Trick or Treat (17 page)

“Of course they didn’t find anyone — he ran away when he saw your car. Where
were
you?”

“I told you before,” Conor said patiently. “When you didn’t show up on time, I got worried and went to look for you. I couldn’t get in ’cause the doors were all locked and —” He broke off at the sudden commotion in the hall, and a moment later Blake and Greg came hurrying into the room.

“Martha! Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“Blake, what are you doing here?” Martha looked confused as she wiped clumsily at her eyes.

“They told us you were in here — I didn’t believe it.” Blake leaned over the bed and stared at her cast.

“What
are
you doing here?” Conor asked quietly. He stood his position by her bed, and something in his voice caused Martha to look at him curiously.

Greg moved to the other side of her pillow and peered earnestly into her face, his smile sympathetic. “Boy, kiddo, when you have a run of bad luck, you really go all the way, don’t you?”

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Conor said.

Blake barely gave him a glance as he crowded in and took Martha’s free hand. “Are you okay? Are you hurt bad?”

Martha fought the sedation, but it was hard to think clearly. “I … I fell down the stairs —”

“Where? Did you break anything else?”

“She shouldn’t be talking,” Conor said. “She needs to rest. I’m taking her home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Martha said automatically. “Someone’s trying to hurt me.”

“Martha —” Conor began, but Blake cut him off.

“What are you talking about?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, nudging her over. “
Who’s
trying to hurt you?”

“Someone was following me.” Martha blinked, trying to keep things in focus. “And someone turned out the lights and followed me.”

“She’s not up to this right now,” Conor interrupted, but Blake jumped up.

“I’m calling the police.”

“I already did that.”

“Wait a minute.” Greg put out his hands, motioning Blake back down. “What about the lights?”

“He turned them off.” Martha tried to sit up, straining against Blake’s arms. “The lights went off and he —”

“Martha,” Greg said gently, “there was a power failure tonight. Because of the rain. The lights were off all over town for a little while.”

Martha stared, her eyes glazed. “They went out …” she murmured, “they went out because he turned them off…. Conor, tell them I didn’t dream it —”

Blake coaxed her down again, staring with grave concern. Greg glanced over at Conor, then nodded towards the hall.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

They walked out to the waiting room, and for several moments Greg paced, frowning down at the floor. Finally he stopped and looked at Conor. Conor slid his hands into his back pockets and waited.

“Look,” Greg drew a deep breath, “maybe I should have said something before now. I understand your folks are out of town.”

Conor nodded.

“Well, the truth is, Martha’s under a lot of stress. She’s doing terrible at school.”

“I think she knows that.”

“Not that it’s so abnormal — new family, new school — new peer group. I’m not saying she’s imagining what happened tonight — but the last time she talked to me, she was really upset about your house. Going on about secret passageways and fires and —”

“It’s a strange house,” Conor said. “It has lots of … inconsistencies.”

“I understand.” Greg looked down at the floor again, his tone guarded. “Look, I’ll be glad to do what I can to help her through this rough time — but … you might consider professional help….”

Conor nodded, rocking back on his heels. A muscle worked in his jaw. “Martha’s fine,” he said.

“Yeah … well….” Greg straightened and glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve gotta get to work. I’m on a teen hotline here at the hospital two nights a week — Blake gave me a lift over.” He backed towards a doorway that led off to another hall. “You might talk it over with your parents. If I can do anything….” He left the offer unfinished. Conor stared after him, then went back into Martha’s room.

The next day was Saturday, and Martha slept off her pain pills till almost noon. When she finally woke up, she was in Conor’s old room and there was a loud chorus of coughing and hammering coming from the side of the house. She dragged herself to the window; Conor smiled in at her from atop a ladder and stuffed a handkerchief back into his pocket.

“Uh-oh. It’s
alive
.”

“Very funny, Conor. What time is it?”

“Late. You almost slept the day away. How’s your arm?”

Martha frowned down at her cast, but she wasn’t thinking about her broken bones.
I almost slept the day away … and now it’s almost tomorrow … almost Halloween
….

“Martha?” Conor asked softly.

“What are you doing up here anyway?” Martha groaned. “Don’t you have any respect for the injured?”

“I promised your dad I’d have these shutters fixed before he got home and —” He broke off abruptly, sneezed, then glanced back over his shoulder.

“What is it? Besides the fact that you’re spraying me with cold germs?”

“I think we have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“I think it’s Wynn.”

“You’re kidding —” From where she stood, Martha couldn’t see anything, only Conor waving at someone and telling them to go inside. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Martha started downstairs and saw Wynn step hesitantly into the lower hall. As Martha stood there watching, her heart ached within her. Wynn looked absolutely terrified.

“Wynn,” Martha called softly.

The girl jumped, her face paling slightly. “Martha — I heard what happened last night — I feel so awful about it —”

“Don’t.” Martha brandished her cast and winced. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I shouldn’t have left you —”

“I shouldn’t have gone in.” Martha smiled grimly. “I’m gonna look great for the party tomorrow night. Come on up. You’re just in time to help wrestle me into my clothes.”

Wynn nodded and started Up, her hand gripped white on the banister, her eyes darting nervously. Below them the front door opened and Conor stood quietly, watching. As Wynn reached the landing she stared in silence at the doorways, at the servants’ hall, and then without a word she headed straight for the back bedroom.

Martha caught her gently by the arm. “Not there. I’m in this room now.”

“This one?” Wynn’s face registered slow surprise. “Oh … I … I’m so used to going to Elizabeth’s room….”

“I
did
have that room, but I just feel too weird about it. So Conor’s trading with me. I still have to move my stuff in here, though.”

