“You’re right,” Ethan finally says. “I should go check it out. You stay here.”
“No way.” I shake my head vigorously. “I’m going with you. You’re not leaving me alone down here.”
Again, he seems like he’s about to protest but then thinks better of it. He rubs his chin with his thumb for a moment, then reaches for something on the kitchen counter. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s a block of knives. The long serrated blade Ethan pulls out glints in the overhead lights in the kitchen. “Should be prepared, right?”
I have no objection to him taking a knife. I’m tempted to grab one myself.
We walk together across the living room, past the portrait of Dr. Adrienne Hale. I’m quickly starting to despise that painting. This house is creepy enough without those green eyes following me around everywhere. It’s a relief when we get to the staircase, away from her gaze.
At least, it’s a relief until we start climbing. The stairs wind up for what feels like an eternity and the stairwell is very dark. The stairs are steep and each one creaks as our feet put weight on it—the sound echoes through the entire stairwell. I cling to the ornate wooden banister with one hand, and with the other, I reach out for my husband. When I find his arm, I grab on to it tightly. I can’t believe he wants to live here. This place feels more like a haunted house we’re forced to spend the night in to earn some sort of inheritance or something like that.
The worst part is when we get to the landing for the second floor. Because it’s obvious that the entire floor is completely dark.
“We saw a light on up here, right?” My eyes frantically dart between the doorways, each darker than the next. “I’m sure we did.”
“Maybe it was the moonlight reflecting on the window…”
I glare at him in the dim light from the window. “So the moon somehow reflected on only one bedroom window?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Tricia. I don’t see anyone up here. And all the lights are out.”
“Shouldn’t we check the rooms?”
He’s quiet for a moment. I can’t tell whether he’s scared or annoyed. “Fine. Let’s check the bedrooms.”
Ethan flips on the light in the hallway, which is burned out except for one single bulb. But even that is enough to make the second floor a lot less scary. He keeps the knife down at his side as we open each room and turn on the light. According to the description on Judy’s website, there are six bedrooms upstairs, and I’m not leaving here until we check every single one of them.
First bedroom—empty.
Same deal for the second, third, and fourth bedrooms. All of them are completely dark and quiet. When Ethan turns on the lights, nobody is lurking in the shadows. Each room is completely empty.
“I don’t think there’s anyone here, Tricia,” he says as he closes the door of the fourth bedroom.
“Keep looking,” I say through my teeth.
Fifth bedroom—empty.
Now there’s one last room left. All the bedrooms we have seen so far have been about the same size and rather impersonal looking. This leads me to suspect that the last bedroom must be the master bedroom. The place where Adrienne Hale slept every night in the months and years before her disappearance.
As we walk to the final door, I grab onto Ethan’s arm. My heart is pounding so hard that it hurts my chest.
“Tricia, your nails…”
I ease up my grip ever so slightly. “Sorry.”
I’m probably still gouging him with my nails, but he lets me do it. He lowers the hand not clutching the knife onto the doorknob. And quietly, he twists the knob.
Chapter 5
“There’s no one here,” Ethan announces.
He flips the switch inside the last room, setting the space aglow. This room is significantly larger than all the others and looks like it’s a master bedroom. There’s a king-sized bed in the center of the room with an ornate wooden headboard. The bed is made up, and when I reach out a finger to touch the cream-colored bedspread with the red trim, it too has a thick layer of dust on it.
“Nobody.” He taps open the bathroom door and peeks inside. “Not even hiding in the bathroom.”
“I can see that.”
He fiddles with the handle of the knife. “So are you satisfied? Or do you want me to check under the bed?”
I don’t need him to check under the bed, but it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to check the closet. I grab the shiny gold handle of a door near the bathroom and fling it open. It is, as I suspected, a walk-in closet. That’s another luxury we don’t have in our Manhattan apartment.