The Ninth Floor (21 page)

I hadn’t
thought about it like that—but everything happening
was
connected to me
in some way. “Do you know something you aren’t telling me?”

He rubbed his
jaw. “I really can’t say.”

I scowled.

He sighed and
walked over to me. “You should talk to your family.”

“I’m really
sick of people telling me that. Who is Samantha Cobb?”

His eyes
drilled into mine, but he shook his head. “I have a family to support, Ryan. I
can’t lose my job. I’m sorry. Start with your family. That’s all I can tell
you.”

I went back
inside to where Aiden was sitting. “Enough is enough. Tell me what everyone but
me knows.”

He walked me
to the elevator, and we got on. In between floors, he stopped it. “You were
kidnapped as a child. That’s when all of this started. You were gone for two
weeks before they found you. The woman who took you killed herself.”

I stared at
him. I didn’t remember it at all. “How old was I?”

“Four. A
couple years later, the letters started arriving and—”

“I was sent
away.”

He nodded. “With
protection.”

“How does the
hospital fit in?”

The alarm on
the elevator started chiming. Aiden released the stop and we jerked back into
motion. “I don’t know.”

Back on the
tenth floor, I was lost in my thoughts. Where had Peggy been when she fell? Who
had access to the security videos? Did Deputy Perry know about Mrs. Simpson—and
had she really died of natural causes? And what about the window washer? Did
all those deaths connect back to me?

Blair was
still in my chair reading, but to himself now. He glanced up and I waved.

“You must’ve
gone to New York for that soda,” he said when I sat on the window ledge.

“Sorry. I got
sidetracked. How was Bee?”

“Quiet. I read
to her until she fell asleep.”

“And I see you’re
still reading.”

“It’s really
good.”

“I know.” I
twirled my hair around my finger and watched Bee’s chest rise up and down.
Aiden’s theory was so much more likely than possession, but I’d definitely seen
her walking like it was nothing on that tape. I thought about Mrs. Simpson and
her strange behavior too. I ran a hand over my forehead.

“Still have a
headache?” Blair looked concerned.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you
go home? I have things handled here.”

I wanted to,
but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave my little brother in this place alone. “Why
don’t you come too? I’ll leave Bee a note.”

“You want to
leave before visiting hours are over? You really aren’t feeling well, are you?”

“Just for
today.”

“Okay.” He sat
the book on the table and stood up. I rummaged through my purse for a piece of
paper and left a short note saying we’d be back bright and early the next
morning.

Our cars were
parked in opposite directions. When Blair was out of earshot, I called Aiden.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s
Ryan. I have a favor to ask.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think
you can get me onto the ninth floor?”

His teeth
clicked for moment before he spoke. “Now why, after everything we talked about
today, would you still want to go there?”

“Even if none
of this is supernatural, I’m somehow, some way connected to that floor.
Everything keeps pointing me there. I need to see it. I don’t know why, but I
think it’s important.”

The mental
picture of the fallen lock replayed over and over in my mind. No matter how
many plausible explanations Aiden came up with for some of the recent
happenings, he couldn’t change the fact that a lot were
unexplainable
.

“I’ll see what
I can do.”

I stretched my legs out and
placed my laptop on the pillow on my lap. I pulled up Google and typed “possession”
in the search field. I scrolled through the page of definitions and links to
movies, books, and generally un-useful information.

Of course,
Ryan, because possessions aren’t real.

I looked at
the alternative search options at the bottom and clicked on demonic possession.
This was more what I was looking for. I read a few sites but avoided the video.
Something about it seemed wrong, like I was inviting something I didn’t want to
mess with into my life. Even reading the Bible verses about possession made me
nervous. I hadn’t noticed any bite marks or scratches on Bee, but I hadn’t
really looked either. She didn’t have convulsions, but she was throwing fits.
She certainly hadn’t spoken in tongues. I chewed my fingernails as I forced
myself to continue to read. Holy symbols … I wracked my mind. I couldn’t think
of any in her room, so I made a mental note to pick up a cross or something
just to test the waters. I laughed. What was I doing? This was crazy.

