I needed help.
Archie had been acting odd since John’s shooting, but he would move on eventually. I looked forward to spring, only a few months away, when we could start fresh in this increasingly strange town. I considered Archie’s words seriously about not being sure if he wanted to live in Poplin. Maybe we would move on, we could live anywhere, as long as we were together. That was all I cared about.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off with a plush towel, moisturized, and rubbed a leave-in conditioner into my hair. I slathered on lip balm and reached for my robe, hanging on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. I tied the robe tightly around my body, noticing something in the left pocket. I slipped my hand inside and pulled out the object.
A key.
The guesthouse key.
I stared at it. I had worn the robe last night and the key was not there, I’d swear it. Someone put it there within the last twenty-four hours.
I flung open the bathroom door and yelled, “Dream, are you here?”
I listened but all I could hear was the dripping faucet in the bathroom. I closed my eyes and imagined Dream’s voice in my head. I wished he was here, but he wasn’t. The house remained silent.
Where are you?
And what do you want?
I poured a second cup of coffee and ate a banana while staring at the key now lying on the kitchen island. Archie would be at school until four. If I didn’t stop, I’d be staring at this key all day. I didn’t even check the house. If Dream wanted to hurt me, he would have done so by now. No, he wanted something else.
Maybe my sanity?
I picked up the key and put it inside my sweater pocket. I walked over to the pantry, got out some cleaning supplies, and headed up to the attic. I had planned to clean the attic today, so that’s what I would do. With all the drawing I’d been doing I thought it would make a nice art studio for me. I could set up an easel up there and do larger pencil drawings; and I’d like to give painting a try too. But, first, a good cleaning was required for the dusty attic.
I opened the door at the top of the attic stairs and pulled the string light. The dim light illuminated the room. We would need more light in here if I wanted to use this space. Maybe add a few floor lamps and a comfortable chair by the window. A ceiling fan wasn’t a bad idea; the air was stale up here. Also, a heater, maybe one of those electric fireplaces to warm the space.
Sunlight filtered through the pretty stained-glass window at the front of the house and the spider web window, with actual spider webs on it that I needed to wipe, at the back of the house. I grabbed my dust rag and spray. I cleaned away as much dust as possible.
I wiped Archie’s file cabinets and pushed them into the corner of the room. Then I moved over to the large mahogany wardrobe, wiping the dust on every corner of the large piece of furniture. This might be a good place to store art supplies. I opened the door, surveying the space. Yes, this would work. I wiped the back, sides, and bottom shelf.
As I wiped the bottom shelf, my rag got stuck on a nub toward the back. I lifted the rag and peered into the wardrobe. All the way in the back was a small, almost flat black button. I pressed it.
The shelf slid open to reveal a hidden compartment below it, filled with items. I stared, recognizing some of the objects. Dream’s T-shirt, a few photos from Listening Lark, the dried lotus flowers. Things from the box in my closet.
The attic suddenly felt very quiet. Too quiet. The lurking silence contained a wisp of fear.
I turned around to look behind me.
There was nothing there. My gaze traveled around the attic, but nothing stood out as unusual. I walked over to the attic steps, went down them and closed the door to the stairwell. I didn’t want to be disturbed while looking through these items. I had about an hour until Archie got home from school.
I hurried back upstairs and started to sort through the secret shelf. In addition to the things I had already viewed, there was a bag of medjool dates. Also a stack of seven books. No, journals, very familiar journals, especially the leather-bound one from 2017. The journal I gave Dream for Christmas.
My heart leapt.
He was alive. It had been Dream this entire time. He was alive!
Would he forgive me?
Would I forgive him?
Would we be together again?
My hands trembled as I opened the journal and read the last entry. The day he and Venus were going on a picnic with me.
The day I killed him.
Or so I thought.
I took a deep breath. I wanted Dream to be here right now, wrapping his arms around me. I would always love him. My love for Archie would never compare to what I still felt for Dream. My hands were still shaking. Was he watching me now?
“Please, Dream, if you are here, let me see you,” I pleaded. “Please forgive me. I love you.”
Silence was my only answer.
I sighed, wanting so badly for him to be here, to be alive, to forgive me.
I continued to search the contents under the shelf. I pushed the journals and other items to the side. Then, I opened a large manilla envelope. I released its contents onto the floor and sorted through the various pieces. Old family photos. Most of the contents of the envelope were photos. I lifted a stack and something hard fell out.
A driver’s license.
I picked it up, staring at the face I knew well.
Archie.
The license had expired a few years ago. I read the address under his name and sank to the floor.
Clear Lake, California.
