Remnants of Fear

Within the stairs' curve was a decorative fountain. Echo examined it as they climbed. It was the kind of ornate sculptural treasure that had been fashionable to import a hundred years ago from Europe: plump cherubs perched on three levels, all looking upwards at a winged woman who stood raising her arms to the sky as if she were pleading with God. An exiled angel. The fountain was dry, its bowl filled with dead leaves. Still, it had a serenity about it, coupled with a timeless yearning that Echo felt in her bones. She looked up, following the angel's line of sight. Stars, cold and distant, like jewels the stone maid would never possess.

They moved on, then paused at the top of the stairs. She'd never been this close before. She'd only peeked at the mansion from the shelter of trees, just a spying kid who thought it was fun to sneak around like Nancy Drew. A nagging sense of guilt formed in her stomach. She shouldn't be here.

Guilt, or ordinary fear?

Okay, there are no dogs. Nothing else can scare me. She turned on her flashlight and peered through a crack in the boarded-up window to what must be a parlor or reception room of some kind. Gabe stepped up to the big double doors, took a very large padlock in both hands and did something with it. She heard it rattle as she looked in at sheet-draped furniture and dark pools of carpet lying amid paler streaks of hardwood floor. She trained her flashlight around the walls. Some paintings were still there, more were ghosts--empty rectangles of faded wallpaper.

"Okay, it's open," said Gabe, his voice low. "Are you coming in?"

No. She felt a hard lump form at the bottom of her stomach, as if she'd swallowed something awful. Something poisonous.

Don't go in there.

Stupid. Was she going to chicken out now? And have Gabe think that not only was she a repressed little tease, but also a coward? Forget it.

"I'm coming." Echo stepped through the door.