Chapter 9
Chapter nine
In my dream, I was running barefoot through the trees, the branches smacking me in the face, clawing at my skin, slicing little lines of fire into my arms and legs.
Terror gripped me so completely I couldn’t think of anything except escape, getting away from the darkness pursuing me.
I cried out as my nightgown caught on a branch and tore, but I didn’t stop. I just kept running.
This time, my dream wasn’t interrupted by David’s slap.
This time, I was lucid enough to know I was dreaming, that I wasn’t myself.
I was witnessing events from the perspective of the woman in my dream, suffering the sting of the branches against her skin, the rocks that cut into her feet as she ran, the suffocating humidity that lingered after a recent storm. The intensity of her fear…
I glanced over my shoulder repeatedly until the trees thinned and the shape of a house rose before me in the moonlight. My father’s house, my childhood home. As the clouds parted, the moonlight grew brighter, allowing me to see the house more clearly.
Dawes House.
Through her I knew it was Dawes House, but it wasn’t the house I lived in now, but a version that belonged to another century, and it stood alone on the grounds, predating the Victorian neighborhood that now occupied the land.
But I knew it instantly—she knew it. The surge of hope that rushed through her—through me—nearly buckled her knees. Safety was only a few strides away.
I sprinted up the steps and pounded on the door with my fist. “Father!” I screamed, my throat burning, my voice ragged. “Father, please! Let me in!”
A moment later, someone opened the door—not my father, but a very pretty young woman in a nightgown similar to mine, clutching a shawl around her to preserve her modesty, her blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders.
The blond woman looked familiar to me as I observed the scene, but I couldn’t place her…
“Susanna?” she cried. “What on earth are you doing here? What’s wrong? Come in, come in! You’ll catch your death!”
Crying, shivering, I stumbled inside and into her arms, babbling unintelligibly. As she guided me to the front sitting room, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the hall mirror.
Of course, it wasn’t me at all. She was younger, maybe eighteen or nineteen, her dark hair wild and tangled. Blood streaked her cheekbones, scratches ran down her throat, across her chest, along her arms.
“What in the name of God is all that racket!” came a booming voice, footfalls heavy as the speaker stormed down the stairs.
I was more terrified then than I had been when in the woods running for my life.
I rushed toward him, clasping my hands as if in prayer.
“Father! Please don’t make me go back! Please, I beg you!
” I clutched at his nightshirt, tears of desperation streaming down my face, burning my wounds.
My knees gave out as the last of my strength drained away, and I collapsed at his feet. “Please!”
His hand fisted in my hair, and yanked—hard—dragging me toward the door.
I screamed with pain and fear, struggling to get my feet beneath me. “No! No! Father!”
“I will have none of this,” he snarled. “You will return this instant, or I will drag you there myself.”
“Help me!” I begged. “Eliza, please! Don’t let him send me back. Please!”
But no help came. The young blond woman—Eliza—cowered in a corner, trying to look as small as possible.
“No daughter of mine will break her vows,” my father roared, hauling me onto the porch. Fear and panic twisted my stomach. A wave of nausea hit me so hard, I couldn’t stand. I doubled over, retching.
He shoved me down the front steps, disgust twisting his face as he towered over me. “You will obey me and return to your husband, Susanna” he spat, “or you are dead to me, to this family. Do you understand? I will not suffer this humiliation!”
“I cannot!” I sobbed. “He is the devil! He will drag me down to hell with him if I return!”
Before my father could respond, the sound of hooves and carriage wheels cut across the night. My father stomped down the front steps and grasped my arm, yanking me to my feet as the carriage came to a stop.
“Fairland,” came a deep, accented voice from inside the carriage.
My father gave the speaker a curt nod. “Josef.”
“I suspected I might find her here,” Josef Proffitt drawled, his voice smooth and even.
“Thank you for retrieving my beautiful bride before harm befell her.” He leaned forward, extending his hand.
His face was still half in shadow, more ominous for the concealment.
“Come, my love. We have much to discuss.”
My father dragged me to the carriage and forced me in. “Do not return to this house,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “You are only welcome here on the arm of your husband.”
