The Sitter (20 page)

48

I
recognized Will from the way he stood leaning against the door—one leg crossed casually over the other, his shoulders stooped. The orange light from the fire inside formed a ring around him, like an aura, but his face was hidden in shadow.

Of
course
I recognized him immediately. I’d been seeing him, chasing after him, for seven years.

Staring at him now, it was as if the fog had lifted, and I felt only the tiniest tingle of surprise, not the shock I’d imagined I’d feel at seeing a dream come true—and not the horror of seeing a dead person come to life.

“It’s you,” I said, keeping my distance, staring at the dark figure inside the halo of orange light. “You’re alive.”

“No thanks to you,” he said coldly, his voice deeper than I remembered.

He moved quickly. He eased forward, three or four quick steps, then grabbed my hand, and pulled me roughly into the guest house.

The fire crackled in the wide fireplace. A beer can rested on the mantel. The glass eyes in the deer head glowed in the light. Glancing to the back, I saw that the bed was unmade. Clothes had been tossed on the floor.

Will let go of me, shoving my hand away. He turned his face to the fire, blond hair long and unbrushed. He wore a faded denim shirt, torn at the elbows, over straight-legged, black pants.

“Somehow I knew,” I said. “I had the strongest feeling that you didn’t die . . . back then.”

Silence for a long moment. And then he turned to me slowly. “I wish I did die,” he whispered. “Here. I’ll show you why, Ellie. Take a look at what you did to me.”

He turned to me, grabbed my hand again, and tugged me close. I let out a whispered cry as his face came into the light.

His face was red and raw and scarred. Faded red stitch marks crossed both cheeks. A deep purple scar dug into his chin. And his nose . . . His nostrils didn’t match—one gaping open, the other half-closed. I saw stitch marks down the front of both ears. His left eye kept blinking. He had no eyebrows.

He held me close, forcing me to study his face—a monster’s face.

I gasped and took a step back. “I—I don’t understand,” I said, lowering my eyes. “Why are you here? Why did they tell me you were dead?”

He crossed the room and closed the guest house door. Then he turned, remaining in the shadows.

“Do you really want to know? Do you really care? Well . . . after the crash, my parents rushed me away. To a hospital in San Diego. My uncle is a surgeon there. He specializes in plastic surgery, Ellie. And I needed a lot of that,
years
of that. Surgery and rehab therapy.”

He took a deep breath and continued, the words pouring out as if he couldn’t hold them back. “My parents blamed you, and so did I. They never wanted us to see each other again. So my mother told your mother that I died. I wanted her to. I wanted you to feel bad, as bad as I did. Because you ruined my life. I’ve had seven lost years, Ellie. Seven. And in all that time . . . In all that time, Abby is the only one to care about me.”

I gasped. “Abby? You and Abby?”

He nodded. “She’s why I’m here.”

I suddenly felt weak. I pressed my back against the wall. Too many shocks to take in all at once. Will alive? Abby and Will?

“What about Chip?” I asked.

He snickered. “He’s a tool. I’ve been here in the guest house for months, and he’s totally clueless. Abby just stays with him because he’s rich, and she and I really need the money she gets from him. She’s going to leave him. She doesn’t love him. Never has.”

I realized I was shivering. I moved closer to the fire, my mind spinning. Seven years I’d dreamed of this moment. But it wasn’t anything like what I’d imagined.

“I . . . never stopped thinking of you, Will,” I blurted out, my voice breaking. “I never stopped—”

“Shut up!”
he screamed, slamming his fist against the door. “Shut the fuck up, Ellie. I don’t want to hear it. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you walking into their house. Seeing you was like a nightmare, my worst nightmare.”

“You—hate me that much?”

He nodded. The fire danced, and the red scars and stitches on his face appeared to glow, like a monstrous Halloween mask. “I just never wanted to see you again, Ellie. I thought I was safe here. I thought you were probably still in Madison.”

My throat closed up. A wave of panic swept over me as I suddenly realized I was alone here, alone with the person who hated me most in the world.

