Page 41 of On Thin Ice

But maybe if I could help him mend whatever inside him was broken…perhaps we could avoid the inevitable.

“See you then. Have a good weekend, Edna.”

“You too.”

And the door closed as she walked off.

I didn’t want to go up right away—because what if she forgot something she had to backtrack for? What if she hadn’t yet checked the doors like she always did when she left? What if she bothered telling Greg goodbye?

I wasn’t going to take a chance. So I spent a good fifteen minutes researching the potential value of two antique lamps before I powered down the laptop.

Ugh. That stupid laptop. Even though I’d been able to change the screensaver and background, the other woman had etched her initials with Sinclair’s into the bottom. I hadn’t noticed it at first, mainly because it was so tiny. Nowadays, I took the laptop to my room every night with the intention of checking the status of my application to DU but I always wound up in Sinclair’s bed. One morning when I’d fetched it, I noticed the etching on the back, just below the battery slot: NS + SW =4ever.

Although it seemed as if Sinclair had tried to erase her existence from the mansion, there was no denying that she’d had a presence here sometime in the past, from the laptop to the hairclip he’d used to pull back my locks the first night we’d spent together.

But it wasn’t evidence of her I wanted to find. I suspected that, if I’d asked, Sinclair would more willingly talk about her than his own family.

Finally, I crept up the stairs to the main floor, breathing in the fresh air cooling the long hallway. It was silent, although when I strained, I could hear the air moving from the vents. Still, it was so quiet, I couldn’t even hear the sounds of summer outside. Here, near the heart of the mansion, it was easy to believe this was the world, that there was nothing outside these walls.

But I wasn’t about to stay put.

I made my way into the kitchen. As always, the lights overhead popped on with my motion across the space. Not all the rooms had motion sensors but this one did, and I’d grown used to it. After walking past the island, I turned toward the pantry door, hoping that key was still hanging on a hook.

Of course, it was. I didn’t know how often Edna used it. I didn’t even know if Sinclair still locked his bedroom door when he left for the day—but, if I wasn’t mistaken, that key was a master key that would open up most if not all doors in the mansion. If I was wrong, I’d explore in Sinclair’s office again. If I couldn’t get to the key ring, I’d look up how to unlock doors without a key. The movies and television made it look so easy, but I doubted it was. Still, I would resort to that tactic if I had to.

When the lights in the pantry came on as I opened the door, I looked over at the post where I thought I’d seen the key before—but it wasn’t there. I got closer, realizing there wasn’t even a hook on it—so I looked at the next post and there it was: a big black key with the letters MSTR etched in it near the top. From here, I couldn’t read it but when I got close enough to pull it off the hook, it was easy to see the letters.

I prayed I was right—but there was only one way to find out.

As I crept through the main hallway again, I noticed that the sound of my footsteps was imperceptible. It dawned on me that that must have been why the shoes I wore were called sneakers, because they made it easy to sneak around undetected. And even though I had no chance of getting caught, I found it comforting that I wouldn’t be making a lot of noise. Even walking up the marble staircase, my steps sounded as soft as a feather stroking a baby’s cheek.

My heart was beating harder now that I was again on the second floor of the east wing. All the memories of being here before—and getting caught—rushed back to me, but I only had to will myself to relax. This plan was foolproof.

Before moving to rooms I hadn’t seen, I wanted to check the key first. If it didn’t work, I’d have to return it and find the big ring. So I picked the first door, the one that used to belong to Sinclair’s oldest brother, and held the key up to the lock.

It slid in without a hitch.

But fitting didn’t mean it would work, so I turned it and felt satisfaction when I heard a click. To confirm, I turned the doorknob.

It worked.

Locking the door again, I walked down the hall, this time paying attention to the layout—and, as I made my way east, I confirmed what I’d suspected, that this wing was the mirror image of the west.

Only it wasn’t—and I again confirmed it when I got to the end of the hall. A room was missing, the one that should have been to the north just before the big door to the master bedroom. Now I was more curious than ever. More than any other room on this side, I wanted to see inside the master bedroom. I’d already formed an image in my head based on the journals and even Sinclair’s room, but I wanted to see what it really looked like.

Of course, I realized as I held the key up to the doorknob that the room may have been remodeled since the passing of Sinclair’s mother. Based on how the elder Whittier seemed to feel about his wife, it wouldn’t have surprised me a bit. Still, I was compelled to go inside that room, almost as if I would be able to channel her spirit.

But there was another reason, I realized as I turned the key in the lock. There was the gigantic question of why. Why did Sinclair forbid it? What up here was so awful that he had to pretend it didn’t exist?

That was why I couldn’t resist.

Turning the knob, I slowly pushed open the door as if I expected a ghost to greet me at the door—but there was no such thing. As I stepped into the room, I noticed that the air felt stuffy and stale—and the room was bathed in shadows. All the drapes were closed, making this room like a coffin buried deep in the earth. When I’d peeked in the other rooms a few weeks earlier, they hadn’t seemed like this at all, making me wonder if the air ducts to this room weren’t working.

Instead of turning on the light, I crossed the room, throwing open the drapes in front of the first window I reached—and I did it in several places until the space was bathed in light. Dust danced in the air in front of me, no doubt sent flying by my swift motions to pull apart the drapes. Then I checked out the window I was closest to, figuring out how to get it open. Then I opened another across the room.

Ah. Fresh air.

Although it wasn’t cool at all, there was an undeniable quality of outdoors coming inside, taking with it the dead air that felt like it had been trapped in here for years…possibly decades. Because I had no idea when this particular section of the mansion had become forbidden, I couldn’t know how long the air in this room had aged, turning sour and bitter from neglect.

---