Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

A few times in Sybil’s life, she’d experienced alarming disquiet. She’d suffered oppression and pain, both physically and mentally with bullies in school, and with her own parents she’d undergone oppression and disapproval. Nothing quite prepared her for the sheer dread that settled into her mind, her heart, and down to her bones. A shiver raced over her skin, her stomach tightening into a knot almost as unforgiving as the vice of alarm contracting her throat.

“Hey, darlin’.” Taggert drawled his words, emphasizing his Killeen, Texas accent with a vengeance. “I’m back to get what’s mine.”

Dressed in white outerwear that looked designed for an Arctic Circle expedition, Taggert reminded her of one of those survivalists on reality television. He undid the fastenings on the hood over his head and pushed it back.

She wanted to spit his name out in disgust. To rage at him to get the fuck out. She throttled the words, unwilling to put Clarice and Doug in danger so that she could express anger. Yet the burn of fury rose so high she almost choked on her rage.

Taggert moved around Clarice and lifted his gun, and her gaze snagged on the unusual size of the weapon, the intimidating force of the barrel. Her heart picked up speed, her breath coming faster. She wrestled with self-control, unwilling to give the bastard the gratification of seeing her lose control.

I’ll be damned if you’re going to break me, you piece of shit.

Sybil realized the heat inside her. Her body feeling so heavy she could barely move. Her resentment surged, and she drew in yet another breath to steady herself.

Outside, the wind roared against the house.

Above their heads…

Creak. Creak. Creak.

It almost sounded like footsteps. Coming from the center part of the room. From the ceiling above.

“Jesus,” Taggert said, his gaze flicking to above Sybil’s head. “Would you look at that?”

Clarice’s gaze went over Sybil’s head as well.

“The chandelier,” Clarice said. “I’ll bet that’s been happening a lot since you’ve all been here, hasn’t it, Sybil?”

“What?” Sybil knew what the woman meant, but the shock of realizing Clarice knew …now that took Sybil off guard.

“Freaky,” Taggert said, his gaze coming back to Sybil with frightening intensity. “Your chandelier is swaying.” He looked at Clarice. “Maybe this shitty old pile is falling apart. It looks like hell. But I suppose that’s Sybil’s fault, isn’t it? She never could keep a house worth a damn.”

Sybil’s heartbeat went into overdrive again, her body flooded with a desire to grab something heavy and rush Taggert. To bash him until he became a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. She glared at him with every fiber inside her vibrating.

The room went silent. Deeply, eerily silent as she centered all her focus on him. He caught her gaze. She didn’t flinch and kept her eyes locked to his chilly stare.

I hate you. I fucking hate you, Taggert. Rot in hell.

Ridiculously, Sybil was reminded of one of those times she’d been on a walk in her neighborhood when she was a teenager. She’d just gotten off the bus at her stop and had a block more to walk before she reached home. Respite had flooded through her because she’d escaped one boy who liked to torment her. She glanced back once to make sure he hadn’t followed her. But no, it wasn’t his stop, and the bus driver probably would have yelled at the kid if he'd tried to get off the bus early. As she’d walked, her eyes had welled with tears and she’d wiped them away with anger, livid with herself, with the boy and the entire world. Her body had pulsated, on the brink of exploding like a supernova. A moment later, the steady breeze ruffling her hair had halted. Birds in the trees had choked off their song.

She’d come to a stop on the sidewalk. No traffic sounds.

No sound.

In that moment, she’d heard a furtive movement. Perhaps a footstep. She turned swiftly.

Her tormenter had stood not twenty feet behind her, an ugly smirk plastered on his pugnacious features. She’d pinned him with a scowl filled with loathing. Hoping he could feel it. Hoping it ate him alive from the inside out like a parasite. One moment, he wore a self-confident expression, and the next, someone snatched it from him. His eyes had widened a little as apprehension and discomfort had replaced his sneer.

He’d moved back. One step. Two. He turned and ran.

As he sprinted, she saw it in slow motion. No sound.

Another step and sounds had rushed into the void.

The trees rustling, the wind blowing, a traffic horn, a helicopter moving overhead. All returned.

Sybil snapped out of her memory in a blink.

Taggert, though, wasn’t reacting like the boy all those years ago.

Taggert’s mocking expression grew. “What’s a matter, Sybil? It’s one reason you need to come with me. You need to come back to Texas with me, where we both belong. You need to learn how a woman should treat a man.”

