The House of Wood (8 page)

She slammed her fists down hard
on the dresser.

Becky jumped. “What the
hell?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” She
didn’t know what to say. A clap of thunder filled the empty void
left by her silence. “I need to do this.”

“Okay,” Becky replied with a
gentle smile. “If you’re going to do this, then that top is all
wrong.”

***

It took another forty-five
minutes for Rachel to finish getting ready. The two girls had
turned it in to quite a jovial event, laughing and joking. It had
lifted her spirits. Her stomach still churned and her palms were
becoming damper with every passing minute. But she was smiling.

“How do I look?” she asked,
giving a twirl.

“You look awesome,” Becky
replied with an approving look. “Still sure you want to do
this?”

“I’m sure.”

Rachel sat down in the chair,
her eyes checking the clock every thirty seconds.

A watched pot never boils.

What an odd phrase to pop in to
her head, she thought. She’d heard someone say it once, but
couldn’t remember who? She pushed it from her thoughts. The clock
said it was nine.

“What’re you doing tonight,
Becca-Boo?

“I don’t know,” Becky replied.
“I’ll probably stay here.”

“You could go down to Logan’s
Bar. It’s pretty cool in there.”

“But I’d be alone.” She let out
a sigh. “I’m better off here.”

“I tell you what.” Rachel
hopped out the chair and went over to a pad on the bedside table. A
couple of seconds later she handed Becky a piece of paper with a
phone number on it.

Two minutes past nine.

“Ring that number,” She said,
returning to her chair.

“What is it?” Becky asked.

“It’s Nathan’s phone number.
Ask him out.”

“I can’t, we just met. Besides,
I don’t think he’s interested in me.”

“I think you should give it a
shot,” Rachel countered. She looked around the boring room. There
wasn’t even a T.V. “It beats sitting around here all night.”

Five past nine.

“You really think I
should?”

“Go for it.”

Becky pulled out her cell phone
and dialled the numbers. Rachel waited in silence. Nothing was
happening.

“He’s not answering.”

“Keep trying,” Rachel
urged.

“But, what if he’s -“ She
stopped. “Hello, is that Nathan Ross? It’s Becky.”

Rachel took herself off to the
bathroom to give her friend some privacy. She felt good. If she
could set those two up, then maybe Nathan would get back to his old
self; the sweet, fun loving guy she had known in High School.

She glanced at her watch. It
was ten past nine. Where the hell was David? She wondered. She was
certain he said he’d be by at nine. He was only down the corridor.
Should she wander down the hall and see? What if he was stuck at
work? He didn’t have her number, she realised. He would have no way
of letting her know if he was going to be late.

Becky bounded in to the room,
grabbing Rachel’s arms. “Nathan said yes, Nathan said yes, Nathan
said yes.”

Rachel laughed at her friend’s
antics. It was good to be laughing. “That’s awesome, honey. Are you
going to Logan’s?”

“We sure are,” Becky replied,
excitement sprawled all over her face. Her eyes suddenly opened
wide. “Hey, maybe you and David could join us later? Make it a
foursome?”

“That’s if he ever turns up.”
Another two minutes had flown by. Something was amiss, she could
feel it. “I’m going to go down to David’s room. He should be here
by now.”

“Want me to come with?”

“Nah, it’s okay. You stay here
and get ready. If I find him, I’ll pop back in before we
leave.”

“Alright.”

Rachel took one last look at
her watch. It was a quarter past nine. The storm was getting worse.
Deep down, she silently preyed nothing was wrong.

***

The upstairs corridor of the
bed and breakfast was long and dark. It went into a ‘T’ junction at
either end; one way led to more rooms, the other, stairs and a
storage cupboard. The décor was much the same as the ground floor.
Old. The difference was that it didn’t have the same welcoming
charm. It was more like a narrow tunnel screaming for people to
turn back. Rachel on the other hand, couldn’t. Not if she wanted
answers.

She made her way down the
narrow passage, heading towards the end with more rooms. All she
knew was David’s room was to the right. With any luck, she thought,
he would be out of his room before she got there.

