A Very Gothic Christmas, Page 2

  “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Trevor quipped, with a shaky smile.

  Jessica immediately hugged him to her. “Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my,” she quoted just to watch the grin spread across his face.

  “I can’t believe he lives here.” Tara sniffed.

  “It’s beautiful during the day,” Jessica insisted, “give it a chance. It’s such a wonderful place. The island’s small, but it has everything.”

  They followed a bend, stumbling a little over the uneven ground. Trevor’s flashlight cast a meager circle of light on the ground in front of them, which only served to make the forest darker and more frightening as it surrounded them. “Are you certain you know the way, Jess? You haven’t been here in years,” he asked.

  “I know this path with my eyes closed,” Jessica assured him. Which wasn’t exactly the truth. In the old days, the path had been well manicured and had veered off toward the cliff. This one was overgrown and led through the thick part of the forest toward the interior of the island, rising steadily uphill. “If you listen, you can hear the water rushing off to our left. The stream is large right now, but in the summer it isn’t so strong or deep. There are ferns all along the bank.” She wanted to keep talking, hoping it would keep fear at bay.

  All three of them were breathing hard from the climb, and they paused to catch their breath under a particularly large tree that helped to shelter them from the driving rain. Trevor shined the light up the massive tree trunk and into the canopy, making light patterns to amuse Tara. As he whirled the light back down the trunk, the small circle illuminated the ground a few feet beyond where they were standing.

  Jessica stiffened, jammed a fist in her mouth to keep from screaming, and yanked the flashlight from Trevor to shine it back to the spot he had accidentally lit up. For one terrible moment she could hardly breathe. She was certain she had seen someone staring at them. Someone in a heavily hooded long black cloak that swirled around the shadowy figure as if he were a vampire from one of the movies the twins were always watching. Whoever it was had been staring malevolently at them. He had been holding something in his hands that glinted in the flash of light.

  Her hand was shaking badly but she managed to find the place where he had been with the flashlight’s small circle of light. It was empty. There was nothing, no humans, no vampires in hooded cloaks. She continued to search through the trees, but there was nothing.

  Trevor reached out and caught her wrist, pulling her hand gently to him, taking the flashlight. “What did you see, Jess?” He sounded very calm.

  She looked at them then, ashamed of showing such naked fear, ashamed the island could reduce to her to that terrified teenager she once had been. She had hoped for so much: to bring them all together, to find a way to bring Dillon back to the world. But instead she was hallucinating. That shadowy figure belonged in her nightmares, not in the middle of a terrible rainstorm.

  The twins were staring up at her for direction. Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know, a shadow maybe. Let’s just get to the house.” She pushed them ahead of her, trying to guard their backs, trying to see in front of them, on both sides.

  With every step she took, she was more convinced she hadn’t seen a shadow. She hadn’t been hallucinating. She was certain something, someone had been watching them. “Hurry, Trevor, I’m cold,” she urged.

  As they topped the rise, the sight of the house took her breath away. It was huge, rambling, several stories high with round turrets and great chimneys. The original house had been completely destroyed in the fire and here, at the top of the rise, surrounded by timber, Dillon had built the house of his boyhood dreams. He had loved the Gothic architecture, the lines and carvings, the vaulted ceilings, and intricate passageways. She remembered him talking with such enthusiasm, spreading pictures on the counter in the kitchen for her and her mother to admire. Jessica had teased him unmercifully about being a frustrated architect and he had always laughed and replied he belonged in a castle or a palace, or that he was a Renaissance man. He would chase her around with an imaginary sword and talk of terrible traps in secret passageways.

  Rita Fitzpatrick had cried over this house, telling Jessica how Dillon had clung to his dreams of music and how he had claimed that having the house built was symbolic of his rise from the ashes. But at some point during Dillon’s months at the hospital, after he’d endured the pain and agony of such terrible burns and after he realized that his life would never return to normal, the house had become for him, and all who knew him, a symbol of the darkness that had crept into his soul. Looking at it, Jessica felt fear welling inside her, a foreboding that Dillon was a very changed man.

