Silence (19 page)

In their place were the wals of an entirely different room, with red rugs, dark-stained wood-plank floors peering out at their edges, globes of light on standing sconces, and one central figure.

Sitting in a tal-backed chair directly opposite Eric, wearing a dress that not even Amy at her most ostentatious could have carried off—too many beads, too much fabric, too many frils, and too much damn gold—was a woman Emma had never seen.

Not even in a nightmare.

NIGHTMARE WAS AN ODD WORD to apply to the woman seated on what was, Emma thought, a throne. Nothing about her suggested the monsters that dweled across the boundary of sleep. She was not beautiful in the way that Amy was beautiful, but she was striking in a way that Amy was not, at least not yet. She wore a dress that reminded Emma of pictures of Queen Elizabeth I. Her hair was pale, not gold and not platinum, but closer to the latter, and bound in such a way that nothing escaped—no tendrils, no curls.

She wore a thin diadem just above the line of her hair, which contained a single sapphire; this set off eyes that were a remarkable blue. Her lips were, in Emma’s opinion, unnaturaly red; it was the only thing about her that made her look old.

Or rather, it was the only thing Emma could point at, because no one who wasn’t old wore that color. But something about this woman radiated age. Nothing about her seemed remotely friendly. Not even when she smiled. Especialy not then.

And she smiled, the left corner of her lips twitching upward, as she looked at Eric. Emma could see only his back, but his whole she looked at Eric. Emma could see only his back, but his whole body had tensed.

“Wel met, Eric. Am I to assume, from the unexpected pleasure of your company, that Merrick is dead?”

Chase said nothing. He said it very loudly. Eric’s nothing was quieter.

“I thought you might make an appearance,” the woman added, when it became clear that no one else would speak.

“And here you are. And you’ve brought your pet with you.” Her smile deepened. “If there are two of you, the situation must be dire, indeed. It is seldom that you go hunting these days.” The smile slid from her face. “But you wil play your games, won’t you? Experience teaches you nothing. You should stop, Eric.

You should end this game. What can you do, after al, that does not, in the end, add to my power?”

He said nothing.

“What can you do at al?” She lifted an arm; it glittered in the globes of light at her back. “Come back to me. Come back.

Everything else is dust and ilusion.” Her expression had changed as she spoke, her eyes rounding slightly as she leaned forward in her chair. Her voice had softened, losing the brittle edge that made it seem too cold.

Eric stood there for a long, silent moment, and then he turned away. Emma saw the expression on his face, and her eyes widened, her mouth opened. But words wouldn’t come; she was as mute, in her way, as he was. She would have walked over to him, she would have puled him away, but he had told her very him, she would have puled him away, but he had told her very clearly to stay put, and that much she would do.

But it was hard.

“Eric,” the woman caled.

He didn’t turn back.

“Eric!”

Those beautiful eyes narrowed; those red, ful lips closed. The arm that had been lifted in what was almost a plea fel once again to the arm of the chair, and even at this distance, Emma could see the way the knuckles of both hands suddenly stood out in relief.

“Chase,” Eric said quietly, his back to the mirror, “come on.”

Chase, however, was staring at the woman. His back was not turned to Emma, and if Emma had ever needed any proof that Eric and Chase were two entirely different people, she had it here. His expression was as white as the woman’s. White with rage.

He took one step forward, just one, and Eric spun and caught the fist he’d lifted before Chase could slam it into the mirror.

“Chase.”

Chase’s arm was shaking, and Eric’s hand was shaking as wel, and they stood there while the woman watched, her fury not lessened by the malice of her smile. But feeding that malicious smile was more than Emma could bear to watch Eric and Chase do.

Keeping her feet on the carpet and anchoring herself with the doorframe, she pivoted into the room and reached for the lights, her hand slapping the wal until she felt the familiar switches her hand slapping the wal until she felt the familiar switches beneath her fingers. She turned them off, and night descended through the skylight.

After a few moments of silence, Emma said, “Is it safe to turn the lights back on?”

“More or less.”

“I’d prefer the more, if it’s al the same to you.” She waited for another minute, and then she flipped the switch back on.

Chase and Eric were no longer locked in a struggle to prevent Chase from punching the mirror. Better, the mirror now reflected them. She waited, watching them look at each other.

Who was she? Emma wanted to ask, but given the tension of their expressions at the moment, she couldn’t. Had they been Alison—or Michael—those would have been the first words out of her mouth, and they would have been angry, protective words. But Eric and Chase were not friends of a decade; she wasn’t sure how they would take it—but she could guess. Badly.

“Guys.”

They both turned to look at her.

“Is she what you were looking for?”

“She is so not what I was looking for,” Chase replied.

“So that means the house search is stil on?”

Eric nodded. “I don’t think we’l find anything else,” he added. “But we might as wel be thorough.”

He was wrong. He wasn’t happy to be wrong, but he was wrong.

wrong.

And it happened that the person who proved him wrong in this case wasn’t Chase. It was Emma. Emma knew the house pretty wel; it was hard not to know a house that you’d played extended games of hide-and-seek in from elementary school on.

Amy’s house, it was agreed, was the best house for hide-and-seek because there were so many places to hide, and you could hide on the move if necessary. It changed the whole feel of the game.

So Emma knew the house as wel as anyone but Skip or Amy, and once she’d decided to take charge, she led, and Eric and Chase were forced to folow.

She hesitated on the threshold of Amy’s bedroom, but that was the only dangerously sensitive area upstairs, and it was, in Chase’s opinion, clean. Mindful of Amy’s ability to notice when a hairpin had been moved half an inch, Emma supervised Chase like an angry principal conducting a locker search.

