Page 16 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

At the site, I spotted Oscar and Lorena monitoring the kids in the play area, but I was still disoriented after the events of the morning. I’d barely been conscious of the drive over and, in retrospect, was amazed that I’d made it without incident.

I couldn’t stop searching for an explanation, convinced there were only three choices.

The first, that it was yet another hallucination, was too terrifying to consider.

If I was seeing and hearing things with this kind of vivid detail, did that mean I was schizophrenic and had to check myself back in to the hospital?

Still, because there’d been nothing insubstantial or feverish about the encounters, that possibility didn’t feel right to me.

The second option—that Wren was a ghost—was so preposterous that I couldn’t entertain it; it went against everything I knew to be true and reliable about the world.

Which left, of course, one final option: that a woman pretending to be Wren Tobin was sneaking into and out of the house.

Yet that raised even more questions, because it meant that Reece and Louise had to be involved.

Louise, after all, had been at the front door when Wren disappeared yesterday morning, meaning Wren—or her impostor—couldn’t have slipped past without her knowledge.

But why then had Louise and Reece accused me of lying when I claimed to have seen her?

It struck me as a textbook case of gaslighting, but to what end? Were they trying to drive me out of the house, or were their motives more nefarious? Did they somehow know about my stint at the hospital and imagine I would be easy prey?

Most baffling of all, How had the puzzle and glass of water appeared and disappeared?

With a frustrated sigh, I climbed out of the car, unable to hide my agitation. Oscar must have noticed something amiss because he signaled to Lorena that he wanted to speak to me alone.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he was close. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I almost laughed as I set my backpack on the picnic table. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” he said, clearly worried.

I glanced toward the edge of the bluff and caught sight of the blue water beyond; in the play area, the kids were swinging and sliding and chasing each other under Lorena’s watchful eye. The normalcy of the day felt almost jarring, considering all that had happened.

“Do you remember the woman I mentioned yesterday?” When he nodded, I went on, relating everything that had happened at the house since I arrived. When I finished, I could see the concern in his expression.

“Do you think this might be something you should speak with your psychiatrist about?”

I shook my head. “She wasn’t a hallucination,” I insisted. “She was too real for that.”

“Isn’t that what hallucinations are? As opposed to fantasies?”

“Can we just focus on the third option?” I snapped in frustration.

“Despite the magic vanishing puzzle?”

“Humor me.”

He didn’t seem convinced but nodded anyway. “Fine,” he said. “I think the real question, as you’ve pointed out, is why you’re being targeted.”

“You said yourself that I was the first guest to stay there in a while,” I argued. “Maybe Reece and Louise are more upset than they let on about having to open the house again and they don’t want me there.”

“Playing the devil’s advocate, how would hiring a woman to do yoga in the parlor or put together a puzzle get you to leave?”

“I think it’s the fact that she disappears from the dining room, or screams in the bathroom, that they want me to focus on.”

“Then I should call the trustee and let him know what’s going on.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to get Wren into any trouble.”

“You do know that’s not her real name, right?”

“Of course.”

I could feel him trying to read me.

“Wait a second,” he said. “You like her, don’t you?” he asked.

“No,” I said, thinking, Yeah, kind of, before pushing the thought away. “I don’t know her. And, yes, if the situation continues to spiral, you can speak with the trustee. For now, though, I think it’s probably best to let it go.”

In the distance I heard Lorena call for him. “Hold on,” he said. “Be back in a second.”

After he walked off, I heard my phone ding with a news alert, reminding me that I was holding a small computer in my hand.

Curious about the real Wren Tobin, I googled her name and “Heatherington, MA.” When the images loaded, I stared at the phone in shock.

It was her. In one of the photos, she was even wearing the same white yoga pants and navy blue Patriots sweatshirt I’d seen less than an hour ago.

It was her.

No question about it.

· · ·

“Obviously,” I said, grappling with this new information, “it’s just someone who looks an awful lot like her.” When Oscar had returned to the table and seen me staring openmouthed at my phone, he’d gently wrested it from my hand and swiped through the various photos.

“You’re certain you’ve never seen her before yesterday?” he asked.

“One hundred percent. And I never heard the name Wren until she told me.”

