Blind the Stars (Rose of the Dawn Series Book 3) (3 page)

“Let’s
go,” I say to Pike as we head for the door.

“You’re
sure about this? If we get locked out there-” he says as we stand by the door.

I
shake my head. “I’m not sure, but we don’t have much of a choice. There has to
be something upstairs that will help explain what’s going on. And we can’t stay
down here.”

He
agrees by nodding his head. He opens the quarantine cellar door by pressing a
large, circular red button. Once inside the containment room, the door closes
behind us, another opens, and we’re at the bottom of the stairs.

“Where’s
your father’s room?” Pike asks before we even make it a flight up. He doesn’t
stop until he reaches the landing of the first floor.

“That
way,” I point to the right. The opposite direction of the family rooms, the
kitchen, and dining room.

We
hurry down the hall, but slow down when we reach the front door. Pike looks up
and around, over his shoulder. A commotion on the lawn outside is loud and
distracting.
What is it?
We don’t stop. At least the crows making the
noise are out there. I want to make sure we avoid my bedroom at all costs.

The
opening in the roof above blows cold air over my good arm. This is the part of
the house that has been destroyed. The center. As we move through the middle,
around the bottom of the stairs, away from the front door, and down the hall
toward my father’s offices, it gets better. Warmer, but darker. No cold air.

The
runner rugs in the hall are wet and squelch water as I step. The walls have
grown what looks like moss on them from the baseboards up to the crown molding.
The doorways off the hall have been closed.

“Did
your father keep security cameras?” Pike asks and slows down. He opens a door
without a lock. Warm, musty air wafts out and he closes it again after glancing
inside.

“No.
Well, maybe a few, I guess.” Growing up with cameras, you don’t really ever
think about them. They’re around, but I couldn’t tell Pike where. I look around
and realize they’re everywhere. Over every doorframe, in the corners of the
hallway, and as I look closer, in the rectangular air transmission grate along
the bottom of the wall. The glass reflects my face as I crouch down and peer
beyond the metal into the camera screen.

“Which
way?” Pike asks. We’re at the back of the house and the hallway splits to the
left and the right. It’s so much darker with all of the doors closed. To the
right is the Conservatory and Jenny’s room. The maids’ rooms and the cooks’ are
to the right as well, just a little farther back.

“Over
here,” I pull him toward the left. There isn’t the usual electric charge like I
expect. Up a small set of stairs to my father’s rooms. Only five steps,
carpeted with hand-woven rugs, we’re on a half-floor. There is a door that is
three-quarters the size of a normal door. It leads into my father’s wing. The
scan plate has been blown off and the middle of the door is shattered, too.
Shards of wood are scattered on the floor. While we could step through this
massive hole, I push open the door.

We
step into the room. Even though we’re on a half-floor, the room inside is as
tall as a normal room, if not taller. One and a half floors.

The
room itself is square-shaped and larger than I remember. I haven’t been here
since I was a little kid. Another off-limits area.

Across
the room are two windows and the only source of light. It floods into the room.
This part of the house was designed almost a full story taller. The slate tiled
roof is covered with thin solar magnets that can extend up and over the house.
Like a canopy, they absorb most of the ultraviolet radiation and prevent the
rays from ever reaching the front of the house where most of us live. Lived.

Pike
moves to the window and presses something on the wall. Solar-paneled awnings
extend on the outside of the windows with a loud creak, and sharp squeak. They stop
mid-extension, but at least it blocks some of the sun. Heavy drapes have been
pulled off of their tracks and lie in heaps on the floor.

Streaks
in the bamboo floor show where the sun has permanently burned it. Floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves that surround the room are out of direct sunlight and contain
e-readers in alphabetical order, titles etched into the metal bindings.

As
mold spores and fungus have begun to colonize the rest of the house, this room
has retained the integrity of the hypo-allergenic rugs and paint designed to
repel and resist anything that would cause a reaction. Cost irrelevant, the
furnishings are in the 1800’s Victorian style with embellished fabric and
ornate woodwork. They remind me of stories I read like Northanger Abbey, The
Turn of the Screw, and Jane Eyre. Even though they were manufactured hundreds
of years later with synthetic materials that will never decompose, the couches,
chairs, and tables are new, but look old. It’s what my father liked, despite
what he was himself – old looking new.

