Don't Forget to Breathe Read online

  I sat cross-legged on the moist ground. “He’s getting worse. I left my cell at home.” Nona followed me to the ground.

  Digging the can of beer from my pocket, I corked the tab and handed it to her. I was glad she didn’t say a derogatory word about the brew. Then I withdrew the second can from my opposite pocket.

  “Love you, Mom.” I saluted the beer toward her gravestone and Nona mimicked me.

  After a cursory silence, she said, “I couldn’t sleep all night. I was so worried about you. How are you coping?”

  “I’m coping.” I took a healthy swig and wiped my mouth. “I didn’t tell you what happened a few nights ago when Henry and I were here. I didn’t want to get you involved.”

  “You told me you went out with him. Does this have something to do with those two murders?”

  “We were here. I saw it happen, kind of.” I paused hearing her gasp of breath. “I didn’t actually see the murder. More like I heard it.” For the umpteenth time, I expounded on the night in question. This time I included Henry’s association with Skipper and Dave. “That last part is for your ears alone.”

  “Are you telling me—” Nona sounded peeved, “you didn’t tell the police the truth?”

  “I told the truth, just omitted a little part.”

  “So you told the police you were alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t you compounding the problem in a murder investigation?”

  “Henry doesn’t know anything that’d help them. Why get him in trouble?”

  Her brows pulled together in concentration. “I don’t like it.” Tipping the can to her lips, she sipped the cold beer.

  “Just pretend I didn’t say anything. Keep it to yourself,” I implored. “And I’m begging you not to tell Reggie.”

  “I’d never involve him.” She locked dark-brown eyes with mine. “I won’t perjure myself for that boy.”

  “I’m not asking you to. Just don’t say a word.” In total silence and engrossed in thought, my best friend reached over and held my hand.

  “C’mon, I’ll drive you home,” she whispered like we were in a church.

  “I’d like to stay a little longer. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Mom.”

  “Reggie’s coming over for dinner tonight.” Nona employed my shoulder as a hitching post and clambered to her feet. “He’s probably there watching football with my dad or I’d stay.”

  “Not to be mean, but I need some alone time.”

  “I understand. But it’s getting dark and I don’t want you here much longer, okay?”

  “I’m good. Say hello to Reggie for me.” She loomed over me, not moving.

  “I know I’m snooping…” Here it comes. “Did Becket call you today?”

  I craned my neck to look at her. “When did you ever apologize for snooping into my business?”

  “It’s this place.” She glimpsed around Hallow Saints while fingering her necklace. “Makes me reverent or something. Here take my umbrella, just in case it begins to rain.”

  “Yes, he called this morning,” I said while taking hold of the umbrella.

  “And?”

  “And, nothing. He wanted to know how I was. He said he had practice.”

  “He didn’t ask to see you, or…ask you to Homecoming?”

  Her hypothetical words sent me bounding to my feet. “What are you hatching? Please don’t, Nona.”

  “I’m not hatching anything,” she said, looking disgruntled. “I just thought he might ask.”

  “You don’t have Reggie putting ideas in Becket’s head, do you?”

  “Not yet. But—”

  I broke into her inveigling thoughts. “Don’t, please don’t.”

  “I won’t say a word.” Her mouth drooped along with her shoulders.

  “Thank you.” Assuaged, I trusted her. “I’ll bring your umbrella to school tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of school, you want Reggie to pick you up tomorrow?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Hey, girl, after all that’s happened, you’re not riding with Henry are you?”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing. Please, go home.”

  Her face contorted in dissatisfaction, and twisting her arms over her chest she strode off.

  Diverting my sight from Nona to Mom’s headstone, I read the epithet aloud. “Lillian Leocadia Nelson, Cherished Wife and Beloved Mother.” Sinking back to the earth, I stared at the sculpted letters for the billionth time. “Well, Mom, it’ll be a year. It feels like yesterday and at the same time it feels like forever.”

  My eyes glided over the forlorn cemetery wondering if I should tone it down. “Looks like you’re the only one with company. I guess not too many people want to be here on a drab evening. Say hello to grandma for me. Tell her I promise to see grandpa during the holidays. I know how much she worries about him.”