Clay had been murdered. Clay lay a few yards outside the door. And now here I was, alone.

“You hate me so much, you’ve been torturing me since I arrived,” I whispered.

His eyes widened. “Huh? What the hell are you talking about?” The scarred mask twisted into a scowl. “Torture you? You’re not worth my time. I just want to forget about you.”

“Then why did you murder my cat?” I cried. “Why did you take Chip’s car and try to smash us off the road? Why did you cut off that old woman’s hand and—and—”

I stopped as the guest house door swung open.

I heard laughter. Then a soft voice. “Will doesn’t know anything about that, Ellie. You’ll have to blame
me
for your troubles.”

Her face cold and hard even in the warm firelight, Abby stepped into the room.

49

A
bby moved past Will and strode to the center of the room, her hands balled into tight fists. She wore Chip’s brown leather jacket over jeans. Her face glistened with sweat.

“How are you two lovebirds getting along?” she asked. “Isn’t this a sweet reunion? I may puke.”

“You!” I cried. “Abby,
you
killed Clay?”

Behind her, Will gasped. “What? What did you say?”

Abby nodded. “Is that who that was? I saw him prowling around back here. I couldn’t let him ruin our happy reunion, could I?”

“Whoa, wait, Abby.” Will crossed the room and grabbed her arm. “What did you just say? You
killed
someone?”

“Shut up, Will,” she snapped. She pushed him away and stormed up to me. “No one is going to ruin this for me.”

I made a move to the door. But she grabbed me by both shoulders and dragged me in front of the fire. “Why don’t you remember me, Ellie?”

My mouth dropped open. The flames danced high, leaped out at me. “Remember you?”

“You stood in that shop in town, and looked into my face, and you didn’t remember me,” Abby said through gritted teeth, squeezing my shoulders. “How could you not remember me? How?”

“I—”

Her eyes grew wide with anger, with fury. Her jaw clenched tightly. “Try to remember. Try real hard, Ellie. I want you to remember!”

I stared at her. I didn’t say a word. Did I know her? Did I? I had no memory.

“I was in the class ahead of you.
Now
do you remember? Will and I went together for three years. And then you stole him away from me. How could you forget that, Ellie? How could you forget me?”

She shook me by the shoulders, eyes blazing. “Was it because I was nothing to you? Was it because I was invisible? I was a bug you could crush under your shoes? Will was the only one in the world I cared about. The only one, Ellie. I loved him so much. And you stole him from me
without even looking at me. Without even remembering me!
”

“Abby, please—!” I cried. “You’re
hurting
me!” Her hands dug into my shoulders.

She was right. I didn’t remember her. I knew Will had been with somebody. But I didn’t remember who.

“Look what you did to him,” Abby said, ignoring my cry. “Look at him. Look at his face, Ellie. You
ruined
him. You
ruined
him!”

A sob escaped her throat, but she didn’t loosen her grip. “So now do you understand? When I saw you in that shop, I knew it was for a reason. I knew you were sent to me so I could finally pay you back.”

“You—you hired me so you could torture me? You did all those things to me?” I said, still unable to believe it all.

“What’s going on here?” Will demanded. “Abby, what the hell are you talking about? What did you do to her?”

She ignored him, keeping her eyes on me. “I planned to kill you the night of the storm. I sneaked back from the party in a friend’s car. I wanted to terrify you first, then murder you. But your damned friends showed up and ruined it.”

“Abby, listen. I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

She grabbed my head and twisted it. “Don’t look away from Will, Ellie. Keep looking at him, at the face you made. Don’t look away—because this is what
your
face is going to look like now.
You’re going to look just like him!
”

“Abby—let go of her,” Will shouted. He lurched toward her. “I mean it. You’re not doing anything to her. I won’t let you.”

Abby gave me a hard shove that sent me stumbling into the wall. She picked up the wrought-iron fireplace shovel and, with a furious groan, swung it at Will’s head. It made a sick, cracking sound as it hit the left side of his face.