  They stared at the great hulk, half expecting to see a ghost push open one of the shutters and warn them off. The house was dark with the exception of two windows on the third story facing them, giving the effect of two eyes staring back at them. Winged creatures seemed to be swarming up its sides. The mottled light from the moon lent the stone carvings a certain animation.

  “I don’t want to go in there,” Tara said, backing away. “It looks . . .” she trailed off, slipping her hand into her brother’s.

  “Evil,” Trevor supplied. “It does, Jess, like one of those haunted houses in the old movies. It looks like it’s staring at us.”

  Jessica bit at her lower lip, glancing behind them, her gaze searching, wary. “You two have seen too many scary movies. No more for either of you.” The house looked far worse than anything she had ever seen in a movie. It looked like a brooding hulk, waiting silently for unsuspecting prey. Gargoyles crouched in the eaves, staring with blank eyes at them. She shook her head to clear the image. “No more movies, you’re making me see it that way.” She forced a small, uneasy laugh. “Mass hallucination.”

  “We’re a small mass, but it works for me,” there was a trace of humor in Trevor’s voice. “I’m freezing; we may as well go inside.”

  No one moved. They continued to stare up at the house in silence, at the strange animating effect of the wind and the moon on the carvings. Only the sound of the relentless rain filled the night. Jessica could feel her heart slamming hard in her chest. They couldn’t go back. There was something in the woods. There was no boat to go back to, only the wind and piercing rain. But the house seemed to stare at them with that same malevolence as the figure in the woods.

  Dillon had no inkling they were near. She thought it would be a relief to reach him, that she would feel safe, but instead, she was frightened of his anger. Frightened of what he would say in front of the twins. He wouldn’t be pleased that she hadn’t warned him of their arrival, but if she had called, he would have told her not to come. He always told her not to come. Although she tried to console herself with the fact that his last few letters had been more cheerful and more interested in the twins, she couldn’t deceive herself into believing he would welcome them.

  Trevor was the first to move, patting Jessica on the back in reassurance as he took a step around her toward the house. Tara followed him, and Jessica brought up the rear. At some point the area around the house had been landscaped, the bushes shaped, and beds of flowers planted, but it looked as though it hadn’t been tended in quite a while. A large sculpture of leaping dolphins rose up out of a pond on the far side of the front yard. There were statues of fierce jungle cats strewn about the wild edges of the yard, peering out of the heavier brush.

  Tara moved closer to Jessica, a small sound of alarm escaping her as they gained the slate walkway. All of them were violently shivering, their teeth were chattering, and Jessica told herself it was the rain and cold. They made it to within yards of the wraparound porch with its long thick columns when they heard it. A low, fierce growl welled up. It came out of the wind and rain, impossible to pinpoint but swelling in volume.

  Tara’s fingers dug into Jessica’s arms. “What do we do?” she whimpered. Jessica could feel the child shivering convulsively. “We keep walking. Trevor, have your flashlight h
andy—you may need it to hit the thing over the head if it attacks us.” She continued walking toward the house, taking the twins with her, moving slowly but steadily, not wanting to trigger a guard dog’s aggressive behavior by running.

  The growl rose to a roar of warning. Lights unexpectedly flooded the lawn and porch, revealing the large German shepherd, head down, teeth bared, snarling at them. He stood in the thick brush just off the porch, his gaze focused on them as they gained the steps. The dog took a step toward them just as the front door was flung open.

  Tara burst into tears. Jessica couldn’t tell if they were tears of relief or fear. She embraced the girl protectively.

  “What the hell?” A slender man with shaggy blond hair greeted them from the doorway. “Shut up, Toby,” he commanded the dog.

  “Get them the hell off my property,” another voice roared from inside the house.

  Jessica stared at the man in the doorway. “Paul?” There was utter relief in her voice. Her shoulders sagged and suddenly tears burned in her own eyes. “Thank God you’re here! I need to get the kids into a hot shower and warm them up immediately. We’re freezing.”

