The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Today

“Who's Hannah?”

Looking up from his laptop, John saw that Sarah was standing in the doorway.

“John,” she continued, with a worried expression, “two guys are here, they want to talk to you. They say some girl named Hannah is missing, and they think maybe you're the last person who saw her.”

***

“Hang on,” Gary said, interrupting Louis, “let's just stick to the facts. The last time either of us saw Hannah is when she left the flat the other night, to go and talk to you some more, Mr.Myers. We haven't heard from her since.”

“Wait a moment,” Sarah said, as they all sat in the kitchen, “rewind slightly. Who's this Hannah girl, exactly?”

“Gary's friend,” Louis replied.

“No,” Gary said, turning to him, “she's
your
friend.”

“You're the one who brought her to the flat the first time, a few weeks ago.”

“No, you did.”

“Dude,” Louis continued, “I'd never met her before!”

“Neither had I!”

“Then -”

“Hold up,” Sarah said firmly, interrupting them both. “You can argue about the details later, that's not the most important thing right now.” She turned to John, and it was clear she was worried. “Did this Hannah girl follow you home the other night?”

“I...” He paused, before taking a deep breath. “Yes, she did. I got back and suddenly she was right behind me.”

“She took my wine,” Gary added. “And my corkscrew.”

“So that empty bottle was hers?” Sarah asked. “John?”

“She said she wanted to talk about my books,” he replied cautiously. “It was late, the last thing I wanted was to talk to anyone about anything, but -”

“So you invited her in?”

“She invited herself in,” he continued. “She more or less barged inside.”

“More or less?”

“She didn't seem like the kind of girl who takes no for an answer.” Sighing, he turned to Gary and Louis. “You guys know what I mean, right?”

They nodded.

“So she wanted to talk about my books,” John explained, turning back to his wife and seeing the look of confused concern in her eyes, “and then she wanted to talk about ghosts and haunted houses, and she kind of just went on and on. I mean, the girl could talk for England, really she could. If talking was an Olympic sport, she'd be a gold medallist.”

“While drinking wine,” Sarah added.

“Yes,” he admitted a little reluctantly, “while drinking wine.”

“So you were alone here in the house with some teenaged girl,” Sarah continued, “drinking wine all night?” She paused. “And you didn't mention this to me until now?”

“I know it sounds bad...”

“Kind of, honey. Kind of.”

“It wasn't like that, and she's not a teen. She's early twenties, something like that. I checked.”

“Oh, you did?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And why did you do that?”

“It was a completely innocent encounter.” He sighed. “She wanted to hang around and see if there was a ghost here, and I couldn't exactly talk her out of it, so I decided to humor her.”

“Go on,” Sarah said darkly.

“We sat in the room and waited.”

“Which room?”

“The room where I found my grandmother.”

“Which room is that?”

He sighed again. “The room the kids slept in last night. There was nothing there, nothing happened. No ghost, no nothing, until...” He paused.

“Until what?” Sarah asked.

“There was a noise later on,” he continued. “It sounded like something was downstairs, I told her it wasn't anything to worry about but she seemed convinced we were on the verge of seeing a ghost so she came down to look and I followed her.”

“And did you see anything?” Gary asked.

“Just an empty kitchen. Anyway, the noise actually seemed to be coming from -” He stopped suddenly, before looking over at the hatch that led down to the basement.

“It came from down there?” Sarah asked.

He nodded.

“So did you go and look?”

“We...” He paused, before offering a faint, cautious smile. “I told her it was locked and that I didn't have a key.”

“Which isn't true,” Sarah pointed out.

“I just wanted to get rid of her by that point,” he continued. “I was tired, it was late, and I didn't exactly fancy spending the rest of the night on some amateur ghost-busting mission. I told her we couldn't go down there, and fortunately she accepted that.” He waited for another question. “And then she left,” he added finally. “We didn't go into the basement. I swear.”

“She left?” Sarah replied. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And that was the last you saw of her?”

He nodded, even though he wasn't entirely sure it was true.

“She's missing,” Gary said. “She didn't come back to the flat the next day, and no-one's seen her since.”

“Have you contacted her parents?” Sarah asked.

He shrugged. “We don't really know anything about her. She left some stuff at my place, though. Like, some food and a bag, so I think she was planning to come back.”

“Have you been to the police?”

“Isn't this an over-reaction?” John asked. “Do you even know this Hannah girl's surname?”

