Naturally, I stepped up to look through it. The orb was some sort of glass, and through it I got a fish-eye view of the space on the other side. Mr. Tom stood stock still in the middle of the small sitting room, one I had wandered through earlier. It had held little fascination for me compared with the rest of what I’d seen. He stared off at nothing.
“Yes, yes, quite,” he said.
I jerked back from the orb. Then pushed in closer again, because what in the holy hand grenades? Who was he talking to?
His hands were at his sides, so no phone, and there was no one else in the room. This wasn’t even a good talking-to-yourself mumble. The words had been crisp and clear, even from this side of the hidey-hole.
Mr. Tom was the last person I wanted to spy on.
Quietly, because if I could hear him so clearly, I assumed he could also hear me, I returned to the passageway and continued to explore. Another small room, this one looking into the laundry room. Moving through the house, I found the kitchen, the drawing room, and worked all the way around to the front sitting room across the foyer from where I’d started.
The fish-eye lens showed Mr. Tom’s back as he stared out the window.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Quite.”
“What a weirdo,” I whispered, barely loud enough to hear myself. He didn’t turn around.
The small hallway through the walls kept going, and so did I, feeling a little like a rat running through a maze. Another corner led to a small stairwell. At the top, I noticed a latch in the floor, and a coil of rope next to it. An escape hatch, probably.
I stepped well over it so as not to fall through.
On the other side was a viewing orb, this one without a frame. The ceiling was low enough that I had to hunch a little. When I looked through the lens, I saw Mr. Tom standing at the front door, opening it. I hadn’t heard the door knocker or a door bell.
“Hello, Austin Steele,” Mr. Tom said, and a little flutter rolled through my belly. I wondered how big of an ass I’d made of myself last night. He’d texted this morning, so he couldn’t be too mad about anything. He’d made a joke about the rocks. And I hadn’t made a pass at him, so that was good.
Still, I’d been drunk and he’d been sober. I was sure I had plenty to be embarrassed about.
“I’m here to see how Jessie is getting on,” Austin said.
“Ah. Yes. That unbearable woman across the street filled me in. You hope Miss Jessie doesn’t acclimate to the house, is that correct?”
I lowered my brow, anger coursing through me. He hoped I failed? Why in the world would he hope that?
“Correct,” Austin said. “I think you know why.”
“Because you enjoy being the master and chief of the town, and don’t want to step aside for someone more powerful.”
Austin shifted his weight, either angry or uncomfortable. “It’s not about power. You know as well as I do that this house calls to the wrong sort of people. This town doesn’t need that sort, plain and simple. It’d be better if—”
Irritated and a little hurt, I moved away from the orb. The sound cut off as I did so. There had to be some acoustic trick to that, or maybe these viewing areas made use of modern surveillance technology. Whatever the reason, I didn’t need to hear any more.
A sick weight had settled in the pit of my stomach. I felt disillusioned. I’d thought I’d become a better judge of character over the years, but I’d clearly read Austin wrong. He’d acted like he cared about my opinion, my perspective—hell, he’d gone out of his way to make sure I got home okay. All of that, and he was actively rooting for me to fail. Was this some messed up keep your friends close and your enemies closer situation?
And why would he see me as a threat, anyway?
I huffed out a breath, hitting a T-intersection, and straightened all the way up as the ceiling rose higher. I chose right randomly, checked out a bedroom, felt creepy, and checked out the next.
This wasn’t right. These passageways shouldn’t be looking into bedrooms.
Dread filled me at the realization that this loop likely led to my bedroom, and Mr. Tom had access to it.
The third orb I came to had a handle just below it. I grabbed the handle, turned and pulled. Nothing happened. I pulled again, giving it a few little yanks. I pushed out a little on one of those yanks, which made me realize I’d been trying to open the door the wrong way.
“Dummy,” I muttered, pushing the large door open.
No, not a door. The back of a closet.
No shoes lined the shelves and no clothes hung on the hangers. I left the passageway open behind me, intending to return as soon as I got my bearings, and pushed out through the closet door.
A murky room greeted me, the hall light spilling in through the open door. Bright moonlight streamed in through the windows, the full moon a few days away.
A shape loomed in front of me. “Good evening, miss.”
I froze. My heart thumped wildly.
Mr. Tom stood in the center of the space, his hands at his sides, facing me.
Why the hell was he in this room at the same time I emerged from the secret passageway? How’d he even get here so fast from downstairs?