I trembled so violently, I couldn’t find my voice to protest. All hope I’d had of escape vanished. I slumped back against the seat and turned my head toward the porch—toward Eliza. She stood beside our father, her gaze fixed on Josef, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unnervingly bright.
Foolish girl. She adored him, the devil beside me. Wanted him for herself. One day she’d see him for what he truly was.
I didn’t look at my husband until we reached his home a couple of miles away. He, too, said nothing, sitting there in stony silence, his fury palpable. When we arrived, he was eerily gentle as he helped me out of the carriage, then led me up the steps and into the house.
It was then that the light of the lanterns dispelled the shadows, and his face came into full view. And when he turned his eyes down to me, there was no kindness, no warmth, no empathy. Only darkness so deep it seemed bottomless.
I screamed.
Not the dream me, not Susanna. Me.
The dream tore away as I came fully awake, but the terror didn’t.
Josef Proffitt could’ve been Whit’s brother.
The likeness was uncanny—except for the soulless darkness in his eyes.
It chilled me to my bones, and the shivering I’d experienced through Susanna clung to me, a coldness that burned inside my chest.
Part of me believed Susanna was showing me her history, begging me to understand the warning she couldn’t voice. But another part of me whispered doubt, reminding me that years of pain, desperation, and frustration the dead experienced when trying to communicate could warp memory, taint the truth.
But one thing was certain. Susanna had been afraid of her husband. Deeply, hopelessly afraid.
There was no more sleep for me that night.
Every time I began to drift off, another jolt of terror snatched me back.
When my alarm finally went off, I stumbled into the shower, letting the hot water pour over me, trying to give the warmth time to eradicate the icy center that continued to make me shiver, even when the steam had grown thick and suffocating in the closed room.
Henry was particularly bouncy and talkative as he got ready to go to Ms. June’s, which only served to drain what little energy I’d scraped together and to pile on fresh mom-guilt.
I knew I should’ve been grateful that he was so full of life despite his condition, that I was being selfish for not finding joy in that moment.
He was happy. And that should’ve been enough.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I led him downstairs to Ms. June’s apartment.
But part of me also knew I was being unrealistic. I was his mom, not a saint. I had the right to be exhausted after doing this on my own for so long and from now dealing with interrupted sleep and amped up adrenaline from never knowing what freaky-ass thing was going to happen next.
So between my tangled emotions and my bone-deep exhaustion, I wasn’t in the best headspace when I turned down the hall to Ms. June’s apartment and saw Whit and Chase in a heated argument, voices low, harsh. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I heard my name more than once.
“Mama, let’s go!” Henry tugged my hand, urging me forward. I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped until then.
At the sound of Henry’s voice, the argument came to an abrupt conclusion. Chase didn’t miss a beat, turning toward us with his signature easy grin.
“Morning, Zellie! Hey there, buddy,” he called, raising a hand. “How y’all doing?” Before I could answer, he clapped Whit on the back and added. “See you later, Cousin. I’ll get back to you on those numbers.”
Whit sent him an irritated look that was completely lost on Chase who was already sauntering away, whistling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But I saw it. And Whit knew it.
“Everything okay?” I asked softly, cautiously, fearing that hearing my name meant that I had something to do with Whit’s stormy expression.
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. Chase is frustrated that I haven’t squared away the contractors for the fourth-floor renovations. Plans are behind schedule. He had to get rid of the latest crew when they tore down the wrong wall in the basement, so they obviously haven’t started upstairs.”
“Oh,” I said, realizing how I fit into the conversation. “I don’t want us to be the source of a disagreement between you and your cousin. Just do what you need to do. Henry and I will be out of the way most of the day during the week. Contractors won’t bother us.”
Whit offered me a smile that seemed forced. “Well, I hope that’s true seeing as how I’ll be the one doing the work.”
I shook my head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
“We need to move ahead with repairs on the other apartment while I put out bids, so I’m moving into that unit. I’ll handle the work myself.” His smile faded, his expression becoming more serious, almost uncertain. “Hope you’re okay with me being your neighbor for a while.”
“Well, there you are!” Ms. June announced, her voice loud in the hallway. She opened her door wide, arms outstretched.