Page 132 of The New Couple in 5B

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Rosie,” she says. “Please, just come with me.”

“I can’t,” I say. “I belong here with Chad.”

She looks back toward the room and shakes her head, then she rises, shouldering her duffel. I remember the tarot cards, how she fought in the basement, how she used to curl up beside me in bed when we were children. She’s kind and sweet, but strong and wise. My sister. I’ll always love her, but we dwell in different worlds now.

I don’t tell her that she can’t go home, that the police will need her for their investigation, that if there’s a trial, she’ll probably have to testify.

I don’t say any of that, but she seems to read my thoughts, gives me a sad nod. When she turns to walk down the hallway toward the exit, I don’t try to stop her.

Then I return to my husband and lie beside him on his bed, listen to the sound of his breath. My body aches, my head swims. When I close my eyes, I quickly fall asleep and dream of Willa.Rosie,she says, eyes red with blood, throat bruised,you’re in danger.

SIX MONTHS LATER

forty-four

“It’s great, Rosie,” says Max. “It’s truly great.”

Max and I are sitting on a bench in Madison Square Park, eating hefty burgers and crispy fries from the Shake Shack, talking about my finished manuscript.

“Really?” It’s all we ever want to hear. Unqualified raves. Writers are a fragile bunch.

“I mean it needs another pass,” he says, always the editor. “There are some things that need clarifying, flushing out. But yeah, it’s fantastic. And I love how you used your own story, your childhood, your questioning about the supernatural, your experiences at the Windermere, as the thread that ties the whole narrative together. It reads like fiction. I couldn’t put it down.”

An older man walks by us, carrying a copy ofThe Post. It features a courtroom shot of Ella looking pale and severe. “Cultist Asserts Her Innocence,” the headline reads. “Jury Deliberates.”

Charles and Abi have already been convicted of conspiracy, drug dealing and the murders of Xavier Young and Dana Lowan. Those evil eye charms were a major piece of evidence linking the two murders.

Other charges pending include blackmail, attempted murder and kidnapping. They each await sentencing—Charles apparently the mastermind, and Abi in the role of henchman.

As Detective Crowe said, Abi was deeply in debt, and the Aldridges were paying for the care of his elderly mother. He was in their thrall completely.

And the story has become one of those New York curiosities, a major topic of news, gossip, dominating headlines and morning show banter, late night television bits.

Reporters have picked up on the fact that Marc LeClerc and Charles Aldridge had mediums for mothers. Astrology night has morphed into cult meetings where residents asked the Universe for the things they wanted. And Miranda, our resident psychic, is not helping by giving interview after interview about how the Windermere is an energy vortex attracting powerful good and terrible events. The board has asked her to stop. But she keeps putting herself out there. And now there’s no one to delete her posts on the Windermere chat forum.

“And I love how you worked in the current events, even the questions that are still open,” Max goes on. “I’m guessing there’s time to add an appendix when all the court trials are done.”

I nod. “Sebastian is waiting for that. Hopefully, Ella’s trial will end today or tomorrow. And then it will be over.”

I can’t wait. It’s been exhausting—the researching, writing, testifying in court, metabolizing all the trauma, pain, still living at the Windermere.

“Are you staying? At the Windermere?” Max asks.

I nod. “It’s home. Anyway—who’s going to buy it now? With all the bad press?”

Max shrugs. “There’s always someone looking for a haunted house.”

The air is cool, and leaves fall around us. I draw in a breath and release it.

“How’s Chad doing?” he asks.

“Getting back into town today.” I glance at my phone, realize it’s almost time to meet him back at the apartment. He’s been up in the Hollows filming. I’ve been using the time to do another draft on my book. Vision and revision. We’re both in the zone, in spite of everything, working hard and honing our crafts. So far, no news on the baby front. But we’re enjoying working on it.

“You guys really got past this, didn’t you?” he asks, dropping a hand on my leg. “I’m happy for you.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” I admit. “But yeah, I think we have.”

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