Page 3 of The Unseen

I T WAS THE END OF THE WEEK, A WARM, SUNNY LATE AFTERNOON when Nicole pulled into the parking lot of the Baton Rouge Youth Center.

Earlier that day, she had driven Sean and Rachel to church; afterward, she’d put the top down on the Audi so she and Sean could enjoy the weather on the trip to Baton Rouge.

Pulling off the scarf tying her shoulder-length auburn hair into a ponytail, she opened her door at the same time Sean opened his and they climbed out of the car.

Sean grabbed his backpack off the floor behind his seat, and the two of them set off across the lot to the front of the redbrick building Sean called home five days a week.

Sean paused. “Everything’s still on for your gallery opening, right?” At five-eleven, her fifteen-year-old half-brother was tall for his age, but still coltishly thin, with thick brown hair, which always seemed in need of a trim.

“Yup. I still have to make a few last-minute changes to my final painting, but I’ll get it done.”

“You better,” Sean teased. “I really want to go.”

Nicole smiled. She and Sean were getting along much better these days than when he’d first moved in last year. He’d been grieving the death of his parents, acting out at the awful turn of fate that had destroyed his life.

Nicole had also been grieving, but she had lost her mother years earlier, when Claire Belmond had left Nicole’s father for Peter Handley.

A year later, her father had moved to California and remarried, and a young Nicole had been sent away to boarding school.

She had seen little of her parents in the years after that.

They had simply gone on with their lives as if she didn’t exist.

“Our aunt Rachel’s going to the opening, too,” Nicole said. “Maybe you’d want to ask one of your friends to join us.”

Sean shook his head the instant before she realized the boys at the center wouldn’t be allowed to go. They had to stay with their parents or guardians on the weekends, just as Sean did. It was part of their sentencing, and it was strictly enforced.

The sound of the throaty roar of a motorcycle wheeling into the parking lot caught her attention. The big Harley pulled into a spot just a few spaces down from the Audi and the engine went off. The rider removed his helmet, tucked it beneath his arm, and started toward the front of the building.

“It’s Coach Devereaux!” Excited, Sean began waving madly. “Hey, Mr. D!”

Devereaux changed direction and headed straight for them.

He was maybe three inches taller than Sean, around six-two, his thick dark brown hair well cut, but slightly windblown.

Dressed in blue jeans and a snug black T-shirt, he had a broad-shouldered, lean-muscled build.

A pair of biceps bulged from the sleeves of his T-shirt.

He stopped right in front of them. “Hey, Sean, good to see you. You ready for a new week?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be in the gym for sure. You gonna be here?”

Devereaux smiled warmly. “I’ll be here.” He turned to Nicole. “Lucas Devereaux. You’re Nicole. Our paths crossed a few times when Sean first arrived.”

She hadn’t forgotten him. The first time she had seen him, he’d been standing behind a podium, an attractive man in a dark brown suit and expensive loafers. As the founder and owner of the youth center, he’d been there to welcome new students.

He had also served as chaplain and one of the coaches, but according to Sean, he had recently hired someone to assume the chaplain’s duties and increased his hours as coach.

Nicole had spoken to him briefly that first day. After that, she had seen him several times when she had picked Sean up or dropped him off at the center, but that had been a while ago.

He looked different in a T-shirt and jeans, a pair of heavy black motorcycle boots on his big feet. She had to admit he looked good. Very good. The kind of good that made a woman’s stomach flutter.

“Nice to see you again.” Nicole extended a hand and Devereaux wrapped his bigger hand around it. It felt warm and strong, and the interest she was feeling hiked up a notch.

Sean glanced down at his phone, checking the time. “I gotta get going.” His gaze swung to Nicole. “See you Friday, sis.”

“You bet.” Nicole waved as the lanky teen galloped away. She looked up at Lucas Devereaux. “Sean’s a good boy, Mr. Devereaux. If he hadn’t lost his parents, he never would have gotten into trouble.”

“Problems at home. That’s the reason a lot of these kids wind up here. And it’s Lucas, or Luke, whichever you prefer.” He had strong, masculine features. A slight crook in the bridge of his nose only added to his masculine appeal.

“I haven’t been around as much as usual,” he said. “I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to get the new facility on the other side of town up and running. Which, if all goes well, should happen next week.”

“I read an article in the Advocate online about it.” Nicole referenced the Baton Rouge newspaper, the closest thing to local news in St. Francisville. Her hometown was half an hour north of the city.

“As soon as the facility is open, I can get back to my responsibilities here full-time.” There was something in his speech, not a typical Southern accent. Not exactly French. Cajun, maybe. Whatever it was, it was intriguing.

“We’ve got a new chaplain, which allows me to focus on sports. They have their own staff at the other facility, and I’ve kind of got a personal attachment to this place, since it was my first.”

“Sean will be glad to hear that. I know you’ve been teaching him to box. I understand it’s a sport the school encourages.” According to Sean, a sport at which Lucas Devereaux excelled, and was probably responsible for the slight bump in his nose.

“That’s right. A lot of our students have anger issues. Boxing gives them a way to deal with it.”

“I suppose,” she said, not quite convinced.

“It also serves as a means of self-defense. Bullies don’t do well against a kid who can protect himself.”