  Paul Ritter, a former band member and long-time friend of Dillon Wentworth, gaped at her and the twins. “My God, Jess, it’s you, all grown up. And these are Dillon’s children?” He hastily stepped back to allow them entrance. “Dillon, we have more company. We need heat, hot showers, and hot chocolate!” As wet as she was, Paul gathered Jessica in his arms. “I can’t believe you three are here. It’s so good to see you. Dillon didn’t say a word to me that you were coming. I would have met you at the dock.” He shut the door on the wind and rain. The sudden stillness silenced him.

  Jessica stared up at the shadowy figure on the staircase. For a moment she stopped breathing. Dillon always had that effect on her. He lounged against the wall, looking elegant and lazy, classic Dillon. The light spilled across his face, his angel’s face. Thick blue-black hair fell in waves to his shoulders, as shiny as a raven’s wing. His sculptured face, masculine and strong, had that hint of five o’clock shadow along his jaw. His mouth was so sensual, his teeth amazingly white. But it was his eyes, vivid blue, stunningly blue, burning with intensity that always mesmerized everyone, including Jessica.

  Jessica felt Tara stir beside her, staring up in awe at her father. Trevor made a soft sound, almost of distress. The blue eyes stared down at the three of them. She saw joy, a welcoming expression of surprise dawning on Dillon’s face. He stepped forward and gripped the banister with both hands, a heart-stopping grin on his face. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and his bare hands and arms were starkly revealed as if the spotlight had picked up and magnified every detail. Webs of scarred flesh covered his arms, wrists, and hands. His fingers were also scarred and misshapen. The contrast between his face and his body was so great it was shocking. That angel’s face and the twisted, ridged arms and hands.

  Tara shuddered visibly and flung herself into Jessica’s arms. At once Dillon slipped back into the shadows, the welcoming smile fading as if it had never been. The burning blue eyes had gone from joyful to ice-cold instantly. His gaze raked Jessica’s upturned face, slid over the twins, and came back to her. His sensual mouth tightened ominously. “They’re freezing, Paul; explanations can wait. Please show them to the bathrooms so they can get out of those wet clothes. You’ll need to prepare a couple more bedrooms.” He started up the darkened stairway, taking care to stay well in the shadows. “And send Jess up to me the minute she’s warm enough.” His voice was still that perfect blend of smoke and edginess, a lethal combination that could brush over her skin like the touch of fingers.

  Her heart beating in her throat, Jessica stared after him. She turned to look at Paul. “Why didn’t you tell me? He can’t play, can he? My God, he can’t play his music.” She knew what music meant to Dillon. It was his life. His soul. “I didn’t know. My mother never brought me back. She came the one time with the twins, but I was ill. When I tried to see him on my own, he refused.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tara was crying again. “I didn’t mean to do that. I couldn’t stop looking at his hands. They didn’t look human. It was repulsive. I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t. I’m sorry Jessie.”

  Jessica knew the child needed comfort badly. Tara felt guilty and was tired, frightened, and very cold. Shaken by what she had discovered, Jessica had to fight back her own tears. “It’s all right, honey, we’ll find a way to fix this. You need a hot shower and a bed. Everything will be better in the morning.” She looked at Trevor. He was staring up the stairway after his father as if mesmerized. “Trev? You okay?”

  He nodded, clearing his throat. “I’m fine, but I don’t think he is.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” she pointed out. Jessica looked at Paul over Tara’s bent head. She didn’t believe for a minute that they’d find a way to fix the damage Tara had done, and looking at Paul’s face, she guessed, neither did he. She forced a smile. “Tara, you might not remember him, you were just a little girl, but this is Paul Ritter. He was one of the original members of the HereAfter band, right from the very beginning. He’s a very good friend of your family.”

  Paul grinned at the girl. “The last time I saw you, you were five years old with a mop of curly black hair.” He held out his hand to Trevor. “You had the same mop and the same curls.”

