Take Me Back (5 page)

Enzo Rocha’s words filter through my mind, that your and Gina’s one-night stand might not have been consensual. It’s bullshit. “Yes, he’s mentioned it. It happened once while Gina was babysitting.”

My phone rings, interrupting our conversation that is doing nothing to quell my anxiety. When I see the name on the screen—Joan Bennett—my blood pressure spikes. “Yes, Joan. Now isn’t really a great time. You know our guests are arriving in a few hours.”

Maddie makes a gesture like she’s choking someone, laughs and walks out from behind the bar.

“It’s true, Rachael,” Joan says, her voice a shaky whisper. “My God, it’s true. She’s here.”

“Joan? Who’s there?” It hits me. Hard. “Ingrid? Ingrid! Did you see her?”

“There are smudges on the attic window. Words. It says,
Take me back
.” Her voice is borderline hysterical. “I’m on my way to my car. I’m getting the fuck out of here and not coming back. MJ can find someone else to deal with his dilapidated haunted house.”

My pulse races. My hands shake. This is it! Proof! “No! Stay there. I’m coming.”

“No way. I’m calling MJ and getting the hell out of here. Have fun with your ghost.”

She hangs up. I set my phone on the bar and try to keep my mind from spinning. Ingrid’s there. She’s communicating. She wants to come back.

It’s true. The newspaper article is true. Not that I doubted it. I could feel her there.

I have to get to her.

*

“Forget it. I’m not taking you.” Beck folds his arms and leans against the door of the boat house. “I told Merrick I’d be here when he got back with the guests. What do you think he’ll do if you’re not here? He’ll kill me, that’s what he’ll do.”

“He won’t kill you. We’ll be back. Everything here is ready. It’ll take us two hours tops.” I lower my chin and gaze up into his eyes, pleading. I swear I’m going to learn to fly a helicopter or get my own boat. Begging isn’t my style. “Joan needs us. She’s alone and afraid.”

His lips tighten. He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “I’m not kidding when I say he’ll kill me. I’m not just talking about getting fired. I’m talking about murder.” He groans. “Fine. We’re back here in two hours if I have to pick you up and shove you into the helicopter to get you to leave the plantation.”

I clap my hands together. “Perfect. Thank you. I promise I only need a couple minutes there.”

He shakes his head and leads the way to a golf cart to take us to the landing pad. “I don’t feel good about this, Rachael. You shouldn’t be leaving.”

“It’s fine.”

I mean it, too. It is fine. But he’s right. I shouldn’t be leaving. If one single thing goes wrong… delays us…

You will never forgive me.

When we pull up to the Weston Plantation in the black SUV you keep at the airport, Joan’s sitting in a little red sports car at the end of the driveway. Beck parks behind her and she gets out. A cigarette dangles between her shaky fingers.

“You smoke?” Beck says, shocked.

“I used to.” She glanced down at the cigarette like she forgot she was holding it, then tosses it on the ground and grinds it out with the ball of her foot. “Guess I do again. At least when I have to rehab houses with harassing spirits of past occupants.
Dead
past occupants.”

She glares at me like it’s my fault and jabs her finger toward the house. “Get her to leave or I’ll haul a priest in here to douse her ass with holy water!”

“Calm down. I’ll see what I can do.” I stride past her with my stomach contracted and squeezing. I have to admit to myself that I’m scared shitless. On one hand, it’s Ingrid and there’s this romantic notion in my head that we share a special bond somehow, but on the other hand, it’s a
freaking
romantic notion! I’m a logical woman. I’m rational and grounded in the reality. Right now, three steps away from the front door, I can understand why you’re concerned about my sanity.

This is crazy.

If there’s a ghost inside, Ingrid or not, I don’t want to come face-to-face with her.

My sweaty hand slips on the door handle as I push it open. My feet echo across the hardwood floor. It creaks under my step, making me jump back with my hands over my heart, gasping for air.

I take a few deep breaths and shake out my arms. “Calm down,” I whisper out loud. This is where I’ve wanted to be all week, where my mind has wandered all week. “So, you’re here,” I say, wondering if I’m talking to myself or if there’s someone here with me I can’t see. “I came to help you.”

