Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Letisha shifted in the van passenger seat as Sybil drove the vehicle eastward, through the forest and toward Estes Park.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Sybil said. “I won’t ask you if you’re feeling okay because I realize you’re not but...”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be fine as soon as I get my hands on those pills,” Letisha said.
When Letisha went silent again, Sybil considered clamming up, too. For maybe a second.
“Is there anything else wrong?” Sybil asked.
Letisha sighed. “Yeah. But I don’t...it’s weird as shit, and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Well, you know me. I’m into all the esoteric stuff.”
“Okay. I think there are a couple of elephants in the room on this job we’re doing now. Maybe more than a couple.”
Sybil’s stomach dropped a little, but she tried to back away from the instant apprehension.
“Okay, spill it,” Sybil said.
“I’m not getting much done because of this fibromyalgia.”
“Can’t be helped. Don’t worry about it.”
“But I do.”
Sybil thought back, aware of her friend’s past. “You’re a hard-working person and take on way too much responsibility for things. Did your mother call you again?”
Letisha made a scoffing noise. “Of course.”
“What did she say?”
“All the usual greetings. This time she said she’s giving up her practice.”
“Wow. Well, she’s been saying she was going to do that.”
“Right. But there was a twist this time. She expects me to come home and be the office manager for the doctor that is taking over her practice.”
Sybil didn’t know what to say for a moment, then recovered. “And are you considering it?”
Letisha made a half attempt at a laugh. “Hell, no.”
“Might be easier on your body if you weren’t doing this physical work.”
“Girl, are you kidding me? Doing that office work would drive me crazy, and so would hanging around Mom more often. When I quit medical school, she was all up in me being her office manager. She’ll immediately start saying I need to go back to med school.”
“All right, but I’m playing devil’s advocate here. She wouldn’t be there. You could still participate in the medical field. It’s gotta be a step up from cleaning houses.”
“Come on. You know the drill. I don’t aspire to be in any medical field. Anywhere near it. Just the thought of it makes my muscles ache.” Letisha sighed. “I wish dad was still alive. He’d tell me to ignore mom.”
Sybil remembered him with a lot of affection. Letisha’s hard driving mother, not so much. “Your dad was cool.”
Letisha’s father had passed away when Letisha was fourteen. As a dentist with a reputation for kindness and a wonderful sense of humor, so many people missed him.
Letisha leaned her head back against the seat. “Maybe I’m kidding myself.”
“How?”
“Because I thought medical school and trying to keep up with my ambitious brother caused the stress that flared up the fibro.”
“You’ve changed your mind about that? I mean, your brother is pretty competitive, but I never heard him say anything negative about you quitting medical school.”
“No, he wouldn’t. And now he’s about ready to retire from the air force, well...maybe I can get over myself and stop competing with him.”
Letisha’s brother’s sterling personality and war hero reputation could be a lot to vie with. After all, the man flew A-10 Warthogs for a career.
When Letisha went silent, Sybil went on. “What did you tell your mother when she asked you about becoming her office manager?”
“I mentioned that my fibro had come back after a long remission. She said the same thing you did. That it would be easier on my body.”
“I see.”
“This flare up didn’t start until we got to Clarice’s house. I think it has more to do with the weird things that have happened since we arrived.”
Sybil hesitated. “You mean the paranormal things?”
In her peripheral vision, Sybil saw Letisha shrug again and shift in the seat as if impatient with the question. “Whatever it is. I don’t know that it’s paranormal. No matter what we might want it to be.”
A sting. That little niggling trigger that reacted to any disagreement with shame. She felt the reaction deep in her instincts and gut.
“Not everything is like that time when we were kids, Sybil,” Letisha said with a sigh.
But it is, isn’t Sybil? Maybe you’re fucking crazy and none of the stuff you’ve heard, seen or felt since you entered the mansion is real. Maybe not a single drop.
“You’re right,” Sybil said, still hearing defensiveness edging into her tone.
“I am?” Surprise colored Letisha’s words.
“It isn’t like the time people thought I was nuts and should be on meds because I can sometimes see dead people and feel things not everyone else can. Because this time, I’m guessing you and everyone else on our crew has felt things and seen things they can’t explain.” Sybil couldn’t help but say, “That means it’s valid. This isn’t just crazy Sybil losing her mind.”
She knew she shouldn’t have said that last bit, but resentment wanted an outlet.
Letisha shifted in the seat again. “Let’s not…do this right now, okay? You still want to have lunch in Estes after I pick up the meds?”