  I bent near her headstone and plucked the denuded bundle of daisies from the ground. “These are done. I’ll bring more next week.” The pitter-patter of rain drops sprinkled the umbrella’s canvas. “The rains coming. I’d better get home.” I pushed off the ground. “Mom, if it’s possible, could you help Dad? He’s not handling this well. And while you’re at it, maybe send a few prayers my way.”

  Water cascaded over the umbrella as my foot sunk into a pothole. It would be a wet walk home from here. I looked toward the railroad tracks, knowing the cut-through the Lucien Estate would sever precious minutes.

  Chapter 19

  I plowed my sneakered toes into the berm and began to scale the incline. While holding onto the umbrella with one hand, my free arm draggled over the muddy plane for leverage. I slipped and caught myself prior to face planting; my hand was rooted in sludge. Slurping my fingers out of the impacted mud hole, I achieved the tracks.

  I scraped my hands on the wooden ties, smearing it with gooey muck and brushed the remainder on my jeans. Then I squinted into a pane of rain to judge the entrance to the Lucien property. After walking a few yards, I dug my heels into the downward berm into the Estate. It was quite a menagerie of undergrowth. I trekked to a deteriorating gazebo with a sagging roofline, finding a brief reprieve from the downpour.

  The moldy floorboard groaned under my weight while stepping to the outer edge of the gazebo. The Lucien monstrosity stood bleak and foreboding in the encapsulating shadows. In the uppermost window my eyes caught hold of a dim light; it wasn’t hard to miss in the gloom. Fixing my sight on the window, it then turned black. Minutes later a light shone in the fourth window. Someone was inside the mansion. Henry?

  Protected from the elements under the umbrella, I snaked between mangles of shrubbery, over the slate path to the side of the mansion to the wraparound porch. Upon finding the opening where Henry had pried a weathered plank from the window frame last week, I dropped the umbrella and squirmed through the hole.

  Landing on my hands and knees, I stood and dusted dirt on my thighs while adapting to the dreariness. Thoughts of kicking myself in the ass crossed my mind at this harebrained enterprise. First things first, turn on my flashlight. I advanced through the mansion like a covert spy and winced at the noise of my squishing sneakers. Delineated wet footprints trailed behind me on the crusty floorboards.

  My leg batted something hard. “Ooaf…stupid couch.” The couch was again covered with what was at one time was a white sheet, but had faded to grubby yellow. The last time I was here, Henry had discarded the sheet, but he must’ve recovered it since. If he still contemplated a Halloween spookfest, the sheathed furniture provided the room with a haunted feeling.

  At the banister I called up the staircase, “Henry, are you here?” My body recoiled at a strident bang. Henry gave me a signal or, a burglar was looking for goodies. If my second scenario held true, then I was shit out of luck.

  Not dawdling and clinging to the banister, I breezed up the stairs to the second floor landing. My eye’s adjusted into the extended hallway—a shape floated by with long silvery hair. This ti
me I whispered, “Is that you, Henry?” Either Henry was wearing a wig to scare me, or Monique Baskerville’s ghost decided to make an appearance.

  “Up here…” My head jerked to the distinct words coming from above.

  “Henry, I just peed myself,”—singing the words—“just in case you’re wondering.” I turned and squelched around the banister to take the third set of stairs. My skin chilled with a creepy feeling that someone followed me. I halted. Whoever or whatever had also stopped.

  Like a motorized robot I took one stair at a time—wait and listen, wait and listen. A rustle and sensing a presence, I twisted in place. White misty flecks evaporated into thin air leaving behind a lingering scent. An extremely familiar perfume—Mom? “Mom, is that you?” I held my breath and half expected her to respond.

  Witnessing a ghost loosened my vocal chords, “Henry! I need you!”— and chugged up the staircase faster than a locomotive. “Henry, He-n-n-ry!”

  The velocity of my feet was astronomical as I panted like a thirsty dog. For a second time, I heard, “Up here!” Assuming it was Henry, I looped the banister and sprinted to the top story. The staircase had narrowed considerably as I arrived at a slender six-panel door.

