When I saw the rope, fashioned into a noose, slip over the person’s head, I cried out for them to stop, please stop!, but they kept on as though they hadn’t heard. They didn’t hesitate, and I knew I was going to see them die. But for just that moment I couldn’t turn away. I stared, taking in every strange detail. I watched as they raised one leg and then the other to climb over the railing, the thick length of ropes curled against their body. They climbed over the railing and held on, arms extended behind, readying. Somewhere in the background, I heard chairs falling over and Press and the others calling for me. Eva screamed a terrified scream as well, and the sound echoed in the big hall. Understanding exactly what I was seeing, I closed my eyes and turned my head as the person let go of the railing and dropped, swinging, into the air.
But I wouldn’t let myself faint. Even as Press and Hugh and Jack gathered around me, restraining me on the stairs, I wouldn’t give up my consciousness or my sanity.
“Charlotte, darling. Speak to me.” Press gripped my jaw, trying to get me to look into his eyes, but I strained to look beyond him. To listen.
Running footsteps on the gallery just above us. A child crying. Eva! But no. It couldn’t be.
It hadn’t been.
Above us, there was no body swaying at the end of a rope. There was no rope.
Downstairs, someone switched on the chandelier’s light switch and the hall was flooded with light, blinding me as I looked upward.
Chapter 28
The Vision
I didn’t answer their questions, nor did I succumb to Jack’s insistence that he give me a sedative.
“You’re pale, Charlotte. Let Press put you to bed, and I’ll give you something.”
Though I’d had two simultaneous shocks, I hadn’t lost my wits. In fact, I felt better, clearer than I had in weeks. Standing on the stairs, I’d been overwhelmed for a few moments, and I’d gone to the brink—yes, a horrible, awful brink that felt strangely familiar to me. Maybe it was that my mother had been there before, and she had passed her vulnerability on to me. I don’t know why she’d gone there, only that she had and couldn’t stop herself from going over. But I had Michael, and, in some sense, Eva. I would not. I could not do what my mother had done and leave my child to be raised by his father. Alone. I had been terribly fortunate that my mother had chosen to marry a man who would be a good father. It wasn’t clear to me that I had chosen as well.
No one in the house with me then would understand the other thing I’d seen—except, perhaps, Terrance.
“No. You’re so kind, Jack. I don’t need anything. It was shadows, up on the third floor. Only shadows.”
“But we saw her.” Rachel was adamant. “We all saw Eva. Right there up on the second floor.”
Press was focused intently on me as I sipped the brandy he’d poured for me once we were all settled in the salon.
“I saw her. But she didn’t frighten me. Eva could never frighten me. It was the shadows.”
J.C. joined in the chorus, but I knew better than to trust her any longer.
“It was so sudden, Charlotte. Breaking that kind of psychic connection so quickly can be devastating. For you, and for. . . .” She didn’t finish. Was she trying to tell me that Eva—dead Eva—might be damaged by my alarm? I wanted to laugh at her, but I didn’t dare. They were all watching me too carefully.
Only Hugh stood silently in the background, looking out the night-blackened windows. I still wondered why he’d really decided to come. It had to be J.C., though there didn’t seem to be anything more than a casual friendship between them. Of course, no one else was supposed to know that something more had happened. I was surrounded by so much deceit.
“I guess if there was ever any doubt that Bliss House is haunted, it’s gone now.” Rachel laughed nervously, and I saw Jack shoot her a look.
I held out my hand to her. “Maybe you need something, Rachel. All this excitement can’t be good for the baby.”
Rachel looked at me questioningly. Had she narrowed her eyes just the slightest bit? I wanted them all out of the house, including J.C. Odious J.C. I wanted her away from me most of all. What I suspected her of now was worse than being my husband’s lover. She was a conspirator. Was Rachel the only one I could trust now?
“It’s not a laughing matter,” J.C. said sternly, looking at Rachel.
“Fuck you.” Rachel turned her back on J.C. and missed the latter’s look of serene disdain. The rest of us were used to Rachel’s occasional profanity.
“Jack, I want to go home. I’m exhausted and this isn’t fun anymore.”
I was glad that she and Jack were leaving. Perhaps Hugh would take the hint. Jack looked at Press, eyebrows raised. Press gave a slight nod. I relaxed a little.
“Yes, I think we’d all better call it a night,” Press said. He walked over to the bar table. “Quick one for the road, Jack?”
Rachel came to sit beside me. She started talking, but I missed most of what she said because I was watching Jack and Press at the bar.
When Press handed him his Scotch, Jack’s hand slid gently over Press’s and lingered there a moment before he took the glass. As Jack sipped, he watched Press closely as he talked, a look of comfortable pleasure on his handsome face.