Will uttered a startled grunt. His eyes rolled up in his head, he dropped to his knees, and then he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Stunned, I started to scramble away. But Abby grabbed me again, grabbed me with such fury and slammed my head hard against the stone fireplace.

I let out a scream, a high, shrill wail, as she shoved me, shoved me down, shoved my head into the flames.

50

I
shut my eyes against the bright orange glare. Hot flames licked at my face. I smelled my hair starting to singe and felt the flames on my cheeks, on my forehead, like knife stabs . . . like hot, stabbing knife blades.

I can’t breathe.

I twisted my head, struggled to duck away, to wrench out of her grip. But Abby was stronger than me. She held firm, pushing me down, holding my head on the fire.

Flames wrapped around my face, swept over me, hot pain, stabbing like a hundred knife blades at once.

I opened my mouth to scream and choked on the smoke. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. My lungs ached. My chest felt ready to explode.

With a final burst of energy, I dropped my head hard, swung my body around, and drove my elbow into Abby’s stomach.

She groaned. Backed up a step. Loosened her grip.

Dizzy from the burning pain, I edged my head out of the flames—and saw Brandon enter the room.

Brandon moved quickly. He appeared to float across the floor, to the harpoon leaning against the back wall. How did he know it was there?

As I wrestled with Abby, my head roaring as if the flames were inside me, I saw Brandon lift the harpoon in one hand above his head. He lifted it high and prepared to toss it.

How can a little boy raise such a heavy harpoon?

How is it possible?

And then, I realized
it wasn’t Brandon
!

I was staring at another boy, a red-haired boy in knee breeches. A red-haired boy with glowing green eyes sunk deep in his pale, white face.

He stared at me with those eyes. He stared for a long, terrifying moment.

“Nanny die!”
he called in a hoarse, raspy voice.
“Nanny, die now!”

Oh, my God. Mrs. Bricker’s story is going to come true.

It’s about to happen again.

I’m the nanny.

Jeremiah is going to kill the nanny.

I gave Abby a hard shove with my shoulder, sending her sliding against the wall. But I couldn’t move away in time.

I screamed as he heaved the harpoon at me.

I shut my eyes and waited for the pain to course through my body. Waited . . . waited for the crushing pain . . .

“Aaaaiiiiiiii!”

Behind me—a howl, a high, shrill animal howl.

My eyes shot open. I turned to see Abby crumple to the floor, the harpoon stuck through the brown leather jacket, through her shoulder, clear through her body, the rusted tip poking out of her back.

Abby twisted onto her side, her head thrown back, screaming in agony, thrashing her legs, slapping the floor with her free hand. Blood bubbled from under the jacket, puddling beside her as she thrashed and shrieked.

Will raised his head from the floor. “Huh?” he groaned. “Huh?” Blinking his eyes, opening and closing his mouth.

Dazed, my face still burning, the hot flames dancing in my eyes, I turned and saw Jackson at the doorway, his mouth open in shock. “What the hell is going on?” he cried. “I saw a body out there. And—and—”

“Jackson. Call 911,” I said.

“Hunnnh,” Will groaned. His arms and legs twitched. He couldn’t seem to form words. “Hunnnnh. Hunnnnh.”

Jackson had his cell to his ear, calling for the police and an ambulance. I turned to the boy.

Brandon?

Brandon sat on a chair against the wall, shaking his head.

The red-haired boy had vanished.

Was it Jeremiah Halley? Did he try for his revenge—and fail again? Did he try to murder me, the nanny, and hit Abby instead? Did that mean the curse of the guest house would continue for another generation?

I ran to Brandon and bent to wrap my arms around him. “Are you okay? Let’s get you out of here.”

“Where am I?” he asked, blinking at the fire. “Was I asleep? Is Daddy here? Where’s my daddy?”

He’s talking, I realized. In a little boy’s voice, a voice I hadn’t heard before.

I pulled him from the chair and lifted him onto my shoulder. He felt so light and frail. His little body was trembling.

“Where’s my daddy? Where is he?”

