The Ghost of Graylock (17 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING WAS COLD AND GRAY
. A white mist filled the usually sunny spaces between the trees that surrounded the Victorian house in the woods. When Neil woke and glanced out his bedroom window, he imagined momentarily that the fog was a mass of apparitions congregating in the shadows, waiting to descend upon him. Vague memories of bad dreams stuck in his head like cobwebs in a long-forgotten attic.

Coming downstairs, a name flashed in his brain, shucking away the last remnants of sleep: Julius Simon. Neil had suggested the night before that they reach out to the doctor today. Bree, however, was still on the fence about it. He might be dangerous, she argued. Neil was thankful to find the rest of his makeshift family sitting at the kitchen table. Claire asked Neil and Bree if they wouldn’t mind helping out at the register, since Lyle called out sick. The two quickly shared a look — being in town would bring them closer to the doctor’s office. But was that a good thing?

By the time they got to the shop, the morning rush had already passed — Melissa Diaz had been able to cover until they arrived. Claire taught Neil and Bree how to ring up the customers, then went back to her office.

Even with a steady trickle of customers, though, Neil couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Simon. Rebecca had obviously wanted them to find her file. But did she wish them to visit the doctor? Or avoid him at all costs? Either way, Dr. Simon was the only clue they had left.

Returning to the front after a bathroom break, Neil tapped his sister’s shoulder. She screamed and spun around, her hand raised up as if ready to smack him. He flinched. “Whoa there,” he said. “Jumpy?”

Bree closed her eyes and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” Neil raised his eyebrows. “I was standing here, counting out the last customer’s change, when I looked up and noticed a car parked across the street. Guess who?” Neil shook his head. “Nicholas Reilly.”

They both went out to the sidewalk, but the car that Bree had seen was gone. The roads were damp and fog obscured the distance.

“How sure are you that it was him?” Neil asked.

“Pretty sure,” said Bree. “His eyes were shooting bullets.” Neil didn’t care for the expression. After all, what might the man do to protect his mother? “Going up to Heaverhill was a big mistake. We’ve got to tell Aunt Claire and Aunt Anna what we did. If Mrs. Reilly’s son is here in Hedston, he could hurt us. He could hurt
them
.”

Neil knew she was right. The aunts needed to know everything. But if he told them now, they might stop him from talking to the doctor, and he wasn’t ready to give up his biggest lead, especially since Rebecca had practically handed it to him. “Please don’t say anything,” Neil said, stepping away from the door of the pie shop, heading down the street. “Not yet.”

“Neil,” Bree said, her voice raising like a warning alarm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Someone has to help Rebecca,” said Neil, beginning to run.

“But what about
us
?” Bree called back.

Same thing
, Neil thought. His sneakers slipped on the sidewalk as he turned at the corner. Catching himself before he fell, he looked ahead into the mists that swirled between the houses, trying to remember the way to Dr. Simon’s office.

A
FTER A FEW BLOCKS
, Neil came to an intersection that looked familiar. The sign at the corner read Yarrow Street. Several driveways down, the white building sat back from the road, a small sign crookedly pitched in the middle of the lawn: D
R
. J
ULIUS
S
IMON
— F
AMILY
M
EDICINE
.

During his frantic run, Neil’s mind had been spinning — had Nicholas Reilly followed him? Was Rebecca watching? If he didn’t do what she wanted, would she barrage him with the dangerous visions again?

Now that he faced the long walk up to the doctor’s front door, reality began to solidify around him. He would ask Dr. Simon about Graylock. About Rebecca.

He pressed the doorbell and waited. A few moments later, the knob turned and the doctor’s mother, Maude, opened the door. She wore the same floor-length white nightgown she’d had on the last time he’d seen her. Her outfit struck Neil as odd, reminding him of what he’d once imagined was Nurse Janet’s uniform, of Rebecca Smith’s own white hospital gown. Could Maude’s clothing be a clue? Everything seemed to mean something now.

Neil blinked at the old woman. She scowled. “Mrs. Simon,” he blurted out. “Hi. I’m Neil Cady. I was here a couple days ago.”

“I remember,” she said, reaching out both arms to grasp the door frame, blocking the way. Her son must have told her about the folder he’d confiscated from Eric. She obviously didn’t trust him now. “How’s your leg?”

“Actually,” Neil said, thinking quickly, “that’s why I’m here.” This was his in. “Do you think Dr. Simon could take a look at it?”

“Why?” said Maude. The old woman was as tough as she looked.

“Pins and needles,” Neil answered, standing his ground. “It hurts.”

“Have you been cleaning the wound?” She crossed her arms. “I believe that Dr. Simon gave you all the instruction you required.” As she leaned toward him, Neil realized how tall this woman was. He imagined her reaching out for him, pushing him down, her long fingers closing around his throat.

Then another thought sparked his imagination: If this woman’s son had once been a doctor at Graylock Hall, was it possible that she’d worked there too? Had she known Nurse Janet … or Nicholas Reilly? Was Maude as frightening as she appeared to be, or was she simply annoyed that he’d disturbed her?

Neil stepped back, forcing himself to speak. “I’ve been trying.” His voice came out like a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “But I really wanted to talk to Dr. Simon about it.”

Maude shook her head violently, as if she might send him forcibly away simply by thinking about it.

Neil gritted his teeth. Rebecca would be angry if he didn’t get inside. And the longer he stood here, the better chance Nicholas had of tracking him down — if he hadn’t already done so. Neil steadied himself, ready to attempt a dash past Maude, when a voice called from the darkness inside the house. “Who is it, Mother?”

Maude stepped aside, revealing her son standing at the end of the long hallway, in the entrance to the waiting room. “Neil?” said Dr. Simon, stepping forward. “What’s wrong?”

