Page 47 of Jane Deyre
“Promise.” With a finger, she marks her chest with an “X.” “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Her words send a shiver down my spine. How many times did John Reed make me say them to his face while squeezing my neck or holding me down with his weight? Make me promise not to tell his parents about the many horrible things he did to me. I had to swear to him I wouldn’t and keep my word because I knew if I broke it, the consequences could be deadly.
Adele snaps me back to the moment. “Can I go first?”
“Okay.”
With a glint of mischief in her eyes, she skedaddles off. I count to ten and then say, “Ready or not, here I come.”
Five minutes into my search for Adele, I’m having second thoughts. The house is bigger than I thought with tons of nooks and crannies. Downstairs, there are a dozen rooms in total, not counting the myriad bathrooms. In addition to the great room, dining room, and kitchen, I discover a library, breakfast room, billiards room, music room, conservatory... and more. There’s even a ballroom and home theater. Many of the rooms look like they haven’t been used in years. Faded curtains are drawn, the floorboards creak, and cobwebs lace corners. The air is damp and smells musty. Shadows dance on the walls like specters, and my footsteps echo in my ears. The rain continues to pound the house, the sound of the incessant downpour adding to my unease. Unlike yesterday when the house was bathed in scattered sunlight, Thornhill feels haunted, ghosts circling in the air, skeletons hiding in the closets. For all I know, there’s a secret room behind a bookshelf like in a horror movie. I should have trusted my gut and said no to the game. My nerve endings buzz with every step I take. I can’t stop shivering and hug myself to stay warm.
“Adele, hot or cold?”
Not a peep from her. She’s nowhere in sight.
Hugging myself harder, I enter what looks to be an old speakeasy, the smell of stale cigars mixing with that of age-old booze. Windowless and dark, the walls paneled. On a table, a half-smoked cigar sits in an ashtray next to a half-drunk tumbler of some brownish liquor. Dust-ridden bottles line the bar, their brilliant jewel-toned glass lost beneath the gray-white layer. A spider shoots down in front of me. I let out a shriek, then brush it off my shoulder.
I’ve had enough. “Adele, come out, come out from wherever you are!” I yell, fleeing the room. Despite the size of the house, she couldn’t have gone far on my count to ten. I hurry back to the great room and give it another thorough look-through. Peering behind couches and curtains and under consoles and tables. No Adele. A mixture of frustration and fear brews inside me as I make my way to the dining room.
Ms. Fairfax is still there. Now playing a game of solitaire. A teacup and saucer next to her. Flipping over cards, she makes eye contact with me.
“Have you seen Adele? I can’t find her.”
She shoots me a scathing look as if I’ve interrupted life-or-death surgery.
“What do you mean you can’t find her?” She lifts the steaming cup of tea off the table. “I should fire your sorry—”
And shrieks before she can finish her sentence. “Dear God. There’s a rat!” Her eyes wide with terror, she leaps up from her chair with such force she knocks it backward to the floor. The cup of tea falls from her hand, shattering on the table. The tea runs everywhere, soaking both the wood and the cards.
Familiar laughter sounds in my ears, and on my next rapid heartbeat, a tiny form crawls out from under the table.
Adele!
“Jane, what took you so long?”
The fear in Ms. Fairfax’s eyes has morphed into rage. Her nostrils flare as she breathes fire in and out of her nose. Her hands clench so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her steel-gray eyes become razor blades and slice into Adele.
“You despicable—”
Adele runs to my side. I take her hand. Alice’s venomous eyes pan to me.
“Get that child out of here before I hand her her head!”
“Meanie!” Adele pokes her tongue at her.
Her face reddening with rage, the fuming woman grabs the unbroken porcelain saucer and hurls it at us. It crashes against the wall and shatters into smithereens.
“Get. Out. Of. Here.” Each sharp word’s like a poisonous dart.
Holding Adele’s hand, I briskly lead her out of the room into the grand entrance. Behind me I hear the dining room door slam shut. I huff out my relief.
“Okay, Jane, your turn to hide,” says Adele cheerfully.
My nerves are still buzzing. I’ve had enough of this game. And it’s way too dangerous with Ms. Fairfax on the warpath.
“Adele, honey, why don’t we go upstairs and play Mouse Trap instead?”
She doesn’t want to. Candyland? Chutes and Ladders? Nope to all those games too.