Dark Corners Read online

Spending the night away from the house was like a vacation from a job I hated. It was relaxing and a much needed break, but I had to go back. Being away, even for such a short time, left me with the impression that, perhaps, there was more life for me to live. That fledgling hope made it much harder to come back to reality. Continuously I reminded myself I had to do this or never be released. I had to see this to the end.

  As Gabriel and I drove towards the house, our conversation dwindled into a heavy silence. The house loomed at the end of the street, shaded and patiently waiting. It watched the car approach through veiled eyelids, like it was expecting my return. The hatred I felt for it re-ignited.

  Opening the door to the immediate sensation that I was never gone at all, brought back the weariness I hoped to have escaped. The house seemed to hold on to a piece of me, a piece I was incomplete without. I inspected the room with a wary eye. Nothing seemed out of place, but something was wrong. Exactly what stayed just out of reach of my senses, but its eager anticipation of being discovered was as real, thick, and heavy as humidity. I would go no further. I knew how this story ended. I had finally had enough. Whatever horror lurking in the shadows to traumatize me would just have to wait. I wasn’t going to meet it this time.

  Whatever it is, I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know, I repeated as a mantra against the part of me that wanted to push on, the part of me that could never accept that ignorance truly was bliss.

  Images of blood and gore washed over my mind in a wave: mutilated bodies, miscellaneous parts, streams of crimson blood flowing down the staircase, hundreds of bodies heaped into uncaring piles. My heart quickened, my breathing became a conscious effort. The sheer terror of the house seized me in a way it hadn’t for months.

  “Do you want to start upstairs or down?” A voice seeped into my consciousness, interrupting my internal battle. I had forgotten I wasn’t alone.

  “What?” I said sharply.

  “Attic or Basement?” he asked, not noticing the edge.

  Attic or basement? Who cared? If the house wanted us dead, it didn’t matter where we went. There was only one option for escape. My mind raced in panic.

  “It's not safe for you to be here.” I fought to keep my voice steady, to not let onto the fear I was feeling.

  “What are you talking about?” He looked around, apparently oblivious to the threat all around us.

  “I have a really bad feeling about being here today.”

  “That’s because you have something normal to compare it with. I'll be fine, you'll be fine, I promise. Now attic or basement?”

  “You don’t understand. I know this house—something is wrong in here. There’s more anger, hatred than usual. Can’t you feel it? I can’t remember the last time it was this bad. Nothing good can happen today.” But that wasn’t entirely true. I did remember the last time it was this bad. That fateful day ended in pools of blood with my husband pinned to the wall, all life drained from his shell.

  Gabriel didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be legitimately trying to understand what I was saying. “I honestly don’t feel anything. It feels like a house, a quiet, rather lonely house in need of some life, but still just a house.” Gabriel walked in a few steps further, holding his arms out as if to say, see it’s okay.

  My nerves tightened with each step he took. I wanted to close my eyes or turn away from what I was seeing. Energy crackled in the air. Gabriel took another step towards the kitchen.

  “I can’t do this,” I said, finding it hard to breathe. I went back onto the porch letting the lovely morning sunshine sooth my frayed nerves. Gabriel followed, concerned.

  “I can’t do this,” I repeated.

  “Sure you can. You’ve done this every day. Today is no different.”

  “Trust me, it's different. I can’t explain how, but it is.”

  “Okay, how do we fix it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We could go for a walk, clear the anxiety, then try again?”

  I nodded. That was safe and took us away from here. As we walked down the steps back into a world not shrouded in darkness, something like a frustrated scream came from inside of the house. I looked at Gabriel to see if he’d heard it. He was looking back at the house with hawk-like focus. He pushed me towards the driveway with one arm and proceeded back up the steps.

  “Gabriel, no. Don’t go in again, please. Let’s go. Please.”

  He ignored me, reached for the handle. He tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. He pushed the door with his shoulder, but nothing moved.

  He looked back, flabbergasted. “It’s locked.”

  “Please, can we just go for a walk?” I asked again, near tears as I stood helplessly at the bottom of the steps.

  “Fine. We'll have to wait for a locksmith anyway.”

  Gabriel insisted on calling the locksmith before we left. I didn’t care who he called so long as we didn’t have to stay there. I didn’t bother to tell him that a locksmith wouldn’t do any good. We didn’t lock ourselves out. A priest seemed like a more reasonable course of action given what we were dealing with.

  We walked slowly in the quiet morning. Dew glistened on the blades of grass in the lawns we passed. The leaves on the trees gently rustled, while the sunlight made them glow from within. The symphony of birds chirping, bugs humming, wind chimes ringing and children playing blended in a lovely white noise that drowned out the darkness. We were safe, that was all that mattered.

  I continued walking, but sped up, nearly trotting. I could just keep going and never stop. I could walk away from everything, be done and forget about it all. The thought was so intoxicating I started smiling. I never would have to see those windows staring down at me, never have to hear the moaning floor boards on the stairs, never have to feel the cold indifference in the air again. I would be able to sleep, not have panic attacks at the slightest provocation, and have friends I could laugh and hang out with. I would never have to push the memory of Danny’s limp, lifeless body from my mind again. I could forget it all—

  But there was the catch. There always is. In order to move on without some sort of resolution, I would have to forget Danny, otherwise the whole awful thing would hold onto to me wherever I went. I would have to forget the way his smile lit up his face and made his eyes gleam. I would have to forget the sound of his laughter filling the room, the smell of his skin, the feel of his hand in mine—“Christ, I thought you were going to start running for a minute,” Gabriel said beside me. “What’s up? Why’d you stop?”

  I hadn’t realized that I had stopped. My legs were heavy, as if they could walk no further. The smile that briefly graced me with its presence vanished with my lovely day dream. I couldn’t leave. My legs knew that, my heart knew that—just my mind was slow to catch up.

  I swallowed back the frustration and inclined my chin towards the sky, hoping God would strike me down rather than make me go back.

  “We should return.” I said defeated.

  “The locksmith won’t be here for a while.”

  “Like that really matters.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you honestly believe we are locked out?”

  “Well, the door wouldn’t open....”

  “It was punishing me, that's all. Trust me, we’ll get back in just fine.”

  “Houses don't punish people,” he replied just a bit stubbornly. The frustration of his arguing with me about something I knew about and he didn’t was almost too much.

  “Fine, you stay. I'm going back.” I charged back in the other direction this time.

  Gabriel caught up with me. “Are you always like this?”

  I gave him my best annoyed bordering on bored expression. “Like what?”

  “Ridiculously moody.”

  A slightly hysterical, barking laugh erupted from my mouth. He was absolutely right. I was being rather bipolar at the moment. Maybe I was overreacting. Gabriel looked at me as if this was it, I was finally having a mental b
reak down right in the middle of the street.

  “I’d say no, but that would be a lie. It's just worse with stress.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “Define okay.”

  “You aren’t going to start talking to the voices in your head, screaming and pulling out your hair, or sacrificing small animals, right?”

  I looked at him for a moment wondering if that is how he saw me. The only person who supported me at all recognized me as a ticking bomb waiting to go off. “Not today. My head won’t spin either.” I made a joke because I couldn't afford to lose him.

  “I didn't even think of that one.”

  “It's best to be prepared.”

  “Absolutely.” He smiled. “So, we're going back because?”

  The last traces of laughter faded from me. “I can’t leave.”

  “You can’t go for a walk?”

  “No, well, yes, I can ... but then I started pretending I could just keep going, never go back there again—”

  “Why is that so bad?”

  I shook my head furiously. Didn’t he understand anything? “There has to be an ending.”

  “Says who?”

  I had to think about that. Who made that rule? Why did there have to be an ending? Life was messy—why should mine come wrapped in a perfect bow?

