[Bellamy and the Brute 01.0] Bellamy and the Brute Read online

  “So… what do you guys want to do while we wait for the pizza?”

  “TV,” Max murmured before abruptly turning to make his way to the living room, leaving me alone with Emma.

  “Okay,” I muttered, watching him go.

  He stomped over to the couch and threw himself on it, slouching as he took up the remote. Turning back to Emma, I forced a smile.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me. Should we see what we can do about some cookies?”

  Her eyes widened and she smiled, bouncing up and down. “Yes, cookies!”

  “Great, help me look for ingredients.”

  Luckily, we located a tub of cookie dough in the fridge, freshly sealed. Ignoring the gut instinct telling me Hilda was going to be annoyed to find it open in the morning, I preheated the oven and let Emma help me spoon the dough onto a cookie sheet. Ezra had said I could help myself to anything in the fridge. There had been no addendum about cookies.

  By the time the pizza arrived, we had one sheet of cookies done, with another in the oven. We pigged out on pizza, cookies, and the soda we found hidden in the vegetable crisper of the fridge. Hilda wasn’t as good at hiding the sweets as she’d thought. After dinner, the kids and I settled into the upstairs den for a movie marathon. Halfway through the first movie, Emma fell asleep with her head in my lap. It took Max a little longer—nodding off toward the end of the second.

  As the end credits played in the background, I reached over and gave him a little shake to rouse him. Urging him to go get ready for bed, I then stood and carried Emma toward her bedroom. She was a tiny little thing, but became a dead weight in her sleep, causing me to struggle to get her into her nightgown and under the covers. Once in her bed, she rolled over, grasped the closest teddy bear—all with her eyes closed—and sank deeper into her pillow. After switching on her night-light, I left her sleeping peacefully, allowing the door to remain cracked open a bit in case she woke up. On my way back to the den, I peeked in on Max and found him still fully clothed, sprawled across his bed. With a soft chuckle, I entered the room just long enough to pry his shoes off, knowing he probably wouldn’t appreciate my help with much else. I draped a blanket over him, leaving him alone and retreating back to the den.

  After a few minutes of flipping through DVDs, I abandoned the TV, deciding to take Ezra up on his offer of using the library. I only had two hours left before the Baldwins returned home, and I would rather read than watch TV while waiting. This late, it was completely dark outside, turning the large windows into gaping black holes, which gave me glimpses of the shadows from trees and bushes, slivers of moonlight breaking through here and there. I found a light switch that illuminated the stairs, but because the bulbs were created to save energy, the glow was dim and wouldn’t brighten for several minutes.

  Once back on the first floor, I quickly cleaned up the mess from dinner in the kitchen. Munching on the last cookie, I made my way through the darkened great room, toward the hallway leading deeper into the house. Curiosity struck me as I passed several doors, most of which had been left open. Peering into the rooms, I discovered two more, much-smaller living areas, a laundry room, home gym, and an office space that looked like it might belong to Mrs. Baldwin. Inquisitiveness appeased, I continued to the library.

  Alone in the cavernous room, I was able to take my time and really appreciate its beauty. The moon shone through the skylight, so I decided to simply flick on a few lamps instead of disturbing the glow with the bright lights. The rug beneath my feet was plush and thick, making my steps noiseless. Pieces of furniture sat scattered in strategic reading areas, surrounded by small tables holding lamps or other décor. The chairs, couches, and chaise lounges were all mismatched, but richly upholstered and sitting on clawed feet. The walls were paneled wood that looked as if it had been polished just this morning. Along with the scent of book pages, I also detected lemon, which was likely the polish the maids had used.

  But the real beauty displayed itself from the shelves. Reaching all the way to the ceiling, mahogany shelves held books bound in leather, hard covers, and paper. A few knickknacks adorned the shelves here and there—pieces of art that looked expensive—but for the most part, books took up every available corner. Walking the perimeter of the room, I held one hand out and simply allowed it to caress the volumes. I glanced at them as I passed, realizing they were sorted by genre, with fiction on the north and east walls, reference and non-fiction on the west and south. Craning my neck, I glanced up to the top, wondering how many there might be. Definitely hundreds… possibly thousands.