  The attic.

  I recaptured evocative memories: Twelve years old, holding Mom’s hand exploring the mansion. It was daylight and we were trespassing, though, Mom had said, “Consider this a unique history lesson—”

  Like a horror-struck little girl my voice quavered. “He-n-r-y…” Breathing in a hailstorm of dust, I sneezed.

  “Bless you…” intoned a remote willowy voice.

  “Is that you, Henry?”

  Approximately thirty feet in front of me was the mammoth, circular stained glass window. Another keen recollection came to life. The incredible scene played in my brain, remembering it well: Mom and I performing pirouettes and danced as a spectrum of colors entwined our bodies.

  Not as prismatic at night and considerably grimier than the last time I was up here. The window centered the main gable that faced the facade of the mansion. Lower, on either side of the stained glass, two rectangular windows. Which one Monique Baskerville dived out of was a source of conjecture.

  Jagged holes and pieces of glass were now lying on the hardwood floor. The windows let in delicate night light as my sneakers crackled on the broken glass. Extending my hand I touched the cooled stained-glass and brought my eyes close to a broken gap and peered into the night. My old house came into view and, shocked to witness a female figure. In a memorable flowery sundress, she stood on the path looking up at me—“Mom.”

  I blinked. She was gone. My overactive imagination taunted me.

  Orbiting to the left, the huge, ornate framed photograph still remained where Mom and I had dragged it years ago. Lightly, so not to damage the photo, I administered the sleeve of my jacket and dusted the black and white print. An attractive man garnishing a head of curly dark hair and a handlebar mustache stood staunchly next to a high-backed Victorian chair. Sitting in the chair, an exquisite young woman was dressed in a lacy wedding gown. She had poufy, silvery blond hair.

  The unplumbed eyes of Lucien and Monique looked at me. My bones turned to ice as I gazed at the thin smiles decorating their faces. At the moment the picture had been taken, little had they fathomed what impending tragedy awaited them.

  At the sound of a minuscule squeak, I splashed the light on a plethora of cobwebbed debris: an armoire, bureaus, antiquated lamp stands, a mountain of junk from ages past. Then rotating, I saw a partially opened doorway: A constructed addendum to the attic, the room of Louisa Alcott, servant and mother of Lucien’s bastard son.

  I shuffled over and shone my light into the room. Bypassing one lone casement window and alighting on a bed. A modern day comforter and sheets were disheveled like someone had just risen, and next to the bed was a small table with a vase. What stumped me was a flowering lily eluding a zesty fragrance.

  Chapter 20

  Entranced, I moved in. My flashlight marked the trumpeting white lily. I touched the milky petals and bringing my fingers to my nose, breathed in its reminiscent scent. Above, a picture frame had been tacked to the wall. I transferred the beam from the lily, its glow chased upward. In dazed alarm, I gawked at my mother. So vivacious in life, a waterfall of blond hair gushed over her shoulders and her eyes twinkled like blue diamonds in her smiling face. Why was her picture hanging in the Lucien attic?

  Averse to leaving her beauty, I sheared the light to the disorderly bed. At closer inspection, russet splotches dappled the sheets. Deducing the stains to be dried blood, I found the inability to blink or to avert my eyes from the splotches. Like a warning gong, my heart thunked against my ribcage. What happened in this room?

  Grabbed from behind, I jumped. My primal scream reverberated throughout the mansion. “H-h-h..en..ry!”

  “For chrissakes. Shut the hell up. It’s only me.” He held my shoulders. “Stop shaking so much.”

  “E-e..asy, for…you to say,” I whimpered with a patent catch to my voice.

  His arms strapped my trembling body, drawing me to the bed. “No-o-oo…!” Comprehending his objective, I shoved his chest and vaulted from the room like a sword swinging Lucien Baskerville was chasing me. I lost my footing and tumbled down the first flight of stairs. Cringing and scrambling upright, I achieved supernatural adrenaline.

  “Leo, stop!” Coming swiftly from the rear was Henry, pounding down the steps.

  “You’re out of your frickin’ mind,” I shouted. “I’m out of here!”

