The Ghost of Graylock (13 page)

B
Y THE TIME THEY RETURNED FROM THE LIBRARY
, Neil and Wesley had filled in Bree on Gladys’s story.

They stood uncertainly in front of the shop, waiting for one of them to make the next move. “Something feels wrong,” said Bree. She began to shake her head, and Neil knew they had a problem. “I think we should leave it alone.”

Neil threw his hands in the air. “A few minutes ago you were all for figuring this out.”

“Yeah, but that was before I learned the truth! Nurse Janet is alive — a far cry from being a murderous ghost.”

Neil rolled his eyes.
Far cry?
“That only means we have more questions than before.”

Wesley nodded. “We have to
do
something.”

“And what’s that? Call an old woman in a nursing home? Please!” Bree held up the thick book she’d borrowed from the library,
Petals on the Wind
. “I just want to forget all of this, sit by myself and read.”

“Where? In California?” Neil spat.

“You guys!” Wesley stepped between them. “Stop.” He took a breath. “If Bree doesn’t want to be part of it, Neil, then you and me can call Mrs. Reilly. It’s fine.”

“Thank you, Wesley,” said Bree, glaring at her brother. She sat down on the sidewalk beside the shop’s front door and practically shoved her nose into the paperback book.

Inside, Neil and Wesley asked Claire if they could use the phone. She was busy with a customer at the register, so she didn’t even blink before saying yes. They crept to her office and called the number that Neil had written down at the library. A bored-sounding woman answered. With his heart racing, Neil asked if the woman could connect him to Janet Reilly’s room, and she immediately put him on hold. Seconds later, she informed him that Mrs. Reilly was sleeping. She sounded as if she was about to hang up, but Neil quickly asked if Whispering Knoll accepted visitors. “Until six
P.M
.,” the operator said. Then the line went dead.

“How are we going to get up there?” Neil asked Wesley. “My aunts are busy. And anyway, I don’t think they’d take us when we told them who she is.”

“I know someone with time on his hands,” Wesley said. They made another phone call, then waited in the café for their ride to pull up. Fifteen minutes later, Eric arrived at the curb, behind the wheel of his mother’s sedan.

“Where’s Bree?” Eric asked, as the two boys slipped into the backseat.

Neil was about to tell him when someone yanked the front passenger door open. Bree peeked inside, her eyes wide, her knuckles white as she dug her fingers into her book’s cover. “Where are you guys going?” she asked.

“Where do you think?” said Neil. “We couldn’t get through on the phone, so —”

“I’m coming,” Bree said and then slid into the front seat. She slammed the door shut.

Eric smiled petulantly. “Well, it’s nice to see you too.”

“Please. Just … drive?” said Bree, peering into the rearview mirror.

Eric put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. “As you wish,” he said.

“What made you change your mind?” Wesley asked.

Bree huffed a sigh. She sounded annoyed. “I saw something,” she mumbled.

“Something?” Eric said, curious.

“Some
one
.” Bree buckled her seat belt. “When I was reading, I felt like I was being watched. I looked up …” She shivered, remembering. “A girl was standing across the street, in the alley. I couldn’t see her too well, but I noticed she was dressed in a white dress, like a hospital uniform.”

“Just like the woman I saw near the playground,” said Neil.

“The girl I saw looked like she could have been any age, I guess, but something told me she was around my age. I heard a voice in my head, as if from the other side of a bad phone connection.”

“What did it say?” Wesley asked, as if this was a perfectly natural occurrence.

Bree hung her head. “She said, ‘Go.’”

“Go?” said Neil. “As in,
with us
?”

Bree nodded. “I stood up and shouted at her to leave me alone. And she was gone. But a second later, my legs went numb. Then my hands. The most incredible pain raced all over my body, like knives cutting my skin. I couldn’t breathe. And everything started to go dark.” Her voice hitched, but she continued. “I heard her voice again, as if from far away, screaming, ‘Go!’ So I promised I would. I said it out loud. And it stopped. She left me alone.” Suddenly furious, Bree turned toward the backseat. “I hate this, Neil! What have you gotten us into?”

