I took a step back, afraid. The surface broke and Ashley rose up through the dark water, her eyes sparkling like blue ice.
"I dare you, Katie."
The edge of the round pond straightened and it became the pool again. I was on the diving board, walking its length slowly, my legs shaking.
"Go all the way to the end," Ashley instructed.
I did what she said. I tried not to look at the bottom of the pool far below me, but the icy crust covering the drain drew my eyes like a sore.
"Now jump up and down. Jump and land on the board again. I dare you, Katie!" "I–I can't."
"Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat," Ashley taunted. "Jump, Katie, jump!"
But what if I missed the board coming down? What if my feet slipped off?
"Mom-my!"
I awoke shivering, sat up, and glanced around. When I went to bed, I had closed the door to the hallway; it was open now. I pulled my blanket and quilt around me, but they were useless. The cold came from within, an anxious cold crawling in my belly.
I slipped out of bed and crept toward the door, listening. A small night-light, plugged into the wall outside the third-floor bathroom, provided the only light in the hall. I glanced over my shoulder toward the steps to Patrick's room. I should check that he is there, safely asleep, I thought. Then I heard a noise from the other side of the hall, close to the main stairs, a rustling soft as cloth brushing against cloth. I reached for the light switch in my room.
My overhead light illuminated a wide swath of the rectangular hall. If anyone was there, he or she clung to the shadows. I stared into the dark corners, listening. My muscles tensed. From the other end of the hall came a thin, scratching sound. Rodents, I thought, calming myself. Then the main stairs creaked.
I moved forward silently. They creaked again-it sounded as if the noise came from the bottom of the stairs. Someone had tread on them, someone had descended from the third floor before I turned on the light. I rushed across the hall.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I stopped suddenly, surprised to see Patrick alone in the schoolroom. He was writing on the blackboard, his chalk making the scratching sound I had heard. Distracted, I lost precious seconds on the person trying to get away.
I hurried down the steps. The night lamp in the second-floor hall suddenly went out. I stumbled, caught hold of the railing, and continued on. But with the night lamp extinguished and bedroom doors closed, the darkness on the second floor was thick as velvet. I paused at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't remember which side of the hall the lamp was on or the location of the wall switches. All I could do was listen and try to hear where the person was going. There were a number of exits from the second-floor halclass="underline" the bedrooms, the stairs down to the first floor, and the hallways to each wing.
My ears ached to hear the slightest movement. Then a faint crack of light showed. It came from the direction of Robyn's wing. The sliver of light darkened for a moment, all but at the top, then shone again just before it disappeared completely. I replayed the sequence in my mind, trying to figure out what I had just seen: Someone had opened a door into a softly lit area, passed through it, then closed it.
I remained still, fixing in my head the exact way the light had shone. From where I was standing in the second-floor hall, the door into Robyn and Brook's quarters opened straight on. But Mrs. Hopewell, with rooms in the connecting section between the main house and their quarters, would have a door along the hallway-not straight on, but to the right. I was fairly sure the light had been angled from that direction. I wriggled my shoulders at the thought of the housekeeper silently opening my bedroom door and looking in while I slept. Had she roused Patrick? Was she the one talking to him about Ashley?
I hurried upstairs, making no effort to be quiet. Patrick was still at the blackboard, writing one sentence beneath the next, like a child who had been kept after school and made to write one hundred times "I will not talk in class." But his message was far more chilling: You can't hurt me.
I stared at the repeated lines, then entered the room. "Patrick, what are you doing?"
He kept writing.
"Patrick, stop."
When he didn't, I reached out and turned his face toward me. He blinked, but there was no recognition. I uncurled his fingers and took away the chalk.
He gazed at me blankly.
"Wake up, Patrick. You're not in bed. Wake up." I gently shook his shoulders.
He blinked again and turned his head away from me to look around the room. He was awake now.
"Patrick, how did you get here?" I asked.
He continued to look around. "I don't know."
"Do you remember climbing out of bed?"
He shook his head.
"Did you hear something? Maybe you heard a noise and got curious?"
He thought for a moment and shook his head again.
"Were you talking to Mrs. Hopewell?"
His eyes grew wary. "Where is she?"
"She's in bed now. I thought you may have seen her earlier."
"No."
I pointed to the sentences on the board. "You wrote this. Who wants to hurt you?"
He rubbed his eyes. I don't know. I forget."
I took a deep breath. He was exhausted, and he really might not remember. I reached for his hand. "Do you think you can walk with me back to your room?"
"Yes."
We went by way of my bedroom and the back steps. He climbed into bed willingly.
"Would you say it?" he asked as I tucked him in.
"Say what?"
"Left and right and starlight," he prompted.
I swallowed hard. "Of course." I leaned down to kiss him on his forehead, and then, as my mother used to, placed a kiss on each eye, saying, "Close your eyes, left then right. Good night, starlight."
Sunday morning I checked on Patrick as soon as I awakened. He didn't remember the events of last night-l asked him directly. A few minutes later, Emily came into his room and chatted about what they were going to do together that day. When Patrick realized that it was my day off and I wouldn't be spending it with him, he put up a fuss. Emily's mouth drooped, her feelings hurt. Patrick's fuss turned into a tantrum, and I exited quickly, knowing he would keep it up as long as I was there.
I had planned to show Adrian the writing on the blackboard, but he wasn't available. Uncertain about how Emily would react, I decided to talk to Adrian alone when I returned. I didn't want the others to see the board-they might be inspired with new ways to upset Patrick-so I wiped the slate clean before leaving Mason's Choice.
At Amelia's bed-and-breakfast I had seen an ad for Tea Leaves, a bakery and cafe on High Street. I drove into town and parked at the top of the street, where I found two spaces together, making it easier for me to slip in from the "wrong" side of the road. As I walked down the town's main street, my heart grew lighter than it had been since I'd arrived at Mason's Choice. Everything was so normal and cheerful.
People walked dogs and carried fat Sunday newspapers under their arms. On the steps of a church, families poured out, adults and children bursting to talk, their breath making clouds in the cold air. Shops were closed, so pedestrians strolled the sidewalks like patrons at an outdoor museum, pausing at store windows to see what they framed.
As I neared the cafe, I caught sight of a familiar figure across the street. Trent stood at the door of an old hotel, the Queen Victoria, talking with a woman dressed in a businesslike red suit-the hotel manager, I thought, the one Robyn deemed beneath Westbrook standards. The woman and Trent were so intent in their conversation, they didn't notice me. I studied them as I walked, my head turned sideways.