Rosecliff Manor Haunting (9 page)

A rush of fetid air swirled around Addison, clogging her lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. Something felt off. Cold. Expired. Clutching the kitchen counter’s edge, she steadied herself and hung on, desperate for the moment to pass. It didn’t. Time ticked by, each second making her feel more and more weighted down.

The front door opened and closed.

Addison attempted to circle around, but couldn’t. She was stuck. Paralyzed. Unable to move. She opened her mouth, trying to form a single word: help.

Then two words:
help me
.

Had anyone heard her? Was anyone listening?

Luke stepped in front of her. “Addison, what’s wrong? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I … can’t …”

He wound his fingers around her arms and pulled, forcing her to release her grip on the counter. She fell forward, collapsing into him.

Luke wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“It’s Helen.”

“Helen Bouvier?” Luke asked. “Our neighbor?”

Addison nodded.

“Something’s wrong, Luke. She’s not all right. I can feel it.”

“Did you have a vision?”

“I … not today. When I went to her house to ask about Cliff Clark, I touched her cane, and I blacked out for a minute. I had flashes of a vision, something that hadn’t happened yet, something still to come. I didn’t know …”

“Didn’t know what?”

“I had no way of knowing it would happen this soon or I would have done something to help her.”  

“Addison, what did you see?”

“Helen on her bed in her room. Her eyes were closed. Milton was standing over her. He was crying. She was dead.”  

Addison turned the knob and walked inside the house. “Helen, are you here? It’s Addison and Luke. We’re coming in.”

The house remained still, the only sound coming from the drip of a leaky faucet in the kitchen. Addison looked around. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty.  

“Where’s her bedroom?” Luke asked.

Addison entered the hallway. “I think it’s down here.”

Entering Helen’s room, the set-up mimicked her vision. Helen was on the bed. A blanket covered most of her body and folded down under her chin. Milton stood over Helen, his eyes filled with tears.

“Milton?” Luke asked. “What’s happened?”

Milton didn’t move, didn’t look up. “She’s dead.”

“How?” Luke pressed.

Milton fisted his hands around the edges of a pillow he held to his chest and squeezed. “I … had to, you see. I had no choice. I … I loved her.”

Luke and Addison exchanged horrified glances.

Addison took a step toward Milton, hoping to bypass him, check for a pulse. Luke reached forward, catching her hand in his. She glanced back.

Luke stepped in front of Addison, his body acting as a shield between her and Milton. “We don’t know what happened here yet. Hang back a minute.”

Addison nodded.

“Milton, I need you to move so I can see if she’s still alive,” Luke said.

“She isn’t.”

“Move, Milton.”  

“No … I can’t.”

“You can either move, or I’ll move you.”

With his shoulders turned in, Milton backed away from Helen.  

Luke reached over, pressing two fingers to the side of her neck.

“Do you feel anything?” Addison asked. “Does she have a pulse?”  

Luke frowned. “No.”

Addison looked at Milton who was now hunched in the corner, his body rocking back and forth. “Milton, did you do it? Did you kill her?”

Milton began rambling, “I had no choice … I had no choice … I had no choice.”

“What do you mean?”

Had he snapped, become angry, and killed her? Looking at Milton now, at the pillow still clutched in his hands like a child’s security blanket, the truth of what had transpired was clear. “Milton, did you suffocate her?”

He didn’t respond.

Addison persisted. “Answer me, Milton! Did. You. Suffocate. Her?”

Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the police.”

“Put the phone down, Luke,” a female voice echoed from the bathroom.

Luke and Addison turned, both staring at the woman who’d just stepped out of the bathroom. The woman directed her attention at Addison. “You mustn’t blame Milton. He’s not to blame for Helen’s death. I am.”

Dressed in a long skirt, a navy V-neck shirt and a jean jacket vest, Marjorie Grayson leaned against the bathroom door. Her usually impeccably applied make-up was smeared around her eyes. In one hand, she held a washcloth. It was stained black.

“Marjorie, what are you doing here?” Addison asked.  

