Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(46)

May turned in the bed; he heard her sigh, the mattress squeak, from the other room. He felt a tug back to her, but instead he pulled on his boots. Outside, the sky lightened briefly and a few seconds later he heard the distant rumble of thunder.

The storm was barreling toward the coast, picking up speed in the warm water. It might never make it this far. But even the outer bands of a hurricane could do damage. He had work to do before it hit—securing woodpiles, bringing in outdoor furniture, planters. He was the steward of the homes he owned, and the people who stayed there.

Might be time to pay his guests at Overlook a visit.





20


Hannah

Don’t do it, Hannah admonished herself. Just let it go.

She was still tipsy but less so. Fatigue was tugging at her—her horrible night’s sleep, the long drive. But she knew Cricket would be waiting for her downstairs looking for some hot tub time.

She and Bruce had come up to the room to change into their swimsuits and of course Bruce had immediately opened his laptop to “check on a few things.” He sat at the desk now, chin on hand, staring at something on the screen. She was about to remind him about his promise to unplug—or try to. Maybe she should press him about Mako. But instead she held her tongue. She was still glowing from their stolen moments.

Hannah slipped into her black one-piece and then grabbed one of the luxuriously plush robes that hung in the bathroom. It was heavenly, soft and smelling lightly of lavender detergent as she shouldered it on. She stood in front of the big mirror in the bathroom, brushed, then put up her hair, which looked full and soft.

“Just go downstairs and enjoy yourself,” she whispered to her reflection. Hot tub. A joint.

Let it all go.

“What’s that?” asked Bruce.

“Nothing,” she said, stepping back into the bedroom. “You won’t be long, will you?”

“No,” he said, but he already had that distant tone, that blankness to his stare. “Not long.”

But she could tell by the set of his jaw that Bruce was in the zone. Hours could pass, the whole place could burn down, and he wouldn’t notice.

She took the phone from her pocket, hesitated. Finally, she couldn’t help it. She sank down onto the sofa and opened the internet browser, typed in: family murdered Sleepy Ridge.

It was all right there, multiple articles about the Anderson family. More than thirty years ago, a local cop with a history of domestic violence killed his wife and two children, then set his house on fire before killing himself with a gunshot to the head.

She flipped through news stories, images of the family—so young looking, smiling and the very picture of “normal.” Churchgoers, kids in Little League. Him, virile and dark, in his uniform. Her, delicate and fair. The children cherub-faced towheads. All beloved in the community, never a hint that anything was wrong between them.

An image of the girl in the arms of her mother brought tears to Hannah’s eyes. How the young woman smiled, the child’s head rested against her chest—it was so tender, so lovely. Hannah felt a hard ache for Gigi as she scrolled through article after article detailing the horror story. Hidden violence at home. A woman who tried to flee with her children. A brutal struggle ending with an entire family destroyed. She sat a moment, feeling her skin tingle. Right here on this property. She kept reading.

Finally, she got to something more recent—an article about the host, Bracken, and how he was restoring rundown old properties, bringing new life to the quiet town with his vacation rentals.

A knock at the door startled her, shuttling her back to the present where Bruce’s fingers clicked across the keyboard. She wiped at tears she didn’t even realize she’d been crying.

A soft voice at the door. “Han?”

She opened it to find Cricket standing there. She had her own phone clutched in her hand.

“Look at this,” she said, pulling Hannah out into the hallway. She held up the phone to reveal one of the same articles Hannah had just been reading.

Hannah held up her phone to Cricket, who grabbed her arm, eyes going wide. “Isn’t it just awful,” she said. “Can you believe that happened right here?”

“I think I saw her,” whispered Hannah.

“Who?”

Hannah pointed to the picture of the murdered mother. Her name was Amanda—friends called her Mandy. “When I was out in the gazebo. I saw this strange floating white light. Just like the chef said.”

Cricket stared at her a moment. “Really?”

“Swear to god. It hovered for a moment, then disappeared into the trees.”

She remembered it now. Just a trick of light maybe. But no. She’d seen something.

Cricket looked at her phone again, enlarged something on the screen then turned it back to Hannah. It was a drawing of the property, a map. Cricket pointed to a body of water. “Where they found the little girl’s body. It’s called Tearwater Lake. I think it’s just down that path behind the gazebo.”

Hannah looked back at Bruce who was still typing at his keyboard.

“Do you want to go find it?” asked Cricket, who Hannah noted was also in one of the plush robes.

Hannah thought of the dark of the woods, the heavy silence. She was more comfortable looking for ghosts on a smartphone screen.

“Where’s Joshua?” she asked, hoping to deflect the request without declining it.