Page 8 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

As soon as I reentered the house, I opened the door to Paulie’s carrier.

I didn’t try to take her out; instead, I walked away, suspecting that she’d prefer to navigate her new environment on her own terms. By the time I’d set up her litter box in the kitchen and filled her water and food bowls, Paulie had exited her carrier and, after the mandatory pit stop, begun to explore.

A white-and-gray tabby with a little M on her forehead, she investigated the kitchen and other rooms, sniffing everything and occasionally looking back at me as I followed.

When her tail went up and she started doing zoomies from the kitchen to the dining room and back again, I took it as a sign that she was going to be okay.

Climbing the stairs again to the room I’d been assigned, I paused just inside the threshold.

It was huge, spanning the entire width of the house and incorporating two spacious, light-filled areas.

In the larger of the two, sunlight poured through three windows, illuminating a king-size bed with a lovely walnut frame and a rounded, padded headboard.

As promised, there was a bench at the foot of the bed heaped with extra blankets; matching end tables flanked the bed along with brass lamps.

A sizable walnut wardrobe stood opposite an antique, well-used rolltop desk and chair.

In the smaller section of the room was a seating area with a sofa, coffee table, and two comfortable armchairs.

In the far corner, a door led to the bathroom.

Once I’d unpacked and organized my belongings—setting aside a framed photograph of my sister—I booted up my laptop and spent half an hour organizing photos, video tours, and renderings of outdoor living areas, game rooms, bedrooms, and foyers into files to export to Oscar and Lorena for their review.

I hoped that the images would spur ideas about what they might want in their new home.

I’d always loved this dreaming stage of a project more than any other—anything felt possible, and expense wasn’t yet a factor.

Closing my laptop, I stood and stretched, moving to the windows to take in the view.

Like Oscar’s future home, the house had been built on a bluff, although a bit farther back.

Drinking in the sight of the ocean’s dark expanse beneath an increasingly threatening sky, I decided to open the windows a few inches to air out the room, which I accomplished with a few solid whacks to the sticky frames.

Downstairs, I smiled at the sight of Paulie lounging on the sofa in the parlor, already beginning to make herself at home.

After placing the photograph of Sylvia on the mantel, I examined the books on the shelves, noting various classics and an extensive collection of poetry.

Opening one of the books at random, I found a highlighted excerpt from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman with notes in the margin beside it.

Not I, not anyone else can travel that road for you,

You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, it is within reach,

Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,

Perhaps it is everywhere.

I paused, reflecting on my own journey in the wake of Sylvia’s death. In the margin, in a young girl’s loopy handwriting, was the sentence Our life’s journey IS our own, but wouldn’t it be better with someone by your side?

I closed the book and set it back on the shelf. I decided to lie down on the sofa, and a moment later, Paulie crawled onto my chest and began nudging my cheek with her head before eventually falling asleep, her purrs motoring softly.

I must have dozed off, because when I opened my eyes, Paulie was sleeping at the far end of the sofa and light was fading from the sky as sunset approached.

Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I glanced at my watch and was idly contemplating a trip to the grocery store when I suddenly realized I could hear someone humming, the sound coming from the kitchen.

“Louise?” I called out.

I rose slowly and walked in that direction, the sound growing louder as I approached.

I thought I recognized the tune—it was a song by Bruno Mars—but when I reached the kitchen and turned on the light, the sound vanished, and I saw no one.

Confused, I glanced toward the dining room, but no one was there either.

Odd, I thought, shaking my head. I figured it was likely a remnant of my nap.

Feeling a little foggy, I hunted around for my wallet and keys.

Finally locating them between the cushions of the sofa, I shook off my inertia and drove into town, noting again the quaint local businesses, including a café with a sidewalk chalkboard listing some strange-sounding daily specials.

At Star Market, I loaded my basket with the same basics I’d kept in my refrigerator since I was in college: coffee, bread for toast or sandwiches, butter, frozen vegetables, peanut butter, honey, a rotisserie chicken, and a few apples.

I also tossed in several cans of cat food.

Dinner that night was a quarter of the rotisserie chicken with a side of microwaved corn. It wasn’t that I disliked cooking; I’d just never bothered to learn how to do it. In the city, I often worked late, and in any case, it was easier to just order delivery from my go-to restaurants.

Later, I fired up my laptop again in the parlor with Paulie beside me, sifting through additional interior images and references for Oscar and Lorena to review.

After a few hours, I turned out the lamps and headed upstairs, wondering if Paulie would follow or if she’d settle herself in the parlor.

I hadn’t made it halfway up the stairs before she bounded up after me, as if to say, There’s no way you’re leaving me down here alone!

I smiled, comforted by the return of our easy companionship. I’d missed her.

In my room, she leapt onto the bed as I undressed and tossed my clothes into a pile in the corner. I brushed my teeth, closed the windows as lightning flashed on the horizon, and crawled beneath the covers. Then, turning out the light, I fell asleep within minutes.

During the night, Paulie infiltrated my dream.

I found myself standing near the top of the steps in the darkened hallway, somehow understanding that I was more of an observer than a participant in what was to come.

The hallway appeared oddly distorted, almost like a carnival funhouse, and it took a moment for me to realize that all the doors were leaning slightly to the left.

When I blinked, I realized I was mistaken.

The doors were leaning to the right, but with a quick shake of my head, I saw they were suddenly back to normal.

A light shone from my bedroom, where the door was open, and I watched as Paulie crept past the threshold, fixated on the hallway bathroom door.

Suddenly, she lowered herself and pinned her ears back, as though sensing danger.

I wanted to go to her—I wanted to pick her up and protect her from the unseen threat—but I was frozen in place.

Paulie rose slowly and took several tense steps toward the bathroom before crouching again, at which point I heard the unmistakable sound of a door latch releasing, followed by the squeal of hinges.

The sign draped over the doorknob tapped against the wood as the door slowly swung open.

From my vantage point, the darkness of the bathroom radiated a forbidding intensity, and I sensed the presence of someone—or something—inside.

Whatever it was, I knew it resided in that dark place.

It lived there. It was trapped there, and it wanted…

Paulie hissed, and my neck muscles tightened while the hairs on my arms began to rise. My breathing came in shallow bursts, and my heartbeat thudded in my ears as Paulie crept forward before freezing again. She was moving like a hunter, but I feared she was the prey.

Go back! I shouted, but there was no sound. I could only watch the inevitable unfold. Paulie was growling, and then snarling. But the darkness—that thing—was luring her closer. She inched forward again.

I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I felt the beginnings of panic, my heartbeat spiking as sweat broke out all over my body. Paulie was close to the bathroom door now, too close…

Time seemed to slow; each second stretched as I watched in growing horror. The darkness emanating from the bathroom seeped into the hallway, its cold shadow expanding toward Paulie, but just when I felt sure that something terrible would happen, Paulie’s ears relaxed and her growling ceased.

Her fur settled, and the taut muscles in her limbs unfurled.

She didn’t turn and scamper off, though.

Instead, she rose to all fours and slowly padded to the bathroom’s open door, more curious than afraid.

But before she could enter, the door slowly closed in front of her, and I heard a click as it latched into place.