Chapter 8
With each roll of my body, the same thought kept shooting through my brain: Please don’t let my neck snap in two. Though I tried to grab on to something, all I could reach was air or the edge of each stair step, and neither was any help. Suddenly my head thwacked hard against something—maybe the base of the banister—and my hand slammed into the ground floor. I stopped rolling. I lay on the ground, eyes closed. A million little lights pulsed in my brain.
I moaned. My head hurt and so did my butt and left wrist. And then there was a light nearly piercing my eyelids. I felt a rush of panic, thinking it must be the person who had knocked me down the stairs. But as I opened my eyes, squinting, I saw that it was Scott who was standing there, holding a flashlight.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“Uhhh, I’m not sure,” I groaned.
“I don’t want to touch you—in case something’s broken. Can you just wiggle your fingers and toes and make sure you can move?”
“Yeah, just give me a second to catch my breath.”
Though I knew I was probably bruised in places, it didn’t feel as if anything was broken. One at a time, I lifted each arm and leg, making certain I could move them.
“I think I’m okay,” I said after a minute. “Could you just give me a hand?”
Taking my arm, Scott eased me into a sitting position and then helped me stand. For a second I felt a wave of dizziness, but then it subsided.
“What happened, for God’s sake?” Scott asked.
“Someone knocked me down the stairs. I’m not sure if they did it on purpose or were just trying to get around me. They were hiding in the dark up there.”
“
I described what had happened up until he’d found me sprawled at his feet.
“I thought I heard a knock,” he said. “And my phone ringing. But it took me a minute or so to figure out if I was dreaming or not. Just as I reached the door, I heard someone tumbling down the stairs.”
“And you didn’t see anyone when you opened the door?”
“No, no one. My God, this is crazy.”
He directed his flashlight around the ground floor of the barn. Lying in a small heap near the door was one of the dark green rain ponchos from the pegs.
“I think the person was wearing that,” I said. “I felt something slick like it against my skin. Oh, and look there.”
I pointed to a rusty branding iron, one of the old farm tools I’d seen displayed on the walls. It was lying a few feet away from the poncho.
“That must be what the person used to scratch on the doors,” I said.
“What a fucking mess,” Scott said. “Who in God’s name would do something like that?”
“Good question.”
“What about you?” Scott said. “Should we try to get you to a hospital?”
Wow, wouldn’t it be sweet to see this place in the rearview mirror, but I didn’t feel in dire need of medical attention—and I couldn’t abandon Jessie.
“My wrist seems to be the only thing really hurting, but I think it’s just a bruise. Why don’t I just put ice on it for a while and see how it feels.”
He scooted upstairs to the fridge, returning in a minute with ice wrapped in a dishrag, two ibuprofen, and a glass of water. He’d also managed to locate another flashlight. I winced as I touched the pack gingerly to my wrist.
“Let’s get you back to your room,” Scott said. “Plus I want to check it out over there.”
He walked me back to the small barn, and we surveyed the damage to each door.
“I need to let the police know about this,” he whispered. “But it’s probably best to wait till morning. Otherwise we’ll freak everyone out. Just to be on the safe side, I’ll have Ralph sit on the ground floor of the barn and keep an eye out.”
I asked him to leave me at Jessie’s door, and as soon as she’d opened it, he took off. Jessie went bug-eyed at the sight of the ice pack. As I filled her in on what had happened, she began to tear up.
“What if something worse had happened to you?” she said, wiping at her eyes. “We’ve got to get out here.”
“The road should be clear tomorrow morning. We just have to tough it out for a few more hours. Try to get some sleep, okay?”
The second she closed her door, I heard her drag the table back against the door. I stood for a few seconds in the hall, examining the scratch marks on her door with the flashlight, trying to determine if there might be message a there—a word or a symbol. But there wasn’t. And none on my door either. They were just random scratch marks.
Back in my room I barricaded my own door and then, shivering, climbed into bed. As I lay there, taking a few long, deep breaths to try to relax, I heard male voices rising from the first floor. Scott had obviously brought Ralph, as promised.
Once the voices subsided, I replayed in my mind those few seconds at the top of the stairs. Come on, I urged myself. There had to be some kind of clue that would point to the night raider’s identity. But the only thing I had to go on was that awful stench of sweat. It suggested a man, and yet a woman could sweat heavily too if she was racing around playing a nasty trick and then was forced to hide, fearful of being caught.
Scott had asked who in God’s name would do something like that, and I honestly had no clue. It might be some kind of warning. One thing suddenly occurred to me. If Cap or Whitney or Tory or Tommy were the culprit, his or her partner had probably become aware of the sudden absence of the person sharing the bed.
Finally, at around four, I drifted off into a fractured sleep, fraught with vague, scary dreams.
When I opened my door the next morning at seven, bundled up in two sweaters, Scott was standing right there, his hand raised to knock.
“I’m getting everyone up,” he announced. “The police are due shortly, and the morgue van won’t be much later, since the road will be cleared within the next hour.”
The power was still out, which meant no hot water. So I skipped a shower and just splashed cold water on my face and torso. There was enough light from the bathroom window for me to study my bruises. I had black and blue marks on my ass and legs and a small bump on my forehead. My wrist was sore, but it was clear nothing was broken. I popped two ibuprofen, dressed quickly, and picked up Jessie before heading to the big barn.
There were already a few people waiting when we arrived, including Sandy, who had set out bagels and muffins on the counter. The two stoves were working their butts off, but there was a chill to the room. As each new person came up the stairs, they demanded to know what was going on. All Scott would say was, “Grab a mug of tea. There’s been a new development, but let’s wait until everyone arrives.” Once we were all seated, he broke the news—the vandalism of the doors, me being pushed down the stairs, and the fact that the cops would be back this morning. Every person sitting there glanced quickly around at the others, looking shocked. Clearly one person was faking it.
“I saw the marks when we were leaving the room just now,” Cap said. “Are you saying one of the
“Yes,” Scott said soberly. “I hardly think Sandy or Ralph came over here during the night and played a prank on us all.”
“Now that you mention it, I thought I heard someone at my door last night,” Tommy said, “but to be perfectly honest, I thought it was Bailey dropping by for a late-night interview. I was just too spent to answer.”
Oh, yeah, just me and a can of Reddiwip.
“Well, I don’t care if I have to hike out by foot and pick Devon’s car up next spring, I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Jane declared.
“Aren’t there rescue workers who can help us?” Tory wailed. “We’re trapped—like people in that Hurricane Katrina.”
Tommy started to say something, and Scott raised his hand to quiet everyone. He explained that the road
