Beyond the Grave (17 page)

Opening the door and finding two uniformed police officers standing on the front porch sent an instant, horrifying jolt through my system, which was immediately followed by a hundred frantic questions. Had something happened to Mom? Had Annalise been in a car accident on her way to see us? Or was it Noah? I knew only one thing: the police were at my house for a reason, and it wasn't good.

One of the officers stepped forward. “Is Patrick Silver here?”

“What's wrong?” I clutched the doorknob so my hand wouldn't shake so badly.

“Who's at the door?” Dad called from the kitchen. When I didn't answer, he walked into the foyer, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Shane and Ryan left their athletic dispute behind and joined us.

“Mr. Silver?” the first officer asked.

“Yes, that's me.”

I didn't have to turn around to know that everyone held the same frozen expression. We could hear Trisha in the din
ing room, still talking on her phone, oblivious to what was going on a few feet away.

Dad cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”

The officer didn't answer. “May we come in?”

“Of course, of course.”

We took a collective step backward to allow the two policemen inside. It had been only a few seconds since their arrival, but it felt like an hour. Was their news so bad that they couldn't just say it? Did they need us to sit down in case one of us fainted and fell to the floor?

Trisha finally poked her head in. “I have to go,” she said to the person on the other end of the phone. “I'll call back later.”

Once the five of us were gathered in the living room, the first officer began to speak. “We were contacted today by a Mr. Wilbur Pate.”

“Who?” Dad was genuinely baffled. The name was lost on him. He had met Pate only once, more than a year earlier when we'd filmed the original footage at the prison. Dad had no idea that Shane, Noah and I had been back to the place. I was just as confused as everyone else. What had happened? How was Pate involved?

“Is everything okay with my mom and sister?” I asked.

They ignored my question, but the second officer stepped forward. I noticed for the first time that he held a box in his arms.

“Sir, is this your property?”

I immediately recognized the box as the one that had been taken from my room. It was full of equipment, and I could see the EMF reader sitting on top of everything else.

Dad stepped closer to inspect the items. “Well, yes, these look like mine.” He reached to pick up a digital camera, but the officer stopped him with a simple shake of his head.

“Where did you find this?” Dad asked.

“Can you verify that these items belong to you?”

Dad nodded. “Yes. Yes, they do. But I haven't seen them in months. They're supposed to be in storage.”

“Well, they're not.” The first officer took over again. “These items were found inside the Southern State Penitentiary this morning.”

“I haven't been there in over a year.”

Dad was still struggling to understand, but I knew what was happening. Shane looked at me, and I wasn't sure which one of us was supposed to say something. Fortunately, he took over.

“Um, actually, we were there a couple months ago.”

“You were?” Dad turned to Shane. “Why would you go there?”

“We were finishing the DVD, getting some more footage.”

“We?”

Shane's face was red and he avoided Dad's glare. I stepped in, hoping to save him from the uncomfortable moment. “I was there, too. I was helping.”

Dad glanced at me, then turned back to Shane. “You took my daughter on an investigation? After all that's happened, you decided to take her there? Behind my back?”

“It wasn't an investigation,” I protested. “We were only there for a couple hours, and it was just to film a scene. That's it.”

“I'm sorry,” Shane said to Dad. “I should have told you.”

“You're damn right you should have told me!”

Sensing the beginning of a volatile situation, the first officer spoke up. “We need to get back to the issue at hand. This equipment was discovered at the penitentiary, which is private property. Mr. Pate wants to file charges for trespassing
and harassment. We need to ask you some questions at the station.”

Dad was fuming, but he agreed. In the end, he and Shane went with the officers. Since they weren't under arrest, they were able to drive—separately—to the police station. Trisha, Ryan and I stayed behind. The house was unnaturally quiet.

“What was that all about?” Ryan asked. “Is Shane some sort of criminal?”

“No!” Trisha and I exclaimed at the same time.

“It's all my fault,” Trisha moaned. “I was the one who encouraged him to finish that DVD.”

“It's not your fault,” I said. “It was work that needed to get done.”

I wished Avery was here. She would swoop in, take charge and figure out how to make things better. And then I remembered what Dad had said about strength, how I had it and could use it when I needed to. He said it wasn't a light switch, but I disagreed. It was—and it was up to me to flick it on. And even though this wasn't a life-or-death situation, it was emotional and required a clear head. Trisha was crying and Ryan clenched his fists as if he was ready to punch a wall.

“Okay,” I announced. “Here's what we're going to do while we wait for them to get back.”

I told Ryan that his job was to call back the caterer, say he was the groom, and demand a pasta dish. “I'm on it,” he said, determined to help his mom. Then I told Trisha to go through Shane's computer and pull up any and all correspondence that Pate had sent us. She knew about the lawsuit and how to get the information. Dad would return from the police station wanting answers, and this would help.

While Ryan and Trisha worked, I tackled the kitchen, which needed a good cleaning. As I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the countertops, I couldn't help but feel
pleased with myself for taking charge. When Annalise arrived an hour later, the kitchen was clean, the caterer had agreed to a new entrée and pages of emails had been organized and printed out. After a round of hugs and introducing Annalise to Ryan, Trisha explained what was happening.

“Dad and Shane are at the police station?” My sister sat down in the dining room, surrounded by piles of wedding plans. “I thought I was coming here to help with bridesmaid dresses and centerpieces.”

“You are.” I sat down next to her. “But now we have to deal with a little unexpected problem, as well.”

To keep our minds off the image of Dad and Shane being interrogated, we focused on wedding details. Phone calls were made to the bakery and the reception hall. Tuxedo fittings were scheduled, reservations confirmed for the rehearsal dinner. We accomplished in a few hours the work Trisha had thought would take all weekend.