  On each wall, tall, sliding ladders could be used to reach the top, and rolled from one end to the other if need be. My mouth practically watered, and my head spun at the thought of trying to decide where to begin. Starting on the fiction side, I read the titles until noticing they’d been arranged by author, in alphabetical order.

  I was just about to make a selection from among the Stephen King collection, when a sound from the hallway caught my attention. It had been soft, a whisper… yet, it caused me to turn swiftly, darting my gaze to the open door. It remained dark in the hallway, and the sound didn’t come again. Shrugging, I turned back to the shelves. The quiet in such a huge house was unnerving, and it rang louder than any other sound I’d ever heard. It was starting to freak me out.

  Quickly grabbing a book, I left the room, ready to return to the den and the low hum of the TV playing in the background. The noise would distract me from the creepy stillness that had fallen over the house.

  “Relax, girl,” I murmured to myself as I turned off the lamps I had lit. “This house is probably the most secure in town.”

  As I left the room, I thought I heard the whisper again, behind me in the library this time. Turning back, heart thundering loudly in my ears, I found only the moonlit room, the furniture nothing more than shadows in the dark. I closed the door, backing from the room and making my way to the staircase. I made it to the second-floor landing before halting in my tracks. The book fell from my hands when I faltered, one hand coming up over my mouth.

  The rose petals were back.

  Even in the dark, I could see them—the light of the TV from the den illuminating the path up the stairs. Sprinkled over the steps in a line leading up to the third floor, they taunted me.

  No one in this house can see us but you, they seemed to say, their red petals a stark contrast to the dark hardwood.

  Lowering my hand from my mouth, I curled it into a fist. I needed to get to the bottom of this rose-petal mystery before I lost my freakin’ mind. More than likely, Max was just playing a trick on me. I’d probably follow the petals to find him ready to jump out from behind a potted plant or something.

  But, if that were the case, then Ezra must be in on the joke, because he’d looked me right in the eye on the day of my interview and insisted he couldn’t see them.

  Furrowing my brow, I bent to retrieve the book and trotted back down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, I dropped my book and began rifling through the various drawers. I’d seen Hilda retrieve a tool from one of them, which meant maybe there was a flashlight.

  I struck gold on the fourth drawer, picking up a flashlight and sighing with relief to find that the batteries worked. Shining its light in front of me, I made my way back upstairs. I couldn’t risk turning lights on and alerting Tate to my presence on the third floor—if he was even up there. The longer I worked in this house, the more convinced I became that his dismembered body must be hidden in the walls.

  My palms broke out in a sweat, and I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. Adrenaline had me ready to run if necessary, my heart working overtime to pump blood to my extremities and taking up a rapid cadence against my sternum. I checked in on the kids one more time before going up, halfway hoping one of them would be awake so I didn’t have to be alone in this house. No such luck; those kids slept like the dead.

  Reaching the third floor, I found more of the petals, leading down the wing to my right—wher
e Max had led me the other day. I slowed my steps and shined my light down the long, dark corridor, finding only darkness coming from beneath the doors. This part of the house faced away from the moon, so the only illumination came from my flashlight.

  The petals led all the way down the hall, so I followed them with slow steps, now far less certain than I had been before. Coming up here had been a bad idea. But I couldn’t turn away now. I had already gone past the point of no return. Pointing the flashlight forward, I glanced at the end of the hallway, just in time to see a flash of something white disappear around the corner. It looked like the hem of a nightgown.

  Remembering I had dressed Emma in one for bed, I frowned. Was there a back staircase or something that had allowed her to beat me up here?

  Furrowing my brow, I called out, my voice a low, hissing whisper. “Emma!”