Oh, I know how you need to be treated.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Sybil finally turned. She glanced up. As she’d seen more than once in this mansion, the light fixture moved back and forth. A slight sway that increased when she looked at it. It swung a little stronger. One swing. Two. Three.

Sybil observed the chandelier, listening to the small crystals hanging from it tinkling and sparkling, and she wondered if it would crash down at any moment.

A pulse throbbed in her temples as a headache threatened.

No.

The chandelier came to a stop. As if in suspended animation, none of the crystals moved. Not the slightest.

“Holy shit.” Taggert breathed the words out in a whisper. “Holy shit.”

“There’s nothing holy about it, young man,” Clarice said, her tone light. As if she spoke about a walk in the park or some other inconsequential event.

Sybil glanced at Doug. He remained on the couch, his body appearing almost too relaxed, and his expression formed into granite. His eyes were a chilling glacial pool, but he didn’t look at Sybil. Doug’s gaze centered on Taggert, although his left hand wasn’t too far from the backpack on the floor.

Don’t Doug. Don’t try to draw on him. Not now.

Sybil turned back to Clarice and Taggert.

“Son-of-a-bitch, did you see that?” Taggert asked, still staring at the chandelier. “That’s the freakiest shit I’ve seen in a long time.”

Taggert eased away from the door. Maybe he feared someone sneaking up on him from behind? He took a stance where he could easily see everyone, including Clarice.

What are you going to do? You can generally talk your way out of any situation and can run the proverbial circle around every threat. You’ve done it before.

Taggert swung his weapon toward Doug. His arm straightening as if he intended to take aim and fire.

“No,” Sybil whispered and took a step toward Doug.

“Sybil, don’t.” Doug’s voice snapped like a military command, and she stopped.

Taggert smiled again. He grunted. “Would you look at this? The bitch likes you. Well, I suspected that. That’s one reason I’m here. She’s going to pay for her treason.”

Ice formed around Sybil, and it chilled every sinew. Skin. Bone. A tremor ran through her. What did he plan to do?

Her imagination filled in holes and created each horrible thing Taggert planned for her. For Doug. She shoved the anxiety down far and deep, where it couldn’t cripple her ability to think.

“You wanna help me?” Taggert asked Doug, still aiming right at him. “I mean, if you just let me walk right out of here with Sybil, you’ll never see either of us again. I’ll leave you intact, this old lady and those other bitches upstairs.”

“No.” Doug’s voice was as rigid as his expression.

Taggert snorted. “All right. But it’s your funeral. I mean, I could walk out of here with Sybil anyway, couldn’t I? I could shoot you and be done with it. Then take her.”

Clarice said, “I don’t think you want to do that.”

Again, her voice was light. Almost as fluffy as a grandma talking to a recalcitrant toddler.

Taggert back up a little so he could see Clarice. Maybe he thought Clarice would clock him over the head with something.

Taggert gestured with his weapon at Clarice. “Over there. Sit down on that other couch and don’t move. Now tell me. Is this piece of shit house going to fall apart around me?”

Clarice chuckled, and the sound contained more mirth than it should have. She sat on the couch.

“This house has old bones,” Clarice said. “They’ve been strong since the construction of this home in the 1890s. There’s a lot of history here. A lot of things in this house that don’t take kindly to strangers contemplating violence. At least not your kind of violence. Believe me, this place has seen it all. My ancestors weren’t exactly the nicest people, Mr. Taggert.”

He snorted, adding a smile to it. “Well, neither were mine. What are you? One of those people who blames everything on her parents the way Sybil does?”

Humiliation swept over Sybil, mixing with that terrible, thick soup that pushed its way through her veins and would never allow her to disregard the past. Irritation surged again inside her.

Clarice didn’t appear concerned about Taggert’s question, and she smiled again. Her back was ramrod straight, as if she could command an army with military command.

Clarice turned her gaze on Sybil, and within her eyes, Sybil saw confidence. “Oh, I’m sure Sybil is right about her family. I’m very proud of her for making it this far in life. She’s had a lot to deal with and has done remarkably well. Everything she told you about them is true, Mr. Taggert. Horribly true.”

Sybil’s mind whirled at that last sentence. Apprehension and uncertainty built in Sybil’s thoughts.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Taggert asked Clarice.

