Gia's annoyance got the better of her as she edged past. She needed to be in that house, not out here listening to a woman who probably wasn't all there.
"What's your problem? Why are you telling me this?"
Her silver-ringed fingers twisted the long braid hanging over her shoulder. "Because that house is dangerous for you."
"So you've said, but nothing's happened."
The woman's black eyes bore into her. "If you won't think of yourself, think of the baby you carry."
Gia stumbled back a step, shaken. "What?" How could she know? "Who are you?"
"I'm your mother." She spoke flatly, as if stating the obvious. "A mother knows these things."
That clinched it. Gia's mother was in Iowa and this woman was crazy. She had her going for a moment with that remark about the baby… a wild lucky guess.
"Thank you for your concern," she said, backing away toward the house. Never confront a crazy person. "But I've really got to get inside."
The woman stepped closer. "Oh, please," she said, her voice thick with anguish. She clutched her braid with both hands now, twisting it back and forth. She seemed genuinely upset. "Don't go in there. Not tonight."
Gia slowed her retreat as something within her cried out to listen. But she couldn't stay out here when Jack was inside, possibly hurt. She forced herself to turn and run up the steps to the porch. The front door stood open. Without knocking she hurried inside and closed it behind her and felt…
… welcome.
How odd. Almost as if the house were overjoyed to see her. But that wasn't possible. Just relief from escaping that crazy woman.
"Hello?" she called. "Jack? Lyle? Charlie?"
Then Gia heard the music. She couldn't catch the words but it sounded upbeat and soulful. And it was coming from the cellar. She hurried down the steps but stopped when she saw the devastation. It looked like a bomb had gone off—the paneling and concrete floor had been torn to pieces and scattered; random holes had been dug into the dirt beneath.
And then she saw Charlie, huddled against the far wall. He looked terrified and was gesturing to her. His mouth worked, forming words, but he wasn't speaking. What was he trying to tell her? He looked crazy. First the Indian lady, now Charlie. Had everyone gone mad?
"Charlie? Where's Jack?"
The music stopped. And with that Charlie started to speak.
"Gia!" He pointed to her left. "She—it's here!"
Gia stepped into the cellar and gasped when she noticed the little girl.
"Tara?" After visiting her father, seeing her photo collection, hearing her story, Gia felt as if she knew this child. "It's really you, isn't it."
She nodded her blond head. "Hello, mother."
Mother? There seemed to be a lot of confusion about that going around.
"No, I'm not your mother."
"Oh, I know."
"Then why—?"
Charlie pushed away from the wall and edged closer. "Get out, Gia! She been waiting on you."
"That's okay, Charlie." Despite the cellar's cool dampness, Gia felt warm and welcome. "I'm not afraid. Where's Jack?"
"He and Lyle left me here alone." He pointed to Tara. "Then that showed up."
"My mother…" Tara frowned. "She doesn't think about me anymore."
"That's because she can't, honey. She—"
"I know." The words came out flat, with no feeling.
Charlie had reached her side now. He gripped her arm with a cold, trembling hand. His voice sounded ragged, barely above a whisper.
"We gotta get outta here. If she let us."
Gia looked at Tara. "You're not holding us here, are you?"
The child smiled wistfully. "I'd like the mother to stay for a while."
"Not right!" Charlie said. "Dead and living don't mix!"
"Why don't you go," Gia said. "I'll stay."
"Nuh-uh." Charlie shook his head. "Not without you, I ain't. This is bad—she bad. Can't you feel it?"
Gia felt sorry for him. He was so frightened he was shaking. Oddly, she felt perfectly calm. Hard to believe she was talking to the ghost of a murdered child and didn't feel the least bit afraid. Because she knew this poor lost soul, understood what she needed.
"I'll be fine."
He shook his head again. "We both go or we both stay."
"Tell you what." She took Charlie's arm and led him toward the steps. "We'll both go up and then I'll come back down, just for a few minutes."
But as they reached the steps Gia stopped—not because she wanted to, but because something was blocking her way. An invisible wall.
With a chill of foreboding she turned. "Tara?"
"You can't go," Tara said with a pout. "I need the mother to stay."
That's the heart of it, Gia thought. She wants a mother—needs a mother.
She felt the nurturer within her responding, reaching out to quell that need. But she had to be realistic here.
Gia spoke softly, slowly. "Look, Tara, I know you want your mother, but she can't come. I can't take her place, but •f there's something I can—"
Tara shook her head. "No. You don't understand. I don't want a mother."
Gia stared at her, baffled. "Then what—?"
And then everything changed. A wave of cold slammed through the air as Tara's expression shifted from sweet innocence to rage. She bared her teeth.
"I want to be a mother."
The earth suddenly gave way under Gia's feet. She screamed as she and Charlie tumbled into the black pit that opened beneath them.
10
As soon as Lyle stepped out of the taxi he sensed something was wrong.
Then he saw someone running toward him along the sidewalk. He tensed, ready to jump back into the cab until he recognized Jack.
"Hey, Jack. What's the hurry?"
Jack stopped before him, puffing, but not too heavily. "Gia. I think she's here."
"Why would—?" He stopped himself. "Never mind. Let's go see."
As they walked toward the house Lyle said, "You run all the way from Manhattan?"
"Just from the subway."
"Why didn't you take a cab?"
"Subway's faster this hour."
Lyle looked at Jack and noticed that his outline was no longer blurred. Maybe his strange new awareness was gone, or maybe it only worked in the house. But the nearer Lyle drew to the house, the stronger the sense of wrongness. He couldn't place his finger on it until—
"I'll be damned!" He stopped, staring.
Jack stopped beside him. "What?"
"The windows… the doors… they're closed!" He laughed. "This is great! We can put on the AC now."
"I don't like it," Jack said, moving again.
"Why not? Maybe it means whatever's been there has gone home."
"I doubt it."
Lyle followed Jack, saw him go to step up onto the front porch, then fall back.
"What the—?"
Lyle came up beside him. "What happened? Slip?"
And then Lyle could go no further. He stared at his foot, stranded in midair halfway to the first porch step. A chill ran down his back as he kicked his shoe forward, putting some weight behind it, but it didn't get any farther than before.
"Oh, man!" he said as icy fingers clawed his gut. "Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man! What's this shit?"
"I don't know," Jack said.
He threw a punch at the air but his fist came to a screaming halt in midair. Lyle tried the same. Pain shot through his shoulder as his hand stopped short at about the same plane as Jack's.
It wasn't like hitting a wall. It wasn't like hitting anything. No impact. His hand simply… stopped. And no matter how hard he pushed it wouldn't advance a millimeter farther.
Lyle glanced at Jack and saw him backing up, searching the ground. He bent, came up with a rock, and threw it. Lyle watched it arc toward the house, then stop in midair and drop to the ground.