Page 57 of Her Dark Lies

Auld Lang Syne

In the darkness of my mind, a woman with black hair stands atop the cliff. The sky is slate gray with the impending storm, and she is screaming a warning to me, but I can’t hear, can’t understand—

I’m dreaming. I know I’m dreaming.

Wake up, Claire.

The words are a whisper, and I come fully awake to a murky gloom. The candle has guttered out, and the sense of someone standing over me, soft breath tickling my cheek, is overwhelming.

I sit up, looking around the room wildly, but I am alone.

The rain is coming down in sheets. It’s weirdly dark; there is no light in the sky, though I can tell it’s daylight.

There is a gentle knocking. I go to the living room, but it grows fainter. It’s not coming from our door.

I hear the knock again. Hollow and light, this time it seems to be coming from the bedroom. It stops as soon as I get to the doorway.

I know the Villa is supposed to be haunted, there’s a Gray Lady in the history I read. Still, I don’t believe in ghosts. Someone must be knocking on another room’s door. Maybe a floor below, or above. Or it’s the pipes. The Villa is old, and I’ve been here only a day. I’m sure I’ll get used to all the house sounds soon enough.

Still, weirdness, on top of that creepy dream, does not settle my nerves.

I startle when my phone rings, a very real, normal sound. I don’t recognize the number, but it has a 212 area code. New York.

“Hello?”

“Claire? It’s Karmen Harris. Are you alone?”

I spy the note on the pillow. Jack must have gotten up and slipped out without waking me. He always has been an early riser. I am not. If given the opportunity, I will skip breakfast and lounge in bed instead.

No time for that today. The brunch is in a few hours, I have to figure out my dress, and Henna will be all over me with a hundred last second things that need to be done. Now Karmen needs a heart to heart? This can’t be good.

“Jack isn’t here.”

“Good. We need to talk. I’m outside.” There is a sharp knock on the door.

Uh-oh. Why do I immediately feel like I’ve done something wrong?Guilty conscience, my mother says from that weird, spectral place that all mothers live in their daughters’ consciousness.

I’ve done nothing to feel guilty about, I snap back at her.Malcolm shot the intruder.

“Give me a moment, I need to put on some clothes. I slept in.”

I dress quickly, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and a Simple Minds T-shirt from the closet. It’s Jack’s, it’s too big, and I love wearing it. It makes me feel safe. I scan the bathroom floor for leftover glass, just in case, but there’s nothing. The rug is back in its proper place and looks freshly vacuumed.

I brush my teeth, fluff my hair, though there’s no point, it’s still raining and the humidity and rain and salt air triumvirate is making it curl riotously around my head.

I open the door and the diminutive security agent enters the room as if she owns the place. I remember that up until yesterday, this was Ana and Brice’s suite, so yes, she’s probably spent a lot of time here. It’s makes me uneasy, how close the security needs to be to the family. I’ve never thought about it like this, but there’s a lot of Compton business done in private places.

Karmen looks like she hasn’t slept, and is all business. She parks herself in one of the matching armchairs in the living room. I sit opposite her, pulling my legs up onto the chair and wrapping my arms around them. She has no paperwork, no briefcase. A social call, perhaps?

“I’ve identified the man who broke into the house. By now, I’m sure the Nashville police have, too.”

“I thought his name was Francis Wold.”

“A false identity. The intruder’s name was Shane McGowan.”

My heart stops, then starts again with a pump that is so intense I can’t see for a few moments for all the adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t possible.