Chapter 17 #2
She wasn’t feeling well. Not at all. Something from inside the house had left her feeling dizzy, disoriented.
Zane helped her to his car, and by the time she was inside the vehicle, they were both soaked through from the rain.
He called for Midas to hop onto the back seat, and within a few minutes he was driving her away from Traeger Hall.
“I’ll return later and board up the hole we made,” Zane said.
Jennie turned toward the side window and leaned her forehead against the glass. She could sense him casting concerned looks in her direction.
“I wonder if there was something noxious in the air. I should have brought along face masks for us.”
Jennie waved away his worry. “I’ll be fine. I think I just got overstimulated or something. Fear, adrenaline . . . I’m not sure.”
Midas pushed his nose against the back of her neck.
“I should at least take you to urgent care to get checked out. The air has been sealed inside that house for decades. It could be infested with mold and who knows what else? That wasn’t smart of me, Jennie. I’m sorry.”
Jennie smiled weakly. It was sort of cute the way he was chiding himself as though she were his responsibility. She wasn’t used to that kind of attention. “It’s okay. We weren’t in there long enough to have any permanent damage done. I just need to rest, inhale fresh air, and drink some water.”
“Well, my parents’ place is closer than Newton Creek. They’re just down the road a couple of miles away. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to take you there.”
She wasn’t. She didn’t know Zane’s parents, hadn’t met his sister Hannah, and they might hold her responsible for the chaos that was erupting since her arrival in Newton Creek. “I-I don’t think—”
“Please.” Zane shot her a look before turning his attention back to the road ahead. “I’d feel a lot better about it.”
She nodded. She didn’t have the gumption to argue with him. All Jennie could think about right now was the whispered words, Come, know my secrets.
“Did you . . . hear anything when we were inside?” Jennie ventured, hesitant to ask but knowing she’d feel better if he admitted he had in fact heard the whisper too. Then she’d at least know she wasn’t losing her mind or under the influence of some century-old poisonous gas or something.
“Hear anything? No.” Zane shook his head. “Just Midas, outside barking.”
So much for feeling better. Jennie rested her head against the window again.
Just minutes later, Zane pulled into the gravel driveway of a ranch-style house with blue siding, untrimmed bushes, and a small flower garden by the front door.
While it wasn’t anything fancy, she could tell by just looking at it that whoever lived here valued family.
A few lawn chairs faced a metal fire pit made out of a barrel.
Children’s bikes leaned against the side of the house.
Jennie could see lace curtains in the front windows and the glimmer of a lamp breaking through the gray day with its dismal rain.
Zane let Midas out of the car. The dog leaped out and raced around behind the house somewhere. He hurried to Jennie’s door and opened it. “You can hold on to my arm if you need to,” he offered.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.” But when she stumbled, Zane ignored her and slid a supporting arm around her waist.
“Yeah, you’re not fine,” he said without reproof.
He helped her to the front door, which opened before they arrived. A woman in her mid-sixties peered out through the screen door and then pushed it open.
“What on earth happened?” Genuine concern touched her expression. Shoulder-length, graying black hair waved around her cheeks. She had Zane’s eyes. It had to be his mom.
Jennie glanced up and offered an apologetic smile.
She didn’t want to be a bother. She would have preferred to sink through the floor.
Something was wrong with her. She’d heard that whisper, and now she could hardly stand up.
If it was toxic air or mold, Zane would suffer the same effects. Wouldn’t he?
“Sit down in the recliner there.” Zane’s mom, who introduced herself as Trixie, waved toward the chair before continuing forward on a mission. As she left the room, she was still talking. “I’ll get a cool cloth and some water. A little peppermint oil too. For under your nose, and that will . . .”
Jennie couldn’t hear the rest as Trixie disappeared around the corner.
Zane’s eyes were smiling when he explained, “My mom, she’s a fix-it person. She’ll make sure you’re feeling better and soon.”