“He’ll be home soon,” I said softly. “Hear those sirens? Help is on the way. Help for your mommy. Your mommy is hurt, see? But she’s going to be okay.”

Abby uttered a loud groan.

Brandon peered over my shoulder at her. “No,” he said in a tiny, high voice. “That’s not Mommy. That’s Abby. That’s my nanny.”

51

I
still held Brandon in my arms when Chip arrived. He came trotting up the dune, wearing city clothes, jacket and tie, his face twisted in confusion as he saw the grim activity.

Two EMS workers were sliding Clay into a long, black body bag. Another white-uniformed crew had somehow managed to saw away most of the harpoon handle, leaving only the tip embedded in Abby’s shoulder. They had piled her onto a wheeled stretcher, attached a blood drip, and were starting to roll her down the dune.

At the guest house door, two police officers were standing over Will. He had managed to sit up, but kept groaning, “Hunnnh . . . hunnnh . . .” over and over, his mouth hanging open, blinking and shaking his head.

“What the hell?” Chip shouted, running toward us. “What the hell happened here?” When he realized it was Abby on the stretcher, he began running faster. “Abby? Are you okay? Tell me. Are you okay?”

“Tip-top,” she muttered, eyes closed.

“Are you Chip Harper?” A young, blond-haired police officer moved to block Chip’s path. “I’m Lieutenant Harris. We need to talk to you, sir. There’s been a lot of trouble here, including a fatality.”

Chip grabbed Abby’s hand. But when he saw the stub of the harpoon through her shoulder, he jerked back. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. What is
that
?”

He turned to the EMS workers. “Is she going to be okay? How did this happen? Who did this?”

“I’m sorry, Chip,” Abby whispered. “You’re a nice guy. You didn’t deserve—” Her head slumped to one side.

The EMS worker signaled to his partner. “Let’s roll.” They started to push the stretcher cart down the hill. “She’s lost a lot of blood,” he called back to Chip. “We’ve got to get her to the hospital fast.”

Chip uttered a cry of frustration. “But what the hell is going on?” He glanced up at Will at the guest house door, still on the ground, still shaking his head. “Who is he? Who the hell are these people?”

And then Chip noticed me for the first time, saw that I was holding Brandon. He hurried over and reached for Brandon. But the boy pulled away and clung tighter to me.

“Ellie, can you tell me what’s happening here?” Chip demanded.

Before I could answer, Brandon chimed in. “She’s not mommy, Daddy. Tell them. She’s Abby, right? She’s not mommy.”

Chip raised a finger to his lips. “Brandon, not now,” he said softly. And then he realized: “Oh, my God—you’re talking! Brandon, you’re talking again. That’s so wonderful! But let’s not talk about Mommy, okay?”

He reached for his son again, but Brandon slid to the ground and started to run clumsily toward the guest house. “Mommy!” he cried. “Mommy!”

“Brandon, where are you going?” Chip cried. He took off after the boy. “Brandon, what’s wrong, baby? Why are you running away from me?”

Brandon darted around to the back of the guest house. He dropped down on the ground where he had dug earlier. The two officers abandoned Will and followed Chip to the spot where Brandon had started to dig again, digging furiously with both hands.

“Brandon? Why are you doing this?” Chip asked. “I know you’re upset. Let me pick you up. Let me hold you.” Chip turned to me. “We have to do something. The poor kid must be in shock.”

“Mommy!” Brandon cried, leaning over the hole, tossing up the sand. “Mommy.”

I knelt beside him. “No, Brandon. Stop,” I said. “It’s only a dog skeleton, remember? It’s just a dog.”

“Brandon, please. Come to me,” Chip said softly. “You’ll be okay. I promise, sweetie.” He moved to grab Brandon, but an officer held him back.

“Remember? It’s just a dog?” I repeated.

Brandon looked up from the hole in the sand. “Over . . . under,” he said. “Over . . . under . . . Over . . . under.”

“Brandon? That’s from
Sesame Street
on TV,” I said. “Why are you saying that now?”

