29
Annabel wasn’t pleased by how drunk everyone was. Even Zeke seemed to have had too much beer. The other three, including her husband, had polished off three bottles of wine. Her dinner had been a hit—Neville had asked for three helpings of the soup—but now Annabel wished she’d served something more substantial to soak up all the alcohol everyone had consumed. Everyone but herself, of course.
She was disappointed in Jack. He’d still had the occasional glass of beer or wine even after Annabel had come home from rehab. She didn’t expect him to go sober just because she’d had an addiction. But he’d never gotten drunk in all that time.
Until tonight.
And he was flirting shamelessly with Priscilla.
Annabel stood. “I’m going to clean off these plates and make some coffee,” she said, scooping up her plate and Jack’s.
“Coffee?” Jack blurted. “I don’t want coffee. How about we open another bottle of wine?”
“I think you’ve all had enough,” Annabel said, piling the three other plates onto the two she held in her hand.
“Aw, come on, Annabel,” her husband said, “don’t be such a spoilsport.”
“No, she’s probably right, Jack,” Neville said. “I’ve had plenty. And Priscilla is such a lightweight.”
“Pretty girls usually are,” Jack said, winking openly over at Priscilla, who blushed a bright scarlet.
Annabel carried the plates out to the kitchen.
All she could think of was Rachel Riley. Her bleached hair and big tits filled up Annabel’s mind.
She placed the plates into the sink. Neville came in behind her, carrying soup bowls.
“Thank you,” Annabel said.
“You’re a marvelous cook,” Neville told her. His cheeks were flushed from drinking, his mosaic of pimples redder than usual. “Really, I’m usually a meat-and-potatoes sort of bloke, but this was superb.”
“I’m pleased you liked it.” She kept her eyes averted, focusing her attention on filling the sink up with soapy water.
“I do think it’s a good idea to get the house fixed up and fireplace cleared. I wish you all the luck with that.”
Finally, Annabel turned to look at him. She smiled. “I appreciate that, Neville,” she said.
“You know, I’ve heard some rustling sounds from down there,” he added. “I’m afraid you might have some vermin to deal with when you pull up those bricks.”
“Yes,” Annabel agreed. “I’ve heard it as well. Maybe just a couple stray squirrels. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.”
“Yes, well,” Neville said, and he seemed suddenly at a loss as to what else to say.
They looked at each other awkwardly.
“Can I help you here?” he asked finally.
“No, thank you.” Annabel nodded toward the door to the dining room. “I’m fine here. Please go back and keep Priscilla company.”
Neville smiled, nodded a little, and then headed back into the dining room.
Hadn’t he seen the way Jack had been flirting with his girlfriend? Was he blind? Clueless? Or maybe he didn’t care.
Annabel sighed, dropping her hands down into the soapy water. She couldn’t go back out there quite yet. She hoped that Neville would take Priscilla off to bed. Then Annabel would tell Jack that they, too, should call it a night. She wouldn’t mention his obnoxious behavior. No need to play the jealous wife. She and Jack needed to be united in the morning, when the contractor arrived and Cordelia started throwing up roadblocks to the renovation. Besides, Neville and Priscilla were leaving in the morning. They had to get down to Hartford to catch a flight to Florida late tomorrow afternoon.
But as Annabel washed dishes, the laughter from the dining room only continued and got louder.
She brought out the coffee. Zeke’s head had dropped down onto his chest and he was snoring lightly. Jack was regaling Neville and Priscilla with a story about the time he’d been at some fancy restaurant in New York right after his book came out, and people as diverse as Anna Wintour and Mayor Bloomberg and Lady Gaga were coming up to him to congratulate him. That had never happened.
“Here,” Annabel said, pouring some coffee for her husband and pushing the cup over at him. “Drink this.”
He ignored her, continuing on with his story, which now had turned into how he turned down an offer to write a Broadway show because they wouldn’t pay him enough. He described the way he’d told off these imaginary producers and he had Priscilla and Neville laughing so hard that tears were popping out of their eyes.
Annabel sat back and watched them. Drunk people were so ridiculous. She hated to think she’d once been like that, at some public function and as high as a weather balloon. She kept noticing the way Jack winked over at Priscilla when he was finished with one of his stories. She decided she couldn’t watch any more, so she got up from the table and walked out of the dining room and into the parlor.
And suddenly the whole room was different.
It was as if someone had slipped a mickey into her coffee. Some sort of hallucinogen. The room seemed to sway and vibrate. Annabel had to reach out and touch her hand to the wall to steady herself.
From behind her the laughter from the dining room continued, only now it got absurdly louder and then seemed to disappear entirely for a few seconds, as if the merrymakers were holding their party underwater. Annabel tried to clear her head. She stood in one spot, holding on to the wall, taking long, deep breaths. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, Tommy Tricky was standing in front of her.
Gnashing his sharp blue teeth.
Annabel let out a small scream.
But the creature was gone. A figment of her imagination. The room continued to spin. What was happening to her?
The laughter surged. Annabel felt as if her legs would give out from under her. She made her way across the room by holding on to the wall. She reached the fireplace and looked down at the bricks that sealed off the opening.
She heard scraping coming from below.
Scraping, scraping, scraping.
A hand was on her shoulder. Annabel gasped.
Turning, she saw Neville, as if in a dream.
“Vermin,” he said, his eyes crazy. “Vermin.”
Annabel thought she’d pass out. She nearly fell onto the fireplace, holding on to it to keep from falling to the floor. Neville was gone. Had he ever been there?
Once again, Annabel made her way around the room, her right hand against the wall to keep herself steady. She turned the corner back into the dining room.
And there was Jack fucking Rachel Riley on top of the table.
Annabel closed her eyes and opened them again.
No, not Rachel. Jack was sitting very close to Priscilla and they were about to kiss. Her husband looked over at her and smiled.
His mouth was full of sharp, broken teeth.
Annabel cried out and ran upstairs, shutting herself in her room.
But it wasn’t her room. She was in a closet. A very small, cramped, dark closet.
Daddy Ron had put her in there.
“Turn around, Annabel,” her stepfather’s horrible, jagged, drunken voice rasped through the door. “Turn around and see who’s behind you!”
“He’s not real!” Annabel shouted, her hands in her hair.
“Aw, Tommy don’t like it when people say he’s not real. Gets him real mad.”
Annabel spun her head from side to side, looking into the darkness.
“Hear him sharpening his teeth?” Daddy Ron asked.
She could. She could hear the devil’s teeth gnashing, anticipating the moment he bit down into her flesh.
“He’s right behind you, Annabel!” Daddy Ron shouted, and then he laughed.
She had to get out of there. All around her, linens were stacked neatly on shelves. Her mother’s linens. There was a hamper beside her filled with dirty clothes. It was a tight space. So small. She was stuck there, using up all the air. Pretty soon there would be no oxygen left and Annabel would die.
She had to break free. She began pounding on the door, swinging her arms out, knocking all the linens off the shelves.
Annabel was trapped! Her claustrophobia took over and she screamed.
That was when she saw the little boy’s hand resting upon her shoulder.