The Drake House (34 page)

Nick wasn’t coming. Their fight, the end of their relationship, had left him detached. Unfocused. He probably didn’t even know she was gone. Even if he did, it would take too long to find out where she was. But it wasn’t death she feared most. It was another body he couldn’t save on his conscience. Nick would never get over this. He would never know how much she loved him, how he
deserved
to be loved.

She had to do something and desperation had her clinging to the only consistent thing she knew.

A ghost.

“Alexandra!” she boomed, loud enough to shake her rib cage. “Alexandra, I need you! Help me!”

Steve’s face drained of all color. “Wh-what in the hell are you doing? You’re crazy.”

Trisha had the upper hand now. He lowered the gun in his trembling hand as his jaw hung open. “She’s dead, Steve, but not gone. How do you think I know so much? I was a baby back then.” She grinned, a wicked glean meant to put the fear of God into him. Looking him dead in the eye, she bellowed again. “Alexan
draaaaaaaaa
!”

The front door bashed open, the crack of splintered wood resounding off the walls. Pounding footsteps hammered toward them, and for a second, she thought Alexandra
had
come.

Nick’s form emerged from the shadows, his gun aimed at Steve. “Put the gun down,” Nick ordered.

She barely had time to register relief before Steve yanked her against his chest and pressed the barrel to her temple. The icy pressure of steel held her firmly in place. She looked at Nick, the hard determination and resolve almost hid the fear in his eyes.

Fear for her. Her pulse skyrocketed. Her shaking intensified.

“I’ll kill her, Mackey. Slide the gun over here.”

Nick wouldn’t look at her, even now with a gun on her and death imminent. “Nick.” Those beautiful Irish green eyes flicked over to her and lost their hard edge. “He’s going to kill me anyway. Run.”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

“This is sweet. I need tissues.” Steve pressed the gun to her temple hard enough for her to cry out. “Slide. The. Gun. Over. Here.”

Nick held his position another two beats before raising his palms in surrender. Using deliberately slow movements, he bent down and slid the gun across the floor. Metal against hardwood scraped her nerves raw.

“Now, take out your handcuffs,” Steve ordered.

Nick’s mouth firmed, but he withdrew a set of cuffs from his suit pants.

“Cuff your right hand to the banister.”

Nick swallowed, looked at her, and then walked to the stairs to do as told.

Once the click of the lock engaged, Steve pushed her away from him. “The keys, Mackey. I know you’ve got ’em.”

Nick exhaled harshly and fished a key ring from his pocket, tossing it to Steve.

“Now you can watch. Pick up the rope, Trish.”

She hesitated, trying to find a way for Nick to get out of this. It was devastating enough not getting to her in time, but watching was a whole new realm of hell. “Let him go, Steve, and I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll write a suicide note. I’ll hang myself. Just let him go.”

Nick strained against the cuff. “Use your head, Steve. Everyone knows it’s you. Everyone knows why. I made sure of that before I left the party.” Steve’s jaw slackened, but the gun held position. “There’s no point in killing her. You know you can’t do it. Take yourself, not her.”

Steve picked up the rope and slid the noose over her head. “Then I guess we’re all dying tonight.” Jamming his elbow into her back, he thrust her forward to the stairs.

“Steve, don’t do this,” she begged. “Who cares if she was your mother? What you did was an accident. No one will blame you.”

Steve looked at her with what she could only interpret as contempt. “Stupid girl. That was no accident. I may not have meant to hit her that hard, but it felt damn good.”

Trisha tried to step away, but he jerked the barrel and shook his head. “She was a nobody. A witch in the eyes of this town. A heartless bitch to me. My father may have been a monster, but at least he stuck around. She deserved what she got. And you, you were so damn nice to her. You saw too much. My father never came back to finish the job in killing you because you forgot what happened. But he made me swear to kill you if you ever did.”

“He’s dead. You don’t have to keep that promise.”

Steve’s lip curled in disgust. “If I have nothing, I have my honor. That’s what makes me better than them. Now,” he pointed to the stairs, “up.”

Nothing she said mattered. Out of a twisted sense of honor to the very man who tortured both he and his mother, Steve was going to kill her.

Trisha’s energy and will drained in an instant. The weight of her mistakes pressed on her chest as she fought sobs. She looked at Nick, at the only man who ever loved her for who she was. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I love you.”