Skip’s room had never been off limits in the opinion of anyone but Skip, and none of the girls took him seriously anyway. Since Skip barely noticed his closet—and evidence of this could be seen by the shirts and the pants that were nowhere near it, and should have been—she relaxed and let them both poke around.

“Clean,” Chase said.

“In a manner of speaking,” Eric added.

The room that had been Merrick’s was one of four guest rooms. It was almost self-contained, in that it had a bathroom, a smal study, and a very large bedroom (certainly larger than any of the rooms in the Hal household) behind a set of off-white of the rooms in the Hal household) behind a set of off-white double doors. It had a walk-in closet as wel. The only thing it lacked was a kitchen. They approached this room with care— enough care that Eric caught Emma’s arm as she reached for the doorknob and puled her back.

“Let Chase open it.”

“Why me?”

Eric glared, but Chase was—mostly—grinning. They realy were like brothers. Chase opened the doors that led to the guest room. The rooms were empty, which was more or less what they expected. They weren’t entirely tidy, but given that they’d been occupied by a so-caled friend of Skip’s, Emma didn’t expect tidy.

The bathroom had the usual things in it—toothbrush, electric razor, deodorant. It had a mirror that was not nearly as dramatic as the one in the hal bathroom, but Emma hesitated at the doorway just in case. Chase, however, didn’t seem worried.

Eric was that type of quiet that doesn’t let much out into the world; she couldn’t tel if he was worried or not.

The bathroom was clean. The bedroom contained one very large suitcase and one carry-on bag; the bed was made.

“Was he planning to stay a while?” Eric asked.

Emma shrugged. “I didn’t ask,” she replied. “But Amy takes something that size on day trips.” In case it wasn’t clear, she indicated the large suitcase. “Longland looked like he was a bit of a clothes horse, so it might mean nothing.”

Eric tried to open the suitcase. It was locked. So was the carry-on.

“Chase?”

“This,” Chase told Emma, “is what we cal job security.” He opened both suitcases, using what looked like long wires.

“Can you unlock doors that way as wel?”

“Not easily. A baby could do this, though. At least a baby not named Eric.”

The carry-on was ful of books. And two large chocolate bars. They were not, however, good chocolate, which said something. Chase pocketed them anyway, which also said something. She looked at the books as Chase lifted them out of the bag.

Eric had opened the larger suitcase. It was, not surprisingly, ful of clothing. But this clothing? It was almost like studying geological strata. The first layer? Shirts. One T-shirt, one sweatshirt. Underwear and socks could be found under two pairs of gray pants. No jeans. But beneath the expected layer of clothing? The unexpected.

“What is that?” Emma asked. She had assumed it was either a jacket or a very heavy shirt, but it just kept unfolding as Eric drew it out of the suitcase. In the end, it was a dress. No. Not a dress. A robe.

“Looks like a robe to me,” Chase said.

“Seriously?” She reached out for a fold of the draping cloth and saw that it was not quite gray, as it had first seemed. It was a slate blue, embroidered lightly in curling fronds of gray. Gold thread decorated the sleeves and the hem.

thread decorated the sleeves and the hem.

“Eric?”

Eric nodded at Chase.

“What, they have a uniform?” Emma asked.

“Not exactly. But my guess? This wasn’t meant for his use.”

“Whose, then?”

“Yours.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s another one. Look.”

She reached into the suitcase and puled out a robe that was similar in cut. It was, however, rust red. She held it against her shoulders and watched the hems flap around in folds across the ground. “I think I like the red better.”

As a joke, it fel flat. Chase glanced at her and then at Eric; Eric deliberately didn’t meet his gaze.

Emma’s hands, stil clutching red cloth, became fists. She looked at the two of them, and if Eric was avoiding Chase’s gaze, he was also avoiding hers. Chase folowed suit.

“Guys.”

They both looked at her, then. “Can we just stop this right now? You know things you aren’t teling me, and they’re about me. You know what I’m facing, and I don’t. Tel me.”

They exchanged a glance, and Chase shrugged. Eric took a breath, held it for a little too long, and exhaled. “Let’s keep on looking.”

“Eric.”

“Emma—”

“At least explain this.” She lifted the robe. “These aren’t “At least explain this.” She lifted the robe. “These aren’t exactly what you or I would cal everyday wear. They’re not formal, either. I could put that on,” she added, pointing to the slate blue robe, “if I were playing a priest in a badly staged school play.”

He nodded.

“I could not put it on and just blend in here, for any value of here that didn’t include Amy’s Haloween party.”

“Amy has Haloween parties?” Chase asked. Eric hit him.

“Your point?” Eric asked Emma.

“My point is that I couldn’t wear this anywhere here. If I was meant to wear this, where exactly was I supposed to go?”

“Emma—”

“Was I meant to go where she is?”

Eric flinched. “No,” he said, almost too softly. “Never that, Emma.”

But Chase said, “God, Eric.”

Eric looked at Chase and said, No. But without the sound.

“Idiot. She’s right. She’s absolutely right. Eric, wake the hel up.”

Eric was silent. Chase turned to Emma. “Find us a big room,”

he told her.

“How big?”

“Damn it, just—big.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Come on. There’s one up here, and there’re two downstairs that might do. They don’t look as big when they’re ful of people.”

She led them to the master bedroom. It was at the end of the hal, it was fronted by the largest doors on the second floor, and it had always had an invisible sign across it saying: Keep out or Amy might kill you. Not that this had always worked.