Second Child

  “But what were you doing there?” Phyllis had demanded.

  Melissa still wore the old ruffled dress, but her face had been wiped clean of the pale makeup that had given her a pallor of death. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes fixing on the floor. “I—I don’t know,” she’d breathed.

  “You don’t know?” Phyllis demanded.

  Melissa shook her head unhappily. “I was in my room, getting ready for the party. I put the wig on, and then …” Her voice had trailed off and a tear trickled down her cheek. “It’s like I went to sleep or something. I don’t remember what happened until Jeff honked the horn at me.”

  Now, with Mallory gone and Cora sent home, Phyllis’s eyes fixed angrily on her daughter. “You were sleepwalking again, weren’t you?” When Melissa made no reply, Phyllis repeated the question. “Weren’t you?”

  Melissa shook her head and her eyes shifted to her father, pleading with him to help her.

  “Why don’t we just leave it alone for tonight, Phyllis,” Charles said, glancing pointedly at his watch. “After what she’s been through, you can’t expect her to—”

  “Been through?” Phyllis screeched, her voice rising. “What she’s been through? What about Jeff Barnstable? My own daughter decides to get dressed up in that”—she floundered for a moment, her eyes fixing balefully on the dress—“that rag, and goes out and scares him to death! Why?” she demanded, suddenly turning on Melissa and bending down so her furious eyes were only a few inches from her daughter’s face. “What possessed you? How could you do this to me?”

  “I—I—” Melissa began, but the fear and confusion in her own mind suddenly overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in her hands.

  “That’s enough, Phyllis!” Charles snapped. “Stop badgering her. For God’s sake, can’t you think of someone besides yourself for once? What about Melissa? And what about Paula Barnstable? Her son is dead!”

  Phyllis whirled around, her eyes glittering with fury. “Yes,” she said. “He is! And our daughter may have killed him. Can’t you understand the simplest thing? It doesn’t matter what happened out there—it’s what people think happened. And what happened is this!” Her voice suddenly dropped and she began enunciating her words with exaggerated clarity, as if speaking to a three-year-old child. “Jeff thought he saw D’Arcy, and it scared him so badly he ran off the road. And there is Melissa—our Melissa—dressed up like a ghost! Do you understand? Am I getting through to you? We’ll be lucky if anyone in the cove ever speaks to us again!”

  Charles, the veins of his forehead standing out starkly from his pale skin, raised his hand. “Stop it!” he roared. “Don’t you think Melissa feels bad enough without you accusing her of—” He bit off his own words, falling silent for a moment as he regained control over his fury toward his wife. “We’re going to bed,” he announced. “There won’t be another word said about any of this tonight.” His eyes fixed on his wife. “Is that clear?”

  Phyllis’s mouth opened for a second, then closed again, her lips pressing together and her nostrils flaring with barely suppressed rage. Taking Melissa’s hand, she pulled her out of the chair and led her from the room.

  “Where are you going?” Charles demanded.

  Her hand tightening on her daughter’s, Phyllis turned back to face him. “I’m putting her to bed,” she said, her voice cold. “That is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, she spoke to Teri, who had been sitting in a chair by the fireplace, silently listening to her father and stepmother. “I think I could use some help,” she said. Instantly, Teri rose to her feet and followed her stepmother out of the room.

  Ten minutes later, with her mother and half sister watching her, Melissa struggled to pull her arms out of the sleeves of the dress. Teri moved forward to help, but before she could touch the dress, Phyllis stopped her.

  “Let her do it. She can’t keep on expecting people to do everything for her the rest of her life. She’s thirteen—the least she should be able to do is undress herself!”

  Melissa fumbled with the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons at the cuffs of the dress and finally succeeded in undoing them. At last she pulled her arms free and the dress dropped to the floor. Phyllis glanced at it distastefully, then shifted her eyes to Teri. “Get rid of it, will you, dear?”