There it was. That brush off.
She’s tired of your shit, Sybil. Everyone is tired of it. Take the medicine and swallow the bitter taste.
“Yes. Besides, I’m starving.”
After a moment, Letisha said, “Look, I’m sorry. I let you down when we were kids. I knew you weren’t crazy. But I gave into what the adults were saying. I let them brainwash me into not believing you. In not believing my own eyes.”
Letisha sounded weary. Bone-tired to the point of apathy.
Sybil remembered the way the cops had looked at her. “I was a kid, too. I took a chance saying something in front of adults and got my head handed to me in a big way.”
“Girl, that is so true. Neither one of us should have trusted the adults. Adults suck.”
They laughed, and Sybil enjoyed the reprieve from that part of herself that couldn’t seem to stop second-guessing her every word and movement.
They’d left the thickest part of the forest, and the trees no longer invaded the van, leaning on the sides of the road and promising to swallow them whole.
“Do me a favor, though,” Letisha said. “Don’t say anything about the so-called paranormal stuff to Maria or Pauline. I mean, they don’t know what happened when we were teens, right?”
“Not about when we were kids. But Maria and I had a conversation last night that definitely veered into paranormal stuff.”
Sybil didn’t want to fudge the truth, so she told Letisha everything about Maria’s conversation last night.
“Essentially, you lied to her when she said don’t tell anyone,” Letisha said.
“Yes.” Sybil didn’t feel good about it.
“I can understand why.”
“So, if none of this stuff in the house is paranormal, what do you think it is?” Sybil asked.
“An elaborate bullshit set up to freak us out.”
Sybil snorted. “Why? Why would Clarice do that? And if it isn’t her, who would it be?”
“Don’t know.”
Their conversation stalled, and as they came closer to Estes Park, Sybil remembered to look for Clinton’s. “Ah, there it is. The bar and grill.”
Clinton’s sat back from the road far enough to contain a sizable parking lot. The front of the building faced to the southeast. Even at this hour it looked hopping.
“Looks like an okay place,” Letisha said.
“Hope I’m not making a mistake having dinner with him. When we’re done with the mansion clean up, we’ll be going back to Denver. It’s not like it could develop into anything.”
“You’re right.”
Sybil noted her friend’s solid resignation and certainty in tone. “But if I’m just out for a little fun, who needs development, right?”
Letisha laughed, but it didn’t have a hint of humor in it. “I gave you horrible advice last time with Taggert when I said to give him a chance.”
“You couldn’t have known Taggert was a Grade A, number one asshole when I first met him.”
“No, but I wish I had.”
“Speaking of asshole,” Sybil said, “Taggert tried calling me.”
She heard, rather than saw, Letisha straighten and turn toward her. “What?”
“He didn’t leave a message. His name came up on my cell phone. I should have blocked the number by now but didn’t think of it.”
“You didn’t call him back, did you?” Letisha’s question held a sharp worry.
“No way. I blocked the number.”
Letisha breathed a sigh that sounded full of relief. “Good.”
Estes Park came into view moments later, and they concentrated on finding the pharmacy. They located it with ease, and Letisha went in while Sybil waited in the van. She cracked open the window and took in the air. The continued cloudiness in the area and the scent of moisture. She knew the temperatures could drop and of course that would mean snow. She wanted the night out at the bar and grill, and she might not achieve that if it snowed.
It would feel good to have a date or even just a new friend. Albeit a hot friend, but someone other than a woman to talk to for a change of pace.
Letisha exited the pharmacy in record time, and she smiled when she jumped into the van.
Letisha held up her bag of pills. “Doc is a lifesaver.”
“Thank goodness. Now you’ll feel better.”
She’ll feel better and then so will you.
Sybil’s internal monitor, the critic that kibitzed, couldn’t stop telling her what she meant. Sybil’s muscles tightened.
Yeah, she would feel better.
Because then Letisha won’t be grumpy. Won’t say something that triggers you. Won’t do anything that bothers you.
The thoughts came out of nowhere. Sybil knew her own mind enough to understand why.
“Something wrong?” Letisha said as she opened the pill bottle.
Sybil sighed. “No.”
Letisha downed a pill with a water chaser. “That’s bullshit.” Letisha turned her gaze on Sybil, her mouth tilted in that half smile, half frown she could produce since she was four years old. Letisha took another swing of the water. “Spill it.”
Sybil sighed. “Old tapes playing in my head. CPTSD.”
