House of Dreams (43 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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Cass could hardly think. But she glanced at Antonio, who met her gaze. She knew what he was thinking. Alyssa had not been far from the house when he had found her. Celia had been purposefully lured away.
“She smiled at me and it was hateful.” Celia started to cry again. “I turned and began to run. Oh, Miss de Warenne! I have never seen such meanness, such hate!”
Cass couldn't speak. She put her arm around the older woman.
“She followed me! And I tripped and fell over a cliff, hitting my head, hurting my ankle, almost losing consciousness. And she started calling my name. Soft whispers. Soft but clear. I don't know! Maybe they were in my head. Maybe they weren't real. But they sounded real. It was so real!”
“I know,” Cass whispered, trying to comfort her. “I know.”
Celia did not hear. “I hid. I did not know what else to do. I hid all night at the bottom of the ravine in the brush. And when the sun came up this morning, she was gone.” Celia sank down in the chair at last. She covered her face with her hands. Her hands were shaking. She was shaking.
“Her name is Isabel. We know about her,” Cass said, stroking her shoulder. “She wants vengeance on my family, and on the de la Barcas, too.” But she was thinking about the fact that Isabel had not used Tracey to lure Celia away. She had used Cass's own greatest weakness—her concern and love for Alyssa—to lure her outside. Cass glanced at Antonio and their gazes met. She knew he understood, too. He was grim.
Celia wasn't through. “That is not all! I woke up—only to find myself sleeping beside a dead woman!”
Cass stiffened. “What?”
“I was sleeping next to a corpse. A very old, rotten corpse—mostly a skeleton, in rags.” She wept anew.
“Oh God,” Cass whispered, hugging her again.
“How did you know it was a woman if it was so decomposed that it was a skeleton, the clothing mere rags?” Antonio asked.
Cass started. Antonio's tone was filled with tension. Instantly she understood. He was wondering—or hoping—or fearing—that the corpse might be his wife.
“The jewelry. She had a beautiful engagement ring on as well as a wedding band.”
Antonio did not move and he did not speak.
Cass straightened. “Antonio? Did Margarita wear an engagement ring and a wedding band?”
He looked at her. Blindly.
And she knew the answer was yes. Cass realized she was sick inside—in her heart. She could not stop now to think and understand why. “Celia, do you know where this ravine was? Could you find it again?”
Celia pointed toward the north. “There's a dry stream bed, maybe a kilometer past the garage. I followed it back to the house.”
Antonio, Cass saw, had broken into a sweat. And she thought,
There are still three hours or so of daylight left.
“Alyssa?” Celia asked, reaching for Cass's hand. “Is she all right?”
“Yes, she's fine. Antonio found her within minutes of your having run outside.”
Celia slumped back in the chair. “Thank the Lord. There is mercy after all.”
The children. Cass looked at Antonio and knew he was wondering the same thing. She hurried to the doors that opened onto the courtyard, and saw the two children sitting on a stone bench with Alfonso, the children in the midst of a discussion which she could not overhear. “Hey, guys,” she called as cheerfully as possible. “Time to come inside.”
She turned. “Antonio? Why don't we quickly run down that dry stream bed and see if we can find the ravine where Celia saw—” Cass stopped in midsentence as Tracey stepped into the hall, a half-eaten sandwich in her hand.
She froze.
I am your sister now.
Beside her, Cass felt Antonio stiffen, as well.
Tracey halted in midstride when she saw them.
Cass's heart began to thunder. She quickly took in her sister's appearance. She had put on a white button-down shirt, left open over a small tank top and faded vintage jeans. The sleeves of the shirt hid the hideous scars on her arms, and the rest of her clothing hid the cuts and bruises on her body. Her long hair wasn't brushed, but it was clean, and just pleasantly mussed. Her eyes were wide, bright, and while her face seemed gaunt—she was too thin now—nothing really appeared amiss. Or did it?
Cass looked into her blue eyes again. It crossed her mind that Isabel's eyes were also blue—but at once paler and brighter, somehow.
Paler, brighter, and malevolent.
“Hi,” Cass said, her heart still deafening to her own ears.
“Hi,” Tracey said, looking now at Antonio and then taking a bite of her sandwich.
She seemed normal. Cass glanced at Aritonio-their eyes met briefly—and she studied Tracey again. “I should have guessed you'd be hungry.” She could not force a smile.
“I'm famished,” Tracey said with a small smile, taking another huge bite.
Cass realized her fingers were crossed. “How are you feeling?” she asked slowly, with trepidation and with dread.
“Exhausted,” Tracey said. “But better, I think.”
Cass began to breathe easier. “You should rest.”
“Yes, I think so, too.” Tracey ambled closer. “Why are the two of you staring at me?”
“I'm sorry,” Cass said quickly, and to reassure herself more than anything else, she touched her sister's shoulder, but she was solid, real, and very thin—she was Tracey. “Want some company?”
Tracey swallowed and said, “I'm going to rest. I'm really fatigued. I've never been this tired.” Then she smiled at Antonio. “Maybe we can speak later.”
He nodded. “That would be fine.”
Tracey stared at him searchingly, then glanced at Cass, as if sensing something had happened during her absence. But Cass was sure she hadn't given any indication of what had transpired between her and Antonio—surely she was merely paranoid now. Guilt suddenly raised its head when it had lain dormant for so long. Tracey then smiled at them both and walked up the stairs.
Cass and Antonio stood side by side, staring after her, almost holding their collective breaths.
On the third or fourth step, Tracey paused, turning to glance at them, her expression harder to read now.