Gary and Louis looked at each other, and it was clear that neither of them had an answer.

“So she was some kind of drifter,” John continued. “I just assumed you guys were friends with her, she seemed to know you pretty well. I mean, she was in your apartment!”

“She was just, like, outgoing,” Louis replied.

“She talked her way in a few weeks ago,” Gary added. “We don't get many girls doing that. Usually
we're
the ones who have to persuade
them
to come inside.”

“You barely knew this girl,” John pointed out, “and you don't know a damn thing about her, so it seems to me that she isn't really missing at all. She's just moved on, and if she left some stuff at your place, that doesn't seem particularly unusual. I'm sorry, she didn't say anything to me that might help, she just said goodbye and walked out the door. It never occurred to me that she wasn't going straight back to your place.”

“If she's missing,” Sarah replied, “we have to do something.”

“She's not missing,” John said firmly.

“Then where is she?”

“So you want to go to the police?” he asked. “Seriously? And say what, that a girl whose name you don't even know didn't go back to the flat of two guys she'd barely even met? I'm pretty sure they've got more important things to investigate than something like that.”

“It just seems off,” Gary continued. “Something about this doesn't feel right, it's like...” He paused. “Well, no offense Mr. Myers, but it's almost like the plot of one of your books.”

“I don't think I've ever written a book about a girl going missing.”

“No, but... I mean, the whole haunted house element.”

“There's no haunted house element,” John replied with a sigh, getting to his feet and heading to the door. “Look, for all I know, this is some kind of prank. What happened, did you think it'd be funny to try to conjure up some kind of real-life mystery involving a guy like me? Is it all some kind of sick attempt to get attention or notoriety? I wouldn't be surprised if Hannah's in on the whole thing, she's probably waiting around the corner so you can all go and laugh your asses off at my expense.” He turned to Sarah. “This is exactly why I don't usually do public appearances. I should never have changed that policy.”

“We just want to make sure she's okay,” Gary said. “I swear, that's all.”

“Have you tried calling her?” Sarah asked.

“We don't have her number.”

“Have you tried emailing? Is she on any social networks?”

“We..” Gary paused. “We don't really know. Like I said, we'd barely met her.”

“I met her at that cafe on the corner,” John said, opening the door and stepping back, as if he was inviting them to leave. “The one by the pier. I don't know how long she'd been working there, maybe it's no help, but it's the only thing I can think to tell you. Now, if you're really worried then I suggest that you go to the police and let them take it from there, but I'm pretty damn sure your so-called friend is long gone by now. I'm sorry, but there's nothing else I can do for you.” He paused, waiting for them to take the hint and leave. “Fun time is over,” he added finally. “Please. I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing.”

***

“So,” Sarah said with a faint, cautious smile as John pushed the door shut a few minutes later, “what was all that about, huh?”

“Honey -”

“It's a good job I trust you so much,” she continued, stepping closer and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Not many wives would be so happy about their husbands bringing random girls home late at night, drinking wine with them, and then sitting around waiting for ghosts. As stories go, it's not one of your better ones.”

“Sarah -”

“But I
do
trust you,” she added. “I know you're not that kind of guy. I trust you implicitly, and I know you're more than capable of bumbling your way into a mess like this.” She leaned closer and kissed the side of his face. “I just hope this doesn't become a thing.”

“A thing?”

“I'm sure she'll turn up,” she continued. “It doesn't sound like she really knew those guys anyway. I bet you're right, she's probably some kind of flighty girl who moves on and doesn't think about the people she leaves behind. Still...” She paused for a moment. “You should be careful who you spend time with. She could have been dangerous. She could have been some kind of drug addict.”

“She wasn't,” he replied. “I could tell.”

“The kids thought they heard a noise from the basement last night,” she told him. “We took a look, it's filthy down there, but I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if there had been a girl named Hannah down there.”

“You went into the basement?” he asked, clearly alarmed.

“Have you seen the mess the previous occupants left? You should send them the bill to get it cleaned out.”

“I'll do it myself,” he replied, taking a step back. “Don't go down there again. It might not be safe.”

“But honey -”

“I'll clean it up,” he continued, “but you're right, it's dirty, God knows what's down there. Promise me that you and the kids won't go down again. I think there are rats, too. They might bite.”

“Fine, I promise.”

