Page 24 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

Nineteen

I’m not sure how Ben gets me back to the cottage. I’m not even sure what I do. Fight? Lie there like a limp rag? The next thing I know, he’s depositing me on the sofa, and I bolt upright, clawing at the air.

“Gail!” I say. “I saw … I saw…”

All I see are his dark eyes above me as they widen. “Your aunt? You saw her? Where? I’ll—”

“No!” I grab his shirt. “Drowned. She’s dead. Drowned.”

“Fuck.” His eyes shut for a second. Then he takes hold of my upper arms, holding me, his grip so warm I want to melt into it. “Okay. You saw her body. I’ll look after this. Just tell me where—”

I shake my head, damp hair whipping my face. “She’s alive. Dead, but alive. Walking. Dead. Out of the water. Drowned. The drowned dead.”

An exhale that almost sounds like relief, and my brain spins wildly. Relief? Why is he relieved? My aunt is a monster. The living dead. She’s—

“It’s okay,” he says, as that heat envelops me in a tight but quick hug. “You had a nightmare.”

“No, no, no! You don’t understand. She was dead. Dead! Drowned! Coming out of the water. Coming for me. And the horseman. The—the headless horseman. Drowned. The rider. The horse. Drowned and rotting, just like—”

Somehow, despite my hysteria, I have the presence of mind to clamp my mouth shut before I say more.

Before I say Austin’s name.

I gulp deep breaths, and Ben pats one of my hands. The touch is more awkward now, as if his own moment of panic has passed.

“You had a nightmare,” he says. “You were sleepwalking and—”

“No!” I say, gaze flying up to his. “I thought it was a nightmare, but I was awake. You were there. I woke you. So I was awake. I saw my aunt. Drowned. Dead. The horseman—the horse.” My breathing picks up, words tumbling out, hysteria spiking. “Dead. Everything dead and still moving and—”

“Sam?”

“I saw them. Saw her. Her eye was gone and her fingertips and—”

Something appears in front of my face. I didn’t even notice him leave but now he’s holding out a shot glass of amber liquid that smells of rye whiskey.

“Drink this,” he says.

I shake my head, tears spilling, heart racing.

“I do not want to take you to the hospital,” he says. “You do not want that either. But I will do what I have to do. Now drink it or—”

I slam the shot. It burns, and I gasp, tears spilling out as I cough.

He thumps me on the back. “Just breathe.”

I do, and as my heart rate slows, I start to shake, part from cold and part from shame.

“Sleepwalking,” I slur. “I used to do that.”

“Okay. Good. Well, not good, but at least you have an explanation.”

I nod.

“Yes, you came to get me,” he continues. “By the time I got outside, you were gone, and I thought I imagined it. I went back in, and then I heard…” He throws up his hands. “You in the water, I guess. Splashing.”

“And you didn’t see anything else?”

I expect a quick answer, and when I don’t get one, I look over sharply.

“I … saw a shape,” he says. “Something in the water. A dead tree maybe? That must be what you saw, too. Because you weren’t completely awake, you mistook it for your aunt.”

I nod. “That makes sense. I must be partly conscious when I sleepwalk, or I’d be running into walls and trees.

” Still holding the empty glass, I pull my legs in and take deep breaths.

“Okay. I was only partly awake. I woke up hearing hoofbeats.” I glance at him. “I used to do that when I was a kid.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Your grandfather’s Sleepy Hollow stories. I heard about that—he insisted the story was inspired by Washington Irving’s trip to Paynes Hollow.”

“Yes, so I’d imagine hearing a headless horseman, which is why I thought I saw—” I stop, the shivers starting again, and I force past that image of the dead horse and rider.

“I dreamed of one, and I thought it was my cousin, Caleb, trying to spook me. I thought he was behind all this.” I pause.

“He might actually be. That’s another story.

But I was half awake and half dreaming. That’s why I saw that drowned horse and my … my aunt.”

I pull my feet in. Ben finds a throw and lays it over my legs, which are bare. I arrange the blanket and focus on tucking it down.

“I remember Caleb.” Ben sits on the chair opposite me. “He’s about my age, right?”

I nod.

“Does he inherit if you don’t?”

I shake my head. “He gets a share of the house and estate. A third, with my uncle and…” I swallow.

“Gail. But Caleb’s not in line for this property and he’s upset, obviously.

Furious. Is he angry enough to drive me off?

Just to be sure I don’t win the inheritance jackpot?

Maybe. But when I went out, I was even thinking he might have kidnapped Gail to make me leave, which proves I was not in my right mind. ”

Ben shrugs. “I remember Caleb. My parents made me show him around town once, when I was fifteen. He was an asshole. Tried to score with a couple of older local girls by playing Big Man in Town. Telling them how he was a Payne and the only grandson, and he’d inherit it all.

