Never Look Back. Robert Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ blinked a couple of times as he looked at her.

      “Are you okay? Do you need me to get help?”

      He sat up. The rain continued to pound down. A car went by. They sat there in the mud staring at each other, breathing hard.

      “Let’s get inside,” he said.

      “What happened to you just now?” Jessie asked, helping him stand.

      “I—I don’t know.” He shook his head.

      “You’re white as a ghost.”

      “I feel a little dizzy, that’s all.”

      She pressed her knuckles into her mouth and started shaking. “It’s happening to you, too, isn’t it?”

      He walked away from her, up the steps and into the house. He sat down on the couch, mindless of how wet and muddy he was.

      Jessie followed and knelt down on the floor in front of him. “Chris, talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

      He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was all jumbled. He looked at her and she was Jessie—the tangled wet black hair, the big brown eyes. “You”—he swallowed—“you weren’t—”

      “I wasn’t what?”

      “You weren’t you.” He swallowed. “You weren’t you anymore.” It sounded crazy, even to himself, but he couldn’t think of any other way to say it.

      Jessie looked at him intensely. “Was I her?”

      “I—”

      “Oh God.” She got up and walked across the room.

      “And I wasn’t me, either.” Chris took some deep breaths. Calm down, everything’s fine, deep calming breaths, in with the good air, out with the bad, get a hold of yourself, you’re in control. He looked over at Jessie. “Is this—is this what has happened to you?”

      She nodded. “And it’s happening more and more, Chris.” She walked over and sat on the couch, taking his hand. “Now do you understand, Chris?”

      He swallowed and nodded. “What—what is happening?”

      “Isn’t it obvious?” Jessie asked. “Lettie Hatch wants to live again.”

      Chapter 5

      “So what do you think of your new home?”

      Sarah Jane stared at the white Victorian standing like some great lady on the beach. The wind was whipping her hair and a salty chill bore down at her from the crashing surf. There were hardly any houses nearby; the whole ride down to the end of the Cape had left her exhausted. This was truly the end of the world. Only yards from the house the land ended, crumbling into the sea. Sarah Jane had never known a place could feel so isolated.

      “It’s charming,” she said, hoping her words didn’t sound as false as she felt.

      Horace offered her his arm. His pockmarked face was beaming, gaps in his walrus mustache exposing his yellowed and broken teeth. Sarah Jane took his arm and gave him her most gracious smile—the one she’d used on lawyers and judges to convince them of her sincerity. He swung her down from the automobile and she caught a whiff of his cologne and the slightly sour smell of whiskey it barely covered.

      “Now, I know it’s not what you were expecting after the house in Washington, my dear, but we have the town house in Boston as well.” Senator Hatch puffed up his chest. “And it’s very cozy and warm—especially in the winter. Ellen—” He made a face, as he always did on the rare occasions when his first wife’s name came out in conversation. “Ellen loved it here.”

      Well, I’m not Ellen, Sarah Jane wanted to say, but she kept her smile plastered on her face as he escorted her up the walk to the front door, jabbering all the way about how long the house had been in the Hatch family. He’d been born here, his daughter was born here, and he was hoping their children would be born here as well.

      Have I died and gone to hell? Sarah Jane wondered as Horace opened the front door, bellowing for his daughter and her governess. From upstairs came the sounds of feet scurrying, and suddenly his daughter descending the staircase, followed by a sour-looking gray-haired older woman dressed completely in black.

      “Papa!” The young girl practically leaped into his arms, and he kissed her cheek and spun her around, finally setting her down.

      “Lettie, this is your new mother, Sarah Jane.”

      The teenager turned to look at her. Lettie was pretty, Sarah Jane thought. Not a knockout, not the kind of woman men would serenade, who would inspire passionate poetry, or make men pine away for the love of, but she was adequate. There would be any number of eligible young men vying for her hand in marriage someday—and the Hatch money wouldn’t hurt either.

      It was clear that Lettie didn’t resemble her father in the least. Her face was heart shaped, with a high strong forehead that looked even larger with her hair pulled back so severely, but her gray eyes were warm and intelligent, and her reddish lips were full and soft. Her skin was pale white, and her neck long and graceful. Her brown hair had glints of red that almost sparkled in the sunlight. She was shorter than Sarah Jane, but she had ample curves and the bosom of her white blouse was full.

      The girl eagerly put out her hands. Sarah Jane took them, and the girl kissed each of her cheeks in turn. “Shall I call you Mother?” she asked, giving her a radiant smile.

      Sarah Jane froze. The girl was older than her youngest sister. She tried to detect any hint of malice in the soft voice, but couldn’t find any. “I—”

      “Of course you should call her Mother,” Horace said with a hearty laugh. “She’s your mother now, girl!”

      “Mother,” Lettie said, smiling. But the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am sure we will be great friends, Mother.”

      “Sister would be more appropriate.” The older woman, still standing on the stairs, sniffed.

      Horace’s smile quickly faded from his face and he darted fury across the room. “And that would be none of your business, Ann Windham, and as long as I am paying for your keep, you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head!” The senator’s face reddened with rage. “I’ll not be told how to govern my family by a servant!”

      Ann Windham glared at Horace for a moment before turning to Sarah Jane. “I have tea ready in the kitchen, if you are so inclined, madame.” Her eyes glinted malevolently. And her tone had gone up a notch when she’d said “madame,” almost making a mockery of the term.

      “That would be fine, Mrs. Windham,” Sarah Jane said.

      But she couldn’t help but wonder: had she made a mistake by marrying Horace Hatch?

      Karen sat up in bed and shivered. Lightning lit up the room, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder so powerful she felt it in her bones. What a strange dream, she thought. So vivid, so real.

      The room was dark, even though the alarm СКАЧАТЬ