Chapter 2
Billa
The long, dark hallway looms before me like a taunting, laughing clown at a carnival funhouse. Since moving to the Brannon property, I’ve always avoided this wing. To be fair, I keep away from most areas in the mansion—but this wing in particular gives me the creeps.
I’m not even sure why. It isn’t like it’s any spookier than the rest of the giant house that my narcissistic paternal ancestors built so long ago.
Soon, I suspect I’ll have the answer. I glance down at the handwritten journal tucked under my arm. It’s one from my childhood I don’t remember writing.
I didn’t even know this existed, but an old landlord tracked me down after having found a box of my and my mother’s things in the attic of a house we rented when I was a kid.
The lady couldn’t find Mom—no real surprise there, as I haven’t heard from her in ages myself.
I stopped counting at the three-year mark.
The timing of the journal’s return is especially haunting. It makes me think it isn’t simply by chance. Part of me thinks Laurel Radley is behind it somehow, even from prison. I don’t know how, and I know it makes little sense, but it’s the only explanation. I don’t believe in coincidences.
Now that I know I spent time in the mental institution as a child, it changes everything I thought I knew about my time spent here at the Brannon house as a little girl. The last pages of my journal cryptically mention this wing, and that I’d find answers there when I need them.
Another box of my things, perhaps? Or something much, much worse?
A shiver runs down my back as I glance down the hallway again.
Maybe I shouldn’t attempt this alone. But with Kenzi in the psychiatric hospital, I’m pretty much stuck.
I’d ask Ember to join me, but Graham is already watching me like a hawk.
Ember would love nothing more than to explore more history of this mansion, but my brother-in-law is still mad at me for dragging her into all the Radley stuff.
It wasn’t my fault his daughter secretly climbed into the trunk of my car and went exploring on the grounds of the old mental institution where I’ve been working—speaking of people watching me carefully.
Nobody there trusts me farther than they could throw the old theater.
Not that I can blame them, but at least they allowed me back to work as the laundry girl.
Once I regain their trust, I’m going to start digging for information again.
The abandoned theater is now condemned, but I still hope to get back in and find anything we missed before. So far, there is no actual timeline for demolition, so I’m not worried.
Not yet.
My phone rings in my pocket. I nearly jump out of my skin. Gasping for air, I yank it out and check the screen.
Ryker. He’s my nephew, who’s barely younger than I am. Like me, he’s a Brannon by blood but wasn’t accepted to be an actual part of the family as a child. In a way, that makes us kindred spirits.
I accept the call. “What’s up?” I try to sound calm, but I’m out of breath. Between staring down the scary wing and the journal, I’m about as on edge as I could get.
“New memory unlocked.”
We’ve both been dealing with spotty recollections of our time spent working at Radley recently.
Both of us think they gave us something to mess with our memories.
I’m still there, but he left and never plans to return.
We’ll still find answers, one way or another.
I thought going back would help, but I’m having no more luck than he is, and he refuses to return to the place. “Anything useful?”
His last recalled memory was of a rabbit in the woods. Not exactly earth-shattering.
“I think I got into that locked storage room.”
“The one the universal key didn’t fit into?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you get in?”
“I think someone brought me in...” His voice trails off. “But I’m not sure. Everything’s still fuzzy.”
“It always is.” I sigh. “Who took you there?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But I’m thinking either Laurel or her wackadoodle sidekick.”
“We’ll keep trying. Maybe Ember will find something useful. Every time I go to her room, she’s glued to her computers. Did you know she’s using more than one? It’s like she’s in a movie or something.”
Our niece has been hunting for anything she can find about the Radley institution and its evil namesakes. She’s learned more about digital archeology in the last month than anyone paying for a college-level course on the subject.
“Hopefully.” He doesn’t sound very optimistic. “Did you figure out if your childhood journals had anything about the hospital or the hypnotics or weird drugs?”
I twirl a strand of hair around a finger. “Well, one of them mentioned a part of the east wing of the mansion.”
“Did you find anything?” Now he sounds excited.
“No. I haven’t worked up the nerve to check. You know how much I hate exploring this house.”
“It really isn’t that bad. At least the main area isn’t. You should move back in.”
“Don’t waste your energy trying to talk me into it. I love my cottage.”
“Okay, okay. Do you want me to explore that wing with you?”
I suddenly feel lighter. “You’d do that? Really?”
“Of course. When?”
“I’m here now. At the entrance.”
“Nice. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll join you. You’re near that creepy suit of armor?”
“Unfortunately.” I glance over at the statue that I’m not convinced doesn’t still have bones in it. It always feels like it’s watching me.
“Be there soon.” The call ends.
I relax a little. Maybe this won’t be so bad with Ryker. I won’t be alone, and he isn’t scared of anything.
He clearly hasn’t spent enough time in the Brannon mansion since he isn’t freaked out by it yet.
I play a game on my phone to pass the time and distract myself as I wait for him, but then the game glitches and finally freezes altogether.
No signal, even though I didn’t move from this spot where I was talking to Ryker. Seriously, I don’t know what’s creepier—all the cold spots in this house or the random no-signal areas that seem to change every hour.
Old floorboards creak and groan in protest at the weight of someone headed my way.
I hold up the old journal, ready to use it as a weapon if I have to. Not that it would do much against a ghost. Or a human, for that matter.
Ryker rounds the corner, appearing from one corridor. He has two large flashlights and face masks. The guy is always prepared for anything. He holds out one of each for me to take. “You ready?”
I swallow, uncertain I’ll ever be, but I take the items with a shaking hand. “Let’s do this.”
He marches on ahead of me.
Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to find anything my younger self left for me.