Bailey
I’ve been distracted all night, and it’s no wonder. It was actually Helen who told me about the fire. I hadn’t heard from Tanner all day, and suddenly Helen was dragging me into her living room where a video of Tanner bursting out of a burning building carrying an unconscious little girl was playing on a loop.
When I called him, he sounded distracted. I get it, of course. It takes a certain kind of person to run into danger and save a life. But still…. He sounded off, withdrawn, and so I’ve felt a little off kilter all night.
It’s 4:00 A.M., and I’m sitting in the cramped office downstairs preparing my notes for Helen to take to Robert’s doctor appointment later today. It’s been a quiet night. Robert hasn’t woken up a single time, and I’ve honestly just been twiddling my thumbs and trying to find something to do.
He starts physical therapy this week, and once he’s back up on his feet enough to move around with the help of a walker, Helen wants me to switch to a day shift for the time being.
I’m looking forward to working during the daytime again.
I’m not cut out of long nights in dark, old houses.
But just as I’m finishing up my notes, I hear a thump upstairs.
I’ve grown accustomed to the pipes making noise at all hours of the night, but this was different. Something heavy just hit the ground, and after another thump sounds from above my head, I decide to investigate.
The door to the master bedroom is closed tight, but the door to the guest room is slightly ajar.
I hadn’t left it open. I wonder if Helen came to check on Robert as I slowly push the door open, but Helen isn’t in the room.
Robert, however, is out of bed and standing near the window.
“Robert!” I hiss, rushing forward. “You cannot be out of bed and putting pressure on your leg!”
He’s a large man, and he swings an arm out, pointing a finger at me. “Don’t touch me.”
His cold tone works its way down my spine. I’ve never heard him use such a tone before–with anyone.
I look down at his leg. In the moonlight, I can see it shaking as he continues to put pressure on it.
“Please, at least sit down.” I motion to the bed, but he isn’t looking at me.
His eyes are fixed on something outside.
“Robert–”
“He’s back. I knew he’d come back. I knew that fire wasn’t enough to stop him.”
“What–who are you talking about?”
“He’s back. I knew it was him at those graves. Those graves gotta go. The whole marsh needs to burn to get rid of him–” he chokes on his words and looses a sharp, pained groan.
I grab him around the middle to steady him as he suddenly picks up his leg with a wince.
“Robert, I think you’re dreaming,” I say, tugging him toward the bed. “I think you’re having a bad dream.”
But he’s much stronger than me, and he’s working against me as I shove him toward the bed, which is only a few feet away from the window.
When I finally gain some ground, he grabs my shoulders, hard.
I gasp at the way his fingers are digging into my skin, but then he’s shaking me like a ragdoll.
“DO NOT GO TO THAT HOUSE!” he bellows.
My ears ring as I try to pull away from him, but he continues to shake me hard enough my teeth clack together.
“Robert? ROBERT!” Helen’s voice cuts through the sound of my teeth. She’s at my side in an instant, prying Robert’s hands from my body.
It takes a great effort for the two of us to get him back into bed, and even then, he’s writhing and screaming and starting to babble incoherently.
“Do not let him out of bed!” I shout, then rush from the room, bounding down the steps to the office where I keep an assortment of supplies.
Robert’s doctor prescribed some meds to help keep him calm. Thankfully, I have a liquid option and quickly fill a syringe before racing back upstairs.
Helen is pleading with Robert to calm down. He’s covered in sweat, and I can see fresh blood pooling through his bandages where screws stick out of his skin.
I’m across the room in two seconds flat and stick in the needle in the meat of his upper arm.
Helen meets my eyes, her expression fearful and full of concern, but within moments, Robert starts to calm to the point he slips back into sleep.
Helen’s lips part, but she can’t find words to say. Neither can I, and we stand there in total silence for what feels like several minutes before she clears her throat and says, “I need a drink. It might be time to make a pot of coffee, don’t you think?”
I nod, because it’s all I can do, and follow her downstairs with the intent of gathering some first aid supplies to rebandage Robert’s leg.
But she motions for me to follow her into the kitchen, and I do. I sit at the kitchen table, dropping the needle I need to properly dispose of, and run my hand over my face.
“The medication he’s on for the pain can cause hallucinations in some people,” I say robotically. “I organized my notes for his doctor. I’ll mention tapering off those meds–”
“What was he saying to you before I came into the room?”
She starts the coffee maker and sits down across from me, her eyes glassy and still full of shock.
“He said not to go in that house. Was he talking about the old Gregory property?”
Helen doesn’t answer. Her eyes on the floral tablecloth between us.
“Yeah. I think he might have had a nightmare about the night of the fire.”
Again, I’m wondering if I was left in the dark about all of the details about the Gregory property, the family, and what led to the fire.
She gets up and pours two cups of coffee, mixing in a copious amount of sugar and cream. I take the cup she offers with gratitude as she sits back down.
“I’ll talk to his doctor today and see what can be done.”
“I’ll fix up his leg before I leave–”
But Helen shakes her head, her eyes sliding to the rumpled fabric covering my shoulders–to the place where Robert had been clutching me for dear life, like he was worried I’d be ripped away from him by something unseen. “I’m not going back to sleep. You go ahead and head home, Bailey.”
I leave the Wilsons’ house twenty minutes later with a caffeine buzz and a lump in my throat. Weird things have been happening that I can’t ignore. The bumps in the night are one thing, but seeing shadows, Robert acting like he’s possessed, and the weird behavior and vague warnings from the Wilsons have me feeling on edge as I walk into Tanner’s house and lock the door behind me.
He’s at the firehouse tonight, so I’m alone, and the house is cool and quiet as I debate going back to bed right away or getting some work done.
I run a load of laundry and do some dishes. I mop the floors as the sun comes up. Around 8:00 A.M, I sit down at the dining room table with a fresh cup of coffee since I’ve already decided there’s no way I can relax, not when my brain is telling me something is extremely wrong.
I pulled a knife on Tanner the other night. I thought–for a brief moment– I thought someone else had been in bed with me.
I toy with my phone before calling Layla.
It goes to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. Look, I… I need to talk to you. It’s about the night of the fire. Call me back.”
I set my phone on the table just as Tanner walks through the door.
“Hey,” he says, setting his duffle bag down. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t even try.” I look down into my coffee.
Would Tanner think I’m crazy if I voiced what was going on in my head?
“Hey, uh… I wanted to talk to you about something,” Tanner says. He leans against the archway leading out of the kitchen and crosses his arms.
He too looks like there’s a lot on his mind that doesn’t make sense, and I feel a smidge of the heaviness in my shoulder lift. I shift in my chair to face him. “Tanner, do you feel like… do you feel like something is going here, in Hahnville? Like, something is wrong, and you can’t quite put a finger on it?”
Tanner holds my gaze and nods after a few seconds.
But we say, “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” in unison, and then stare at each other.
I start to stand, my heart beginning to race, but Tanner shakes his head. “I think you should sit down, Bailey.”