  “Me,” I answered at last. “I say it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if there isn’t an ending then this is it, the rest of my life. I really will go mad if I have to live like this forever. I can’t let go without an ending. It will haunt me no matter where I go. His story feels unfinished.”

  “Then we’ll find your ending.”

  I wished I felt as sure as he sounded. The house was once again before us. For a split second I saw what looked like a face in the window. It reminded me of Grant in its shape and expression, but it was gone an instant later. “Did you see that?” I asked, just to be sure.

  “What?”

  “A face in the living room window.”

  “No.” Gabriel narrowed his eyes and studied the windows with intensity. “You saw a face?”

  “It was probably a combination of shadows and an over active imagination.”

  “Maybe. Wait here,” he said, the police type authority back in his voice. He jogged ahead onto the porch. He looked in each window, careful to stay out of sight. Then he went to the door and turned the handle easily. He went into the house without hesitation as I stood in the street a hundred feet away watching. It felt like he was gone for ages before he finally appeared in the door again. He began inspecting the handle for a reason why it wouldn’t have opened before.

  “I won’t say I told you so,” I called out as a thumped up the steps toward him.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered.

  “Welcome to Reynolds’ Raving Roost. Where sense is for sissies and down is up and black is white.”

  Gabriel chuckled while twisting the handle on both sides of the door. “I didn’t see anyone inside.”

  “You cannot imagine my complete and utter surprise,” I said deadpan enough to give Ben Stine a run for his money.

  Gabriel shrugged and straightened back up to full height. “It's always worth checking.” I appreciated that he thought so. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  Gabriel considered for a moment, before deciding on the basement. We trudged down the dark, narrow stairs, plowing our way through cobwebs and dust. I flipped the switch at the bottom; the light sputtered to life and cast a dim glow over most of the room, but left the corners untouched. It looked just as it had when we moved in. We had contributed a few things to the mess against the wall immediately facing the staircase when we moved in, some paint, some tools, but nothing of particular interest at first sight.

  “Does anything look wrong to you?”

  “Not really, I wouldn’t know. I never come down here.”

  “How about you go right and I'll go left, we can meet in the middle.”

  “I think we should stay together.”

  “It'll take a lot longer.”

  “I'd prefer it.”

  “Okay,” he said with a worried smile. We headed over to the left side of the stairs. The basement was a large open space, with the exception of one small and exceptionally dank restroom built in underneath the stairs. The feeble lighting helped very little with seeing anything that was not immediately under it. There wasn’t much down, some miscellaneous tools and cans, a shelf filled with unmarked jars that contained unidentifiable liquids, and a lot of dust. One of the jars, slightly cleaner looking than the other ones, caught my eye. Its contents were darker than those of the other ones surrounding it. I walked closer to have a better look.

  “What in the hell is this?” I said more to myself than to Gabriel, but he came over and picked the jar up, tilting it left, then right. A frown creased his face. He took the jar to the light and tilted it again, studying something in the bottom of it. He tapped his finger against the glass bottom, then cleared his throat uncomfortably and placed the jar at the base of the stairs, all the while conveniently avoiding eye contact with me. “What is it?”

  “I'm not positive.”

  “But you have a guess?”

  He nodded. “Blood, I think.’

  “Blood? Why would there be a jar of blood on the shelf in my basement?” The calmness of my voice sounded foreign to me because inside my mind was chaotic.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Whose blood?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I'm going to take it to the lab and have it analyzed.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “I told you, blood.”

  “No, the thing you were looking at in the bottom.”

  “I don’t know. It looked like a metal of some sort.”

  I studied his countenance. “You don’t think I put it there, do you?”

  He stared at me, as if he could extract the answers from my eyes. “Why would I think that?”

  “Because I found it.”

  “Did you put it there?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Then why aren’t you talking to me. I could get information out of a goldfish faster than I am getting anything from you.”

  He sighed. “I don’t want to upset you.”

  I accepted this, because what other choice did I have? He was absolutely right to worry. I'd been acting crazy less than an hour ago.... What would make him think I could handle this? Right now, he was my only friend, the only person I could trust though he felt a million miles away. I turned back to the shelf I’d been inspecting, but couldn’t focus. His hand on my shoulder made me jump.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.” I looked back at him, knowing exactly what he thought would upset me. “You think it’s Danny’s blood, don’t you?”

  “It’s too early to know,” he said, avoiding my eyes again. I waited for him to go on, still looking directly into his face—this time it was me searching for the truth. "It could be his or someone else's. There's no reason to jump to conclusions."

  I nodded trying to wrap my mind around the perverseness of this.

  “Do you want to take a break?” I stood there for a moment not fully comprehending that he was talking to me.

  “Honestly, I would rather just finish.”

  “Okay.” He squeezed my shoulder gently then went back to the pile of boxes he was sifting through. I walked past the shelf not wanting to look at it ever again. Beyond the shelf was a cluttered tool bench. It was covered with old rusty tools and boxes and an inch or two of dust. Nothing seemed especially out of the ordinary and I’d almost moved past it when something caught my eye. I can’t say what exactly. It could have been nothing more than a cobweb fluttering in a draft, but I noticed a faint line on the old dusty wall. I reached out and traced it. “Hey, l
ook at this.”

  Gabriel came over to peer at the wall with me. “It looks like a door.... but where’s the handle?”

  We moved the boxes that partially obscured the door, but found no handle or latch of any kind. Gabriel ran his fingers softly over the outline of the door, still finding no way to open it. He knocked, pushed, pulled, and cussed—all to no avail. His thumps in the center of the outline sounded no different than those to either side of it.

  “Maybe it’s not a door. It sounds solid. I don’t know.”

  The rest of the basement search went without surprise, only dust and bugs. The main floor search was faster and more frustrating. However, it was like looking at the house through a new pair of eyes. The kitchen was our reintroduction to the land of windows. My eyes had grown adjusted to the windowless basement, so I was surprised to find just how bright the kitchen really was. There were no fewer than six windows in the large eat-in kitchen. The cabinets were beautifully carved custom made wonders that moved me in no way whatsoever. Gabriel commented on their craftsmanship, but all I saw when I looked at them were the doors that opened by themselves and ejected their contents at will. The smooth, butcher block top of the center island, while practical, held the knives that had rammed into my husband with such force several of his bones splintered. The wonderfully preserved 19th century kitchen table was no more than a reminder of happier times that I would never again have. The pantry was a large room and probably, at one time, stored the dishes as well as all the food, but now it was sparse and unused. Directly opposite of the door to the basement was the door to the wine cellar, true to the odd symmetry found throughout the house. The wine cellar contained just that. Wine. No mysteries or evidence to find.

  There was nothing to see in the formal dining room if you didn’t count the mahogany table that could comfortably hold twenty people, the fading silk wall paper above the glossy white wainscoting, or the elaborate moldings. The study had book shelves from floor to ceiling jammed with a variety of books. A large desk sat in front of the picture window with stained glass across the top and small groupings of wingback chairs filled the corners. However, there was absolutely nothing of use to be found.

  Across the foyer in the formal living room, old paintings of Victorian landscapes hung from cords attached underneath the molding. The furniture was frail and brittle seeming, slightly lower than what would be comfortable and beginning to show its age. We had intended to redecorate this room too, but ran out of time. There wasn’t enough time for a lot of things. The thought made me sigh, but I continued inspecting the room for something I had been overlooking all this time. There was a fireplace on either end of the room, an out of tune grand piano in one corner and a dusty harp in the other. A sitting area was arranged in the center of the room around an intricate oriental rug. The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the time that was passing and reminded us of our lack of progress.

  We moved in to what Danny and I had set up as our family room. It was my favorite room, because it was the only one that felt even a little like home. It had the furniture from our apartment and the television and my computer. It also had a bar which sounded more and more tempting as the investigation rolled ahead. I watched Gabriel rifle through my desk and tried to bristle. I felt no attachment to anything in the rest of the house, but this was mine. He's just doing his job, I reminded myself.

