Addison Lockhart watched the cab dart back down the dead-end country road, leaving nothing but a billowy dust cloud in its wake. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath before spinning around on the heel of her boot. When her eyes reopened, she wasn’t prepared for the image before her.
You’re here now. You can do this. No more steps back. No more past. And no more death. Only life. Your life. It’s time to move forward.
The house was much older than she thought it would be. It was dingy and needed work—a lot of it. Several of the wood shingles were missing from the exterior. A piece of railing on the left side of the porch had been partially ripped off, its jagged pieces forming splinter-worthy spikes. Even so, there was a sense of grandeur behind the tattered facade—something regal in the architectural beauty of the domed turret and multi-gabled, steep-pitched roof. Even with all of its flaws, none of the windows on the house were broken, not even the magnificent stained-glass one in the center of the top floor.
The property surrounding the Queen Anne-style house was heavily wooded, its thick, mature trees stretching over the back of the mountainside. Addison stood silent and still, taking it all in, hoping she’d made the right decision in coming here. An owl sounded in the distance, making her aware of his presence. She glanced into the trees, knowing he could see her, even though she couldn’t see him.
Addison looked over the acreage to the house next door, noticing what appeared to be the pitch of a roof peeking through the trees. There was a good distance between the two houses, which was exactly what she was looking for. Peace and quiet. Serenity. No horns honking, no traffic jams, no sirens…just the faint sound of water coming from what she assumed was the Hudson River.
One week earlier, Addison had been seated in a stuffy lawyer’s office, only half listening to the man on the opposite side of the desk as he rattled off what she’d inherited according to her mother’s will: money, jewelry, the autographed record collection that she’d never been allowed to touch, and a house.
A house?
And not just any house. A manor.
“I don’t understand,” Addison had said. “My mother owned a manor in Rhinebeck, New York?”
The lawyer simply nodded, his eyes scanning the document for additional information.
“My mother never mentioned it to me before.”
The lawyer gazed over the rim of his glasses, staring at her like she was a child who asked too many questions. “From what I understand, it was the home your mother grew up in…or was born in. Are you sure you’ve never been there before?”
Addison shook her head.
“Says here your grandmother owned the house outright,” he continued. “It looks like it has been passed down over the last two generations from mother to child—first to your mother, now to you. There is one curiosity though.” Addison lifted a brow. The lawyer continued. “Your grandfather didn’t appear anywhere on the deed when it was transferred to your mother. It seems the manor has always been owned by a female.”
Addison slouched back into the sofa. “My mother was an only child, and so was I. There wasn’t much of a choice.”
“Well, I suppose you could just deed it to your father if you don’t want to bother with it,” the lawyer suggested. “Or you could sell it.”
Addison snapped out of the memory and stared back at the house again, wondering why it had been abandoned for so long, forced to deteriorate year after year. If no one wanted it, why hadn’t it been sold? It seemed a shame for such a thing of beauty to go to waste.
She placed a foot on the front porch step, testing its durability by tapping it with the toe of her boot a few times to make sure it wouldn’t cave in when she applied more pressure. When she felt confident it would hold her weight, she stepped forward, continuing the ritual on the next step and the next one after that. She made it onto the porch and walked to the front door, stopping to notice a metal nameplate drilled into place over the mailbox. It was too grimy to read. She looked around, seeing nothing she could use to clean it off. She pulled the sleeve of her sweater over her hands and wiped the nameplate down, reading the words aloud as they came into view: “Grayson Manor.”
Addison reached into her pocket, pulled out a key ring, and inserted the largest of the keys into the door. It clicked, unlocking instantly, but when she pushed against the solid mass of wood, it didn’t budge. She tried again, this time ramming the side of her body into the door, shoulder first. It hopped forward only an inch, the door standing firm, like a bully blocking passage to the other side. She backed up, gripped the handle, and tried again, this time with more force. The door swung open, almost flinging her to the floor in the process. She didn’t mind—she’d gotten what she wanted. She was in.
The interior of the house was run down, yet charming, just like the outside. Addison expected to find rooms full of furniture with sheets thoughtfully placed over the top, preserving their integrity. Instead, pieces were haphazardly strewn about in piles, many of them damaged from years of neglect.
Off to one side was a kitchen, although it didn’t look much like one. All of the appliances were missing, and the drawers and cabinets contained nothing but layers of dust and rat droppings—some fresher than others. Addison ran a finger across the front of a cabinet door, staring at the cakelike layer of dirt before wiping it off on her jeans. The dark walnut cabinetry was simple yet refined—elegant enough to suggest that great care had been taken to beautify the place at one time. She was determined to make it that way again.
She left the kitchen and entered a large, open living space with wood floors. The room reminded her of a dance hall, large enough for a banquet or a significant-sized party. A trio of sullied chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the one in the center being far more grandiose than the others. It may not have been what she expected, but with a lot of restoration work, she could create the house she’d always wanted. A house she could call her home. It felt good to finally be alone.
The only problem? She wasn’t.