Addison’s drive home was filled with haunted memories of the time she’d spent in a dimly lit room under the watchful, hawk-like eye of Doctor Death. Back then, his mere presence stifled her, producing a lasting effect that had removed her visions altogether. And as much as she loved her father, the thought that he had sent her to that doctor pained her to this day. She shook her head back and forth trying to shake the unwelcome memories away and shift the focus to the here and now. Presently, the here and now was sitting on the top step of the front porch looking forlorn.
“What are you doing here, Luke? I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“I wanted to make sure you made it home okay. Besides, you said your father was going back home tonight, so I didn’t think it would bother you if I came back and finished up a couple things.”
She nudged past him and looked around. “What things? The house looks the same way it did when I left. What couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
He walked up behind her. “I’m going to tell you something. Promise me you won’t be mad, okay?”
His face, the perfect combination of guilt and concern, was easy to read. Still, she didn’t know what he could have done to cause anger to swell within her. And then came a moment of complete clarity and somehow she just knew. Addison crossed the room, flinging open the door to the room at the end of the hall. Her eyes darted around, searching for the white box. It was gone.
“I was waiting for you to come home so we could talk about this.” Luke entered the room, box in hand.
“Give that to me!” She snatched the closed box from his hands.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know I didn’t have any right—”
“I want you to leave.”
“Addison, if I could just—”
“Get out!” she said, pointing.
“I really am sorry,” he said, walking away.
Addison froze. “Did you touch it?”
Luke turned. “I just handed it back to you, so you know I did.”
“Not the box—the dress. Did you touch the dress?”
He nodded.
“And?” she asked.
“And what?”
She didn’t know how to respond.
“Addison, what is going on?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t concern you.”
He kept walking. “Fine.”
She rushed after him. “You come into my house, open something that belongs to me, and I’m the one to blame?”
He pointed at the box. “I knew those were blood stains earlier.”
“So there’s a little blood on it. So what—who cares?”
“It’s not a small amount of blood, Addison.”
“The dress is decades old. I don’t even know who owned it or why it’s here.”
“Open the box,” he demanded.
“What—no, I won’t.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“When I took it out and looked at it, I thought someone might
have died in that dress,
he said. “But I don’t think so now.”
She wanted to ignore his insinuation—act like she didn’t care, even though she did. “What changed your mind?”
“I turned it inside out. Some of the stains don’t go all the way through.”
“Your point?”
“It’s someone else’s blood,” he said.
“Like I said, the dress is old.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you curious?”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
The front door slammed to a close. Apparently, neither did he.