At the Midnight Hour (16 page)

“Well, then,” Richard said briskly. “We’ll both look for him. I’m sure if we conduct a thorough search, going methodically from room to room, he will turn up. He’s probably just being stubborn, you know, trying to get more attention.”

Liz simply nodded. She hoped that was the case, she really did. Wordlessly, she went with Richard to the bottom of the stairs.

They did as Richard suggested, going from room to room to room. In their need for thoroughness, they even looked under sofa cushions, as if the small boy was simply waiting somewhere for their careful eyes. But in each room, they only found the emptiness, and the echoing cries of their own voices, calling out his name.

They never spoke about it, but as they went from room to room, their faces grew paler, their eyes more strained. To all intents and purposes, Andy had disappeared.

Richard was having to focus hard as they reached the last room. Emotions and pictures seemed to be assaulting him from all sides, and he didn’t want any of them. He could remember the fragile weight of baby Andrew, sleeping so soundly in his arms as Richard rocked back and forth in the rocking chair. He could remember the smell of baby powder, Andrew’s toothless grin when Richard bent down to pick him up. He could remember the sound of baby laughter as he tossed Andrew up and down in the air. He could even remember the simple responsibility of changing diapers.

It seemed so long ago. So long since he’d looked at this tiny baby and felt only the love that gripped his heart so fiercely. It was nothing like the pain and betrayal that would come later. The time when he would look at the boy, and feel only the raw wound in his chest. Everything about the boy practically screamed Alycia.

He’d wanted the child to leave, all those years ago. Thought he wouldn’t be able to stand to have a reminder so close. Even now, he wanted to keep his distance from the boy. It was for the best, he’d told himself time and time again. For both of them, it was for the best.

But the thin logic didn’t prepare him for the concern that gripped him now. He could feel the weight of the worry in the unbearable tightness in his chest. He didn’t want to feel this panic. He didn’t want to care, damn it. He’d been tricked into caring once before, and the betrayal had practically ripped him apart.

He didn’t want to feel anything.

But for once, the control was beyond even his reach. Andrew was missing, and he could only feel the fear freezing his veins.

What had happened to the baby who would look at him and smile his innocent grin? What had happened to the child that had once slept so trustingly in his arms?

And then in a cold rush of certain dread, he knew.

R
ichard turned, his entire face frozen into a grim expression.

“Come on,” he said. Liz looked at him with confusion, but he wasn’t waiting to see if she followed. Instead, he was already heading toward the right-hand stairs. Liz felt the sudden rush of coldness like ice water in her blood.

He was going to the right-hand tower.

The place where Alycia had been pushed. Liz felt the goose bumps prickle along her spine.

Surely Andy never would have gone there. But then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t so sure. She’d never broached the subject of his mother’s death after that first evening. She had no idea what Andrew did or did not know about Alycia’s murder. Perhaps, innocently unaware, he’d deduced that the right-hand tower was a new and clever place to hide. It sounded like an Andy thing to do.

So why did her heart still pound in her chest?

Her fear increasing tenfold, she followed Richard up the increasingly narrow and winding stone staircase. As they neared the top, the air became colder, the spiraling stairs even darker. Liz had to put her hand against the solid stone wall for support, but Richard continued without ever faltering. Perhaps it was only her imagination, Liz tried to tell herself, but it seemed so unnaturally dark, so unnaturally cold there. As if something else was there.

Something dark and bitter and, even after five years, filled with rage.

She shook her head and continued. Even then, she found herself falling back slightly as they neared the door at the top.

Richard didn’t, of course. Cold controlled Richard went right up to the door without a single hesitant footstep, as if a woman had never been murdered in this room, as if that woman hadn’t been his wife.

And for one long desperate moment, Liz would have given anything just to be able to see his eyes. Surely there was some emotion there. Surely something other than the cold measured beat of his feet on the last two steps was reflected in his eyes. But he never turned around, and whatever thoughts were running through his brilliant mind, he never gave them away. His hand came up, and easily pushed open the solid wooden door.

At once, she could feel the draft. Strong and bone-chilling.

“Andrew?” Richard called, his voice deep and without a tremor. “Andrew, are you here?”

Liz came up behind Richard, now, trying to peer over his shoulder through the dim light. He pushed open the door all the way, exposing the whole room. The round stone expanse slowly appeared, curves falling into dark shadows while dim rays of moonlight broke through the tall glass windows.

There, in the middle of the dusty stone floor stood Andrew.

“Andy,” Liz breathed. She was so glad to have finally found the child, she forgot her own fears and pushed past Richard to get to the boy. Without another thought, she bent down and wrapped the child in her arms, feeling the tremors of his shaking little body. “Oh, Andrew, are you all right?”

Against her shoulder, she could feel his head nod, and the relief washed through her in waves. Tentatively, then fiercely, Andy’s own arms wrapped themselves around her neck.

