“Now go,” he said as the boy wept, “they mustn’t find out you were here.”
He regretted only that he would die alone.
But death hadn’t been able to keep him from Black Elm. He found himself here again, free of pain and home once more, forever wandering up and down the stairs, in and out of rooms, always feeling like he’d forgotten something but unsure of what it was. He watched Danny eat scraps from the kitchen,
sleep in his cold bed, buried beneath old coats. Why had he cursed this child to serve this place the way that he himself had? But Danny was a fighter, an Arlington, galvanized, resilient. He wished he could speak words of comfort, encouragement. He wished he could take it all back.
Danny was standing in the kitchen, mixing up some foul concoction. He could feel his grandson’s desperation, the misery in him as he stood over a bubbling pot and whispered, “Show me something more.” He’d set out a fancy wine goblet, but he paused before he poured that odd red mess into it.
Danny set down Bernadette’s old Dutch oven and jogged down the hall.
The old man could sense death in the pot, catastrophe. Stop. Stop before it’s too late. He swiped at it, trying to knock it from the stove, willing himself back into the world, just for a moment, a second. Just give me the strength to save him. But he was weak, useless, no one and nothing. Danny returned, carrying that ugly keepsake box, Arlington Rubber Boots emblazoned on the porcelain lid. He’d kept it on his desk. He’d let Danny play with it as a kid.
Sometimes he’d surprise him by putting a quarter in it, or a piece of gum, a blue pebble from the back garden, nothing at all. Danny had believed the box was magic. Now he poured the poison into it. Stop, he wanted to cry, Oh, please, Danny, stop. But the boy drank.
Alex stumbled forward, knocking into the dining room table and nearly toppling before she caught herself on the edge. It was too much, the images too clear. She crumpled to her knees and vomited on the inlaid floor, trying to get her head to stop spinning, trying to peel away all of the past Black Elms and only see the present.
The doorbell rang again, an accusation.
“Coming!” she called.
She made herself stand and lurch to the powder room by the kitchen. She rinsed her mouth, splashed water on her face, drew her hair back into a low, tight ponytail.
“For fuck’s sake, Cosmo, get away from that.” The cat was sniffing around the pool of vomit. “Help me out here.”
And Cosmo, as if he’d understood, did something he’d never done before: He leapt into her arms. She tucked him carefully against her, hiding his singed fur.
“The barbarians are at the gate,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.” Again the bell rang.
Alex thought of who she wanted to be in this moment, and it was Salome, the president of Wolf’s Head she’d had to frighten into giving up use of the temple room. Rich, beautiful, used to getting her way. The kind of girl Darlington would date if he had no taste.
She opened the door slowly, in no rush, and blinked at Darlington’s parents as if they’d woken her from a nap. “Yeah?”
“Who are you?” The woman—Harper, the name came with Alex’s doubled vision, her sight coupled with the old man’s eyes—was tall, lean, and dressed in perfectly tailored wool trousers, a silk blouse, and pearls. The man—contempt, pure and seething, rose up at the sight of him. He looked so much like Danny, Daniel, Darlington. So much like me. And yet he looked nothing like any of them. Alex had met a lot of low-level cons in her life, people who were always looking for the shortcut, the easy fix. They were perfect marks.
“Alexandra,” she said, her voice bored, her hand stroking Cosmo’s fur.
“I’m watching the house for Darlington while he’s in Spain.”
“We—”
“I know who you are.” She tried to soak the words with equal parts disdain and disinterest. “He doesn’t want you here.”
Daniel Arlington sputtered. Harper’s eyes narrowed, and she raised a perfect brow.
“Alexandra, I don’t know who you are or why our son appointed you watchdog, but I want to speak to him. Now. ”
“Out of money again?”
“Get out of my way,” said Daniel.
Alex’s impulse was to give him a good hard shove and watch his bony ass land on the gravel drive. She’d seen these people in the old man’s memories, barely a word for Danny, barely a thought. Even if her mother was terrible at paying the bills or providing anything resembling stability, she at least gave a damn. But Alex had to stay in rich-girl mode.
“Or what?” she said with a laugh. “This isn’t your house. I’m happy to call the police and let them sort it out.”
Darlington’s father cleared his throat. “I … I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. We always hear from Danny on holidays and he always takes our calls.”
“He’s in Spain,” Alex said. “And he’s seeing a therapist now. Setting boundaries. You should think about that.”
“Come on, Daniel,” said Harper. “This little bitch is high on her own power. When we return, it will be with a letter from our attorney.” She marched back to the Range Rover.
Daniel wagged his finger in her face, trying to get some of his own back.
“That’s exactly right. You really have no business—”
“Run home, you weakling.” The words came out as a snarl, deep, grizzled. That wasn’t Alex’s voice, and she knew Darlington’s father wasn’t seeing her face anymore either. “You held me hostage in my own house, you sniveling shit.”
Daniel Arlington IV gasped and stumbled backward, nearly went to his knees.
Alex willed the old man to recede but it wasn’t easy. She could feel him in her head, the ferocity of his determination, a spirit forever at war with itself, with the world, with everything and everybody around him.
“Stop screwing around, Daniel!” Harper shouted from the car, gunning the engine.
“I … I…” His mouth gaped, but he was just seeing Alex’s placid face now.
The old man was like a barely leashed dog inside her mind. Pussy. Candy-ass. How did I ever raise a son like you? You didn’t even have the balls to face me, just kept me drugged up and helpless, but I got you in the end, didn’t I?
Cosmo squirmed in Alex’s arms. She raised a hand and waved. “Byebye,”