  Gabriel picked up our wedding photograph that was on an end table.

  “I don’t think that’s a clue,” I said icily.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, immediately setting it back down. “There's just a crack in the glass.”

  “There’s what?” I asked, coming over to him and snatching up the frame. Sure enough, a vertical crack marred the glass, nearly splitting us perfectly apart.

  “Have you noticed it before?”

  “No.”

  “Could it have been like this for a while? Could you have knocked it over and never noticed?”

  I wanted to be able to tell him that it was new, but I couldn’t say with certainty. This was the room where I did most of my drinking. I could have bumped into the table any number of nights. I didn’t stare at the picture every day; most days I avoided looking at it at all. I knew perfectly well what I’d lost. I didn’t need photographic evidence of it.

  “I don’t know. It could've been like this. I don’t really think we need to do this room. I'm always in here. I would notice if anything was out of place.”

  “That’s fine. You want to head up?”

  I nodded, relieved.

  Upstairs we searched my current bedroom and the two guest bedrooms and the nursery suite with no real leads. The nursery was creepy, but more due to the fact that it was filled with used toys from Danny’s childhood. It looked as though his seven-year-old self had just been called out of the room and was still coming back. It was a frozen moment, untouched by the movement of time. The master bedroom was all that was left. I hadn’t been in there since the last time I went with Gabriel. My shaky hand lingered on the door not really wanting to push it open. It was a gateway into my past and opening it would stir too many unwanted emotions.

  “Are we going in? Ella?”

  “Yeah,” I said and slowly turned the handle just as Gabriel reached over me and pushed the door open. On the surface, the room looked just as it had the night I heard the noise. I found it hard to breathe. The air seemed thick, heavy, and bitter.

  “Did you open this again?”

  I looked up at window he was pointing towards. “When would I have opened it? I’ve been with you.”

  Gabriel relaxed demeanor melted away as he prowled around the room on high alert. My focus was a complete loss. Once again I became fixated on the unmade bed. Its allure pulled me in like an alcoholic to a bar leaving me feeling alone and empty. I tried to break away, but it was so hard. The loss and self-pity were intoxicating. Eventually, I managed to move to the closet. I walked past his clothes brushing my fingertips across the soft fabric of the familiar shirts until I came to something unfamiliar. I pulled the sleeve out pinched between my index finger and thumb looking at it closer. Was it possible I could have forgotten this shirt? I pulled the hanger from the rack to look at the whole thing. It certainly wasn’t a new shirt, but it was one I had never seen.

  “Your favorite?”

  “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “It isn’t Danny’s?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He stared at me. Neither of us moved. “May I have it?” he eventually asked.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. What could he possibly want with it?

  “Evidence.” he answered my unspoken question.

  Of course. I gave the shirt to him, but couldn’t get something out of my mind. Something was wrong with this shirt. Something didn’t fit. There was something I was missing.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, still not moving away.

  “There is something not quite right about that shirt. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I’ll take it to the lab, have it processed.... I’ll put it downstairs with the jar. You good?”

  “I’m fine.” I tried to shrug it off. “Take it away.”

  I continued to mill about the room, but I couldn’t see anything that may have been different. My senses were overloaded with memories, smells, and items that I have been avoiding. I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Danny’s pillow up to my face, inhaling deeply.

  I was packing my suitcase, meticulously folding and organizing the clothes just the way I liked them. Danny was lying across the bed in the midst of all of my things, more of a hindrance than a help.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” I asked evenly.

  “No. I should stay work on the house,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly sensing a trap.

  “Hmph.”

  “What?” he snapped, already annoyed with me.

  “Right, well that makes sense. It'll give you more time with y
our girlfriend.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Ella. Why are you doing this now?”

  “What time would better suit you?”

  “For the last God damn time, I’m not having an affair. When would I have time? We’re always together. Your paranoia is driving me crazy.” His frustration in my growing distrust was peaking, but I couldn’t help it that I felt something was wrong. Either Danny had changed or I had changed. He was so distant.

  “Why won’t you come with me?”I asked stubbornly.

  “I can get so much more done on the house if you aren’t here. The last thing we need to do is take a three-week break from remodeling. It'll go by faster than you think. I promise.”

  It may have just been in my imagination, but it seemed like his eyes never quite met mine. “Right, so you don’t want me here?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said defensively before he shut his eyes and mentally collected himself. “I'm trying to make a life for us. You have to be reasonable.” His voice was much softer now. He sat up on the bed and took my hand, pulling me away from the suitcase. “I want to get this finished. Be able to have a normal life again. The stress of it all is wearing us both down.”

  I nodded, tears starting to stream down my cheeks. Why was I being so difficult? I hated this place and what it was doing to our marriage. There was too much stress on us and I wasn’t being fair to Danny.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I said. He lay his head against my body, hugging me. “I’m sorry,” I said over and over again.

  “Are you all right?”

  “What?” I asked, snapping back from my memories.

  “I've said your name four times; you just keep saying you’re sorry.”

  “Oh. Sorry.…”

  “I think that part’s covered,” he said wryly. “What are you sorry for?” He seemed genuinely concerned … or maybe just curious. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

  “I was remembering.”

  “Remembering what?”

  “The last time I was here with Danny. I was hell bent on picking a fight. He wouldn’t come with me on the book tour, so I accused him of terrible things.”

  “Why wouldn’t he go?’

  “He wanted to work on the house.”

  Gabriel lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. “To each his own, I guess. Why did you go? You could have waited until the house was done, then gone together.”

  “I had to go. It was planned.”

  “Do you want to get out this room?” Gabriel smiled. “Don’t worry, that’s planned too.”

  I rolled my eyes, but let Gabriel usher me out. I wished walking out of the room washed away all of the thoughts now swimming through my head, but it made no difference. The floodgate was open. I was just glad to be done. Today had been stressful bordering on horrible. I headed for the stairs.

  “Wait, one more place, Ella.”

  “What?”

  “The attic.”

  I rubbed my hands over my face and eyes, searching for the resolve to do one more room, but sadly came up empty. “I can’t do it.”

  Gabriel sized me up for a moment. “Sure you can.”

  I scowled at him, but did not move.

  “Ella, you are perfectly capable of doing this. I know it sucks, but you have to.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.” I said, crossing my arms over my chest feeling rather bratty.

  “Get upstairs!” he said, laughing. “One room, then we’re done. Let’s go.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled as I started back towards the door.

  “Get a move on,” he said behind me. “We still have to go by the police station. The quicker we do this, the quicker we can get out of here.”

  “You mean you can get out of here.”

  “You can too. You can stay at my place again,” he said it nonchalantly, though the words hung heavily between us.

  I tried to open the attic door, but as I had suspected, it was locked. Before I could verbalize as much, the sound of loud voices came from downstairs.

  “Stay here.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said following him. “Have you never seen a scary movie? We’re much more likely to die separated than together.”

  He rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. “Stay behind me and stay quiet.”

  We crept downstairs. The closer we came, the louder the noise was. Finally, I recognized what we were hearing: my stereo. At the bottom of the stairs, I indicated to Gabriel to go to the family room. Once we were in the family room, he motioned for me to stay put while he went through the rest of the floor. I stayed in the room with the music blaring, not wanting to give away that we’d come down. Soon Gabriel came back, shaking his head and frowning. I turned off the stereo and looked back at him.

  “This stuff happens all the time,” I said with a shrug.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Jumping, we both turned toward the front door that was rocking in its hinges. I went to the door and cracked it open, my foot braced against it out of habit. A furious Mr. Sexton greeted me.

  “Turn down the music!” he screamed, the smell of whiskey thick on his breath.