From the doorway, Richard watched it all, his face growing dark. Once again, the emotions were back, racing uncontrollably across his chest. Seeing the child here, finally safe and sound, he could feel the relief even as he felt the corresponding anger.

He didn’t want to feel worry, fear, relief. Damn it, he was supposed to remain uncaring. Yet here he stood in the doorway of this horrid room with its cold drafts swirling around him like an icy rage, feeling, feeling, feeling.

What if Andy had been hurt? What if something awful had happened to the boy? What if he’d rushed in to find the tall windows pushed open once more, as he had five years ago? What if he’d found this tiny, trusting little body lifeless on the cold ground below?

The relief in his chest exploded resolutely into rage.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded out loud, his voice tight. Liz pulled away from Andrew long enough to look the boy in the eyes. Andy was still shaking, his blue eyes wide in fear. He looked up at the dark face of his father, and his shoulders quivered slightly more.

“I thought I heard her,” Andy said in a shaking voice.

“Who?” Richard punctuated coldly.

Andrew’s bottom lip began to tremble.
“Her.”

Richard took two steps forward, his face ominous. Damn it, the boy had scared them all nearly half out of their minds. And now all he could say was “her”?

“You have until the count of three to explain yourself,” Richard said darkly. “One, two—”

“I heard a noise, I heard her, I heard her,” Andy cried out wildly. “I didn’t have a choice, I had to come.”

Liz reached out, and put a stabilizing hand on the boy’s shoulders. It was obvious Andrew was deeply upset, and it was even more obvious Richard was only making matters worse. She spoke in her calmest voice, determined to take control of the situation.

“Why don’t you tell us who she is, Andy,” Liz said soothingly, her Carolina accent as comforting as velvet. “We were very worried about you when we couldn’t find you, you know.”

Andrew’s eyes darted at once to his father, as if seeking some sign the tall dark stranger might have cared. Richard, however, was still silent and glowering.

“Alycia.” Andrew said simply. “I heard Alycia.”

Liz felt her face pale at the words and dared not look at Richard. Surely Andy must be mistaken. Most likely he’d heard one of Blaine’s friends banging around. Except, she realized faintly, she’d already learned no one else had been home.

“Alycia’s dead,” Richard said flatly. “Now, tell us the truth.”

Liz turned enough to shoot Richard a level glare as Andy once more began to tremble. “Andrew’s had a rough day,” she stated loudly, keeping her shoulders straight. “I think some rest would do him good. We can discuss this matter more later on.”

Richard’s face grew tight, but he remained silent. Damn it, he wanted to move forward with his life. But here was this child, this child he’d sworn he would keep away from, and yet he’d been so worried when they hadn’t been able to find him. He didn’t like feeling worried, he didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

And he refused to be told he had been feeling all these things because of a ghost.

Once more the anger spiraled. He could feel the rage and the frustration blending easily with the remnants of worry and fear, until he was clenching his fists at his side. And still the anger grew.

It could not be Alycia. Alycia was dead.
And he wanted to move on with his life, with his damn solitary life!

He didn’t trust himself anymore. Nodding coldly to the golden-haired child who twisted his gut, and the mahogany-haired woman who haunted his dreams, he turned on his heels and stormed out of the room.

Alone now with Andrew, Liz took the little boy by the hand. She could see his gaze peering into the darkness where his father had so abruptly disappeared.

“He just needs some time to calm down,” she told the boy soothingly. “He was very worried when we couldn’t find you. Honest, Andy.”

Andy looked up, and she could once more feel the tremors in his tiny hand, clutching her own so tightly.

Solemnly the little boy nodded his head, but Liz could see the disappointment in his eyes. Taking one last look at the round tower with its huge windows, she led Andy to the stairs. But even when she closed the door behind them, she could still feel the chill from that room.

Coming down the stairs into the foyer, they were just in time to see the front door opening. Andy immediately tightened his grip on her hand, but the open door only revealed the Gang of Four and Mrs. Pram walking in. Both Mrs. Pram and Blaine appeared to be carrying grocery bags, with Parris carelessly dangling two jugs of milk. Jillian, on the other hand, sported a fine collection of nicely decorated shopping bags, while Greg followed with a garment bag swung over his shoulder.

“Oh, no,” Blaine said upon seeing Liz and Andrew. “I think we’ve been caught carrying groceries.” He immediately turned to the stony-faced Mrs. Pram. “She made us!” he said in his best theatrics. “We tried to resist, but she ran us down in the driveway and forced bags of food into our hands.”

“Absolutely,” Parris concurred.

Jillian flashed them both annoyed looks, while Greg simply smiled lazily.

“Trust me,” he said. “We didn’t actually do anything as helpful as grocery shopping. Just the carrying of the bags.” He indicated his and Jillian’s loads. “The trip to Saks was much more our style.”