  I slowed to finagle my dive out of the living room window and onto the porch. My feet skittered to a stop on the bordering walkway which outlined the Lucien Estate. I raggedly inhaled.

  Henry jogged up beside me, then bent over to grip his knees catching his breath. “Phew, you sure can run fast.”

  On the downside of catatonic, I glanced up at the stained glass window. Feeling impaled with dust mites and itchy all over, I scrubbed my hand beneath my nose like I was trying to separate it from my face.

  “What’s the matter with you?” He harassed, fixing his glasses. “My intentions were somewhat honorable. Raping you did cross my mind, but figured I’d wait.”

  Cutting my gaze from the window to Henry, I scathed. “Not in the least bit funny.”

  “See, I helped. You went from fainting to enraged. My tactic worked.”

  “Ummm…” I whacked him in the arm and actually felt better. “Did you see the blood on the sheets?”

  His brows pulled tight. “You mean those stains?”

  “It’s dried blood.” I raked my hands over my shirt and jeans ridding the feeling of bugs.

  “Cool. Ancient blood.”

  “It’s not ancient blood.” My adrenaline exhausted, the frantic feat zapped my oomph. I sunk to the sidewalk and sat on the heels of my sneakers. “The room looked like it’d been cleaned, and those sheets and comforter were modern. “Did you see that fresh lily?”

  He squatted to his haunches. “Yes. And I doubt the ghost took up a broom and picked flowers to add atmosphere to the room.”

  “You saw the ghost too?”

  He nodded with enthusiasm. Wiggling his eyebrows, he sung, “Ha-a-unted.” He placed his hand on my knee. “Think—Epic. Halloween. Party.”

  “Did you see the picture hanging on the wall?” I needed to ask, making sure I wasn’t imagining things.

  “Yes. I’ve seen her before. In your bedroom.” He shed his glasses, and using a fingertip brushed his eyebrow. “A picture of you and that woman is on your desk. I assume it’s your mom.”

  I sniffed and nodded. “Why is there a picture of her up there?” I climbed to my feet. “Why?” I looked to him seeking unfounded answers.

  “I dunno.”

  Clicking off the flashlight, I stuffed it into my pocket. “I forgot my umbrella on the porch. Go get it, Henry.”

  “Me?” He appeared insulted. “I’m not your indentured servant. You go get it.”
/>   “Please, pretty please.”

  A disproportionate curl spilled into his mouth. “I’ll get it if you go to the dance with me.”

  “How about…” I thought for a second. “I consider your invite?”

  “It’s better than an eff-off.” His head tilted. “I’m not totally against a pity date.” He jaunted up the yard to retrieve Nona’s umbrella.

  The rains had reduced to a tolerable drizzle. Commencing at a vigorous pace, we made it to Westgate Road by ten o’clock. “Be ready by seven fifteen tomorrow,” Henry said while turning into his driveway. “I forgot my homework in my locker and I want to get it done in homeroom.”

  “I’ll be ready.” It seemed like a natural reply. Then I recalled Nona’s advice not to drive to school with him.

  Entering my house, Dad’s snores sounded like the roar of a lawn mower. There was an empty whiskey bottle on the cupboard, he was wasted. I scrounged around in the refrigerator, then chowed down a leftover piece of pizza and poured a glass of milk. In the meantime, I phoned Nona to convey the catastrophic events.

  “That’s freaky,” she said. “I don’t know what to say to make you feel better, except maybe to stay away from that haunted place.”

  “You know Henry wants to have a Halloween party there. He’s contriving all sorts of scary things to jump out at you.”

  She grunted into her cell. “I remember sneaking into the Lucien place with you years ago, and it scared me even in the daylight. That oddball Henry is right though, it’d make for one hell of a party.”

  After my conversation with Nona, I walked into my bedroom and disrobed, slinging my damp clothes over the chair. My eyes came in contact with the photo of Mom. I picked up the frame and lay on my bed. “Why is your picture in the Lucien mansion? You were there tonight, weren’t you?” I waited for her to speak. “I wish you could tell me what happened. Who killed you?”

  Chapter 21