Page 46 of The Dearly Departed

I tried to keep my cool as I stood beneath a chandelier fit for a palace, before a pair of twin staircases, leading to an open landing overlooking the foyer. I didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself, but it was difficult not to marvel at the thousands of crystals dangling from the overhead fixture, or the ornate carvings in the crown molding, or the marble floor beneath my feet, likely worth more alone than the funeral home in its entirety.

Roughly a dozen people stood in the foyer, milling about with drinks in hand and chatting among themselves. They all seemed to know each other, despite being disguised in their designer costumes, their faces hidden from view with elaborate masks. None of them seemed to notice me as I passed through into another room, more crowded than the last.

It was a large, open space with little furniture. A few seating arrangements were tucked here and there, all occupied with guests. Classical music passed through the twists and turns of wrought iron chandeliers, hanging from the high, vaulted ceiling, and gold frames filled with watercolor paintings adorned the walls.

It felt more like a museum than a home, and if I hadn’t come with the sole purpose of finding Leonard, I might’ve taken some pictures to remind myself one day that this existed somewhere other than my dreams.

But I needed to find Gerald, the man who had lured me here, and I wasn’t going to do that by oohing and aahing over the house he supposedly lived in.

Maybe he’s squatting, I thought with an amused snicker, and if it hadn’t been for that invitation or the fancy suit he’d worn, I might’ve believed it.

“Welcome to Seint Manor, sir. Would you care for some champagne?”

A waiter in a tuxedo and a Phantom of the Opera mask presented a tray of gold-rimmed champagne flutes, filled to the brim with bubbly white champagne. With no intention to drink but every intention to blend in with the crowd, I accepted one with a nod.

“Thank you,” I replied, then promptly scolded myself for speaking at all.

What if someone recognizes my voice?

With the glass in my gloved hand, I pushed my way through the room, turning this way and that in search of my father. I wondered what he would be dressed as and if I’d recognize him if I saw him. Maybe the very point was for me not to know his whereabouts, to not recognize him, and this whole thing was an elaborate plan to catch me off guard.

For what reason? I wondered, walking through the room and peering down a hallway toward what appeared to be a bathroom. Why would he need to catch me off guard? What does he want with me?

It was the question of a lifetime. Gerald Crowley had slithered from beneath his rock time and time again to cast his shadow over every alleyway and street corner my mother was on, but I understood the motivation behind his visits came down to sex and nothing more—certainly not the love he held for his family. But after my mother’s death, I couldn’t understand why he kept coming back, why he tracked us down, why he wanted me here now when he could easily wash his hands of us and forget we ever existed.

We sure as hell wouldn’t have a problem forgetting about him.

Ike isn’t here. He never asks for Ike.

He wants me.

And again, I asked myself, Why?

A closed pocket door caught my eye. With a glance over my shoulder, ensuring nobody was watching me, I quietly slid the door open enough to slip inside, quickly shutting it behind me.

Then I swept my gaze around the dimly lit room I’d found myself in and was instantly transported to somewhere magnificent as I stood, captivated by a library fit for a king.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls of the large room, all stuffed with thousands of books. More than anyone could possibly read in their lifetime. In the center, a patchwork quilt of mismatched rugs sat beneath multiple overstuffed leather sofas and chairs. The high ceilings were adorned with intricately carved molding, surrounding another chandelier, this one unlit.

The greatest poets could only be so lucky to find themselves in a place such as this, and somehow, a man like me had managed to stumble inside.

“Whoa,” I whispered beneath my breath, reaching out to slide one of the ancient books from the nearest shelf, wishing I could feel its leather-bound spine against my skin.

The space reminded me of a moment long ago, when Anna and I had gone to the library one day after I picked her up from her elementary school. That memory was brought even more to life when I looked across the large room from where I stood to see a picture window with an upholstered seat built in.

But the window seat I remembered was small, whereas this one was huge, the size of a bed, and I thought, There would’ve been plenty of room for both of us on this one.

Sheer curtains framed the seat, illuminated only by the light coming in from outside, and in the gloom, I imagined a young girl sitting on the seat with a stuffed bunny in her arms, her black hair falling over her shoulders as she bent down to read the pages of her ballerina book.

“What’s that?” I remembered her asking, looking over at the book in my hand, opened to the page about historical plague doctors.

It’s me, I imagined saying now, over two decades later. I’m that doctor now, Anna. But I still can’t do a thing about the sickness that infected the man who hurt you.

And how cruel was it that I’d been able to save us all from every other person who hurt us … but I couldn’t do a damn thing about him?

I hung my head and gave it a quick shake, casting aside a girl who didn’t matter now, nor would she ever again. I couldn’t focus on the past when I had to find Gerald … unless I found Leonard first, and with determination, I turned to leave this space and move on to the next.

But something caught my eye, stalling my exit, and I turned again to catch the movement of long black hair between the curtains surrounding the window seat. I froze on the spot as a girl—no, a woman—came into view. The room was so dark that I hadn’t noticed her at first, and for just one second, I thought I’d imagined her to life.