Jillian seemed to give Liz’s dusty garb a pointed look, and in spite of herself, Liz felt self-conscious. Andy tugged at her hand, clearly wanting to be on the way, while Mrs. Pram breezed by with stern efficiency.

She was about to follow Andy, when another thought caught her. “You’ve been out shopping all day?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

“But of course,” Blaine assured her. “Jillian doesn’t take shopping lightly.” He shot the lounging Parris a meaningful glance. “Especially with someone else’s credit cards.”

Parris just shrugged. “She’s a blonde. I have a weakness.”

Jillian, however, was flushing a dark shade of infuriated red. The look she gave Blaine shot daggers.

Liz looked at them all again, and wondered why the more she got to know the group, the less she understood them. This time she did follow the prodding of Andrew’s grip. With a few parting exchanges, she followed him up to his room.

She tucked him immediately into bed. She figured as traumatic as the day had been, he could use the rest. But she’d no sooner settled into her own room, when he was knocking at their adjoining door. With a small sigh, she let him in.

Andy was wearing his navy blue satin pajamas, looking like a little gentleman with his thick glasses and solemn eyes. He no longer looked scared, she decided, but he was definitely nervous.

“Will you,” he began then paused. “Will you read me a story?”

Slightly shocked, Liz stared at the child. She’d offered to read him stories before, only to be curtly informed that he was perfectly capable of reading to himself. After that, she’d stopped offering. Still, she wasn’t going to turn away from the child now. Today’s episode certainly must have rattled him.

“Of course I’ll read you a story,” Liz told him, reaching down to affectionately rumple his hair. “What would you like?”

She led him into his room and watched as he considered the matter. He climbed onto the bed and she pulled the covers back over him. “Well?” she prompted.

“When you were six,” Andy asked with an intense look, “what stories were read to you?”

Liz was somewhat taken aback by the question, but she gave it careful consideration. “Fairy tales, mostly,” she said after a bit. “You know, ‘Cinderella’, ‘Sleeping Beauty’. And things like Dr. Seuss,
Winnie-the-Pooh.
The usual.”

Andrew looked at her solemnly. “I don’t know those stories,” he said seriously. “I’ve never read them.”

“What kind of stories would you like?” she asked tactfully, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. It was obvious Andy knew how different he was from other kids. And while most of the time he was very defensive or disdainful about that fact, nights like tonight, he could be painfully vulnerable.

“I read
A Brief History of Time
by Stephen Hawking,” he volunteered. “I liked it. And
Cosmos
by Carl Sagan. I liked
Cosmos,
too.”

Liz nodded. “I hear those are very good books. Maybe you’d like to read to me instead.”

But instantly, Andy shook his head, the intensely shy look on his face appearing once more. “I want
you
to read
me
a story.
Winnie-the-Pooh,
okay? Read me
Winnie-the-Pooh.
”

“I don’t have the book here,” Liz said. “But I think I might remember enough to tell you the story.”

Andy nodded, the intense look becoming satisfied. Looking at him, Liz felt herself smile softly. He really was such a great kid, once you got underneath all his defenses. He was definitely a child prodigy, no doubt twenty times smarter than herself. But he was also just a kid, and sometimes, he needed to be a kid as much as the next child. Only, given his genius, it was that much harder to accomplish.

Starting out in her soft Carolina voice, Liz began with her memory of Winnie-the-Pooh and the sticky honey pot. Slowly she wove a gentle spell of Eeyore, Piglet, and Tigger, too, until at long last Andy’s eyes grew heavy with sleep and he drifted off into safe slumber.

She whispered the last of the story, easing off the bed and shutting off the light. Quietly she turned to her own room.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispered, and closed the door.

Alone now in her own room, she put on her nightshirt and robe, trying to collect her thoughts. But as she stared out her window at the deep fall night, certain pictures wouldn’t leave her mind.

Richard, staring at the fire in the library, swirling his brandy glass with long, lean fingers. The scented stationery note with its round, feminine scrawl and cold, threatening words. Richard, peering down at her with concern as she wavered in the hall, reaching out a hand to steady herself. Alycia’s portrait, shredded into hundreds of irretrievable fragments in the dark dusty hallway. Richard, his eyes grim with worry as they went from room to room, searching for Andrew. The right-hand tower, cold and musty with past rage and haunting chills.

Richard, his eyes like blue steel, piercing her with impenetrable control. Richard, his lips like a fiery brand upon her own—

With a small cry, she turned away from the window, pacing the room in her agitation. Oh, she’d wanted to get away from Maddensfield, all right. And she certainly had. Now she was staying in a dark house with a dark man and a troubled child. Not to mention the golden younger brother and a host of his friends she didn’t understand. How had she gotten herself into such a mess?

And where would it all end?

In such a dark, cold place, who did you trust?

“Alycia was murdered.”

“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”