Chapter 11
The little black cat huddles beside my door, her fur shiny with wet streaks. Crouched down, she stares at me, eyes bright green in the porch light.
“Hi, sweet girl.” I’m only guessing she’s female, because of her size. And something in the sweetness of her heart-shaped face.
After a moment, I squat and hold out my hand. Keeping a safe distance, she sniffs the air but makes no attempt to run.
With slow, easy movements, I stand, lean over her to unlock the door, and give it a little push.
She rises and turns in one liquid motion before taking a cautious step inside. Now that she’s on her feet, I see how painfully thin she is and take a mental inventory of what I have in the fridge.
When she’s over the threshold, she pauses to sniff again. Finding no apparent threat, she wanders in, her paws leaving tiny wet spots on the floor.
I don’t second-guess my decision to let her into the apartment. Not for a minute. I’m only a renter, and the family might object—might even kick me out—but I can’t turn her away.
As she sniffs along the walls and furniture, I make a large arc around her and head to the kitchen. Taking a small plate from the cabinets, I load it up with cold cuts and set it in the middle of the floor.
I find a small bowl for water, but by the time I fill it up, I catch a black flash from the corner of my eye.
She’s found the meat on the plate, and it’s almost gone.
“Poor thing.” I watch as she finishes the cold cuts, licking the plate for every morsel.
When the dish is clean, she glances up at me. Back to the plate. Up to me again. That’s all you’ve got?
“Okay, but only a little more.” Smiling as I open the fridge, I take another slice of turkey and drop it on her plate. “I’ll get you something better in the morning.”
Leaving the kitchen, I make my way through the dim apartment. The space seems bigger at night. Cavernous. Abysmal. As if the mansion has swallowed me whole.
As I head upstairs, I’m aware of the oil portraits looming above me. Their facial details are lost in the dark, but I feel their eyes tracking my steps, their scorn slicking my skin.
I’m halfway up when a sound rises.
Barely a shift of air, soft and muted. Like someone in a corner whispering . . . Hush.
I freeze in place, listening.
Silence thickens, and a sensation crawls on the back of my neck. An indescribable feeling of other. A feeling that I’m not alone.
Ric’s name surfaces, greasy and unwelcome. His voice curls around the edges of my mind, whispering, I’ll take care of you.
Lightning illuminates the apartment, pulsing like a strobe on the creepy portraits.
Slowly, cautiously, I lean over the railing and peer down. The grand piano gleams in the corner, a sliver of light on its shiny black lid.
Logic tells me I’m overreacting, but logic is fragile in the face of fear.
And instinct always rules in the dark.
Seconds pass. Still, I hear nothing. No sigh or rustle or bump in the night.
“Because it’s fine.” My whisper sounds loud in the heavy silence. “There’s nothing downstairs.”
Nothing but cavernous rooms with ancient Gothic vibes. Enough to give anyone the chills.
Plus, all the talk of death is getting to me.
Suicide.
Murder.
Little girls lost in dark tunnels.
Not to mention the creepy screenplay I’m reading.
More and more, I’m becoming Claudia. When she feels paranoid, so do I. When she feels terror, chills race down my arms.
Which is exactly why Lin sent me here. In this big, empty place, I can relate to Claudia. I’ve never been much of a method actor, but the atmosphere of the apartment is a lesson in realism.
Because I understand what it means to be alone and afraid.
No matter how I rationalize, my mind won’t settle. Won’t let it go. I need to check all the doors, or I’ll never fall asleep.
Annoyed with my reaction, I grip the banister and hurry back down, as if speed will ward off any unseen threats.
It’s a straight shot to the front door, so I can see through the glass from where I stand.
Spindly tree limbs. Evergreen shrubs. Black fence.
I creep to the door, stopping inches from the glass, and slide my hand to the doorknob. Locked.
Taking the short corridor to the kitchen, I stop to look out the windows. From there, I cut through the butler’s pantry to the dining room. Ambient light filters in from the park, coming through a set of French doors. I check the locks here, too.
Exiting from a different door, I find myself in the back hallway, with the second set of connecting doors at the far end. Could the sound have come from there?
As I stand, staring, something touches my leg. The dainty cat walks a figure eight on the floor. Turning to make a second pass, she bumps my leg again as if claiming me for her own.
“Sorry, no more food tonight.”
She stops in her tracks as if she understood me.
But her tail lowers, her body tenses. She stands fixated, only the tip of her tail twitching as she stares at the doors.
I follow her line of sight, bumps prickling on my arms. “What do you hear, kitty?”
She ignores me, focused on the end of the hallway.
But as quickly as she clenched up, she relaxes again. Calm and unbothered, she lets out a feminine mew.
Still, I hurry to the doors to test the handle. Locked tight. No one getting in through here.
The cat races ahead of me to the main hall and zooms around the corner. Maybe her sensitive ears picked up on the Marteaus moving around next door.
Or maybe she’s only chasing shadows.
Like me.
Either way, her presence makes me feel less lonely, and the giant stone mansion a little less daunting.
When we reach the stairs, she bounds up to the second floor, her black tail raised like a flag. Smiling, I follow.
Until I reach the portraits.
Pausing at the halfway point, I think of the strange sound. That barely audible hush.
Probably nothing. Just an old house, full of settling beams and cool drafts.
But as I grip the railing and continue the climb, I send one last glance over my shoulder.