A Whispered Darkness (13 page)

She yawned. “You okay?”

“Fine. Go back to sleep.”

She nodded, returning to her room. She must have been tired to believe that one. I got up, dusting off my pants and grabbed my purse.

Grant stood in the center of the staircase as I started down. “What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His hand closed over my arm. “Claire, after last night, don’t even try it.”

“Something tried to entice me into the tower library. Do me a favor and don’t go in there, okay?”

To my surprise, Grant laughed. “It won’t be a problem. You’re leaving with Haven, I’m off on my own adventures today. As far from the house as I can get.”

He followed me downstairs. At the bottom step, I turned, fighting the urge to blush again. “How long did Haven stay last night?”

Grant grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

I stood, gaping, as he sauntered into the kitchen.

Before I could go and protest, my phone buzzed again, and I heard a light knock on the door. Haven was here.

“You’re going to tell me later,” I said, sticking my head in the kitchen door. “Wait and see.”

Grant waved and shoved some cheese puffs in his mouth.

“If you need me, I have my phone. I don’t know when Haven and I will be back.” I glanced at the ceiling. “If you’re smart, you’ll be gone before Mom wakes up and decides to start cleaning the third floor.”

He gave me a thumbs up and I headed for the front door. Haven waited on the porch, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he watched me, the smile on his face fading as I came outside.

“You’re limping. Are you sure you’re okay?” I led the way to his car and climbed in the unlocked passenger door. “I’m fine, Haven. Really.”

He slid behind the wheel and nodded. “Okay. But if you decide you need a break, just tell me.”

There was something really cute in the way he worried about me. “Sure.”

“All right. Ready to go?”

I nodded and the engine roared to life. An awkward silence fell between us for a few miles. When he flipped on a blinker and headed for the library at the center of town. “I swear, I’m not normally this awkward.”

I laughed. “It’s okay. Hanging out with you is one thing. And now you know my secret and we’re out on something that resembles a date…”

He held up a finger. “Oh, it’s a date. I hope. Though most dates don’t generally start at the library.”

A smile spread across my face and I blushed.

“Besides, you haven’t told me all your secrets.”

Panic gripped me and I focused on my fingernail as I traced the seams of my jeans. “What?”

“I thought girls always had secrets. Something about being mysterious and keeping boys interested.”

A giggle escaped and Haven squeezed my hand in his. In a quieter voice, he added, “I’m not going to press for information, Claire. You’ll tell me about your last school when you want to.”

“And if I never do?”

He looked sad for a moment. “I could understand that.”

“You aren’t real.” I blurted. “Real teenage boys don’t say that kind of stuff.” Heat flooded my cheeks.

“Are you sure? Because I am all boy. I promise.” A goofy grin spread over his face. “Want me to prove it? I can stare at your chest for a while or take you in a store and complain about how long it takes you to shop. Maybe tell you how I follow behind you in the halls to watch the rear view sometimes.”

A laugh escaped.

“I think I’ll take you as is.” I struggled not to laugh. “You have a strange sense of humor.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

He pulled into the library parking lot, which was almost empty. Saturday morning wasn’t exactly their busiest time. My hopes rose. The building was huge and built of stone. The gold lettering over the door still proclaimed, “Hanover Banking and Loan.”

“The old stuff is kept in the old bank vault. You’d think they had priceless heirlooms back there.” Haven said, holding the door.

I laughed. “They have to put it to good use, right?”

“I guess so.”

I went straight to the front desk, finding a thin woman with glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looked up from a dog-eared romance novel.

“Good morning. What can I help you with?”

“I’m new in town. We just moved into the house on Cherrystone Lane, and I was hoping I could find some history on the house.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes. The old Home. Interesting, but we already have a file put together on that place. That paranormal group with all their investigative nonsense came in and gathered up everything at one point. I just left it. No one else is ever interested.” She rose, smoothing her hands over her sweater. “You say you live there now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She made a humming noise and then sighed. “Well, come with me. This is the easiest research you’ll ever do.”

