Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

Hope House was draped in shadow, only partially illuminated by the moonlight. Henry stared in awe at the house. It shouldn’t be there, and nor should he. He knew he was somewhere else – another time or place. He was an alien visitor in a different world. He blinked, and was instantly transported inside, impossibly looking out of the window at himself standing and staring. The trees moved as one, an ocean of leaves and creaking branches. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, both inside and outside, looking at the same thing from simultaneous viewpoints, yet the longer he stood, the more the secret, hidden language of the branches had begun to reveal itself. The creaking of tired wood formed vowels, the incessant rustle of dry leaves constructing sentences and statements, ideas and suggestions. Henry didn’t shy away from these; instead he strained his ears, desperate to decipher those secret conversations. Time shifted again, and now Henry was upstairs in the circular bedroom, observing as a woman struggled alone with the pains of childbirth. She wasn’t alone anymore.

The dead surrounded the woman’s bed. It was only then that Henry realized he too was invisible, a phantom, a specter, a half-seen flicker of movement in a deeper darkness. The woman screamed, and the dead spoke, their vocalizations coming not as words, but in the natural creaks and groans of the house and the fierce breath of the wind.

He understood this new language completely, and rather than repulse him, the words aroused his flesh.

The woman gritted her teeth and reared back, orange hair sticking to her head in sweaty clumps. She was calling to her husband, begging his assistance, yet her cries went unanswered. The dead spoke louder.

He felt a cold hand touch his skin, and found one of them beside him, its eyes no more than ghastly hollow voids, its withered skin clinging to its skull. It spoke no words. Contact alone acted as a kind of conduit, an instant exchange of information. In a single moment, Henry knew what they wanted him to do, what they wanted him to say.

He closed his eyes, and saw the man downstairs by the dying embers of the fire. He was broad-chested with a thick carroty beard. He frowned as the dead continued to pollute his brain, keeping him from attending to his wife. Henry opened his mouth, but like the dead, he spoke through the house and the trees in a series of creaks, moans and whispers of the elements.

Silence her.

The words stirred the man into action. Somehow he too could understand their secret language. Henry felt his arousal grow as the man stood up, picking up the axe leaning against the wall.

Leave nothing. Display her.

They left Henry’s mouth as words, yet came out as a creak of a floorboard, a shake of a tree, the rhythmic sound of rain on the window.

The man nodded.

He understood.

The woman’s cries were joined by those of her newborn son, his skin wet and streaked with blood. As the man ascended the stairs the dead were becoming more vocal. Henry was also goading the man, putting vile thoughts into his mind, encouraging him to do the unthinkable.

The man entered the room, and the sight of his wife’s confusion and fear only increased Henry’s excitement. The house became organic, a living, breathing entity operated by the dead like some twisted marionette.

The man didn’t hesitate, nor did the sight of his newborn son deter him. He struck, again and again. The axe rose and fell, splattering the walls with great swashes of blood which appeared black in the candlelight. Henry moaned as the hot warmth hit him.

He snapped awake, naked and writhing on the bed as his sticky mess erupted onto his stomach.

Breathing heavily, he allowed the familiar surroundings of his home to replace those of his dream. He wiped away the mess with the sheets, and reached over to his phone. He held it to his face, scrolling through the few numbers he kept stored. Remembering to block the caller I.D, he dialed Melody’s number.

She answered after the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

He said nothing, content to relax as he became flaccid again.

“Who is this?” she repeated. “I know someone’s there. I can hear you breathing.”

He hung up the phone and tossed it on the bedside table, stood, pulled on his pants and went downstairs.

“Henry, is that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” he replied, going to the kitchen, taking milk out of the fridge, and gulping down a huge draught straight from the bottle.

“When are you going to clear up all this mess?”

“Soon, I’m busy right now,” he yelled, forcing himself to remain calm.

“How soon? There are paint cans all over the place. I can’t get any housework done with all this mess.”

“I said I’d fix it, I’m just doing something for Dane.”

“That’s another thing, why haven’t you invited him over? It’s not often we see him as it is. You really should make more of an effort, Henry.”

He put the milk back in the fridge and went into the sitting room, flopping down in his favorite chair.

“I just forgot, that’s all,” he said as he put his feet up on the table.

“You seem to be forgetting a lot these days. You work too hard.”

“The bills won’t pay themselves,” he muttered, picking up the newspaper and skimming it, hoping she’d take the hint and stop nagging.

“Don’t think you can hide behind the paper and ignore this, Henry. I want to know what you intend to do about this mess.”

“I told you, I’ll fix it.”

“At least look at me when you talk to me!”

“Damn it, woman,” he hissed, setting the paper aside. “What is it you actually want from me?”

Hilary was sitting slouched on the sofa, dead eyes lolling in her head, chin resting on her chest. Her neck was a crusted, indistinguishable mass of dried blood. The knife he’d used to slit her throat almost through to the spine still lay on the seat beside her. Her skin had taken on a pallid grey tone, and the ghosts of veins were starting to show beneath her putrefying skin.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” he heard her say.

“If it will stop you from nagging, I’ll clear the mess up tomorrow. Good enough?” he said to the room.

“Just make sure you do. Remember, we both have to live here. It wouldn’t harm you to not be so selfish sometimes.”

He looked at his dead wife and sighed as an inquisitive housefly landed on her cheek and walked into her partly open mouth.

“Point taken, I’ll get right on it,” he said, standing and stretching while looking around the room. “I thought you might like the new décor anyway. I think it looks good.”

“It’s too indulgent. That was always your problem, Henry. You were never satisfied with normal. You always had to have more.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with being ambitious.”

“Ambition is fine, as long as you stay in control.”

“I am in control,” he muttered.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“What makes you think otherwise?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

“Just look around you. Open your eyes and look.”