Sweat broke out on my brow. “Is this where you kill me and bury me in the yard?” I asked through a suddenly hoarse throat.
“Good heavens, no. What would be the point in that?” He walked away from me (thank God) but stopped near the door.
I took a step back. He was graceful, but how fast could he move? Could I get into the passageway and out of the house before he could catch me?
The light flicked on, showering the room.
A new dread overcame me. One I doubted I’d ever be able to shake as long as I lived.
Fourteen
“What is this hell?” I asked through suddenly numb lips.
Eyes. Eyes everywhere. Painted eyes or marble eyes, some eyes uncannily tracking my movement. They stared at me from atop their human caricature bodies.
Mr. Tom spread his hands. “I present the doll room.”
I could actually feel the look of horror on my face.
Dolls sat on little chairs, their chubby plastic faces turned a tiny bit to imitate life. Others stood gathered in the corner, little girls with porcelain smiles, wrapped in their frilly dresses.
I gulped, trying to make sense of this horrific scene. “Bu-but why are there doll heads stacked on that shelf?”
“Ah yes. That is in case any of the doll heads need to be replaced. There are bins of arms and legs, as well.”
I didn’t look where he gestured. I didn’t want to add to this nightmare. “That one looks like it has two black eyes,” I said, pointing, “like it got beat up. Why not replace that head?”
“That’s the style of the doll. She has those lovely red-haired pigtails and quite the mean temper. She’s a tough one. The gingers always are.”
My gaze skittered over the little bodies covering every available surface and spewing onto the floor. “Okay, but that one has black lips, stitched Xs for eyes, and black hair with gray streaks. That isn’t right.”
“That’s the Halloween doll.”
“You have a man doll with big teeth and a huge crazy smile. What the hell, Mr. Tom? That is going too far.”
“Please, call me Tom. And I don’t see the big deal. They’re just dolls.”
“Until they come alive and toddle after you, sure.” Unease slithered along my skin.
Some people hated clowns. Some mimes.
Me? I hated dolls.
It wasn’t right that they were of a size and shape of babies, almost lifelike, but inanimate. It confused the mind. So did the ones with the little girl faces and adult dresses. It felt like they were staring at me accusingly. I couldn’t find the words to express how disturbing I found the Halloween doll that looked like a dead kid, or that horrible man face that didn’t belong anywhere.
My brain recoiled. Created nightmares upon nightmares. Imagined all of these nearly lifelike creatures coming after me, one halting step at a time. One jarring movement after another.
“No.” I shook my head, stepping backward. “Nope. All this has to go.”
Mr. Tom’s confusion was evident. “I don’t understand.”
“That makes you suspect.” I stabbed my finger at him. “Suspect. And you better not be peeking in my room!”
I pushed past Mr. Tom into the hall. No way was I exploring more dark places right now. Rats and spiders were one thing—I’d deal with those. Dolls, though? No. Count me out.
“I would never.” Mr. Tom was quickly on my heels. “If you could, you would see that certain rooms are blacked out. Those are the rooms with the master in them.”
“I’m not the master of this place, so I don’t see how that is relevant.” I turned and jammed my finger through the air once more. “Go close and lock that room. I’m going running.”
My crazy stare brooked no argument. He about-faced immediately.
“Close the secret passageway, too. I don’t want those things running through the walls of the house.”
“They don’t come alive unless the house does,” Mr. Tom yelled back. “And then they are a wonderful army. No one ever expects them.”
“I’ve landed in hell.” I charged into my room, slamming the door behind me, and rushed into my closet. Nothing called to me like it had on the first floor.
“Oh my God, can you even hear yourself, Jacinta?” I huddled in the corner of the closet and quickly changed into running clothes.
I wasn’t even huddling because I cared if he saw my nudity. This drooping, disheveled body hadn’t been the same since having a kid. Sometimes it didn’t even feel like mine, anymore. I couldn’t care less who hazarded a gawk at it.
No, I was huddling because I worried I’d get stuck halfway into my sports bra and he’d see the struggle.
“Young dudes being dragged across the lawn, hot middle-aged men talking about being the town alpha, the weirdest butler in the history of people, and now a room full of militarized dolls? What kind of Hades’s honkeytonk had I landed in? And here I am, in the middle of it all, looking around the closet for moving wooden carvings? This is bad. I’ve slid past a midlife crisis—I’m on a crash course toward insanity.”