Comes the Night by Norah Wilson
Chapter 38
Cold and Lonely, One and Only
Maryanne
Maryanne watched through the small basement window—the one that faced the river. She could barely make out Brooke’s cast against the evening twilight as she moved to the river behind the house, hurrying up the oak tree for the copper bracelets. Maryanne suspected—hoped!—she could only see Brooke’s cast because she was really looking for it. But Brooke was far from hidden in the early-evening darkness. She bit down on her lip, hoping Brooke would hurry back. For Brooke’s sake. For Connie’s. And yes, absolutely for Maryanne’s own. She just wanted to get this over with.
With a tight sigh, Maryanne turned. She couldn’t help but stare at the open grave where Connie’s remains lay. In one of those I-could-kick-my-own-butt moments, she wished she’d let Brooke stay after all. But it passed that quickly.
Brooke had been surprised when Maryanne insisted on staying with Connie’s body rather than leave it alone. Heck, she was surprised. How could she explain it to Brooke when she barely understood it herself? Well, not that it was based on a heck of a lot of logic. But it was the helplessness of Connie’s remains... that’s why she had to stay. To watch over them. And the poor soul had been alone for so long. To leave her alone again... as nonsensical as that thought was, it just about broke Maryanne’s heart.
Taking a wide berth around the grave as she crossed the room, Maryanne rubbed the chill from her arms. She’d been working up a sweat as she’d dug, and had shed her hoodie hours ago in favor of just the light grey t-shirt she’d worn underneath it. But now, even as she pulled her fleece sweater back on, it wasn’t just the cold of the basement that had her rubbing away at the goose bumps. Nor was it merely from being in the basement with the body.
She needed to cast. With the assault on Alex and the inevitable crackdown at the dorm, and the hours spent at the hospital, they’d not been able to cast out for days now. And she was more than longing for it. More than craving to tap on that window and soar into the night. Her skin was practically crawling with the need of it.
“Soon,” she said. “After Connie reunites with her body, before we call the police, I’m casting out. After today, I need it.” She’d battle Brooke over it if she had to, but knowing Brooke, Maryanne didn’t think too much arm-twisting would be involved.
What if Connie couldn’t reunite with her remains? What then? That intrusive thought was never far away, but she couldn’t think of it now. They’d deal with it when the time came, if they had to.
Maryanne sat down on the basement stairs with her back to the door above her, and the grave off to her left. The old wood of the coffin planks now lay beside Connie’s grave. She shuddered as she looked at one heavy nail poking through the wood. Thank God, Alex hadn’t run into that when she’d slid her cast down there! It would have been very draining, slowing her down while she was under the earth. That would have been a nightmare.
Maryanne arched her back. It was just beginning to feel the stiffness settling in, while her shoulders had been feeling it for a good hour now. Though nervous about being down in the basement, at least she could rest. At least it was quiet. Too quiet. Scary quiet. And as she did so often, she broke the silence with the sound of her own voice. “Here I am, in this angry basement with a corpse.”
Way to break the silence, Maryanne! Not!
Usually Harvell House was filled with noise—too much of it. What she wouldn’t give to hear someone shouting right about now in the kitchen above her. Or pots clanging as Mrs. Betts started supper. Wow, even the phone ringing would be a welcome intrusion.
But then Maryanne did hear something, and the noise was far from welcome and comforting. Fear of a different kind rode through her.
A door creaked open, and slammed closed. Boots thumped on the doormat. Automatically she turned and looked toward the basement door as someone crossed the kitchen floor above her. Maryanne jumped to her feet.
Brooke? It couldn’t be. No way in heck could she have gone to get Connie and returned that fast—not even at caster speed. And Brooke would be coming down the stairs from the attic when she returned, not walking in through the kitchen door! Was it Mrs. Betts? John Smith? One of the girls? If Alex used to stay in town and party while pretending to be home in Halifax on holiday weekends, what’s to say one of the other girls wouldn’t do the same?
Maryanne’s hand flew over her mouth as she gasped. Oh crap! What if it was the man who’d attacked Alex? Here to find another victim... A line of light shone through the crack below the basement door, as the kitchen light snapped on and the footsteps fell again.
Heart pounding, pulse hammering, Maryanne raced away from the stairs to the other side of the basement. She didn’t just take a wide berth around the grave now, but in a wild, fleeting, fear-fueled fantasy, pictured herself in it. Dammit! There was no place to hide! Palms tight to the hard stone, she pressed herself flat against the basement wall furthest from the stairs. And, she realized too late, far away from the shovels that lay mockingly out of reach at the edge of Connie’s grave. Crap! She didn’t even have a weapon!
The crack of light spilled further down as the basement door slowly opened. She heard the sound of footsteps thumping, then suddenly stopping. Fear rose up in her throat as she saw the booted feet on the step. And the horror nearly consumed her completely, as those feet again started descending down into the basement.