“What is the tape saying?”
Sybil stared at the front window. “I thought it was great that you’d have the pills and feel better. But then that little critic in my head--”
“The one that sounds like your mother or father.”
“Right. It told me I was only happy you’d feel better soon because then I would, too.”
Letisha frowned. “You’re a fantastic friend. So why would the voice give you shit over that?”
Frustration rose a little in Sybil. She’d explained the concept to Letisha and others more than once. They couldn’t seem to understand how insidious the automatic reactions to things could be. How uncontrollable.
“That old tape made a groove in my brain when I was a kid. Now the record player pulls out that record every time something that happens reminds my primitive brain of an incident in my past. My brain tries to avoid any confrontation or situation where your mood might be unhappy. Or angry. Because to that little kid part of my brain, the primitive part, I don’t like it when people disapprove or become angry, even if it has nothing to do with me. Because it always feels like whatever is happening is my fault.”
Letisha nodded. “So if I take the pills and feel good, then you’re happy because I probably won’t do or say anything negative to you.”
“Right.”
Letisha’s gaze landed on Sybil, and Sybil couldn’t miss the sympathy in her friend’s eyes. “I feel bad sometimes that your childhood hooked into you so firmly that you can’t seem to escape what happened.”
A tear formed in Sybil’s left eye and hreatened to break free. She drew in a slow breath to head it off.
“It’s a vicious cycle,” Sybil said. “I know it’s not rational. But it is selfish. So even though it’s a protection mechanism my little kid brain produced because it was trying to stay safe, it’s maddening to me and other people now that I’m an adult.”
“Did I ever make you feel like I didn’t understand or care about your trauma and what it did to you?”
Sybil winced. She heard the worry in her friend’s voice. “The kid in me wants to say no. But putting up with my complex trauma sometimes can’t be easy.”
“None of it was your fault, Sybil. You were only a kid.”
“Intellectually I understand. Emotionally, I sometimes don’t know that.” Sybil started the van. “Thanks for understanding this time.”
“Anytime.” Letisha smiled, and they brought their hands together in a high five.
They returned to the highway that led them back to the woods.
“The pharmacy tech noticed the name of the cleaning company on the van,” Letisha said when they’d been driving a few minutes. “She asked me if I was visiting Estes Park. When I told her we were cleaning Clarice’s old house, she got this weird look on her face. She said, oh hell no. She’d never stay in that house. Not even one night. She particularly hates the giant tree trunks. They creep her out. She called it the Eldritch Woods.”
Sybil wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t even know they had a name. Clarice never called it that. Wait a minute. Eldritch as in?—”
“H. P. Lovecraft’s Eldritch.”
Sybil shook her head and smiled. “Freaky. But cool.”
Letisha groaned. “You would think that.”
“Guilty. Well, I’m eager to get back to the woods. I feel we’re behind on this job.”
“Because we are. But we’ll catch up.”
Letisha put her head back and fell asleep fast. Letisha’s meds could make her a little sleepy, but only when she first started taking them. She’d been off them for a long time. No doubt she had trouble sleeping when the fibro returned.
As Sybil drove back, she noted how eager she was to return to the woods. She didn’t question it. Didn’t give it much thought. The anticipation and the quiet gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in a long time.
* * *
The third-floor ballroom was enormous. Though Sybil had taken a peek in the ballroom when they’d arrived that first day, now that she’d entered the place with cleaning supplies, she took a moment to scrutinize the interior. That first day, she’d had an impression of the room, but she hadn’t taken in every nook and cranny. She felt into the room, of course, taking in the atmosphere. To her surprise, she sensed nothing at all as she stood at the threshold of the north door. In the middle of the third floor, the ballroom had a large north and south exit.
She propped her hands and her hips and looked around, wondering why they didn’t build it on the ground floor and why they surrounded it with bedrooms. Beyond this curiosity, she couldn’t deny the immense room held all the beauty one would expect when money met Victorian indulgence.
Three chandeliers centered down the middle of the high ceiling. They blazed with light, as did electric wall scones on all sides. An intricately designed skylight allowed in considerable daylight. Six dramatic windows covered the west wall, three stacked over three. The same configuration adorned the east wall. When they’d first arrived at the mansion, she’d noted that these windows gave a view of the third-floor corridor on both sides. The bottom three windows on both sides were clear, while the top three windows gleamed with a paisley design of red, green, and blue. The skylight and the windows on the west and east side gave enough light without the chandeliers or scones being used. Vacuuming, mopping, and polishing the floor would require a significant amount of time. The parquet design might be original, but she couldn’t say for certain. Despite the challenge the room presented, she couldn’t deny her enjoyment of the space.
