Chapter 7
Seven
AURELIA
My eyes are closed. I’m lying on the bed, chasing a dream that never came last night.
Strips of sunlight already slip through the cotton curtains, and the bedroom is no longer dark.
I don’t want to get up. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do in this house.
This job didn’t come with a to-do list. All I know is that I have to watch a house.
With a sigh I open my eyes, staring up at the ceiling, at the chandelier with its sharp, pointed edges. Thinking about how morbid it would be if it crashed down on me and split my head open across the white sheets.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I roll onto my right side, staring at the wall in front of me.
I spent the whole night awake, reading the diaries of someone who was like me, only born in a completely different time and living a far more interesting life than I live mine. I wonder what she was like. If she were here now, would we be friends?
I close my eyes again, but the image of the chandelier cracking against my skull comes back, and I pinch my brows together in disgust.
The doorbell rips my thoughts apart.
At some point last night, I must have gotten up and squeezed into Levi’s high-waisted jeans, then pulled on a white T-shirt because it felt a lot more comfortable than the paper-thin nightgown I thought would look cute to sleep in.
And for who, exactly? That stalker man I don’t even know exists?
The doorbell rings again, and I jump to my feet, then storm barefoot down the stairs to the front door. Pushing the handle down and the door pulls open, but no one is there. I step outside and look left, then right, but whoever came here is already gone, vanished by the time I reach the door.
As I’m about to close it, my gaze shifts on the envelope in front of me.
I crouch down and pick it up, then carry it inside and shut the door behind me. There’s no address on it, and it isn’t even sealed. I slip it open and find a single sheet of a handwritten note.
My heart starts pounding so hard in my chest I can barely catch my breath as I read the letter, each word wrapping tighter around my throat while I hear it all over again in my head. My hands begin to shake, and I crumple the paper in my fist.
I rush to the phone and grab the receiver, but there’s no sound. I push in the numbers too fast, trying to get help, but it doesn’t ring. I slam the receiver back into place and stumble away from the wall. I move, but it feels like I’m not moving at all. Everything blurs.
Somehow, I start running toward the front door, but my own feet don’t listen.
They twist and carry me toward the staircase instead.
My vision stays hazy. I can’t tell if I’m crying or if my own mind is turning against me, feeding the panic until it swallows everything.
My breath is the only thing I hear, ragged in my ears, then the ringing starts, chased by the violent rise of my heartbeat.
I reach the top floor and run to the right, trying every door until one finally opens. I slip inside and shove it closed behind me, leaning back against it.
Why am I even here? The question repeats over and over again, but I already know the answer. I had no other choice. If I stayed, I wouldn’t have enough to survive even a few days, and I didn’t want to burden Dasha with my life. So, this is my only option.
My gaze lifts from my feet to a window I hadn’t noticed before, then drifts slowly to a cabinet covered with a white sheet.
I move further into the room and turn in a slow circle, taking in the brown walls.
The bed no one has slept in for a long time, now hidden beneath another white sheet.
I take another step and notice a wooden door to my right.
Something pulls me toward it.
This is the only bedroom in the house that doesn’t feel like the others. It doesn’t feel like someone is breathing quietly in the corners, watching me. I take another step. A cold breeze brushes against my skin. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I keep my eyes on the door.
I stare at it, trying to decide if I should go inside, even though I already know the impulse will decide for me. My hand hovers over the handle. I exhale, then push the door open.
A sharp, awful smell hits me instantly. It floods my nose so fast that my face twists, and I lift my hand over my mouth, trying to keep it out.
I step inside.
The bathroom is completely clean.
A bit too clean.
There’s no source for that smell.
A pale white bathtub sits on the right, matching the sink on the opposite side. I move toward it, my eyes fixed on the mirror above it, framed in black with carved roses.
I look at myself.
At how pale I am.
I turn on the water. It runs hot within seconds, steam spreading across the mirror until my reflection disappears into the fog. I lean over the sink and splash water onto my face, then straighten and open my eyes.
The mirror is still cloudy, but something is moving inside.
Someone is standing behind me.
I turn around, but no one is there. Slowly, I face the mirror again and stare at it. I tilt my head, watching.
A handprint appears on the glass, ripping a scream from my throat.
I stumble back two steps, blinking hard, and by the second blink, the mirror is no longer fogged. The handprint is gone.
My feet carry me out of the bathroom, and I slam the door behind me. I press my hands to my face, trying not to see anything else as I move, anywhere.
My fingers catch a doorknob and push a door open. Before I even realize it, my back meets a cold wall. Or half a wall. I’m leaning forward. I feel the air carry me, pulling me down.
Then something pulls me from it, and when I open my eyes, I’m on the balcony, staring down at the gardens below. Near the cliffs, there’s a small church and a cemetery with only a few headstones.
A gasp catches in my throat when I notice the height. I stand there frozen, and the dark thought comes again. I could jump. I think about how my body would lie broken across the ground, how it would probably take a week before anyone found me, and how there is no one left to care if they did.
A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away with the top of my hand, but I keep my gaze down, at the ground waiting beneath me.
Someone once told me there is light when it’s your time to die.
I almost died twice, and I never saw any light.