  “It’s off. It was off before you even got over here.” I tried to close the door, but he stuck out a hand, stopping me.

  “Don’t sass me, you little bitch.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Gabriel stepped up behind me and opened the door wide. “Do we have problem here?”

  Mr. Sexton scuttled backward, muttering, as soon as he saw Gabriel.

  “Would you mind if I had a little chat with Mr. Sexton, Ella?” He didn’t look back at me or wait for an answer before he walked out onto the porch.

  “Knock yourself out,” I said needlessly.

  Gabriel pulled the front door shut behind him, letting the screen snap shut. I couldn’t hear even tidbits of their conversation. I peeked out the window. Gabriel looked angry and was pointing at Mr. Sexton, stepping closer and closer to him as he did. I couldn’t read their lips, but it definitely appeared that Gabriel was threatening him. It was hard to imagine Gabriel being threatening, but he seemed to be doing a good job of it.

  Good, I hoped the bastard was scared enough to leave me alone. Sexton started to walk away and I made a quick dash to the living room, so Gabriel wouldn’t catch me spying. I tried to appear nonchalant when he came back into the house, but have feeling I failed miserably.

  “Nice chat?”

  “It was fine. He should leave you alone now.”

  “Were you mean and threatening?”

  “No ... firm.”

  “Ah, cop charm,” I smirked.

  “Something like that. Let’s get the hell out of this mausoleum.”

  “Aren’t we doing the attic?”

  “Nah, forget it. We'll deal with it another day. We need to run the jar and shirt to the station then we'll grab food. Sound good?”

  “Practically perfect.”

  “I’ll grab the stuff.”

  As I watched him walk away, I wondered what exactly I was doing—but I quickly dismissed any uncomfortable notions, deciding to check my messages rather than entertain hopeful ideas that would only lead to future disappointment. My machine told me I had 32 new messages just as Gabriel re-entered the room with a puzzled look on his face.

  “I guess I haven’t checked them in a while.”

  “Do you know where the jar is, Ella?”

  “With the shirt?”

  “No, I have the shirt.” He held it up as evidence. “I brought it down and sat it with the jar while we were upstairs. Now the jar is gone and just the shirt is here.”

  “It’s missing?”

  “Apparently. Help me look.” We looked all over the foyer but found nothing. We widened the scope of our search and discovered something that made neither of us very happy: a jar sitting on the drainer next to my sink. It was empty it looked as if it had been washed and dried.

  “This. Isn’t. Possible,” Gabriel said. “We've
been here the entire time.”

  “Maybe someone else was down here,” I offered lamely.

  “We looked everywhere.”

  Gabriel held the jar with a napkin searching it for evidence that any blood had ever been in it. He found nothing, which only frustrated him more. He put the lid back on the jar and took it with us as he ushered me out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

  I stopped at my answering machine. I needed to listen to the messages because I wasn’t sure how many more could fit on it. Gabriel agreed to give me a couple minutes to check. I had several hang up calls, two messages from my editor about when they could expect another book from me, and about twenty messages from Gabriel the morning he couldn’t find me. He seemed embarrassed by the panic in his own voice. I took pity on him and deleted them rather than making him listen. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Gabriel watched me lock the house behind us. He put the shirt and the empty jar in the back seat of his car, then opened the door for me.

  “Did you see or hear anything while I was talking to your neighbor?”

  “I tried, but you were speaking too quietly. Why? Do you have something to hide?”

  “No, I meant in the house, someone taking the jar. Why are you so paranoid?”

  “You live in that house and let me know how paranoid you become.”

  We drove to the police station and I waited while Gabriel ran in the shirt. My mind wandered to the first time Gabriel and I met and how much things had changed.

  I opened my eyes hoping it was all a dream, but I knew it wasn’t. The room was spinning around me with strangers walking back and forth, some shooting suspicious looks in my direction while others appeared sympathetic. I sat alone on the couch. A man sat in front of me, on a kitchen chair that had been brought into the living room, watching me with curious, penetrating eyes.

  The man, detective someone or another, was trying to question me, but I kept hyperventilating. My hand was still stained from the blood. Nothing seemed real. Everything around me was in fast forward while I was paused. My mind couldn’t wrap around what had happened. He couldn’t be dead. I just spoke with him last night. He couldn’t be dead.

  “Mrs. Reynolds,” the detective said patiently again, “I know this is difficult, but I do need you to answer some questions. It may help us catch the killer. Please tell me everything that happened from the time your plane landed this morning.” Between my mind shutting down completely, hyperventilating, and general hysteria it had been slow going up to this point. The only part of my story I’d been able to tell him thus far was that I was on a book tour and took a red eye.

  “Mrs. Reynolds,” he said again when he saw my eyes glaze over. I blinked and looked at him until another person walked past me catching my attention.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s walk outside.” He caught the attention of a young police officer. “Mach, what’s it look like out front?”

  “A circus, sir. Media swarming all over the place, a crowd starting to form.”

  “How do they know already?” he growled.

  She gave him a dubious look. “It’s a small town, she’s famous and most of them have scanners. Frankly, I'm surprised it took them this long, sir.”

  He looked back at me and my blank stare. His jaw tightened as he offered me a hand to help me up. I ignored his hand and stood up on my own. The detective was not deterred; he took hold of my arm and led me back towards the kitchen. I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip was like iron. Under no circumstances would I willingly go back in that room. I stopped moving my feet.

  “We're going out back. It'll be quieter there, easier for you to focus.” He left no room for argument as he pulled me towards the kitchen, where he acted as a wall between me and the crime scene, keeping me from seeing it again, propelling me forward with a firm grip on the back of my neck. Once outside he took me to the small bistro table and chairs that were set up in the formal garden behind the house. He didn’t say anything, giving me a moment to collect myself.

  He was right, out of the house was already less distracting. I could hear the commotion in the front, but if I blocked that out, it was tranquil back here, almost normal.

  “After I got off the plane,” I started unprompted, my voice raspy, “I got my luggage then a cab.”

  “Why didn’t your husband pick you up?” he interrupted.

  “It was too early. I didn’t want him to have to come and get me when I could just as easily take a cab.”

  The detective nodded. “How long do you think it took? About what time did you get home?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure. It took me about 30 minutes to an hour in the airport then the cab ride home took me about an hour. I got here around 10 a.m.... I think.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I called for Danny when I was inside. He didn’t answer, so I checked upstairs. I thought he might still be asleep or in the shower or something. I couldn’t find him, I came downstairs and...” I took a few deep breaths, trying to control my breathing. “I came into the kitchen. First I noticed the smell. Then I saw him,” my voice choked up and I had trouble continuing, “like that.”

  “Like what?” The detective prompted.

  “Pinned to the wall.”

  “Did you take his pulse?”

  “No. No one could survive that ... could they. Oh my God, could I have helped him?” I started hyperventilating again.

  “No,” the detective said quickly. “You couldn’t have helped him. I’m sorry. I just needed to know if you touched the body.” His answer didn’t help. I put my head between my knees and tried not to pass out.

  “Please continue when you’re ready,” the detective said with patience so practiced it almost sounded bored.

  When I had once again composed myself, I sat back up. “Then the room started spinning and I couldn’t breathe. I think I passed out.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly look at my watch. I woke up and the blood had reached me. My hand was in it—I'm going to be sick—” I ran towards the trees, just making it before I threw up. This couldn’t be real. I had to wake up. I went back to the table staggering a little.

  “Then what happened?” the detective asked after I took my seat, as if nothing had happened at all.

  “I called 911.”

  “Nothing happened between you waking up and calling 911.”

  “No.”

  “Did you see anything in the house? Anything that would indicate that the killer was still there? Anything at all?”His eyes flickered back to the house.

