CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I open my eyes and find myself once more in the false-color green field from before. The sky is a blue as brilliant as my sister’s eyes, intense and piercing.

The door is ahead of me, but this time I walk to it of my own accord. No force compels me.

I open the door, expecting to find my sister, but instead, I find a stone passageway dimly lit by torches in wall sconces. Within the passageway is a staircase that descends downward into the Earth.

My bravery wavers. I hesitate a moment, and as soon as I feel myself resist, that force returns to compel me. I move down the stairs, descending for what feels like hours. The passageway is cool, musty and damp. The lights flicker, and from time to time, I hear soft moans echo off of the stone.

I don’t feel terror, and that surprises me. I would expect to be nearly prostrate with fear, but it’s not fright I feel. Instead, I feel a low, pensive dread. I know I’m about to witness something terrible, but I don’t know what it is yet.

The passageway twists as it winds down. I am descending a long, shallow spiral toward the center of the Earth. And what will I find when I arrive? Will my sister be waiting for me? Will she be the pale, hollow-eyed ghost? Will she be the statuesque Fairy who captures the fantasies of my previous employer, the artist Victor Holloway? Will she be the woman begging for help who invades my first nightmare here at Blackwood Castle?

I am so preoccupied with this thought that I don’t realize I’ve stopped until a door opens in front of me.

And now I’m frightened. Now I’m petrified. Now I would cry out, “No, no, no!” if I could.

But I can’t. I can only stare mutely ahead and watch the scene unfold.

I am in the hospital. The psychiatric hospital in New York, where I am housed for eleven weeks following the closure of my sister's case. I see several orderlies and nurses moving down a hallway. I don't remember their names, but I recognize them. These are faces I saw often during my stay here.

The force compels me forward again. I try to resist, but it is the struggle of an ant against a cruel and vindictive god. I walk through the hallway and come eventually to room five-forty-three.

My room.

The door opens. I am sitting on the bed wrapped in a straitjacket, my eyes staring wildly ahead. Tears fall from them, but I don’t blink. In front of me, Doctor Bradbury sits on his stool, writing notes on his pad, asking me questions.

This is not so terrifying yet. I am in poor condition, but other than slight humiliation, I am almost relieved.

Then I shriek. The sound pierces through to my soul, and the me that stands behind Dr. Bradbury shrieks with the me that sits on the bed.

“Shut up!” I cry—the me in front of the doctor. “Can’t you hear her screaming? She’s calling for me, but she’s not here! I can’t help you, Annie! God damn it!”

“That’s right, Mary,” Doctor Bradbury says soothingly. “She’s not here.”

“But she is! She’s here! She’s in the room with us right now. She’s here, and she’s going to punish me for driving her away. She’s going to punish me for letting Mother hurt her. I let Mother hurt her, and now she’s going to hurt me!”

Doctor Bradbury shares a grim look with a burly orderly. “Tell me what you hear, Mary.”

“It’s a scream,” I whisper. “She’s screaming.”

“What is she screaming.”

I hear a rustling and realize that the me on the bed is shaking uncontrollably. “She’s screaming, ‘This is your fault, Mary.’ And she’s grinning. She’s smiling at me, and her eyes are empty, and she’s telling me that I’m next, and it’s all my fault.”

I gasp as the memory floods me. The scene in front of me vanishes, and I return to the first nightmare, the one that plagues me for these thirty years and longer.

I am in the forest again. Annie stands in front of me, pale and ghostly. I walk toward her, calling her name.

She turns, and her eyes are empty black holes. I freeze in terror as the apparition approaches. Her lips split into a wide grin, too wide to be human. She walks to me, leans close until our lips are almost touching. She whispers, “You’re next, Mary.”

Then her grin vanishes. She opens her mouth wide, and an unearthly howl emanates from her throat. “Help me! Oh God! Help me!”

***

My head hits the floor hard enough to see stars. I gasp and press my hands to my forehead, gasping and shivering. I am soaked in sweat, and while the details of my nightmare are already fading, I remember my sister’s ghost with her empty eyes and her distended grin.

No, not my sister. I don’t know what the creature was, but that was not Annie. Some horrible monster my psyche created assaults me in my dreams as it assaulted me thirty years ago, warning me of some terrible price I must pay for my wrongdoing.

Perhaps this is why I don’t look for Annie for twenty-eight years. Perhaps I am so frightened that I choose to hide rather than fight.

Help me!

It’s the cry on the wind once more, only clear and loud this time. I press my lips together grimly. My nightmare is far too terrifying for me to be frightened by what I hear now.