Grasping the railing, I start up the stairs. It’s dusty and dirty and not entirely safe, but if she’s in the attic, that’s where I’m headed.

At the top of the stairs, I turn and make my way down the hall with careful steps. There are some loose boards that have been roped off, so I stay on the right side and hug the wall for safety. The door to the attic is straight ahead. When I reach it I pause, certain I heard whispering on the other side of the door. Holding my breath, heart racing, I listen for a few moments before telling myself it was only my skirt brushing against the wallpaper and there’s nothing to be freaked out about. Too bad I don’t believe it.

I gather my courage, grip the doorknob, and brace myself for what I might find on the other side. I count to three in my head and yank the door open.

Sun streams down the wooden staircase from a window at the top. Dust motes float, suspended in the air. There’s no railing, so I put my hand on the wall for support and begin the climb to the top. I’m halfway there when I see the bricks, a pile of them arranged in an oblong oval at the top of the steps. Anyone who came up would have to maneuver around them to get past. A little left of center inside the oval, a brick sits propped on its side horizontally. Across from it, slightly northeast of the center, another sits vertically on its end.

It seems familiar for some reason. I wonder who put it there and why the bricks are arranged that way.

Stepping over the bricks, I glance around the attic. This is where Ingrid’s trunk was found. You and MJ lugged it out of here for me. Maybe Ingrid’s upset that her things are gone?

“I didn’t steal your belongings,” I say, fear creeping in. The last thing I wanted to do was piss off a ghost, even if it is Ingrid, and I’m certain she’s not a dark spirit. “I wanted to find a way to bring you home to Turtle Tear.”

I glance around waiting for something—a sign—to give her away. Is she here?

All the way across the attic, there’s another window that faces the front of the house. I’m not sure which is the one Joan saw writing on, but there’s a tarp on the floor on that end and boxes with the home supply company’s logo on them. She had to be down there sorting through her deliveries.

The old floor groans under my feet. I’m surprised the work crew determined it to be safe up here.

Standing between two large boxes in the middle of the tarp, I tilt my head left, then right, studying the surface of the window. The glass looks smudged and filthy, but I can’t make out any letters.

Damn. If I could’ve been here earlier when the sun was shining on the front of the house, maybe I could’ve seen what Joan saw.

I take a step back and turn around just as a brick falls down onto the first step. I startle and cry out, bringing my fists in to my chest.

Frozen in place, I can’t get myself to move a muscle. Bricks don’t just jump off steps. I’d been standing over there only a moment ago and only two were standing on end—the ones inside the oval that I can see are still standing. The others were flat on the floor, far enough away from the edge of the stairs for me to step around.

There’s only one explanation that my brain is telling me is insane, but the hairs standing on end on my arms disagree.

Something—some
one
—is up here with me.

“Ing—Ingrid?” I stutter. “I’m here to help you. I don’t know if you know who I am, but I know you. I live on Turtle Tear now. I want to help you get back there.”

Suddenly, I’m very cold. Ice cold.

I need to get out of here.

My body propels itself forward, fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. Ingrid or not, my fear is based in the unknown. Contact with spirits isn’t something you become versed in when obtaining a graduate degree in architectural design.

I’ll figure this out. I’ll help her. But first, I have to get outside in the sunlight and fresh air with birds signing and wind blowing. I have to get this spectral sensation out of my system.

Joan’s standing on the porch when I burst through the front door. “Well?” she says.

Beck looks up from his perch on the railing.

“She’s in there. That’s for sure. I didn’t see her or the writing, but there’s this oval pattern, this… map, that—”

I can’t breathe.

“Oh my God.” I bend my knees and sit on the porch, not able to support my weight with the shock of realization that just hit me. “It’s the island. The hotel… the tree where the tree house is. That’s what the bricks were. A map.”

“Rachael?” Beck says, on his feet and over to me in two long strides.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Joan says.

Beck’s strong hands wrap around my arms and he pulls me to my feet. I glance into his wide, weary eyes before looking at Joan. “She’s up there and she wants to go home.”

“Well, she’ll survive another weekend.” Beck steers me toward the steps. “We have to go if we’re going to make it back.”

I plant my feet on the ground and turn out of this grasp. “I’m not going anywhere until I find a way to bring her back with me.”