“Hello, Granddaughter.”

“I’m calling the police, Marjorie,” Luke said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the cops can deal with it.”

Marjorie shook a finger at him. “You’ll do nothing of the kind.”

“Look, whether you’re Addison’s grandmother or not, I can’t protect you from this, and I won’t.”

“Nor should you. If you’d allow me to explain, I believe we can sort this whole mess out.”  

“I’m not interested in anything you have to—”

“Luke, please,” Marjorie said. “She’s already passed. Surely you can spare another moment or two.”

Luke pressed the end-call button on the phone. “Two minutes. Then I’m calling.”

“Understood.” Marjorie walked to a nearby chair, sat down. “A few months ago, Helen learned she had stage four breast cancer. She always hated hospitals, and by the time Milton forced her to go and it was detected, it was much too late. The cancer had already spread to her liver, her spleen, her bones. She was in pain. So much pain.”

Addison thought back to her visit a few days before, to the cup of tea in Helen’s unstable hand. “Weren’t there treatments, something that could have helped her?”

“Although the prognosis was bleak, and she wouldn’t have had much time left either way, the doctor suggested radiation. She refused.”

“Why?” Addison asked.

“She’d witnessed the side effects firsthand. One of her friends died last year after a slew of procedures. None of them successful. Illnesses like this aren’t so easy to treat when you get to be our age.”

Marjorie stood, walked over to Helen’s bedside table, and removed a series of documents. She handed them to Addison. “See for yourself. It’s all in there. Her diagnoses, her life expectancy, the doctor’s recommendations—all of it.”

Luke leaned in, and together they scanned the pages.

What Marjorie said was true.

“But you
killed
her,” Addison said. “No matter how sick she was … how could you?”

Marjorie looked at Milton. “Give Addison the letter.”

He reached into his back pocket, handing over a crumpled envelope. She broke the seal, withdrew the letter inside, and read it aloud.

Addison,

I realize now how unkind I was to you the other day, and I’d like to apologize. If you’re receiving this letter, Milton has delivered it to your doorstep and has left Rhinebeck for good. It doesn’t matter where he went, he won’t be returning, so don’t try to find him.

I’d like to impose on you now and ask you to call the police. Tell them you stopped by my house for a visit and found me in bed, deceased. Yes, I did say deceased. Burial instructions and all other pertinent information are in my will, so you needn’t trouble yourself with any additional details.

Right now, I’m sure you’re caught up in all of the “why” and “how” of my passing. Ever since you came to Rhinebeck, you seemed to have a knack for sticking your nose in everything. Truth is, I’ve always admired the quality in you. I also found it irritating. Maybe because it reminded me of your grandmother, and I must confess she’s always been a true friend to me, despite what I said before.

You see, when I learned I was dying, I was angry, at everything and everyone. Then I came up with a way out, a way to be set free, relieved of the excruciating pain I experienced during the final days of my life. I know you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to. You’ve always been the girl with her heart set on doing the right thing. 

Milton is not a killer. He’s a savior. My savior. He couldn’t stand to see me in pain any more than I could bear enduring it. I didn’t just ask him to end my life, I begged him for it. I hope you understand.

And now if you’d be so kind to burn this letter, you will have my eternal gratitude.

Helen Bouvier

Addison refolded the letter and breathed, trying to take it all in.  

“How do we even know she wrote that letter?” Luke asked.

“She wrote it,” Addison replied. “I recognize the handwriting. When I first moved to Grayson Manor, she brought me a pie. It had a handwritten note attached to it. The writing on that note and on this letter is the same.”

Luke wiped his brow. “It still doesn’t make sense. The letter says Milton is the one responsible for Helen’s death. Not Marjorie.”

“You’re right,” Marjorie said. “Helen’s original plan was to ingest a bottle of pills, fall asleep, and die peacefully.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“She tried. They made her ill. She vomited most of the night, but she lived. The next day, she beseeched Milton, asked him to help her end her life. She didn’t care how. He couldn’t go through with it, so he called me. I flew in very early this morning, and here we are.”