  Teri picked up the dress. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “I’m sure I don’t care, as long as none of us ever sees it again. Put it in the trash, I suppose. Cora can burn it in the morning.”

  Teri hesitated, seeming about to speak, then apparently changed her mind. Carrying the dress with her, she left the room. When they were alone together, Phyllis spoke once more to Melissa.

  “Put on your pajamas and get into bed,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Melissa stared at her mother, her eyes widening slightly, a cold knot of fear already forming in her belly. “Wh-Where are you going?”

  Phyllis smiled coldly. “To get the restraints, of course.”

  “But—”

  “You did say you’d been sleepwalking earlier, didn’t you?”

  “No,” Melissa protested. “I didn’t go to sleep. I—” She fell silent. How could she explain to her mother what had happened? She could imagine the look that would come into her mother’s eyes if she tried to tell her how she’d felt as she’d gotten ready for the party.

  That she’d felt as though she were changing into someone else.

  “Who?” her mother would demand.

  And when she told her mother she’d had the feeling she was turning into D’Arcy …

  She put the thought out of her mind. Her mother’s fury would boil over, and the restraints might be the least of what would happen.

  “Maybe I did walk in my sleep,” she breathed, her words all but inaudible.

  “What?” Phyllis demanded. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  Melissa forced herself to look at her mother and speak the words again. “I said, maybe I did walk in my sleep.”

  “And how do we stop that?” Phyllis pressed, her voice as relentless as her eyes.

  Melissa tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, threatening to choke her. “The—The straps,” she finally mumbled.

  “Yes,” Phyllis repeated. “The straps. And it would make it a lot easier for both of us if you’d simply accept that they’re for your own good. Now get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She left the room, and Melissa slid out of her underclothes, then pulled on her pajamas. Then Phyllis returned, the dreaded leather and nylon restraints over her arm.

  But as she was beginning to fasten them to the bed, Charles appeared in the doorway. “I just came in to say—” he began, but the words died on his lips when he saw his wife. “Jesus Christ, Phyllis, what are you doing?”

  Phyllis glanced up at her husband. “I’m strapping her down, of course,” she said. “We can’t have her wandering around in her sleep, can we?”

  “Well, we’re certainly not going to indulge in that kind of barbarism,” Charles replied, his voice harsh. “I told you we weren’t going to use those things, and I meant it.”

  Phyllis froze. “It’s just for tonight.”

  But Charles shook his head. “Not tonight, and not any other night, either. I won’t have my daughter strapped down.”

  “But Dr. Andrews said—”

  “We haven’t talked to Burt Andrews in months. And we certainly didn’t talk to him tonight.” He moved to the bed and gently stroked his daughter’s cheek. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Don’t be frightened. Nothing’s going to happen.” He gazed into Melissa’s eyes and frowned, recognizing what he saw there. Terror. And something else.

  There was an oddly blank look, almost as if she’d sunk so far into her fear of the restraints that she wasn’t even aware of his presence. His eyes shifted over to Phyllis. “Have you been using these?” he asked.

  Phyllis gasped. “Of cou
rse not,” she said. “Not until tonight—why would I?”

  Charles’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t know,” he said. “And I hope I don’t find out that you have.” His gaze went back to Melissa, who was now looking up at him eagerly, the fear and the peculiar blankness ebbing away. “Are you all right, Missy?”

  Melissa nodded.

  “Have you had to wear the restraints before?” he asked. “I mean, this summer?”

  Melissa hesitated, but just before she was about to speak, she saw her mother glaring furiously at her over her father’s shoulder. And tomorrow night her father would be leaving for the week. Her heart pounding, she shook her head. “No, Daddy,” she whispered. “I—I didn’t even know we still had them.”

  Charles put his arms around his daughter and hugged her. “And after tonight,” he assured her, “we won’t. I promise you.” He glanced up at Phyllis, “I want you to get rid of them,” he told her, his tone conveying that he would brook no argument. “Right now. Say good night to Melissa and then get those things out of the house. Tonight.”

