Sanctum

  That was when Harry stumbled into the dining room. Rows and rows of stuffed mailbags filled the room, grayish and fat, like sows turned onto their sides. He went to one and toed it, which made Harry visibly recoil. It didn’t matter. Harry, like all of them, was a tiny man and a tiny thing. But tiny things could be made to grow, and that, he knew, was his calling.

  “Letters, letters, none for me,” Harry was saying, worrying over the mailbags, tending to them like a doting father. “Never any letters for me.”

  “They’re all for you, Harry. You’re the minder of these things. You’re the keeper. That gives you power. You bring the letters where they need to go. For a while, at least, all letters are for you.” That seemed to calm the man; he stopped compulsively tucking his stringy hair behind his ear. “But you’ve been naughty again, haven’t you, Harry? You’ve been snooping, reading what you shouldn’t.”

  “Yes. Naughty. Yes, I shouldn’t. . . .” Harry tucked his hair behind his ear, and again, and again.

  There was nothing to do but sigh and nod. “Who is it this time?”

  “The girls. The girls write to each other, but never to me. Letters, letters, never any for me.”

  “I told you, Harry, they are for you, if only for a time. How does that make you feel?”

  “Good. It makes me feel good.” Harry, gnarled and hunching, straightened up a little.

  “I’m not here to cure you.” He consulted his pocket watch again. Running late. Ah well. He detached the watch and cradled the warm metal heart of it in his hand. “So put yourself at ease. I’m not here to cure you, Harry. . . .” Then he smiled, and beckoned Harry closer. “I’m here to set you free.”

  Dan woke in a cold sweat. It was just his imagination, obviously. He had been in that old house with Abby and Jordan and now his mind was making up stories. Micah had left the window open a crack, and a steady breeze seeped in, unpleasantly damp. With jittering hands, Dan nestled down under his blanket, the tremor getting worse when he thought of Felix’s sure, strange voice.

  You see things you shouldn’t be able to see. You know things you shouldn’t be able to know. Like other people’s memories.

  That wasn’t a thing, was it? Dissociative disorder was a thing—a thing that was hard enough. And who knows, maybe that’s what Felix had, too, and he just had a more severe case or something. But Dan’s dreams and visions felt so real, about things he couldn’t possibly know. Unless they were totally in his imagination, there was something else going on here, something deeper that was wrong.

  Dan wasn’t sure which was worse—the idea that he was actually being haunted or possessed or whatever, or the idea that this was all in his head.

  “Micah didn’t have to say anything,” Dan was explaining, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to petulant. “I’m just glad Jordan knows to be on alert. What were they doing dancing together, anyway? It doesn’t seem like Jordan even likes the guy.”

  “Oh, come on. When do you think he’s ever gotten the chance to be himself? I can see why he’d want to let loose a little. It’s not like he gets to dance with boys at prom.” Abby cradled a steaming cup of coffee in her mittened hands. They had stopped at the student union just as it opened. Dan could hardly stay awake this early, but the caffeine helped.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Dan admitted.

  “Jordan’s not an idiot, he knows not to get attached. We’re only here for three days,” she said lightly.

  “Our hosts do seem interested in getting to know us, though, don’t they?” he replied. “I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.”

  “Right? Under normal circumstances I’d be flattered, but these aren’t exactly normal circumstances.” She had ordered a skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot, and, not knowing what to get for himself, he’d asked for the same.

  Vanilla-scented steam rose through the tiny hole in the top covering his drink. He breathed it in, using the warmth like a shield against the October chill. Fog rolled across the crisp grass, unfurling around them like a cloudy carpet. Abby kept leading them off the paths that crisscrossed the campus, taking the most direct route to the street that led east toward their destination.

  “Well, I for one am glad to get away from Micah for a minute,” Dan replied. “I mean, I’m glad you and I get to spend some time together.”

  She paused, cocking her head to the side. Finally, she said, “Me too. I don’t think I could have made this trip by myself.”

  “How was Lara’s art thing?”

