Authors: Denise Daisy
She smiles, satisfied with my answer. “Well, dear, you can’t go back to the garden party dripping wet. Let me save you the humiliation and go fetch you one of my dresses. Wait right here, love.”
Lifting her hem slightly, she scurries along the bank toward the mansion. I glance over at Quillan who seems to be mesmerized with the adorable Southern belle. A twinge of sadness takes root. I’ve never been a jealous person. My momma says jealousy is the most horrible cancer that will eat away at you, leaving no survivors. I reprimand myself for my feelings. Quillan means nothing to me. I could care less if he has a crush on Emily Faulkner. Still, for some reason, there’s a huge lump in my throat, and I want to cry.
I plop down in the grass, discouraged, wishing I was home in my apartment, watching TV and eating Top Ramen. I miss Mike, too. I wish I could text him and tell him where I am and what I am going through. I wonder what happened to him, if he even knows I am missing.
Quillan is still entranced, watching Emily until she disappears past the tree line. Irritated, I toss a rock into the rushing water.
“It’s nice of her to go get you a dress.”
I don’t say anything. I’m mad and figure now is as good a time as any to drill him on Mr. Brackett and James Faulkner being one and the same. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Quillan.” I don’t care if I sound demanding, or if I am acting less than pleasant. He owes me. “You didn’t seem surprised that Mr. Brackett and James Faulkner are the same person.”
Quillan takes a seat on the grass, returning his attention to me. “It’s a good thing you said back there to Mr. Collins. Quite clever bringing up the congressman.”
I could care less about his approval right now. He’s skirting the issue, which infuriates me. I am just as much a part of this bizarre turn of events as he is. In fact, I am an unwilling participant in his little game, so he needs to shoot straight with me or I just might start causing some more trouble.
“Don’t ignore the question. You owe me some answers.”
“I’m not,” he says nonchalantly. “You made a statement about me not being surprised. You never asked me a question.”
“You know what I meant.” I use my reprimanding tone. “Quit splitting hairs.”
He picks up a smooth stone and hurls it across the water, skimming it several times before it disappears underneath the surface. He did the same thing last night once we escaped the musty tunnel.
“Why do you refuse to talk about it?”
He skims another before he answers. “Averie, it’s critical to try and change future events. Something you say or do could be catastrophic, as it has been since the beginning. Too much knowledge is dangerous.”
His answer is too ambiguous for my liking. I think it’s just a manipulative way to scare me into not asking him anything. He has some secrets, that’s for sure.
“Well, I think I have a right to know some things. Remember, Quillan, you and Mr. Brackett or Mr. Faulkner or whoever the hell he is, dragged me into your experiment. Now I am, as you say, in over my head. I’m not asking you to reveal top-secret information. I’d just like a few simple answers is all.”
“What do you want to know?” he asks like it’s no problem to answer me now.
“Was Mr. Brackett a ghost the entire time?”
A glimmer ignites in Quillan’s eyes as a smile pulls at the corner of his lips. Why did I ask such a stupid, childish question? I am talking with a guy who is smart enough to figure out how to travel back in time, ready to offer me answers, and the only thing I can come up with is something juvenile.
“No, Averie, Mr. Brackett, or rather James Faulkner, is not a ghost. He was a time traveler, or dimension traveler, as are most apparitions that people see.”
His answer made some sense and, in some way, dispelled certain fears. “Is James Faulkner in on the plan?”
“He was, but not now,” Quillan said, shaking his head. The glimmer in his eyes fades. “James Faulkner doesn’t remember me. His assignment was finished at dinner. When the lights went off, he went back to the afterlife. He’s only here now because we’ve traveled back to his time.
Now he has no knowledge of our plan to save the lives. We sit in silence while I contemplate his answer. I have a thousand other questions I want to ask, but the sight of Emily gliding across the grass with a dress in tow ends our conversation. Quillan is quick on his feet at the sight of her, causing the doleful pain to take root all over again.
Her eyes sparkle as she hands me the dress. “Here you go, love.”