Cass realized she and Antonio were touching—shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. She gave Tracey a reassuring smile, but it was undoubtedly ruined because she jumped away from Antonio at the very same time.
Tracey smiled slightly in return, continued upstairs, and disappeared from view.
Cass sagged against him. “She's fine. She is not possessed. She is totally fine.”
“Cassandra.” He stepped away from her. “I am going to look for that ravine. You stay here with everyone until I get back.”
She was instantly alarmed. “I'm going with you, Antonio. Everything is fine right now, Tracey is fine. We just have to be back before dark.”
He did not answer her. He was already striding away, through the hall.
Cass ran after him.
 
 
“What if we write stories? I like writing stories. We had to write our own books this year in second grade,” Alyssa said. “We even published them.”
“Can I write my story in Spanish and then translate it for you?” Eduardo asked. The two children were sitting in the library while Alfonso made them an early dinner. Celia slept on the sofa, beneath a heavy wool throw.
Alyssa liked that idea. She smiled at Eduardo. “I'd like to learn Spanish. In school we're learning French, but now that we're friends, I wish it were Spanish.”
“I could teach you,” Eduardo said, his hazel eyes brightening.
Alfonso entered the room with a tray. “
La comida
,
pequeños,”
he said.
“Our dinner,” Eduardo said eagerly. “I am so hungry. Are you?”
“Yes.” Alyssa smiled back. She hated his country home, but at least she had a new friend—and maybe even a boyfriend. Then she saw a flash out of the corner of her eye.
Her heart felt like it had stopped. Alyssa whirled—and saw her mother standing in the doorway.
Alyssa stood abruptly. Her instinct was to rush to her, but then she remembered what had happened when she'd seen her mother in the window, and she froze. Her heart beat so hard. “Mother?” she whispered hesitantly.
Tracey smiled at her. “Hello, darling.”
Alyssa blinked again and again. It was her mother—this was not an illusion. This was not her imagination and this was not a ghost.
“Señora?” Alfonso had just set the tray down. “
Puedo ayudarle?”
And Celia had awoken. “Tracey?”
Tracey did not seem to hear either of them. She continued to smile
at Alyssa. Alyssa's small, answering smile vanished. Was something wrong? Her mother was fine, wasn't she? Alyssa stared at Tracey, who still seemed to be the most impossibly beautiful, impossibly glamorous woman in the world. “Are you feeling better now, Mother?”
“I am just fine.” She looked at her daughter. “Alyssa, come with me. Just come.”
Alyssa fully intended to obey, but for some reason her feet would not move, refusing to obey her brain.
She was aware of Eduardo slowly getting up, crutches in hand.
“Alyssa, come with me,” Tracey said again.
“What … what is it that you want?” Celia was sitting up, her tone hushed.
Tracey did not even look at her.
“Señora, Celia wants to know where you wish to go.” Eduardo spoke as if Tracey needed a translator.
Tracey turned, unsmiling. Her eyes were very bright. “I want to speak with my daughter.”
“Señora. La comida. Ahora
. Dinner. Here.” Alfonso smiled brightly. “With the … childs.”
“I don't want to eat dinner,” Tracey said.
Celia stood unsteadily. “Tracey? Are you all right?”
Alyssa suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her mother was speaking oddly. Her expression was odd. Her eyes were odd. Even her smile was odd.
Tracey did not answer. She smiled. “Let us go, Alyssa.”
Alyssa could not move. Something was wrong with her mother. Terribly so. Alyssa did not know what to do and she was frightened.
“Did you hear me?” Tracey asked.
Alyssa nodded. “Maybe we should all stay here, together,” she whispered, pleadingly.
Eduardo hobbled to stand beside her, and Alyssa felt her heart fill with gratitude.
Celia said, “Tracey, you seem exhausted. How about a bite of supper?” Her smile was brief, weak.
Tracey glanced at her as if she had just noticed her presence for the very first time. Then she turned to her daughter. “Alyssa,” Tracey said. “Terrible things are going to happen. Come with me now.”
Celia abruptly stepped forward. “Tracey.”
And Alyssa was suddenly frightened of her mother. Why was she acting this way? And now she kept seeing, in her mind, that other
woman—the ghost. The one she dreamed about—the one who had followed her outside. And what did she mean? What terrible things were going to happen? “I don't want to go,” Alyssa whispered.
Alfonso stepped over to Tracey, smiling firmly. He held a bowl of soup in his hand.
“La sopa. Ahora.”
“Do not interfere,” Tracey shouted, abruptly striking him across the face.
Alyssa was so shocked—and terrified—that she could not even scream as the bowl of soup went flying out of his hand, the old man falling. He landed on the floor, hitting his head with a loud thump. Celia was the one who cried out.
“Alfonso!” Eduardo gasped.
And she wanted to run to him, because he did not move and his eyes were closed and Alyssa was afraid he was dead. But it was Celia rushing forward, kneeling beside him.
Alyssa was afraid her mother had killed him.
“Alfonso!” Eduardo was hopping over to him also, his expression one of alarm.
Suddenly Alyssa heard Tracey moving—fast and hard, her strides determined. Alyssa cringed as her mother grabbed her arm. “I told you to come with me. How dare you disobey?”
I'm sorry
, Alyssa wanted to say, but she was crying now, terrified of her own mother, who had hurt and maybe killed the kind old man, and she could not get the words past the sobs choking her.
“Don't hurt her,” Eduardo whispered.
“Come … with … me,” Tracey gritted, pulling Alyssa across the room.

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