Lisa Miscione - Twice

“So, who’s Annabelle’s father?”

The doctor shook his head. “Now, that’s something that only Maura Hodge knows for sure. I asked her that question many times.”

“And she told you Austin Steward.”

“That’s right… the ghost of Austin Steward. Tell you what, she was so adamant about it that I started to believe it myself.”

“I guess ghost stories are like that. Part of us wants to believe in the fantastic, no matter how frightening and horrible it might be.”

The doctor walked around to the seat behind his desk and sank into the leather chair. He was pale, and dark circles had appeared under his eyes.

“I noticed the police haven’t arrived,” he said after they’d all been silent for a long moment, realizing maybe that Lydia hadn’t quite told him the truth.

“Must be caught in traffic,” said Jeffrey, looking at his watch.

Lydia got up and moved toward the door. Jeffrey followed.

“That DNA evidence you mentioned?”

Lydia just smiled. “Might be a good time to start considering retirement, Doctor.”

“I was just thinking that.”

They stepped out of the office and into the cold, Lydia pulling the door closed behind them.

“You’re an accomplished liar,” said Jeffrey as they got into the Kompressor and pulled to the end of the drive. They paused there as a pair of headlights approached from the right.

“Thank you,” she answered.

“I’m not sure I meant it as a compliment.”

“There are lots of different ways to get to the truth. Lying is just one of them.”

“Well, when you’re right, you’re right.”

“So where to?”

“To the only place we’ve ever seen James Ross.”

Jeffrey didn’t pull out into the road right away. Instead he put the car in park.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lydia.

“I’m just afraid of what we’re going to find up there.”

Jeffrey sighed and rested his head on the steering wheel. Cold air blew from the vents but started to warm as the car heated up. They sat in the darkness, with only the glow from the dashboard lights. Mick Jagger and the Stones sang “Start Me Up” softly from the radio. Lydia reached over and turned it off. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“There’s so much loss,” Jeffrey said quietly into the steering wheel. “How much more of this can we take?”

Lydia didn’t have the answer to that question so she said nothing, just moved her hand from his arm to the back of his head. The air coming from the vents had gone from frigid to lukewarm; still Lydia shivered.

“The pregnancy, Rebecca, now Ford,” he said. He turned to look at her then, his head still resting on his arm draped over the steering wheel. “I really wanted that baby.”

His words felt like a blow to her solar plexus and tears sprang to her eyes, more from the surprise and the pain than from sadness. “I know,” she managed.

Lydia had never seen Jeffrey like this. He was a man of action, believing that motion was the way to deal with fear, anger, sadness. Tonight he seemed to buckle under the weight of everything.

“It will be better when we try again,” she said, withdrawing her hand and looking away from him. “We won’t be living with the worry of Jed McIntyre, where he is, what he’s planning. Won’t it be better to bring a child into a life that isn’t controlled by fear?”

The car was filled with their breath and their sadness, quiet except for the vents blowing the slowly warming air. Lydia’s toes felt cold, and her heart ached, but she knew with an odd certainty that what she said was not just hopeful but true.

“You’re right,” he said, reaching out to touch her face and wipe the tear that trailed down her cheek. She turned back to him. “You’re right,” he said again. Jeffrey sat up and took a deep breath, seemed to shake off the mood.

“Good,” she said with a nod. She didn’t want to think about any of this anymore tonight. “People need us right now, Jeffrey. We can worry about ourselves when they’re safe.”

He leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips. He put the car into gear and they moved toward the road.

“Ford, where the hell are you, man?”

With the moon behind thick cloud cover, the night was eerily black. No streetlights lit the road ahead of them.

They drove about half a mile past the Ross house and parked the car at the side of the road. From where they parked, they could see the outline of the dark house. The place had a definite presence and Lydia thought again back to Julian’s drawings. The home where Julian grew up had become a symbol of terror for her, her father had been murdered there, her brother allegedly tried to kill her by burning it down. Maybe she was right, maybe the past did live in the structures we build, radiated off them like an aura.

A deep sense of unease had taken hold of Jeffrey. He didn’t like that no one knew where they were or what they were doing.

“Call Dax,” he said. “Tell him what we’re doing.”

Before he’d finished the sentence, Lydia’s phone was chirping. She pressed the button on the dash that answered the phone.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” said Dax.

“The bad news,” answered Jeff.

“I just heard on the news that the Haunted police found Ford’s car in a river over there in Haunted.”

“Shit,” said Jeffrey, feeling a brew of fear, adrenaline, and sadness boil in his stomach. “What’s the good news?”

“The good news is he wasn’t in it.”

Lydia sighed in relief. “Well, that’s something.” Hope was always something.

“Where are you two?”

“We’re at the Ross house. We think James Ross is alive. We’re going to check it out.”

“I thought you were just going to be asking questions,” said Dax, sounding like the kid picked last for the dodgeball team.

“Listen, Dax. If you don’t hear from us in an hour, call the Haunted police. Okay?” asked Lydia, trying to keep him involved.

“Right,” he said sullenly. “Be careful.”

When they reached the bottom of the drive, the tall iron gate that had stood unlocked during their last visit was now shut tight, a new lock in place where the old one had rusted away. Jeffrey removed the picklock from his pocket and tried to work the lock, but he couldn’t get it. After a few minutes, he sighed and stood back, looking up at the gate, which was supported on either side by high brick posts. It hadn’t been designed with any real security in mind; it was probably partly for show and partly to keep curious or lost people from driving up to the house.

“We can get in,” he said, bending down and cupping his hands. “I’ll give you a leg up to the top of the post, and you just lower yourself down on the other side. I’ll be right behind you,” he whispered.

“Great.” Jeffrey was always assuming that she had more grace and physical prowess than she actually did.

She placed her foot in his hand and he hoisted her while she clumsily clawed her way to the top of the post, using every last ounce of upper body strength to push herself up and lift her butt to the top. She was breathless by the time she came to sit on top of the structure. She looked down the other side.

“I can’t jump. It’s too far,” she said, feeling a little panicked. She was glad she had worn her black stretch Emmanuel jeans and her soft black leather motorcycle boots and matching leather jacket. The front of her gray sweatshirt was now lined with dirt from her climb. She looked over and saw that Jeffrey had already scaled the other post and was lowering himself onto the ground on the other side. He landed with a light thump and walked over to her.