Clarice shrugged, her face composed. “About the things men like you don’t understand very well. No, I don’t blame my parents, really. They carried on a fine legacy in this house. In these woods. They made sure I had everything I needed, including this wonderful house.” She looked around the room, a full smile brightening her face. “Everything they did…they had good intentions for me. They wanted me to learn about the family business. To thrive the way they had. I learned all my lessons very well, and I’m a rich woman. I don’t have a care in the world.”

Taggert’s eyes widened a bit, a new idea sprouting into fruition. “Oh yeah. So you’re rich?”

Clarice nodded. “Yes. In many, many ways. Some ways I doubt you can imagine. Perhaps you’d like some of those riches? I have money that could buy you everything you ever wanted and then some.”

Taggert seemed to relax a little, his gaze filled with curiosity. “Money? You trying to bribe me to get outta this situation?”

“Of course,” Clarice said. “Why wouldn’t I? I have everything I need. What’s a few thousand less if it could save Sybil from harm. What do you say?”

He stayed silent a few moments, as if she’d thrown him a curve ball he couldn’t think his way out of with ease.

Finally, he said, “No. That’s too simple. I want Sybil and the money.”

Stalling, Sybil segued. “How did you get in here, Taggert?”

His smile was shit-eating and loving every minute. “This ole lady let me inside.”

Shock made Sybil’s look at Clarice. Sybil glanced at Doug and saw the surprise on his face as well, but he stayed silent.

“I did.” Clarice nodded emphatically. “I let him in. I’m sorry, but it had to be done.”

Before Sybil could ask why, voices echoed from the staircase.

Oh, shit.

Taggert scowled at Sybil. “You go out there and make sure they don’t cause trouble.”

Letisha walked into the office with Maria and Pauline on her heels.

Letisha’s mouth opened in surprise and panic. “What the?—?”

“Get in here!” Taggert gestured with his weapon. “In here now if you want to live.”

All three women entered as he pointed his gun at them, and in that second Sybil thought about rushing him. Apparently, Doug thought the same because he didn’t move either. No, because Sybil knew as well as Doug did that they’d regret it. Her mind spun and spun, ratcheted up on anxiety. How the hell would they escape this clusterfuck in one piece?

Calm down. Just calm down.

She forced herself to slow her breathing. That’s when she noted Taggert looked overwhelmed by this development. Maybe his bravado wasn’t as fine-tuned as he’d like. Maybe the other women appearing hadn’t factored into his plan. She glanced at the covered windows and thought she saw light coming through despite the cloud cover caused by the blizzard.

“Oh my God,” Maria whispered as she sat next to Clarice. Maria crossed herself.

The older woman put her arm around Maria.

Letisha took up the other side of the couch, dropping like a stone onto the surface. She linked gazes with Sybil, and Sybil’s heart sank at the fear reflected in her friend’s deep brown eyes. It hit Sybil over the head. She’d never seen Letisha scared in any situation. Not once. Sybil’s sense of self tipped toward the direction she always went when the proverbial chips were down. The only survival mechanisms that ever worked for her were fawning or fighting. Fighting right now would mean death for her or the others. Fawning...she could do that all damn day and do it superbly well. Taggert would respond to fawning with satisfaction. With happiness. He always had before. But that was also his weakness.

Taggert chuckled, still keeping his weapon out and aimed. “If that don’t beat all. Look at you people.” He swung his gaze to Letisha. “Wait. I’m not allowed to say that, right? I mean, you people. That seems to get a lot of people’s backs up. Fucking political correctness.”

Letisha’s expression changed. Maybe a micro. The strength returned to her gaze. “I dunno, Taggert. I’m all for telling it like it is. I could call you a redneck or a racist asshole. Are you saying you aren’t? Because, as I recall, you hid some of those thoughts from the rest of us until Sybil left you. Then it all came out, didn’t it? If you’re proud of it, own it. I mean, if we aren’t being politically correct.”

Taggert’s appeared a little disarmed. Weak. His mouth flopped open.

Sybil rejoiced even as a fresh wave of trepidation took root inside her.

Taggert’s face transformed into contempt. “Maybe I should just give you the punishment you deserve, you bitch. Get up.” He gestured at Letisha. “Come on, get up.”

“No,” Doug said. “Don’t.”

Taggert grimaced, baring his teeth as he aimed his weapon at the women on the couch.

Sybil’s heart sank. She put up one hand. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret Taggert.” She edged between the other women and Taggert. “You came here for me, right? To punish me. I’m the one you want.”

Taggert stepped forward and said as his gun came up, “You’re right.”

