Page 15 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

The sun burned off the low-lying mist, revealing spectacular skies, but my morning run yielded little clarity about the events of the night before.

Back at the house from my run, I didn’t bother to shower before finding my keys and driving into town.

At the diner, I ordered toast and coffee, watching through the windows as the downtown slowly came to life and fretting over whether the auditory hallucinations—the humming in the kitchen and the sobbing last night in the bathroom—would start occurring more regularly.

Like the flickers…

Tired of worrying, I opened the phone and surfed a few news sites, clicking on whatever story happened to catch my eye while I had my breakfast. Somewhere around my third cup, I began to feel a little better.

Maybe it was the caffeine or maybe it had to do with the murmurs of quiet conversation emanating from other tables, but I remembered Louise mentioning that the house made noises in the wind.

I had no idea what might sound like humming or crying or a scream, but it was possible that I’d heard something, and because I’d just woken up each time, my mind could have turned the sound into something else.

It wasn’t a perfect explanation, but it was better than the alternative, and I drove back to the house, feeling more prepared to face the day.

As I mounted the porch, I spied Reece in the garden, stabbing at the ground with a hoe, like he was trying to kill a snake.

To my mind, if he really wanted to make a difference in the garden, he should have been using hedge trimmers or pruning shears, but I supposed it wasn’t my business.

Louise, meanwhile, was just outside the cottage, using an iron rod to beat a rug she’d draped over a clothesline strung between two trees. She must have sensed my presence because she glanced in my direction. I waved, and she returned the gesture.

Inside, Paulie dozed on the sofa. I emptied and washed her food and water bowls before opening a can of food. By the time I put them both on the floor, Paulie was waiting. I watched her start to eat before heading upstairs to my room.

· · ·

After showering, I checked my laptop. Oscar and Lorena had sent responses to the material from the day before. We’d have a lot to discuss later, but in the meantime, I needed a quick nap; my lack of sleep the night before was catching up to me.

I woke up an hour later, refreshed and alert, and trotted down the stairs.

I set my backpack on the dining room table and went into the kitchen, where I gulped down a tall glass of water.

Then, shouldering my backpack, I left the house and engaged the dead bolt.

As I approached my car, I heard Reece and Louise bickering near the cottage, both sounding frustrated.

“What do you mean postponed?” she demanded. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Reece answered. “I’m planning to call him later.”

“Does he know how important this is?”

“I said I’ll call him later, but he’s just going to tell me there’s nothing he can do!”

Tuning it out, I opened the passenger door and was taking a last glance at the house when I spied a woman with long dark hair move past one of the parlor windows. When she reappeared in front of the second window, recognition dawned on me.

In shock, I bolted back toward the house and bounded up the steps. The key was already in my hand, but when I entered, a quick survey revealed no one in the parlor. The kitchen, too, was empty.

In the dining room, however, a figure crouched beneath the table on all fours, angled away from me.

On the table was a partially completed jigsaw puzzle, and even from where I was standing, I could tell it consisted of hundreds or even a thousand pieces, all of them facing up.

The box sat on the table next to a sweating glass of ice water, and I suddenly felt dizzy, thinking This is impossible.

I’d retrieved my backpack only a minute or two ago, and there’d been nothing else on the table.

“Oh hey, Tate. Good morning,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me. Her gaze was friendly, even inviting, and I continued to take in the scene, terrified I was hallucinating. But I wasn’t. The reality of her presence reverberated in my very bones.

“What are you doing here?” I choked out.

“Well, you can see I’m working on a puzzle,” she answered, “but I dropped one of the pieces, and I’m having a devil of a time finding it. It’s perfectly camouflaged.”

I watched as she ran one hand slowly over the rug, trying to locate the piece by feel; as she had yesterday, she wore yoga pants, though white this time, with a navy New England Patriots sweatshirt.

“I’ve always loved puzzles,” she mused, as though talking to herself. “But games are better for two people, don’t you think? Especially the old-fashioned ones. There’s something nostalgic about them.”

“I guess,” I said.

“How was your run this morning?”

“My run?”

She gave a quizzical smile. “That’s what you were doing, right? I watched you take off down the drive.”

She was here this morning? Before I went to breakfast?

“How did you get in the house?”

Her face clouded while her forehead wrinkled slightly. “That’s an odd question.”

“I locked the door last night.”

“I do live here,” she said with an awkward laugh. “But hey, since you’re just standing there, do you have a second to help me look? Can you see it from where you’re standing?”

Speechless and frantically searching for an explanation, I wondered if there was another entrance to the house, down in the cellar perhaps, something like a storm door.

As for the puzzle, the only explanation was that she’d started it on a large piece of cardboard and slid it onto the table before filling a glass of water, adding ice cubes, and crawling under the table…

But how had she managed all that in the short time I’d been out of the house?