She glanced at her watch. Eight thirty in the morning. Pauline had promised at breakfast that she’d be here by now. While everyone else on the crew showed up on time under most circumstances, Pauline either cut it as close as she could to the promised time or arrived just a few minutes later.
Sybil gave up on waiting. She started the heavy-duty vacuum cleaner and became lost in the rhythm of cleaning. Someone appeared in the corner of her vision, and she jolted.
Pauline entered the north doorway, all smiles.
Perturbed, Sybil turned off the vacuum but didn’t speak, afraid she’d say something heated.
“Wow. What is wrong with you?” Pauline asked.
“You’re fifteen minutes late.”
Pauline frowned and stuffed one hand through her short hair. It stuck up as if she’d styled it that way. “Sorry, but I got a shitty call.”
“Shitty?”
“Yeah.” Pauline walked closer. “My dad called. Lina had a tantrum.”
Pauline called her mother Lina, and Sybil always thought about asking why but never did. She’d guessed from other things Pauline said that she didn’t get along with her parents. Sybil genuinely could empathize.
“A tantrum?” Sybil asked when Pauline didn’t elaborate.
“Yeah. The woman is batshit crazy.”
Sybil also knew Lina was in a wheelchair, but that wouldn’t be a reason for Pauline to have a contentious relationship with Lina. It had to be more. “As in mental illness?”
Pauline rubbed her forehead, a gesture Sybil noted the woman had done often since they’d arrived at this house.
Pauline shrugged. “More like manipulative and bitchy.”
“Aha.”
Pauline looked sad, her typically cocky expression absent.
Sybil felt compelled to ask, “Do you think her being in a wheelchair made her that way?”
“Yeah. And no. She was kinda that way to start with, from what dad said. I mean, dad is no charmer, but the stuff Lina has put us through…”
Sybil hesitated, but then said, “You never explained why she’s in the chair.”
“You remember that big smashup on I-25 on Monument Hill twenty years ago? That thirty-car pile-up in the blizzard?”
“Yes. That was awful.”
“Lina was on her way back from a trial she was on in Colorado Springs. It had already started snowing heavily by that time. She’d lost her case that day. A murder case. She was working for the accused.” Pauline’s thin shoulders lifted again. “The man had killed his ex-wife, and the evidence was all there that he did it. She knew he did it.”
Sybil’s curiosity heightened. “She took a case that was in Colorado Springs? I thought she was with a big Denver law firm?”
“She was a bottom of the rung junior partner. She knew that winning that case would promote her up the ladder. The guy she was defending was a rich asshole. Lina said he sexually harassed her the entire time she was his lawyer.”
“Oh, my God. That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, she should’ve kicked him in the nuts.”
Sybil smiled. “Yeah, but that might have gotten her fired, right?”
Pauline nodded. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” She drew in a huge breath and blew it out. “After losing the case and seeing the guy sentenced to life in prison, she drove home. Dad told her to check into a hotel in Colorado Springs and wait out the storm. But I guess when she called her office and told them she’d lost the case, they said they needed to see her at seven a.m. at the office. She figured they were going to fire her. She headed back to Denver.”
“Wow.”
“Wow doesn’t even cover it. She was on Monument Hill when she lost control of the car. Driving too fast for the conditions, the cops said.” Pauline’s face registered a mix of anger and something almost like sadness. “It was her car that started the chain reaction.”
Sybil frowned. “Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. Two semis also slid, sandwiching her car between them. Thirty other cars started crashing and piling up behind them. Three people in those cars died instantly, and a few others were injured. Lina almost froze to death before anyone could reach her.”
Pauline’s eyes held their usual aloofness, as if she told a story about a stranger.
“That’s awful.”
Pauline snorted. “It got worse. She almost died and was in the hospital for a month. Lina’s paralysis from the waist down changed everything. Plus, the families of the deceased learned that my mother was being charged with reckless driving. Cops wouldn’t charge her with vehicular homicide.” Pauline seemed to find a second wind, pouring out the story. “So those families sued our family.”
“Oh, shit.”
Pauline paced back and forth as if she inspected a line of soldiers. “It was a nightmare.”