  “Still do,” Trevor said, grinning back.

  chapter

  2

  THICK STEAM CURLED through the bathroom, filling every corner like an unnatural fog. The tiled bathroom was large and beautiful with its deep bathtub and hanging plants. After her long, hot shower, Jessica was feeling more human, but it was impossible to see much with the steam so thick. She towel-dried the mirror, staring at the reflection of her pale face. She was exhausted, wanting only to sleep.

  The last thing she wanted to do was face Dillon Wentworth looking like a frightened child. Her green eyes were too big for her face, her mouth too generous, her hair too red. She had always wished for the sophisticated, elegant look, but instead, she got the girl-next-door look. She peered closer at her reflection, hoping she seemed more mature. Without make-up she appeared younger than her twenty-five years. Jessica sighed, and shook her head in exasperation. She was no longer a child of eighteen, but a grown woman who had helped to raise Tara and Trevor. She wanted Dillon to take her seriously, to listen to what she had to say and not dismiss her as he might a teenager.

  “Don’t be dramatic, Jess,” she cautioned aloud, “don’t use words like ‘life and death’. Just be matter-of-fact.” She was trembling as she pulled on a dry pair of jeans, her hands shaking in spite of the hot shower. “Don’t give him a chance to call you hysterical or imaginative.” She hated those words. The police had used them freely when she’d consulted them after the twins had been sent the old tabloids and the phone calls had started. She was certain the police thought her a publicity-seeker.

  Before she did anything else, she needed to assure herself the twins were being taken care of. Paul had shown her to a room on the second floor, a large suite with a bathroom and sitting room much like in a hotel. Jessica knew why Dillon had his private home built that way. In the beginning, he would have clung to the idea that he would play again. He would compose and record, and his home would be filled with guests. She ached for him, ached for the talent, the musical genius in him that must tear at his soul night and day. She couldn’t imagine Dillon without his music.

  She wandered down the wide hallway to the curving staircase. The stairs led up another story or down to the main floor. Jessica was certain she would find the twins in the kitchen and Dillon up on the third floor so she went downstairs, delaying the inevitable. The house was beautiful, all wood and high ceilings and stained glass. It had endless rooms that invited her to explore, but the sound of Tara’s laughter caught at her and she hurried into the kitchen.

  Paul grinned at her in greeting. “Did you follow the smell of chocolate?” He was s
till as she remembered him, too thin, too bleached, with a quick, engaging smile that always made her want to smile with him.

  “No, the sound of laughter.” Jessica kissed Tara and ruffled her hair. “I love to hear you laugh. Are you feeling better, honey?” She looked better, not so pale and cold.

  Tara nodded. “Much. Chocolate always helps, doesn’t it?”

  “They’re both chocolate freaks,” Trevor informed Paul. “You have no idea how scary it gets if there’s no chocolate in the house.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Mr. Ritter,” Tara scoffed. “He loves chocolate, too.”

  Paul burst out laughing. “I haven’t had anyone call me Mr. Ritter in years, Tara. Call me Paul.” He leaned companionably against the counter next to Jessica. “I had the distinct feeling Dillon had no idea you were coming. What brought you?”

  “Christmas, of course,” Jessica said brightly. “We wanted a family Christmas.”

  Paul smiled, but it didn’t chase the shadows from his dark eyes. He glanced at the twins and bit off what he might have said. “We have more company now than we’ve had in years. The house is full, sort of old home week. Everyone must have had the same idea. Christmas, huh?” He rubbed his jaw and winked at Tara. “You want a tree and decorations and the works?”

  Tara nodded solemnly. “I want a big tree and all of us decorating it like we did when Mama Rita was alive.”

  Jessica looked around the large kitchen, closer to tears than she would have liked. “It looks the same in here, Paul. It’s the same kitchen that was in the old house.” She smiled at the twins. “Do you remember?” The thought that Dillon had had her mother’s domain reproduced exactly warmed her heart. They had spent five happy years in the kitchen. Vivian had never once entered it. They had often joked that she probably didn’t even know the way. But Tara, Trevor, and Jessica had spent most of their time in or near that sanctuary. It was a place of safety, of peace. A refuge when Dillon was on the road and the house was no longer a home.