Comes the Night (2 page)

Alex got to her feet and pulled the coat around her. The musty, sickening smell of the coat’s fabric filled her nostrils, but she pushed her nausea aside and crossed the floor to look up at the rafter. How could she reach it?

She scanned the room. The rocking chair! It wouldn’t boost her high enough to reach the hidden book, but if she used it to get up on the dresser... No sooner had she formed the thought than she was moving the heavy dresser, lifting each side by turns and inching it quietly to the center of the room.

Alex climbed. As much as her world felt like it was falling apart, she was pulled to the tiny book, like the distraction of discovering its contents would somehow be enough to help her survive this awful moment. She stood on top of the dresser, balanced on her bare feet and reached. With careful, digging fingers she pulled the book from its wooden nest and held it close to her as she climbed down to the floor again.

She flipped through the pages as she stood there, reading a bit here and there of the shaking handwriting on the yellowed paper. “Omigod, a diary.”

She flipped to the front page and read the name there.
Connie Edwina Harvell
. She closed the book and her fingers touched the tiniest rose, drawn on one lower corner of the cover.

Alex tucked the diary securely into the top of the tightly-belted coat and eased the dresser back into place. Then, with practiced stealth, she made her way soundlessly back down to her room.

She showered, standing under the stinging hot spray until the water ran cold. She dressed. She cried again and pounded her pillow. She fought and fought with the memory and the memory fought with her.

And then, as she sat tight in a corner, Alex Robbins began reading the yellowed pages of Connie’s diary.

Maryanne

M
ARYANNE
H
EMLOCK HAD
been in more awkward situations than this over the course of her seventeen years. But darned if she could think of one of those situations right now as she sat on the edge of her bed in her assigned room at Harvell House. Her gaze traveled between her two roommates—Alex Robbins and Brooke Saunders. Their single beds, identical to Maryanne’s, snugged up against two of the other walls of the perfectly square, perfectly plain, high-ceilinged room.

Eyes shifted.

It was like some kind of Mexican standoff, without the guns.

What the heck was she doing here?

No sooner did the thought form than the answer came. Along with the sad resolve. Because she
had
to be here.

Jason.

She still missed him. Still grieved her baby brother’s death as if it were yesterday. Twelve months and twelve days, that had been his whole life. She didn’t grieve him with the same anguished desperation as her mother did. Nor with the same stoic heartache as her father. But she missed him and mourned him in her own way.

Like no one would ever—
could
ever!—know.

It wasn’t that Jason had been the adored sibling. No more and no less the center of her parents’ world than she had been. They’d both been cherished, and known it. She’d been their first born child; he’d been their ‘miracle’ baby. The pleasant surprise. And he’d fit.

Jason had fit perfectly into their little family. Made it all the cozier.

She supposed that they had been an extraordinarily close-knit family. Skip Hemlock, her slightly eccentric father, had been a content stay-at-home dad who made the most amazing lasagna and was famous in their little subdivision for his pecan pie, which was Maryanne’s favorite. He’d made Jason’s baby food himself, and kept it all organic. Maryanne’s mother, Kelly Webb-Hemlock, was the CEO of a very successful Toronto IT security firm, but she had never missed a single one of Maryanne’s Christmas concerts, piano lessons or swim meets. She’d aahed and oohed over every one of Jason’s first words, marveled at his smile. So had Maryanne.

But then on that nightmare night just last May, Jason’s life had ended.

And the guilt crushed her still.

It’s not like her little brother had been the glue that had held the family together. But nevertheless without him, they’d come undone. And rightly or wrongly, she’d had to get away. Away from her parents whose marriage was crumbling right before her eyes. Away from all the sympathetic souls who told Maryanne how sorry they were for her loss, how much Jason had adored her, and worst of all—what a very good big sister she’d been.

A few Google searches later and she’d had the answer: Streep Academy in Mansbridge, New Brunswick.

I wasn’t like Streep was her only choice. Her marks had been good enough to get her into
any
private school in the country, and her parents could afford to send her. But this little school in this small town had seemed just right. Just far enough away from her Burlington, Ontario home. Neither of her parents protested. In fact, her mother cut the tuition check the very day Maryanne broached the idea. She’d opened up a generous line of credit for her remaining child with the instructions, “Don’t go without.” And four weeks later, her father hugged her goodbye at the airport.