  “Her senior installation? Oh, it’s beautiful, Dan, really haunting. She’s so talented, I can’t help but be a little jealous.”

  When Abby texted that morning to ask if he wanted to go with her to see her aunt Lucy, she had mentioned going first with Lara to see her installation-in-progress. Apparently, Lara did all her best work at sunrise. Dan couldn’t imagine being up even earlier after the night they’d had, but he seemed to be the only one—Micah had been dressed and ready to go the moment Dan woke up. He’d made sure to confirm plans with Dan for lunch, at which point he’d know whether Dan could sit in on Professor Reyes’s seminar or not, and he’d reminded Dan that the carnival was still going on that night. Once he was alone, Dan had called his mom to tell her about how great things were at Georgetown.

  “You and Lara seem to be hitting it off. Do you think you’ll stay in touch with her after we leave?”

  They were at the edge of campus, the paved paths giving way to sidewalks. The campus chapel rose up on their left, and just beyond that stood the library.

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” Abby said, sipping from her coffee. “Sometimes I feel like it would be best to just leave as much of this place behind as I can.”

  There was that horrible word again, just.

  “I don’t know how you can do that,” Dan said, not totally sure if they were talking about the same thing anymore and unable to keep all the hurt out of his voice. “I can never seem to stop thinking about this summer.”

  Abby nodded and held her coffee up close to her face. She touched the warm surface of the cup to each of her pink cheeks. “But if you could leave it behind, if you could, I don’t know, magically just make yourself forget or move on completely, would you?”

  He didn’t have an immediate answer for her.

  Smiling, she touched her elbow to his jacket sleeve. “Thought so. Obsessions aren’t healthy, Dan, I know you know that. When we leave this weekend, whether we find anything to explain what’s been happening to us or not, you have to try to put some distance between you and all this. Have you talked to your therapist about it? Not that it’s any of my business . . .”

  “I have, but she doesn’t say much, she just lets me talk, which is good, I guess. . . .”

  Dan stopped, feeling his pocket buzz. He pulled out his cell phone to find Jordan had just texted.

  Where are you guys? Need to talk ASAP

  “It’s Jordan,” Dan said absently, texting back.

  We’re by the chapel on campus, going to visit Lucy.

  Wait there for me plz

  “He wants us to wait. Sounds urgent. Do you mind?” Dan tucked his phone away, taking a half step into the sun for more warmth.

  Not even ten minutes went by before Jordan appeared in the mist, sprinting toward them. He careened to a stop, out of breath, the buttons on his coat done up incorrectly.

  “What is it?” Abby pressed, touching his shoulder.

  “It’s . . . Cal . . .” Jordan bent at the waist, panting. When he looked up, his wild eyes fixed on Dan. “Your BFF wasn’t lying. Something is not right with that kid.”

  “What happened?” Abby began rubbing small circles on Jordan’s shoulder.

  Jordan stood upright and shook his head, his breaths still coming short. “He was pretty hammered when we got back to the room last night. I figured he’d sleep in, try to take the edge off his hangover. But when I opened my damn eyes he was right there. I mean right there, standing over
the futon staring at me.”

  That rang an uncomfortable bell for Dan. “Did he say anything?”

  “No! He was just watching me sleep. It was the creepiest thing ever, and I have seen some seriously creepy shit lately.”

  “Did he snap out of it?” Abby asked, still rubbing his back.

  “No. I started yelling at him, clapping. Nothing worked. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked and flipped over, thinking maybe I was dreaming, you know? Imagining it. I opened my eyes again and looked over my shoulder and he was back in bed. Snoring. Just . . . snoring.” Jordan pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned into Abby’s hand.

  “Maybe he sleepwalks,” Dan suggested. “It’s not unheard of.”

  But he was already thinking about this summer with Felix, and how almost the exact same thing had happened. He could feel sweat gathering in his palms despite the cold; maybe they were making a huge mistake by staying. Jordan could be in danger. . . . Cal could be Felix 2.0.