He turned away from his dead wife’s stare, and looked around the room. The once tasteful crème décor was gone. The walls were now covered in crudely scrawled repetitions of the same word.

Donovan.

Even the wooden surfaces hadn’t escaped. The expensive coffee table now had the name carved into its surface over and over again, as did the fire surround and oak sideboard by the window.

“I don’t see anything wrong here at all,” he muttered, picking up a screwdriver and carving the letter ‘D’ on an unmarked section of the table. He paused to glance at his wife, who was still concentrating her glassy stare at her own chest.

“Now I don’t want to hear another thing about this from you, understand?”

He paused and looked at her for a second, then nodded.

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Henry continued carving. In the back of his mind, the natural creaks and groans of the house as it settled were telling him he was doing the right thing.

II

Melody parked the car as Isaac climbed out, toy rocket in hand.

“Hurry up, I want to show dad my rocket!” he whined as Melody locked the car.

“Wait by the entrance,” she yelled as Isaac ran towards the upper level ramp, making sure to check for traffic as he went. Melody walked slowly after him, feeling a surge of unconditional love which even the doubts about their future couldn’t stop.

“Come see, quick!” he yelled, turning towards her. He wore an expression of horror which was enough to make Melody break into a run.

“What is it?”

“Those men are taking my bike!”

She came out of the parking garage to see two men loading Isaac’s pedal bike onto a van. She also saw their TV and various other items on the street beside the van.

“What’s going on here,” she said striding towards the men.

“Repossession order,” one of them said. He had a salty mustache and hard, cruel eyes.

“For what?” she said, knowing full well why they were there.

“Unpaid medical bills.”

“We intend to pay them just as soon as we can.”

“It’s not my problem lady. It says here you were given numerous chances to pay these and haven’t done it. This is the last resort.”

“That’s our stuff, my son’s bike for Christ’s sake.”

The man shrugged, her words not moving him. “I don’t make the decisions. I’m just doing my job.”

“How much is it?”

The man looked at the sheet in front of him and whistled through his teeth.

“Seventeen grand. Unless you have it to give us right now in cash, we have to take this stuff away.”

“We need more time.”

“You’ve owed this for the last four years. Time’s up.”

“Please, can’t you just go back and tell them we’ll pay, just don’t take our stuff. We’re not bad people, we’re just going through a tough time right now.”

“I’m sorry, really I am. But you need to pay your bills. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“How did you even get into the apartment?”

“Your husband let us in. Look lady I get it, really I do. I know life is tough, and to be fair, I spoke to your husband when he opened the door and it looks like he’s really been through the wars. Even so, you can’t expect not to have to pay your way. It was either this, or we have the police come out and arrest you. I don’t think you want the kid to have to see that.”

“Take our stuff if you want to. Please, leave my son’s bike.”

“I wish I could lady. Truth is there wasn’t too much in there of value as is. Try to understand, we don’t like having to do this. It’s just a job. Please, step aside.”

Melody stood back watching the men loading the last of their possessions into the van, ignoring the inquisitive stares of passers-by.

“Why are they taking our stuff?” Isaac asked, glancing up at Melody.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she replied watching the van drive away. “Let’s go upstairs.”

They walked into the apartment, which was worse than she’d imagined. It had almost been stripped bare, only their essentials for living left behind. Steve sat by the window, head in his hands.

“Where did the TV go?” Isaac asked, his lip trembling.

“Go on in your room,” Melody mumbled as she sat opposite Steve.

“But mom…”

“Isaac, please do as I ask. I need to speak to your father.”

“Why did those men take all our stuff?” he whined, finally losing his fight to hold in his tears.

“Please, just go into your room okay? Your dad and I need to talk in private for a few minutes then I’ll come in, okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled, walking towards the room, tossing his science project rocket on the table as he went.

Melody pulled up one of the dining chairs and sat opposite Steve, holding his hands. She didn’t say anything. She could see he had been crying, so gave him the time to compose himself. She looked around the room, wondering how she would ever be able to explain to Isaac why he couldn’t watch his cartoons or even a DVD. She didn’t think it was possible to ever feel lower than she did right there and then.

“Call Goodson,” Steve said as he glanced up at her, his eyes red-ringed and wet. “Tell him we’ll do it.”

“We agreed not to.”

“Look around you, Mel. We don’t have a choice.”

“What about Isaac? I won’t take him there.”

“He’s the reason we have to do this. He doesn’t deserve to live with this. He shouldn’t be paying for our mistakes.”

“We can’t take him there. I won’t do it.”

“Agreed. I want him as far away from that hell as possible. Do you think Rebecca will take him for a few days until we get back?”

“I guess so, I mean, she would be happy to take him, it’s just…” She let the words trail off, unsure how to say them.

“What is it?” Steve asked, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze.

“What if we leave him with Becca and we don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“What if we don’t come back?” she whispered as she too started to cry.

Steve didn’t have an answer. Instead he leaned closer and kissed her on the head.

“Just make the call. We have no choice. I’ll go talk to Isaac and explain.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know yet. We have to tell him something. It’s not fair to keep him out of the loop on this. Not now.”

“Are you sure this is the right decision?” she said, her eyes pleading for reassurance.

“Honestly, I really don’t know. In a way it doesn’t really matter. This is our only choice.”

He struggled to his feet and headed towards Isaac’s room. Melody pulled Marshall’s business card out of her purse and glared at the embossed gold font on its surface. Everything screamed at her not to do it, yet, as awful as the memories of the horrific things which had happened to them at Hope House were, the look on her son’s face as his things were taken away was worse. She promised herself no matter what, she would never put him through anything like that ever again. Taking a deep breath, she punched Henry Marshall’s number into her phone.

CHAPTER 12