read:

The personal diary of

Mary Jane
Crosson

A wedding present from her mother

On this July 23, 1910

Isaac was a bit stunned by the date, which indicated the book was almost a hundred years old. He had to wonder if it might be worth anything, if not to a collector then, at least, a local historian. Not that he would ask for any money; Isaac already felt a bit greedy after he considered keeping the house, barn and land all to himself when he'd done nothing to warrant such a gift. The book he held might even help him discover why he was here or who had willed him the property. However, he supposed there wasn't much hope in that. The name "
Crosson
" meant absolutely nothing to him.

Though anxious to read through the book, Isaac checked his watch and realized if he wanted to get cleaned up before meeting Albert and Harold in town, he would need to get back to the house soon. A warm shower would help relax his back and hopefully undo the aggravation he'd caused on his hunt for hidden treasure. He would definitely welcome a few minutes rest before having to drive.

Setting the book and lamp on the floor, Isaac reached down and swung the trap door shut. He considered sliding the bench back in place, but couldn't think of any reason to do so. He had nothing to hide down there.

§

Isaac thought the hardest part of his day was over once he made it to the house. Each step had seemed to torque the muscles in his back a little more. He kept his head pointed directly in front and tried to avoid even the slightest twisting of his torso. Placing one hand on the rail and dreading those few steps up onto the porch, he flinched when he remembered he still needed to bring in the duffle bag that held his clothes and personal items.

He walked to his car and unlocked the trunk. He shifted his guitar case out of the way and after an initial attempt to lift his overnight bag out, Isaac decided it would be easier and smarter to just grab some clothes, his towel, and shampoo. He left his toothbrush and deodorant in the car, not wanting to risk dropping the smaller items. Besides, he could use those things just as easily outside before he left.

As he moved toward the porch steps, Isaac could hear the faint music of his cell phone ringing; he'd left it there after calling for help. He managed to get into the Mustang and answer before the call went to voice mail. It was his attorney.

"Hey, Mick. How are you?"

"Not bad. Just thought I'd check in with you and see how your trip is going."

Isaac laughed softly before deciding against worrying the man.

"So far so good. It's pretty out here, real backwoods. Might even do a snake like you some good."

Mick laughed. Isaac was grateful his own voice wasn't conveying the high level of stress he was currently under.

"Not me. The closest I get to backwoods is with a Scotch in one hand and a golf club in the other. Any luck on finding out who left you the place?"

"None so far. It might have been owned by a Willoughby family, but that doesn't ring any bells for me."

"One thing you could do is visit the local courthouse," Mick suggested. "The clerk there should be able to look up some records for you."

"Sounds like a plan."

"And let me know what you find out. This thing has me curious, not to mention a little worried."

An awkward pause separated the men momentarily. Isaac wasn't sure why Mick would be worried, but he was also a bit taken aback by the man's concern.

"No problem, Mick. Thanks for checking in."

He ended the call and stood next to the car, wondering why his attorney would have reason to worry. Was the situation that bizarre?
Should
he be taking everything a bit more seriously?

Isaac grinned, realizing he was spooked for no reason at all. He slipped the phone into his back pocket and headed back to the house. Making it up the stairs inside wasn't as bad as he feared, as long as he took one step at a time and kept his head lowered a bit. He couldn't help but laugh at himself as he crept toward the second floor bathroom, hunched over and shuffling his feet along. He was far too young to be in this situation, or so he'd thought. Perhaps he'd underestimated the damage done to his body last night.

The water pressure was a godsend, not to mention the adjustable showerhead. Isaac let the hot, pounding stream beat against his back as he stood there, his head bowed and eyes closed. He could already feel his muscles loosening up. Drops of water flew from his lips as he sighed with relief.

Once he felt as if he could move comfortably, Isaac washed his hair, using the lather to scrub his body as well. It hurt a little as he reached for his less accessible parts, but overall he could tell the shower was doing wonders for his infirmities. Once he was rinsed off, he continued to let the tension wash away until the water raining down upon him began to drop in temperature.

He toweled off with caution, sitting down on the toilet seat to reach his legs and feet. He was even more careful getting into his fresh change of clothes, not wanting to go down in a flash of agony as he tried to slip a leg into his jeans. A smile broke out upon his lips after he was dressed; as ridiculous as it seemed, he felt a twinge of pride for getting through the ordeal without making things worse.