She didn’t have time to flinch before a staggering pain sent bright lights exploding in her vision and the world went dark.

* * *

A dull pain throbbed in Sybil’s temples.

Am I dead? Did Taggert shoot me?

Sensation swamped her. A softness beneath her head. Her entire body. A warm hand touched first her forehead, then her left arm. The hand gently squeezed her arm as if trying to reassure her.

“Sybil?” Doug’s voice asked near her ear. “Wake up.”

Maybe she wasn’t dead. But damn, her head ached. She didn’t open her eyes, not ready to attempt it. Yet she could hear someone talking some more. At first none of it made sense. As if someone had created a new language. Then…

Sobbing. Shuffling noises.

Taggert’s voice growled words. “Now you see I mean business, don’t you?”

Sybil opened her eyes.

Doug’s face appeared above hers, and she realized he knelt at her left side as she lay on the couch. His eyes reflected worry, but he smiled, too. He couldn’t hide the profound relief. “Hey. Just take it easy. Rest.”

Taggert stood near the doorway, his gun still held up, an imminent threat to them all.

The throbbing in Sybil’s head dropped drastically, and she found her voice. “Did Taggert shoot me?”

Doug said, “No. He hit you with the gun.”

She wondered what had stopped Taggert from finishing her. “I need to sit up. I feel better already.”

Doug helped her, and she shifted to sitting up against the pillow.

“You probably gave her a concussion,” Pauline said, her tone laced with disgust.

Pauline still sat on the couch, and so did a tearful Maria and stoic Clarice. Letisha sank down onto the couch again.

“That’s what a woman needs when she talks back and doesn’t do what I tell her,” Taggert said, as a sick smile crossed his mouth.

The throbbing in Sybil’s head increased again.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

The chandelier swayed again, this time with more force.

“What the hell??” Taggert bit out. “Old lady, I thought you said this house won’t fall apart. Maybe Sybil and I should leave now.”

Clarice stared at Taggert, her steady gaze as icy and hateful as anything Sybil had seen on a human face. Heat rose inside Sybil, her face turning hot. She wanted to run outside into the blizzard and cool the flame. The one that made her want to scream and somehow stop what could happen if Taggert got his way.

Sybil wanted to glance over at Doug and the other women in the room to see if they felt any measure of what she did. Her stomach tightened, her breath coming a little shorter. Every muscle in her body tensed.

The chandelier picked up speed.

That's good, Sybil. Really good. Back in the day when your daddy and mommy tormented you, you couldn't feel. Didn't want to feel. What did that therapist call it? You know what it is. You wanted to run. Disappear into the floorboards until no one could see you, didn't you? Now you've got it nailed. You can feel that old tape playing, can't you?

“I see,” Clarice said, her tone imperial and aristocratic. “Are you certain that is the wise thing to do, young man? I don’t think it’s wise.”

A deep, eerie groan like end stage metal fatigue issued from the ceiling. Everyone looked up.

“What the hell?” Taggert asked. “Is there someone upstairs? Sounds like a damned army marching up there.”

“Oh yeah, an army.” Sarcasm dripped from Letisha's voice. “We forgot to tell you about that.”

“No,” Sybil said. “There's no one.”

“She is wrong,” Clarice said, making Sybil peer at her in confusion. “There are so many people here. Dozens, in fact.” The old woman smiled again. “So many, many things you don’t understand, young man.”

What big teeth you have. Sybil didn’t wonder why the old saying popping into her head. Something about the old woman’s grin disturbed her.

“What?” Taggert took a step toward Clarice. “What the actual hell, you old bat?”

“Don't.” Doug's tone stayed muted and collected. As cool as a man talking about clear skies and sunny weather. “I made sure your truck was disabled. You won’t make it very far.”

Taggert turned toward Doug. He lifted his gun, and Sybil gasped. She thought she heard the other women make noises of distress...except maybe for Clarice.

“What do I do with you, soldier boy?” Taggert asked in a low, almost whispering voice. “You think you're some special army weenier?”

Doug's mouth tightened. A slight twitch, a brace in his posture that said maybe he would do something he'd regret but enjoy it and damn the consequences.

Sybil snagged Doug's forearm. His muscles tensed, but he didn't make a move or speak.

Taggert smiled, a soft chuckle in his throat. “Oh. Oh, I get it. You're a pussy. One of those washed-up ex-military guys who then thought he'd make a good cop. Then you couldn't hack it.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Clarice said. “In fact, Doug is an accomplished former Marine ...what kind did you call it, Doug?”