A half hour later, Eric continued north on the twisted country roads that led to the town of Heaverhill, where Whispering Knoll Rest Home was located.

“I forgot to tell Aunt Claire we were leaving,” said Bree, clutching her hands in her lap.

“Me too,” said Neil, feeling light-headed. This was the first thing she’d said to him since yelling at him, but it gave him no comfort.

“If they give you a hard time,” said Eric, “I’ll tell your aunts I’m a really good driver.”

“Thanks,” Bree answered dryly. “I’m sure that’ll help.” Stone-faced, she glanced out the window at the immense green fields that sped by in a dizzying blur. The mountainous horizon from which they’d come faded in the humid air behind them. Despite the car’s open windows, Neil’s forehead was dripping with sweat, and his teeth nearly chattered with nerves.

“How much longer?” Wesley asked.

As if in response, a small white sign appeared along the side of the road up ahead. W
ELCOME TO
H
EAVERHILL
. After another couple miles, they came to another sign, this one for the rest home. Neil clutched at his seat belt as Eric made the turn into the long driveway.

The building was nice, or at least it was nicer than Neil had expected. He’d heard nursing homes could be depressing, but Whispering Knoll looked like a giant dollhouse, with gables and spires and white vinyl siding that resembled real wood.

After parking, the four approached the main entrance. A pair of dark glass doors slid open. The group went in together, silent and curious. A quiet desk, covered in colorful flowers, stood off to the right of a wide foyer. A short woman greeted them with a fake-looking smile. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“We’re here to see Janet Reilly,” said Neil. “I called earlier but she was sleeping.”

“And you are?” the woman asked, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

“Friends,” said Bree. Neil was glad that she had his back. “Came up for a visit.”

The woman behind the desk sighed heavily, as if they’d asked her to run a marathon. She typed something into her computer. “Looks like she’s scheduled for the rec room right now. But she’s already got a visitor in there. Her son comes every afternoon.” She glanced up at the group.

Neil smiled, pretending to be unperturbed. “It’ll be nice to see him too. Which way do we go?”

The receptionist seemed surprised and a bit disappointed at his quick response, but pointed down the hall. “Straight ahead. Can’t miss it.”

Wesley leaned toward the desk. “And, uh, could you tell us what she looks like?”

Bree smacked Wesley on the back. He cried out, and Bree forced a laugh. The receptionist wore a look that said she might call Security. “Such a kidder,” Bree said. The group hurried off toward a pair of French doors.

“Smooth move, guys,” Eric said.

“I was just trying to help,” said Wesley.

The rec room was large, bright, and comfy. Soft couches were set up facing each other in several areas. On an enormous television in a far corner, a muted game show played. A pool table stood in the center of the room, flanked by two unoccupied Ping-Pong tables. Most of the residents who were there seemed happy to simply sit near the sunny windows, enjoying the view of a sloping green hillside.

A middle-aged man, younger than most of the people in the room, walked briskly toward them. Neil worried that the man was about to kick them out, but he passed them by.

Neil, Bree, Wesley, and Eric were now alone with a group of elderly people. Slowly, the four stepped forward.

Two women sat off to the left of the space, engaging in what sounded like a deep conversation about the weather. One man held onto a walker, staring silently out the window. A fourth woman was perched in a wheelchair. Her back was toward them. An empty chair sat beside her.

Neil thought of the man who’d passed them at the center of the room … the receptionist’s news that Mrs. Reilly had a visitor … the chair that seemed to wait for someone’s return. He approached this woman, her broad shoulders greeting him like a wall; her thin gray hair cut short, styled in mashed curls. “Mrs. Reilly?” he said.

She turned and saw the group standing behind her. Her face was weathered, her laugh lines deep. Her bottom lip quavered, and for a moment, Neil wondered if she was crying. But she wasn’t. The movement seemed to be a spasm. It ended when the woman showed a smile that lit up her blue eyes. “Yes?” she said.

“My name is Neil Cady,” he said, keeping his voice even, though his insides trembled. Imagining how someone on a detective show might sound, he said, “This is my sister, Bree, and my friends Wesley and Eric. We were wondering if we could talk to you for a few minutes?”