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
Pauline stopped pacing. The anger in Pauline’s gaze dissolved as the sheen of tears started. Sybil held her breath a little, surprised as hell at where this conversation had led.
“While Lina was in the hospital, her law firm acted like they gave a shit about her. They even acted like they cared about Dad and me. But when they learned we were being sued, they fired Lina.”
Sybil couldn’t think of another word to say other than to repeat, “Wow.”
Pauline wiped at her eyes and sniffed. Sybil’s empathy kicked in as she took in how all of this had to make Pauline who she was now.
Sybil said, “They fired her because she was a liability and didn’t offer to represent her once she was sued.”
Pauline’s spine straightened. She pointed at Sybil. “Damn right.”
“Let me guess. The resulting suit put you guys in hot water financially.”
“You’re right.” Defiance returned to Pauline’s eyes. “They suck ass. One lawyer there...another junior lawyer...she called Lina and told her everything the asshole higher up said about Lina.”
“That only made your mother’s mood get worse, right?”
“Yep. She hadn’t even fully recovered yet. She was in rehab, and Dad almost lost his business trying to keep us afloat. He was lucky one of the other lawyers in his firm represented our family for free. The case lasted for a year before they dismissed it.”
“Lina’s mood didn’t improve.”
“Bingo again. You don’t even wanna know the abuse she heaped on my dad. And me. Both of them wanted me to go into law and wouldn’t let up with the nagging.”
“You didn’t want to.”
“Hell no. Even before Lina’s accident, I’ve never aspired to be a lawyer.”
“What did you want to do? My guess is it isn’t cleaning mansions.”
“No. I guess you could call me a screwup.”
Sybil wanted to call her that. She really, really did. Something shifted inside her. An acknowledgement that Pauline had grown up in an unhealthy family. Just as her own upbringing hadn’t been supportive. In this sense, they were sisters.
“You get along well with your dad,” Sybil said.
Pauline’s expression lightened again. As if something heavy had left her shoulders. “Yeah.”
“But there’s something else.” Sybil couldn’t shake the feeling in her bones. “Something that kept you from connecting to him as an adult.”
Surprise crossed Pauline’s features. “After I finished my degree...Bachelor of Arts in Fucking Off and Almost Failing degree…he wanted me to come home and help take care of Lina.”
“And you didn’t want to.”
“Nope. Dad had to keep finding new healthcare help for her because some of them quit. She was so abusive. No way was I doing that.”
Silence stretched before Sybil said. “You didn’t want a complicated job. You did something easier. Like cleaning houses for what? How many years?”
“I’m thirty-seven now. So off and on since I was twenty-three. Jesus.” Her face hardened. “What? You think I’m a lazy asshole?”
Sybil reacted deep inside to the woman’s confrontational tone.
Placate her. Do and say whatever it takes so she won’t be mad.
Instead, she came from authenticity. “I think you’ve been through a lot. Family dynamics. You’re surviving. No one can blame you for that. You didn’t give up.”
Sybil had spoken the truth, but she didn’t say other parts out loud.
Pauline, you’ve given up on dreams. Like I have.
“Is there something you want to do with the rest of your life?” Sybil asked.
Pauline snorted, then laughed. “Yeah. Finish cleaning this house. Then take a hot bath and drink some whiskey.”
Sybil grinned. “I hear that. The sooner we clean the place, the faster we can relax.”
To Sybil’s surprise, they finished the ballroom by four o’clock. Time to call it a day. They’d gathered their supplies and started toward the north doorway when Pauline looked to the left and came to a dead stop.
Sybil stopped, too, and looked at Pauline. “What’s up?”
Pauline’s lips parted, but at first nothing came out. She pointed. “Do you see that?”
Sybil pivoted to the left and glanced toward the large windows. Someone pressed their face to the glass. A woman’s face with smooth, young features, wide eyes, and abject fear etched into expression.
Sybil froze. “Who is that?”
Pauline dropped her stuff and took off at a half run toward the north door. Taken by surprise, Sybil also abandoned her supplies and exited the north door at a trot. Pauline’s stride ate up the corridor. Pauline turned the corner and Sybil did the same. No one was there.
“You go around the other side, and I’ll cut her off from the other side,” Pauline said.
Sybil took the advice, wondering who the hell was lurking in the hallway and making a face in a horror movie. She ran, hurrying to meet Pauline near the landing connecting to the stairway.
Pauline came to a stop near the stairs. “Nothing. I didn’t see anyone. What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone either.”
A door down the corridor opened, and Letisha came out of her room. She headed their way. She looked sleepy and disheveled.