  “It wasn’t sleepwalking,” Jordan replied firmly. “I mean, Micah even warned you about him. Look . . . I can’t go back to that room right now. I don’t want to be alone with him. Can I stay with you guys?”

  “Of course,” Abby said. She offered him her latte and he took a sip. “We’re on our way to Lucy’s. You guys can wait outside if you don’t feel like coming in.”

  They crossed the street, putting the chapel to their backs, and followed Abby to the sidewalk. The street sloped downward, bringing them past a row of houses that were used by the college for offices and guest housing.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Abby asked as they went. Dan fell in step behind them.

  “I’ll be fine,” Jordan assured her. “Let’s just talk about something else. How’s your aunt? Does she know we’re coming?”

  “Truthfully?” She sighed and then shrugged her slim shoulders. “I have no idea. . . . She hasn’t been returning my calls or my letters. I’m not sure she even knows how to use a computer so email is out of the question. I just hope she’s okay. Losing her husband, being confronted with her past . . . It’s a lot for anyone to handle, and after what they did to her in the asylum . . .”

  “So how do you know she’s even at home?” Jordan asked, taking another drink from her coffee.

  “I guess I don’t. She moved into a new house at the end of the summer and mailed me the address. That was the last I heard from her. My gut tells me she wouldn’t leave Camford, though. I guess we’re about to find out, right?”

  The walk was longer than Dan expected, and by the time they arrived at Lucy’s small cottage he was that uncomfortable combination of freezing and sweaty. Everything covered by his jacket was clammy, but his face and hands were red from the autumn wind.

  Jordan wiped at his runny nose as they stood at the edge of the lawn.

  “Not one for good housekeeping, then,” he mumbled.

  Nobody had mowed the lawn or done anything to prepare for the colder weather. Most people had huge piles of leaves covering gardens to keep the annuals warm during the snow months. But here the grass had grown long and snarling, vines and morning glory strands twining up the outer walls. A few shingles on the roof had come loose.

  Even so, a cheery wisp of smoke rose from the chimney.

  “Looks like she’s home,” Dan said, pointing to the smoke.

  “Okay . . .” Abby shook out her mittens, vibrating with nervous energy. “Just hang back. Let me see how she reacts to you guys before I ask if we can go in.”

  “No pressure,” Jordan replied, apparently unexcited about the idea of going into the dilapidated house at all.

  The windows were shuttered. The front stoop could hardly be seen under a thick cover of uncollected newspapers. Everything about the place looked abandoned except for the chimney. Dan remembered the way Lucy had looked at him . . . Accusatory. Afraid. Like maybe he wasn’t a monster but one was inside him and she could see it. But he owed it to Abby to be here.

  “Here we go.” Abby drew in a deep breath and marched up to the door, pressing her mitten to the doorbell.

  Dan heard the echo of the bell inside, and they waited for almost a minute before footsteps came from the other side of the door.

  “Someone’s coming,” Dan said.

  It sounded as if whoever was on the inside had to undo about twelve locks and chains before the door swung inward.

  Lucy, gaunt and frizzy-haired, but very much there, greeted them with a gasp and then a smile.

  “It’s you,” she said, fixing her eyes on Abby. She was wearing a threadbare cardigan over a knit dress, woolen tights, and house slippers. “Have you come for a visit?”

  “Uh, yes,” Abby replied, rocking up onto her toes and then back down to her heels. “Yeah. I, um, wanted to check in and see if you were doing okay. We never got to talk much after this summer and—”

  “Come in.” Lucy took a big step back and then ushered them toward her. Her gaze shifted to Jordan and then Dan, where it lingered. “Why don’t you all come in?”

  Abby started right forward, but Jordan and Dan both hesitated until Abby gave them an impatient look. With a shiver, Dan was the last to cross the threshold. Behind him, Lucy closed the door and did up half the dozen or so locks.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” Lucy said, zooming past them toward the kitchen down the hall. “Let me get you something to eat. . . .”

  “Someone call A and E,” Jordan said out of the corner of his mouth. “I think we’ve got a bona fide hoarder.”

