Page 45 of From the Darkness

“Daddy got me Harry Potter. We were reading it—when he stopped being here during the day.”

“I love Harry Potter. I’d love to finish reading it to you.”

“That means you’re going to be here a long time.”

“Yes.”

Bree spent the rest of the evening with Dinah, even overseeing her bath and getting her ready for bed.

By the time she’d tucked the child in, she was tired—but pleased. She’d worked hard at making friends with the girl, and it looked like her efforts were paying off. She wanted to help Dinah, but she was also thinking that she might get some vital information from the girl—information Dinah might not even know she possessed.

Back in her room, she lay down with her clothing on since she was planning to get up later. Outside she could hear the waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs. But from time to time she was aware of creaking noises that made her wonder if someone was out in the hall.

In the darkened room, she dozed, floating on a current of fatigue. The texture of her unconsciousness changed subtly. A hand touched her hair, and warm breath flirted with her ear.

“Thank you,” Troy murmured.

“For what?” she asked, her voice sleepy, her eyes closed. In some part of her mind, she was thinking that after that conversation with Mrs. Martindale, perhaps she should be afraid of him, but he’d never hurt her. And he’d had plenty of chances.

“Thank you for making friends with Dinah,” he answered. “You’re good for her. She needs . . . someone who cares about her.”

“I do!”

He kissed the tender line where her hair met her cheek, and she drifted, enjoying the sensations.

“Mrs. Martindale is . . . okay. But I don’t trust her,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked, holding her breath, waiting for him to give her some reason to discount the housekeeper’s disturbing story.

“Sometimes I think I know why. Other times . . . it’s just a feeling.”

She sighed. She wanted to ask him about the car accident. Perhaps she didn’t because she was afraid to hear the answer. She might have reached to turn on the bedside light. But she remembered what had happened before when she’d tried to get a good look at him. He’d simply vanished. And she didn’t want that now. So, she lay quietly in bed, enjoying the feeling of being close to him.

Still, she couldn’t simply remain passive. “Troy,” she murmured, “something bad happened. In this room. I . . . heard it . .when I was in the bathroom. Then I came bursting through the door, and nobody was here. I decided that I wasn’t really hearing something that had just happened. Instead, it was something that took place . . . earlier.”

When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Did you make me hear that? Did you remember being attacked and picked that way to tell me about it? Do you . . . have . . . special powers?” she said, wondering if he’d admit it to her.

“Special powers? What do you mean?”

“You can do things—like that trick in the grove of making the pine needles and stuff swirl. How did you do that?”

“I don’t know. I just did it.”

She felt a surge of victory. He’d admitted that much to her, even if he wasn’t going to tell her how he’d accomplished the feat.

Encouraged, she went back to her previous topic. “Then this afternoon, you brought me the sound images of . . . a . . . a . . . confrontation here.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?”

“It’s like the pine needles. I just do it.”

“Who was here with you?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see it. I can only hear it.”

“Thank you for telling me. It makes me feel closer to you.”

---