  Phyllis’s jaw worked as she struggled to keep her fury in check. Finally, taking the restraints with her but saying nothing at all, she left Melissa’s room. Within five minutes the restraints were buried deep inside a cedar chest filled with blankets that was kept in Charles’s own dressing room.

  It was, she knew, the last place he’d look.

  Teri stood behind the door that separated Melissa’s room from the small bathroom the two of them shared. Through the heavy wooden panels she could hear the soft murmur of her father’s voice as he comforted her half sister, and once or twice she thought she heard Melissa laughing quietly. At last, when she finally heard Charles saying good night to Melissa, Teri hurried back into her own room, leaving the hall door slightly ajar, and slipped into bed to wait.

  In a minute her father would come in to say good night to her, too.

  The seconds ticked by, and finally she heard Melissa’s door being closed and her father’s footsteps as he came down the hall.

  She waited for the door to open and her father’s face to appear.

  Instead, a shadow passed by her room, and her father’s footsteps faded away as he crossed the broad mezzanine above the stairs and turned into the wing in the opposite corner of the house, where the master suite was located.

  As the house fell silent, Teri lay staring at the ceiling, her anger growing steadily.

  She’d been perfect tonight—everyone at the club had thought she was the prettiest girl there.

  She’d even seen the pride in her father’s eyes when he’d watched her dancing in the center of the ballroom with Brett Van Arsdale.

  But then Melissa had shown up, tears streaming down her face, and Teri herself had been instantly forgotten.

  And from that moment her father had barely left Melissa’s side, fawning over her, hugging her, kissing her.

  Loving her.

  And ignoring Teri as if she didn’t exist.

  The longer she thought about it, the more her anger grew.

  In her own room, Melissa lay wide awake, trying once more to understand what had happened that night.

  She let her imagination run free, and after a while it all began to make sense to her.

  It had been D’Arcy’s dress she’d put on that night. Up until now she hadn’t been sure, but as she thought about it, the certainty of it grew in her mind.

  Perhaps it was even the dress she’d worn that night when her fiancé had thrown her over.

  But no, that couldn’t be right—that dress would have been all covered with bloodstains. And besides, after the ball at the club that night, D’Arcy had never been seen again.

  And then it came to her.

  The dress had been intended for her wedding.

  After all, the dress she’d worn tonight had no stains on it. It had been dusty, and yellowed with age, but even as she’d put it on she had the feeling it had barely been worn at all.

  And that was why D’Arcy had come to her, even though she was wide awake.

  She’d known where Melissa was going, and had wanted to wear her beautiful dress—her wedding dress—just once.

  She got out of bed and went to the window. It was a clear night, and the moon, half full, was high in the sky. The ocean glinted with a silvery light, and the foam of the gentle surf on the beach glowed with an eerie phosphorescence.

  She almost imagined she could see D’Arcy out there even now, a pale figure almost lost against the ghostly light in the churning waters.

  What had truly happened to her tonight?

  Until tonight she’d never actually believed that D’Arcy really existed, except within her own imagination. She’d simply made her up, and used her to face the world when things became so painful that all she herself could do was run away.

  And until tonight D’Arcy had only come when she had called her.

  But tonight she hadn’t called D’Arcy at all.

  Tonight, as she’d put on the dress and the makeup, D’Arcy had simply emerged out of nowhere.

  Creeping in.

  Taking over.

  She shuddered, although the night was warm. Could it be possible? Had D’Arcy actually come and possessed her?

  And if she had, what did it mean?

  The story she’d heard on the beach kept running through her head. Was it true? Was D’Arcy coming back this year, a hundred years after she’d disappeared into the night?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound.

  A sound from above her.

  The sound came again, and this time she was certain what it was.

  It was a sob, and it was coming from D’Arcy’s little room in the attic, directly above her own.

