Page 17 of The House That Held Her

16

I keep my eyes locked on the road as fresh rains begins to fall, hammering the windshield. The glare of headlights and the smear of yellow lines blend into a blur. A faint streak of Penny Lark’s blood stains my jeans—a sickening reminder of the nightmare I just fled. Over and over, I see her bashing her head against the floor, hear that gruesome thud echoing in my mind, merging with the roar of rain and thunder outside.

My fingers ache from gripping the steering wheel so hard. I try to clear my head, slow my racing thoughts. I start going through questions I need answered, almost like a checklist:

Who are “they”? The person responsible for the skulls in the chest? Why would Penny lie about her son? Is she being coerced? Threatened? Is she delusional, sick? I can’t shake the memory of her wild, terrified eyes and the panic that seeped into my own soul.

I think about going to the police. My foot hovers over the gas, and more than once, I almost flick the blinker to turn back into town. But something deep in my gut warns me that might be dangerous—especially if Penny’s right and there are people out there watching. I need someone I can trust implicitly.

I approach the highway on-ramp, frustration knotting my stomach, and fumble around the cup holder for my phone. I need a steady voice on the other end of the line. I need home. With Nate gone, only one name bounces through my head: Shannon.

Shannon Morgan has been my best friend since we were twelve—always the pragmatic one, always with a plan. She graduated from the University of Maryland School of Law with a 4.0 GPA and a desire to make a difference in the world. When my life spun out, when CPS questioned my ethics after Lila’s death, Shannon stood by my side, both in court and out. She dismantled the prosecution’s arguments until I was cleared, bolstered my courage, and refused to let me give up. She’s the only person I can think of who can keep me grounded right now.

My hand trembles as I dial her number. It only rings twice before she answers, her voice playful and light.

“Please tell me you finally listened to Chromatica, and it’s changed your life?” she teases, voice airy. “BLACKPINK, Ariana, and the rocket man himself? I mean, come on, what a record.”

But she notices my silence. “Margot? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I swallow, the steering wheel creaking under my tight grip. “No, I’m not okay,” I manage. “I… I need help. I don’t know where else to turn.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m here. Talk to me.”

I take a shuddering breath. “I’ve been doing some investigating into a missing-person case. It’s about a boy named Michael, stolen from his home fifteen years ago. I… found his mother, Penny Lark, she’s not far from the new house in Mount Dora. When I probed her for information regarding her son, she told me that she didn’t have a son. And not in like a “my son is gone” kind of way, but in a “I never had a son” kind of way.

“Okay, sure, that’s tragic, but Margot, trauma like that can– “

“I wasn’t finished”, I interject.

“I knew something was wrong. The exchange didn’t feel right. The way her eyes changed when I mentioned Michael’s name; I knew I couldn’t just leave. I went around to the side of her house. And Shannon, I found the boy’s room. It looked untouched with his bed and toys still there. Above the bed was Michael’s name in colorful, wooden letters.”

I let the story spill out, in excruciating detail, which I hoped would help me make sense of what I just experienced, but no luck. “Right as I was ready to leave, I heard this awful whispering sound. Shannon, the woman was hiding under the bed, her son’s bed. She was already in the room when I broke in.”

“Jesus Christ, Margot, you’re going to get arrested!” Shannon exclaims.

“No, listen Shan! She scared the shit out of me, I tripped and when I did, the woman crawled into my lap. She told me as clear as day that someone was watching her and if I didn’t stop asking questions, they’d make me disappear too. And then… and then she started slamming her head into the floor, Shannon. There was blood–I just freaked out, I ran.” Tears start flowing now.

“Okay, okay. This is nuts. Margot, you broke into a woman’s house after stirring up memories that are probably extremely triggering. I’m not surprised the poor woman was self-harming!” I can hear the disappointment in Shannon’s voice. I screwed up and it’s really hitting me now.

My voice begins to shake with pent-up fear, the intensity of the day’s events still thrumming in my veins. “Yes, okay. You’re right. I didn’t choose the most ethically sound pathway, but I’m not calling for you to absolve me of my sins, Shannon. There’s something going on in this town. It wasn’t just the fear in her eyes,” I say, running a hand through my damp hair. “It was like a whole history she didn’t dare mention. Like if she even breathed the truth, something horrible would happen.” My stomach twists. “What could be so scary, that you’d rather deny your only child ever existed versus tell the truth?” I inquire.