“About what?” she asked, her brow crinkling.

“About Graylock Hall,” said Neil. The words fell from his mouth like a stone into water. They seemed to ripple through the room, slowly making their way to the old woman’s ears.

When Janet Reilly finally processed what he’d said, her smile dropped away, and those bright blue eyes seemed to cloud over, as if a storm were brewing somewhere deep inside.

“W
HAT ABOUT IT
?” M
RS
. R
EILLY ASKED
, but her puckered face told them she knew exactly what they wanted to hear. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Sit down,” she said, as if she’d been dreading this moment for many years. “Quick. Before my son gets back.”

The four grabbed several stools from a nearby card table and arranged them around the old woman’s wheelchair. When they were settled, Neil felt as if they were attending some sort of messed-up story time at his hometown library back in New Jersey.

“You wanted to see Nurse Janet for yourselves?” Mrs. Reilly’s face grew darker, angrier. “Isn’t that how the story goes? Old Janet Reilly. The Monster of Graylock Hall?” She leaned toward Wesley, as close as she could get. Her breath was orange scented — even Neil could smell her from where he sat. “
Aren’t you scared of me?
” she whispered, a lightning flash in her eye. Anger? Amusement? She was difficult to read.

“Should we be?” asked Eric, crossing his arms, refusing to play her game.

Mrs. Reilly sat back and took him in. After a few seconds, she exhaled, releasing her intensity like steam from a kettle of boiling water. “Of course not,” she said honestly. “I never hurt anyone in my life. So why do you kids insist on turning me into a monster?”

“That’s not what we came to do,” said Bree.

“If you tell us about Graylock,” Neil tried, “we can share the truth with our friends.”

“The truth?” Mrs. Reilly laughed a humorless laugh. “You came here, so you must know the story … though I doubt your version has much to do with the truth.” She shrugged. “Short version: Some patients died while under my watch. The town blamed me.” She paused again. “They said that I was responsible.”

“But you’re not?” Bree whispered.

“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Mrs. Reilly answered, more softly than any of them expected. “You want the truth?” She coughed, cleared her throat, and then shook her head, which appeared heavy, weary with memory. “The truth is: The patients did it to themselves, honey. Remember, these kids were not well. They had emotional problems. Addictions. Difficult families. These were good kids who needed help. They deserved the best kind of treatment, but what they got was Graylock. And they wanted
out
.

“We all knew that when the summer storms came through that place,” she continued, looking each of them in the eye in turn, “the island’s power grid usually failed, and the back door of the youth ward would unlatch. I begged my bosses to get it fixed, but considering the condition of the rest of the building, one little broken door didn’t seem to be high on their list of priorities, even after the second time it happened. The investigations. The accusations. The poor patients …” The old woman sighed.

“That’s so horrible,” said Bree, shivering beneath the air-conditioning vent.

“I worked the graveyard shift alone,” Mrs. Reilly went on, “unlucky enough to be in the position where my kids were capable of sneaking out from under my watch. And let me tell you, when the lights went out in that building, it was all I could do to keep track of
myself
, never mind fifteen teenagers no older than the lot of you.”

“So the drownings really
were
accidents?” said Neil. He thought of the nightmare he’d had — running through the woods, falling into the lake, trapped under the surface, inhaling water. He knew it had been a dream, because he’d been asleep, but upon waking it had seemed so very much like a memory, as if it had really happened. As if he’d been one of the patients.

There was one big difference between Mrs. Reilly’s explanation and what he’d seen: In the dream, someone had been chasing him.

Mrs. Reilly clutched at the arms of her chair, her eyes suddenly wild. “Don’t think I haven’t blamed myself every day for what happened. It hurts. To fail those in your care despite your best intentions. To have an entire community turn against you … To have friends and family wondering: Is it true? Is she capable of such an atrocity?” She calmed herself, glancing at her audience as if they’d suddenly materialized all around her. “I’m sorry…. You didn’t come to hear this.”

“We did, actually,” said Eric.

“And
we’re
sorry,” Bree added. “It must have been horrible for you.”