I found a moment to slip away to my room. A breeze from outside pushed against the plastic serving as my temporary window, causing it to bulge. Ryan had told me earlier that it would be repaired by the next day. I hoped the work could be done without Dad finding out, and I wondered how bad his mood would be when he came home with Shane. They'd been gone about two hours. Not a good sign.

A soft knock at my door pulled me away from my worrying. “Charlotte?”

“Hey, Annalise. Come in.” There was no way to conceal my missing window, but I didn't care. I was tired of hiding things all the time. “Welcome home,” I joked.

She gave me a rueful smile. “Why is it that every time I come back, something big has happened? I swear you plan it that way.”

Annalise pulled out my squeaky desk chair while I plopped
down on my bed, which I had covered in a beige blanket from the hall closet. It wasn't as fluffy or as colorful as my old comforter. It was funny how I missed such a simple thing.

“So I saw Mom today,” my sister said. “She's basically the same. A nurse told me that there's been some brain activity at night. Not much, but it's something.”

I nodded. Maybe it was good news, but how much of “something” did it require to amount to a positive development in her condition? As badly as I wanted to feel hopeful that Mom was turning a corner, it didn't sound like much. If she was coming out of her vegetative state, the doctors would call us. Until that happened, it was hard for me to accept any news with joyful optimism. My promise to her still stood—I would not give up. But I would also be careful not to get too excited.

“I ran into Beth while I was there. She was visiting at the same time as me. She was placing these crystals all over Mom.” Annalise shook her head. “I'm not sure if I buy into the idea of healing rocks, but then again, experience has taught me to be a lot more open.”

I picked at the tiny balls of fuzz poking up from my blanket. It was something I had done when I was a little kid and we stayed at hotels all the time. After plucking as many of the little “fuzz nubs” as I could, I would wad them into one big ball and leave them in the nightstand drawer for the next person to find. I always wondered if other people did that, and I would check each new nightstand when we moved on to a new hotel. The only things I ever found in the drawers were notepads and Bibles.

“Beth filled me in on everything,” Annalise said. “I know about Michael and Bliss. I know why there's a big hole in your wall. And I know that you're concerned about Noah.”

“Yes.” It was actually nice that I didn't have to explain ev
erything. There was too much—I wouldn't know how to begin. Beth had saved me from a lengthy and difficult conversation.

“So.” Annalise slapped her hands on her knees. “We have two weeks to plan a wedding, destroy two Watchers and return Noah to normal. And if we can work some additional magic to make Mom all better, that would be a bonus.”

A smile pulled at the side of her face. I started to giggle, which morphed into laughter and grew into the kind of body-shaking bellows that could not be controlled. Tears streamed down both of our faces, but it was the best I'd felt in weeks, a much-needed release of a hundred different emotions that had been clawing to get out.

When we were finally able to catch our breath, Annalise had a question for me.

“I'm caught up on everything but this whole lawsuit business,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “When did all that happen?”

She knew that Shane, Noah and I had made a visit to the penitentiary, but that was all. I told her about Pate's claims that someone was breaking in, and how he was certain it was one of us.

“Do you think it's possible that he framed us?” I looked toward my plastic window. “What if he was the one who broke in and took the cameras? Then he could have taken the stuff back, called the police, and claimed we were trespassing.”

“But why would Pate break into your room and look under your bed? Of all the rooms in the house, why a second-floor bedroom? It doesn't make sense.”

No, it didn't. And it was also physically impossible. But it was easier to conjure up theories rather than face the one thing I was sure of: only Noah knew that I kept equipment in my bedroom.

But it couldn't have been him. He'd been asleep in his apartment miles away when the break-in had occurred. And even if he possessed Watcher-induced superstrength, there was no way he could have run across town in the middle of the afternoon, unnoticed and carrying a heavy box of equipment.

While Annalise and I pondered every scenario possible, Dad and Shane returned home. The front door slammed shut and angry voices drifted up the stairs.

“I shouldn't have had to tell you!” Dad yelled. “You knew my position on this.”

“No, actually, I didn't!” Shane yelled back. “Everything stopped. Everything. I knew you needed a break. I never thought it would be permanent!”

It sounded as if they were in the kitchen. Trisha's voice joined the others. “This is my fault, too. Patrick, I was the one who said Shane should finish the work. Don't be mad at him. Be mad at me.”

Annalise and I went downstairs, but we didn't go directly to the kitchen. Instead, we stood with Ryan in the dining room, listening to the heated conversation.

“It's over, Shane.” The anger in Dad's voice had been replaced with defeat. “It was over the moment Karen was hurt. You know that. I'm sorry if I wasn't clear, and I've tried to make sure that you'll receive a good share of royalties, but if you need to move on, I understand.”

“This isn't about me finding a new job,” Shane said. “This is about finishing the work we started. This is about what she would want us to be doing.”

“She would want us to keep her daughters safe, not drag them to haunted prisons!”

Shane was quiet for a second. “That's the first time I've heard you use the word
haunted
that way.”

“What way?”

“Like you thought it was true.”

I wanted to walk into the kitchen and be a part of their discussion, but it was important for Dad and Shane to get it all out. If they knew that we were eavesdropping, they might not say the things they needed to say. Trisha sensed this, too. She backed out of the kitchen and joined the rest of us in the dining room.

“I don't know what's true anymore,” Dad said. “Nothing prepared me for this.”

“I know.”

“And I don't understand it. All I know is that I can't let something else hurt my family. I can't, Shane.”

There was a strangled sob, a sound so unfamiliar and heartbreaking that I wanted to cover my ears and disappear.

“This way,” Trisha whispered. “Let's give them a moment.”

We quietly crossed the dining room and went out the front door. We gathered on the porch. I was surprised at how dark it was outside. Streetlights were slowly coming on, glowing with their unnatural orange radiance.