Doug kept his gaze on Taggert, his expression even. Not a sign of anger or fear. “Marine Force Recon.”

Taggert's expression flickered with uncertainty.

Another groan came from upstairs. This time, it rumbled. Moaned. Acted like the very ceiling might open and collapse on them.

“God, what is that?” Maria’s question filled with worry. “Is it the trees?”

Trees? What the ? —?

A second later, another low moan from outside echoed from the sides of the house.

“You…Letisha. Get over there and open those curtains,” Taggert said, as he gestured toward the windows.

Letisha stood and hurried to the window closest to the couch where Sybil lay. Letisha flicked the heavy drapes back.

Letisha jerked away from the window. “Shit.”

Pauline and Maria gasped.

“We aren’t crazy,” Maria said, panic filling her voice.

“What the hell?” Doug whispered under his breath. Sybil didn’t care if she fell on her face. She swung her legs off the couch and stood. Her temples pounded. Doug stood and put his arm around her shoulders.

Outside, the blizzard swirled powdery snow around in gusts as powerful as a sandstorm.

Sybil's mouth opened, but she couldn't speak. Her mind whirled with the impossibility of what she saw.

Although the snowstorm whiteout conditions obstructed distant vision, the sheer impossibility of what Sybil witnessed outside the window was undeniable.

“Tell me that isn’t real,” Pauline said.

No one spoke.

The freakishly enormous trees had moved to less than fifty yards from the house. They’d gathered close, their branches sometimes twining here and there. A groaning came from outside that almost reminded Sybil of the tree herders in Lord of The Rings. The house was grumbling. Sybil knew, somehow, what was happening.

The house is pissed. Begging to be rid of the people inside it and asking the forest for support.

Maria made a choked noise, and Sybil turned enough to look at her. The woman had covered her face with her hands.

“We did see it,” Maria said, almost gasping the words.

Letisha turned her back on the window. “We came down here because we heard the moaning outside. I looked out my bedroom window, and it was light enough to see those damned trees.”

“We all did.” Pauline’s eyes held that glazed, fearful look of someone who’d experienced a trauma.

Sybil’s head didn’t feel so foggy anymore, and the ache in her temples was not as intense. Reality had slammed into her as hard as Taggert’s weapon. She turned around, as did everyone else, to look at Taggert. Clarice hadn’t moved from her post on the couch, and the old woman’s calm expression flabbergasted Sybil. Maybe at her age Clarice had mastered the ability to mask her feelings.

So have I.

Taggert seemed stunned, his bravado stunted for the moment. He blinked, and the hatred on his face returned. “What did you bitches do?”

“What?” Letisha asked.

Taggert walked toward her and leaned in Letisha’s face. She took a step back and bumped into the windowsill.

“You must have done some shit for this stuff to be happening.” Taggert snarled the words. “This isn’t normal.”

“What you’re doing is normal, I suppose,” Clarice said.

Taggert turned away from Letisha and walked across the room to Clarice. He smirked at her. “You don’t know a damned thing about me. I’m the way a man should be.”

Sybil noted that Clarice’s smile was subtle. “I love men who are wonderful, caring, and upstanding. You, sir, are not one of them.”

His mouth tightened into a bitter line. “Keep mouthing off, old lady and this is going to end really badly for you.”

Clarice’s eyes lit up, almost as if someone had stoked a fire inside her. “I have a proposal for you that should solve everything.”

Sybil hadn’t a clue what the woman planned to propose, but she didn’t see how it could help Sybil and the rest of them out of this jam. Sybil’s throat went tight. She wanted to say whatever she needed to end this situation with everyone escaping alive. Yet the knock on the head, the trees outside and the house protesting the storm all conspired against her. She was suddenly impotent, unable to do a damned thing to make a difference.

Oh, Sybil. There you are. Weak as usual. Wrong as usual. What good are you?

Sybil’s shoulders tightened, her jaw clenching until it ached a little.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Everyone’s attention swung to the chandelier as it swayed side to side again, the arch so violent the crystals clacked and tinkled against each other and threatened to shatter.

“Clarice, move away from there!” Sybil said, taking a step forward. “It’s going to?—”

Clarice stood and moved just as the chandelier ripped from the ceiling and fell. Doug wrapped Sybil in his arms and turned her away from the chandelier. She gripped his sweater front on instinct.

“Look out!” Pauline’s voice sounded panicked.