It came to him just before sunrise. The solution he’d been waiting on. It had just wandered in among his swarming thoughts and sat down in the middle of the storm. He didn’t pretend it would be easy—he wasn’t stupid—but now that he had it in mind he knew he must act. All he had to do was wait until dawn.
* * *
The keyhole, that unblinking eye, hovered before the boy. Samuel closed one eye and moved closer. Ruth sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him, her hair spilling around her shoulders. Her head was bent forward just so and the boy wondered if perhaps she was praying. But then she gripped the back of her neck and rolled her head like she did whenever she had one of her headaches. She released a sigh, or perhaps it was a groan, and turned her head toward the side table. On it was the oil lamp, a picture of her father and a bottle that he thought might be wine.
Samuel’s eyes shifted, glancing all the way down the hall. Everything was ready. He reached for the doorknob, but he wasn’t careful about it and it shook with some force. He saw Ruth spin around and that’s when he ran, tearing down the corridor. He heard Ruth’s door open just as he reached the landing, twisting around the corner and pressing himself against the wall.
“Samuel?” From the sound of her voice, Ruth was probably scowling in his direction. “Samuel, I’m in no mood for games.”
The sun was just waking, sifting through the trees outside and rendering the upper landing a patchwork of soft light and generous shade. The perfect place to steal a glimpse down the corridor. Samuel was sure she would see it at any moment.
With his hands pressed flat against the wall, the boy tilted his head, his right eye moving across the panels in a blur, then slipping free with a clear view down the corridor.
Ruth was turning already, looking the other way. And when she saw it, she took in a sharp breath and her hand went up to her mouth just as Samuel hoped it would. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered.
At the far end of the corridor was his mother’s dressing room. The door was wide open, the whole chamber awash with morning light. She was standing in the middle of the room in the red silk dress, its rippling folds fixed tightly to her chest and the curves of her waist, the skirt spread out around her like a halo. The neck was slim and graceful but beyond it was nothing at all, matching the empty space at the end of her shoulders. The dust churned in the first blush of sunrise, its golden haze moving around her like the radiant glow of a headless ghost. The ghost of his mother.
The shock didn’t have a grip on Ruth for long. It took just a moment or two for her to really see what had startled her so. It was just a mannequin, nothing more. But the fact that it wore the red silk dress, the very dress she had pressed to her own body the night before...well, that caused her to tuck the hair behind her ears and march down the corridor.
The boy watched, eyes rippling with curiosity and, yes, a little fear, as Ruth stormed toward the dressing room. “Samuel?” she barked.
He was running then, in her wake. She had reached the dressing room and Samuel could hear her stomping about inside. But he knew the room wouldn’t hold her for long. Samuel willed his legs to quicken. He turned abruptly and darted through the open door. With a sharp right turn, he tucked himself behind the door and did his best not to make a sound. Ruth was once again in the corridor. He heard her move up the hall toward his bedroom, throwing the door open. She called his name several times but it didn’t take her long to discover he wasn’t in there, either.
“I hope you’ve had your fun, scaring me half to death.” Her voice sounded scratched and rasping. “But I’ve had enough of your nonsense, Samuel Clay, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll show yourself this instant!”
Through the seam of the door, he saw Ruth rushing past. Her eyes were wild and her mouth so tightly bunched it was barely a slit. The boy prayed to his mother that Ruth would keep walking—not stop and look inside the room where he was hiding.
“You’re a wicked child, I know that much,” she hissed.
Ruth had passed the door but then she stopped. Samuel saw the doorknob move. He heard her breathing, quick and short from the other side, and shut his eyes tight. Then the door closed with a bang. His whole body tensed, waiting for her to grab him. A key rattled in the lock. Samuel opened his eyes and found he was alone. Through the door, he heard Ruth walking away.
“I’ll search every inch of this house if I have to,” she hollered, her voice carrying up and down the corridor. “There’s no running from me, Samuel, you should know that.” A few more steps, then, “Show yourself!”
Her voice began to fade and Samuel supposed she was heading downstairs. The boy felt his shoulders relax and he took a deep breath, glancing around Ruth’s bedroom. He figured that she had locked the door to stop him slipping inside while she was searching the house. The fact that it was locked was a problem—he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t—but there was always the window, though the drop was steep and he was sure he’d break his neck. Samuel didn’t care. He had managed to find a way into Ruth’s bedroom; he had done it all on his own, and the thrill of it tempered the cold fear stirring in his chest.
Ruth’s secrets were locked in that very room. Now all he had to do was find them.