“Absurd.” I
deleted the search and typed in “Samantha Cobb.” This time I got a few Facebook
links, but it didn’t take long to find what I was looking for. My kidnapping
made national news. There were pictures of me being carried by my father, my
face buried in his shoulder, clutching that same broken doll I received in the
first package. I read the articles, but they were vague as to why I was taken.
However, they did solve one mystery. The police found me and Samantha on the
ninth floor of St. Michael’s. She jumped before she could be taken into
custody.

I closed my
laptop and shook my head. Both dogs looked up at me with tilted-head concern
before lying back down. This was all sick. Needing to clear my head and talk to
someone wholly unconnected to any of it, I called Audra.

“Hello there.
How’s your aunt?” she answered.

“Worse.”

“I’m sorry. Is
there anything I can do?”

“No. Just
wanted to talk.” And talk we did—for nearly two hours. I told her about my
family, Jack, and Briggs. When I finished talking about Briggs and why he’d
left, she didn’t say anything, which was totally unlike her. Audra always had
an opinion.

“So what do
you think?”

“You sort of
have me in a hard position here. If I say you should dump his dumb ass and then
you take him back, I’m the asshole. If I say you should give him another chance
and he hurts you again—yep, you guessed it. Still the asshole.”

I laughed. “So
in other news, I think I’m being stalked and my aunt is possessed.”

“Huh. Has she
spewed vomit at you?”

“Ew. No.” I
filled her in on the latest, and this time I didn’t have to wait for her
opinion.

“That is some
messed up shit. Are you going to move her? How strange. No wonder you’re
considering taking Briggs back. Everything else in your life is in upheaval.
Briggs has always been your steadying point.”

She wasn’t
wrong. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You don’t
sound sold on the idea of taking him back. That’s hopeful.”

“I don’t know
how I feel about him anymore. Honestly, I’m sort of feeling like both of the
guys are more trouble than they’re worth right now. I have enough going on.”

“I have some
vacation time. I could come there.”

“Good Lord,
no. I wouldn’t even have time to hang out with you. Save your visit for when we
can actually spend time together.”

“Okay, but if
you change your mind, I’m just a phone call away.”

“I know. Talk
to you later.”

“Later.” I
hung up the phone, feeling a little bit better. I was letting old stories about
the hospital and my past get to me, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I would get
to the bottom of all this, Aiden and I would catch the stalker, and Bee would
be fine once she was in a place that didn’t scare us both senseless. Satisfied
with my decision, I went down to the store to hang out with Vivian. We had a
couple customers browsing.

“Hey, you.
What are you doing here?” Vivian flashed me a pearly white smile.

“Blair and I
left early today.”

She looked at
me sympathetically. “Another bad day? We could get ice cream and wine and veg
out on the couch tonight.”

“As fun as
that sounds, I have a date with Briggs.”

Vivian huffed.
“I moved in with you for
your
company, not your dogs’.”

We made light
chitchat until the customer checked out. The woman stared at me while Vivian
rang her up.

“You’re Ryan
Sterling, aren’t you?”

“In the flesh.”

“Is it true?”

“What?”

“You know,
about the hospital.”

Was she
talking about Samantha Cobb? “What about it?” I asked in a clipped voice.

“You were born
there.”

I frowned. “No,
I wasn’t.”

Vivian handed
her a bag and the receipt. The woman left, looking back over her shoulder a few
times. I pressed my lips together, trying to figure out how to phrase the
question I wanted to ask. “Viv, how much do you know about Goodson Hollow?”

She shrugged. “What’s
to know?”

I told her
about the scrapbook and what I’d found out about the hospital. I didn’t mention
Aiden, Samantha, or that any of this might have something to do with me
personally. I did, however, tell her some of the stories I’d heard about what
happened there.

