The Attic (Completed)

Chapter 10

Lily sat on the gold damask fabric of one of the two matching settees in her room, her slippered feet crossed at the ankles and perched on the coffee table, her hands clasped behind her head. It was four in the morning and she hadn't had any success at sleeping. There was too much on her mind—too much uncertainty.

Though her room was heated by a cast iron radiator, she'd lit a fire in the marble fireplace, and had been prodding it now and again for the past three hours, adding more wood as needed. The night sky was cloudy and no moonlight shone through the windows. They were nothing but draped black wedges in the wall. A milk-glass lamp on the fireplace mantel provided an orange glow to the sitting area, as did a matching one on the end table next to the canopy bed. Otherwise, the rest of the room—the corners, the nooks, the ceiling—were dark and shadowed.

She didn't know what to make of Ian Hawke.

He seemed so normal half the time and then he'd say or do such bizarre things—really frightening things. How could a man who was so afraid of wolves, have the guts and daring to swim around in a tank full of sharks? She'd gladly face a wolf over a shark any day. And how had he carried her all that way with a mangled arm?

Earlier, she'd spent some time examining the carvings on her bed's headboard and the surface of the chest of drawers. The images were so similar to what she'd seen on the front of Ian's tree shed, she was almost certain he'd done this work as well. The carvings were remarkable and exquisite, carefully polished. He could make a fortune selling them. But then, he had no need of income. She wondered again if the jewels lining the walls of his work shed were real or just glass look-a-likes.

Hungry, she briefly considered investigating the kitchen pantry for a snack, but after her experience in the pool room the night before, she didn't have the nerve to wander around. It was also difficult to believe the police officer's deductions; they didn't add up. And with the way Ian had bolted the door that evening, she doubted the front door of the mansion had been left unlocked for anyone to just stroll on in. Then again, he did leave his work shed unlocked. Ugh. It was all so maddening. Perhaps he wasn't as cautious during moments of paranoia, if he was suffering from such a thing. But even then, if the door had been left unbolted, how could an elderly woman with dementia possibly have had the strength to drag Lily up the stairs and all the way down the corridor to the front entrance? And even more unsettling—how had the woman known her name?

A muffled cry sounded from out in the hallway.

Lily bolted to her feet and rushed to the door, straining to hear through the heavy wood. Someone was indeed crying again—just like the other night. But the cries were fading and moving away . . . downward.

She opened the door a crack and peeked out into the hallway. All the rooms were dark—no crack of light beneath any of the doors—and none of the wall sconces were lit. The hallway was tar black without moonlight.

Moving slowly, she reached out and felt for the staircase newel post. Finding it, she held the rail and followed the stairs downward, attempting to avoid any creaky spots.

The cries continued faintly below. Had Sally returned and broken in again, or was it Hannah crying, as she'd originally suspected?

A chill ran up her spine at the thought.

Was it possible that it was actually Hannah who had attacked her in the pool room?

She considered retreating, locking herself in her room and hiding under the blankets till morning. Pausing on the landing, she took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. The cries were only a few feet away.

"Hello?" she squeaked, gripping the railing like a life line.

The cries stopped and a figure, blacker than the darkness, leaped out from behind the staircase and started down the corridor.