He gathered his discarded clothes, left the bathroom, and paused at the railing. He could drop the clothes into the foyer to save himself the extra burden on his way down. After realizing he would just have to bend over to pick them up, he decided against it.

Isaac turned and walked further down the hall toward the bedroom. As he reached the door, he purposefully kept his eyes averted from the space where he had imagined another door the night before. There was a slice of a second when he thought he saw a shimmer in the corner of his eye, but he blinked it away and hurried into the room, closing the door behind him.

He folded his dirty clothes and placed them at the foot of the bed after stripping away the drop cloth to reveal strikingly white sheets, turned down under a faded patchwork quilt. The bed was a pale oak finish, and he guessed the dresser matched but he didn't bother finding out. He eased himself back onto the mattress, slowly stretching his legs out in front of him. He lowered himself back, letting his arms carry the weight of his upper body until it was flush against the surface. After adjusting the pillow under his neck to reduce the stress on his back, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

There was the slightest musty smell coming from the quilt under him, and Isaac wondered if Mary Jane
Crosson
had stitched it together late one summer, decades ago. He turned his head into the pillow, the smell of bleach and detergent strong in his nostrils, overpowering the scent of history. He quickly and quietly fell asleep.

His eyes snapped open and the panic from disorientation flooded his nervous system. The lighting in the room, the texture of the ceiling, even the firmness of the mattress under him were all unfamiliar. It was the pain shooting up through his neck that brought him back. The house, the barn, the mysterious vanishing door: it all rolled over him in a flash of memories, as if previously covered in his mind by a sheet suddenly ripped away to reveal what lie underneath.

Isaac clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as he rode the pain out. He forced himself to relax, and it was not long before he felt well enough to ease up onto his elbows. Even though he'd just aggravated the muscles again, he could tell the shower and nap had done a world of good. If he took it easy the rest of the day, he should be back to normal after a good night's rest.

Moving his weight to his right arm, Isaac checked his watch. It was eight minutes past one. He could be in town before two, which hopefully wouldn't be too late to enjoy some barbeque and catch up with Albert and Harold. He could always grab a coffee and slice of pie at Mama's Kitchen to rest and kill more time.

He'd left his shoes under the bathroom sink, and his jacket hanging on the back of the door. Isaac slid his legs from the bed and stood, pleased that the pain did not flare up as long as he took his time and paid attention to his body. After patting his back pocket to make sure he'd transferred his wallet and phone to the fresh pair of jeans, Isaac left the room.

The shimmer was undeniable this time, so much so that Isaac froze as he exited the bedroom. Tiny ripples played in the air and along the wall next to the door. He tried to will himself toward the stairs, to somehow convince himself that any investigation of what he was seeing could easily wait until after he returned from his drive. But the mystery was building around him, especially after finding the hidden journal in that strange sub-room in the barn. Isaac turned his body slowly toward the phenomenon, placing himself as close to the spot on which he had stood the previous evening.

The door was there, just as before, becoming clearer and more obvious as he adjusted his stance to fine-tune this reception from another realm. He could see the doorknob, the outline, everything as it was the first time.

Still worried about some kind of fumes taking over the second floor, Isaac inhaled deeply through his nose. He sensed no unusual smells. Though the house had been cleared by the firefighters and their equipment, he still worried it could be something they hadn't taken into consideration. He kept his eyes on the new door, however, determined to go back through and either confirm his sanity by proving the door and room beyond it existed, or get lost in the mirage and not worry about how he would get back.

Two steps closer and he took hold of the cold knob, turning it and drawing the door open. The same darkness greeted him, though he realized the awful smell of spoiled blood was no longer evident. That was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Worst case scenario was that he might smack his head again, but at least he'd have a good yarn to entertain his new friends with over lunch. And maybe his story this time around would be alluring enough to talk Harold into divulging just what it was about himself that bothered the old man. Isaac didn't like the thought of having an enemy he'd not even earned.

Wasting no more time, as it could only be used to talk himself out of it, he stepped through the door that shouldn't be there a second time.