“Someone’s
clearly already been here,” Pike observes from my father’s faux-mahogany desk.
“And I doubt very much that it was your sister.”

The
room is a mess. Papers are strewn everywhere and my father’s desk has been
cleared off. It sizzles in the direct sunlight, but doesn’t change color like
other pieces in the room. I move around beside Pike. The drawers have been pried
open, exposing metal covered with wood. The state of this room is different
from the rest of the house. Instead of massive, large-scale destruction, this
is focused. Whoever was in here was careful enough in looking for something
specific. The desk is the epicenter of the demolition.

“Everything’s
gone,” Pike says, throwing flat, empty cases on the desk. There are no e-cards
or e-discs anywhere. I walk over to the window and crack the blinds a bit,
allowing light to stream onto the pile.

I
reach over and pick one up.
Evelyn Campbell
scrolls across the solar case.
I pick up another one:
Rosamund Campbell
. And another one:
Dory
Campbell
.

“They’re
all empty.” He tosses a final slipcase on the desk.
Imperial Hospital
blinks and then fades. There isn’t enough sun in the room to sustain the
encoded information, despite the amount of light that had saturated the room
before we got here.

“Pike,
wait!” Something comes to me, but it takes a second to process the racing
thought into words. “Has everything been wiped clean?”

“What
do you mean?” He looks at me, confused. His brow is furrowed and his lips are
in a straight line.

I
reach down and pick up a piece of undegradable paper that was thrown around the
room.

“The
papers in here are blank,” I state. I rush over to the bookshelves and take a
random e-reader from somewhere in the middle. The Picture of Dorian Grey turns
on when I tip it up, but when I open it, nothing is there. I take another and
another. They’re all blank.

Pike
follows my lead. “Why?”

“I
don’t know.” I shake my head.

“What
if your father stored the information somewhere else, knowing it would be
compromised? It would be too obvious to keep important information here, so
maybe he wiped everything clean at once.”

“But
he must know that it wouldn’t be safe with him,” I state.

Pike
pulls another book down. It’s blank. “He definitely wanted to keep the
information about you and your family away from anyone else. But why didn’t he
just chip it all and implant it somewhere safe-”

I
stop and look at Pike.

“He
wouldn’t have.” My thoughts wash over me like a flood.

“Anything’s
possible,” Pike answers.

I
turn to stare at Pike and then at the same time we both say, “Evie.”

Pike
speaks first. “She wasn’t going in for a routine replacement. She was going to
be implanted with the information.”

“But
that’s so ridiculous.” I can’t believe what we’re both thinking or the
possibility that we’re right.

“But
it makes sense.” Pike looks down and around at the mess once more as if he’s looking
for some other clue. Something that would prove this all wrong. “It would be
the perfect way to keep it all safe.”

“It
isn’t right,” I say.

“Are
there any other rooms we could check that might help us figure out where he’s
gone?” Pike asks.

“His
bedroom,” I offer. The rooms beyond where we stand have been untouched. The
pocket doors are wide open and we can see into them. Nothing is amiss. We leave
the office and go back down the small stairs, through the hallway, and past the
foyer. Up the center stairs, clouds loom overhead. Another storm possibly? I
wish there was some way to cover up the open hole in the top of the house.

We
run up a final set of stairs to my parent’s bedrooms in the penthouse. The
hallway up here is wider than the one between my room and Dory’s. My mother’s
room is the first door on the right and my father’s is at the end of the hall
on the left.

“Something
isn’t right.” I slow down. I’m dizzy and my legs tremble.

“I
feel it, too,” Pike states. “Must be the air.”

Breathing
is hard and I clutch my chest. The air isn’t right. It’s almost too heavy to
swallow. Pike moves around me in slow-motion and throws the door to my mother’s
room wide open. The air that blows out is warm. Fetid. I don’t think Dory has
been up here. I don’t think anybody has been up here. The room is in pristine
condition. From a quick glance, not an item seems out of place.

I
drag my legs after Pike. His mouth is wide open, taking in deep breaths. I
imitate him and it helps. My lungs fill up and I hold onto the air before
exhaling. My head doesn’t spin, but it’s so light, I may float away.