Grateful, I take it and step back into the tree line for privacy. Trying to pull heavy, clinging wet fabric off my skin is no easy task. Still, I rush to change, hurrying along because I have left Quillan and Emily alone. I scold myself for sneaking a peek at them through the branches. How dare she bat her lashes and flirt with Quillan when she thinks we are married? Why should I care if those two like each other? What’s it to me? It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it does. I continue to hurry all while feeling a twinge of bitterness at Emily.
Having changed into dry clothing, I step out of the shadows, interrupting their playful banter.
“Why look at you.” Emily’s perfect lips spread across her face in a charming smile. “I do believe you look much better in the dress than I do. You can have it, for I shall never be able to do it justice again.” She’s kind, but another thing my momma warned me about is people who flatter. Who’s she kidding? I know how girls our age work. She’s just trying to get Quillan to compare us both, and right now it’s an unfair contest. My romantic side-braid is gone and my ribbons washed away by the water. I am sure what’s left of last night’s mascara is pooling around my eyes, making me look like a raccoon wearing a hoop skirt. I’m not going to let her get to me. I gather my tresses and wring them out, giving her a half smile.
She continues on, “Quillan, you have a gorgeous wife. I am sure you are proud of her.”
My cheeks burn hot as Quillan removes his eyes off Emily and turns them on me.
I don’t know why I want him to think I am pretty and pay attention to me. I hate when I feel this way. It reminds me of when the cutest guy in my history class asked to meet me at lunch because he wanted to talk to me about the homecoming dance. I was ecstatic, already planning what kind of dress I would wear and fantasizing about the night, only to find out he wanted my help so he could ask a friend of mine. Despite every effort, I cried in front of him, humiliating myself. He felt so bad. I wanted to drop out and be homeschooled after that.
“She’s breathtaking, for sure.” Quillan smiles at me. I am not happy with his compliment because I am sure he’s just saying it to keep up appearances as my loving husband. After all, how could I be breathtaking as I stand here with dripping-wet hair? Let alone compete with flawless Miss Emily?
“Well”—she bats her eyes again—“I better get back to my party. Everyone will be wondering where I disappeared to. You two come along when you’re ready.”
And like the evening breeze, Emily drifts past us, disappearing in the trees again.
Quillan watches her until she vanishes like the ghost she is. Before I can stop myself, my curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you in love with her? Is that why you wanted to come back here?”
He stares at me a long time before answering, and then again, it’s vague at best, neither denying nor confirming my suspicions. “I came to save Lunar from being hung.”
It’s the only answer I am going to get, and I know it.
“You ready to go back?” he asks.
I am more than ready to leave here and head back to our room at the hotel. “Sure,” I say. “My little adventure kind of wore me out.”
“I meant back to the party.” He corrects me. He wants to be where she is and I, for one, have no intention of hanging around and watching him flirt. “And by the way,” he continues, “the Faulkner’s have invited us to stay with them, so we won’t be going back to the hotel.”
“Quillan, no!” I protest. “I cannot sleep inside that house. I am terrified of the place. I can go on with this charade, but I draw the line there.”
“Ave.” He takes my face in his hands and gently brushes my hair away from my eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” My belly burns with his touch. The air has been pushed from my lungs. I swallow hard and hopes he doesn’t notice.
“Why do we have to stay there?” I manage to ask.
“Because I can get closer to the family and maybe have some influence on Mr. Faulkner.” His eyes invade mine. My heart is pounding now. As much as I want to be near Quillan, this turn of events terrifies me.
“What if we fail? We could end up at the dinner party and be slaughtered right along with everyone else.”
His grip tightens on my face. “If I can’t save Lunar, then I will send you home immediately. I promise.”
“Send me home?” My stomach is churning now. “What about you?”
“Yes, of course, me too.” He smiles softly. Something in his eyes tells me he’s lying.
The continual slamming of the wooden shutter wakens me from my slumber. Opening my eyes, I scream, mistaking the long white curtains billowing in the wind for ghosts. It’s an honest mistake. I am uncomfortable about spending the night here. It took me two hours to relax enough to fall asleep. Despite the stifling heat, I keep the quilt pulled over my head, blocking out any ghouls hovering around inside my bedchamber tonight.
