“The first time I saw my wife,” he goes on, “she was in a costume very much like yours.”
I don’t have to imagine what Madame looks like in costumes. There are pictures and paintings of her all over the house and the studio.
Mr. Torrance stays there for a moment, his height and eyes hovering over me and making me uncomfortable.
Finally, he drops his hand and inhales a breath as if snapping out of something. “Run along and play,” he tells me.
I spin around, darting back the way I came, but I have to glance over my shoulder one more time to make sure he’s far away and not following me.
But as I look, I see him continue down the hallway, open the door straight ahead, and pause for a moment as if seeing someone.
I almost turn back around to keep going, but he moves out of the doorway, swinging around to close the door, and I see her.
My mom.
I narrow my eyes, blinking to make sure it’s her. White afternoon dress, long hair the same color as mine, playful smile on her lips...
The door closes, cutting off the image of her heading toward him, and I stand in the black hallway, the sound of a lock clicking echoing around me.
I should go. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think I should bother her. Twisting around, I run back down the stairs, through the foyer again, and toward the back of the house and the party.
The back door opens, a waiter coming through with a tray, and I slip out, flitting across the stone patio and through a sea of adults. Chatter surrounds me, people laugh, drink, and eat, while a flute player in a light blue gown shares a corner with a string quartet far off to my right. They fill the terrace with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, a track I know really well from dancing.
The waitstaff clears silverware while glasses clink, and I glance up at the darkening sky, seeing the clouds cover the sun and cast a shadow over the party. Perfect for the candlelight.
Spotting a group of white, I see my friends, all similarly dressed, since we’d just performed in our recital earlier today, run behind some hedges. They’re huddled together, giggling, and my sister, three years older than me, is in the middle of them. I only hesitate a moment before I take a step, following them.
Running around the hedge and onto the grass, I suddenly stop and inhale the rush of wind that hits me as it blows through the trees. Chills spread up my arms, and I glance back at the house and the windows on the second floor where I’d been. My mom might come looking for me.
But the party is boring, and my friends are this way.
Beyond the house and party, the land opens up into a vast lawn, lined and dotted with flower beds to my right and left as well as trees and rolling hills in the distance. It spans far and wide and looks like something out of a fairy tale.
I look over, seeing my sister in a tight group with our classmates. What are they doing? She glances over at me, smirks, and then says something quickly to them before they all rush into the garden maze, disappearing behind the tall hedges.
“Wait!” I shout. “Ari, wait for me!”
I take off down the small slope and toward the maze, stopping only briefly at the entrance and flashing my gaze to both of the hedges on either side. The path is only visible for several more feet before I’m forced to make a turn, and I didn’t see where they went. What if I get lost?
I shake my head. No. This wouldn’t be dangerous. If it were, they would’ve blocked it off. Right? A bunch of kids just went in. It’s fine.
I push off my foot, breaking into a run as the wind sweeps through the cypresses, the promise in the gray sky and looming clouds making the hair on my arms rise. I turn right and wind around the trees, following the path and losing my way as the entrance to the maze gets farther away from me the deeper I go.
The smell of earth fills my lungs as I breathe in, and even though the ground is covered with grass, dirt scuffs my slippers, and I shift uncomfortably. They’re going to be ruined now. I know it.
But Madame insisted we keep our full costumes on, even after the performance.
Laughter and howling echoes in the distance, and I shoot my head up, starting to walk faster to follow the sound. They’re still in here.
After a minute, though, the sounds die out, and I stop, straining to hear where my sister and friends might be.
“Ari?” I call.
But I’m all alone.
I step timidly down the path, coming to an open plot of green with a big fountain in the middle. The space is about twice the size of my bedroom, surrounded by tall cypresses with three other pathways leading off from the big, open area. Is this the center of the maze?
The fountain is massive with a gray stone bowl at the bottom and a smaller one on top. Water shoots from the spouts, filling the upper bowl and pouring down like thick waterfalls into the lower one. It creates the prettiest sound. Like roaring rapids. So peaceful.
But not looking where I’m going, I crash into someone and stumble backward. A woman’s arms rise with her palms up and away from me as if I’m dirty and she doesn’t want to touch me.
I see Madame’s surprised eyes soften with her smile, her body graceful and fluid like this is a theater, and she’s always on stage.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Her voice is drenched in sweetness. “Are you having fun?”
I step back and drop my eyes, nodding.
“Have you seen my son?” she asks. “He loves parties, and I don’t want him to miss this.”
He loves parties? I dig in my eyebrows, confused. His father doesn’t seem to agree.
I’m about to tell her ‘no’, but then something to my right catches my attention, and I look over, thinning my eyes at the dark form.
The dark form inside the fountain.
It sits behind the water in the bottom bowl, almost entirely hidden.
Damon. Their son who was just getting yelled at upstairs.
I pause for a moment, the lie coming out before I can stop it. “No.” I shake my head. “No, I haven’t seen him, Madame. I’m sorry.”
I don’t know why I don’t tell her he’s right there, but after the way his dad just shouted at him, I guess he looks like he wants to be left alone.
I avoid Madame’s eyes like she’ll be able to tell I’m lying, and instead, stare straight ahead. Her black dress flows to mid-calf, glittering with little jewels and pearls as the top hugs her slender body and the bottom sways as she moves. Her long, black hair drapes down her back, as straight and shimmering as a cool stream of water.
I never hear my mom say anything nice about her, but while people are afraid of her, they are definitely nice to her face. She doesn’t look much older than my babysitter, but she has a kid older than me.
Without saying anything, she glides around me and walks toward the entrance, while I stay still for a moment, wondering if I should follow and just leave, too.
But I don’t.
I know he probably doesn’t want to see anyone, but I kind of feel bad that he’s alone.
Slowly, I inch toward the fountain.
Peering through the streams of the water pouring down, I try to make him out as he quietly hides. Arms clad in a black suit coat, resting on his knees, and dark hair hanging over his eyes and sticking to his porcelain cheekbones.
Why is he in the fountain?
“Damon?” I say in a timid voice. “Are you okay?”
He says nothing, and through the falling water, I can tell he doesn’t move. It’s like he doesn’t hear me.
Clearing my throat, I harden my voice. “Why are you sitting in there?” And then I add, “Can I come in, too?”
I didn’t mean to say it, but I got excited. It looks fun, and something inside me just wants him to feel better.
He shifts his head, his gaze flashing to the side, but then he turns back.
I squint into the thin slices of air between the spills to see his head bowed and wet hair hanging in his face. I spot a flash of red, noticing blood on his hand. Is he bleeding?