He
stops at my father’s door. The window at the end of the hall isn’t covered with
drapes. They’ve been pulled down. Pike shakes his head and looks at me. He’s
got some sort of a rainbow halo around his head, no, his whole body. I’m
delirious. I laugh. I hear it in my own head and can’t tell if he hears it,
too. It’s a slow laugh. Almost a drugged laugh. I need to sit down.

In
that same slow-motion as a few seconds ago, he moves over to the window and
wraps his hand in the gold drapes that lie on the ground. He balls his hand
into a fist and smashes it into the window. A crack spiders throughout the
glass. He hits it again and it groans as wind whips outside. The glass
shattering onto the floor. Air whooshes into the hallway.

A
rush of air on my face and within an instant, my head clears. I gasp.

The
lock panel is still in place on the door to my father’s room, but it isn’t
locked and Pike pushes it. It opens. Then stops. It hits something.

My
stomach lurches.

The
smell that escapes the room in that instant has me doubled over, my hands and
knees in contact with the floor. I focus on the smooth sensation beneath my
palms as saliva drips from my lips. I have nothing to throw up.

Pike
covers his nose and mouth. His face turns a light shade of green.

The
floor is damp, but not wet and I can’t tell if it’s from my spit or the water
that has plagued the rest of the house. There is still more green and black growing
around the floorboards. The walls close to my face are stained yellowish-brown
with black speckles.

And
then I notice it. On the floor, about five feet from my face. A small rivulet
of blood has puddled and congealed on the other side of the door. And a thin,
yellow thread bisects it.

The
spider silk hair of my mother.

Webs
of hair are obvious from this position close to the ground. I just can’t see
under the door. Pike pushes the door a second time. It doesn’t budge.

“No!
No, wait!” I spurt out. He can’t see what I can. I swipe my arm across my
mouth, wiping spit away, and scramble to my feet. I grab the doorknob from Pike
and block him from moving it another inch.

“Wait,
what?” He steps back.

“My
mother! It’s my mother’s hair! She’s on the other side. Mom! Mom!” I pull the
door closed enough so it isn’t making contact with anything on the other side,
and I slip into the room. My eyes burn so much from the stench that I can’t see
beyond the tears that spring from them. It is so pungent and acrid that I have
to run to open a window before doing anything else. It’s dark in the room that
I can’t see my mother, blocking the door. I’m scared to look.

The
air outside the room flushes away some of the toxicity and I suck in a quick,
deep breath. This room has been destroyed, too. I trip my way over to the drapes
and throw them over. Even the backup light hasn’t activated. The sun streaks in
and I squint. I turn back to my dead mother lying in the doorway.

I
exhale. It’s not my mother. It’s just her hair. I start to cry.

“What’s
in the way?” Pike asks from the doorway. “Move it out and I’ll come in.”

I
shake my head and rush over to the door. An old steamer trunk blocks the door
from being able to open all the way. I push it away and the smell is more
powerful, more sickening here. Pike opens the door all the way and picks up a
tuft of hair.

“My
mother’s hair,” I say, trying not to retch. “She must’ve tried to get away.”

“Is
there another way out?” Pike looks around. I can’t follow his gaze, the stench
is becoming overwhelming.

He
throws up the half-opened lid of the trunk, like a coffin. The smell knocks him
back and he braces himself with his hands on the floor behind him.

“What-”
I cover my mouth and look inside. Crows. Or what remains of them. Recently
deceased, they haven’t desiccated yet. Large, wriggly maggots crawl in and out
and all over the inside of the trunk. Flies buzz around everywhere.

“I.
Need. To. Get. Out.” I run into the hallway. I can’t go back in. It takes Pike
a moment to come back out, which is good. He doesn’t need to see me dry-heave
in the hallway.

“I
opened a window. It should get better,” he tells me and kneels in front of me.
He brushes my hair away from my face. Without much strength, I reach up and put
my hands over his. I look straight into his eyes.

“Pike,
I-.”
I love you. I’m afraid.

