11 #2
“Sure they do,” Acacia counters. “If we look really close, maybe we’ll find one.”
“You know about horses,” I say, surprised. She rarely gives away personal information.
“I grew up in the country. My father was a veterinarian.” Acacia gives Olivia a knowing nod. “I’ve worked with all sorts of animals. Even llamas.”
Olivia is intrigued and grabs Acacia’s hand. “Help me find a horseshoe, please.”
While they scour the place for horseshoes, I send Archer a text with this bit of info.
Then I look for signs anyone has been in the barn.
I would be a fool not to recognize the possibility that she or another of her minions could be close by.
Watching. Waiting. Maybe even initiating more plans for unsettling finds like the necklace.
I cannot allow such muddled and out of balance reactions as I suffered last night to happen again.
Control is far too important. I still can’t figure that one out. Talk about a bizarre panic attack.
Whatever prompted the uncharacteristic behavior, I will see that it doesn’t happen again. Except what if the trigger is something beyond my ability to regulate? The neurologist urged me to report any unusual issues. Maybe there’s something going on related to the TBI.
No time to deal with that just now. I’ll be more watchful. More careful.
There is one lesson you learn above all others if you have ever been held against your will: control is everything.
Once you lose it to someone else, your life is no longer your own.
When I was taken, I ate, drank, slept—every single thing—when and how I was told.
Even basic bodily functions were dictated.
I was told repeatedly that the very beating of my heart was at his pleasure.
I force away the thought and keep my mind on the moment.
I’ve never really spent that much time in this barn.
It’s incredibly dusty with lots of cobwebs.
The condition is actually a good thing because it allows me to see that nothing appears disturbed.
No footprints in the dust except our own. No torn cobwebs.
“Found one,” Acacia calls out.
Olivia touches the horseshoe, unsure about taking hold of it. Then she grins and measures the weight in her hands. “Wow. This is a heavy shoe.”
“And horses have four feet,” Acacia says. “They’re called hooves.”
They chatter on while I scan the place top to bottom. I see nothing suspicious. Nothing I can call out of place. “Ready to check out the first cottage?” I ask. My strength is waning, and my body is complaining. We need to move this excursion along.
The first cottage stands nearer the water.
Acacia unlocks the door and goes in ahead of us.
Less dust and cobwebs. That stale, closed-up smell is heavy in the air.
There are no broken or unlocked windows.
No open drawers or doors. The place looks exactly as it did the last time I was in here when I had an electrician checking the fuse box.
A bed, a small dresser and a half bath. The perfect place for an intruder to hide.
On the narrow bed, if I allow my mind to wander back twenty years, I can still see her.
Stretched out lazily like a cat while I strike a match to light the joint we’re going to share.
We couldn’t smoke it in the bedroom again, the smell lingered too long last time.
The parents would have shit bricks if they had noticed.
I blink the memory away, but the echo of our laughter fades more slowly.
“I like this!” Olivia shouts. She waves a silver goblet that is in desperate need of polishing. “It’s perfect for making potions.”
A laugh bursts from me. Can’t help myself. Acacia does the same with a little less enthusiasm.
“It’s true,” Olivia argues. She thrusts her latest find at Acacia. “You’ll see.”
“We may be in trouble,” Acacia points out, adding more levity into her tone. “We may have a fledgling witch in our midst.”
Wouldn’t it be nice to just cast a spell and make all of this go away? I muse. Wishful thinking.
As we leave I glance back, the long-ago memory of the two of us slipping away for a dip in the lake holds me captive for a moment. So very long ago . . . before the truth showed itself. Before my friend betrayed me.
The second cottage is much the same as the first. This time Olivia finds an old wooden hairbrush.
I have no idea where it came from, but it looks unused.
She’s welcome to it. I wonder if anyone ever lived in these cottages?
Fortunately it doesn’t appear anyone has as much as stepped inside since last year or the year before.
As we head back to the house, I walk closer to the woods. They are so dark even in the bright midmorning sun.
I hug my arms around myself and consider all the ways someone could access this property.
The main road stretches alongside the far edge of the woods.
Just inside that tree line, a fence runs the boundary of the property.
But the fence is no deterrent for two-legged intruders. Someone could climb over it easily.
There could be signs of someone having hidden in those woods, watching the house. Broken limbs. Disturbed leaves. Tracks, maybe. I am well aware how easy it is to hide in there. But going in just now would be difficult with Olivia in tow. And I am losing strength with every step.
Better to rest, then look around some more this afternoon. First I intend to go to the supermarket and find out who that delivery guy was. He couldn’t have picked up our order without the store’s authorization. They would surely know his name and address at the very least.
Having a stranger in the house without close supervision is quite worrisome, no matter that I’m relatively convinced he had nothing to do with the necklace. I need to ask Helen if she gave him the gate code, or if she met him there.
I’m confident it’s a dead end, but I might as well explore the avenue just in case. Ruling out any other possibilities, no matter how unlikely, seems a reasonable step.
By the time we reach the house, putting one foot in front of the other is growing more and more difficult.
This is just too weird. I mean, in my current condition, I expect to be tired after an hour of puttering around the property. But this is beyond that. Last night’s abrupt hysteria and now the near total crash and burn is troubling.
“I think I’ll lie down for a while.” I continue toward the stairs.
Acacia catches up with me before I reach the stairs, her hand settles on my arm. “Julia, are you sure you’re all right. Last night you seemed very upset, and today you act . . .”
“Like a woman who’s struggling physically and who was just publicly accused of heinous behavior?”
The flicker of regret, real or feigned, in her eyes tells me she wishes she hadn’t said anything.
“I’m fine, really,” I assure her. “I just didn’t sleep well. We’ll talk later. Get Olivia started on her lessons.”
“Sure.” She appears far from convinced but lets it go.
I climb the stairs slowly. I feel her watching me as I go, but I don’t have the energy for the conversation she and I need to have. Maybe in a couple of hours.
I can’t think about that now. Too tired.
In my room, I collapse onto the bed and immediately feel myself floating into that place of nothingness. I am so tired. I need sleep.
I just hope I don’t dream.