§

There was no blood, nor any of the tangy, acidic smell invading his nostrils. As he moved through that pool of ultimate darkness and into the room beyond, Isaac exhaled in a long, steady stream. The void rolled from his visage, retreating like lake water at midnight. After acknowledging the lack of blood, his gaze first landed on the bed. It had been made and the covers turned down, ready to receive a weary body. There was a modest and somewhat dated dress lying near the foot of the bed, and the armoire against the far wall was open. The walls matched the other three rooms he'd investigated, though the pinewood strips were stained a dark color, the wood grain showing through.

Before he could process the possibilities this presented, Isaac caught sight of the young woman sitting in front of the vanity, brushing her hair. She sat in the same chair that had been knocked over and splattered with blood (just like everything else) the first time he'd stepped through the door. Her hair hung down to her waist, and he watched as she took a thick rope of it, running the brush from her scalp all the way down. She sat straight in the chair, her head tilted slightly to the side she was brushing. A soft glow seemed to emanate from her hair, and he noticed the oil lamp on the far side of the vanity, casting the room in a steady, golden hue.

He was at first taken aback at the woman's resemblance to Emily. Her hair was much longer and lighter, but it was straight and hung around her face in the same manner. Her cheekbones and jaw were soft like Emily's, and the similar plump, almond shape of her eyes stopped his breath. Even her lips, just full enough to be irresistible, had the same profile.

Her appearance and the movement of the brush, a polished silver piece with an ornate design across the back, were hypnotic. He was still watching the smooth movement of her arm when she called his name.

"Isaac!"

The young woman dropped the brush onto the vanity and rushed to wrap her arms around him. Her hands moved to the back of his head and she pulled his face down, planting kisses across his lips, cheeks and forehead in a frenzy of affection. He couldn't help but stand there and let her, reciprocating when their lips met. She smelled of lavender and honey, and left the faintest sweet taste upon him when they kissed.

She leaned away, letting her hands slip from his hair to the sides of his face. Her perfect smile — white teeth and full, pink lips — was framed by rosy, plump cheeks hinting at her childhood visage. Two blue eyes sparkled at him like tiny luminescent moons, lighting up the rest of her face with such liveliness as he'd never seen in any other person. It was intoxicating, and Isaac found himself immediately addicted, never wanting to look upon anything else for as long as he had the power of sight.

Her hair was swept back from her face, only a few strands daring to break away and obscure her fair, flawless skin. She reached up and tucked them back behind her ear. Isaac felt his heart slip in a few extra beats at this simple gesture. As she stared at him, her gaze darting about his face as if she wanted to take it all in, her hands remained on his cheeks. He noticed a few tears had left shiny trails that crept toward her lips. He reached up, wanting to take away whatever caused the wistful sadness brewing in her eyes, but unable to think of anything short of wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

When she spoke his name again, Isaac tingled at how comfortable and familiar it sounded upon her tongue.

"Oh, Isaac. I've been so worried."

She drew him close again, and he could feel the soft shape of her body beneath the simple white nightgown, one that looked like something his grandmother used to wear. This comparison did very little to deter his arousal as she pressed herself tightly against his chest and stomach. His heart stuttered under the weight of her beauty and the obvious admiration she had for him.

He wanted to speak, but found he was immobilized.

"Father has gone practically mad!" She pulled Isaac over toward the bed, and he sat next to her, their hands now locked together in her lap. The feel of her bare legs under the gown where his knuckles lay was distracting. "He won't even allow me to dine with him any longer. He brings all of my meals up to me, and I believe he's fired Miss Rose, so who knows what state the rest of the house is in by now?"

Isaac glanced behind the girl and saw the window was still covered with several planks nailed to the frame. He wondered if he should ask her name. She knew his, was even acting as if they were well acquainted with one another. He wondered if she knew how he had arrived here. Just knowing who he was seemed to defy all logic.

"I'm scared," she said, speaking softly and dropping her gaze to their intertwined hands in her lap. She had begun to cry, and Isaac felt horrible seeing her that way, as if he'd played some part in her sorrow without even knowing it. "After reading mother's journal... I'm afraid he'll do the same to me. He already is," and she turned her head to glance behind her, referencing the window.

"Your father? He's keeping you locked in here?" The need to know her name suddenly lost priority, though the reference to a journal was not lost on Isaac.

