The Accused. Jana DeLeon

in the sink.”

      “No. Neither of those rooms is secure anyway. They both have wide entries with no doors.”

      “Probably to make carrying laundry and food easier.”

      “Which doesn’t help us at all.”

      “Then I guess I’ll have to stay upstairs.”

      He motioned toward the spiral stairwell. “After you.”

      As she walked up the stairs, she looked out the glass ceiling. The clouds overhead swirled, creating constantly shifting patterns of light and shadows.

      “That storm looks like it’s going to be bad,” she said as they stepped onto the landing.

      “It doesn’t look like a mild one,” he agreed. “I can’t believe that glass ceiling is still intact. We had a horrible storm last week—lots of lightning and hail even.”

      “It’s got a panel that covers it. I accidentally opened it thinking it was a switch for the lights. It didn’t sound like it had been used in some time.”

      Carter looked up and frowned. “Your stepfather was a recluse. Maybe he didn’t like the light either.”

      Preferring to lurk in the shadow like most monsters.

      She shook her head. Now was not the time for fanciful thoughts, especially those that might scare her once she was alone in this house in the dark. She had no concrete memory of her stepfather, but she knew she’d feared him. That was all she wanted to know.

      “I just hope it closes,” she said.

      “Let’s not borrow trouble,” he said and pointed to a hallway on the left side of the landing. “I saw several bedrooms that direction when I was up here earlier. Let’s see if one works.”

      By unspoken agreement, they each took a side of the hall and began inspecting the bedrooms. Alaina made it to the door centered at the end of the hall before Carter. She stepped inside and sucked in a breath.

      This was it. The bedroom she’d shared with her sisters.

      It was situated directly over the kitchen area and just as large. Her memories were fuzzy, but she could remember the single beds and crib, all decked out in pink and white. White dressers stood against the wall across from the beds. The beds and dressers were long gone, but against the far wall stood two wooden school desks.

      She crossed the room and ran her fingers over the dusty desktop. A chill coursed through her when she felt the indentations in the corner. It had been restained and lacquered when she was a child—her punishment had been scrubbing the marble floors downstairs for a week by hand—but even the new stain and lacquer hadn’t erased the single word she’d carved in the corner with her scissors.

      Help.

      “Is everything okay?” Carter’s voice sounded behind her, causing her to spin around.

      “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He studied her for a couple of seconds. “Is something wrong?”

      “No,” she said, straining to keep herself from sounding as anxious as she felt. “Just coming face-to-face with old ghosts.”

      She forced a small smile. “I suppose I should get used to it, right?”

      He looked around the room and she had no doubt he noticed the desks and other remnants that marked the room as occupied by children. “I guess it’s strange coming back here after so long. You must have a lot of memories of this place.”

      “Not really. To be honest, I barely remember anything about my childhood. I should because I was old enough to, but it’s as if it’s been erased.”

      “Perhaps it was too painful to deal with, so you locked away those memories.”

      A bit of relief washed over her. “Yes, I think you’re right. You’re very intuitive.”

      “Not really,” he said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It just seems logical given the circumstances back then.”

      She studied him for a moment. It was the first time since she’d met him that she got the feeling he was lying to her. As an attorney, she had a highly honed ability to detect untruth.

      “Looks like the dam is breaking. I guess that’s something else I’ll have to deal with,” she said, pushing all thought of Carter and his potential ulterior motives from her mind. Whatever Carter was hiding was none of her business. She barely knew the man and that was the way things were going to stay.

      He nodded and scanned the room again. “It looks like this is the only one with serviceable furniture, but if you don’t feel comfortable staying in here …”

      “No, this will be fine.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “It doesn’t require moving furniture and is as secure as any other option, right?”

      “Assuming the locks work properly, yes.” He walked to the doorway and checked the lock, then crossed the room to open the French doors that led onto a balcony overlooking the backyard.

      She stepped out to join him. The square lines of cypress trees were the only indicators of the lawn that used to exist. Now it was as if the entire area had been swallowed up by the swamp that surrounded it. Marsh grass and weeds grew as high as a person, and scraggly shrubs had spouted up in random patterns. Vines clung to everything capable of supporting their weight and when nothing was available, they ran across the ground, mixing in with the moss to make a mottled carpet of green.

      “It’s not very inviting,” she said, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that the swamp gave her.

      She’d expected Carter to provide another logical explanation—one that she could lock on to and carry over the next two weeks—but instead, he stared silently out across the tangle of undergrowth. Finally, he spoke. “The swamps of Mystere Parish aren’t like other places, not even like other swamps.”

      “What do you mean?”

      He shook his head. “Can’t say exactly. It’s just a feeling, really, that something isn’t right. Swamps in Mystere Parish are quieter than most and have more than their share of unexplained phenomena.”

      “The legends and lore of Creoles?”

      “I’m sure that’s some of it, but I’m not much for old wives’ tales or stories told to scare kids into minding their mothers. Still, I don’t much like spending time in the swamp.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you probably shouldn’t venture out there. Too many lethal things could be lurking just past your back door and not a single one of them the kind of thing legends are made from.”

      Despite the heat of the evening, a slight chill ran over her and she crossed her arms. “You don’t have to worry about that for a second. You couldn’t pay me enough to go in there.”

      He nodded. “Well, the locks on both doors are fine. I wish we could have found a room closer to the stairwell …”

      His voice trailed off and Alaina realized he hadn’t wanted to alarm her by finishing his sentence, but she had little doubt what he was thinking.

      “In case I need to get out in a hurry,” she finished for him.

      He frowned. “I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily, but I’d be lying if I said I liked you staying out here alone.”

      “I thought there was a caretaker.”

      “Amos lives in his own cabin.” He pointed across what used to be the back lawn. “It’s somewhere in that mess. Even if he heard or saw anything from his cabin, age and physical conditioning are working against him. He wouldn’t be much help.”

      She leaned over the balcony and was relieved to see a stone walkway below that led around to the