I rise to my feet. My head throbs, but the shivering has subsided. I am not the frightened young woman I was when my sister left. I am not the shell I was in that hospital. I have thirty years of experience dealing with guilt and fear, and I have faced living enemies more deadly than any ghost my mind can conjure up.

This ghost pleads for my help. Whether it is a trick of the wind or the embodiment of the women who have disappeared within these walls, it begs for succor. And I shall provide it.

I dress in warm clothing, not a nightgown and slippers. I don’t know what I’ll face when I reach my destination, but I will be prepared for it.

I leave my room and walk upstairs. I hear wailing coming from all around me, and when I reach the third floor, lightning flashes through the windows. The portraits of lords past stare down at me, commanding me to turn back. I ignore them.

When I reach the library, I find the door locked. I’m not surprised by this. I’m also not deterred.

I get to my knees and slip one bobby pin through the keyhole with the flat side up. I insert the second flat side down and use the ridges on the bobby pin to gently find and lift the tumblers. The lock clicks, and I open the door.

A blast of cold air seems to come from the room, and a loud moan follows it. I am drawing closer to the abode of the spirits.

Lightning flashes outside as I approach the bookcase, where I nearly find the secret room. It reveals fantastic shapes, monsters and demons, and murderers and ghosts.

Let them all come.

My phone buzzes.

The sound is so… ordinary. It shocks me out of the fugue I’m in. Lightning flashes again, and I realize I haven’t switched on the lights.

I do that, and the room looks far more ordinary. Once more, it’s just a library. Lightning strikes once more, and there are no demons or ghosts outside. Just rain.

I pull my phone from my pocket, a trifle embarrassed at my fanciful thoughts. Still, I did intend to explore this library, so maybe the nightmare and the fugue it left me in weren’t bad things. I hadn’t intended to sleep, but sleep took me anyway. My nightmare released me.

My phone rings again. Sean. This time, I answer.

“Hello?”

“Mary, I got the financial records you sent me. I think you might be right about Lord Edmund.”

My eyes widen. “What have you discovered?”

“Well, you discovered that House Blackwood is nearly bankrupt. I pulled that thread and learned that House Raynor is not. In fact, they are quite wealthy.”

“Who is House Raynor?”

“That would be Lady Cordelia’s maiden name. Cordelia Raynor.”

My eyes widen, but then my brow furrows. “Does their money not solve Lord Blackwood’s problem?”

“It does if Lady Cordelia is no longer with us. You see, Lord Raynor is a staunch opponent of Lord Blackwood in the House of Lords. When he learned his daughter was marrying his enemy, he cut her off from her estate. However, he neglected to cancel her life insurance policy. And wouldn’t you know it, Lord Blackwood is the beneficiary of that policy.”

I gasp softly. “So if he kills her, he gets her money.”

“Provided no one catches him, of course. The plot thickens, though. Lady Alivia had an eight-million-pound trust. When she died, that trust passed to her son, Oliver. Should Oliver survive to majority, the trust will be fully vested, and should he then die, the trust will become the property of his nearest relative.”

“Uncle Edmund.”

“Uncle Edmund indeed. And lastly, we have Lady Evelyn Downing, whose death yielded to our Lord Blackwood ownership of properties in Scotland, and Northumbria totaling twelve million in value.”

I see the motive now. They were killed for money.

But… “What about Sarah? The maid? She didn’t have money.”

"Yes, that's the odd one out. If I were a betting man, I would say that she discovered something she shouldn't have. Before you lodge your second objection, I'll answer it. The reason why Lord Edmund doesn't still have money is that he is utterly incompetent at managing his money. He's lost millions attempting speculative investments. He is stubborn and refuses advice, but somehow, he always comes upon money when he needs it. Usually, that money arrives conveniently around the same time as a catastrophe reaches someone close to him."

Lighting crashes outside, and then a loud scream follows it. I remember why I come here and say, “Keep looking into this, Sean. I believe I may have some more evidence for you in a moment.”

“More evidence? Wait. Mary, where are you—”

I hang up and put my phone in my pocket. Then I look for the book I remove the other night. I find it and push.

Nothing happens. I stare in disbelief. I could have sworn that worked the last time.

But then, I pulled the book off of the shelf and started reading it, so it couldn’t have been the book that was the key to moving the door. Perhaps the shelf?

Yes! I push it, and it recedes. A moment later, I hear a click, and the entire case slides backwards, then to the right.

I’m about to step through when I hear Theresa cry out behind me.