Mrs. Reilly nodded. “Deep down, they may have known I was no villain.” Her words now seemed to bubble forth, uncontainable. “I believe with my heart and soul that the people of Hedston never wanted to blame me alone, but who else did they have to blame? No one else was there.”

Again, Neil had a feeling she was wrong:
Someone
was there — the person who’d chased him in his dream.

Still, Mrs. Reilly sniffed, disgusted at her recollection. “No one did a thing to help. No one spoke up in my defense. How much easier had it been for them to run me out of town than to attack a mundane evil — the kind that is born of neglect and denial?”

“So you moved away,” said Wesley carefully. “Did you ever go back to Hedston?”

“No,” said Mrs. Reilly. “Why should I, when the memory of that town has followed me all these years? Even now, I am there….” She blinked, as if forcing herself back into her body. “I believe we must all share the guilt for the tragedies that occurred at Graylock Hall. If I’m a demon, then so is everyone who sat back and did nothing, while that building fell apart with those poor people in it.” She reached out and grabbed Neil’s wrist. Her fingers were cold; he stiffened, but forced himself not to pull away. “You said you’d tell your friends the truth.” Neil nodded, staring at her trembling lip. “Promise,” she whispered.

“Mom?” The man had returned. He stood just outside of the small powwow circle. “Are you okay?”

Mrs. Reilly glanced at her son as if coming out of a dream. “Oh. Nicholas. Are you done with your call?”

“All set,” said the man, his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. He looked at the group, realization dawning in his eyes. His brow darkened. His bloodshot eyes filled with loathing.

Neil felt the room start to spin. It would all be over in a moment. He patted the old woman’s hand. “I promise,” he said. “I do, but I have one more question.” He knew he had to spit out this next part or else it would lodge in his throat. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Nicholas Reilly stepped forward. Raising his voice, he said, “What’s this about?”

“Ghosts?” Mrs. Reilly asked, confused. She dropped Neil’s hand. “What kind of ghosts?”

Neil glanced at her son, whose chest seemed to be growing larger. “We’ve been seeing … a girl.”

“You’re kidding,” said Nicholas. “Not a
girl
! How terrifying for you.”

Bree spoke up, ignoring him. “Do any of these things mean anything to you?” She mentioned the deer antlers, the piano bench, the white logs in the fireplace.

Mrs. Reilly only stammered, “N-not that I can recall. Why?”

Nicholas grabbed the handles on the back of his mother’s wheelchair. “Let’s get you back up to your room. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Well, I’d like to have some more, if you don’t mind,” Mrs. Reilly said, glancing up at her son. As he pushed her chair away, she reached out and grabbed his arm. “I want to ask them something.” Nicholas sighed, but turned the chair around so that Mrs. Reilly faced the group once more. “Where are you from?” she asked.

Neil stood up. He suddenly felt terrible about barging in to the nursing home. He owed her an explanation. “Bree and I are visiting our aunts in Hedston for the summer. Wesley and Eric live there too. We’d heard the stories. We were curious to meet you. Sorry. We didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Mrs. Reilly nodded, seeming to forget how upset she’d been moments earlier. “I do like guests. I don’t get nearly enough of them.” Nicholas rolled his eyes. “Your visit was a surprise, but I’m happy to set the record straight.” She smiled at each of them. Then she tilted her head and glanced around the space. “Where’s the other one?” she asked.

Neil, Bree, Wesley, and Eric looked at one another in confusion.

“What other one?” Neil asked.

Mrs. Reilly sat up straight, grabbing the wheels of her chair and turning herself around, taking in all of the room. Nicholas stepped back. “The other girl you came in with. She was just here.” She let go of the wheels and drifted a few inches forward. “My sight isn’t too good, but I’m sure she had long dark hair. Dressed in white. Never said a word.”

Neil grabbed at his sister’s hand. Bree squeezed back. He felt the same way he had back in room 13, when the ghostly shape had begun to appear in the darkness. His stomach lurched. He wanted to run, but to where? From what?

The old woman looked toward the group, concern filling her watery blue eyes. “She was so familiar to me. Where did she go?”