  I tried to think back. I couldn’t picture anything besides Danny hanging lifelessly on the wall. I shook my head no, wishing I could be more helpful.

  “Was the front door locked or unlocked when you arrived home?”

  “Locked, I think.”

  “The back door?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t check.”

  “Does your husband have any enemies?”

  “No.”I shook my head emphatically.

  “Do you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How was your relationship with your husband?”

  “Good. I mean we have arguments, but only small ones. It was a lot of stress remodeling and moving.”

  “Did you argue recently?”

  “We argued before I left on this trip. I wanted him to come with me and he wanted to stay and work on the house.”

  “Can you think of any reason someone would want your husband dead?”

  “No. He’s a likable man—was, was likeable, I mean.” I shuddered and felt sick to my stomach again. “I don’t know anyone that didn’t like him. He wasn’t working on anything besides for the house. I don’t know why this happened to us.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Tears streamed down my face. Sobs choked me. I covered my face with my hands. Detective Troy’s impartial, cop exterior cracked briefly as he put his hand on my shoulder.
/>
  “It'll be okay,” he said gently. “Is there someone you can call?”

  I nodded. He handed me his cell phone. I dialed Susan; she answered on the third ring.

  “Hello,” she said, slightly out of breath.

  “Susan...”I didn’t know how to say it. How could I?

  “Ella? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Danny.” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t force the words past my lips. It made it all too real.

  “What happened?”

  “He’s dead,” I squeaked.

  “What? What did you do, Ella?” her voice suddenly hard and accusing.

  I couldn’t believe she thought that of me. My mind couldn’t wrap around what she was saying. I hung up the phone and looked back at the detective. I had no one to call.

  The blare of a horn startled me back to attention. I looked over my shoulder as the traffic started moving through the stop light. Even then Gabriel was considerate. He was truly a nice man. A nice man with an immaculately clean car. Curiosity got the better of me. He’d been looking through my things all day, so I felt somewhat entitled. I looked in the center console but found absolutely nothing. The glove compartment was locked—

  A sharp knock on my window interrupted my snooping. I snapped up with what must have been a look of extreme guilt to match the butterflies that sprung into action in my stomach.

  Relief spread over me when I saw Susan. I tried to roll down the window, but they were automatic, so I got out of the car. “Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked, suspiciously eyeing the car. “Are the cops bothering you again?”

  “Would I be in the front seat if they were?”

  “I guess not.”

  “What are you doing at the police station?” It occurred me that it was strange for Susan to be lingering around the police station.

  “I’m not at the police station.”

  “Your proximity suggests otherwise.”

  “I meant I was across the street.” She pointed towards a nail salon. “I thought I saw you in the car as it drove by. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. Gabriel had to drop something off.”

  “Gabriel?” Her voice was equal parts surprise and suspicion. “You're on a first name basis now? Why are you with him?”

  “He’s been helping me.” Her questions made me uncomfortable. How was any of this her concern?

  “Helping you with what?”

  “Detective Troy is helping me find Danny’s killer.”

  Susan nodded slowly. “How’s that going?”

  “It’s progressing, day by day,” a voice said from behind me.

  “Detective Troy, it’s nice to see you again.”

  “Mrs. Daniels.”

  “So, you’ve been around Ella a lot recently, haven’t you?” Susan asked.

  Gabriel nodded, and I noticed his brow furrowed just a bit.

  “What’s your angle?”

  “My angle?”Frown lines creased his mouth.

  “Yeah. What are you doing there? Why can't you just leave her alone?”

  “Excuse me?” he said, obviously offended, at the same time I said “Susan!”

  “What? I’m just making sure he isn’t just trying to get closer to you, his main suspect.”

  “Susan, don’t do this,” I said not wanting them to fight.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Daniels. Ella was my main suspect and I have gotten closer to her, which has made me see that out of everyone, she’s the least likely person to have done this.”

  “Ella, I think you need to stay away from this man. Don’t you remember him dragging you down here for questioning every other day?”

  “No, I don’t—I remember him bringing me here to get away from the media that was parked in my yard all the time. I remember him asking very thorough questions, as one would expect after a murder took place in their house. Most importantly, I remember that that he’s been here for me, which is more than I could say about my best friend.”

  “That's so unfair,” Susan fumed, almost yelling. “You won’t let me anywhere near you. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Nothing. It’s too late now. Keep up with the precedence you started after Danny died—complete avoidance, you do it well.”

  Her eyes filled with angry tears and she opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “I don’t want to fight with you. We have things to do. We should go.”

  Gabriel nodded good-bye to Susan, but I couldn’t read his expression. I turned and climbed back into the car.

  “Ella,” Susan said, but I closed the door like I hadn’t heard.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It doesn't matter ... you choose.”

  What Susan said outside of the police station made sense. Why did I trust Gabriel so implicitly? He’d performed no great feat to earn my loyalty; he was just always in the right place at the right time. Was that all life was? An unpredictable series of being in the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the wrong time? If so, what the hell was I doing all of this for? Was Danny’s death just a case of bad luck? I looked across the front seat. Gabriel seemed miles away sifting through his own thoughts. Did he have no life? Why would he drop everything to pursue my quest solely? There were so many things I didn’t understand. It was impossible to put together the puzzle when I was missing most of the pieces.

  The more we investigated the less I seemed to understand my husband. The fact that he had clothes I had never seen, dealt with lawsuits I never heard about, and who knows what else didn't exactly leave me on solid ground. Maybe Danny himself was the key. If I knew so little about him, who's to say he didn't have enemies? I needed to know more. There was a time I would have said we knew everything about each other, but now it was painfully clear that I was missing a lot.

  We pulled up to a rough looking bar that had the best burgers in the state—or so its sign said. The front was painted black and bars crossed the lower half of the window. The inside was every bit as grim as the outside. We took a seat in a worn booth. The sticky walls were covered with pictures and beer memorabilia. I gave Gabriel a look that clearly said, “You expect me to eat here?”

  “Trust me,” he said. The waiter/bartender showed up without menus.

  “Do you have a menu?” I asked

  He pointed to a chalkboard behind me. A bare menu was scribbled on it in nearly illegible writing. Obviously, people came here knowing what they wanted.

  “We’ll each have two cheese burgers and I’ll have a coke,” Gabriel said while I gawked at the menu. It irked me that he’d ordered for me, but I turned back to the waiter.

  “Vodka rocks.”

  “Christ, Ella.”

  I smiled tightly. “Make that a double, please. Thanks.” The waiter shrugged and went back to his post at the bar.

  “Do you really think it helps to drink so much?”

  “I don’t need you to judge me.”

  “I'm not judging you. I'm asking you a question. You're drinking to escape from actually having to discover anything about Danny’s death. If you drink enough you never have to look at this with a clear head. You don’t really want this to be over, do you? You’d rather wallow in your own pity—so why am I here? Why are we doing this?”

  Not knowing what to say to him, I pretended to consider what he said. The waiter was back with our drinks and was gone again before I responded. “Well, thank you, Dr. Phil—I really appreciate your free evaluation of me—”

  Gabriel frowned and opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and clamped his jaw shut. I matched his expression, narrowing my eyes. “I don't need to explain myself to you or anyone else. I've done what I've had to do to get through this and I make no apologies for who I am. If you don’t like it, leave. What’s keeping you here anyway?”

  “I want you to you be happy...” He bit his lip. “And I want you to be able to move on with your life. This,” he said, tapping my gla
ss, “is not letting that happen.”

  I forced myself to not roll my eyes.

  He drummed the table and stared at me. His earnestness was irritating. “Look, Ella, I'm here and willing to help you along the way, but you have to be sober. You have a choice. I don't expect you to explain anything about who you are to me. You're one of the toughest, most stubborn people I have ever known, and I mean that in a good way, but if you want my help I do expect you to try.”