I hear Shannon sigh, and I can practically see her sitting on her back deck in Maryland, red wine in her hand after a long day at the office. “I don’t mean to pry,” Shannon says softly, “but… where’s Nate in all this?”

My heart squeezes. Shannon has never liked Nate, and for good reason—as my best friend, she hears all the worst parts of our relationship.

“He’s in DC,” I say. “His company sent him there for a customer meeting.”

She hesitates. “So… you went to this woman’s house by yourself?”

I can almost hear the continued disapproval in her voice. “He doesn’t know about any of this. He’s been busy,” I mumble.

A moment of silence. “Margot, your move was supposed to help you put distance between your past CPS work and a new life. Sun, beaches, bikinis, lots and lots of fruity alcohol; those were your assignments when leaving Maryland, not missing persons cases. Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Shannon, come on. I was going stir crazy in that house all alone. I needed something to do. I needed some reason to get out of bed in the morning.” I say with more shame in my voice than I intended.

“I’m sorry, but I think you just proved my point. You’re digging up cold cases, all alone, in a big creepy house, far away from home because you’re bored? That’s it. I’m getting on a plane.”

“No!” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “I’m okay, it’s okay, everything’s okay, really. It’s been… intense, with the move, the fallout after… the trial, but I’ve been doing well. The depression has eased up. No new nightmares, and I’m continuing my therapy. I’m healthy. I just… I missed it. I needed to be helpful.” God, I’m such a liar. None of the things I just said are true. Who am I?

She sighs, and I hear her rustling around. “If you say so. But there hasn’t been that much time since you moved, since everything that happened… I love you, Margot. You know that. I’m just worried.”

A tear slips down my cheek, surprising me. “I know you are. I just don’t want to drag you into this mess. It’s probably a giant nothing-burger. The Lark thing was just… it really freaked me out.”

Shannon’s voice softens. “Uh, hell yeah it did. That sounded fucking terrifying! But listen, I’d always rather be there for you than sit on the sidelines imagining the worst. So, if you need backup, or if you just need someone to talk to—anything—you call me, and I’ll show up.”

I grip the phone tighter with my left hand. “Thank you. I just needed to hear a friendly voice. I’m already feeling better. I promise I’ll make good decisions from here on out.”

“I believe you… twenty-five percent, with the other seventy-five leaning towards absolute bullshit, but alas, what is a girl to do…”

I laugh, a genuine, strong belly laugh which feels so good. Although the guilt of withholding information from her, such as the chest of skulls I’ve recently discovered, minimizes the laughter and leaves me questioning who I am again.

“Would you be willing to help me with this missing persons case from afar if you have some time?” I ask.

I hear her crack her knuckles, which has always been an awful habit of hers. “Oh, hell yes. I’ll do some digging from my end. I still have contacts in law enforcement, people who owe me favors. Let me see what I can find on Mount Dora—missing persons, sealed records, anything juicy or interesting. We’ll get to the bottom of whatever is happening down there. But Margot—promise me you’ll stay safe. No more solo investigations without a plan.”

I exhale, the tension easing just a bit. “I promise. No more breaking and entering.”

“Good,” Shannon says firmly. “I’m here for you, always.”

A wave of relief washes over me, and I’m blinking back tears when I end the call. I let my head fall against the headrest, exhaustion flooding every muscle in my body.

Before I know it, I’m parked in front of Hawthorn Manor. The rain is thicker now, beating a furious staccato on the car roof. Through the windshield, the house rises up in dark shapes and angles, looming and secretive. The shadows seem to move with the storm’s flickering light, like the house is breathing, alive.

I suck in a shaky breath, gathering the courage to push open the car door. I dash through the downpour and up the porch steps, finally stepping into the stale warmth of the foyer. Water pools around my ankles, and my heart thuds with leftover adrenaline. My mind is a cacophony of half-formed thoughts, questions, and fears, but I’m too drained to pursue any of them tonight.

At the same moment I close the door behind me, approximately one and a half miles away, a heavy droplet of rain strikes an old roof. It slides beneath a loosened slate tile, slipping silently through the ceiling and landing on the cold, swollen face of a man I love very much. He lay on a cold, dirty floor, fear in his eyes, waiting for the monster to fulfill its promise—to add Nate Bennett to the pile of skulls waiting in the center of the room.