Midnight Voices

CHAPTER 21

Ryan had put off going home as long as he could. He’d stayed around for a while after school, but the guys he’d always hung out with had gone to the park to play soccer. They’d asked him if he wanted to go with them, and even though he really wanted to, he’d remembered his mother’s orders: “I don’t want you going in the park without me. Ever.” He’d almost gone along anyway, but then he’d changed his mind as he remembered how his mother had looked after his father had died. So he’d made up an excuse, and watched them go off without him. Then he hung out in the library for a while, working on his homework, but finally the librarian sent him home. “Time to lock up, and besides, it’s such a beautiful day you should be out in the park with your friends.” So now he was standing across the street from The Rockwell, wishing he weren’t feeling so scared.

Over and over he’d tried to convince himself that none of the scary stories he’d heard about the building were true, but he still couldn’t get them out of his mind. But he wasn’t going to just stand here on the sidewalk all afternoon, either. Besides, Laurie should be home by now, so at least he’d be okay once he got to the apartment. Checking in his pocket to make sure he had his key, he took a deep breath, crossed the street, and pulled open the front door before he lost his nerve.

Through the glass of the inner door he could see that except for Rodney, the lobby was empty. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? But before he could make up his mind, Rodney had come out from behind his desk and was moving toward the door.

Toward him!

Ryan felt his heart start to race, and was just turning to run back outside when Rodney pulled the inner door open and winked at him. “Late getting home from school aren’t you, young man? Didn’t get in any trouble, I hope.”

Struggling to control his fear, Ryan shook his head, edged around Rodney, and started for the foot of the stairs, resisting the urge to break into a run. But then, just before he got to the stairs, he felt Rodney’s hand close on his shoulder.

He froze.

What did the doorman want? What was going to happen?

Finally, his stomach knotted with fear, he turned around.

Rodney looked down at him, and suddenly Ryan felt as if he were looking right inside of him. “Something wrong?” the doorman asked.

Ryan hesitated, then shook his head.

“You sure?” Rodney pressed. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Ryan’s eyes widened slightly but again he shook his head.

Rodney leaned down, his fingers tightening on Ryan’s shoulder. His voice dropped to little more than a hissing whisper. “Yes, you are,” he said. “I can smell it.”

Ryan suddenly felt like he was suffocating. What should he do? Should he try to break free of the doorman’s grip? But even if he could, what would he do? Try to run? Where? He’d never make it to the front door, and if he tried to go up the stairs, Rodney would catch him before he made it to the second floor.

Yell! That’s what he should do! But who would help him? Who would even hear him? But he had to do something — he couldn’t just stand here and let—

And then, just as he was about to scream, Rodney’s hand suddenly fell away from his shoulder, and he started laughing. Stunned, Ryan stared up at him.

“It’s okay,” Rodney told him. “I was just havin’ a little fun with you. Actually, I got something for you.” As the boy stood rooted to the spot at the foot of the stairs, Rodney went back to his desk, picked up a small white paper bag, and came back to give it to Ryan. “Fudge. Mr. Burton made it just for you. Best fudge you ever tasted — better’n Godiva, and that’s the truth.” Putting the bag in Ryan’s hand, he turned him around and gave him a pat on the backside to get him started up the stairs. “And no need to be afraid of me,” he called after Ryan. “I don’t really live under a bridge in the park. It’s a cave. A cave near the lake. That’s what us trolls like — nice dark caves with water nearby, so’s we can wash little boys before we take ’em inside to eat ’em!”

A cackle of laughter chased Ryan as he dashed up the stairs, a cackle that was still echoing through the stairwell when he got to the fifth floor.

As he opened the front door, he called out to his sister.

There was no answer.

But somehow the apartment didn’t feel empty.

“M-mom?” he called out, hearing the nervous stammer in his own voice. “Anybody home?”

There was no reply, yet he still had the feeling he wasn’t alone in the huge maze of rooms.

Maybe he should go upstairs. Go to his room, and lock the door, and wait for his mother to come home.

But if there was somebody in here, wasn’t that where they’d be? Upstairs, where they could catch him so far from the door he’d never have a chance to get out?

Maybe he should run back downstairs.

Or maybe he was just being a baby. Maybe there wasn’t anybody here at all. Screwing up his courage, he called out again. “Hey, I’m home! Anybody here?”

Silence.

Steeling his nerve, he moved away from the front door until he could peer into the living room and the dining room.

They looked just like they had this morning.

He started down the hall toward the kitchen when he suddenly paused.

The door to Tony’s study — the door that was usually closed — was standing slightly ajar.

Frowning, he edged toward the door until he could just peek inside. From where he stood, it seemed to be empty, but he couldn’t really see much of it at all. Reaching out, struggling to keep his hand from trembling, he pushed the door further open.

