Didn’t I put everything on the line to get away from people who tell me what to do? If I want to sleep in, that’s exactly what I’m doing from now on. At the top of the stairs, I stop and blink. Twice. This is not the same dusty, dirty place I left behind last night when I went to bed.
A hint of lemon and soap hangs in the air and clean surfaces wait for me where yesterday layers of dust and cobwebs lived. Everything is clean and tidy. A crystal vase with wildflowers dominates the wooden table, gleaming in the morning sunshine. Gone are the bags I dropped in the middle of the room when I arrived.
I close my eyes and swallow. Not again. Please, dear Father in Heaven, not again. I can’t stop the panic rising inside me. Helen was right. I am crazy. I have to find a doctor. I have to get more meds. I have to curl up and die. That would be the best thing for everyone. The ungrateful person that I am, running away from Helen. She was right all along. They should lock me up and throw away the key. I’m a menace to society, a waste of space.
I take the first step down the stairs and promptly lose my balance. The rest is a choreographic nightmare and a medical miracle. I tumble and hang on to the balustrade in an attempt to save myself a broken neck. My legs fold underneath me and I roll half sideways and half headfirst the last three steps. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone pushed me. But other than little forest critters that might still live in the corners of the woodwork, there’s nobody here.
“Stupid woman.” Did I say that out loud?
Horace often told me I’m a klutz. “I’ve never met anyone as clumsy as you. There isn’t a week in which you don’t walk into something, cut yourself, or end up with skin scraped off one of your limbs.”
He’s probably right. I’m sitting on the hard wooden floorboards rubbing my sore backside. A quick internal check assures me no further damage occurred. That’s good. I’m looking at my feet poking out of my slippers. I wish they would be less traitorous and carry me through my day without further accidents. At least I got rid of my self-pity. The tumble down the stairs knocked it out of me, which makes the sunshine so much brighter.
Getting up is not as easy as I thought. I’ve hurt more than my ego. There will be bruises by tomorrow.
I open the windows and let the fresh air pour in. Then I take my time to admire the cleaning work I must have done in my sleep. No wonder every muscle in my body is hurting, and I am tired as hell. Am I a sleepwalker? I have to ask Charlotte the next time I call her. Even the bookshelves are dusted, and the books put back. Everything looks spick and span and—I hold my breath—a little familiar.
On the dining table, next to the flowers, are two books, the obligatory clipboard, and a few hundred-dollar notes tucked under a saucer. Before I read what’s on the clipboard, I reach for the money. Five hundred bucks. Where is that money coming from? I don’t remember having that much money on me when I left Horace’s place. But maybe I did and have forgotten it like so many other things? Come to think of it, I don’t remember leaving Horace’s place.
It occurred to me that someone could have snuck into the house before I got up. Someone like Scott, the neighbor. I run out to see if anyone is in the garden. But nothing moves in the front yard or the back. Only the tree stands there, majestic and quiet as if it could say, “Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure nothing untoward happens.”
Well, that’s mighty fine of the tree, isn’t it? I stomp back into the house and sit down at the table. I pick up the clipboard and stare at it. It takes a while for the letters to come into focus and make sense.
Dear Elise,
Please don’t worry. You are not going crazy. Once you understand, this will all make perfect sense. Charlotte Macfarlane—we call her Miss Marple—is right. You are not alone. We share the body with you, but we are different from you. Think of us as a handful of friends who are on your side, rooting for you, and helping to make life worth living. We know a lot about you, but you don’t seem to know anything about us. We want to change that so you can be more at ease and we can all work together.
You didn’t believe Dr. Macfarlane when she talked about us and you weren’t keen to get to know us. But that needs to change if we want to stay out of Helen’s claws. You won’t regret it we are a great Tribe. Didn’t we arrange the getaway from Helen in formidable fashion?
I’m Ama; I cleaned up the place after you went to bed. Think of me as the mother Elizabeth never had. My job is cleaning, cooking, and making sure everybody is okay. That includes you.
The money is from a shoebox Horace hid from you and Helen. He had it in his wardrobe for years. We think it is money that belonged to your parents. But we have to check that out. There is something fishy about Horace and the NGYD people, that’s another thing we have to check out. I hope the money will be enough to buy needed provisions and get the dog you want. There is an SPCA in Port Somers. Try them first.
Don’t go shopping in Coopersville. It’s closer by, but it’s only a small settlement. Going to Port Somers