  A chill ran through her, and she tried to decide what to do. But even as she thought about it, she knew she had no choice.

  She had to go upstairs and see if D’Arcy were truly there.

  Her heart already beginning to race, she pulled on her robe and, taking her flashlight, went to the door. She listened for a moment, but save for the muffled sobbing from above, the house was silent.

  She moved quickly down the hall, not turning on the flashlight until she’d reached the door that opened into the attic stairs. Finally she grasped the doorknob, twisted it, and pulled the door open.

  Its hinges squealed loudly, and Melissa froze for a moment. Then she cast the beam up into the dark gloom above.

  A figure stood there, clothed in white, its face veiled, its arms concealed behind its back. A scream rose in Melissa’s throat but was strangled into a terrified gasp as the specter’s right arm rose.

  And then, as a gale of maniacal laughter erupted from the specter’s mouth, an object flew toward Melissa, bouncing on the stairs, landing a moment later at her feet.

  She stared at it, her eyes wide, her heart pounding.

  It was a hand, glistening redly with fresh blood.

  Moaning as her gorge rose and nausea threatened to overwhelm her, Melissa turned and fled down the hall, her feet pounding the floor as she raced to her parents’ room.

  She burst through the door, hurling herself onto her father’s bed, her sobs of terror rattling in her chest, cutting off her breath.

  Charles, suddenly wide awake, snapped on the light and stared at his daughter’s ashen face. “Missy! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  In the other bed Phyllis, too, stirred, then sat up. When she saw Melissa clinging to her father, her expression darkened. “Oh, really, Melissa,” she began, but Charles silenced her with a look.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked again.

  “D-D’Arcy,” Melissa stammered, her voice quavering. “I—Daddy, I saw her. She—She threw her hand at me.” Her sobs overcame her once more, and Charles held her close, cradling her against his chest.

  “No, honey. It was just a nightmare. You just had a bad dream.”

  “But it wasn’t a dream,” Melissa insisted. “Daddy, I saw it!” Even as sh
e uttered the words, she realized they were an almost perfect echo of the words she’d spoken to her mother the night Blackie had disappeared. Instinctively, her eyes shifted to her mother, and her heart sank.

  Her mother’s face was a mask of anger.

  But then she heard her father’s soothing voice. “Of course you saw it, honey,” he told her. “The things we see in dreams always look real. But it doesn’t mean they’re really there.” He reached over to his nightstand and pulled a Kleenex from the box that always sat there, then gently wiped the tears from her eyes. “Now let’s get your face washed and get you a drink of water.” While his wife looked on with open disapproval, he got out of bed and led Melissa into his bathroom. He ran cold water in the sink, then soaked a clean washcloth and mopped Melissa’s face.

  As the cold water touched her skin, Melissa began to feel the terror she’d experienced only a moment ago start to loosen its grip, and she let herself relax slightly. But as she wiped her face on the towel her father handed her, her eyes darted furtively toward the door. “Mama’s mad at me,” she whispered. “She—She thinks I made it up.”

  “Well, if she does, she’s wrong,” Charles assured her. “A nightmare can be more frightening than anything else, and if you’re scared, you have every right to come in here.” He handed her a glass of water, waited until she’d finished it, then spoke again. “Now, what do you say you and I go take a look at the attic stairs and see what we can find?”

  Melissa nodded, and followed her father out of the room. A moment later the two of them stood at the foot of the stairs to the attic. The hall lights were on, and even the shadows at the top were all but washed away.

  Melissa stared at the floor where only a few minutes ago the bloody hand had lain.

  There was nothing there.

  She frowned. Was it possible?

  Had she truly imagined the whole thing?

  But it had been so real—so horribly real.

  She stooped down, running her fingers over the dark-stained wood of the floor, then looked at them closely, uncertain whether she hoped to find traces of blood or not.

  But again there was nothing. Except for a little dust, her fingers were clean.