The Vanishing (22 page)

Mrs. Sinclair shifted in her chair and took a sip of her drink before continuing.

“Rain was drizzling down and fog hung in the air, and all of that gloom seemed to swirl inside the bookstore before I could close the door behind me. I’ll never forget those dusty shelves, books stacked haphazardly throughout, some on the floor here, some piled on a chair there. Cases were filled with ancient volumes, but there was no real order to things. Sixteenth-century Bibles sat next to first edition copies of
The Raven
next to original versions of
Poor Richard’s Almanack
. Papers were piled high behind the counter, and several resident cats prowled the shelves. I could never figure out if the store was a refuge for lovers of old books or the result of one madman’s lifelong collecting of random volumes.

“That madman, the owner, a peculiar sort of man with wild gray hair that jutted out in all directions and little round glasses that were always perched on the end of his nose, was expecting me. I had called him months previously and asked him to keep his eye out for a box.

“ ‘I think you’re going to like this very much,’ he said to me, shuffling into the back room. I waited for what seemed to be forever until he reemerged with a box in his hands. The sight of it made me gasp. It was slightly taller than it was wide, with a pyramid-shaped cover. It was crafted out of wood and covered with ancient symbols that had been burned into it—a pentagram, the signs of
the zodiac, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, and other symbols I didn’t recognize.

“He slid the box across the counter, and as I grasped it for the first time, my hands burned, as though they were on fire.”

Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes were shining and, I could swear, darkening as she spoke. I moved closer to Drew and took his hand.

“I lifted up the cover and peered into the box. It was lined with mirrors, even the lid.

“ ‘This is beautiful,’ I murmured, mesmerized by the illusion of infinity inside that box. It was as though it were a gateway to forever. Or the beyond.” She shook her head. “And in a way, I suppose that it was.

“ ‘Beautiful and deadly,’ the man said to me. ‘You need to be very careful with it.’ He reached into the pocket of the threadbare gray cardigan he was wearing and produced a thin volume. ‘Read this before you even think about using that box,’ he told me. ‘It’s important.’ ”

Mrs. Sinclair sighed. “Of course, I knew better. I was a famous horror novelist.” She let out a strangled laugh. “And so, I took the box, tucking the book into my purse, and left. And I brought that thing back to Havenwood, causing the ruin of us all.” She fished a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Then she covered them with the handkerchief and let out a sob. She didn’t speak again for several minutes.

“Were you thinking of using the box for inspiration for a novel?” I asked, hoping to bring her back from wherever she had gone.

She shook her head. “Not only that.” She turned to her son. “Oh, Adrian,” she said, her voice wavering. “How can I continue the story? How can I possibly utter the words?”

He crossed the room and perched on the ottoman in front of her chair, taking her hands. “You have begun, Mother,” he said, his voice soothing. “You must continue. I’ll be right here.” He looked at Drew and me. “And so will we all.”

“Very well,” she said, taking a deep breath and shoring up her
tattered nerves. “I might as well just finally say it. Admit it. We all went through it, everyone at this house, but we haven’t spoken of it since, and it’s time the truth was said aloud in the very room where it occurred.

“I brought the box back into this house in order to conduct a séance, just like the one that sent Seraphina running away in fear.”

My eyes grew wide, that same nausea reaching out from somewhere deep within me. “But why? Why would you do such a thing? Especially because you knew what happened to Seraphina! Somebody died that night; we know that now!”

She nodded her head slowly. “Yes, of course you would have those questions. Anyone would. But not me. Because, darling, I was a famous horror novelist.” She drew out the words until they were almost nonsensical. “I had been called the female Edgar Allan Poe. My books were considered classics; they were part of the curricula of students worldwide. The problem was, darling, my readers were expecting another book from me, my publisher was demanding it, and I was out of ideas.”

“So, you thought a séance would give you some ideas?” I asked, not wanting to believe what I was hearing.

“Not just that, I’m afraid,” she said. “Remember, I had written some of the most frightening books of our time, imagined some of the most macabre scenarios and most demonic villains. I had been down every dark and lonely road known to man. I needed something fresh. Something real. My imagination was tapped out. I knew full well that the last séance Seraphina conducted here at Havenwood went horribly wrong; I knew full well it was because of the Devil’s Toy Box. I still sought it out and brought it into this house because I wanted to experience the horror of it. I needed to experience it. It’s like an addict, my dear, needing more and more of her drug of choice to feel the effects.”