Short hours after that tremulous hug, she’d stood before Harvell house—the only dorm left in town that had a vacancy—and smiled. “Awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty grand,” the taxi driver agreed, placing her bags on the sidewalk. “Can’t imagine why Mr. Stanley doesn’t sell it. He could get a good price for it.”

She passed him a tip and took the handle of her suitcase. “I’m glad he hasn’t.”

The Academy’s website had boasted this as one of the oldest homes in a town bursting with old homes. Apparently, it was owned by a Mr. C. W. Stanley, an oil man from Alberta who had visited Mansbridge years ago, fell in love with the little town, and spent a ton of money to modernize the property.

About a decade ago, he’d donated use of the house to Streep Academy. But even from the low-res pictures on the Streep website, Maryanne knew Harvell was the place for her. She’d always ‘felt’ places, their
vibes
, though that particular quirk was something she kept to herself, ever since Angela Carlin had called her a weirdo back in Grade 3 when she’d described the school’s small gym as angry.

But it wouldn’t take someone with Maryanne’s sensitivity to feel the lonesomeness that permeated the huge, old house. It practically
breathed
out through the clapboards. Disquiet stared from every window of Harvell House, even the smallest ones.

“Oh wow, especially the smallest ones.”

Maryanne looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen her talking to herself. Not exactly the first impression she wanted to make. But only the cab driver was there to hear her. He smiled and got back into his vehicle.

As the taxi pulled away, Maryanne climbed the steps and walked into the enormous old house, knowing she’d made the right choice. She’d breathe here a little while, while her parents survived, marriage intact or not, back in Burlington. She’d grieve here. Work through the feelings as best she could. And what was left, she would shove in a box in the corner of her mind so she could go on. Then she’d head home in the summer and prepare for university.

That was the plan.

Someone cleared their throat, dragging Maryanne away from her drifting thoughts and back to the present.
Right
. She was supposed to be getting to know these two. After all, these were her roommates for the next ten months. They seemed an unlikely trio.

Alex was clearly a scene kid. Skinny-legged jeans, slip on Vans, tight band t-shirt. Two lip rings on her bottom lip, one on either side, and the requisite black hair skimming her shoulders at the back, but bangs cut jaggedly short at the front. The only thing missing was the heavy eyeliner. Maryanne could all too easily imagine those gray-blue eyes darkly outlined in that delicate, heart-shaped face. But even without dramatic makeup, Alex’s eyes were very pretty, if a little sad.

Brooke’s looks, on the other hand, were a sharp contrast with Alex’s. Not that Maryanne was vying for the title of fashion czar, since comfy jeans and a loose-fitting sweater was her fall fashion statement. But Brooke was clearly going for something altogether different. She was definitely high-end. Long brunette hair, parted in the middle, and doubtlessly enhanced by a salon versus Alex’s home dye job. Perfect oval of a face. Dark, impeccably groomed eyebrows and a slightly olive-tinted complexion that probably never broke out and required nothing more than a moisturizer. Even her clothes looked expensive. Maryanne didn’t know one designer from another, but even she could see the difference $300 made to a pair of jeans. Top it with a nice shirt and a tailored leather jacket and Brooke Saunders looked like sheer confidence on a pair of spike-heeled shoes. What was
she
doing in Harvell House? Maryanne would lay money that she was a late enrollment, too. Too late for one of the better dorms.

“Soooo,” Maryanne edged out. Someone had to break the ice. It would be a pretty damn long year otherwise. “You guys come here often?”

Not a chuckle. But at least it started a conversation.

“This is my second year,” Brooke said.

At Harvell or Streep?
Maryanne wondered. “Do you like it here?”

“At Harvell or Streep?”

The echo of her own question rattled Maryanne for a moment.
Brooke actually chose to come back to Harvell?
She shrugged. “Both.”

Brooke sighed. “Quiet town. Small school. Boring house.”

Alex snorted.