She opened a
bottle of water and took a swig, leaving a pink ring of lipstick behind. “And
the scrapbook has articles about all of this?”

“Not really.
It has a lot of random bits about the hospital, but last night at dinner
someone mentioned that Goodson Hollow goes to great lengths to cover everything
up. I’m beginning to think that might not be stretching the truth too much.”

“Well, at
least one of those stories would be pretty easy to check out.”

I moved over
to one of the tables and started refolding perfectly folded sweaters, just
needing to do something. “Which one?”

“If all the
babies died, then all we have to do is check yearbooks. If there was a class
then we can assume it’s an exaggeration. And if that story is blown out of
proportion, maybe they all are.”

*

Briggs arrived a few minutes
early, looking as handsome as ever in jeans, a thin black sweater, and a gray
sports coat. He handed me a bouquet of tulips—my favorite flower. I introduced
him to Vivian and we were on our way. Briggs opened the car door for me and
drove down Main Street.

“Where are we
going?”

He smiled. “To
my place.”

“Oh, really?”

He nodded. “I
went to the grocery store. I thought we could cook, watch a movie, have some
wine, and talk about things. I figured you’d appreciate low key.”

Low key
actually sounded perfect. But perfect wasn’t what we discussed. “Aren’t we
supposed to be doing things you like?”

He shook his
head. “The thing is, I do like doing this. I didn’t like being a lawyer.”

“So you’re
just not going to work?” I tried to keep my voice from sounding judgmental, but
I was judging him just a little. He couldn’t not have a job.

“Not necessarily.
But we aren’t talking about that yet.”

“You’re being
very mysterious. I sort of hate mystery at the moment though. Please just tell
me what’s going on.”

He took my
hand and kissed the back of it. “All in good time, Ace.”

I smiled
despite myself. It had been months since Briggs called me Ace. It was a
nickname he gave me when we were in school. He didn’t use it a lot, but when he
did, it was always affectionate. I decided to play along. A night hanging out
with Briggs like old times was definitely the best way to get my mind off of
reality.

I looked
around the tiny cabin he was renting on the lake. It was cute and cozy. The
lake outside of the windows glistened like an endless pool of shadows,
absorbing the moonlight into its nothingness. As much as I tried, however, I
couldn’t stop thinking about everything. What if I had been born in St. Michael’s?
What did that mean? What would it have to do with the stalker or the people who
died?

“Do you like
it?” Briggs came up behind me.

“What?” I
asked, turning away from the window.

“The house.”

“Cute. Rustic.”

He laughed. “It
came furnished.”

“I see. So
what are we making?”

“Red curry.”

I knew the
recipe well. I loved it and Briggs knew that. He wanted to fall into old
patterns, and while that was so tempting, it didn’t work—that much was obvious.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this like crazy, but having it and knowing
it couldn’t last hurt more. When the meal was finished, we sat down on the
couch and he poured two large glasses of wine.

“Okay, so tell
me your plan. I know you have a plan.”

“Last night I
told you I had a business meeting.” I nodded. “I met with your father.”

I practically
choked on my wine. “Why?”

He handed me a
napkin. “I spoke with him about buying the newspaper.”

He could’ve
knocked me over with a feather. “Why would you do that?”

“Your father
definitely wasn’t against it. He said that so long as I had your blessing, he’d
sell to me. He thought it was something you might like to run someday, if you
came back.”

I took another
rather large swallow of wine. I vaguely remember telling my father that I was
on the high school newspaper staff. Did he really buy a newspaper for me or was
it to cover up whatever was happening at the hospital? “Okay. But that doesn’t
explain why you’d want it.”

“I don’t like
being a lawyer, but I did like that business internship I did. I thought that
we could run it together. I would handle the staffing and distribution side of
things, and you could handle the reporting side. That way we could work
together—I’m always better with you—and you could still stay here and get
reacquainted with your family.”

“But what
about you? It sounds like this is all for me again. I don’t want you to freak
out again in a few years.”