The Writing Retreat(56)

I looked at Wren and she was gazing at me. And I knew she was thinking about the loft party, the bed. That same sliding feeling of timelessness arose. I realized Taylor was talking but I hadn’t been listening.

It’s going to be okay, I tried to transmit to Wren. I wondered if she was more scared than me.

Whoa. When had everyone moved? Taylor was at the buffet table, staring at the candy. Roza was sitting in front of the fire with Wren. Poppy was still on the couch. She looked somewhat perturbed, as if she was trying to remember something.

I got up and looked out the window. The snowflakes sparkled in the light shining out from the parlor, tinged with a neon purple color. For a while I was lost in them, my nose pressed against the glass. The snow went on forever out there.

“Alex.” Poppy’s hand was on my arm. Her large brown eyes were so dilated that I could’ve waded into them. “Can you come with me?”

“Sure.” I really didn’t want to leave the snow, but this seemed important. “What’s up?”

“I have to show you something.”

“Of course.” But as we left I wondered: Why was she asking me instead of Wren?

Wren and Roza were huddled near the fire, as if discussing a secret plan.

“We’re going to the bathroom,” Poppy announced. Maybe unnecessarily, because no one seemed to notice. Taylor was lying on the couch.

The room felt full suddenly, like the site of a full-blown party: I could hear the glasses clinking, little groups murmuring here and there. As Poppy pulled me along, a realization struck: it was a party that Daphne and Horace had thrown. The linear dimension of time was breaking down, the boundaries thinning. I could hear Horace’s voice, loud and deep. A woman laughing flirtatiously in response. Was Daphne here? I couldn’t sense her. But then, where was she?

In the hall it was mercifully still, though the party sounds inside the parlor were increasing: there came a shout, resulting laughter, the sound of breaking glass.

“Great party, isn’t it?” I said coyly, but Poppy ignored me, marching us down the hall. The paintings were moving and I slowed to gaze at the dead cow in the field. It had raised its head and was mouthing something at me that I strained to understand.

“Come on, Alex.” Poppy sounded frustrated. “I have to show you before it’s too late.”

“Okay, sorry.” I allowed myself to be dragged along. We burst into the kitchen. The shiny, flat surfaces felt shockingly severe. There were multiple pots and pans on the stove, burbling merrily. Where was Chitra?

“We’re going down.” Poppy opened the basement door.

I stopped short. The first few cement steps leading down into the darkness looked ugly and menacing. “Wait—why?”

“I have to show you something. I think I found it.” Her voice held both determination and a hint of glee.

“Found what?” The conversation felt increasingly hard to follow. I was Alice in Wonderland, trying earnestly to gather information and getting only mystical riddles in return.

“I’ll show you.” She switched on the light and started down. When I didn’t follow, she tugged at my hand like an insolent child.

“Poppy, this is freaking me out.” Her pulling was making me bend forward. “Basements are creepy. Especially this one.” I suddenly remembered the candle game, the flash behind me in the mirror, the candle going dark. I’d accepted that it had just been my imagination, simply drafts moving sheets around and blowing candles out. But now, when the worlds were bumping up against each other, it felt possible that something really had been down there.

“Do you want to see it or not?” Poppy hissed. “Hurry up, before Chitra gets back.”

Sounds drifted up from the basement—a woman talking, very seriously, her voice echoing. “There’s someone down there.”

“There might be.” Poppy said it grimly. “Come on. You’re the only person I can show.”

“Why?”

“Because you already know.”

“Know what?”

“All of it. You suspect, at least.”

It felt slightly embarrassing that I had no idea what she was talking about. Then another thought arose.

“What about Wren?” I asked. Somehow the fact that she was showing me and not Wren caused me to finally start a slow descent. “Isn’t she your bestie? You didn’t tell her?”

“Of course not,” Poppy said.

Halfway down the steps, the woman in the basement’s voice switched to a whisper. Daphne? Was she down there, away from the party? The cold rushed up at us and I shivered.

“So what are you showing me?” I asked.

“Proof,” Poppy declared.

“Proof of what?”

“Of what she does. That she’s not who she claims to be.”

We stopped at the bottom of the steps. Poppy bit her bottom lip as she turned on the light. No whispers. I imagined Daphne watching us, hiding behind a stack of boxes. Maybe we looked like ghosts to her. Ghosts decked out in red clothes and shiny heart necklaces.

Poppy let go of my hand. “Over here.” She strode towards the left. “It’s this wall.”

A sound came from the right. A single footstep. Then a brief exhale.

Not Daphne. It was too large. Much larger than Poppy or me.