  No response, but I could swear I heard that murmur again, too soft to understand, but loud enough that I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I picked up the pace, now jogging down the long hall.

  “Emma,” I called, a bit louder this time. “Emma, if that’s you, come back here.”

  I reached the end of the hall and turned left, prepared to find her hiding, stifling a giggle behind her hand.

  Instead, I found a woman. I stumbled, coming up short to avoid crashing into her, and lost my footing. The fall knocked the wind from me in a loud rush, and the impact rattled me from my hips up into my back. The flashlight rolled away from me and slammed against the wall, shutting off—yet, I could still see. There seemed to be light emanating from this woman, the stark white of her gown enhancing it even more. Bracing myself on my hands, I stared at her and gasped, too shocked to move or speak.

  She stared down at me with large, unblinking eyes, long tendrils of black hair floating around her face like a cloud. There were no whites in her gaze, only black irises filling in her entire eye that sent a chill down my spine. Her white face was gaunt, causing the bones of her cheeks and jaw to jut prominently. Lips tinted blue opened and began to move as if she tried to speak—but the only sound that came out was the low whisper I’d heard before. It faded as quickly as it had come, dying as if choked off by the air.

  A dark bruise circling her throat caught my eye—the only thing marring her whiteness aside from the blue lips. Black veins stretched away from the ring around her throat, creeping up toward her chin.

  Trembling, I struggled to my feet, backpedaling from her. I came up against the wall, the path of escape laying to my left. The woman started toward me, her steps slow and labored, as if she had been sapped of strength. She cocked her head to the side, and a loud crack filled the hallway. The sound came every time she moved, her head ticking and contorting in different directions, as if she were trying to shake water out of her ears. Edging away, I moved swiftly down the hall, terrified to turn my back on her as she advanced. Rose petals swirled beneath my feet, disturbed by my movements. Their perfumed scent tickled my nostrils, so strong I thought it might make me hurl.

  The whisper came again, this time from the left. I turned my head and found another woman at the other end of the hall, blocking the staircase. A scream burned in my throat, but I couldn’t let it go, my breath catching and holding in my lungs for so long they began to burn. This woman was like a copy of the first, but without the dark smudge around her throat. She had a shoulder that hung at a weird angle, as if it had been dislocated. Dark stains marred the side of her neck, and when she cocked her head, ticking noisily like her twin, I noticed what looked like a large shard of glass protruding from the skin. She started toward me, moving with a limp and dragging one foot, which I noticed was twisted almost completely around.

  I paused, glancing back and forth at the two things ambling toward me in the dark. There was nowhere to go with them blocking both avenues of escape. My breath began coming in short pants that sounded a lot like sobs, and tears splashed my face.

  I was going to die. These two things twitching and ambling toward me would rip me to pieces. Cowering, I pressed myself back against the wall and closed my eyes, just as the first woman lunged for me, taking flight and hurtling toward me through the air with another one of her raspy whispers.

  Leaning against the wood, I started, opening my eyes when I encountered a doorknob. I twisted it without thinking, falling back into a dark room just as the second woman mimicked the actions of the first, flying toward me down the dark hall. I slammed the door just before either could reach me, leaning against it with all my strength to keep them from coming in behind me.

  After a moment of nothing happening, I turned my head and listened.

  Not a sound—not even that haunting whisper.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I slumped against the door and lowered my head. Beyond me, a large, dark bedroom stretched, the drapes closed against the light of the moon. Despite the lack of light, I felt safer here. Who knew how I would get back downstairs with the twisted sisters waiting for me out in the hall? If the kids needed me, we were screwed.

  The kids!

  What if those things went after them?

  Bringing a palm to smack against my forehead, I groaned. It had been stupid to come up here after I’d been instructed to stay away, not once but twice. If Ezra wasn’t mad before, he was going to be livid now… especially if something happened to Max or Emma. Reaching for the doorknob again, I gave it a slow twist, wincing when it creaked. Peering through the opening, I found the hallway empty—even the rose petals were missing. Sucking in a breath and holding it, I listened for the sound of the whisper. When I was greeted only with silence, I gave another relieved sigh.