The
energy surges through my body and it gains strength from his proximity. I won’t
let him go. His face is so close to mine and he isn’t backing away. I could
just lean up and-

“Let’s
get back downstairs.” Pike gets up and closes the door to the room. “I don’t
think there’s anything up here.” He reaches down and takes my hands, pulling me
up. I stand up, too, still close to him. I just want to press myself to him, to
feel the heat from his body. It’s gotten so cold and there’s no electricity
between us.

“But
we have to be sure. We have to check that room and be sure,” I mutter. I sound
like Dory.

“I’ll
go. I’ll be quick.” Pike opens the door and I wait in the hall. The air has
begun to circulate and it’s cold. Frigid. I blink. My eyelashes feel frozen. My
eyes are frozen. Frozen open. I’m paralyzed. I’m in The Hollow.

“Help!”
I scream.

“What?”
Pike calls from behind the door. “Rose? What’s wrong?”

I’m
up and running now. Running down the hall, down the stairs, down another hall.
Down more stairs and rain drizzles from the sky. My feet slip on the steps and
it’s dark. I’m in the dark. In a tunnel. The tunnels.

And
I hear wheels, the squeak, squeak, squeak of rusty wheels on linoleum. It’s
coming from behind me. A gurney. My gurney.

“Rose,
wait! Stop!” Someone calls, but I don’t know who. I don’t care. It’s an
attendant.
How does he know my name?
No, it’s one of the doctors. I
won’t wait. I won’t get caught again.

I
slip on the floor. Wet. Water. Blood.

I
try to get up and slip again. The stone floor is slippery with moss. And my
blood.

“Rose,
stop!” The voice is right behind me now. I can’t get up. I keep slipping.
Don’t
turn around. Which way do I go? Where am I?

I
get back to my feet only to be knocked back down again. I smell the
disinfectant. My real arm throbs and there’s a slight tingling sensation
farther down from my shoulder of my bionic arm. I’ve cut my knees, too.

“Don’t
put me back in!” I shake my head from side to side as someone takes my real
arm. The person grabs my other arm from the back and wraps them around my
waist. I’m straightjacketed. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Rose,
knock it off! It’s me, Pike!”

Pike.
I
hear his name from some far-off place. I fight to get free. To get to Pike. The
electric current running through my body is reminiscent. Pike. My eyes are
closed and then open. I think I can smell him. I let the tension go. I can’t go
anywhere. I close my eyes and open them again. My house. I’m inside my house, not
The Hollow. And I’m being held, not restrained. By Pike, not an attendant.

He
releases me and turns me to him. His hands on the sides of my face, pushes
wisps of hair away from my face, wipes the tears. He wraps his arms around me
this time, not my own. He holds my head to his chest. He smells of the earth,
but sweet, like right after the rain.

He
lets me go again and I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him. My new arm
is still clumsy and it smashes into the side of his face. His eyes widen and he
looks scared. He pulls my arms down from around his neck. The electricity has
returned. He leans down and presses his lips to mine. My mouth gropes for his
in desperation as I kiss him back. I can feel his breath as he exhales through
his nose and his warmth only makes me want it more. He releases me and I slide
down. His arms wrap around my waist, still holding me up somewhat.

“What
just happened? What time is it?” I take a step back, trying to act calm.

“It’s
almost three,” he says. He leans back, pushing his hands into his pockets. His
cheeks are pink. Mine must be flushed, too. They feel so warm. “We left your
sister hours ago, we should get back.”

The
clock on the wall gets brighter with the sun and as clouds pass overhead, it
dims. I never noticed that before.
How have we been gone for so long?

“I
think you were hallucinating,” he says and I don’t answer.
I know.

“The
weather is changing,” I offer. I’m sure I didn’t hallucinate his kiss.

“Yeah,
it is. We should get downstairs. Are you going to be okay?” His look is wary,
like he doesn’t trust that I’m going to be alright. I don’t know if I will.

“I
am right now.” I follow him down the stairs to the quarantine cellar.

“You
know, Rose-” Pike stops at the containment room door. “This isn’t The Hollow.
You’re not going back to The Hollow, you know that right?”

I
nod my head, but not very emphatically. As long as I have him, I’m okay with
that.

“Right,”
I say. I know I’m not in The Hollow, but I can’t stop these lapses in sanity.