  “What’s in it for you? Why do you care what happens to me?”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t turn this on me. I've been here every second since this happened, even when you haven't asked. Even when you were rude and didn't want me anywhere near you because it was my job. But now I have a vested interest in you." I shook my head at him. He needed to stop. “My motives may have changed, but I still think they're pretty transparent. If you can't figure them out, you're not as smart as you think you are.”

  That was too much. My head cleared of all anger—the anger that had nearly led me to make him say something I didn't want to hear. I fingered the rim of my glass. “I...” There were no words to continue. I couldn't stop shaking my head.

  “I know you aren’t ready for this. We’ll get you there though.” Optimism shone in his warm brown eyes.

  I silently thanked God when the waiter showed up with our burgers. Finally, I had somewhere else to focus.

  “So on a scale of one to ten, how panicked are you about this?” he asked, still trying to make me acknowledge what was almost said.

  I took a big bite out of my burger. It was surprisingly good. “This. Is. Amazing,” I said, changing the subject before he could continue further down this road.

  “I know.” A slight smile crept to his lips.

  “I've never had anything like it in my life,” I said with a grin matching his.

  “The cheeseburgers are good.”

  I laughed at the absurdness of our conversation and Gabriel eventually joined in.

  “Lame! We're lame.”

  The laughter was a necessary relief. All of the tension melted away. Before Gabriel really came into my life, I hadn’t laughed in such a long time—but that was a sobering thought. Being here with him and staying at his house were easy, but they weren’t going to help with this puzzle. Perhaps he was a bigger distraction than the alcohol. Gabriel made everything easier to handle, but my goals became fuzzy. Did I want justice for Danny or permission to move on with life? Gabriel also had the annoying habit of being right, so it made it hard not to listen to his opinion. “So what do you think our next step is?” Gabriel asked.

  “I think I need to take a closer look at Danny.”

  “Do you think his death had something to do with him? We've been operating under the assumption that it had to do with the house. Why the change of heart?”

  “I don’t know. I have a feeling. Call it intuition. After finding that shirt this morning, I think it's worth taking a closer look at him.”

  “Well considering that freak show story, I would say this more has to do with you than him.”

  “If it has to do with me why did he kill Danny? Why didn’t he just kill me?”

  “It could be a power issue. There could be someone who wants to control you, own you—a stalker perhaps. Maybe that's what we should try to find out.”

  “I think I need to take a better look through Danny’s things. There's something that I'm missing.” I didn't want to consider Gabriel’s theory. For now this was the best I could do. “Maybe I'll pack away some of his stuff too—give the killer fewer places to hide.”

  “Whatever you think is best.” His face remained perfectly neutral as if I had said I prefer coffee to tea.

  After lunch, Gabriel drove us back to the house. I walked in, contemplating where to start. My first instinct was to get a drink, but I didn't think Gabriel would be too appreciative of that after our stand down.

  “I need boxes.”

  “Okay.”

  “You'll get some for me?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I think I'm going to stay. I’ll start in the study.”

  “Are you sure you want to stay by yourself?”

  “With all due respect, nothing has changed that much and I've been here by myself more often than not.”

  “Okay, but if you need me...”

  "Will do, Officer,” I assured him with a small smile.

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Aw, I would never do that.” I waved at him. “Hurry back.”

  He smiled and returned my wave as he walked out. I went to Danny’s desk in the study. It was exactly as he left it and looked like he’d just popped away for a minute—except for a layer of fine dust giving evidence that he never came back.

  The desk stood in the room almost as a memorial to him. I ran my fingers along the surface and rubbed the dust between my fingertips. I scanned the piles of receipts from home repairs and do-it-yourself books. I tried not to cry over the lists in Danny’s handwriting—tasks that still needed to be completed. I sat in his chair and leaned back, still not moving a thing. I looked for a long time, as if I was drawing a picture of it all in my mind so I would never forget.

  Finally, determination got the better of me and I plucked one of his lists from the desk. Nothing on it jumped out at me. I grabbed the notebook that was under the list. Again nothing appeared important. I tore off the pages with his writing on them and threw the rest of the pad away. I stacked all of the receipts on one corner of the desk and the books on the other.

  I organized the random pens, pencils, and paper clips. In the middle drawer his planner lay alone, as if asking me to notice it. I pulled it out, my fingers trailing down its spine. I set the planner on the desk and opened the next drawer. In that drawer were various files with tax information, receipts, our wills, bank account information, and all other important documents. For the time being, I left the files where they were and moved to the next drawer, but it was locked. The key was nowhere to be found so I pulled out a sharp letter opener, determined to pick the lock­—after all, it looked so easy in the movies.

  It was not, however, quite as easy as I had hoped. All I managed to do was scar and gouge the desk. Eventually I gave up, promising myself I would tackle the job again when I had better tools. I directed my attention back to the drawer of files, pulling each file out and stacking them on the desk. Once I’d taken all of the folders out, I found something wedged in the bottom. It was an old paper, too old to be Danny’s. It appeared to be some sort of drawing, a blueprint of the house. While interesting, it wasn't the clue I had hoped it would be. I started going over the contents of the files, looking for anything at all out of the ordinary.

  Everything in the legal file seemed in order. I had both of our passports and birth certificates, the deed to the house, and both of our copies of the wills. The tax folder also was in order. We had copies of all of our filings and everything we were supposed to keep. I briefly glanced through the receipts, but nothing struck me as unusual. I heard the front door open and close.

  “Hello?” I called.

  “Your wish is my command,” Gabriel said as he walked into the study loaded down with boxes.

  “Well, thank you, Sir.”

  He set them aside and came over to the desk, moving the receipts so he could sit on the corner. “So what do we have here?” he asked.

  “Well, I have receipts for home repairs,” I said holding up the folder he had relocated. “Personal finances stuff and generic legal documents, home repair books, a blueprint, and our bank stuff.” I held up the folder on my lap. “I'm about to go through it now.”

  “Blueprint? Can I see that?’

  “Sure.” I handed it to him as I flipped through the bank folder. It was mostly normal statements for our joint account, and then I noticed something a little funny. There was another account—one with only Danny’s name on it. Air caught in my lungs. The urge to put the folder away and pretend I’d never seen it
was almost too much, but I had to look no matter how my heart pleaded. The balance wasn’t huge, but it was significant enough to make me concerned.

  “Hey, look at this,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant as I handed Gabriel the top part of the statement.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Apparently, Danny had his own account.” I struggled to keep my voice even and neutral.

  “Oh?”

  “We always had joint accounts—or so I thought.” Anger slowly began to fill me.

  I looked at the second page that showed transactions from the account. There were a few withdrawals totaling about seven thousand for the month.

  “Could this have been a home repair fund?”

  “I don’t really know. If it was, why am I not on it?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “How much did he withdraw?’

  “Seven thousand dollars for the month on this statement.”

  Gabriel lifted his eyebrows. “That’s a healthy amount.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions just yet. There could be a reasonable explanation. You're his wife, you inherited everything that was his—go to the bank and ask about the activity on the account, and if possible where the money came from.”

  “Yeah." The angry part of me wanted to refocus on this, but the more insistent part wanted to forget I had seen it. I could only climb one mountain at a time. “That won't be a quick process.”

  I wanted to yell at Danny. What the hell was he doing that was so secret? Why’d he keep it from me? But I couldn't let anger consume me or I’d get nothing else done, so I changed the subject. “I forgot to tell you this drawer is locked. I couldn’t find a key. You wouldn’t happen to have any police tricks for opening it?”

  “I don’t know about police tricks, but I can probably pick a lock.”

  “More of that misguided youth?”

  Gabriel smiled devilishly at me and asked for a bobby pin. When I came back, he had taken the chair and was studying something on the desk.

  “Here you go,” I said.

  “You didn’t mention his appointment book.”

