“Don’t stop, tell me the rest.”
“We were on Moosehead Lake, drinking. It was close to dusk and my friend Gary was driving the boat. Lauren went up to sit in the bow seat, and Gary was driving so fast. He didn’t see the waves. We hit ‘em going fast. I saw her fly up into the air. Her face is frozen in my mind, that look of shock, and then she was overboard. She disappeared into the water so fast, and by the time we got the boat turned around and circled back to her, she was gone.”
“Could she swim?”
“Like a seal,” Fletcher said, frowning as if it still puzzled him. “But I heard something, a thud. I don’t know if she hit her head, or the boat ran her over.”
He stopped and closed his eyes, shook his head as if that might remove the images seared there.
“We didn’t find her body for two days. The coast guard was out, helicopters, search-and-rescue teams. A tourist found her tangled in weeds on the north side of the lake along an isolated stretch of forest.”
I heard a thud upstairs and jumped.
Fletcher looked toward the stairs.
“Is there someone else here?”
I shook my head.
“This house makes a lot of noise,” I said. “Sammy liked to say ‘it talks a lot.’”
Fletcher peered at the foyer, but when no one appeared, he continued.
“After the funeral, I dropped out of school. Like I said, I stopped functioning. I read books, a hundred at least.”
“On the occult?”
He nodded.
“The one-year anniversary of her death was approaching, and I dreaded it. I decided to take my own life.”
CHAPTER 32
Now
Sarah
“Y eah?” Sarah called at the knock on her study door. Her study consisted of a hexagonal room perched on the top of her house. It was the only upstairs floor and allowed sunlight to stream in through six windows, one on each wall. Today, rather than sun, rain poured down the glass and occasionally Sarah glimpsed a streak of lightning in the gray sky. Her drafting table stood in the center, and waist-high file cabinets designed to look like sleek bureaus butted all but two walls. She had installed surround-sound speakers and played a variety of binaural beat tracks that helped her immerse in a new project.
The door to her study lay at the bottom of a staircase. She heard Will call up.
“You have a guest.”
Sarah frowned, staring a moment longer at the drawing of the Millers’ new summer cottage, over four times the size of her own house, and reluctantly set her pencil down. She trotted down the stairs to where Will stood. He grinned.
“What?” she asked, irritated at the interruption.
He stepped aside, and Sarah saw Brook standing inside the front door. She held a bottle of gin her hand.
“Isn’t it a little early for gin?” Sarah asked, stopping halfway across the room.
Brook looked momentarily wounded, and then wiped the expression and smiled.
“Isn’t it a little late in your life to be bisexual?” She gestured at Will, whose mouth dropped open.
“What? No,” he said shaking his head and stealing a glance at Sarah, who smiled and winked at him.
“It was a joke, Will. I can’t believe your humor has finally run out.”
“Well, I,” he sputtered. He looked between the two women, and then shrugged, returning to the couch where he had several books opened and a bowl of tortilla chips balanced precariously on a stack.
“If I find salsa on that rug, you’ll be licking it up,” Sarah called as she led Brook to the kitchen.
“I love wool with my salsa,” he yelled back through a mouthful of chips.
“Did you adopt a son since I last saw you?” Brook asked, setting the bottle down and perching on a high-stool.
Sarah pulled a bottle of tonic from the refrigerator and poured them both a glass. She never worked buzzed but knew she wouldn’t be returning to the Miller house that day.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” she told Brook, passing her the glass. Their fingers touched, and Sarah felt the stirrings of passion.
Brook took a sip, studying Sarah over the rim of the glass.
Sarah noticed her low-cut black shirt and the pale pendant wrapped in a silver moon resting on Brook’s chest.
“I considered fashioning a voodoo doll and punishing you, but thought a peace offering might be a wiser choice.”
Sarah twitched, imagining the leathery doll in the attic at Kerry Manor.
Brook saw the look on her face.
“I’m sorry, was that in bad taste?”
Sarah sighed and drank her gin and tonic, miserable that she’d blown off Brook and still wasn’t sure why.
“I don’t have an excuse,” Sarah admitted. “I mean, I do, but nothing that’s good enough.”
“I’m not here for an excuse,” Brook said. She traced her finger, the nail painted dark violet, along the rim of her glass and then slipped her finger into her mouth.
“I-” Sarah started, but Brook stood and pressed a finger against Sarah’s lips. She moved closer and Sarah smelled the piney sweetness of gin on her breath. Brook leaned in, her generous mouth painted dark.
Sarah closed her eyes, and the room tilted as she pushed deeper into Brook’s hungry lips. Suddenly falling, she shot her arm out and caught the edge of the counter. Brook held her firmly around the waist.
“Whew,” she breathed. “Are you okay? I thought you might take us both down.”
Sarah blinked and raked a hand through her blonde hair. It felt oily. When had she last washed it? As she considered the question, she realized she had eaten nothing that day, either. No wonder the kiss rendered her senseless.
“I need a shower,” she murmured.
Brook’s smile widened, but Sarah shook her head.
“I want to, eventually. I do, Brook. I’m into you all the way. Okay? I know you might think I’ve been playing games, but honestly-”
“Hey,” Brook grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I meant what I said. I’m not here for excuses. You’re in a strange place. I don’t have a twin, but I adore my sisters. If I ever lost one…” She trailed off. “Don’t feel guilty, and don’t feel obligated. I’m here right now. That’s enough for me.”
Sarah kissed her on the lips and rested her forehead against Brook’s.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
After she showered, Sarah slipped into a pair of freshly laundered jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and returned to the living room, pausing in the hallway at Will and Brook’s conversation.
“Ethel Kerry,” Will explained. “That was her name.”
“Wow,” Brook said. “I knew I heard a little girl that night. I tried to do research on the house, but that was fifteen years ago. The Internet wasn’t exactly thriving.”
“I can’t imagine a world without the Internet,” Will said. “Here, check out this article I printed.”
Sarah stepped into the room.
“Well, you guys are fast friends,” she said, winking at Brook when she looked up from the article.
“We share a common interest,” Will declared, tapping the pile of books.
“Ready for lunch?” Sarah asked. “We can continue our Kerry Manor discussion at North Peak.”
CORRIE
“YOU DIDN’T WRITE that in the book,” I murmured.
“The book was fiction,” Fletcher said gently. “I had read about resurrections. Different texts told different stories. The dead would come back as an apparition, or in the body of another. What did I have to lose? One way or another, I would have her back. Whether she returned, or I joined her on the other side.”