  Abby hissed softly under her breath. “It’s a disaster,” she said, wading through the stacks of newspapers and junk to the living room on the left. She navigated the group to a couch, where she had to displace several baskets of fake fruit to make room for them all.

  “I thought you said she just moved in here,” Dan whispered.

  They sat all together in a row, hands in their laps.

  “She did,” Abby replied. “How can you even gather up this much junk in two months?”

  “Did she seem weird to you?” Jordan asked, carefully pushing aside a wax apple that tumbled against his leg. “Like . . . way peppy? Way, way too peppy to see us?”

  “It does seem a bit . . . irregular. Maybe she’s doing better than I thought.”

  Or worse, Dan didn’t suggest.

  Lucy returned then with a plate of Oreos and Swiss Rolls. She set it down on the coffee table in front of them, and then took a seat in a grimy, overstuffed chair opposite the couch. A few crooked picture frames hung on the walls, most of them old black-and-whites of what looked like Lucy’s parents or grandparents. The images were so faded and wrinkled the people staring out of them looked like hardly more than ghosts.

  One of the pictures in particular caught Dan’s eye. It was of a man standing in a field, his face turned upward, balancing—impossibly—a wheelbarrow on the flat of his chin. He couldn’t know for sure without asking Lucy, but Dan had a feeling this man was her late husband, Sal Weathers, in his youth. Three months ago, Dan had been the one to find Sal’s body in the woods. At the time, Lucy had seemed to blame Dan for Sal’s death.

  Now Lucy scooted forward in her seat and beamed across the table at Abby.

  “Are you getting excited to graduate? Sending in your applications? There are so many big changes in store for you!”

  This was not the frail, shy woman Dan remembered. Not that he had much experience with lobotomy patients, but the quiet, slightly unhinged woman he had met this summer fit his image of a survivor much more closely than this Lucy did. As he listened to her barrage Abby with questions, he decided to accept this as a positive turn of events, rather than a frightening one—especially for Abby. He sat back and took an Oreo, biting into what appeared to be an ordinary cookie but tasted more like ashy mush. He heard Jordan cough quietly and then saw a balled-up napkin appear on the coffee table.

  “What brings you back to Camford?” Lucy asked. Dan couldn’t help but notice that even while she direct
ed her questions to Abby, her eyes remained fixed on him. His knee bounced anxiously.

  “We decided to come for a campus visit. One of the overnight weekends,” Abby explained.

  “You picked a good time, with the carnival and everything—there’s so much to see.”

  “Will you be going? To the carnival, I mean?” Abby asked.

  “No, no . . . I remember Sal mentioning it, that his father went as a child, although . . . I don’t remember all of what he said, some of it is . . . Well, I can’t recall some of it. But his father went as a boy. I remember that.”

  Dan perked up at the mention of her memory. As keyed in and coherent as she seemed to be, maybe she would be able to answer some of their questions after all. Abby seemed to have had the same thought.

  “So your memory,” she prompted slowly, “it’s better? I mean, you’re coping with everything okay?”

  Lucy nodded, tipping her head to the side and looking at Abby fondly. “I am. I’m coping. The college sends students over sometimes to sit with me, to bring groceries, that kind of thing. Everything has been so much better since I found the bright burning star.”

  Jordan coughed again, but this time it was sharp. Dan had heard it, too. He must have mentally gone over his visit to Felix seventy times by now. He could recall Felix’s exact intonation. . . . Bright burning star.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “The what?” Dan asked, sitting up straighter.

  “The bright burning star,” Lucy replied matter-of-factly. She reached back behind her chair, taking a framed photograph from the table there, one Dan hadn’t noticed at first. Smiling, she handed the photograph across to Dan. It was a faded, vintage photo of a piece of oblong red stone, like a geode. It hung from a delicate chain. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, watching him intently, “isn’t it?”

  “Where . . . did you get this picture?” Abby must have realized the connection, too. She stared at her aunt, breathless.