Your dear sister, Gertie.
P.S. Yes my darling, the roses if you please.
The scent of roses wafted over her face, her heart rate skipped a beat and she blinked, bringing herself back. A hollow ache filled her gut.
Billie put the letter down, tossed aside the blankets and headed for the shower. She had a job to do.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand smoothing the polished timber and sucked in a breath. There was a connection with this house and she had to find out what it was. Coming back had been hard. As she’d meandered up the driveway, her heart had raced, thumping wildly in her chest and she’d almost turned around and gone back. Unanswered questions flitted through her mind. What if she got lost and couldn’t find her way back? What if she found out something she couldn’t deal with? And the biggest question of all, what if this really was her mind playing tricks on her and she was losing her grip on reality?
She couldn’t walk away and go back home as if nothing had happened. Everything that had occurred up until now seemed to be pointing in this direction, as if the ending would be here at this house. It made sense in her jagged mind. The incidents happened more here than anywhere else. They were more lively, brighter and in greater detail. She could smell the surrounding scents, feel the other people around her, reach out and touch everything, unlike the visions she’d had earlier in San Francisco. They’d only been like a disjointed dream then. Scary enough, but she knew they were the stuff nightmares were made of. Now she was smack bang in the middle of it.
Nor could she bring two elderly, past staff members here and lose the plot in front of them. She’d make it up to them another day once she knew what was going on. They’d be disappointed, but it couldn’t be helped.
She was surprised to see Pete’s ute in front of the house after his comments yesterday. Billie parked the car and got out. She brushed off the early morning chill on her arms and took her time walking up the front steps to the door. It stood slightly ajar and she pushed it open, calling out to the builder. When he didn’t respond, she stood in the hallway, debating where to go first. No point going back upstairs where she was yesterday. That hadn’t ended well.
Bedrooms still seemed the logical place to start. She might be able to find some hint of where the girls had gone by looking through their belongings. A brochure, a ticket or a note to themselves or better yet, a diary. That was if she could find the right rooms. Deciding on this course, Billie brushed off the foreboding tugging at her shirt tails and hurried up the stairs. She strode past the sitting room and barely glanced at the portraits lining the walls.
As she passed the corner of the gallery, she heard sounds from downstairs followed by a muffled voice. Pete was hard at it trying to get the place ready and she made a mental note to catch up with him again before she left.
The lights flickered at the corner of the hallway and startled her. Maybe the sparky had showed up. That should make the builder happy. The sound of voices came from an alcove set back from the main gallery, tucked away almost out of sight. If the lights hadn’t come on she would have missed it. Eager to discover where the door led, she hurried over, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Billie reached for the doorhandle and gave it a shove, meeting resistance. Damn, one more for Pete. Determined now to see what was behind the door, she pushed with her shoulder and stumbled when it gave way. Darkness hugged down a set of narrow stairs. Could this be the servants’ way downstairs so they had access to the top floor without using the main staircase?
She ran her finger over the peeling wallpaper searching for the light switch, found it and crossed her fingers it would work. Bingo, a flicker of pale-yellow gave her enough light to see the sharp descent down to a small landing and beyond that another door. Her footsteps loud and hollow in her ears as she made her way down, hands either side of her on the wall, vertigo threatening in the steep confined staircase. You can do this, toughen up, Billie.
At a small landing, she faced a door. The voices were clearer now, an argument in progress by the sound of it, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The closed-in pressure on her chest started to creep around her ribs, tightening like a steel band around her lungs and she resisted the urge to abandon her hunt for answers.
This door refused to cooperate. It was firmly stuck. She slapped her hands on it, calling out as panic bubbled to the surface, refused to stay down. She wasn’t going back upstairs. It would be quicker to get out this way. Besides, the roof loomed over her head and she couldn’t face passing under the low ceiling again. Billie only needed the builder to help her open the stuck door. “Pete, hey, Pete. Help me out here. The door’s stuck.” She slammed her fists on the timber, almost at screaming point.
Her breaths came in ragged fashion now, rasping in her tightening throat. “Pete. Open the fucking door!” She banged clenched fists on the dark panels, screaming in frustration, tears flowing down her cheeks. The strap of her camera caught around the side of her throat and she wrenched it free, but it made no difference to the panic swamping her.
“Let me out of here! Open the door.” Her vision started to fade, the dark sucking her down. A shimmer of