Nick lunged forward and like a slingshot flew right back. “I will kill you, you bastard. If I have to come back from hell to do it.”

The floor vibrated, a slow rumbling, then quaking. A brief, sudden jolt that froze them all. At first, she looked at Steve, thinking he fired his gun. But the confusion on his face had her whipping her gaze to Nick. The movement intensified, throwing her off her feet and careening into Steve. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nick lose his footing and slam into the railing. A thin trickle of blood dripped down his forehead.

“What the fuck,” Steve yelled.

Before she could make sense of what was going on, the quaking stopped. What followed was a sharp, fierce drone, so immediate and shocking, her eyes slammed closed. Wrought iron dragging over a tin drum. She pinned her hands over her ears and bellowed in agony. As if on fire, every molecule in her body splintered. She could feel the uproar in her teeth.

With the ringing in her ears, she didn’t notice right away when the sound stopped. Lifting her head, she looked over at Nick. He was hanging by his cuffed arm, sprawled on the floor. Awake, but immobile in shock.

She put her hand down to stand and touched metal instead of hardwood. Grabbing the gun, she crawled in Nick’s direction before even looking at Steve.

“Trish, behind you!”

She rolled onto her back, but not in time. Steve’s hands closed over hers, trying to seize the gun. Her stiffened fingers would not hold long. She couldn’t breathe. The weight of him sucked all her strength. Attempting to bring her knee up, he clamped his thighs and pinned her down.

She was going to fight until there was nothing left inside her. Fight for Chuck, Andrew, Alexandra, and Nick. For all the hell Steve put them through. She tried to scream for momentum, but the sound died in the air.

Steve stilled above her. Her breath, mingled with his, crystallized and fell like frost onto her cheeks. Steve’s gaze, wide, panicked, roamed over her face, her hair, as every breath they took drifted down as snow. He shoved off, scrambling away from her like a crippled crab.

In one swift motion, Trisha rolled onto her knees and slid the gun over to Nick. Her gaze scanned the floor, searching for the other weapon, and saw it in the entryway to the dining room. Yanking the noose off her head, she shot up and dove before Steve could. She crouched and turned to aim, but Steve was not even paying attention. He hunkered down against the far wall, waving his hands in front of his face at the frost forming through every exhalation. Running over to Nick, she handed him the other gun.

“Your head is bleeding,” she said.

He nodded, standing to full height. Tucking one gun into the waistband of his slacks, he pointed the other at Steve. “Go get the keys, Trish. Steve, if you move one muscle, you even twitch, and I’ll put a hole in your skull.”

Steve cried out, launching himself at her, but Nick fired before he could even touch her. The crack of thunder echoed off the walls as Steve’s body slid to the floor in a heap, a hole in the center of his forehead.

Full realization struck her. Watching Steve’s eyes, fixed on the top of the stairs, she felt how cold the room had become. She’d focused so intently on getting the guns she didn’t pause to comprehend how. So…cold. She was so cold. The whole house had dropped to subzero.

“Trish, honey, don’t look at him. Just get the keys.”

Nick. Nick needed the keys. Right. Okay.

Shaking violently, she walked over to Steve and pried the key ring from his hand. His
frozen
hand. Unable to stop herself, she looked into his eyes again. Icy fingers of dread clawed at her neck, strangling her throat, and sheathed her face.

Between Steve and the base of the stairs, she crouched with her arms braced out. Paralyzed. Gradually, she swept her gaze from Steve’s lifeless glare, following it all the way around to the stairs.

Up, up, up…

The grandfather clock on the landing, unwound for more than thirty years, began to tick. A hollow, echoing blast in the quiet, dead house. The gold pendulum swayed, the lantern light reflecting off its surface.

Tick, tick, tick…

Above the clock, the twenty-foot panes of stained glass crackled. From the ceiling—down, down, down—ice materialized. Spreading over the windows, the clock, the walls, the floor. Creeping slowly toward the stairs, toward them.

“Trish, the keys! Give me the keys.”

Nick’s voice was so far away. So very far. Where had he gone?

Keys. Yes, she had the keys. Her fingers fisted around them. She swayed.

The ice crawled closer, stopping at the top of the staircase. Time paused, a blink in the flow of existence.