“Maybe you passed her on the street somewhere?”

“I would have recognized her.”

He considered that. “It can’t be a hallucination then. Your mind couldn’t conjure up someone who looks exactly like a real person you haven’t yet seen.”

“Which is why there must be another entrance to the house somewhere.”

“What if there isn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if you’re dealing with the second option?”

“That I’m seeing a ghost? C’mon. You sound like Sylvia now.”

He raised his hands. “All I’m saying is that there’s a lot out there that we still don’t understand. And, just so you know, I’m not entirely closed to the idea that something happens to us after we die.”

When I said nothing, he handed back the phone. “She is cute, though. Not my type, and she’s not like the willowy blondes you’ve tended to favor in the past, but definitely cute.”

“Who’s cute?” Lorena said, walking up.

“You are, Buttercup,” Oscar said.

She made a skeptical face but placed a gentle hand on his shoulder anyway. “Who were you really talking about? Are you seeing someone, Tate, and just happened to forget to mention it to me?”

“No,” I answered.

“It’s a long story,” Oscar interjected smoothly.

“I like long stories,” Lorena said, leaning in. “What’s her name?”

Feeling caught, I looked at Oscar, who only shrugged. “Wren,” I offered. “Like the bird.”

“I like that name,” Lorena said. “When can I meet her?”

As always, Oscar came to my rescue. “He’s not quite sure it’s going to work out.”

Lorena gave an easy shrug. “Well, if that changes, let’s all grab dinner together. And by ‘let’s all,’ I mean just the four of us. I’d hate to scare her off for good with our little monsters. Are you two ready yet? We need to get going before the kids start falling apart.”

“We’re ready,” I said, pulling out my laptop, and within a few minutes, we were deep in planning discussions again.

As we went over the details, I found it impossible to stop thinking about Wren—or whoever she was.

Her resemblance to the deceased Wren Tobin was startling, and I wondered where Reece and Louise had found her.

Still, the mystery of how she, the puzzle, and the full glass of ice water had vanished so quickly continued to plague me, like a bruise I couldn’t stop touching.

· · ·

Oscar and I made tentative plans to meet for lunch the following day while Lorena and the kids were at the beach.

After leaving the site, I continued to obsess over the mystery of Wren and devised a plan to put my theories to the test. After swinging by the grocery store to pick up items for dinner, I stopped again at a nearby drugstore, where I purchased a roll of clear tape, a spool of brown thread, and a small pair of scissors.

I pulled up the long drive and peered at the cottage, relieved to see that Louise and Reece seemed to be out; their truck was absent.

Once I was out of the car, I made a careful circuit around the exterior of the house, noting that the main floor was elevated approximately four feet, typical of homes constructed early in the last century.

Pausing beneath each window, I searched for ladder imprints or footprints, finding none.

Nor did I see any sign of hidden entrances, and as an architect, I knew I would have spotted them.

After locating the crawl space, I fetched the flashlight from the pantry and explored the space thoroughly; I found no trapdoors or footprints, only cobwebs.

Likewise, the exterior of the cellar was encased in solid concrete, with no door in evidence.

Satisfied by my inspection, I brought my belongings inside before visiting the cellar and the rest of the main floor on the off chance I was wrong.

A meticulous search of every wall and cabinet left me even more certain I hadn’t missed anything, which meant, of course, Wren—or whoever—had left by a more obvious route.

While I was calling for Reece and Louise, she must have scooped the puzzle pieces into the box and tossed everything, along with the glass of water, out the dining room window before exiting through the same window.

It struck me as an elaborate setup and escape, and it didn’t explain how the windows had all been latched in the aftermath, but it was possible I’d missed one. Nor did it shed light on who she was, or even whether Reece and Louise were actually involved with her appearance.

And I wondered again whether I was losing my mind, and what that might mean for the rest of my life.

· · ·

I was standing at the kitchen window prepping a simple dinner when Reece and Louise returned. There were bags of groceries in the back of their truck, but instead of getting out right away, they were having a heated conversation, judging by Louise’s gesticulations.

Finally, the two of them stepped out of the truck. Reece hefted the grocery bags and headed inside; Louise, however, lingered, and turned to stare at the house.