“Are you going to help me or not?” she asked.

Unnerved, I scanned the rug beneath the table and spotted something gray and irregularly shaped. As if no longer in control of my muscles, I found myself pointing at it.

“It’s over here,” I said, “next to the chair.”

She rose in a single fluid movement, and I watched as she rounded the table, her eyes focused on where I was pointing, before she skipped over to pick it up.

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how frustrating that was.” Her face lit up with amusement, and I caught the faintest scent of licorice, triggering memories of my last conversation with Sylvia.

“Who are you?” I sputtered.

“Didn’t I tell you yesterday?”

“No.”

“Sorry about that!” she said with a sunny smile. “My name is Wren. Like the bird.” Her expression softened. “How are you feeling today? After you left yesterday, I got to thinking that our conversation might have been a lot for you.”

After I left? I was talking to you from the kitchen and YOU left…

“Uh…I’m okay,” I said. “Better, I think.”

“Good,” she said. “I did my best to channel Ethel Lampier. Have you come across her in town yet?”

I could only shake my head.

“She’s an old hippie with short gray hair, and she’s frequently dressed in tie-dye.

I think it reminds her of when she followed the Grateful Dead back in the 1970s.

Anyway, she used to teach fourth grade at the elementary school—she even taught me—but after she retired and her husband died, she set up shop in the park downtown.

She’s probably there now, in fact. As soon as the weather begins to warm, she sits in a lawn chair with a handwritten sign offering Advice or a Friendly Ear, for ten dollars every fifteen minutes.

She’s kind of an institution in Heatherington, but like I said, I took one look at you and knew you needed a good listen.

I’ve certainly been there myself,” she added.

Impossible, I continued to think, feeling one or two or ten steps behind. All of this is impossible.

She nodded in the direction of the parlor.

“There’s a book on the second shelf from the top on the left called Poems for Any Occasion,” she added.

“After we talked, I thought of a poem by Keats called Endymion that you might want to check out. You don’t have to read the whole thing, but the first few lines remind me of your relationship with your sister. ”

Oblivious to my churning thoughts, she brightened, focusing on something behind me. “Is that Paulie? Are you finally up from your nap, sweet girl?” she called, moving past me and squatting with her hand outstretched. Over my shoulder, I saw Paulie meandering toward her.

“I didn’t say anything yesterday because you were clearly upset, but usually, I don’t allow pets,” she said, letting Paulie sniff her hand. “Even though you should have cleared it with me first, I’m going to let it slide because Paulie obviously likes me.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” I said, finally finding my voice.

She tilted her head. “Why would you say that?”

A small crease appeared on her forehead, her green eyes widening slightly. Just then I spotted Reece and Louise in the yard outside the window. Desperate to prove I hadn’t been imagining things the day before, I raised a finger.

“Can you wait here for a minute? I’ll be right back. Don’t move, okay?”

I turned and strode to the door. Pulling it open, I called out to them, watching as they turned.

“She came back again, and she’s here now!” I shouted. “Come quick!”

They hurried toward me, and when they reached the door, I swiftly led them to the dining room before coming to a sudden halt.

Wren was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the puzzle, the empty box, or the glass of ice water. Louise and Reece flanked me as I frantically eyed the latched windows, the door to the kitchen, and the area beneath the table.

“She was just here,” I protested as I took a step forward, the word “impossible” echoing in my mind again. I searched for stray puzzle pieces on the carpet and splashes of water on the floor. “She was putting together a puzzle!”

When I whirled around to face them, Louise and Reece silently exchanged looks of concern.

“I know what I saw,” I insisted. “There has to be another way into the house.”

“There’s no back door,” Reece said. “I mentioned that it was unusual even when the house was originally constructed—”

“I meant the cellar,” I interrupted, feeling flustered. “Through the storm door in the cellar.”

“There is no storm door in the cellar,” Reece countered.

“Then you tell me how she got in and out.” When neither replied, I went on. “She said her name was Wren. She said it’s her house and that she lives here. She told me Ethel Lampier was her teacher in fourth grade…”

I watched as Louise blanched and Reece took a step backward in shock.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Do you know her?”

“What did she look like?” Louise asked.

“Dark hair, beautiful green eyes, medium height, kind of pretty.”

As I described her, Reece’s face flashed with anger. He seemed to grow in size, his body practically vibrating.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, the words coming out in almost a snarl. “Do you think it’s funny?”

I met Reece’s eyes, refusing to back down. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Wren?” he demanded. “Dark hair with beautiful green eyes? That’s what you said?”

“So?”

“You and I both know that’s not possible.”

“You’re going to have to enlighten me.”

He drew a breath, and I could see in his expression how upset he was. “Wren Tobin,” he finally said, “died almost two years ago.”