Wynn nodded and followed her inside, her eyes roving over Conor’s sparse assortment of belongings as Martha gathered up some clothes.

“So,” Martha said with forced cheerfulness, “how did you get out here anyway?”

“I borrowed Greg’s car.”

“How did you manage that?”

“He doesn’t know about it yet.”

Martha laughed. “Have you had lunch? I feel really hungry today, but the way Conor’s been coughing around here, he’ll probably give me his cold and —”

Wynn wasn’t listening, her gaze sweeping the hall beyond the door. Martha watched her sadly and sighed.

“Wynn, really, I can’t stand this. It must be so hard for you to come back in here — to remember — if you want to leave, I’ll understand.”

“No.” The adamance of her tone surprised Martha, and Wynn looked back at her, unflinching. “No, this is something I have to do. If I don’t get all this figured out, I’ll have to spend my whole life with a blank page in my mind.” She took a step forward, her eyes wide and solemn. “Martha, yesterday you asked me what I thought happened to’Dennis. Why … why did you ask me that?”

For a long moment Martha couldn’t even speak. Wynn’s eyes held her in a relentless stare, and though her lips parted, no answer formed. When Conor spoke from the doorway they both started.

“What are the chances,” Conor asked casually, “of Dennis still being alive?”

At first Martha thought Wynn might faint. Her face drained the last of its color, and she groped out blindly for Martha’s hand. Martha sat her down on the edge of the bed and motioned for Conor to raise the window.

“I … I … alive?” Wynn murmured.

“Yes.” Conor knelt before her, his voice urgent but kind. “They never found him, they never proved anything — it’s
possible
, isn’t it, Wynn? That if he was crazy enough to kill Elizabeth, that he could still be out there, thinking somehow that she’s still alive?”

Martha collapsed in a chair.
He said it
. After all the days of fear and confusion, the questions, the
terror
— thinking all along that maybe it was
her
— that
she
was the crazy one — Conor had finally come out and said it. She looked at him and her eyes blurred, but he had hold of Wynn’s hands and didn’t see her.

“Wynn,” he said again, softly, “it is possible, isn’t it?”

Wynn looked confused, then shook her head sorrowfully. “I’d know … if Dennis were back, I’d
know
about it.”

“How?” Conor persisted. “How would you know?”

“I … I just …” She stopped, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders. “I think he’d try to contact me somehow. To find out what happened, to see if it was safe. He
always
talked to me about Elizabeth because he knew how close we were. And he didn’t kill her. I know he didn’t.”

“But
how
do you know that?” Conor squeezed her hands. “How can you be sure? He threatened her and —”

“He just didn’t want her going out with Blake, that’s all. Any more than Blake wanted her going back to him. It just really infuriated him that Blake had her now — they’d always been such rivals — girls and basketball and honors and scholarships —” She shook her head, pressing her hands to her temples.

“So Dennis was pretty possessive of Elizabeth?”

Wynn gave a reluctant nod.

“And had a bad temper.”

A pause. Another nod.

“So they
could
have had an argument. He
could
have lost his head and done something violent.”

Wynn looked miserably at the floor. “I … guess so. But couldn’t anyone have done that? I mean, couldn’t he have found out she’d been killed and then killed himself? Or couldn’t it have been a coincidence that his car went off the bridge and he died? Or couldn’t the same person who killed Elizabeth have killed him, too?”

Conor and Martha exchanged looks.

“Wynn,” Martha said gently, “anything is possible, but those are pretty farfetched —”

“Not any more farfetched than calling Dennis a murderer.” Wynn’s voice was desperate now, and she met Conor’s eyes at last. “Don’t you see I have to try to remember for Dennis’s sake? After all the doctors I went to, trying to jar my memory, and then I figured this house was out of my life forever, and I’d
never
remember again. But then you came here — and Martha’s so much like Elizabeth — and now the house is back in my life again — and it’s all so strange and scary — like this was
meant
to be — like Elizabeth and Dennis did this on purpose ’cause they
want
me to help them prove what really happened….” She trailed off, looking pleadingly into Conor’s eyes. “It … sounds so silly….”

“No.” Conor released her hands, a reassuring smile at the corners of his lips. Reassuring and
worried
, Martha thought …
he looks so tired
…. “No, it isn’t silly,” Conor said again. “We’ll help you.”

The gratitude on Wynn’s face was heartrending. Conor stood and ran one hand absently through his hair. “I’ll make us lunch. We can talk some more downstairs.”

After much tugging and pulling Wynn finally managed to help Martha get dressed, and they met down in the kitchen where Conor was serving up soup and sandwiches. At first Wynn only picked at her food, but as Conor drew her out about school and her job at the store, Martha could see her beginning to relax a little. And when he finally did steer the talk back to the matter at hand, Martha couldn’t help but marvel at his skillful subtlety. He stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the dismal weather, and gave a loud sigh.

“Well, if this rain doesn’t get any worse, I might be able to get more of those shutters fixed today. Oh, and I boarded up that panel in your closet, too, Martha.”

“I thought you did that be —” Martha started without thinking, then caught the warning glance Conor tossed back over his shoulder.

Wynn frowned, twirling her spoon idly in her soup.

“That’s probably what caused the drafts,” Conor went on. “Made it so cold in that room and kept blowing the door open.”

“Did you know that, Wynn?” Martha picked up casually. “That there’s a secret door inside the closet in my old room?”

Wynn looked puzzled for a moment, as if she’d suddenly awoken in a room full of strangers. And then a light slowly began to dawn in her eyes. “Of course I know about it … only I hadn’t thought about it all this time. There’re supposed to be lots of secret tunnels and things in the house — Elizabeth’s father said he’d heard stories about them since he was a little boy, but he only knew about a few.”