We followed her toward the back of the building, taking a seat at a long wooden table she motioned to while she disappeared into a back room.

“Paranormal group?” I whispered to Haven.

He leaned back. “They’re popular now. Ask Bryan sometime. He knows
all
about it.”

I didn’t get a chance to question him, because she came back with a file folder bursting with pieces of paper. Sliding it onto the desk, she pushed her glasses up on her nose. “These are mostly copies, as some of the old articles are on microfiche or too fragile to handle. Don’t leave with any of them, please. When you’re done, just bring me the file before you leave.”

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”

She gives me another once over, as if unsure whether she should be disgusted or not, then nods once. “Not a problem.”

I wait until she’s well out of earshot and then open the file folder. There are tons of articles and photos. The top one has a picture of the house with twenty or so people lined up on the front yard and a huge headline above it:
Horace Gunderson’s Home for Wayward Souls Under Scrutiny for Unusual Practices.

I pause, pulling half the pile out and sliding it in front of Haven. “Here. You read through this stack, and I’ll go through these.” I unzip my purse and pull out a small notebook and pen. “We’ll take notes on anything interesting we find.”

“What should I be looking for?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. Anything weird.”

He nodded, flipping through his stack.

I had no clue what to look for, but it was a start. The articles in my stack started with reports of suspicious disappearances that were easily explained away, or resolved when the missing inmate was found wandering the woods. The first few seemed sympathetic to Horace and his institution. They cited the overcrowded conditions, and supported a move that raised the cost of living and limited the “quality of inmates” as well as the quantity.

The dates ranged from a few weeks apart to months. Then, at last, they started to be more critical. Claims were made by family members that the people they thought were being taken care of kindly were really being tortured. Then came the article citing the disappearance of Margaret Elliot.

It wasn’t large. First was a tiny ad from the classifieds offering a twenty-five dollar reward for any information. I snorted.

“What?” Haven asked, bumping my shoulder with his.

“They offered twenty five bucks for information for Margaret Elliot. Is that Maggie?”

He took the paper and scanned the tiny paragraph. “That’s her. Keep in mind, twenty five dollars in the eighteen hundreds would have been a lot more than it sounds.”

“True.”

“How long did they run the ad?”

I flipped through the papers. There were three more copies with slightly different wording, but the dates were unclear. “I’m not sure. At least three weeks. Probably more.”

Another article fell out on the desk. Again, it was small, but the headline caught my attention.

Local Family Demands Closure of Home for Wayward Souls. Cites Murder and Experiments.

We bent our heads over the article,

Horace Gunderson, of the Home for Wayward Souls on Cherrystone Lane, has denied all allegations of experimental procedures on his charges. Mr. Hamilton Elliot and Mr. Vincent Elliot have enlisted the help of local law enforcement in the search for their missing sister.

A letter was discovered at the home, implying the lady might have disappeared at her choice. The family tells this newspaper the letter is a hoax, and insists Gunderson is involved in strange experiments tied to his interest in Spiritualism.

The police refuse to comment on this story.

“That’s different.” I said.

Haven sighed. “I found a small clipping in here where someone had researched Horace’s background. Apparently he was an undertaker before he opened the home. The last town ran him out because he was doing strange experiments and tests on the bodies.”

My lip curled. “So he mutilated bodies and was overly interested in spiritualism. I’m not sure where that all fits in.”

Haven shrugged. “I’d be a pissed off ghost if he’d been messing with my body without permission.”

“Good point.”

“Lots of Victorians were interested in spiritualism, but it does make me wonder what he was up to.”

“Why would an undertaker open a home for people who were supposed to be mentally disturbed?”

Haven’s answer echoed the one in my head. It made my skin crawl.

“If he was interested in experimenting, it would give you access to lots of people who were forgotten and unwanted.”

“Those poor people. No wonder they haunt the house.”

