The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(48)
“Don’t worry,” I muttered, sliding from the bed. “I’ll be fine.” I recognized the sound of someone crying—Jayne?—along with the sounds of General Lee and both puppies barking, Jack asking what was wrong, and Nola making soothing noises to the dogs to quiet them. There was no sound from the nursery—not that I expected any from JJ, and even Sarah, although probably suddenly awakened by the sound, was much too laid-back, like her father, to let things ruffle her. Not willing to remain in the room any longer, I made my way to the door and peered out.
Nola, wearing her father’s old college football jersey, stood with a puppy under each arm, staring helplessly at the scene in front of her. Jayne was crouched over something on the hallway carpet runner, sobbing hysterically, and Jack—shirtless, I noticed—had his arm around her, trying to draw her to him.
A tingling on my scalp drew my eyes down the corridor, where a black shadow, human shaped but wider and taller than any human I’d seen, crept along the wall, growing larger as it made its way toward Jayne’s open bedroom door.
I gasped, and Jayne jerked her head up in time to see the black mass reach her doorframe, the shadow thrown from the streetlights’ shining through the downstairs windows, elongating it over the wallpaper like a vengeful bat.
And then I couldn’t see it at all, although I could feel it. Could feel the cool air in the upstairs corridor, could smell the rotting scent of mold. I reached up and flipped the light switch, and all that was left was Jayne with tears streaking down her face and wearing only a thin nightgown, and my shirtless husband with his arms around her trying to offer words of comfort.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. There was a lot wrong with this particular scene, but I was pretty sure I was the only one noticing that part of it.
“The night-light,” Jayne sobbed. “Somebody pulled it out and smashed it.”
I stepped closer and I immediately felt a sharp stab in my big toe. Lifting my leg, I saw what remained of the small, clear lightbulb that had been happily burning in the pretty plastic flower night-light when we went to bed. It was pulverized now, as if a large and heavy shoe had trampled on it, mashing it into the rug.
Stepping back and placing my weight on my heels, I said, “How did that happen?”
I felt Nola and Jack staring at me, but I ignored them, meeting Jayne’s gaze instead.
She sniffed. “I might have done it accidentally. I wasn’t sure if it was on, so I came out into the dark hallway to check on it. I might have panicked and then somehow knocked it out of the socket and stomped on it. I’m usually pretty controlled, even when I’m scared, but I think it’s because this is still a new house to me. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she studied the pulverized bulb and night-light.
“We can get you a new one tomorrow,” I said before turning toward the nursery. “I’m going to go check on the babies.” And I did want to check on them. There had been something in the upstairs hallway, a dark, foreboding shadow that I was pretty sure had been the same presence I’d sensed the day the girls opened the Ouija board and Meghan Black felt something cold and disturbing in the cistern. But I also needed to step away to regain my composure and confidence that had somehow taken a severe beating at the sight of shirtless Jack with our nanny.
I flipped on the small lamp in the nursery, the one that threw images of pink and blue elephants along the wall, then went to check on the babies. I was confused at first before remembering the new placement of the cribs. It did work better, giving more space in the middle of the floor for toys and blocks. But I hated it right now, if only because it hadn’t come from me.
I peered into JJ’s crib, where he lay on his back with all four limbs splayed wide, his head to the side so his thumb could rest comfortably against the mattress while he sucked it. He smiled in his sleep and it made my heart squeeze with love for this happy little boy. Amelia had said that when a baby smiled in his sleep, it meant he was talking with the angels. I could certainly believe that, although I wouldn’t have been surprised if the angels were joined by others for a big old family reunion.
I pulled the baby blanket over him, knowing he’d soon kick it off, then turned to Sarah’s crib.
“Mamamamamama.”
Sarah’s eyes met mine as I leaned down to pick her up. There was nothing like a sleep-warmed baby in footie pajamas pressed against your chest, your nose buried in downlike hair that smelled of baby shampoo.
“Hello, sweet one,” I cooed.
“Mamamamama,” she babbled again, and I held her a little tighter. Jack and Jayne had both pointed out that M was an easy consonant for children to say, which was why an M word was usually the first word uttered and that babies as young as JJ and Sarah might not necessarily be referring to me when they said “Mama”—not that JJ had done so, but one assumed it would happen soon.
Still, I liked to think that Sarah knew who I was and was calling me by name. I held her close and started to sway, and even considered singing, but thought twice about it because I was afraid it might make her cry. I spun gently and felt her relax in my arms, until I became aware of the soft scent of roses permeating the room.
Sarah’s head jerked back and she seemed to be staring at something behind my shoulder. She reached out her hand, then smiled. “Mamamamama.”
“Louisa?” I whispered to the empty corner, but whatever it was had gone, leaving behind only the lingering aroma of roses and a sense of matronly warmth and safety.