Beloved Evangeline (25 page)

However, as he’d just seen me doing absolutely nothing for no telling how long, “Sure,” was my obligatory answer.

“
Just wanted to double-check the figures on this last analysis you turned in.” He said, handing me the report.

Here we go.

I pulled up the data and scrutinized the numbers, making sure the numbers I’d used in my analyses actually matched the data. If there were mistakes to be found, that was usually where they started, but... all the numbers seemed to match. I double-checked and triple-checked, just to be safe, and then when on to my statistical analyses with SPSS. The results were the same.

“
The numbers are right, Mr. Oxley... is there something specific about it that looks off?” Due to my general make-up, in these situations, I always assume whatever mistakes are found are
my
mistakes, discounting the possibility of any others’ mistakes until I’ve ruled out my own.

Mr. Oxley stood up automatically. “No, no. Just thought I’d run it by you. This particular issue has the attention of some of the senior management so they’re going to be using this report at the next board meeting. Just like to make sure everything’s as tight as possible before it gets into their hands. Any mistakes that could potentially embarrass them in front of the corporate board tend to be dealt with swiftly and quite often... severely.”

Mr. Oxley took the report back from me as my jaw went slack.

“
But I’m sure everything’s in order. No need to worry. You always do such top-notch work. They’ve asked that you come to the corporate meeting next Monday, in case they have any more questions.”

Mr. Oxley left me staring off into a different kind of space, fretting over the wide variety potentially embarrassing mistakes I might’ve made in my preoccupied state.

Rather than continue to sit in my office and risk being caught staring into space again, I decide to just go home early, something I’d never really done before, aside from the one time Mr. Oxley had sent me home rather than having me infect the office with some sort of illness. Sure, I’ve obviously stayed home before, once or twice I even came in later or left a bit early when I’d had a doctor’s appointment or something, but I’d never just checked out of the office early for no reason.

The reason for this is that we have to type in a purpose for using our sick and vacation time. If you’re going on vacation, you type in where it is you’re going. When sick, you type in what’s wrong with you—the flu or whatever. This is how the company keeps us from abusing, or in some cases
using
, our paid time off. The more embarrassing your problems are, the less likely you are to type in a reason. I’ve never failed to have a clear reason before.

As the cursor flashed at me, I typed
lingering self respect
, and fled.

Just before turning on my street, I had an epiphany. Already dreading whatever special torture Mr. Vaughn may be concocting at this time of day, I decided to stop by and see if there was any news about my grandfather. I had been expecting regular updates from Sir Talbot but hadn’t received any. Why hadn’t I thought to just stop by and see my grandfather sooner? I guessed it was because they hadn’t given me his phone number (and I hadn’t thought to ask for it that strange night) and most especially because he was so ill. Not very polite of me to stop by unannounced, but I figured if he was well enough to see me he would, and if not, he wouldn’t. No harm in trying. As far as his failing health went, I had assumed that no news from them was a good sign, or at least, I hoped.

Driving to his estate in the daylight was no less spectacular than the moonlit drive had been. To my astonishment, however, the final bridge I had crossed to reach his house took me onto a small island, the long driveway following it taking me straight to my grandfather’s door. His was the only home on the island. I just hadn’t noticed that fact in the darkness.

19.

Unfortunately, the daylight also failed to lessen the vaguely sinister feeling I felt coming from that house. I kept my feelings under control, however, and approached the front door. I waited for a few moments after knocking, but no answer came. I tried the front door and found it unlocked. Never a good idea to enter someone’s home unannounced, but... what if my grandfather needed help and no one else was home? I decided to risk it. The moment I walked in the door it felt as though a dark wave of some sort had it me in the face. I slowly realized I had felt that the very first time I was in this house but was unable to put my finger on exactly what it was, unfamiliar as I am with true menace.

“
Sir Talbot?” I called out, my voice unrecognizably altered by fright. The house felt strangely empty. Was it my imagination, or was the house completely devoid of sound? I reduced my steps to tiptoes, on the way toward the great room, afraid now to make any more sound. Upon reaching the great room, I gasped as though the wind had been knocked out me. The portraits. I started at how frightening they were, even in the daylight. My memory had not done them justice. I had nearly convinced myself that I’d imagined their smug, leering faces, but no. If anything, they were much more frightening then I’d given credit for. It was far too easy for me to imagine that, at any moment, some unseen force would close in around me, and I would be caught in its grip. I gazed around to the staircase, unsure if I could force myself to make that journey.

I screwed up my courage, keeping eyes to the ground, blocking out those evil faces, and headed for the staircase. The stairs creaked loudly, but I kept my head down, not wanting to see whatever might have heard me. It was just better that way.

“
Evangeline?” A small voice at the top of the stairs called.

My head shot up toward the sound before I had a chance to control the movement. A small, emaciated-looking elderly man stooped over the railing at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t Sir Talbot.

“
Grandpa?” I asked quietly before I began rushing up the stairs.

“
Stop there, girl, don’t come up here.”

I froze on the spot.

“
What are you doing here?”

Coming unannounced was turning out to be a bad idea. “Uh... I wanted a chance to see you...?”

He nodded slowly. “Too kind-hearted… just like your mother.” His weary eyes studied my face. “Today’s not really the best day for a visit. It’s not... safe... at the moment.”

