Chapter 26
The haunted house
Scarlett
A scalding shower followed by a bath did nothing to calm my nerves.
It only increased my anxiety over the possibility of the upcoming wedding and what it would mean for the work I’ve committed to overseas.
The assignment starts in August, but I’ve got preparations to make for the move, and now, instead of getting my affairs in order, I’m supposed to plan a wedding.
It feels like I’m living another person’s life.
How did this happen?
How did I get here?
What am I doing here?
Endo happened. Or was it my dad who started it all, and now I’m paying the price for it?
No. No, that can’t be true. Endo’s getting into my head.
If my dad did business with Endo’s brother, it was because my dad thought Cass was a legit businessman.
Cass duped my dad, maybe stole the cargo he was supposed to deliver, and now Endo’s pissed that another criminal organization took his brother.
Or maybe the authorities have him.
Or maybe the man simply disappeared and doesn’t want to be found.
There are a million possibilities, and until Endo uncovers the truth, I choose to believe my father has nothing to do with illegal deals of any sort.
At least not willingly. As far as my father lying?
He does it to protect my sister and me. We know nothing of his businesses.
Politics, arms manufacturing, or the like.
It’s the middle of the night, and I just came back from checking on Marquis, who complained of fatigue. Apparently, he packed and rolled his own suitcase and then tried to load it into the car.
When Endo heard that Marquis wouldn’t rest, I thought he would brush it off, but he got mad at Marquis and confined him to the dungeons. He, his husband, and Connor again, for handing over the suitcase to Marquis.
Endo disciplined grown-ass men. It tells me he’ll follow through for his brother, and if he senses someone is getting in his way or jeopardizing his mission, he will end them.
If I remain here, I’ll fold under Endo’s rule just like everyone else.
I’m old enough and self-aware enough that I know this about myself.
I’m attracted to him, and honestly, his actions make sense.
That’s the worst part. I understand why he’s doing what he’s doing to me. I don’t like it, but I get it.
I have to get out of here.
I escaped Endo once before, and I’ll do it again. Since I’m on his turf, I need to become more familiar with the house and the grounds around it, and there’s no better time for scouting than around midnight, when everyone is either asleep or in the dungeons hanging out with Marquis.
I put on my slippers, even though if I walk barefoot, people won’t hear me. But I don’t know the layout, and slippers will protect my feet from cold and any sharp objects, so I keep them on. If anyone asks what I’m doing, I’ll say I’m hungry and searching for a midnight snack.
I expect to see Declan outside my bedroom, but find an empty hallway. I don’t know if he’s not assigned at night, if there’s a change of shift, or if he deserted his post. Either way, I’m grateful for the blessing.
The dreadful conversation about Donatella, who I presume is Endo’s ex, and the baby they lost festers in my brain like a pseudomonas infection. I squinch my eyes shut, willing away the woman’s name. Yet, if I don’t visit the nursery, the curiosity might kill me.
I doubt I’ll find escape clues there, but one never knows. Maybe Donatella was also trapped at the Keep, and she found a rope she could use to get down from the windows.
It sounds far-fetched, but here I am, a captive wanting a way to escape. One never knows.
The hallway is colder than it should be in the summer. A shiver runs down my spine.
I push the nursery door, wondering if it’ll open.
I don’t know why I expected it to be locked, but the door opens with one of those creepy creaks.
I look up and down the hallway as if someone will catch me in the act.
No one does, so I enter the room, but leave the door open so it doesn’t squeak again.
Outdoor lights illuminate the inside of the room only enough so that I can see where I’m stepping.
I make out a few pieces of furniture covered under white sheets.
Probably the dresser, the reclining chair, and the crib.
With the tips of my fingers, I lift the sheet from the crib, but then drop it when the mattress is revealed.
If I find a toy or, God forbid, something creepy like a doll lying inside, I will freak out and end my mission hiding in my bed under the comforter.
We all fear something, don’t we?
Spiders, heights, the dark? I fear dolls, and I blame Charlotte for making us watch horror movies about deranged dolls going around murdering people. Yeah, no peeking in the crib. I lift the sheet off the object across from the crib.
It’s a rocking chair with beautiful hand-carved armrests and plush red-and-gold cushions. There’s a crest engraved into the wood at the top where one might lean the back of one’s head. I wish I could read what it says, but it’s too dark.
I run my fingertips over the crest. Closing my eyes, I try to make out what it says.
I’m pretty sure I feel a letter M, which makes sense. Endo’s last name is Macarley.
When I open my eyes, I catch the movement of the door.