It creaked on its hinges, startling him so badly he jumped a foot backward. Then, when he realized what had happened, he edged forward again, and finally crossed the threshold into his stepfather’s study.

It was filled with the same musty smell the rest of the apartment held, and if anything, everything in the room looked even older then the stuff in the other rooms. His curiosity finally overcoming his fear, Ryan began exploring the room.

The walls were all paneled with some kind of dark wood, and the two windows overlooking the street let in so little light that the dark green leather that covered every piece of furniture in the room looked almost black. A thin rug covered the floor, its pattern mostly obscured by not only a huge old sofa, and an easy chair with an ottoman in front of it, but a bunch of tables that were covered with all kinds of things: faded pictures in tarnished silver frames, pieces of carved ivory, all kinds of small objects. There was a big desk at the end of the room where the windows were, and a fireplace set into one of the walls. Bookcases covered the wall on either side of the fireplace, and a big globe stood in one of the corners farthest from the desk.

The easy chair sat close by the fireplace, and next to it was a lamp table with an extra shelf built down close to the floor.

On the shelf was what looked like a photo album, so old the finish on its leather cover was worn away.

Picking up the album, Ryan laid it carefully on the lamp table, pulled the chain on the old-fashioned green-glass shaded lamp, then opened the album.

The pictures looked so old Ryan was afraid they’d crumble if he so much as touched them, and even though they were in an album, they had begun to fade. But as he looked at the people in them — people dressed in old-fashioned clothes, the men in stiff-looking collars buttoned up to their necks, and uncomfortable-looking coats, the women in long dresses with rows of buttons going all the way up to their necks and lace around their wrists — he got a creepy feeling.

Some of the faces looked almost familiar, like people he knew, but couldn’t quite place.

He turned the pages carefully, terrified that if he so much as let them bend, they might break.

Then, as he turned the fourth page, he froze.

He stared at the image for a long time, unconsciously holding his breath. He was looking at a man who seemed to be sitting in this very room, in the easy chair by the fireplace.

The man had strong features, and dark wavy hair, and his eyes were looking straight into the camera.

It was the eyes that Ryan had instantly recognized.

They were his stepfather’s eyes, gazing as coldly at him from out of the picture as Tony Fleming had stared at him in his room on Friday night.

Seconds ticked by, and still Ryan stood looking at the picture, almost as if he was hypnotized. Now he could see that it wasn’t just the eyes that looked like Tony Fleming’s — everything about the man in the picture looked like his stepfather. But—

Suddenly he sensed that he was no longer alone.

Laurie.

Maybe it was only Laurie.

But even as he turned around, he knew it was not his sister who had come into the room.

His stomach knotting with fear, he looked up to see his stepfather staring at him.

“I–I—the door—” he stammered. “—it wasn’t locked, so I—”

“So you came in,” Tony Fleming finished for him. He was silent for a moment, and Ryan held perfectly still, terrified of what might happen next. Then, to his surprise, his stepfather smiled slightly, and tipped his head toward the album that still lay open on the table. “And I see you found my family.”

Ryan nodded mutely.

Tony moved closer, leaning over to look at the page to which the album was opened.

“Ah,” he breathed. “My great-grandfather. Taken in this very room.” His eyes shifted to Ryan. “The resemblance is remarkable, isn’t it?”

Again Ryan nodded.

“So,” Tony said, his voice still not rising, but taking on the same cold note Ryan had heard the other night. “Now you’ve seen my study. Do you like it?”

“It — it’s kind of old-fashioned. I mean—”

“It’s the way my great-grandfather liked it, and the way my grandfather and father liked it. And the way I like it. And it is not a place small boys should be poking around in.” Once again, his eyes fastened on Ryan. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Ryan breathed.

“Good,” Tony said. “So we understand each other once again. Now, why don’t you and I go and begin fixing dinner for your mother and your sister.”

Ryan looked uncertainly at his stepfather. “You — you’re not mad at me?”

Tony shrugged. “I live here — you live here. I left the door open — you came in. I am as much at fault as you.” He carefully closed the album and put it back on the lower shelf of the table, then pulled the chain on the light. Steering Ryan out of the study, he closed the door behind him, then took a key from his pocket, put it in the lock, and twisted it.

The lock clicked as the bolt shot home.

“And what is that?” Tony asked, gazing at the bag in Ryan’s hand.

“Fudge,” Ryan replied, barely able to believe he wasn’t going to be punished at all for going into his stepfather’s study. “Mr. Burton made it.”

“Then you must write him a note, thanking him,” Tony said. “And will you share it with your sister?”

Ryan hesitated, then nodded.

“Good,” Tony said softly. “Very good.”