“Under,” he said, and continued pawing up the sand. “Under . . . under . . .”

Chip grabbed Brandon and hoisted him up and away. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered. “There’s nothing there. It’s okay.”

“Under . . . under . . .”

“Mr. Harper,” Lieutenant Harris said firmly. “Put the boy down. And please step away from the hole. I want to see what’s beneath these dog bones.”

Chip stepped back. But he held on to Brandon, pressing him against his chest.

Flashlights swept over the hole. Two of the officers found shovels in the garage. As the fog thickened around us, they began to dig.

Now there was silence, except for the wash of waves on the ocean shore over the dune and the steady scrape of the two shovels.

Shovels clinked when they found the dog skeleton we had unearthed earlier. Groaning, the two men lifted it out and set it aside. Then they returned to their digging.

“Under . . . under . . . ,” Brandon repeated softly, still in Chip’s arms.

And a few minutes later, I gasped as the shovels clinked again. Another skeleton poked up from the hole. No. Not a skeleton. A woman. A decomposing woman.

The head came into view first in the white circles of light from the flashlights. A woman’s head, chunks of skin clinging to her skull, eyes sunk deep into their sockets, fat worms crawling through her dirt-caked hair.

“Oh, my God. It’s Jenny,” Chip said, beside me, his voice breaking. “My wife. Jenny. Jenny. How—how is this possible?”

Lieutenant Harris had been watching from the other side of the sand hole. Now he moved quickly beside Chip and grabbed his arm. “We need to talk, sir.”

Chip didn’t respond. He lowered Brandon to the ground, turned, and stared wide-eyed as more of the flesh-eaten body came into view. “Abby told me . . . Abby said Jenny packed her bags and left.”

“When was this, Mr. Harper?” the lieutenant asked.

Chip’s eyes were glazed, rolling in his head. His voice came out in a harsh whisper. “When was it? When was it? Last March. Just before I hired Mrs. Bricker.”

“Mr. Harper, I think we need to get you away from here,” Harris said, tugging gently at Chip’s arm.

But Chip pulled free. He took a few stumbling steps toward the corpse. He went down on his knees in the sand. “Jenny caught me. She caught Abby and me together,” he said, talking to himself now. “She was too angry and hurt to face me. So Jenny packed up and left. That’s what Abby told me. That’s what Abby said, and I believed her. I believed her. Why? Why—?” Sobbing, he choked on his words.

He reached out an arm and smoothed his hand over the corpse’s worm-infested hair. Tears ran down his cheeks. “I never saw Jenny again. I thought she went home to her family. But Brandon must have seen. Is that why he went silent? Yes. He must have seen Abby bury her here. Poor guy. Poor little guy.”

Still on his knees, he turned and motioned for Brandon to come to him. Brandon ran into his open arms. Chip hugged his son and wept, pressing his face into Brandon’s chest.

Is that really why Brandon had been silent? Is that why he had done all those violent things?

Or had he been possessed by the ghost of Jeremiah Halley?

I knew I’d never know the answer.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Harris said, putting a hand on Chip’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you about this further. But perhaps you should take the boy away from here.”

He helped Chip to his feet. Then he started to guide Chip down the dune toward the house. They passed another stretcher cart on its way up the hill, coming for Will.

Jackson slid his arm around my shoulders. “You’re shaking,” he said.

I shut my eyes and pressed my face against his chest. So solid. So warm and solid.

“Jeremiah had his revenge,” I murmured. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. “He hit the nanny, after all. Abby was the nanny, hiding with her lover in the guest house. Jeremiah had his revenge. It’s over now. For everyone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jackson said softly. “But, let’s just get far away from here. Far away from all of this. Just you and me.”

“Yes,” I said. I forced a smile. “I’m already packed.”

My cell phone rang. It startled me. I’d forgotten I’d tucked it into my jeans pocket.

I picked it up and raised it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ellie, it’s Mom. Just wondering what’s up with you. How’s the nanny job going? Any better?”