“I'll get started right now,” he said, heading to the sink and starting to fill a bucket with water. “Why don't you take the kids out to the beach again? I know we were going to stay until tomorrow, but maybe we should head off tonight? I don't know if I really fancy spending any more time here.”

“And what are you going to do with the place once we've left? Rent it out?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You can't just leave it empty.”

“Can't I?”

“John -”

“Can you just take the kids out?” he snapped, turning to her. “Please, Sarah, I...” His voice trailed off for a moment, before he sighed and headed back over to her. “Please. I'm sorry, this place is just getting to me, that's all.”

“There's a carnival on the seafront tonight,” she told him. “I promised the kids we could go.”

“But -”

“And then we'll leave first thing in the morning, okay? I can tell it's not good for you to be here, so we'll leave tomorrow and then we don't ever have to come back.” She waited for him to agree. “Please? Like a normal family?”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just one more night.”

“But before we leave,” she continued, “there's one other thing I think we should do, something that'd be cathartic for you.” She paused. “I want you to take me to visit your mother's grave. And your grandmother's. I want to see them.”

He opened his mouth to reply, before sighing. “Maybe. If we have time. Right now, my priority is cleaning out that basement.”

She watched as he headed to the hatch. Once he'd gone down below, she turned to go and find the children, before spotting her husband's phone resting on the counter-top. She told herself it would be wrong to go through his messages, so she resisted that particular temptation, but as she headed into the dining room she took out her own phone and brought up Reginald's number.

“Hey,” she said as soon as he answered, “it's me. I need you to do me a huge favor, and I need you to not mention it to John.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Twenty years ago

“I think it'll sell pretty well,” Graham said as he sipped from his double espresso at the airport bar. “It's a decent house, I'm sure some family's gonna want to take it on.”

“Are you sure you have to sell it?” John asked.

“What's wrong, getting sentimental?” Popping two paracetamol out of a packet, Graham dropped them into his mouth and washed them down with more coffee. “That house is no good for you, son. You spent far too long living there with your gran, I should've stepped in a long time ago and done something about it. Still, better late than never, and the old bird's in a better place now.” He smiled. “Unless she got taken below.”

“Taken below?”

“You know, down to the big red bloke with the horns and the flames.”

John nodded, feeling slightly relieved for some reason he didn't quite understand. All day, he'd been feeling as if he'd forgotten something important, and now the sensation seemed more powerful than ever. The events of the previous night with his father were hazy, even hazier than they'd been just a few hours earlier, and he couldn't shake the worry that something was missing from his mind.

“There it is again,” Graham said with a faint smile.

John turned to him.

“That vacant expression. I've seen it a couple of times during this visit, it's like your brain switches off for a few seconds and you sorta of... I dunno, you reboot. Are you sure you're feeling okay?”

John nodded.

“I could pay for you to see a shrink if you like.”

“No, I'm fine.”

“Don't underestimate the damage Liz did to you,” Graham continued, before looking around to make sure that no-one could overhear him. “Maybe I shouldn't say this, or maybe I should've said it a long time ago, but your mother told me some pretty dark things about old Elizabeth. She said your grandmother used to scream and yell at her, and call her names, but that wasn't the whole of it. There were marks on your mother's body, old marks, lots of little scars. She had plenty of explanations for them, but none of it ever rang true.” He paused, watching John's face for some hint of recognition. “I never said any of this to your mother, of course, but I realized a long time ago that your gran abused her emotionally and psychologically. Physically, too. Your mother once told me she felt like she was being torn in two directions, like the only way to survive was to become two people. How she managed to hold herself together and come out relatively normal is a mystery, but...” He paused again. “Your grandmother was evil. There, I said it.” He took another swig of coffee.

“That's a little strong,” John replied.

“It's true, though.” He took another sip. “I don't have to mince my words on the subject, not anymore. The irony is, she blamed everyone else for your mother's suicide, but if you ask me...” He paused. “Well, maybe that conversation is for another day. Elizabeth was an evil old crone and that house became an extension of her. Even over the past couple of days, I swear I could feel her presence sometimes.”

“Like a ghost?” John asked, shocked by the suggestion.

“Nah, ghosts aren't real,” Graham replied. “I heard a few creaks now and then, but that's just how houses are, especially old ones. It was more like... I guess when someone spends a lot of time in one place, and when they have a strong personality, a bit of them gets left behind even after they're dead. That's another reason why you shouldn't spend too much longer in the house. It's unhealthy. Plus, like it or not, I own the damn place and I've made my mind up. I'm selling it.” He checked his watch, before finishing his coffee and getting to his feet. “And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to think about going through to the lounge.”