Crackle. Tick. Crackle. Tick.

So loud. So hypnotic.

The air thinned, sucking the very energy from the room. A footstep padded the first stair, the aged wood creaking beneath. A footstep with no body. Another step. Another, the foot impressions visible on the burgundy carpet runner as they slowly descended the stairs. Closer, closer…

Creak. Crackle. Tick.

Grief. Regret. Anguish. A slam of emotions assaulted her, awash in pain so deep she couldn’t even shed a tear. A mist emerged through the ache, a vapor before her eyes. She knew immediately what it was.

Alexandra.

She
had
come. Or, perhaps, never left.

The mist reached out, a hand in the darkness, and touched her forehead. Trisha jerked back as the cold penetrated her skin, through her bone, and like a jolt slammed her brain.

“Remember,” Alexandra’s hollow voice said.

****

“My knee is all better. Can we read now?”

Lexie looked down at her and smiled. She patted the fresh bandage over the cut on her knee from the fall in the woods. “Do your mom and dad know you’re here?”

It was wrong to lie. Trisha knew that. But she wasn’t hurting anyone. Brad wasn’t coming to play today. Mommy and Daddy were busy with the apples. She nodded her head at Lexie.

“We can read then. I have a new book.”

She jumped to her feet, super excited. Lexie had the best books. “Really? What’s it called?”

Lexie walked over to the bookcase and pulled out a book, then sat on the couch. She patted the cushion for her to sit too. “It’s called, ‘My Friend Who Smiles.’” Instead of reading, though, Lexie looked at her with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. “Thank you for being so kind to me, dear girl. It means the world to me. I wish I could give you something more than a story to say thank you. No one’s ever been as kind to me as you’ve been.”

That made Trisha’s chest hurt. Why wasn’t anyone nice to Lexie?

Before they could start the new book, a loud noise made her jump. Someone was coming. She could hear footsteps. Angry footsteps. Scared, she looked at Lexie, who reached out and held Trisha’s cheeks, her hands cold as a lemonade cup, her eyes as big as the moon.

“Mother!” Someone shouted. “I’m ho-ome.” The voice was as angry as the footsteps. And the footsteps were getting louder.

“Oh, God.” Lexie looked scared too. She kept looking at the doorway into the hall and then back at her. “Trisha, I want you to hide, okay? It’s just a game. No reason to be frightened. But don’t come out until I say it’s okay.”

Trisha nodded and ran to the crawl space under the stairs. It was the best hiding place. Lexie never found her there when they played hide and seek.

The voices grew louder. Louder. Another man was there too. They were shouting about things she didn’t understand, and mostly, couldn’t hear. She put her hands over her ears and crouched down. This didn’t feel like a game at all. She wanted to go home.

Lexie screamed, but stopped really fast. Then the voices grew. Feet banged the stairs above her. Thump, thump, thump—all the way up. After, it was really quiet for a long time. Trisha waited for Lexie to tell her to come out.

She didn’t want to get in trouble, but it was getting hot in the crawl space. She pushed open the door, just a little bit, and peered out. Mr. Harvey was standing just inside the living room, and so was Stevie. Stevie didn’t look happy. He was getting in big trouble for something. She didn’t like Mr. Harvey. He was mean.

Trisha didn’t know where Lexie went, but it was time to go home. She tiptoed out and toward the front door. She stopped when she heard the stairs creak. Thinking it was Lexie, she turned around. And screamed.

Lexie must’ve gotten tangled in a rope. Her body swung back and forth, back and forth. Her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t seem to see her. She didn’t even tell Trisha to be quiet. She must’ve hurt herself real bad.

“Hey!” Mr. Harvey shouted, coming around the corner.

Trisha turned and ran. She ran fast. Super fast. She almost fell on the porch, but she didn’t. Harder, faster she ran. She was almost around the yellow rose bush near the corner of the house when he grabbed her from behind.

“You little brat,” he said, and shook her. It hurt where he pinched her arms. He dragged her across the yard, messing up her new white shoes.

This wasn’t a game at all. He had done something bad to Lexie, and he was hurting her, too.

Even though Mr. Harvey wasn’t a stranger, she remembered what Mommy told her to do if a stranger tried to make her go somewhere.