She was so enticing, her hair a wild mane around her head, her skin so soft, the silk wrap she had grabbed to follow him seductively draping the curves of her body. The sight of her, the feel of her, triggered something within him.
“Caleb?” she repeated.
He looked at the trunk and gave himself a mental shake, pulling himself free from the mists of sleep and dreams.
“The trunk,” he said hoarsely, pointing.
He knew he was awake at last, but memory of the dream was vivid. He walked closer and saw that the trunk was padlocked, preventing him from opening it. He looked around and saw that someone had stowed a set of dumbbells in a corner—years ago, judging by the coating of dust, and yet not so many years as the trunk had been there. He strode across the room, oblivious to his own nakedness, and picked up one of the dumbbells.
“Caleb?” Sarah said, louder now, firmly. “What are you doing?”
Without answering, he smashed the lock and lifted the lid of the trunk, revealing a trove of loosely piled Victorian clothing. He drew out hose, capes, petticoats, stays, throwing things aside…until at last he found what he was seeking.
Bones.
Bones nestled in decaying silk and satin. Wisps of hair still clinging to a skull with leathery skin still covering the bone. Dried and mummified flesh adding substance to the bones. She was real, and yet she appeared to be nothing but a decorative prop for a macabre haunted house.
“Oh, my God…” Sarah breathed from behind him.
“It’s Eleanora,” Caleb said with grim certainty.
“How do you know?” she whispered.
“There’s a locket around her neck—with a likeness of Cato,” he said. “Cato didn’t do it. He loved her.”
“What?” Sarah asked, shaking her head in concern and stepping back, as if she were afraid to touch him. “I don’t understand.” She studied him for a moment, and then realization lit her eyes. “You saw him, didn’t you? I didn’t dream him. He’s a ghost,” she whispered.
“I had a dream,” he said, but even as he spoke, he wasn’t sure he believed his own words. And if not, what did he believe?
What had he seen, and how had he ended up in the attic?
“It was a dream,” he insisted. “We were talking about the past and what happened here, and I had a dream that led me here, that’s all,” he said. “Call Jamison. And then you might as well call that professor—Dr. Manning. I need to shower and dress—we both do. She’s been in that trunk for over a hundred and fifty years. Another hour isn’t going to make any difference. In fact, I don’t want to call anyone yet. I’m going to go see Floby anyway, and then I’ll bring him back here and we can figure out how to proceed and whether this has anything to do with everything else going on.”
“Caleb, it all has to be connected,” Sarah said. “Whatever you say, I know we both saw a ghost. And he’s not trying to haunt anyone or hurt them—he’s trying to help. People accused Cato of having killed Eleanora and the others, and he left because he couldn’t prove the truth.”
He set his hands on her shoulders and wondered why he of all people—a man who worked for Adam Harrison and spent his time investigating the incursions of the paranormal into the real world—couldn’t admit to having seen a ghost.
Sarah was still staring at him as if he had changed in some fundamental way. She looked wary. She looked…
Afraid.