  Suddenly, a soft breath tickled the back of my neck, sending a tremor down my spine.

  “What are you doing up here?” a voice growled.

  A man’s voice… low, deep, and angry.

  With a yelp, I turned to face him, pulling the door closed and falling against it as he advanced on me. From inside the dark hood of a sweatshirt, I could only make out the shadow of a face. A light had been turned on deeper in the room, framing his outline with a soft glow.

  I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it could only be one person. The answer to his question lay stuck to my tongue, which had become some thick, useless thing taking up space in my mouth.

  He reached toward me, and I shrank away—but all he did was brace his hand on the door behind me, bringing himself closer to me. The smell of some kind of aftershave or cologne clogged my senses.

  “I asked you a question.”

  Shivering, I swallowed and tried again to speak. “I… I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll just go back downstairs now.”

  He drew his palm back and slammed it against the door so hard it rattled in the frame. His sudden movement and the sound startled a scream out of me, but I quickly covered my mouth to stifle it.

  “You want a look at the freak who lives upstairs?” he demanded, backing away from me with a few steps. “Is that it?”

  Shaking my head, but still unable to make my feet cooperate so I could run, I twisted the bottom of my shirt with trembling hands.

  “N-no… that’s not—”

  “Look at me!” he bellowed, producing a light from his hand.

  His cell phone, I realized. Using the backlight to illuminate his face, he advanced on me and snatched down the hood of his sweatshirt.

  “Come on. Get a good, long look, sweetheart,” he growled. “It’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

  My throat constricted at the sight of Tate Baldwin’s face—normal on one side, as it had been in the portrait, but caved in on the other, as if it had been smashed with a blunt object. Beneath an eye with a heavy lid, his cheekbone caved inward. His jawline had followed suit beneath it, curving in and causing his face to appear disjointed and ill proportioned. My chin trembled, and I felt myself beginning to cry. Why, I couldn’t say. Out of fear, maybe. But also, because whatever had happened to him, it looked painful.

  “Got anything to say?” he mu
mbled, clenching his jaw and huffing through widened nostrils like an enraged bull.

  I shook my head, but then realized I really should say something after I’d intruded where I didn’t belong. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured.

  “I don’t need your pity,” he bellowed, tossing the phone aside.

  It hit the wall, and the sound of it clattering echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.

  “Get out,” he added, advancing on me again, so fast that I dashed back out into the hallway without giving what might lurk out there a second thought. “Get the hell out!”

  The sound of something crashing from inside the room resounded, then more breaking glass.

  “Go,” he screamed, just before he slammed the door in my face.

  With tears blinding me, I turned and ran, sobs shaking my shoulders, wracking me from within. I stumbled on the stairs, but caught myself from falling by gripping the banister. Despite a twinge in my ankle, I kept running until I had reached the front door.

  It wasn’t until I stumbled out onto the front porch that I remembered my job. The Baldwins still hadn’t returned, and two kids slept upstairs, heedless to what had just happened.

  Taking a few deep breaths, I swiped at the moisture gathered beneath my eyes. After I had stopped shaking and hiccupping between sobs, I squared my shoulders and forced myself to go back inside. Resolutely, I marched up to the second floor and peeked in on Max and Emma. Both kids were just as I left them, sleeping soundly. Going back to the den, I sat down and put in another movie.

  However, after a few minutes, I muted the sound and simply sat staring at the moving picture without truly focusing on anything. I counted the seconds as they became minutes, ticking down the time I had to wait before I could be free of this place.

  The moment I heard the sound of the front door opening, I shot to my feet and bolted down the stairs. Faith started when she saw me rushing toward them. I was probably a mess—hair all over the place, eyes red from crying, dry rivulets from long gone tears on my cheeks.