I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle a scream and step away from the chair. The slipper slides off my foot and hits the chair, which starts to rock as if someone’s sitting in it.
Fuck. This.
I rush out of the nursery and head for my bedroom, but the door is open when I left it closed, so I run past it and down the stairs, praying the entire time that I don’t slip and that the person who was watching me can’t catch me.
At this point, I hope it’s a person and not the ghost of Endo’s girlfriend, who he murdered after their baby died a sad death in the crib.
Fear spins stories in my mind. I don’t even believe in ghosts. They don’t exist. But also, I’m never walking into that nursery again. Ever. Curiously killed the cat. I survived, so I’m good now.
At the bottom of the steps, male laughter and cursing drift from the direction of the dungeons. I hope my patient gets much-needed rest and doesn’t stay up all night with the other unruly bunch in the house.
The front door is right there. Exit. I can exit. Slip out quietly in the middle of the night.
I bite my lip. I could run to the forest. Unless he has dogs that are not like my terrier, Endo won’t be able to find me. I could cover my tracks.
But getting lost in the forest could be dangerous. Besides, I need provisions. At least a few days’ worth of food, first aid, water, a flashlight.
Tomorrow, I could research what hikers use and see what comes up. Oh, wait. Not tomorrow. It’s the weekend, and I could only research this at work for fear that Endo would uncover my escape plan.
I dare a look over my shoulder.
There’s no ghost (or a doll) stalking me, staring down at me from the top of the stairs.
I sigh and head for the kitchen.
I’ve never been here before. I got the impression that Mary and Philip run a tight ship and don’t like to have their spaces invaded. Just a feeling, is all.
Dim floor lights and a light under the oven illuminate the space. The single right slipper makes it more difficult to walk, so I leave it by the entrance and pad barefoot toward the fridge.
I actually could use a midnight snack.
I’d love a scotch, but Endo’s cigar lounge on this side of the house offers the best selection of liquors in the house, and I’m not going in there. A dessert will have to do.
Inside the refrigerator, I find a round container holding what I believe is cake. I open it and uncover a selection of desserts. Of course there are. Endo employs a pastry chef.
I close the fridge and set the container on the counter.
As I examine the desserts, I recall Charlotte’s wedding preparations.
I would be in the middle of my mycology class when she would send me pictures of various wedding cakes, asking me for input on the aesthetics.
Charlotte did the tasting. I helped her finalize the decision.
Come to think of it now, I’m not a stranger to wedding preparations. Charlotte asked me to give my opinion during hers.
I miss my sister.
I call her every day from the office, but the call never goes through.
Shamefully, I admit I’m relieved. I never thought of myself as a coward, and I hope that’s not what I’ve become since Endo took me, but I also wonder how I would explain any of this to my sister.
Or rather, how much I should say. What would I say?
Protecting her from knowing about Endo’s business seems like a wise thing to do. Yet, I wish I had someone I could trust with everything I’m going through.
I feel terribly alone.
Stuffing my face with a double chocolate pie will make me feel better.
Using my fingers, I pick off the thin piece of chocolate decorating the top of the slice of cake. Oh, that’s yummy. Dark chocolate tastes the best. Sweet and bitter at the same time.
I look around for a fork and find a metal tray holding a large steak knife and what appears to be a map.
“No, he didn’t,” I say in disbelief.
I doubt that Endo has modernized the house, so I don’t use a voice command to turn on the lights; instead, I seek out the light switch, which I find by the door above my discarded slipper.
It’s one of those twist lights I can regulate, so I turn it up slightly, not too bright. I don’t want the kitchen to become a beacon for Endo’s guards outside.
A few days ago, when I threatened Endo with murder, Endo said he’d leave a knife and a map of how to get to his bedroom on the kitchen counter. Since I joked about the murder (I might’ve changed my mind since, but that’s not important now), I assumed he followed up with a joke too.
I was wrong.
He meant it.
There’s a gleaming, sharp steak knife and a piece of paper that appears to be a map of the house next to it.
Did he draw this? I prop my elbows on the counter to get a closer look.
Someone drew it with a charcoal pencil. There’s a clear path with arrows and little red THIS WAY sign that leads up the stairs and into a room on the east side of the house above the morning room.
It’s a large bedroom marked with a letter X.
I can’t hold back a smile.
This guy. This damn guy drew me a map to his bedroom and left a steak knife beside it, daring me to come in and try to end him.
Tempting, but no. I wouldn’t hurt him. Not even if he gave me the tools to do so. But I memorize the map while I eat my cake, too scared to go back upstairs and sleep next to the nursery tonight.