Haven frowned. There’s more to it than that. These articles and notes talk about his interest in ghosts and psychics a lot. There’s got to be a reason.”

“Well, she said a paranormal team put all this together. Maybe it’s because of who did the research.”

Haven’s face didn’t change much. I rose, grabbing the files and tapping the stack on the tabletop. “Let’s see if she’ll let me make copies of all this,” I said. “Then we’ll go on and have lunch.”

Haven couldn’t seem to decide whether he should argue or go with it. “We can stay longer,” he finally offered.

I shook my head. “This stuff can wait a few hours. Let’s go have some un-ghostly fun.”

Haven pulled into the parking lot of the Irish Eyes Pub and turned off the car. “This okay for lunch?”

“Definitely.” I got out, putting the stack of papers still warm from the copier, in the backseat. “So where are we headed today? Other than the bookstore.”

“There are other destinations?” He teased.

“Why aren’t you dating anyone again?”

He held open the door. “Don’t want my secret to get out.”

The waitress asked how many and led us to a table. I slid into the booth, and she asked for our drinks. We ordered and I opened my menu.

“Probably because I haven’t found anyone I liked enough. Besides, I was kind of hoping you might change that situation in the near future.”

I blushed. “That all depends on how well you do today, I guess.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. My grandfather is always telling me I won’t mind shopping and such if it’s the right girl.”

We paused as the waitress slid our drinks in front of us. I shifted in my seat. “You don’t talk about him often. I assumed he was…well…”

He shook his head. “Not dead. They’re divorced, and Grandpa lives in another state. He visits when he can, but it isn’t as often as I’d like.”

“That sucks.”

Haven nodded. “Yes, but it’s okay. When he does come, we have a blast. I never knew my dad, so he’s always been the one I looked up to.”

The waitress came over, pen poised on her notepad to take our order, interrupting us. We hadn’t paid much attention to the menu, but we both ordered cheeseburgers and waited until she wandered away again.

He leaned forward. “What about you? How are you doing with everything?”

I played with my napkin. “Grant’s told you about Dad, I guess?”

He nodded. “Don’t be mad at him.”

“I’m not.” I said. “He needed to talk to someone. He won’t tell me much, and you’ve heard what he’s like with Mom. To say they don’t get along is a massive understatement.”

“Yeah, I got that. But you didn’t answer my question.”

I sighed “I’m okay. I mean, it sucks, but Dad was one of the first ones to tell me I was nuts…before. So I don’t exactly miss him.”

“That bites.”

“Yeah. I think it was more because he thought if I was psychic I would know what he was doing.”

Haven tilted his head. “Did you?”

“Yes and no. Eventually, yes. He thought about it too hard, I guess. But he didn’t need me to screw up things with Mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. It is what it is.” Taking a sip of my drink, I blinked back unexpected tears.

The awkward pause lengthened. “Well, I hope things here will get better.”

I thought about Mom, then forced a smile and tried to lighten the mood. I could still be imagining the things I saw in her. “I think it’s already gotten better.”

“Whew! We need to talk about something else.”

“Like what stores I’m going to drag you through?”

He threw a hand over his forehead and groaned. “I knew it was too good to be true! No girl
only
wants to shop at the bookstore.”

I took a bite of a French fry and waved it around. “When I have a boy to haul things? Never!”

***

My mood took a nosedive the second I entered the house. The smell of burnt sage wafted down from upstairs, and I heard Mom and Grant arguing. I dropped my purse and the bags of things I’d bought next to the door.

“What the hell is wrong with it? It’s my freaking room!” Grant yelled, his words clear as I climbed slowly up the stairs. “You had no right!”

“I will not have any son of mine using incense or candles in his room. You were probably covering up the smell of weed or something!” Mom stood, hands on her hips, cobwebs clinging to her bandana and shirt.

I paused, one hand still on the banister, and a frown growing on my face. White crystals were scattered around the floor, a pile of them mixed with dirt outside Grant’s door. A broom and the dustpan rested against the wall outside.