A shuffling from the hallway alerted them both. Jennie saw Milo before his father did. The little boy from the creek. The boy who’d led her to Allison. Would he remember her? What if her appearance in the living room triggered an emotional reaction from the memory of what he’d discovered?
Zane extended his arm toward his son. “Hey, buddy.”
Milo hurried forward and leaned into Zane, but didn’t remove his dark-eyed stare that was leveled on Jennie’s face.
“Hi, Milo.” Just seeing Milo encouraged her to take a deep breath—deeper than she had since they’d left Traeger Hall. The oxygen filled her lungs and then she released it. Only then did she realize Milo had done the same in unison with her. He breathed in again, and Jennie followed suit.
Zane noticed, and a flicker of something crossed his face. He squinted in thought and looked between the two, then addressed Milo, “Can you watch over our friend Jennie here while I go help Nana?”
Milo didn’t shift his focus. He didn’t give any sort of physical or verbal response, but Zane must have taken that as an affirmative. He ruffled Milo’s hair and finished with, “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”
For the next couple of minutes, Jennie and Milo locked eyes with each other and breathed together—in and out, in and out. She could feel herself returning to earth, so to speak. Being inside the Hall had felt like an out-of-body experience.
“Thanks, Milo,” she said. “I feel better now.”
Milo’s only response was to rest his hand on the arm of the recliner in which she sat.
Jennie watched him for a second. His features were fine, but one day they’d be darkly handsome like his dad.
The few things quite different from Zane were the smattering of freckles across the boy’s small nose, which tilted up at the end, and his dark brown eyes.
Jennie wondered if those traits came from his mother.
“Do you do breathing exercises a lot?” Now that her mind was clearing, she knew that’s exactly what Milo had been guiding her through.
He tilted his head to the side, watching her.
Should she communicate differently with him?
She wasn’t sure. She didn’t have much experience with kids and autism, but she knew, in a hugely different way, what it was like to be inside of oneself.
She knew she wouldn’t want to be patronized or talked down to; she just wanted to know she was valued and could trust the person speaking to her.
Why not just be honest with the boy?
“Your dad and I went into an old building today, and I think something in it bothered me.”
Milo blinked.
“I thought I heard someone whispering to me, but no one was there.” Jennie winced the instant the words left her mouth. She was probably going to terrify the child.
Instead, she stilled as Milo lifted his hand from the recliner and pointed to his ear.
“Do you hear whispers?” Jennie asked. Another question she maybe shouldn’t ask a small child.
Milo grunted, then clapped his hand over his ear.
When she didn’t say anything, he reached out and picked up her hand. She allowed him to guide her as he brought her hand to his ear. He grunted again. This time his lips pursed as though he might try to say something.
“Do you—” Jennie stopped. She didn’t dare ask again.
The little boy pushed her hand from his ear and then put it back. “Ma . . . Ma . . .”
Jennie stared at Milo as his attempt at communication began to sink in. “Do you hear your mama?”
His eyes brightened, then came a slight nod.
“Here’s some water and a cool cloth.” Trixie breezed into the living room. She looked between Jennie and Milo.
Milo’s expression settled back into being placid and unreadable.
Jennie shifted her attention to Trixie and took the glass of water. While Trixie placed the cool cloth on her forehead, Jennie found herself searching to meet Milo’s gaze again. When she did, the corner of his mouth turned up in a little smile.
She might not have learned Traeger Hall’s secrets that day, but Milo had just trusted her with one of his.
Milo Harris heard his mother’s whispers.
What that meant, Jennie didn’t know. Did he hear her audibly, or was it more in his soul, like a memory?
Did it really matter? They had both lost their mothers, though for different reasons.
Once again, Jennie was reminded that even after someone had passed from the earth, their voice still echoed in the hearts of the ones who loved them the most.
Come, know my secrets.
She realized then that she wasn’t finished with Traeger Hall. Not yet. Not while someone’s echoes could still be heard.