Layla
I wake up in Dalton’s bed around 5:00 in the morning, and he is no longer there, of course. I have no idea where his studio is located in the tangle of hallways on the third floor. It’s the only place I assume he’d be right now.
The house is quiet as I pad downstairs after checking on my aunt and Bailey, both of which are still asleep. I go through my normal morning routine. I’m wearing nothing but a pair of boy shorts and one of Dalton’s shirts. I smell like him, which makes me think of him, and thinking of him makes me wonder if I’m falling in too deep with a man I barely know.
I make a pot of coffee and pour myself a mug before stepping out onto the back porch to watch the sky turn from a dark gray to a pale silver, but as the morning shadows stretch across the grass, memories of last night come flooding back to the forefront of my mind.
I clutch my mug so tight my knuckles turn white as I slowly turn my gaze toward the outbuildings where the early morning light casts heavy shadows in the trees.
I can’t stop myself from walking out into the grass and across the yard, the rain-wet ground cool against my bare feet. My mind goes numb, some deep, morbidly curious part of me controlling my actions as I walk to the dilapidated building where I found a body the night before.
I stand at the threshold and look into the shadows, the morning light illuminating the scattered bricks now lying on the dust covered ground.
The body is gone.
Which means Dalton did something with it.
I’m not sure what to think about that.
I walk back to the house with every intention of finding him and asking what he did with the body when I hear a soft alarm beeping somewhere in the house.
I check the video feed on the tablet in the supply room. Aunt Penny’s awake, sitting up in bed, her eyes taking in her surroundings.
“Oh, no,” I grumble, turning for the stairs.
I should wake up Bailey. I shouldn’t even be considering going into Penny’s room on my own, not after what happened, but…
“Good morning,” I say kindly, my smile warm and inviting as I slowly edge into the room. I shut the door behind me before walking further inside.
Penny watches each step I take, her deep blue eyes clear, cold, and locked on my face. She’s lost the weak, frail look about her. Now, with less and less sedatives coursing through her system, she’s sharp and stern, her face a mask of ice.
“I’m Layla Bryant. I’m your night nurse.” I walk to the side of her bed to check the ECG machine. Everything looks fine. “How’re you feeling this morning? Can I get you anything?”
I look down at her, trying not to flinch under her steely gaze. She asks, “Who are you?”
“Layla–”
“No, not your name.”
I realize what she’s asking. She looks me up and down, frowning at my outfit and bare feet.
“We’re related, actually. My mom’s name is Trudy Bryant… Trudy Gregory.”
Her coldly appraising gaze locks on my face again. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Can you–can you tell me why?”
To my surprise, and horror, if I’m being honest, her thin mouth ticks into a haunting smile. I expect her to say something about how the house is haunted, and the murders, and the sordid history of this place that drove my line of the family to keep its distance. “Where’s the other nurse?”
“Bailey is still asleep. Her shift doesn’t normally start until nine–”
“No. Vera.” Her voice is cold as she sits up a little straighter, her finely boned fingers smoothing the sheets over her lap.
“She only works on the weekends.”
“She’s not allowed on this property any longer. Am I understood?” Her eyes, so much like my own, meet mine.
I nod, resisting the urge to sink into a seated position on the edge of her bed and ask her if she knows she’s been kept sedated for what sounds like many years, if not decades. “How do I prevent that from happening?”
“Who hired you, girl?”
“Mr. Hart. Your lawyer.”
“I don’t know a Mr. Hart,” she says harshly. “Where is Mr. Mason?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Then call this Mr. Hart and tell him I’m awake and that I need to speak to him. Look at this place.” She sweeps a trembling hand around the finely dressed room as if it’s falling to decay all around us.
“Uhm, Ms. Penny?”
“What?”
I lick my lips, heaving a sigh as I edge closer to the bed. “We have a new doctor coming to assess you today. Is that all right?”
She rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Does it look like I have much of a choice, girl? I’ve been bedridden against my will for years. It’s not like I can get up and walk away.”
“Ms. Penny… Aunt Penny, yesterday you saw me…” I trail off, unsure of how to phrase what I need to say. “You told me I needed to get out before it’s too late. What did you mean?”
“If you didn’t know what I’m talking about, you have no reason to worry.”
I furrow my brows at her. “But–”
She suddenly breaks her gaze from the ceiling and slowly looks back into my eyes, the sharpness giving way to milky confusion. I back away a step, loosening my shoulders as her face screws up in a confused expression. “Who are you? Where is Vera?”
I nod, giving her a soft smile. Dementia, I remind myself. She has Dementia. These moments of lucidity are going to be fleeting, even without all the sedatives pumping through her system.
“I’ll go get her,” I lie, knowing it’s all I can say. Penny lies back down against the cushions, her eyes on the ceiling as she takes a ragged breath.
“Amos,” she breathes, and a chill snakes up my spine.
I’ve heard her say it before, but for whatever reason, this time the name sounds like a warning.