“I’ll get it.” Quillan rises off the bed we’re sharing. My heart accelerates more when I remember who I am shacking up with. It’s hard enough being forced to stay in this horrible haunted mansion, but sharing a bed with Quillan only elevates my anxiety. He walks to the window. His hair is out of the ponytail, and he’s shirtless. Can my pounding heart take anymore? My best bet is to turn away so he doesn’t catch me gawking.
“Sure is stormy out there.” He pulls the wooden shutter closed and then turns up the wick on the lamp, giving a dim glow of light to the dark room.
“Great,” I mumble. “Why would I expect anything different? I am spending the night in a haunted mansion. A thunderstorm is the appropriate ambiance.”
“It’s not haunted,” he corrects me and climbs back into bed.
“Maybe not yet,” I defend my knowledge of the place, “but it is in our time. A lot of my friends came here and saw things. Even Mike saw the silhouette of Emily hanging in the cupola, and Mike doesn’t lie or exaggerate.”
“Your boyfriend speaks out of ignorance,” he says sourly.
“He’s not ignorant.” I am quick to vouch for Mike’s intelligence. “Actually, he’s one of the smartest people I know. And I told you before, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“There is no such thing as ghosts Averie, so let’s dispel one of your fears right now. We are eternal spiritual beings. Any apparition you or your friends saw was merely a person in another dimension standing at a thin place where the membrane between the two worlds is so thin you get a glimpse inside.” He fluffs his flat feather pillow but doesn’t lie down. Instead, he sits there, studying me, while I lay on my back looking up at him. His hair hangs in his face, and the way he’s looking at me steals my breath again.
I sit up and hug my knees, joining him in conversation. “So you’re saying when Mike saw Emily in the cupola, he was actually seeing her hanging? Like she does a month from now?” I can tell Quillan doesn’t like any reference to Emily’s unfortunate demise. He clenches his jaw, anger burning behind his eyes.
“She can’t hang herself a month from now, Averie. When you say it, you are conceding defeat. Good God, do you not have any optimism in you at all? Any courage that things can change, or are you too afraid to hope, too?”
Okay, I am a little embarrassed by his disappointment. Instead of admitting my defeatist attitude, I make matters worse, launching into my self-defense mode. “I’m no psychologist, Quillan. I spent some time with her this afternoon. She has issues, that’s for sure. How do you reach someone who lives behind a facade of smiles and works hard at keeping up appearances? I knew girls like her at school. Believe me, they would die before letting anyone know they have any imperfections at all.”
“Did you ever try?” he asks in an accusing tone. “Or did you allow your jealousies to interfere with someone else’s well-being?”
My cheeks burn hot. I am praying the room is too dim for him to notice. “You mistake jealousy for discernment,” I bite back. “And for your information, I did try with Emily today. I sensed she craves her dad’s approval. Her biggest fear is choosing between Lunar’s love or her dad’s blessing. I also gained her trust by not telling you or anyone else that it was Lunar Wilson who actually saved me from drowning today. So get off my back, Quillan.”
I lay down hard on the bed, turning away from him.
“Lunar saved you?” he asks me, totally unaffected by my anger.
“That’s what I just said.” I keep my angry tone. “He told me not to tell anyone it was him who pulled me out of the river, so I didn’t.”
“Ave.” He sounds much kinder now. “You can’t keep secrets from me, understand? Something like that is important. You need to tell me.”
“I just did,” I say, allowing the pillow to muffle my words.
“It needs to be sooner than later and not a ploy to win an argument. We must share information and work together to accomplish this.”
His hypocritical statement has me sitting up fast. “Share information? Work together? Sorry, Quillan, unlike you, I haven’t spent years planning for this. I barely know what’s going on, so if you’re hell-bent on sharing information, I’m all ears.”
“Ask me anything,” he offers.
“You said that back at the river. When I did, you gave me a lame excuse about certain information being dangerous and tampering with the existence of mankind.”
“Then choose your questions carefully,” he warns me.
“Okay.” I think I am ready for this one. “Who are you?” I’ve wanted to ask him that since we emerged from the tunnel last night.
“Quillan Kendrick, you know that already.”
“That’s your name,” I confront him, “but who are you?”
I’ve got him and I know it. It’s a question he doesn’t want to answer, and it makes me extremely uncomfortable. Even in the dimness of the room, his eyes pierce my soul, stealing my breath. I cautiously inch away from him.