“What’s wrong?” Letisha asked.
Pauline and Sybil gave her a quick rundown.
Letisha looked bewildered. “That’s nuts. There has to be someone in here.”
“That’s what we said the last time we chased someone around the house,” Sybil said with frustration.
Letisha rolled her gaze to the ceiling for a moment. “Well, then let’s look around this floor. They must be hiding somewhere.”
“What about weapons?” Sybil said.
“Fuck the weapons,” Pauline said. “I’ll use harsh language if I have to.”
They investigated each room, staying together for safety in numbers. They checked each bathroom and even the ballroom again. Nothing. No one.
They stood at the landing once more.
“This is batshit crazy,” Letisha said.
Thumping footsteps came up the stairs, and Sybil tensed. She almost held her breath as they waited for someone to come around the bend.
Maria appeared and slowed her progress as she saw them all staring down at her. Maybe their anticipation and fear showed on their faces.
Maria topped the landing. Her brow lowered. “Hey. What’s up? You guys finished for today?”
Pauline launched into an explanation of the mysterious face. Maria’s gaze changed from interested into fearful.
“That’s insane.” Maria threw up her hands. “We should hire a paranormal investigator at this rate. I’ve never even seen this much activity on an over-hyped paranormal show.”
“Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.” Pauline almost sneered when she said it.
Maria shrugged. “I don’t. I watched a couple to see what the big deal was.”
“Uh-huh.” Letisha sounded doubtful. “Another reason we need to finish this job.”
“Doug is coming by tomorrow to install the security system. He’s supposed to call tonight and let us know if it’s a go.”
“As if electronic security is going to work on ghosts,” Pauline said.
“In that case, who is starving?” Letisha asked. “I’m starving.”
* * *
Sybil woke up with a gasp. At first, she didn’t understand where she was. She was standing in the darkness. Where the hell...? She put both hands out, and within a few moments, her eyes adjusted to the moonlit room.
Why the hell are you standing in the middle of the room, Sybil? Stupid girl.
“Stop it,” Sybil said out loud. “Shut up, mom.”
She didn’t want these voices, these thoughts. Not at this time of the night and in this gothic bedroom, where every shape in the semi-darkness appeared like something designed to scare her. No, she needed to go to bed. She made her way in the general direction of her bed after turning around to face it. Just enough moonlight to see without running into anything. Just?—
A shape sat on her side of the bed. Fear leapt into her throat, and her breath caught.
“What...”
The shape didn’t react to her voice. She thought of demanding to know who the hell the person was. Instead, she ran for the door, hoping she didn’t trip over anything. She flicked on the light switch near the doorway. She swung around.
Chandelier light flooded the room. Her gaze swung to her bed.
Nothing. No one was sitting there. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She glanced around, heart pounding.
“What the actual hell?”
She rushed toward her bathroom. She flipped on the light as she strode inside. No one was there.
She shivered. The bathtub curtain obscured the tub.
She stared at the paisley curtain design with its gold tassel decorations, the ornate hooks holding the curtain to the rod. Her heartbeat and pulse still thrummed away.
Open it.
She drew in a deep breath. Another.
She stepped forward and yanked back the curtain.
Empty.
A huge breath rushed out of her.
She left the light on in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom.
Maybe her sleep-addled brain had hallucinated the woman...the shadow woman.
You already see dead people.
A shiver wracked her body. She lifted her robe from the chair near her bed, slipped into it and eased her feet into her slippers. When she reached the large window that overlooked the north and the front lawn, she glanced outside into the pitch-black night.
Nothing to see here. Nothing.
She returned to the bedside table and grabbed her cell phone. It was only ten o’clock, but hopefully she wouldn’t be awake later into the night. She retreated to the chair and settled down to put her thoughts in order. Under the light of day, she might feel better about the dark figure. She left the chandelier on so that every corner of the room flooded with warm light.
She slid down in the large, comfortable chair, sinking into its wideness and feeling almost as if the chair embraced and protected her. She examined her phone texts and found the one Doug had sent her earlier tonight.
Hey there, Sybil. I’ll be there tomorrow at eight am to install the cameras and system if that works for you. Clarice approves. Doug.
Earlier she’d texted back her agreement on the time and thanking him, but not laying it on thick. Years ago, she would have been profuse in her thanks. Sticky sweet maybe.
Right then a text came on her phone.
Who would be texting her at this time of night?
