But it’s her arms that unnerve me the most.
They’ve been lifted above her and connected to the brass bed’s corners by rope knotted around her wrists. I see more rope at her ankles, keeping her spread-eagled atop a plastic tarp that’s been laid over the mattress.
I choke out a gasp.
Katherine hears it and her eyes flutter open. She looks up at me, at first utterly confused, then full-blown panicked.
“Who—”
She stops herself, still looking, her large, frightened eyes softening into recognition.
“Casey?” Her voice is weird. Hoarse and slightly wet, as if there’s water in the back of her throat. It doesn’t sound like her at all. “Is it really you?”
“It’s me. It’s me and I’m going to help you.”
I rush to her, putting a hand on her forehead. Her skin is cold and clammy with sweat. And pale. So startlingly pale. Her lips have become cracked with dryness. She parts them and croaks, “Help me. Please.”
I reach for the rope knotted around her right wrist. It’s been tied tight. The skin under it has been rubbed raw, and dried blood flakes off the rope.
“How long have you been down here?” I say. “Why did Tom do this to you?”
I give up on untying the rope around her wrists and instead move to the end lashed to the brass railing. It, too, is knotted tight, and I tug at it helplessly.
But there’s a noise.
Near the stairs.
An unnaturally loud creak as someone pushes off the bottom step.
Tom.
Soaked by the storm.
His expression is a mix of surprise and disappointment and fear.
“Get away from her,” he says as he barrels toward me. “You shouldn’t have looked for her, Casey. You really, really should have left us alone.”
I continue fumbling with the rope, as if sheer determination will loosen it. I’m still tugging when Tom wraps an arm around my waist and drags me away. I flail in his grip, kicking and swatting. It’s no use. He’s shockingly strong, and soon I find myself shoved against the stairs. The bottom step hits my calves and I fall backwards until I’m sitting down against my will.
“What the fuck are you doing to her?”
“Protecting her,” Tom says.
“From what?”
“Herself.”
I look to the brass bed, where Katherine has gone still. But her eyes remain open, watching us. To my surprise, she looks not distressed but slightly amused.
“I don’t understand. What’s wrong with your wife?”
“That is not my wife.”
“It sure as hell looks like Katherine.”
“It looks like her,” Tom says. “But it’s not.”
I cast another glance at the bed. Katherine remains motionless, content to watch us talk. Maybe it’s merely Tom’s words getting under my skin, but something about her seems off. Katherine’s energy feels different from what I’m used to.
“Then who is it?”
“Someone else,” Tom says.
My head is spinning. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Nor do I understand what’s going on. All I know is that the situation is far weirder than I ever imagined—and that it’s up to me to defuse it.
“Tom.” I take a step toward him, hands raised to show I mean him no harm. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going to think I’m crazy. And maybe I am. I’ve considered that possibility a lot in the past few days. It would be easier to deal with than this.”
Tom gestures Katherine’s way, and although I’m not certain, I think what he’s just said pleases her. The corners of her mouth lift ever so slightly into a quarter smile.
“I won’t think that,” I say. “I promise.”
Desperation fills Tom’s gaze as it darts between me and the woman he says isn’t his wife, although it clearly is. “You won’t understand.”
“I will if you explain it to me.” I take another step toward him. Calm. Careful. “Please.”
“That stuff Eli told us the other night?” Tom says in a scared, guilty murmur. “About the lake and people believing spirits are trapped in the water?”
“I remember.”
“I think—I think it’s true. I think something was in that lake. A ghost. A soul. Whatever. And it was waiting there. In the water. And whatever it was entered Katherine when she almost drowned and now—now it’s taken over.”
I’m unsure how to respond.