I think that’s just a story people tell so we won’t be afraid of death, so we can die peacefully, hoping maybe something better waits for us after.
But I think we will stay here. That we remain trapped on Earth, forced to watch everything keep moving without us while we wait for our soul to belong to someone else.
And that terrifies me.
It’s easy to die, but it’s hard to live. Living is what scares me. Other people kept the light on my thoughts long enough that the darkness only ever felt like a shadow. But now all the light is gone, and all that’s left is darkness.
Maybe this house isn’t haunted. Maybe I am.
I take a step back, and another tear slips down my cheek. This time, I close my eyes and sink to the ground, facing the church.
I feel hopeless, like I’m already dead and my soul got stuck here, in this house.
And I hold all this anger inside me. At myself.
My parents. At Daniel. And I want to scream.
No one is here to hear it anyway. But I won’t do it, because it would make everything feel real.
If I scream, it won’t bring them back. It won’t make me feel better.
I would just be some crazy person screaming on a balcony.
Maybe I should scream. Maybe if I do, I’ll scare the ghosts away.
Pain tightens in my chest, and somehow I find the courage to stand. I walk back into the room like nothing happened at all.
New me. But old me.
Like always, keep on pretending. Even when I’m screaming inside, I wear a smile too well.
I lift my head and take another step. I guess when you pretend long enough, you can almost convince yourself you’ve found some kind of happiness, some kind of perfection.
I convinced myself that was how it was supposed to be.
The wind catches one of the white sheets and lifts it, making it twitch in the air. My head turns toward it, and when the fabric shifts again, I see a black piano hidden underneath.
I move closer, brushing my fingers over the top of it, and notice the initials carved into the surface.
“L.R.” I say out loud.
I pull the sheet away and sit on the chair in front of it. My hands hover above the keys. I swallow the lump in my throat and begin to play the first thing that comes to mind.
Für Elise.
The first song Dasha taught me.
The nerves in my hand pinch as I play, but I keep going, closing my eyes and letting the melody carry me. But my hand starts to clench as I reach for another note. It hurts so badly the pain shoots all the way to my elbow.
And I stop playing.
I guess my song has reached its end. Maybe I should keep the notes to myself. They’re safer that way anyway.
The white rose wasn’t on my bed before.
I stare at it and take a step closer. My hand reaches out, and the moment I lift it, a thorn pricks my finger. I hiss and drop it back onto the bed, then bring my finger to my lips, sucking the blood away until it stops.
My mother used to get white flowers from my father whenever he wanted to apologize. I once asked her why, and she said, “It’s a new beginning for your father and me, leaving some chapters behind and opening new ones.”
Sometimes I hoped Daniel would buy me white roses to apologize, but he never did. I got white lilies instead, because the florist down the road always had them on sale.
We lived near the funeral home.
I let out a quiet chuckle.
The irony.
I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that they were never found. Part of me thinks they might still be out there, alive. But another part of me is sure they’re dead, because every time I close my eyes, I see their bodies floating away.
My stomach twists. The thought makes me sick.
I pick up the rose again and set it on the nightstand. I take L.R.’s diary into my hands, and sit on the bed, pulling myself closer to the wall. I turn the pages slowly until a date stops me.
Something crashes downstairs.
I snap the diary shut and jump to my feet. The room feels too small all of a sudden, and fear again creeps in. I shove my feet into my slippers and step into the hallway.
The house is quiet again.
I edge toward the staircase, fingers brushing the wall as I lean forward.
Nothing.
Turning back, I grab the vase and raise it above my head as I make my way down the stairs. At the bottom, the window is open again. Cold air slips in, crawling over my skin.
I lower the vase at the end of the staircase and move toward the window, wanting to shut it. But halfway there, the phone starts to ring.
I swallow hard, my head turning toward the sound.
This time, I don’t let it ring twice. I rush to it and pick it up.
“Listen, asshole, whoever you are, if you call again, I swear I will cut every cord in this house and strangle you with it.”
“Miss Vale,” a sharp female voice says, “language.”
“Miss Danvers,” I say, my voice shaking. “I...”
She sighs into the phone. “Save excuses. I’m calling to make sure everything is alright, and to ask you for a favor.” She pauses.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s been bothering me. I lit a candle in the church for Lilibeth and Helena, and I can’t sleep knowing it might still be burning.” Her voice lowers.
“It’s been two days. Wouldn’t the candle burn out?”
“Sometimes they last longer if they tip over.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll check.”
“Thank you,” she says. “And Miss Vale...”
“Yes?”
“Next time, answer with ‘This is Rosewood Residence.’ Lilibeth would turn in her grave if she heard you curse on the phone.”
“But there is someone...” Starting to explain, the line dies.
I lower the receiver into place and turn away, my fingers tightening at my sides.
The phone rings again.
Pressing my fingers to my temples, I close my eyes. Then I turn back and pick it up.
“Rosewood Residence, how may I help you?”
No answer.
“Hello?”
At first, there was nothing, but in a moment slow breathing appears on the other side.
The song starts, Tears in Heaven. The same song that played the night of the accident.
Taking a step back the receiver slips from my hand, swinging on its cord as it hits the side of the table. The music keeps playing in the distance while I just stare at it.
Whoever is calling knows something. Something I can’t remember.