  “Oh yeah—I buried it under stuff and it slipped my mind. I don’t think he used it much since the move.”

  “If he did, it could give us an idea of what he was doing while you were gone.”

  “Didn’t you have in the original investigation?”

  “No, you said he didn’t use one,” he said offhandedly, but I suspected the mental note he made was more damaging to me.

  “He didn’t really. He was always here working on the house, so what could he have possibly put in it?”

  Gabriel flipped to the week Danny died. There were a few things scribbled on the lines, but it was written in his shorthand, which was nearly impossible to translate. He had P – 1:00, E- 8:30, S- 11:30, Pt- 4:00. These types of notes were scribbled throughout the week at various times. The date I found him held the only legible note: Ella comes home with a circle around it.

  “Do you have any idea what this means?” He asked pointing to the P – 1:00.

  I shook my head, my eyebrows pulling together as I looked at the book.

  Gabriel stared hard at the pages as if the answer would magically come to him.

  Discomfort overshadowed my previous anger. There seemed to be the unspoken notion that I was keeping things from Gabriel in the air, but I honestly wasn’t. I really hadn’t thought the appointment book was used.

  “I'm going to work on the closet upstairs,” I said, needing space.

  “Okay. Remember to check his pockets.”

  “What?”

  “Check the pockets for match books, receipts, anything that could be a clue.”

  I sauntered up the stairs not in a big hurry to remove Danny from my life. Why was I so impulsive? My mind quickly followed my heart’s question with what was Danny hiding from me? I went into our room.

  “Christ, I need a drink,” I muttered as I opened the closet door again.

  I slumped down inside the closet and stared into my past. How was I supposed to be objective about this? How was I supposed to find clues in what used to be my life? My muscles felt heavy, too heavy to move. I could hear the birds chirping outside, the entire world moving on without me, while I waited in purgatory. But this was not the time to be idle, I had to push forward. Unfortunately, willpower was hard to come by. I’d grown too comfortable in my present state of agony to push the envelope very much further especially when it looked like things could actually get worse.

  I woke up in the morning to sounds of hammering. I hated the hammering constantly drumming through my mind. I tried to cover my head with Danny’s pillow, but the noise was only muffled.

  “Aurghhh.” I complained loudly. What happened to the days when he would wake me up with breakfast or kisses? I stood up, stretching, and slipped into my robe and slippers. In the kitchen the hammering seemed more muted and farther away. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and took it outside to the porch to escape the persistent noise. After a few moments, Danny came out to find me.

  “What are you doing out here, sweetie?”

  “It was nice of you to wait until I woke up to start the godforsaken hammering,” I said irritation and tiredness taking over me.

  “I wasn’t hammering.”

  “It was thundering throughout the house.”

  “What are you talking about? I was watching television, there was no hammering.”

  “I'm not making this up.”

  Danny looked concerned and cradled my face in his hands. “Do you still hear it?”

  I pushed him away from me. “No, I don’t still hear it. Why are you messing with me?”

  “I swear I'm not. There was no hammering.”

  I clicked my teeth together a couple times, a nervous habit from childhood I could never kick. Some people bite their nails, I click my teeth.

  He looked at me, but didn't say anything. He left it to me to arrive where he already was.

  “I’ll go see the doctor Susan recommended,” I said quietly, “but I’m not crazy.”

  “I know you’re not, El—but you have a lot of stress. Maybe he can help.”

  “Yeah, and maybe fireworks will start shooting out of my butt.”

  Danny smiled. “Well, that would be something, wouldn’t it?” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I love you.”

  “I’ll never understand why.”

  “That’s one of the many reasons why I do.” He took my hand and hauled me up from the step. We walked back into the house. I took my bowl back into the kitchen, Danny following me until the phone rang. He answered it in the hall. I finished my cereal at the counter and he still hadn’t come to the kitchen. He was talking quietly when I found him. He glanced at me for a moment then promptly ended the call.

  “Who was that?”

  “Susan. She had a question about my last order.”

  I nodded. “Did you get that straightened out? You were talking for quite a while.”

  “Yeah, I also got the number for Dr. Livingston.”

  “Wasting no time I see.” I couldn't help feeling betrayed that he was talking to my best friend about me in a whispering sort of way.

  “Did I miss something? Didn’t we just agree you would make an appointment with him?”

  “No, you didn’t miss anything. You are absolutely right. I did say that. I just think it's funny you rushed right in to call her.”

  “She called me!”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I stormed upstairs and stomping around our room. But slamming things while I was getting ready didn't help me feel better. Something about all of this was bothering me and not adding up. Why was I so angry I had agreed to everything he said, and I knew that she called him—it only made sense for him to get the number while she was on the phone. But I was still pissed off. Deep inside, it felt like he was lying to me though I had no evidence. When I was dressed and more collected, I went back downstairs
to apologize and call Dr. Livingston. Obviously, I did need help, if not for my own peace of mind, then for my marriage.

  I looked around for Danny, finding him in the family room. We hadn’t gotten around to setting it up yet, but we planned to decorate with the things from our old apartment. It was a cozy space, with a fireplace that would be nice in the winter and big windows that looked out on the large ancient trees to the side of the house. It would be perfect for writing.

  Danny was stripping the floors. He turned off the sander when I walked in. I wasn't sure if it was so I could talk to him or because I wasn’t wearing protective glasses, but it didn't really matter.

  “I'm sorry. I overreacted to, well, I guess nothing. I had no reason to jump down your throat.”

  Danny didn't say anything or even look at me, but he nodded.

  “Where's the number? I'll call today.”

  Now he did look up, his eyes still seething. “I threw it away.”

  “Why?

  He sighed. I could tell he no longer had patience for me this morning, and I honestly didn't want my husband to feel like he had to deal with his wife constantly.

  “Never mind.” I held my hands up in a passive gesture. “I’ll get it.”

  I walked to the hall and picked up the trashcan, but there was nothing in it. I looked on the table with the phone and message pad, but it wasn't there either, or in the kitchen trash. I thought about going back and asking exactly where he threw it away, but it was better to let this one go. I called Susan at the store and Doug answered. He said she hadn't come into the store yet, which was strange. Why would she call Danny about an order if she wasn't even at the store? I called Susan at home.

  “Hello.” Her voice was lower and raspier than normal.

  “Hey, it’s Ella.”

  There was a pause, then she greeted me in an overly cheerful voice that sounded forced. “Hi! What's going on?”“I misplaced that number you gave to Danny this morning. Could I get it from you again?”

  “Oh okay. Which number did you need?”

  “Dr. Livingston’s. Did you give him more than one number?”

  “Right, sorry. I swear if my head wasn’t screwed on I’d lose it. No, I just gave him Dr. Livingston's number. You'll like him. He's great.”

  I gave a friendly chuckle, but my mind was streaming with questions. Why didn’t she know that? How many numbers could she have possibly given him that morning? Why did she pause when I said who it was? Were they talking about me? What did Danny say? I tried to repress the paranoid thoughts swimming in my mind by reminding myself that this is why I needed to go see Dr Livingston. I had to stop. I had to stop.

  The sound of the bedroom door opening snapped me back to attention. I peeked out from the closet and saw Gabriel standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You've been so quiet up here, I thought maybe you left.”

  “Sorry, just thinking,” I muttered, starting to sit up when something caught my eye underneath the bed. I went to over to the bed, knelt down, and pulled a sock out from under the bed. It lay across my hand like a pink nightmare. I couldn’t wrench my eyes from it. Gabriel sat down next to me.

  “It’s a sock,” he said after a long silence.

  “Yes,” I said almost inaudibly.

  “Yours?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not Danny’s—is it?’

  “No, pink argyle was never his style.” My words were joking, but I was far from finding humor in any of this.

