Page 33 of From the Darkness

Taken by the same person who’d searched her suitcase the day after she arrived. Or maybe the ghost had done it!

All at once, she felt the walls closing in around her, felt her heart start to pound in her chest, and it was difficult to draw in a full breath.

She’d had panic attacks in the past—when she’d been really worried about her mom. So she recognized the symptoms.

Calm down,she ordered herself.Don’t do this to yourself. It’s not going to help. Don’t let this house and the people her get the better of you,she repeated over and over, because deep inside herself she knew that she couldn’t afford to fall apart. The old Bonnie Brennan might have crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head. At least for a while. But not Bree Brennan.

By force of will, she brought herself under control, keeping her breathing slow and even. When she was feeling more self-possessed, she thought about the phone situation at Ravencrest. There wasn’t one in here. She hadn’t seen a phone in Troy’s room, either, for that matter. If she wanted to make a call, she’d have to ask Nola—or find the estate office.

And she certainly wasn’t going to be making a call to Decorah Security in front of Nola—or Abner.

Where was Abner, anyway, she asked herself. She’d seen him only once—throwing a tantrum in the hall. Maybe he was really the guy confined to his room. And he’d gotten out the night she arrived.

She sighed, thinking that she was letting her imagination run away with her.

She clenched her teeth, then deliberately relaxed, trying to decide what action to take.

Someone had made sure she couldn’t use her cell phone. Maybe the thing to do was drive into town and use a public phone.

She glanced toward the window. Clouds had blown up since she and Dinah had walked outside that morning. The atmosphere looked dark and threatening.

But suddenly it had become important to get off the estate—now. Quickly she pulled on her light raincoat, then hurried along the hall and down the stairs. As she stepped outside, the wind almost tore the door from her hand, and she had to shove it closed. Turning, she watched the trees and bushes shivering violently in the wind. Was it just the wind? Or some supernatural force giving her a warning?

Supernatural force! Lord, she was the one losing her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she dashed to her car, inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. Once she was safely inside, she breathed out a small sigh. She’d shut away the evil influences from the house. She was safe.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes for a moment, simply absorbing the sudden feeling of security. Then she fumbled in her purse for the rental car key. But when she inserted it in the lock and turned it, nothing happened.

Carefully, Bree pulled the key out of the ignition, then inserted it again and tried to start the car a second time. But, still, there was no result.

Reaching down, she released the hood latch, then climbed out and pushed up the hood, staring at the engine.

Of course, her knowledge of machinery would fit into a pillbox. What did she expect—that someone had disabled the car and left a big red sign explaining what they’d done? Or a wire dangling, so she could figure out what had happened.

For several minutes she stared helplessly at the unfamiliar collection of parts before slamming the hood closed again. The wind had died down, and the clouds had thinned, so that the atmosphere didn’t seem quite so ominous.

Still, she saw bushes sway. Not from the wind. Someone was standing about twenty-five feet away—watching her.

Graves? Had he done something to her car.

“Graves?” she called.

He didn’t answer. Of course.

It was mind-blowing to realize that she’d been on this estate less than a week, and so many things had happened. She was tired of people doing things to her. Tired of getting caught in one crisis after another and being forced to respond—and not on her own terms.

Perhaps she was still reacting to the earlier confrontation with Nola. Then she’d forced herself to be polite and cooperative because she’d been caught in Troy’s room. But this was different. She’d been in her own car, minding her own business. Now she was mad enough to march toward the bushes, her hands on her hips.

“Come out of there and face me, you coward!” she bellowed.

In response, the watcher backed up, and she got a good look at him. It wasn’t Graves. It was the man who had been staying out of her way since that first night—Abner Sterling.

He stood for a moment, staring at her. Then he turned and started walking rapidly along the cliff.

“Come back here!” she called out again, her anger boiling up, spiraling out of control. She’d conquered the panic attacks. But now she was swept in another direction by her feeling of helplessness. When he failed to heed her order, she stomped after him, unwilling to let him disable her car—then run away.

“Come back here, you coward,” she screamed as she reached the margin of the garden area. Beyond were the headlands, the stretch of wild grass and low woody plants bordering the cliffs.

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