“
When can I come back again? Talbot hasn’t been by, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m afraid it might take too long for me to figure out...” I was unsure how else to continue.

“
What made you come by
today
?”

“
I dunno. Just a whim, really.”

His face crinkled slightly with what looked very much like worry.

“
Today’s not the best day for it, but if you were drawn here today... maybe you should look around for it now. I don’t have much time, though... I really wish I could be here with you...”

It was my turn to look confused.

“
There’s a necklace,” he explained, “hidden somewhere in this house. That’s what you need to find next. I guess I just thought this would be last... the order worries me. We need to get it just right...” He appeared to be deep in thought, trying to talk through this madness.

“
Got it. I’ll find it.” Finding a necklace in a house sounded easy enough, downright cake, in fact, compared to what I’d been expecting. “Where do I look?”

“
No one knows. The necklace was either built into the walls of the house or maybe into a piece of furniture in the house more than a century ago to... hide it. It’s dangerous... I wish I could do this for you....”

“
I’ll find it, don’t worry,” I said in my most reassuring voice.

“
Just make sure you’re through by midnight. I’m going to rest and save my strength. My room is at the far end of this hallway. Please do your best not to disturb me.” He retreated down the hallway and back into his bedroom.

“
Sure,” I whispered when he’d closed the door behind him.

It was not even 5:00. There was no
freaking way
I was going to be in this creepy house after dark.

I rummaged through the house as quietly and inconspicuously as possible. I went through every downstairs room again and again. I found nothing. I felt... nothing, nothing but a pervasive unease, disharmony with these surroundings. I knew I could be quiet upstairs, so I ascended the stairs as quickly and quietly as humanly possible. I surveyed a few of the upstairs rooms, but still finding nothing. The fourth room I came upon was a den of sorts. The first thing I saw was a sizeable desk and armchair. When I entered the room and walked toward the desk, I tensed as I caught sight of a framed, black and white picture not a foot from my face.

A young man stood in front of a shack situated on a sweeping prairie, in a perfectly creepy example of very early photography. In happier times, I preferred these old photos where the precise moment of the shutter click was a surprise, and the accompanying photo revealed a piece of the soul. The man in the photo stared at me blankly, his light eyes forever frozen in that unhappy stare. At the moment, however, I just didn’t know how much more creepy I could take—and perhaps whatever the lens captured in this instance was something the photographer never intended.

Backing away from the picture, I noticed that the opposing wall held an enormous bookshelf, to which I was instantly drawn. The shelf spanned the length of the entire wall and reached all the way to the ceiling. So many wonderful books appeared on the shelves, many were impossibly old, exquisitely rare. There were, of course, the classics, but what drew my interest most were the many, many others, curious, and perhaps forgotten, volumes I had never even seen before. As a collector and connoisseur of all things different and obscure, out of print and forgotten books were high up on that list. The main problem with such a fascination was that it tended to be quite expensive. Normally, my obsession was contained to finding intriguing and different music and movies due to my financial constraints, but here was an entire library, more than a lifetime’s worth of fantastic adventures just waiting to be rediscovered.

Unfortunately, I reminded myself, I was not here to curl up with a rare, exotic book and enjoy a quiet evening, so I steeled myself. I plodded around the room half-heartedly, again coming up empty. I carefully searched the remainder of the upstairs, though obediently avoiding my grandfather’s room.
What now?
I contemplated thoughtfully, though, in my heart, I knew very well
what now.

I couldn’t help it. Those bookshelves were
calling
to me. In an instant, I had raced back to the room stealthily, hopeful of my succ ess at escaping detection by... I wasn’t exactly sure who. Maybe I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being uncharacteristically naughty, but the payoff seemed worth whatever the price to me. The very first book I pulled off the shelf was exquisite leather bound edition of
The Picture of Dorian Gray
, by Oscar Wilde ,and next to that lovely copies of a
Far from the Madding Crowd
, by Thomas Hardy, and
Phantastes
, by George Macdonald. My eyes were drawn to a beautifully crafted collection of the
The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe
. Gilded, gold leaf pages glinted at me as I turned the book in my hand.
Be still my heart.

I saw a manuscript, under glass, which had several hand drawings of Christ. Could this possibly be part of
Vita Christi
? As I drew nearer, I could see several well known titles up close, and had no doubt that they were either first or limited editions. It also appeared that the owner of this collection had been a connoisseur of 19
^th
Century gothic horror novels—the precise works that stir me most. Literally, the rest of my life could—and would—be spent in this room if I were allowed. I sighed at the thought, grabbed an armload of my newfound treasures, and retreated to a large wingback chair in the far corner of the room. It occurred to me then that the room was just a little too cold to be comfortable, and I also would’ve preferred to have a cup of tea, but I was really in no mood to complain or even think about such petty concerns. I was in heaven, albeit a heaven that was slightly colder and dustier than I’d imagined.

I couldn’t exactly say what woke me. I’d apparently fallen asleep while reading in the armchair, and my neck was painfully stiff, as though I hadn’t moved from my awkward position for hours. There was no specific sound or other discomfort that I could articulate, but I did feel
cold
. And the house was very... dark. The soft glow of my watch face indicated it was just after midnight, which was...
not good
. My eyes were gradually adjusting to the lack of light, and I realized the moonlight shone in on me through one of the two windows in the room.