Dreary faces peered out of
ominous grey portraits as she passed by. There was something about
black and white pictures that had always unnerved her. She guessed
it was because the people in them were usually dead. Ghosts. She
shuddered at the thought. They seemed to be even more creepy in the
muted, sulphurous yellow light of the hall.

She continued, one step at a
time, down the long passage. She could hear the wind howling
outside, as it rushed through the old cracks of the building. The
sound reminded her of laughter. Maniacal laughter. The kind she had
heard before.

There it was again. The image
of a whitewashed wooden house in her mind’s eye. Her heart rate
quickened. Blood pounded in her ears. A picture of Jesus on the
crucifix glared at her with his condemning eyes.

You’ll burn, bitch!

The lights flickered. Howling.
Laughter.

You’ll burn in hell!

Rachel’s breathing was coming
in rapid bursts. The eyes. Oh my God, those eyes.

She groped her way along the
cold wall, as she tried to turn back. Disorientated. Tiny beads of
sweat had formed on her forehead. The corridor had started to spin.
Her voice was stunted. She couldn’t call out. There was a face.
His
face.

“Rachel, are you alright?”

She screamed before the
darkness took her. The last thing she saw was David catching her in
his arms.

Then nothing.

Chapter
Eight

Complete absence of light. The
void. Gasping for air. Old faces stare back from the darkness.
Submersion. Minutes pass. A watched pot never boils. Chelsea. Dark
ominous windows. Heat. The family portrait. Fire all around. No, I
don't love you. The swing. Lots of birds. Seconds. Blackbirds.
Those eyes like cold steel. Burn in hell, bitch. The dolls. Tim.
Blood. So much blood. Justin. Stop.

***

“Rach, oh my God, Rachel wake
up.”

“Rachel, can you hear me?” It
was David’s voice. “I think she's coming round. Can you hear me,
Rachel?”

Rachel gave several rapid
blinks, her mind still not fixed on the present. She was dimly
aware of Becky and David hovering over her at the side of the bed.
Her head was pounding. She felt as though the local marching band
was playing its first gig in there.

She opened her eyes. “Wh-what
happened? I was just in the hallway, looking for David.”

“I’m here," David replied. “It
seems to me as though you fainted. Do you remember anything?"

“No, not really," Rachel
replied. "All I can remember is walking down the hallway. I must’ve
had a dizzy spell."

“Can you sit?" Becky asked, her
face full of anxiety.

She sat up on the bed. Her eyes
hadn't quite focused properly yet, but she could feel herself
slowly coming back to normal. The storm outside seemed to have
subsided.

"The colour seems to be coming
back to your cheeks."

"Thank God," Becky exclaimed.
"Do you feel better?"

“Much…” She still felt woozy.
“Thank you.”

“I think maybe we should give
dinner a miss tonight," David said. "It's probably best you stay in
bed and rest.”

“I’m fine. I just need a few
minutes to tidy myself up.”

“I don't think that's a good
idea, Rach. You should listen to David, he's a doctor."

Rachel turned to look at him.
She still couldn't work out what it was that was drawing her ever
closer to him. Like a moth to a flame. His face was grave. It had a
familiar look even though she had never met him before. “I’ll be
fine." She looked at her watch. “If we hurry we can still make the
reservation."

“Rachy-Bear -“

“Becky, I'm all right. Please,
stop fussing over me." She took her friend’s hand in hers.
"Besides, you have your date to think about.”

“I know that look," Becky
replied with a grin. “But only if you're positive?"

“I am.”

"In that case doc, she's all
yours."

“This is against my better
judgement, but…” He took one look at Rachel, her eyes bursting with
hope. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

David left the room, closing
the white door behind him. Rachel moved with caution, as she got
out of bed feeling strange. It was a mixture of relief and anxiety.
Her image looked back at her from the cracked mirror. She was at a
crossroads. She could feel it. If she got everything off of her
chest tonight, everything that had built up over the last three
years, then she would be cleansed. Her demons would be gone and it
wouldn't matter if the house was still out there, or not.