"Of course," she said, her tone implying she thought he was being silly. "Except when I need to attend to personal matters, and then he waits outside the door." The fetching young woman blushed, and the color reminded Isaac of a sunset as it bowed to acknowledge the approaching night. "It's been so difficult pretending to be ignorant of what he did to mother."

She began to cry in earnest now, laying her head against his shoulder and sobbing quietly. He could feel a spot on his chest becoming warm where she buried her mouth against his jacket, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Isaac reached his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tighter against him and stroking her hair. He tried to ignore how it felt like buttered silk under his hand. He released her when she lifted her head to look at him again.

"You have to take me with you, away from here. We have to be together." She reached for his hand, pulled it to her and placed his palm flat against her slim, warm belly, leaving her hand atop his. "Especially now."

Isaac glanced down to confirm her gesture, which he knew could only mean one thing. The scared yet dreamy glint in her eye was all the confirmation he needed.

"He seems overrun with madness at times," she continued. "He's convinced you're a demon. And how he raves, Isaac! He says 'You're just like her, Elizabeth.' And I can hear such venom in those words that it chills me to the bone."

Elizabeth
.

Isaac briefly thought how fitting the name was for such an apparition of beauty. The fear she displayed tugged at his heart, and he wanted to scoop her up and take her wherever she desired, wherever she would be safe from this man she called her father. It was quite obvious the girl feared for her life.

So much blood.

Isaac's body clenched with the memory, a quick wisp of the rotten smell tickling his nose. He looked around the room, needing to confirm what he already knew, but hoping he had been mistaken. It was the same room, though free from the carnage and disorder of the previous encounter. It was not hard for him to put the pieces together into a horrifying scenario.

Something
had
happened here. He had seen the aftermath. And for Elizabeth to make mention of her mother in the manner she did, he could only suspect the worst.

"So your mother is gone?" he asked, his eyes still surveying the room. He could feel the blood flee from his face.

Elizabeth rubbed the tears from her eyes and cocked her head. "Gone? What do you mean, Isaac? You know what happened to mother. You read the journal." She frowned. "What's wrong? You've gone pale."

It was beginning to be too much for him. The confusion caused by her acting as if she knew him, her referencing a journal that he knew damn well he hadn't read, and that gory scene that kept flashing in his mind's eyes like a transparency laid over the current view of the room. He could feel the heat rush back into his face, and the room suddenly seemed much smaller, hotter.

Isaac stood, releasing Elizabeth's hands.

"Something bad happened here," he murmured. It was just loud enough for her to hear.

"What do you mean? Please, Isaac, you're scaring me. Why do you look so frightened?"

Her small, vulnerable voice snatched him from his daze, and he looked at her. He took her hands back into his and pulled her up from the bed.

"I saw something. I...I've been here before."

"Of course you have. You-"

Isaac ignored her response and let his thoughts roll from his tongue.

"I was right here," he said, walking over to stand in front of the door. "And the room, it was covered in blood. The chair was turned over. Something bad had happened here."

Elizabeth was watching him closely now, her eyes as wide as silver dollars, floating over her trembling chin. "Please stop. You know how scared I get when I cannot understand you."

But he ignored her for the moment as he tried to grasp the connection between what he knew and about what he could only speculate. The knot on the back of his head was proof enough that
something
had happened in that hallway. If he were hallucinating or dreaming now, he had to respect his subconscious; it was working overtime. Isaac pinched the skin on the top of his hand and winced from the pain. He knew that didn't prove much, but for the moment it helped.

The young woman before him seemed to think her mother was in danger, or possibly dead at the hands of her father. Her sorrow and fear were too intense for her suspicions to mean anything else. Isaac was afraid that the carnage he had stumbled upon in the room might be directly related to that. It was a horrifying thought: Elizabeth spending her days in the very room in which her mother might have been murdered. It was enough to ignite a quick, intense tremor through his frame, and he watched as Elizabeth took a few steps toward him.

Before she reached him, he saw the concern and fear in her eyes change to terror. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, causing the muscles along his shoulders and back to tense up. He turned his head with a jerk toward the door behind him. There was nothing there to warrant her look until he heard the footsteps clamoring up the hallway stairs. They were loud and forceful, a man's steps in work boots, if Isaac would have to guess.