“No matter how much pain she was in, it doesn’t give you the right to play God,” Luke said. “It’s not for you to decide. You could have taken her to the hospital or done something else,
anything
else … not
this
.”

“Put yourself in my place, Luke,” Marjorie said. “Think about what you would do if it was Addison. If you knew she was going to die anyway, how long would you make her writhe in agony before even you gave in? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t do whatever was necessary to bring her peace?”

Luke lowered his head, shaking it from side to side. “So what now? You were just going to what, walk out, leave us to deal with it?”

“On the contrary. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?” Addison asked.

“It’s time I make my peace with my past. If it comes back to haunt me, so be it. I’d never leave my granddaughter to handle this on her own.”

“She’s not on her own,” Luke shot back. “She has me. She’ll
always
have me.”  

She’d always have him
. Hearing those words was a huge relief.

“What now?” Addison asked. “We can’t pretend none of this is happening. I’m not leaving Helen like this. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Who said anything about leaving her?” Marjorie said. “The conversation we need to be having is about what we’re going to tell the police when they get here, and whether we’re all planning to tell the same story.” She shifted her gaze to Luke. “I know you’re not pleased with what’s happened here. Whatever you decide to do, I won’t stop you. But we need to get our stories straight, for all our sakes.”

Luke took what may have been the deepest and longest breath of his life. “When she’s examined, won’t the medical examiner be able to prove foul play was involved?”

“The ME may be able to prove asphyxia,” Marjorie said. “But as to the proof she’ll need, she won’t get anywhere if we dispose of the pillow. So, Luke … what’s it going to be?”

After a lengthy amount of time spent soothing Milton’s anguished heart, Marjorie finally pried the pillow from his hands. She disappeared for a short time then reemerged without it. A story was formed, and everyone agreed. The only thing left to deal with now was a tall, blubbering wild card, who looked like he was about to blow.

“Before the call is made, I want to be clear,” Marjorie said. “If this doesn’t go as planned, and the police decide one of us is to blame, I’ll be turning myself in. I won’t have it any other way, and none of you are to try to stop me. Understood?”

Addison and Luke nodded.

“Milton?” Marjorie asked. “Do you hear me? I need to know you understand.”

Milton’s head rose partway. “Yes, ma’am.”

“All right then, it’s settled. Who wants to make the call?”

Luke dialed the phone, remaining on the line while police were dispatched to their location. Marjorie and Addison moved to the living room, where they watched and waited.

“I don’t believe it was you,” Addison said.

“What do you mean?”

“Milton is torn up, more than he should be. It’s not because Helen’s gone, is it? You didn’t do it. You didn’t kill her. He did.”

“Nonsense. You’re allowing your mind to run rampant. Stick with the plan, Addison. Don’t give it another thought.”

“I felt her, you know, felt Helen pass through me the moment she died. You said you sent Milton to the store earlier so an alibi could be established for him if it came down to it. I felt Helen’s death
after
Milton returned home.”

“How would you know when he arrived back at the house?”

Addison thought back, remembered seeing Helen’s car drive past her house. “I saw Milton in Helen’s car earlier today.” 

“It doesn’t mean he’s to blame for what happened.”

“But he is, isn’t he? You don’t have to take the fall for him. You don’t have to protect him.”

Marjorie clenched Addison’s hand, patting it several times before speaking. “I see what you’re trying to do here, Addison. We need to stick to the plan.”

“Even if the plan backfires? You’re really willing to turn yourself in?”

“To protect all of you, you bet I am. I’d never planned to involve you in the first place. I wasn’t even going to give you the letter Helen wrote.”

“You never
planned
to involve me? Did it ever occur to you to ask for my help, my opinion about all this before you put your plan into action?”

“Addison, please. Take a breath, take five if you need to. I don’t want you all riled up when the cops get here. It won’t help the situation. Milton was the one person in life Helen adored more than anyone. The one who remained by her side through it all. He doesn’t deserve to spend the rest of his life behind bars for honoring her dying wish, does he?”