"Are you sure you want to do
this?"

"Positive."

She said goodbye to Becky and
left, telling her to not wait up.

The corridor seemed less
oppressive, but Rachel still didn’t feel like hanging around. She
fixed her eyes forward and made her way done the stairs, as quickly
as she could without showing any outward signs of fear. Her feet
slowed at the bottom. Mrs Ryan was standing there, her brow
furrowed in to a deep scowl.

“I hope you’re not planning to
return late tonight. The door will be locked at eleven.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs
Ryan,” Rachel replied, walking straight past.

The old lady grabbed her by the
wrist.

“I warned you,” she spat. “I’m
not having any of your trouble disturbing the other guests.”

Rachel snatched her arm back
and rubbed at the finger marks around her wrists. Her eyes were
cold with hatred, as she starred hard at the woman.

“Look, you spiteful old bitch,
I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve your scorn, but I’ve
had enough. You have no idea what happened to me, or my friends,
only what the damn gossips have told you.” She leant forward to
within an inch of the trembling woman’s face. “Now back off!”

Feeling satisfied she spun on
her heels and walked out, leaving Mrs Ryan standing there, one hand
holding the banister. Her other hand was clutching at a cross
around her neck.

***

Rachel was glad the storm had
subsided. She hated night driving at the best of times, let alone
in the rain. It was still spitting a light drizzle; the kind that
was more refreshing than a hindrance. Especially, after the high
temperature. Grey clouds still hung in the air, sliding across the
sky. The soft sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd playing
Freebird
drifted lazily out of the stereo speakers.
She found herself dropping off to sleep.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”
David asked, never removing his eyes from the road. “It’s not too
late to turn back.”

“Honestly, I’m fine.”

She forced herself to stare out
of the window in order to stay awake, as the black Toyota Camry
cruised down Main Street. More familiar sights streamed past her
vision, just like the night she and Becky arrived in town. Fred's
Milkshake Bar, where they used to hang out as teenagers, sipping on
thick chocolate shakes, or root beer floats; the Fifties style
diner, where she had her tenth birthday; Annette’s Boudoir. Her
prom dress came from there. All the memories flooded her mind. It
was as if she had stepped back in time. The time before everything
changed.

An unfamiliar sensation came
over her. Deep down, she missed this place. The sleepy little town
of Willows Peak was her home. She had grown up here. She belonged
here.

Just before they broke through
the outskirts of town, David turned into the car park adjacent to
Costello’s Authentic Italian Bistro. He brought the car to a
halt.

“Well, here we are. Have you
eaten here before?"

“No, I haven't,” Rachel
replied, looking around at the squat brick building. “I don't think
it was here when I left.”

“Shall we go in?”

“Let’s.”

The two of them got out of the
car, a small beep announced it was locked. The chilled drops of
rain washed away Rachel's sleepiness, as she walked towards the
entrance of the restaurant. David offered her his arm and she
gladly took it. He's such a gentleman, she realised, a small smile
pulling back the corners of her lips. He had even offered to give
Becky a lift, but she insisted on getting a cab. Rachel hoped that
her friend had found Logan’s and not got lost. The thought of her
out on the streets late at night, was worrying. Especially in this
town. No, she thought. Becky would be fine.

As they walked through the
entrance, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was
it, she thought. There was no going back now.

The interior of the restaurant
had a rustic Italian feel to it, with lots of wooden beams and
stonework around the walls. Deep green velvet cushions covered the
chairs. Across the back of the wall was a perfectly polished bar;
the barman was rushing from one end to the other, intent on keeping
up with the drink orders. Next to that, was the open kitchen
dominated by its huge clay oven; the chef hollering instructions to
the other kitchen staff. Candle flames swayed in the subdued
atmosphere like a hypnotist’s pendant. A rotund maître d' greeted
them, looking down his nose.

“Good evening, may I help
you?”

“Yes, table for two,” David
replied. “Under the name of Cochrane.”

Rachel watched, as the dumpy
little man took his time looking through his reservation book. She
hated snobbery with a passion.