across the room, he flung open the door, gazing left and right in the empty hallway, and walked to Cerise’s bedroom. He pounded loudly on the door and called her name.
She opened it minutes later , rubbing one eye, and leaned on the trim. “What is it? What’s up with …”
“Your grandmother,” he snapped, cutting her off.
“Grandmother?”
He gave a snort. “Yes, she showed up in my room dressed like some sort of … I don’t know … spook … and stood there over me. Scared me near half to death until I realized who it was.” His blood boiled. “The nerve. I’ve had it with this house, had it with playing into her hands. Had I known what she was after I …”
“Mr. Garner.” Cerise’s voice addressing him formally shut him up. “My grandmother could not have been in your room.”
“But she was,” he insisted. “I saw her.”
Cerise softened her tone. “What did she look like?”
“Look like? Like an older woman in a white gown. She just stood there with her hand out like this.” He demonstrated it for her.
Her eyes widened. “But that hasn’t happened in years … No, it can’t be …” she stuttered.
“What hasn’t happened? ” Really this was ridiculous.
Grasping hold o f his arm, Cerise tugged him inside and shut the door. She crossed to her dresser. Digging around in a small drawer, she produced what must have been a key because she inserted it in the lock.
“Look, we talked about this,” he said. “I’m not …”
“You are not going back out there.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t need protection from your grandmother.”
“For the last time, that was not my grandmother.”
“Well, there’s no one else, and you said yourself she was trying to mess with our heads.”
Her hand on his chest forced him over to the bed. She pressed his shoulder and he sank onto the frilled bed cover. “Lie down.”
He did so, and she settled in beside him, nestling her head on his shoulder. “This is the next best thing.”
He exhaled. Yes, it was. But she hadn’t answered his questions. “Cerise, why do you keep saying it isn’t your grandmother?”
Why did he really not want to know?
Her hand trailed over his waist. “My grandmother takes sleeping pills at nigh t. Plus, Yolanda locks her door from the outside.”
Locks the door? Again, he didn’t want to know, but heard himself ask anyway. “Why?” Medication. The memory rushed in. Earlier, Cerise had told Yolanda to give the old woman medication – sleeping pills.
“She has borderline dementia. She’s worse at night.”
He exhaled. Dementia? So the old woman was going crazy?
She answered his next question before he could ask. “She wanted the new fixture in the glass room before she’s too far gone to remember it. At least, that’s what she said to me.”
A fist formed in his gut and punched. “ Then she wasn’t in my room?”
Cerise wagged her head, their bodies now warm and sealed together. “Told you that …” she said sleepily.
“Cerise.” He shook her, and one eye flicked open. “Then who was that?”
She shut her eye. “Lucille.”
“Lucille?”
“Delbert Delacroix the Third’s wife.”
***
Sunlight spilt through the glass across the bed directly into Andre’s eyes, almost foreign. He squinted and rolled over, content to lapse back into sleep, but the ruffled bedcover and empty place beside him sat him upright. Cerise was gone, and the sun was out. That meant––
His head like lead, he slumped back onto the mattress and groaned. Images from the previous night flickered through his head, the last some talk of a ghost named Lucille. A ghost? He didn’t believe in ghosts. Spirits and the supernatural, yes, but not “the souls of dead people wandering the earth.” Over and above that, he’d been taught of God’s power over demons through believers, so he had nothing to fear.
This didn’t stop him from speculating about it, speculation which soon
She opened it minutes later , rubbing one eye, and leaned on the trim. “What is it? What’s up with …”
“Your grandmother,” he snapped, cutting her off.
“Grandmother?”
He gave a snort. “Yes, she showed up in my room dressed like some sort of … I don’t know … spook … and stood there over me. Scared me near half to death until I realized who it was.” His blood boiled. “The nerve. I’ve had it with this house, had it with playing into her hands. Had I known what she was after I …”
“Mr. Garner.” Cerise’s voice addressing him formally shut him up. “My grandmother could not have been in your room.”
“But she was,” he insisted. “I saw her.”
Cerise softened her tone. “What did she look like?”
“Look like? Like an older woman in a white gown. She just stood there with her hand out like this.” He demonstrated it for her.
Her eyes widened. “But that hasn’t happened in years … No, it can’t be …” she stuttered.
“What hasn’t happened? ” Really this was ridiculous.
Grasping hold o f his arm, Cerise tugged him inside and shut the door. She crossed to her dresser. Digging around in a small drawer, she produced what must have been a key because she inserted it in the lock.
“Look, we talked about this,” he said. “I’m not …”
“You are not going back out there.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t need protection from your grandmother.”
“For the last time, that was not my grandmother.”
“Well, there’s no one else, and you said yourself she was trying to mess with our heads.”
Her hand on his chest forced him over to the bed. She pressed his shoulder and he sank onto the frilled bed cover. “Lie down.”
He did so, and she settled in beside him, nestling her head on his shoulder. “This is the next best thing.”
He exhaled. Yes, it was. But she hadn’t answered his questions. “Cerise, why do you keep saying it isn’t your grandmother?”
Why did he really not want to know?
Her hand trailed over his waist. “My grandmother takes sleeping pills at nigh t. Plus, Yolanda locks her door from the outside.”
Locks the door? Again, he didn’t want to know, but heard himself ask anyway. “Why?” Medication. The memory rushed in. Earlier, Cerise had told Yolanda to give the old woman medication – sleeping pills.
“She has borderline dementia. She’s worse at night.”
He exhaled. Dementia? So the old woman was going crazy?
She answered his next question before he could ask. “She wanted the new fixture in the glass room before she’s too far gone to remember it. At least, that’s what she said to me.”
A fist formed in his gut and punched. “ Then she wasn’t in my room?”
Cerise wagged her head, their bodies now warm and sealed together. “Told you that …” she said sleepily.
“Cerise.” He shook her, and one eye flicked open. “Then who was that?”
She shut her eye. “Lucille.”
“Lucille?”
“Delbert Delacroix the Third’s wife.”
***
Sunlight spilt through the glass across the bed directly into Andre’s eyes, almost foreign. He squinted and rolled over, content to lapse back into sleep, but the ruffled bedcover and empty place beside him sat him upright. Cerise was gone, and the sun was out. That meant––
His head like lead, he slumped back onto the mattress and groaned. Images from the previous night flickered through his head, the last some talk of a ghost named Lucille. A ghost? He didn’t believe in ghosts. Spirits and the supernatural, yes, but not “the souls of dead people wandering the earth.” Over and above that, he’d been taught of God’s power over demons through believers, so he had nothing to fear.
This didn’t stop him from speculating about it, speculation which soon
Similar Books