Her words hung in the air like fog, wafting around us. I held my breath, not knowing quite what to say next.

“And so,” she went on, her eyes shining with tears, “I put the
box on the table.” She gestured across the room to the round table behind the sofa near the windows. “That very table. And I waited for a few days, until the time was right. And then I announced to everyone that we were going to have a séance.”

“Everyone?”

“Adrian and Katherine, Drew, the staff, everyone at Havenwood at that time,” she said. “I didn’t invite outsiders, not knowing what would happen. Also, remember, this was supposed to be inspiration for a new book, and I didn’t want random people aware of that, either. So I decided it would just be family and household staff.”

She took a sip of her drink and eyed her son. “Go on, Mother,” he said, smiling at her. “It will be all right.”

She turned her gaze to me, then, her eyes looking like those of a frightened child.

“We gathered around the table, Adrian, Marion, a few other staff members, and me. There were seven of us when we started, as I recall.”

I shot Drew a look. “Not you?”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs. Sinclair cut him off. “He was the only sensible one among us,” she said, smiling at him. “He knew about the power of the box and refused to participate. He tried to dissuade me from going ahead with it, but, of course, I knew better.”

I could feel beads of perspiration form on my forehead. “But don’t you need a psychic for something like that?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry. “I mean, it’s not like the average person can conduct a séance.”

“We did have a psychic here for the séance that night, my darling Julia,” Mrs. Sinclair said slowly, as though she were talking to a child. “Someone with a rare and special gift.” She caught Adrian’s eye, and he nodded his head, almost imperceptibly. And then she turned to me and spoke the most terrifying word I had ever heard.

“You.”

I looked from one to another of them in turn, my mouth agape, my mind scrambling in several directions at once, all gelling at the corner of “run” and “now.” But I was frozen with terror, unable to move.

“That’s insane,” I said, my voice cracking. “You have to know what you’re saying is impossible.”

Adrian and his mother exchanged fearful glances.

“Darling, we know this is a shock,” Mrs. Sinclair said, rising from her chair and coming to kneel in front of me. Her voice was low and soothing. “We knew this conversation was ahead of us, but we had hoped it would be later, when you had gotten to know us and you’d fallen in love with Havenwood all over again. Frankly, we hoped you’d remember, all on your own. That just the mere act of being here would jog your memory.”

“But there’s nothing to remember,” I said, drawing out the words. “I’ve never been here before. I’m not who you think I am. I’m not a psychic. Why would I come to lead a séance if I wasn’t a psychic?”

Mrs. Sinclair smiled. “You wouldn’t.”

Something about the way they were all looking at me, smiling nervous smiles, chilled me to the bone. I found my strength and pushed myself off the couch, taking a few backward steps toward the doorway.

Adrian stood up quickly, as did Drew. Both men moved toward me. My hands flew up before me in a warning.

“Don’t come any closer,” I hissed, not having the slightest idea what I’d do to back up that threat. But they stopped where they were nonetheless.

“Please don’t leave,” Adrian said. “You’re in no danger here, Julia, even though it feels like you are.”

“I don’t know who you think I am, or what you think this is, or why you asked me to come here,” I said, tears stinging at my eyes. “But you need to be perfectly clear on one thing: I am not the person you think I am. I have never been to Havenwood before. I have never met any of you before coming here. I have never conducted a séance and I don’t know anything about—”

My stomach churned and seized with the same type of roiling nausea that had overtaken me that morning. I realized it had been threatening to bubble to the surface during this entire conversation. The room shimmered and swayed, and I felt my eyelids getting terribly heavy and my body succumbing to the force of it all.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back and opening my eyes, with Drew, Adrian, and Mrs. Sinclair kneeling beside me.

“Does she need a cool washcloth?” Mrs. Sinclair asked. “Would that help? I’ll ring for Marion.”

“What happened?” I coughed out.

“It appears that you fainted,” Adrian said.

I shook my head from side to side.

“Don’t worry, I was here to catch you,” Drew said, smiling at me and taking my hand in his.

I pulled my hand away, scrambling to my feet and backing into a corner of the room.

“Oh, darling,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “Don’t react like this. I know you’re frightened. But the truth was coming out on its own, especially with what happened last night. I wish it had stayed hidden until you were ready to hear it.”

“I don’t think this conversation is such a good idea anymore,”
Drew said. “She’s obviously upset. We should have let her remember on her own.”

