“Then let’s focus on topics that are more easily explained,” he started. “What do you think it meant that someone left the ax on your back steps?” he asked while glancing down at me.
“I think someone was trying to break in,” I answered with no pretense.
“With an ax?”
“No,” I responded, shaking my head, while Ryan instructed me to sit on the lip of the bathtub as he flicked on the light. It was intensely bright and I immediately crossed my arms over my chest as I realized how see-through my white T-shirt was. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I watched Ryan open one of his cabinets and fish inside it for something. He returned with a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
“That stuff hurts,” I protested, bracing my arms around myself.
“We need to clean it out, Peyton,” he answered before unscrewing the cap and reaching for my hand. I gave a theatrical sigh but allowed him to take my hand and hold it over the bathtub. It wasn’t lost on either of us when I freed my arms from in front of my chest that his eyes settled on my breasts like a lion’s on a baby gazelle. He immediately redirected his eyes to the wound on my hand and even cleared his throat uncomfortably. I felt myself instinctively hunching over, trying to make my nipples a little less protrusive. But, since it was basically freezing in the bathroom, they stood at full attention. Ryan pretended not to notice as he poured the bubbly liquid over my wound.
He tipped my chin back and inspected whatever marks were on my neck, sighing and shaking his head as he ran the pad of his finger across my skin. “There’s nothin’ I can do for the bruises,” he admitted.
I just nodded, making the decision then and there that I didn’t want to see the bruises. Somehow I felt it was better not to be confronted with them.
“Why do you think someone was tryin’ to break in?” Ryan asked, his gaze traveling from my palm to my feet. He was pretty good at completely avoiding my chest. “Jeez, Peyton, it looks like you banged up your feet too. Your toe is a bloody mess.” He reached for my foot and held it over the bathtub, rinsing it with the hydrogen peroxide as well.
I winced in expectation that the peroxide would sting but tried to remind myself not to be such a big baby. I mean, there were way bigger issues for me to be concerned about—like stray axes. “Because on the step above the ax, there was also a chisel and a bunch of wood shavings from where someone tried to chisel out one of the panels in my back door.”
I heard his swift intake of breath. He didn’t say anything as he recapped the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and patiently placed it on the counter beside the sink. When he turned to face me again, his expression was dour—all business. “We need to call the police.”
I knew there was more to it than simply calling the police on a failed robbery attempt. Especially because this was something far more ominous. “Ryan, no one was trying to steal from me.”
“Why else would they try to break in?” He did a good job of keeping his eyes riveted on mine, although somehow, I could tell he was itching to see my breasts again. He just seemed nervous, fidgety.
I shook my head. “This wasn’t a robbery, I’m sure of it.”
“So what—” he started.
“It was exactly the same thing that happened to the victims of the Axeman,” I blurted out, my tears suddenly returning full stream. I realized how ridiculous it sounded, but I was convinced it was the truth.
“The Axeman?” Ryan repeated, clearly at a loss as he shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows.
“Yes,” I insisted. “During the hysteria of the Axeman’s attacks, a few people reported finding the aftermath of attempts on their homes. They found chisels and axes left outside and gouges in their doors from where he’d tried to force his way in.”
“So you think a crazy person is tryin’ to recreate the scenes of some of the Axeman’s attacks?” Ryan asked, taking a deep breath as his eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “That’s a big leap to take, Peyton. It could just be that someone found the ax and thought they could break in and rob you with it.”
“Then why not break a window? Why bother with the arduous task of chiseling out my back door?” I shook my head adamantly.
“And someone breakin’ in makes a hell of a lot more sense where the bruises on your neck are concerned.”
I shook my head and sighed, knowing I needed to tell him the whole story to try to make him understand exactly what was going on. “I haven’t told you everything,” I started as I took a deep breath and told him about the dreams I’d had about Drake. I also told him how Drake figured into the Axeman’s murders and how he’d appeared in the vision I’d had while the dark, shadowy figure had been choking me.
“He was the police officer in the newspaper clippings that were on the wall in the guestroom?” Ryan asked, piecing the puzzle together for himself.
“Yes,” I admitted, nodding ardently. “He worked on all the cases, as far as I know.”
“And you think he’s visitin’ you in your dreams?” Ryan continued. Although his question made it sound like he doubted my sanity, his expression wasn’t quite as oppressive.
“I’m sure of it,” I answered immediately. “And I’m convinced he’s also haunting my house.” I took a big breath, then let it out. “He was the one whose footsteps I heard that night.”
Ryan nodded and looked like he was trying his damnedest to suspend his disbelief for a minute to hear me out. “Okay, I can accept the idea that your house is haunted and you’re havin’ dreams about the ghost. Whether or not the ghost…”
“Drake,” I corrected him.
“That Drake is contactin’ you through your dreams is a harder pill to swallow.” He paused for a few seconds. “I have to admit, I still can’t fully buy into the idea that you were attacked by a spirit, and believin’ the same spirit was responsible for the ax on your doorstep is even harder for me to wrap my head around.”
“I was dreaming about Drake at the same time someone or something attacked me,” I continued, trying to stress how everything was linked. “Drake was the one who first noticed that something wasn’t right and he tried to warn me! But, instead, whatever this thing was…it attacked me.” I took a deep breath as I continued to remember the details. “Then I heard that strange scratching noise and I followed it to the kitchen and found the chisel outside my door.”
“Those are just dreams, Peyton,” Ryan started, obviously trying to soothe my frazzled nerves.
“No,” I said, shaking my head immediately. “Drake speaks French and translates it for me! If he weren’t real, it would be impossible because I’ve never studied French!” I finished, jutting my chin out. “So, no, they aren’t just dreams. He is contacting me; I know it.”
I sighed, realizing how completely insane I sounded. “Ryan, I know this sounds absolutely crazy. I know you think I’ve really lost my mind—”
“I don’t think that at all,” he interrupted. “I do think you’ve got a lot of weird stuff goin’ on in that house and it’s makin’ you lose sleep and jump to conclusions.”
But I shook my head again. “I’m not jumping to conclusions. I know there is a ghost in my house and I know it’s the ghost of Drake Montague. And what’s more, I am completely convinced that he’s reaching out to me in my dreams because, currently, that’s the only way he knows how.” I dramatically inhaled and then exhaled. “What’s even more important is that he can feel the energy of this entity, whatever it is. And he says it’s draining his power.”
Without saying anything, Ryan just stared at me and slowly swallowed. “You don’t have any way of provin’ to the police that this incident is tied to the Axeman. Most everyone wouldn’t even remember who the Axeman was, since it was nearly one hundred years ago,” he said in a low voice.