The After House (18 page)

Scout’s paws held her father’s discarded newspaper. The dog whined, lifting her paw in appeal. Remy looked around the room, seeing nothing.

Reaching over, she slid the paper from the dog’s grip. The paper flopped open to a picture of a woman with two-toned hair, white in the front, black in the rear. She had penetrating obsidian eyes that pulled you to her face. In bold letters it spelled out her name.

“Georgia Oaken,” she said aloud. She had heard that name, but where? She couldn’t place it. She scanned the page. “Author of
Ghost Followers
and television personality appearing at the Cold Spring Library Sunday, 7:00 p.m.
Contact Molly Valenti for tickets.” Aha, Molly mentioned a Georgia, she remembered now. That was tomorrow night.

“Why couldn’t I have bought a house with Scooby Doo as a roommate instead?”

“He is crafty!” Marum burst out. “He was playing on her emotions.”

“I don’t think she was the only one he was toying with,” Sten said, observing his associate.

“In a way, he’s cheating. Using us.”

“Is that what he’d doing, Marum, or is he surviving? We certainly haven’t helped him.”

“I thought it was forbidden to assist them. It slows their spiritual growth. They’re supposed to figure it out by themselves.”

“True.” Sten nodded his head. “But you have to reward someone for ingenuity. Well, fledgling, what do you want to do?”

“You’re asking me?” Marum said, her iridescent eyes wide with joy. “You’re really asking me?”

“They were very happy with your work with Tessa and Gerald. Hemmings House resolved itself very well. I have been given word to let you run the show from here on in. Go ahead, run the show.” Sten smiled, and the entire room filled with bright light. “They’re growing, you know. Every day. It is thrilling to watch.” He pointed to her back.

Marum turned her head to look at her back. Sure enough, the wings were bigger. Not as big as Sten’s but certainly noticeable by now.

“Go ahead, flex them,” Sten urged. “Try them out.”

Marum bunched her shoulders, feeling them stir. She flapped them a bit, and a smile spread across her luminescent face.

“Sten?”

“Yes, dear,” the older sentinel answered absently.

“Do you think they make my ass look big?”

he phone rang, jarring the quiet of the house. It was Olivia checking in after school. Yes, she was having fun. No, she didn’t start her homework. There was a plaintive note in her child’s voice, but Olivia would not reveal what was bothering her. They kissed each other good-night for the rest of the evening, saying the usual silly phone ritual, and Remy hung up with an uneasy feeling about her daughter. She wished Livie were home. She would have been if Scott hadn’t asked for the extra night. Remy punched a pillow, angry she’d agreed so easily. Maybe it was better if Olivia wasn’t at home tonight. If she believed what she was seeing, could she be placing her child in jeopardy with the apparition? What if he tried to hurt her daughter? She sat on the couch, curled in a ball, wondering if the whole episode was a hallucination. She began to doubt everything, the gargoyle of insecurity landing on her slumped shoulders, pressing her inward. Maybe she imagined the glorious feeling with Hugh too. He hadn’t called all day. Her parents had called twice. They wanted to bring food. She told them she had eaten. Remy had no appetite. She never lied to them, but she found herself answering their questions with monosyllabic
answers. If she revealed what she thought had happened, they would insist she move home. If Scott knew, he’d take Livie away. Really, what had happened? She had dreamed of a ghost, probably the product of her slightly disordered mind. Face in hands, Remy watched the corners, willing the captain to come back. Just to make sure he wasn’t a dream. She wondered if her situation looked better if he was real. Her eyes kept returning to the mural, observing the captain, watching for any change to reinforce what had happened.

It was cold outside. She looked through the blinds at the watery afternoon sunlight. Remy walked over to the fireplace to throw a log onto the fire in the hearth. She had burned though half her stash due to the cold. She knew Hugh had replenished, but she was running low again. She went to her back door and slipped on well-worn Uggs and an oversized barn jacket to run through the slush to her woodpile. She slid, landing on her side and feeling the freezing snow penetrate her yoga pants. As she went down, she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Twisting in the wet snow, she saw a silhouette of man run from the clump of bushes underneath her window toward the front of the house. Remy squinted hard though the gloomy late afternoon, her heart racing in her chest.

Getting on all fours, she sprinted to the house in time to hear his booted feet pounding the cobbles in front of her home. She raced up the stone steps two at a time, then jogged to the front of her house. The empty street yawned before her, the silence thick. She stepped into the middle
of the street and looked at the deserted blacktop, a shiver racking her slender body. There was no one there—not even a bird. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively in the ill-fitting jacket as she ran for the door. She was afraid to call the police. What if the alleged intruder was as real as the apparition she conversed with earlier? Maybe she imagined him as well. Remy pulled open the door, then closed and locked it. She slid down to the floor to land in a wet puddle. Scout welcomed her with a wet snout and wagging tail. The dog hadn’t even barked. Not once. What could she say? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. At this point, if she called the police, she had nothing to show.