” Ben rolls his eyes. “The girls were not impressed.” He stretches his legs.

“Point is, I could imagine him lurking in the shed, cutting up dead animals, maybe even luring you out by faking hoofbeats. Not sure about kidnapping your aunt, but I wouldn’t rule it out. Do you know where he is now?”

“He lives in New York City, but we don’t keep in touch. I don’t even have his email. Oh, and there were also hoofprints…” I trail off. “No, that would be part of the dream, right?” I reach for my phone. “One way to find out. I took photos—or imagined I did.”

I look around. “My phone?” I start getting up. “Where’s—?”

Ben puts out his hand to stop me and rises to retrieve it. “You were clutching that in one hand and a badass flashlight in the other. I made sure they both came back with you.”

He hands me the phone, and my eyes well as I look up at him. “Thank you. For everything.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, but I have to. Otherwise, I’m the ungrateful bitch treating him like an employee who’d damned well better do his job. Treating him like my grandfather did. Like Sheriff Smits does.

As expected, his face screws up, sloughing off the gratitude. “I’m just protecting my ass. If you walk into the lake, I lose my ticket out of here. And Smits would probably find a way to charge me for murder.”

I unlock my phone, but when I try to hit buttons, my fingers are still numb. I blow into one hand and pass over the phone. “Can you check? Last photo. It’s either a hoofprint in the sand or Josie stuffing a whole tart into her mouth.”

He shakes his head and takes it. “Glad to see you two getting along. She needs that. It’s tough for her, being the last one left.”

“Uh, you’re still here.”

“I mean she’s the last kid left.” He catches my eye and sighs, “Yes, I know she’s not actually a kid, but she’s still young, lives at home, all her friends gone. Last photo is…” He blinks down at the camera. “What the hell?”

“Is it a hoofprint?” With the blanket clutched around my legs, I scoot over and lean to see what he’s looking at. “If there really are prints, then someone is making those hoof noises, someone who knew I used to hear them. That’d have to be Cal—”

I stop, unable to quite make out what I’m seeing. “What is that?”

“Not Josie. And not hoofprints, though I did see them in earlier shots.” He starts to turn the photo my way and then changes his mind, angling it so I can’t see it. “Did you take a photo of anything else, Sam?”

“I…” I think hard. Then I swallow. “When I … dreamed I saw my aunt … drowned, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing and went to shine the cell-phone light on it, but I hit the camera instead.

” I stand, feeling the blanket slide away and not caring.

“Is that what I got a picture of? Whatever I mistook for her?”

I reach for the phone. He pulls it out of my reach.

“Ben,” I say. “That is my phone.”

He keeps a grip on it.

“Ben…”

With obvious reluctance, he turns the screen around. I look at it and then fall back onto the couch, struggling for breath. On the screen is …

Gail.

The figure is blurred, out of focus and off to the side of the shot, but it’s clearly a woman, with gray-blue skin, her drenched hair and clothing sticking to her body. One eye is a dark hole.

My hands fly to my own eyes, palms pressing against them. “Still dreaming. Still asleep. I’m still asleep. I’m—”

Fingers take my wrists gently. “It’s okay, Sam.”

“Okay?” My voice rises. “Okay? You see that, right? That is my aunt.”

“It’s blurry and off-center—”

“But it looks like her. Dead. Drowned. Walking out of the lake.”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “It looks like her. She looks drowned. But I think that’s what she’s supposed to look like.” He rises. “I need to call Smits.”

“What?” I stare up at him.

“I’m calling the sheriff. We need to sort this out.”

By the time Sheriff Smits arrives, I’ve calmed down enough to understand what Ben meant.

It looks like her. She looks drowned. But I think that’s what she’s supposed to look like.

Faked. That’s what he means.

Of course that’s what he means. Of course that’s what it is. What other explanation is there?

Smits has come alone. This wasn’t something he was waking Josie or Danny for. He’s frowning at the photo, awkwardly pinching the screen to get a better view.

“Do you have a laptop here, Sam?” Ben murmurs. “Mine’s at home.”

“Oh, right. Yes.” I scramble to find it. When I bring it back and open it, a medical journal paper pops up on the screen.

“So you went to med school after all?” Ben says. “Guess I should be calling you doctor.”

“What?” I follow his gaze to the article and give a sharp laugh that sounds more bitter than I’d like. “No, that’s my idea of bedtime reading. I didn’t get past my undergrad.”

“She got into med school,” Smits says from across the room. “But there wasn’t enough money for tuition. With her mom’s condition and all.”