Beck’s hands shoot to his hips and his jaw clenches. “We are leaving. Now.”

An urgency like I’ve never experienced rushes through my veins. “I’m not leaving here without Ingrid. I can’t.”

His fists come crashing down onto the railing. Joan clucks her tongue.

“I’ll call Merrick and tell him,” I say. “Don’t worry. He’s not going to fire you or kill you.”

We all look up when footsteps come rushing up the sidewalk. “I thought the party was at Turtle Tear,” MJ says, his hands in his jeans pockets and an old Georgia State baseball cap on his head. His eyes are so much like yours, so dark and intense, I’m immediately guilt ridden. He stops at the bottom of the steps, eyeing us. “Something’s going on.”

Beck takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes at me. “Your dad’s going to kick
my
ass because I can’t get his woman to get
her
ass back to the island before the party starts tonight.” He shakes his head at me. “I knew you were going to pull this shit on me.”

“Someone want to bring me up to speed?” MJ says.

“You have a ghost in your attic, Junior,” Joan says. “And either she goes, or I do.”

“I know what she wants,” I say, desperate for them to believe me. “I just have to figure out how to give it to her.”

MJ grabs the bill of his hat, raises it up, and tugs it back down. “Why don’t we get to Turtle Tear and figure this out there.” He takes the steps two at a time and stands in front of me. “Maddie’s always had a thing for ghosts—anything paranormal. She’ll help us figure this out. Let’s get back before you regret anything.”

My phone rings. I glance down at the screen and see it’s you. As I answer, I’m already starting to feel regret. “Hi.”

“We’re on our way,” you say. I can hear cheerful conversation and the hum of the boat’s motor in the background. “Is everything set?”

I swallow and pretend me being at the Weston Plantation isn’t a big deal. “Everything’s been set. Beck and I are bringing MJ to the hotel. We’ll be there in a little while. Probably about the same time as you.”

You don’t respond, and I know what that means.

You’re pissed.

“Where are you?” Your voice is low and measured, like the calm before a storm.

“The Weston Plantation. MJ just got here. We’re heading out now.”

“I told you I’d help with the situation there after this weekend was over.”

“I know. Joan called me, Merrick. She was freaking out. There was writing on the attic window. Listen, we’ll be back at Turtle Tear soon and I’ll explain it all. You’ll understand.”

“We’ll see.”

What do you mean, we’ll see? “Merrick?”

“We’re about an hour out. I hope to see you when we pull into the dock.” The sound of voices and the boat cut out. You hung up.

We land, and I want to run into your arms and tell you everything—about the bricks, that I know she’s there, that we have to bring her back—but the thought of facing you, the tone of your voice before you hung up, the absolute certainty of seeing that look of disappointment in your eyes again… I’d rather hide out in the tree house until the weekend is over.

Nobody’s waiting for us, and I know if Maddie isn’t here to greet MJ, then the guests have arrived. We didn’t beat you back.

Beck, MJ, and I pile into a golf cart and make our way toward the hotel. The big room on the end of the second floor is Maddie and MJ’s permanently. With Mr. Simcoe, Riley, Jesse, Beck, and you and I talking up several more, the guests have filled the rest of the hotel.

The fears I’ve kept at bay and ignored all week surge toward me and swarm my brain.

What if the hot water tanks aren’t enough for a group this size and everyone has to take cold showers?

What if we have another hurricane and the evacuation plans we put in place fail?

What if Carlos has a meltdown and quits, and Beck botches Canon in D? He’s been practicing for weeks, and I admit he sounds great, but… what if a string breaks on his cello?

“Breathe,” Beck says, staring at me. “You’re panting like a Saint Bernard over there. Is this an anxiety attack? I don’t have a paper bag for you to breathe into.”

MJ leans forward between the seats. “Don’t pass out. I don’t deal well with hysterical women.”

“Both of you shut up.” I raise my arms over my head and grip my elbows, stretching. “I’ll be fine. Everything just kind of hit me. The guests are here. This is a very important weekend for them, and I can’t screw it up.”

Beck takes my hand, pulling my arms down. “
We
won’t screw it up. You’re not in this alone.”