It made sense. Sean was a big kid, but a smaller boy … She smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

The front door opened, and someone called out to him.

“I guess I’d better go. I’m off on weekends, just like the boys, but I try to stay close in case I’m needed.” He had warm brown eyes, and as they ran over her, Nicole could have sworn she caught a glimmer of heat.

“I look forward to seeing you here again,” Lucas said.

“I’ll be back to pick Sean up next weekend.”

He nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. “Have a good week.”

Nicole watched him disappear into the building and felt as if she had met a completely different man, one better suited to the image Sean had painted. According to Sean and the article in the Advocate, Lucas Devereaux had been a troubled teen himself, even been a member of a gang.

As she thought of him on his Harley, it wasn’t hard to imagine the rebellious youth he had been. The article said that Lucas had managed to turn his life around, gone so far as to enter a seminary after high school graduation, and had eventually become a priest.

Apparently, that hadn’t worked out, and five years ago, he had left the priesthood. She had no idea how he had gone from gang member to priest to opening a youth center, but she was glad he had. The center had changed Sean’s life.

Heading back across the parking lot, she slid behind the wheel of the Audi, tied back her hair, and pulled out of the lot. As she drove home on the interstate, she thought of Sean and the changes he had made.

During the first few months he had lived with her, Sean had been in one scrape after another, including vandalism and underage drinking. Twice she’d picked him up at the police station. He’d been suspended from school more than once.

Six months ago, he’d been arrested for stealing a nearly new Maserati off a street in Baton Rouge, not the first car he had stolen, just the first time he’d been caught.

Since he was underage and there were extenuating circumstances—the death of his parents—the judge had given him a choice: a year in juvenile detention or a year at the Baton Rouge Youth Center, with weekends at home with his legal guardian. Sean had been wise enough to choose the youth center.

As she wove through traffic, she thought about Lucas Devereaux. Sean talked about him incessantly and clearly admired him. Lucas had been a good influence on Sean from the start.

Nicole had to admit there was something about him that made her want to know the rest of his story.

Maybe she would run into him again.

It was the middle of the week, the hour late, Belle Reve quiet except for the croaking of a bullfrog in the pond surrounded by weeping willows behind the house.

Rachel lay awake in the big four-poster bed upstairs in the master’s suite.

A faded peach satin canopy draped the sides of the bed, giving her a feeling of privacy in the darkness, making her feel safe.

For as long as she had lived at Belle Reve, a name that roughly translated as Sweet Dream, she had never been afraid.

She had grown up roaming the halls, prowling the six big, high-ceilinged bedrooms on the second floor, playing with her dolls in the third-floor nursery next to the old servants’ quarters.

She loved Belle Reve, had only lived one other place in her life.

When she was twenty-one, she had fallen deeply in love with a young college student named David Trent.

Worried about her health, her parents had forbidden the relationship, but there was no keeping them apart.

Against her parents’ wishes and the doctor’s orders, she had married David and moved with him to New Orleans.

They were happy. Madly in love, and so very sure they would be together for the rest of their lives.

Then David had fallen ill with cancer. They tried every medical procedure available, but none of the doctors could save him. David slipped away in his sleep, Rachel begging him to stay, holding him fiercely in her arms.

Even after she moved back into the house and returned to her maiden name, she had continued to mourn and endlessly grieve him. With time, David’s memory slowly faded, but her love for Belle Reve had never wavered, over the years had grown even stronger.

She knew every inch of the house and grounds. As she lay in the darkness, she recognized every creak and groan, the whisper of the wind against the windowpanes, a branch on the oak tree in the garden rubbing against the side of the kitchen.

She loved the old house and had never been the least bit frightened.

Until lately.

Something in the house had changed. She knew it. Could feel it. She had no idea what could have happened, but even the air she breathed felt different.

There were noises she had never heard before, noises even in the daylight hours.

In the middle of the night, there were whispers she could barely hear, eerie sighs that had nothing to do with the wind.

Sometimes in the darkness, she heard footsteps.

Several times, she had left the bed and gone to the door to check the hallway, even gone downstairs to see if someone had broken into the house.

But each time she searched, no one was there.

Through the years, there had been rumors that Belle Reve was haunted, but it simply wasn’t true. They were tales invented to entertain the children or increase tourism in the tiny town. Rachel had lived in the house long enough to be certain nothing supernatural was there.

Lately, her certainty had begun to fade.

She could no longer deny that something in the house was different. The footsteps prowling the hall, the faint movement of a door opening and closing. Sounds she didn’t recognize, sounds that sent chills down her spine.

She had considered calling the police, but if they came and found nothing, they would think she was a fool. She hadn’t mentioned anything to Nicole, who already spent far too much time worrying about her.

Still, Rachel had begun locking the house’s doors at night, which Nicole had been pressing her to do for some time. She had finally given in and made a nightly check of doors and windows before she headed upstairs.

She was entirely certain there was no one in the house. Every night before she went to sleep, Rachel told herself that.

And yet, as she lay in bed, staring up at the faded peach satin canopy, listening to sounds she had never heard before, her nerves scraped raw by the incessant chirp of crickets that should have been familiar, but no longer seemed to belong, Rachel began to feel the first unsettling hint of fear.