“Okay,” Brooke amended. “Nothing much happens in
my world
around here.” With a purposeful and sly smile, she looked over at Alex. “But that’s just me. I guess I hang with the boring crowd. You know, the ones on this side of the law.”

Maryanne waited for Alex to reply, but she didn’t. In fact, her raven-haired roommate suddenly seemed to be barely registering the conversation. She seemed... lost. Not for words; Maryanne had the feeling Alex Robbins wouldn’t be too shy about tearing a strip off of anyone, if the situation demanded. But right now, she seemed lost in some interior maze of thought. Without knowing exactly why, Maryanne felt a pang of compassion for the girl.

“I’m from New York,” Brooke offered.

Maryanne swung her gaze back to Brooke. “What brings you to Mansbridge?”

She shrugged. “Same reason most of the girls are here. Things went wrong at home. Or home didn’t fit anymore. It was a boundaries thing. Take your pick. For me, that translates into my mother remarried.”

“You don’t like the guy?” Maryanne asked.

“He’s a freakin’ Nazi,” Brooke pulled a nail file out of her purse. “Or pride of the NYPD computer crime division, depending on how you look at it.”

“Your mom must like him.”

Brooke snorted. “My mother—she’s a district attorney—met him three years ago when she was prosecuting some corporate weasel who was hacking into competitors’ systems, then undercutting everyone on industry bids.”

“Bad stuff.”

Brooke waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy starts trying to set curfews and acts like a total authoritarian dipstick. The upshot—darling daughter gets sent away to boarding school.”

Ouch. Guess $300 jeans didn’t fix everything. “Why Streep?”
“To piss my mother off.” Brooke smiled as she said it. “Streep was my idea.”

Maryanne nodded. “You must find it a real... culture shock, being in such a small town.”

“I get by. And it’s almost over. Last year.” Brooke turned to the other girl. “Your last year too, huh, Alex?”

Alex stared at her for a moment, as if hitting an internal rewind button to trace back the conversation. “Yeah, one more year.”

“What brings you to Harvell House?” It was Brooke’s turn to ask the questions, and she was pointing them at Maryanne.

Under Brooke’s sharp gaze, Maryanne fought to control the sudden pounding of her heart in the long and empty pause. She couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to. Not yet.

She smiled, lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You know, just needed a change of pace.”

Brooke smirked, “Which translates into... ?”

“Just that. Change of pace.” Maryanne stood and walked to the window overlooking the Saint John River. Traffic was picking up. School would be starting tomorrow. Not just Streep, but the nearby community college, high school and grade schools. God, but it was a pretty town. Picture-book pretty, with the cozy little shops lining the streets, the trail along the river, the sidewalks and crosswalks. She had to smile as she saw a black cat scoot out to the crosswalk. Every car came to a stop for the feline and the drivers seemed to wait each other out after it passed. Just who was going to go first to cross the black cat’s path?

“I think I’ll go for a walk tonight,” Maryanne announced. “Explore a little.”

“Don’t!”

Maryanne startled at Alex’s near shout. Their eyes met.

Alex ran a hand over her hair. “Things... things aren’t always as safe as they seem around here.”

Someone’s hurt her
. Maryanne knew it instantly. She didn’t know who nor why nor how, but she knew that someone had hurt this girl to make her so on edge. So cautious and quiet.

“Well, aren’t you the little den mother all of a sudden,” Brooke said.

Alex sent her a quelling look. “She’s new here, Brooke. She doesn’t know her way around town yet. And you don’t... you don’t know who’s around.”

There was a knock at the door. Maryanne saw Alex stiffen, her eyes growing wide.

“Come in,” Brooke called, and the door swung open.

It was the caretaker, the one who’d carried Maryanne’s bag up to this second floor room when she’d arrived. He didn’t glance up at any of them, but instead looked down at the floor like a meek boy rather than the man of sixty-some years he had to be. “Mrs. Betts needs to see you all,” he said. “In the main parlor. Right away.”

“Problem?” Maryanne asked.

“Nah, she just likes to lay down the house rules,” Brooke answered for John Smith, and the man backed gratefully away from the door. “
Study hard. Be good. No drinking. No boys.
Bet you can’t wait to break them all again this year, huh Alex?”