“I guess people will want to come and look around,” John muttered.

“So keep it tidy,” Graham reminded him as they headed toward the security queue. “Don't clutter the place up and...” Stopping at the rear of the queue, he turned to John. “The basement,” he said with a frown.

“What about it?” John asked.

“Did we...” He paused. “Did we go down there last night after we got back from the pub?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Are you sure? I've got this vague memory of going down and finding there was an extra wall.”

“There's no extra wall,” John replied. “We got back, you drank the rest of the sherry, and then you fell down the stairs. That's about it. If you'd opened the hatch to the basement, I'd have known about it.”

“Huh. Must've been a dream then.” He rolled his eyes. “It's crazy what pops into your head when you're drunk, isn't it?”

“I wouldn't know,” John muttered. “You don't have to worry about the basement, though. There's nothing down there.” Even as he said those words, however, he felt as if maybe they weren't quite true.

***

“Hello?”

Standing at the top of the steps that led down into the basement, John listened for a moment. He'd been about to go to bed, several hours after getting back from waving his father off, when he'd heard a faint scratching sound from beneath the kitchen. He was reluctant to go down and look, since the basement light hadn't worked for several years, but at the same time he felt drawn to investigate. Something about the basement was bothering him, as if there was something down there that he'd forgotten.

He waited.

Silence.

“Hello?” he called out again.

No reply.

After making his way cautiously down the steps, he headed to the breeze-block wall. His father was right, it definitely hadn't been there before, but at the same time he knew there was no way a wall could just appear out of nowhere. He ran his hands across the surface, and finally he felt some deep, hidden memory starting to float to the surface, as if it had broken free from all the other forgotten memories at the bottom of his mind. He waited, convinced that he was about to understand what he'd forgotten.

For a fraction of a second, he remembered setting one breeze-block on top of two others, and using some kind of paste to seal them together.

As quickly as that memory arrived, however, it was gone again. He knew it had to be false, that there was no way he'd built a wall; after all, he was notoriously unpractical and the idea of him managing to finish such a huge job was impossible to accept. Still, as he made his way along the wall, he couldn't shake the feeling that some other memory was lingering at the edge of his thoughts, maybe even preparing to come to the surface. It was as if his mind was a vast ocean, and while dark scraps of knowledge had drifted to the darkness at the bottom, now one or two were starting to float back up.

“It's almost seven,” he suddenly remembered telling Alison a week or two earlier, “so there's not much point sleeping anymore. You said you have to go back to Peterborough today, so...” He remembered pausing, waiting for her to get the message. “I'm fine,” he'd told her. “Everyone has nightmares, and that's all it was. You don't need to worry about me. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“I heard noises in the basement,” he remembered her saying. “It was almost like...” She'd smiled, teasing him. “Let's take a look.”

“No,” he'd said firmly. “There's nothing down there.”

And then, at some point, a scream. There had been a scream a little while later, maybe down in the basement itself. He looked around, but there was no sign of anything. He figured he had to be remembering dreams, that was all, but they seemed extremely vivid and as he stepped back and admired the breeze-block wall he couldn't stop thinking about the possibility that something important had happened, something he'd forgotten. He remembered his father investigating the wall during the previous night, pulling one of the blocks out and then -

And then...

He remembered dragging his father's unconscious body up the steps, but the rest of the night was something of a blur. It was as if dreams, memories and fantasies were colliding in his mind, and after a moment he realized he was developing a headache. Figuring that there was nothing to be gained by examining the wall any further, he turned and headed up the steps, before stopping to make doubly certain that the hatch was locked. After that, he grabbed his phone and brought up Alison's number, before trying to call her.

The call wouldn't even connect.

Setting his phone down, he made his way upstairs and headed to his grandmother's old room, which was bare now with even the carpet gone. He looked down at the spot where he'd found her body, and he tried to think back to what had happened next, but lately all his memories seemed to be patchy, with unexplained gaps. He'd dragged her onto the bed and then he'd called for an ambulance, or at least...

Pausing, he felt a lost memory detaching itself from his mind and starting to float upward, before a change in the current of his thoughts sent it drifting back down again.

Maybe, he figured, it would be good to get out of the house after all.