The text wasn’t from someone Sybil expected.
Call me.
Her mother.
Sybil faltered. Her mother rarely sent texts at ten o’clock at night. Besides the fact they hadn’t talked or texted since before Sybil had taken on this job to clean the mansion.
Sybil decided to call rather than text, and her mother picked up. “Sybil, thank goodness.”
“What is it? You never text this late.”
“I’ve got bad news.”
Sybil’s anticipation rose, along with worry. Every muscle in her body seemed to tighten. “What is it?”
“I got a call from the penitentiary this evening. Your father was stabbed in prison.”
For a moment, Sybil thought she was dreaming again.
“What?” Sybil asked.
“Apparently, the man who stabbed him had a daughter that was kidnapped, raped, and killed around the same time your father was killing women.” Her mother’s voice sounded raw, deeper than usual. As if she might be crying. “The guy came up to your father at lunch and stabbed him before anyone could stop him.”
Sybil’s gut clenched. She didn’t know how to feel. Didn’t know what to think. Emotions wouldn’t come. She was thrown into a state of disassociation that happened to her sometimes when she was confronted by unexpected news.
Suddenly, the most primitive part of her shouted in relief. Is he dead? Please let him be dead! Like a little child, that part of her screamed. Please. Please. Please.
Sybil rubbed her forehead. She managed to ask, “Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
Tears rushed to her eyes. Someone watching her, she knew, might think she cried tears of joy that her father had lived. But no. No, that wasn’t it. She put the phone on speaker and placed it in her lap and used both hands to wipe at her eyes.
“Sybil?”
“Yeah.” Sybil sighed and put her head in her hands. “I’m here.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Anger shot up inside her. “Well, there’s a lot I could say. But it doesn’t matter. I doubt you would appreciate it.”
“You’re not the least bit concerned about him?”
Sybil laughed, but it was a choked noise. “Why should I be? He’s right where he deserves to be. And when you’re a serial killer that means either you’ll command a lot of respect from other assholes, or people will want to kill you. Sounds like someone decided he deserved a little more justice.”
“That’s so cold.”
“You’re right. It is. I refuse to apologize for it.”
It came then. The sound that Sybil had heard dozens of times as a child whenever she said something outside the bounds of what her mother considered sane or reasonable.
Her mother sighed. “Oh, Sybil. Our lives weren’t that horrible, were they? I mean, so many people have had it worse than us.”
Sybil froze. How did she react to that? What did she say? “Yeah, that’s true. But the damage he did to you and me…well, it’s taken a long time for me to repair some of those things. I’m still working on it. I’m not ready to forgive him. Have you? Have you forgiven him for how he treated you? Me? For what he did to those women?”
Sybil waited. Silence stretched.
I haven’t forgiven you either. I haven’t forgiven you for going along with him on some days. For not protecting me from his emotional abuse.
Finally, “Mom. Are you there?”
Her mother’s long-suffering sigh came first. “Yes, I’m here. I think it is time for you to get over it.”
The usual plea to get over it .
An enormous lump formed in Sybil’s throat, and she realized its significance instantly. She didn’t want to address what her mother had said.
God damn it. Stop fucking saying that to me. Stop. Stop. Stop trying to put me back in my place and tell me how I should feel.
Sybil shivered. A full body convulsion of anger that tensed all her muscles.
She heard a creaking sound. A loud popping. She looked around but didn’t see anything that would cause it. Old houses did that, didn’t they? She swallowed again and tried to speak. Nothing came. Her mother hadn’t changed. Hadn’t owned up once for her part in enabling her father to treat them like shit. For not having made the decision to leave him and perhaps escape the abuse.
“You know,” her mother said. “They won’t let family members visit seriously injured inmates in their infirmary?”
Sybil leaned back in the chair. “You’d go and visit him if they allowed it?”
“Yes.”
Sybil wanted to scream but she wouldn’t say what she’d said so many times before. It never made any difference to this woman.
Why won’t you divorce him? You can’t possibly love him.
She’d asked her mother this question many times over the years, yet it never made any difference. Sybil understood her tone had turned official. She’d become an expert at analyzing herself, of understanding why she was saying what she said or didn’t say.
Sybil’s level of exhaustion decided everything for her. She’d spent far too much of her life expecting her mother to show love and support. She had to let go of the nagging need.
“Okay.” Sybil sighed. “It’s late, and I need sleep.”
