Chapter 35
Grandma didn’t stir as Anna tiptoed into her bedroom.
She was fast asleep, curled into a ball on her side, her face half-covered by the sheet that rippled with each shallow breath.
The curtains were open and a puddle of moonlight splashed the floor as Anna crept over to the small sofa under the window.
She was glad for the light. She would be safe in here.
Grandma’s room was forgotten down the corridor at the back of the house, hidden away as if she was an embarrassment, separate from the rest of them because she sometimes struggled on the stairs.
Maybe she and Grandma were both embarrassments.
Something else they had in common other than empty spaces in their heads.
The sofa blanket was cozy as Anna tucked it under her chin, and she was immediately reminded of when Grandma finished making it, back when Anna had been younger than Caroline was now, the neat embroidery squares, patches of flowers carefully sewn in.
They’d taken her longer to do than the whole rest of the blanket.
So much patience. As her fingers traced over the neat stitching, she had a flash of memory of watching Grandma, rapt.
Two stitches forward, one stitch back. Maybe it hadn’t always been bad between them.
She didn’t need the cover for warmth, but it was comforting, protective around her.
She’d wait here for an hour, maybe. Until she was sure he was asleep. An hour. That was all.
She shifted, the sofa uncomfortable. Something was digging into her, and after rooting around under the sagging cushions, she found the cause.
A small hard notebook had been wedged under the seat.
She sat up straighter. There was a beautiful embossed silver cross on the front, with The Lord is my shepherd in silver calligraphy underneath.
This was a precious thing, chosen with care. Why would Grandma hide a notebook?
With a glance up to check she hadn’t stirred, Anna opened the book to the expensive linen pages within, the paleness of them almost glowing in the strong moonlight.
As she’d half expected, there were prayers and hymns written out in careful, neat cursive, the kind of handwriting forged in a time of letter-writing rather than email or text.
They were written in blue ink, and while the prayers themselves were of no interest to Anna, she found the effort in their reproduction quite beautiful.
She flicked forward a few pages, to see more of the same before the paper fell empty, and was about to put the book down when she saw something at the bottom of the last written page. A tiny, shaky arrow so small it was barely visible and so low it was almost dropping off the paper.
She sat up straighter and scanned the next few pages, but they were all clean.
She turned to the back and her eyes widened.
There was more writing here, but she had to hold the book upside down to read it, the jagged ink scrawl barely recognizable as Grandma’s neat cursive, the letters large and not sticking to the lines.
I’m afraid, I’m so afraid, the girls inside me and I can’t make it stop.
Maybe Anna knows. Will she remember? Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna.
Help us, Father, thy will be done. They say a girl died here HIS WILL BE DONE, help me, George, please help me, I can’t hold it all much longer.
It’s bleeding out of me. Anna’s helping but it’s going to push me out soon and she doesn’t ever remember and I won’t remember anything soon help me, George, please help me.
Anna stared at her own name amid the terrified words, this rambling plea to her long-dead grandfather, unable to make any sense of it.
Why did Grandma care if Anna remembered the thing or not?
And what was inside Grandma that she was so afraid of?
She turned to the next page. At the top, still in the scrawl, a Bible verse was scratched in.
The Lord will not leave the guilty unpunished.
His way is in the whirlwind and the storm,
and clouds are the dust of his feet.
Anna ignored it, staring at what was written below.
It was chili and then it was lasagna and I am not mad. It was chili before.
London London London it’s always London that doesn’t change.
Her stomach was like water. She knew Grandma wasn’t well, but this wasn’t confusion. Or if it was, not like anything Anna had seen before. She looked to the next page, which again started with a badly written psalm, this time with no line breaks before it morphed into more frantic thoughts.
If this is so then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials and to hold the unrighteous for punishment on the day of judgment the day of judgment the night of judgment the day of judgment rescue me from these trials it’s too much I can’t do it forever I put an arrow in will the arrow stay will she see the arrow arrow will I draw the arrow anna arrow anna Psalm 32:7 you are my hiding place you will protect me from trouble I am your hiding place I will protect you from trouble but they’re so loud in my head now always so loud they say a girl died here they say a girl died here they say a girl died here they say they say
A GIRL DIED HERE A GIRL DIED HERE A GIRL DIED HERE A GIRL DIED HERE
All these dreams in my head all these dreams the same but different
Ghosts in my head
Ghosts in my head
In my head
The last line slanted so far down it was as if Grandma had fallen asleep writing it.
Anna turned over, but the next page was blank and she closed the book, all thoughts of Lucas upstairs forgotten, and stared at the frail woman sound asleep in the bed.
What’s going on with you, Grandma? she thought.
Who says a girl died here? Who’s got inside your head?
Ghosts in my head. Anna shivered. She felt surrounded by death, especially in this house at night where the shadows threatened to come alive at the edges of her vision, specters just out of sight.
First the girls, dead girls who’d partied in this house.
And now Jamie. His skin the pale blue of the moonlight.
A half-typed message. I ws right, An. She pulled the blanket up under her chin and stared out at the night.
If Jamie was right, then there was still a killer out there somewhere.
How could she sleep? How could she sleep ever again?