“I hoped she would,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “But when she didn’t—the ruse of it was too much. All of us pretending we had never seen her before. One of us was going to slip, sooner than later. And then what?”

“And the incident last night—you have to agree, Andrew, that the whole issue is coming to a head now,” Adrian said.

These people were obviously insane. All of them. I glanced across the room, calculating how many steps it would take to get from the east salon to the front door. I had to find a way out of here. I didn’t care that it was the middle of winter and we were in the wilderness. I’d prefer my chances with the wolves and the Windigo than staying with this lot.

“I want to leave,” I said. “I don’t want to hear any more of this.”

“Maybe she’s right,” Drew said. “Maybe we should continue this at another time. When she’s ready.”

I shook my head, backing farther into my corner. “There’s not going to be another time,” I said. “You all seem to believe that I was at Havenwood years ago, presiding over some event that changed all of your lives. Ruined all of your lives. I wasn’t. You’re mistaken. I’m not that person.” My body was shaking, and tears were stinging my eyes. “You’ve got the wrong person. I would never take part in a séance. Never.”

Drew was walking toward me, then, his palms up, his expression pleading. “Julia,” Drew said, his voice low. “Please. I know this is confusing. But remember that you trust me. Nothing has changed from earlier today. Everything is exactly the same.”

“How can you say that?” I asked, looking at each of them. “Nothing is the same! Nothing at all.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not right, Julia. Believe me, nothing has changed.”

“Really?” I said, a shrill tone in my voice. “An hour ago, I was living at a beautiful, albeit haunted, estate with people I was starting
to love.” As I said that word and thought of the afternoon I had spent with Drew, my voice splintered. “Now it feels like I’m in an insane asylum.”

Mrs. Sinclair took a few steps closer to me and took my hand. “You’re not at that dreadful institution, darling. Not anymore.”

Her words hovered around me in the air and, try as I might to deflect them, they somehow bored inside, reverberating off the corners of my brain.
Not anymore?
What could she possibly mean by that? She was the one who was in the asylum, not me.

Still, something about what she said knocked the very stuffing out of me. I sunk down to the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees, resting my head on my arms and sighing. I closed my eyes and wished I could disappear.

It was Adrian who brought me back into the moment. I opened my eyes to see that he was kneeling in front of me. He rested his hands on my knees and had a slight smile on his face.

“Come back to us, Julia,” he said. “We’re here to help you. I know you’re confused and suspicious and even fearful right now, but please. If you listen to the rest of the story, it will all become clear. And my original offer still stands. Do you remember my original offer? If, after hearing it all, you still want to leave Havenwood, I will personally arrange for you to slip unnoticed into the world, with a new identity and an ample bank account to go with it. You know I can make that happen for you, don’t you?”

I nodded. His voice was like a sedative.

“So, please,” he said, taking my hands, “take your seat back on the sofa, let Drew freshen your drink, and let’s hear the rest of the story. I promise you, if you want to leave after hearing what my mother has to say, I will personally pack your bags. Agreed?”

I didn’t know what else to do, so I allowed him to lead me back to the sofa, where Drew was waiting with a glass of brandy for me. I sunk down into the soft leather and took the glass he held out to me, my hands shaking.

“But I’ve never been here before,” I said to Drew, tears escaping my eyes. “I’m not…” My words trailed off into futility.

I took a sip of brandy. What had I gotten myself into? And how could I possibly get out of it?
Think, Julia. Think
. I knew I had to come up with some concrete reason to make them believe they were mistaken. Mistaken identity, that was what it was called! As simple as that. When they realized they had the wrong person, they would most certainly apologize, we’d all have a good laugh, and then I could go on my way.

What was I doing ten years earlier? I’d have been out of college and working, certainly. My first and only book had been published… hadn’t it? My friends…?

But it was no use. Every time I tried to cast my mind back to that time in my life, I hit a brick wall. My memories were a blur of images, words, and sounds, none coherent enough to translate. I remembered marrying Jeremy, and most everything that came after that. Some of it, anyway. Bits and pieces. With spaces in between. My frequent blackouts, like the ones I had when I first arrived here at Havenwood, didn’t help. My medication…?

Mrs. Sinclair’s voice brought me back into the present. “Tell me, darling,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”

“That’s the problem, Mrs. Sinclair.” I sighed, slumping against the back of the sofa. “I have no idea.”