I try not to think about it as I leave the room, shutting the door firmly behind me. I find Bailey exiting my bedroom dressed in a pair of fresh scrubs.
“How did she do last night?”
“Fine,” I tell her, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “She, uh, well, I was just talking to her, actually. She had a few very brief moments of lucidity just now, but I think she wore herself out.” I tell her how Penny lost track of the conversation and asked me who I was then asked for Vera.
“The new doctor should be here in an hour, tops. She just texted me and asked if it would be all right to come over this morning before she has to head to the hospital in New Orleans.”
“I think that’s perfect. Then we can get in touch with Mr. Hart about everything else that’s been going on.”
Bailey nods her agreement, but her usually sunny expression cracks a bit as she runs a hand over her face.
“Are you all right?” I ask, stepping closer to her.
“I didn’t sleep well,” she says with a little laugh. “I had some weird…weird dreams last night.”
My blood runs cold. “What kind of dreams?”
She blushes deeply, shaking her head. “Uh, it’s nothing. I just–I had a weird feeling I wasn’t alone. I guess I’m just not used to sleeping here, that's all.”
“Sure,” I say, trying not to reach out and throttle more information out of her. That’s how all of this started, isn’t it? Weird dreams. Lewd dreams that made me feel slightly violated yet desperate for more.
“I’m going to go get a cup of coffee. You should get some rest. I’ll let you know what the doctor says.”
“Okay,” I say, fighting for a smile as she turns for the stairs.
In two steps, I’m back in my room. I close the door behind me and lean against it, my heart fluttering erratically.
Why do I suddenly feel like Bailey’s in danger?
* * *
“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Miss Bryant,” Mr. Hart, the lawyer for the Gregory estate, drawls. Bailey is upstairs tending to Penny while I swivel back and forth in the computer chair, my arms crossed under my breasts as I look down at my phone, which is on speaker.
“Dr. Ashford overprescribed several heavy duty sedatives without reason which caused a prolonged state of psychosis in an elderly patient with dementia.” I’ve spent the last twenty minutes explaining what the new doctor told us, and it was damning.
The medications likely did irreversible damage to Penny’s already fragile psyche. She’s frail, sickly, and bedridden. Her medications weren’t necessary in the slightest. It did much more harm than good.
“And you’re saying she didn’t need it?”
“Yes,” I practically growl. “And we believe Vera was in on it for whatever reason.”
“What reason would either of them have to keep her in a state of near full sedation without medical cause?”
“That’s why I’m calling you,” I reply, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “Is Vera in her will?”
“I… no, I don’t believe so. Her will hasn’t been updated since the nineties. Are you wondering if you’re to inherit–”
“That’s not what I’m getting at.”
“Good because the house will go to the historical society upon Ms. Penny’s passing, of that I’m certain. So how can I help you today, Miss Bryant?”
“She doesn’t want Vera here anymore. She told me so herself.”
“But she has dementia and clearly isn’t in the right state of mind to make those kinds of decisions.”
“She was very clear,” I reiterate coldly, holding my ground. “Bailey and I aren’t comfortable with it either.”
“Fine, that’s fine. Especially since she needs to find a new doctor anyway.”
“She has a new doctor. In fact, Bailey is taking her to New Orleans in a few days for a full physical and to discuss options related to continued care. Penny needs to be in an assisted living home, Mr. Hart. It would be the best thing for her.”
“I’d have to discuss that with the executor of her estate.”
“So that’s not you?” I’m confused again.
“I am her lawyer, and I was assigned to her when the last lawyer overseeing the estate and its financial holdings retired. The executor is court appointed, a professional. I’ll handle it, but I’ll need to speak to this new doctor before anything can be set in motion regarding moving her.”
I turn to the left and see a shadow crossing the foyer. For a moment, I think it’s Dalton, but there’s no sound save for Mr. Hart’s voice filling the space. My skin prickles with unease as I look around. It’s late afternoon. Bailey is almost finished with her shift and planning on going home tonight. Helen Wilson recently dropped off the prescriptions the new doctor prescribed, all of which are only to help Penny sleep as she withdraws from her heavy sedatives.
“Miss Bryant?”
“Yes, sorry?”
“I said, is there anything else I can do for you today?”
“Oh,” I say, my eyes still locked on the foyer. “Yeah, actually.” I think about how he’d mentioned that the house will go to the historical society when Aunt Penny dies. What will happen to Dalton? “How long has Penny been allowing boarders at her property?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Boarders, like the artist who lives here. Dalton–”
“No one lives at the house besides Ms. Gregory. We’ve never allowed rooms to be rented, if that’s what you’re asking. Why? Who is Dalton–”
My heart sinks into my stomach. “Oh, never mind. I have–I have to go. Thank you for your time.” I hang up before he can say another word.
Dalton isn’t supposed to be here.
My mind drifts over the memories of Bailey and Vera not knowing who I was talking about when I mentioned him, and how Dalton refused to call the police when he found the tongue, and how he never called the police when we found the body…
I rise from the chair and rush toward the stairs.