The Attic (Completed)

Chapter 8

Mike shook his head decidedly, eying her as though wary of her sanity. "I'm sure if someone was here, he or she would be long gone by now." He sat down on an upholstered settee and hooked his arm over the crest rail, facing her directly. She noticed for the first time that he was in cotton pajama pants and an undershirt.

"But someone knocked me out and dragged me to the front corridor, I'm sure of it. Why not just leave me in the pool room? It makes no sense. We really should call the police."

He shook his head again. "No, we'll check in the morning to see if anything's missing and worry about it then." He sighed. "It's been a long day for you, Lily—the accident with Ian, probably really shook you up. And the lights going out in the basement . . . I really just think your mind's playing tricks on you. I'm sorry you got hurt though." He gave her a look of pity and she broke eye contact, resenting his patronizing tone.

"How is Ian, by the way?" She met his gaze again. "I wanted to go see him—but Hannah wouldn't let me. I have no idea where his room is either."

"He's just down the hall right now, actually. Temporarily. Last room on the left. But seriously, Lily, next time you get the urge to explore in the middle of the night, come get me first, okay? As I'm sure you realize by now, it's not a safe thing to do." Again with the patronizing tone.

She leaned forward so the wound wasn't pressing against the back of the chair anymore. "I can see that now," she said flatly, cheeks prickling. He didn't believe her account; thought she'd simply hurt herself on a statue and had imagined the rest in a state of hysteria.

"Well," she said, folding her arms, "seeing as how it's the middle of the night and you don't want me wandering around alone—can you take me to see Ian?"

Mike rubbed his knee, frowning. "Now?"

She stood up. "I need to know he's okay. It's been a, weird day, to say the least."

Mike stood too. "Fine. But let's get you a clean shirt first."

"You don't think red is my color?" She laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"I think any color would look good on you, but a bloody shirt will send Ian off the deep end. He'd probably blame me for it, too."

She searched his face a moment, nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't want to distress him."

To ease her nerves, Mike scoped the hallway first and then her bedroom, assuring her that no one was lurking about. He waited in the hall while she changed her shirt and rinsed her hands in a ceramic basin. They went to the last door on the left, walking quietly to avoid waking Hannah. There was no sound of crying now.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Mike asked.

"Yes, please." She gave him a weak smile. "I don't want to barge in on Ian like I just did with you." She blushed at the memory. "In retrospect, it's pretty embarrassing."

He laughed and gave her a side hug. "No worries—I got your back."

She winced at that.

They entered Ian's room, which was just a guest room, and Mike turned on a double sconce lamp next to the door. It wasn't enough light to wake Ian but provided enough that they could find their way around the room without tripping over furniture.

The room was tiny compared to the others, with a rose-patterned settee and a dresser on the left-hand side of the room, and an iron Victorian bed in the center. On the right-hand wall was an arched lancet window with a trestle table beneath it. Atop the table were some medical supplies—gauze, tape, antiseptic, and a ceramic water basin and pitcher.