She crawled to the living room and lay her face against the soft rug in total exhaustion. What if she were losing her mind? She slid out of her pants, throwing them into the corner, and wrapped herself in the warm afghan. She stayed cocooned in the warmth of the blanket for a few minutes, hearing the old schoolhouse clock ticking in the silence. Her own breathing sounded loud in her ears. She must have dozed for a minute, because when she opened her eyes, the sun had disappeared leaving the room in total darkness. Scout lay curled next to her on the green rug.

Remy yawned and stretched like a cat. She forced herself to get up. She put on every light in the house, warily looking around. Padding to the laundry room, she pulled out another pair of pants, put them on, then smoothed out her hair in her reflection in the cabinet. Hollow eyes looked back, her freckles so prominent, they looked like
someone had dabbed them on. Her cheekbones looked resculpted, as if all her youth were cut away. The large bruise shaded her face, leaving it only half visible.

She stared hard, losing focus for a minute. The glass wavered like liquid. Remy gasped as two faces took shape. She saw close-cut white hair. Remy’s eyes opened wide. What was Sting doing in her living room, and who was the woman with him? They were expressionless, with eyes that looked iridescent. Remy spun, her scream interrupted by the strident call of her cell phone. The air shimmered, as did the room. Remy blinked stupidly and looked around. “Dancing Queen” trilled from her phone. That’s what her parents called her, their dancing queen. The ring tone was a family joke. She let the call pull her out of the cascading terror. She ran to grab her phone in the living room and yelled a greeting just a shade too loud.

Harsh breathing came through the receiver. There was a laugh, some guttural cursing.

Remy shouted, “Who is this? What do you want?”

“You think you’re safe. Sooner or later I’m going to get you. I saw you last night. Tonight I’m going to finish what I started.” There was a cackle of laughter. “Take a deep breath, because this may be your last.”

Remy threw the phone down, burying her head against the nubby material of the couch. She pressed a hand against her beating heart and forced herself to take great gulping breaths. There would be a record of the phone call, she realized with relief. She finally had something tangible to show somebody.

Remy stretched to grab the phone. She stared at the display, looking at all incoming calls, but there was nothing there, just Olivia’s earlier call. Did she imagine her stalker too?

“Captain?” she called out. “Was that you?” She scrolled her phone again but could find no unidentifiable number. “Was that you screwing with me outside? Was it?” she screamed. Her fingers worked fast, combing through the information. “I’m losing my mind,” she sang as a mantra, repeating it as if it alone could save her sanity. She threw the phone at the mural. Her hair was wild. She looked like a crazy woman.

“Breathe, Remy,” she admonished herself. “Breathe.”

She moved into the downward-facing-dog position, letting the blood rush to her head. She put herself into plank, emptying all her thoughts, then did five sun salutations. Her face hurt, her muscles quivered, and just when she thought she couldn’t do another, she forced herself to continue. She slid into a resting pose and allowed her heart to calm. She became one with herself.

She didn’t know how long she lay in that position until a rapping intruded. It was insistent, finally breaking into her reverie to drag her away from the peaceful spot she had found. She rose, her hand at her throat, trying to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart. Scout’s hackles rose, she barked once. Well, at least she was finally performing her duty. Remy glanced at the portrait, looking for the captain.

“Oh, so now you’re quiet. Go scare
them!
” she said in an urgent whisper.

The knocking ceased, then started again. She heard her name being shouted. She knew that voice. A smile spread across her face. Hugh. It was Hugh. She ran to the kitchen to let him in. Remy pulled him in by the jacket, slamming the door quickly behind him. Now Scout barked in a wild frenzy. Hugh looked at the dog sternly, forcibly telling her to sit. Scout sat down obediently.

“I didn’t notice you had a dog last night,” Hugh said.

Hugh was loaded down with packages. She grabbed one. “I didn’t.”

“Whoa. Slow down. I’ll do it.” He put the packages on the counter. “You OK?”

“Is there chicken?” she asked, nervously looking in the bags.

“How did you know? I’m going to make roasted—” He pulled a package of poultry from the bag.

“No, no. Put it back. It’s a problem.”

“You don’t like chicken. Everybody likes chicken.”

“The captain hates chicken. Oh, Hugh, you are not going to believe the afternoon I’ve had.”

Hugh bent to pat the dog’s head. “Is this the captain? Hello, little guy. He doesn’t eat chicken?”

“No, that’s Scout. My father brought him, I mean her, today. She’s a watchdog.” She pulled him by the hand. “Come sit down. I have to talk to you.”

“Is everything OK?”

“I’m not sure.” She led him to the couch. “This afternoon I saw him.” She pointed to the illustration on the wall.

“That’s the captain you were talking about. Remy, maybe we should call the doctor.”

She held up her phone. “Someone called and threatened me, but first, wait a minute,” she said breathlessly. “I thought I saw something outside.”

“You went out? Remy, it’s so cold.” He took her in his arms. “How long ago?”

“I don’t know.” She ran her hand through her hair, looking miserable. “A few minutes…no, I fell asleep. It was a while ago.”