He
takes my hand. There it is. Another quick surge of electricity. He looks at our
hands and then up at me. He feels it, too. Is he going to kiss me again?

“She
must’ve left us this.” Pike bends down and picks up a small, round chip. He
waves it in front of the door and they open. First the outer, then the inner.

“I
told you she would,” I say, feeling proud of being right about Dory. Maybe when
we sit down, he’ll hold me close. I follow him into the cellar and Dory is
still lying on the couch under the blanket I covered her with. The only
difference is that instead of a warm, pink color, the blanket is a cold, frosty
blue.

I
rush over to the couch and fall to the ground. Dory’s face is pale and her lips
are blue.

“Rose,
what’s wrong? What’s happened to her?” Pike is beside me. My heart races as I look
around. Foam at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s
the pill she took. Before we left. Dory, wake up!” I touch her cheek. It’s
freezing cold. I hold open an eyelid to expose an eye, unseeing.

“What
pill? What did she take?” Pike is beside me. He has the blanket off of my
sister and he’s holding her up, propping her chest against her arm while he
puts his ear to her back.

“She’s
got to be alive,” I say. The sick feeling is back.

“It’s
shallow, but she’s breathing. And there’s a faint heartbeat.” He lies her down
on her side instead of her back. “Do you think you’d have any expulsion pills
down here? To make her throw up whatever it is she’s taken.”

“I-I
don’t know. I can check.” I get up, but spin in a circle. In the bathroom. I’ll
check there first.

I
rush toward the back of the cellar and fumble in the darkness. The light goes
on and in the brightening bathroom, I find little pink pills to induce
vomiting. I take the vial and run it back to Pike. He holds out his hand.

“How
many?” I ask.

“One,”
he answers.

I
place one in his palm. With one hand, he opens Dory’s mouth and with the other,
he places his palm up to her mouth. He closes it for her and rubs her throat.
The pill goes down because in less than two seconds, she’s leaning over the
side of the couch, throwing up. A few minutes seem like hours, but she stops
getting sick and color returns to her face.

“Dory,
what did you do?” I wipe her face with a corner of the blanket. The part that
touches her body goes from blue to pink with her rising temperature.

“I-I-”
she tries to answer. Her eyes are slow to open and she holds her hands to her
head. Her wrists are limp and they don’t stay still, trembling as she tries to
steady them. She puts her hands down into her lap and looks up at me. Her eyes
are bloodshot and tears streak from them. She turns and her eyes narrow. “What
did you do? Why don’t you just leave me alone!”

“You
tried to kill yourself! I saw you take something before we left. What were you
thinking, Dory?” My voice is shrill and I know I shouldn’t yell. Not at her. I
only saw her take one pill. She must’ve gotten more once we were gone. Pike
gets up and goes to the kitchen. He comes back with something that he sprinkles
on the carpet. The vomit disintegrates. Just like in The Hollow. I shiver and try
not to gag at the memory.

“I
didn’t-” she shakes her head slowly. Right to left. Left to right. Her voice is
slurred. “I took a pill. To help me sleep. I can’t sleep if they’re watching.
That’s all.” She points to a vial on the floor. I reach down and pick the
bottle up. It was prescribed for insomnia, or at least that’s what it says on
the label.

I
open it up and pour a few tiny white pills onto my hand.

“Those
definitely aren’t sleeping pills.” Pike stands beside me, looking over my
shoulder. “Sleeping pills are green. Those are something else.”

I
let the pills slide back into the container and I put it in a table drawer. It
seems like it’s too dangerous to have around, but if they are something else,
we may need to identify them.

“I’m
tired,” Dory says, closing her eyes again. “I want to go to sleep.”

I
look at Pike who nods. It’s out of her system. I return the blanket to cover
her body and it stays pink. I watch her sleep from the bottom of the couch
where I’m sitting. Pike sits across from us in one of the chairs. His eyes sag
and then close. He opens them, they close again. This time they don’t re-open.
He’s tired. And so am I, but I’m too scared to close my eyes. I bring my knees
up to my chest and then lower my head onto my sister’s legs. I place a pillow
on them to get more comfortable. I’ll stay awake as long as I can, but we all.
Need. Sleep.