Her mother cleared her throat. “Sybil, you could check for me, right? I mean, talk to the authorities there and ask them to let me in to see him. I mean, you could even come with me. You could take care of it, Sybil.” Her mother’s voice took on a tone of almost excitement. Encouraging a child to make that next step. “You were always so good at making things work. Those prison officials are so hard sometimes. Sometimes they act like they don’t understand why I’m there--”
Her mother cut herself off. Sybil’s throat tightened as an undeniable anger rose. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled gradually. So slowly she figured her mother would start talking again. But she didn’t.
“Where, Mom? Prison? When did you first go see him?”
Silence. Then the popping sound again. Sybil didn’t pay attention to it.
“You went because that church said you should, right?” Sybil leaned back into her pillows and stared at the ornately carved tray ceiling. The cherubs and even an angel or two.
“Well, yes. I know what you think of them, but I love going there, and I think I’ve found some sort of home in them.”
Sybil had many thoughts about it, but as she so often did, she didn’t express precisely what she thought. Her words formed an approximation, but rarely filled with the true anger she wanted to express. “We all find our way through it. Or we don’t.”
Oh Sybil. You still sound rational and calm right now, don’t you? Still reasonable. Still the one to say the right thing at the right time. Always searching for it. Always hoping the next time the right words will come out. But you never quite get it right, do you?
“Oh, Sybil.” That sigh again.
The burn rose inside Sybil, refusing to be reasonable, calm and rational. Just this one time. This one time at least she’d say what she thought. “I’ve always wondered about that.”
“About what?” her mother asked.
The burn went even higher. “That sigh and the oh Sybil. What does that even mean?”
“What? It doesn’t mean anything.”
The popping sound came again.
“Sure it does,” Sybil said. “It means you’re exasperated and wish I was someone else. That I didn’t have the reactions I have and would simply comply and do whatever you think is rational.”
Oh, Sybil. You’ve done it now, haven’t you? The fear rose higher. Sybil, say what mommy wants. What daddy wants. Anything less…they’ll hurt you won’t they?
Silence greeted Sybil’s statement. Nothing surprising there, either. She could almost see her mother’s face. The cool, hard demeanor that would transform her expression from mild to angry. Disapproval would show in her mother as the cold shoulder would begin. The silences that had carved a hole in Sybil’s heart and hollowed it out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her mother said.
There. Her mother’s signature statement.
Sybil’s antagonism rose even higher. She wanted to rage. To hang up. “I won’t be talking to the prison authorities for you. I won’t be visiting him in prison. I never have, and I never will.”
A creaking. Another pop.
“But my church says--”
“He didn’t give a shit about any of those women he killed. Just the way he didn’t care about his own family. The only thing I’m thankful for is that something kept him from killing us. When I was a little kid, I was scared shitless of him. Down deep, I was sure he was going to do something to me. That he was going to kill me. You know what that does to a kid? That fear of death around every corner? Of humiliation and name calling and the fact that your own mother won’t do a damned thing to stop it?” She was on a roll now and didn’t plan on stopping. “I figured he’d do whatever it was to you, too. But I knew if I said anything that you’d blow it off. You wouldn’t believe it. Because he had everyone fooled, didn’t he? Except for me. I knew we were on a knife’s edge and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. I--”
“Oh, Sybil. Stop it. That’s all water under the bridge. You had a good childhood otherwise and?—”
“No, I didn’t. But you know what...let’s pretend. You do you. I’ve got work tomorrow, and I need my sleep.”
That sigh. That ever-weary sigh. “All right, Sybil. Goodnight.”
Sybil hung up. She gingerly placed the cell phone on the bedstand when she wanted to slam it. She drew in one breath. Another. Her jaw went tight, and that lump in her throat enlarged. Tears threatened again.
Pop. Crack.
A quick movement caught her eye.
She searched out the source as her breath caught.
The chandelier light fixture in the middle of the room swayed the slightest increment.
No. No. Please, not again. Don’t do this to me again.
She closed her eyes.
Oh, Sybil.
“Fuck you. Fuck you.”
Who was she cursing at? Her mother? Her father? Herself?
She waited for tears to come, but found no more. Good. Maybe that was a sign of healing. No grief for the final realization that her mother didn’t grasp it. May never get it.
“It only matters that I do.”
She drew in one deep breath after the other until the tension and rage eased.
The chandelier came to a halt.
It took a long time before Sybil could calm her mind.
Eventually, she leaned her head back on the chair, and even the thought that the chandelier had swayed above her head didn’t keep her from falling asleep.