  Gabriel was quiet again. He too stared at the sock. We sat like that for what seemed an eternity. Finally he took the sock from my hand, then stood up, pulling me with him. “Let’s go.”

  He led me out of the bedroom and back downstairs. I noticed the sun had set at some point while I was in the closet.

  “How long was I up there?”

  “A long time. I called up and told you I was going to the police station. I just got back.” I nodded only half listening, my mind drifting back to the sock. "They found something on the shirt."

  “What?”

  “A hair?”

  “Whose hair?’

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly, watching me as if preparing for me to fall apart at any moment. “It was a long blonde hair.”

  I nodded, my eyes welling up. Gabriel reached up and brushed a piece of my dark almost black hair from my face.

  “Let me check the doors and windows, then we can go.” He sat the sock down on the table next to me.

  "Where are we going?"

  “You don't want to stay here?" I shook my head "Then you're coming with me, no need to argue.” He left before I could say anything, and that was fine, I had nothing to say.

  I waited in the hall. It suddenly seemed as if everything I thought I knew and had faith in was a lie. Nothing was real anymore. I heard Gabriel upstairs checking the windows. Was he real? I could trust him, couldn't I? But I thought I could trust Danny... Through the self-pity and sadness, it occurred to me that if I was not staying here tonight, I should at least take my own clothes. I went back upstairs to my room to grab a few things before we left.

  “You don’t have to check these. I'll get them,” Gabriel’s voice came from behind me on the stairs.

  I froze with my hand on the banister. “I thought you were already up here.”

  “No, I was in the kitchen and ran down to the basement.”

  “I heard footsteps.”

  He took the stairs by twos, frowning, then walked me to my room and quickly looked around to make sure no one was in it.

  “Stay in here. I'm going to look around.”

  I thought about arguing, but I’d dealt with enough surprises for the day. I let him lock me away in the room while he looked around the house. I packed a few things. I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for him to come back.

  It seemed to take him a long time, though it was probably only a few minutes before he knocked on the door, saying my name. I opened it, raising my eyebrows though I almost didn't care what was discovered and what wasn’t anymore.

  He shrugged and shook his head. “Do you have the sock?”

  “What?”

  He closed his eyes “You left it downstairs?”

  “I'm sorry I didn't even think. Maybe it's still there. ”

  He shook his head, disappointment evident.

  “How's that possible?’

  “I don’t know.”

  I picked up the picture of Danny and me off of my nightstand and chucked it against the wall on the opposite side of the room. I wanted to break everything, scream, shout, pull my hair—and I would have if Gabriel wasn’t there to witness it. Instead I grabbed my bag and stalked out to his car. We pulled out of the driveway, then I exploded. “I don’t understand. We've been here all day and looked all over that stupid house. Where's he hiding?”

  “I wish I knew. We still haven't checked the attic, but don't get your hopes up. What happened while I was gone?”

  “Nothing. I was remembering.”

  When he saw I had no intentions on elaborating he asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Ummm...” How could I explain this so it made sense? “Since his death I’ve had a tendency to... lose myself in memories. The rest of the world sort of disappears. The memory takes over.”

  “Are they like dreams?”

  “Sort of, except I'm not sleeping and the events actually happened. It's more like when I'm writing. When I really get into a story, I lose myself in it for a while. What feels like twenty minutes can be three hours. Danny used to describe it as getting lost inside my own mind.” As soon as I said his name I regretted it. My eyes welled up again. Damn it. Damn him.

  Gabriel didn't seem to notice or he was polite enough to pretend he didn't see it. “Basically, you didn’t see or hear anything while I was gone?”

  “I didn’t even know you were gone.” I sighed, closing my eyes.

  “Did
you know he was cheating on you?”

  The bluntness of his voice caught me off guard. I wasn't sure how to respond. My mind skimmed through all the times I had halfheartedly accused Danny of cheating on me. Did I know? Did I ignore what was right in front of me? “Did you know?” he pushed not letting me ignore his question.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Sure it is. You knew or you didn’t know. That's all there is to it.” We pulled into the driveway of his house.

  “I don’t know what I knew,” I said in barely a whisper before I got out of the car.

  When we were inside, Gabriel’s tone softened a little. “Do you want anything? Something to drink... eat?”

  I shook my head. “I’m tired. I just want to lie down.”

  “Okay.”

  I went upstairs and dressed for bed. Laying in the dark I fought the emotions from the day threatening to overwhelm me. I tried to pace my breathing and control my thoughts. How could he have done this to me? I asked the question so many times, I forgot what it was I was blaming Danny for—cheating? Dying? Dragging me from my home in Chicago to a haunted house in the sticks?

  A gentle knock on the door drew me out of my game of seeing how many things I could resent Danny for.

  “Come in,” I said, wiping a tear from my cheek with a sniffle.

  Gabriel was there with a steaming mug in his hand. “Hi," he said softly. This picture elicited the smallest of smiles from me—quite an accomplishment given my state of mind.

  “Hi,” I replied, matching his tone.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Why would I be mad at you?” Another tear escaped, leaving a hot trail down my face.

  “Sometimes I interrogate people. It’s a force of habit, comes with the job I’m afraid.”

  “I'm not mad. You were right to ask. I wish I had an easy answer.”

  “I brought you tea,” he said holding it out as an offering of peace.

  “Thanks.”

  I sat the tea on the nightstand and took his hand, not looking at his face. I need to feel something real, something strong.

  “Tell me something,” I said quietly.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Something terrible about you?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to know that you're real. You're a little too good to be true.”

  “Scoot over.” He nudged me with the hand I wasn’t holding. I moved to the center of the bed and he lay down beside me. I turned to my side, facing away from him, but pulling his arm around me. I couldn’t look at him now; my heart was already in pieces.

  “I tried to steal a car when I was a kid.”

  “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?’

  “Hey, you put me on the spot. That was an actual crime. I haven't always been a good person or a cop. Stealing that car changed my life. ”

  “Where were your parents?”

  “My dad left before I was born. My mom did the best she could being a single parent, but I wasn't an easy child.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Nothing, she's still living in Chicago. Happily remarried.”

  “Why are you here if your family’s there?”

  “I'm happy here. And I think I can make a difference here in a way I never could there—besides, all of my family isn't in Chicago. My grandparents live here.”

  “I don’t know if I knew Danny was having an affair,” I blurted out.

  “We don’t have to talk about this.”

  “I want to,” I assured him. “I accused him several times in the last few months, but he said I was crazy... paranoid.”

  “That's a pretty classic cheater’s response.”

  “I know... but he was right. That was the problem. I'm a little crazy and paranoid at the best of times, but especially since we moved here. At that point I was having trouble distinguishing what was real from what lives in my mind. I heard noises he couldn’t hear. I lost things I just had in my hands. Things I thought I had bought were constantly missing. How was I supposed to know what was real? That's when I started seeing Dr. Livingston.”

  “Did he help?”

  “No. I visited him every week, but things only got worse. He wanted me to take psychiatric medications, but I refused. Until Danny died—then I started taking all of them.”

  “Did they help?”

  “No.”

  “Ella, maybe you don't need them. Maybe none of it was in your head. I've been in the house. I've heard the noises. Things have disappeared. So far if you're crazy, I am too.”

  “Do you think he was lying about not hearing the noises? About the missing things?”

  “I don’t know,” Gabriel said carefully.

  “Why would he do that?”

  Gabriel's armed tightened around me. “I just know that I've experienced everything you have. Did you have any problems before you came here?”

  “Not really, but to be fair, I've always had an overactive imagination. It just never caused this many problems before.”

  “I believe you,” he said softly into the back of my hair and my eyes welled with a fresh round of tears.

  We stayed like that, talking, until I drifted to sleep. I felt safe with Gabriel in the same way I used to feel safe with Danny. It scared me.

  Chapter Eleven