Neil knew that this was the last chance he’d have to turn and walk back to the relative safety of the pie shop, to meet up with what was sure to be a furious Bree. He paused in the damp air just outside the open door. Then, slowly, trying to stop the shaking he felt in his bones, Neil stepped over the threshold and into the blue hall, past the woman who glared down at him with eyes like acid.

“Dr. Simon,” he said, “please, I need your help.”

T
HE WHITE ROOM WAS EVEN MORE CRAMPED
than Neil remembered. Tall, freestanding exam lights were shoved into the corners; stainless steel containers filled with Band-Aids, Q-tips, and syringes were crowded on the countertop. A big red bin labeled Biohazard sat on the floor next to a wide wooden desk. Neil perched once more on the paper-covered table as Dr. Simon sat on the stool by his feet, looking closely at Neil’s shin. After a few seconds, the doctor glanced up. “You could have kept it covered for another day or two, but it looks like it’s healing just fine without a bandage,” he said. “It still hurts?”

“A little,” said Neil, clutching at both sides of the exam table. He worried that the doctor’s mother was listening from the other side of the door. But he knew that the longer he kept up the story of his leg bothering him, the harder it would be to spit out the real reason he’d come.

“I’d recommend ibuprofen. I’m sure your aunts —”

“Do you remember Rebecca Smith?” Dr. Simon stood up, surprised. He tilted his head in confusion, as if he hadn’t heard Neil correctly. Neil forced himself to continue. “She was a patient of yours a long time ago.” Dr. Simon stared at him, his puzzlement seeping away, replaced by what looked like frustration.

“If you know that, then you already know my answer,” said Dr. Simon.

Neil took a deep breath and crossed his ankles. He tried to imagine what Bree might have asked if she’d had the guts to tag along. “Can you tell me anything about her?” he tried.

“I’m sorry,” said Dr. Simon. “I can’t talk about my other patients.”

Neil thought quickly. “Can you tell me about working at Graylock Hall?”

The doctor glanced at the door, as if contemplating walking out. “I moved to Hedston to be one of the general medicine physicians at Graylock,” he said in a rush. “I took care of many patients. Some of them got well. Some of them did not. Everyone knows it was not a nice place, but we did the best we could under the circumstances. When they shut Graylock down, I decided to open a private practice here in town. Mother and I have lived on Yarrow Street ever since.”

Leaning forward, Neil asked, “Did your mom work with you?” When the doctor stepped closer toward the door, Neil tried a different question. “Did you know all the patients who drowned?”

Dr. Simon blinked. “What do you know about Rebecca Smith?” he asked.

“I know she died at Graylock Hall,” Neil heard himself say. “I know she drowned in the lake.”

“Do you really?” Dr. Simon’s mouth seemed to twist into a slight smile. “And how do you know that?”

Neil needed to make Dr. Simon understand how serious he was, so he said, “She told me.”

Dr. Simon’s mouth dropped open momentarily before he clicked it purposefully shut again, holding onto that strange, forced smile. “She told you,” he said with a look of condescension. “Of course she did. And what else did she
tell
you?”

Here it was. The big question. Neil closed his eyes. “She said she was murdered.”

“Ah, yes.” Dr. Simon nodded as if this suddenly all made sense. “You’ve heard the stories.” He chuckled. “You
do
know that Janet Reilly lives north of here? She’s a lovely woman. We were friends once.”

“Nurse Janet wouldn’t hurt anyone?” asked Neil.

The doctor shook his head. After a few seconds, he said, “So who do you think did it? Who
murdered
Rebecca Smith?”

The ghost stories of Graylock Hall had twisted so many times in the past few days, Neil was having a hard time keeping everything straight. He knew he could probably come up with a list of suspects if he thought hard about it. Nurse Janet, who everyone believed had been the killer, was now an old woman, but her son, Nicholas, certainly seemed like a threat. Dr. Simon hadn’t answered Neil’s question about Maude working at the hospital with him, but did that mean that his mother might be guilty of murder? And then there was Dr. Simon himself. Several days ago, he’d confiscated Eric’s folder. He may have been the one who’d told the aunts about their first trip to Graylock Hall. And now, he wore that strange smile. Was he merely amused at Neil’s persistence? Or did his expression hint at something darker?

Neil tensed up. Talking about Rebecca had brought attention to himself. If the murderer was still out there, he or she wouldn’t be happy that he was asking questions. But what else was he supposed to do? Sit in a closet? Hide away?

Dr. Simon stepped close to the exam table — his eyes glinting with an icy intensity — and placed his warm hand on Neil’s shoulder. “Did Rebecca mention that she was terrified of the dark?” the doctor asked, his voice low, severe. “Or that lightning storms sent her into a total panic? Did she say how she’d never learned to swim?” Neil listened in silence as the doctor went on. “Did she tell you how very easy it was to slip out of the hospital? To get lost in the reeds? To mistakenly wander into the water?” Neil leaned away, trying to get out of the doctor’s grip. “What happened to those kids at Graylock Hall was an accident. Horrible. Tragic. Unforgettable for those of us who were there. But an accident, nonetheless. The last thing this town needs is for rumors of
murder
to surface again. I’m sure Rebecca’s family would appreciate a moratorium on the subject.”

“Rebecca’s family?” said Neil, sliding off the table. “They’re in Hedston?”

Dr. Simon flinched, realizing he’d said too much. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

But Neil’s feet felt glued to the floor. If this news wasn’t exactly what he’d come for, it certainly sounded like a worthy clue. “Did Rebecca Smith
grow up
here?”

Dr. Simon’s face turned red as moved to the exit — his blush was as close to an answer as Neil’d be getting. The doctor grappled with the door, swinging it inward before stumbling, exasperated, into the waiting room. “Mother?” he called. “Can you please show our patient out?”