Page 43 of The Only One Left

A dozen more shingles litter the terrace, many broken into a hundred pieces, a few still miraculously intact. I step over and around them on my way to the terrace railing. A frigid breeze comes off the ocean in steady, brine-scented puffs. I close my eyes and lean into it, enjoying the chill. It feels good after spending so much time inside the stuffy confines of Hope’s End. Lenora doesn’t know what she’s missing.

The terrace runs the length of the entire mansion, ending on both sides with four short steps. The ones on the left descend to a flagstone patio surrounding an empty swimming pool. On the right, the steps lead to a swath of lawn. On the other side of it sits a one-story stone cottage so quaint and tidy it could have been plucked from a storybook. Warm light glows from a window beside the arched door.

Light from another window flicks on above and behind me, in the mansion itself. It casts a slanted rectangle of brightness across the terrace. In that patch of light, a curl of metal glints among the shards of broken tile.

I pick it up and hold it to the light. At first, I think it could be a paper clip bent into an oblong ring. But it’s much thicker than a paper clip. Sturdier, too. It takes some force to bend it further. Both ends are curved toward each other, one more so than the other, making me deduce it was a hook of some kind that either broke or fell off. Maybe it’s what caused the shingles to drop from the roof.

I turn back to the lit window to scan the roof one story above it. Craning my neck, I try to see where it is in relation to my room. Two doors down, it looks like. On the other side of Lenora’s room.

Mrs. Baker.

I take a few backward steps, angling for a better glimpse inside the room. I can make out frilly curtains, a hint of purple floral wallpaper, a shadow stretching across the ceiling.

Something else then catches my eye.

To the right of the lit window, in Lenora’s room.

There, framed in the darkened window, is a gray blur.

I gasp, watching as the blur passes the window and disappears. I can’t make out what it is. The room is dark and the movement too brief. All I know is that I’m certain someone is walking around Lenora’s bedroom.

I keep moving backward, eyes fixed on the window, hoping for another glimpse of whoever it is. I’m so focused on Lenora’s room that I stop paying attention to the slate shingles on the terrace. I trip on one and stumble backward into the railing, which hits the small of my back and throws me off-balance.

The twist of metal flies from my fingers as I reel wildly.

Arms flailing.

Heart jittering.

My shoulders and head lean beyond the railing, out over the waves crashing far below. For a second, the chasm at my back feels like it’s reaching up, as if trying to yank me over the edge and into its depths.

I manage to lunge to the side, flipping over until my stomach is pressed against the railing and I’m staring straight down the cliffside. Fifty feet below is the Atlantic, its waves collapsing onto the shore at the base of the cliff. A narrow strip of rock-studded sand sits between the cliff and the water, glowing white in the moonlight. I’d find it lovely if not for the fact that one wrong move would have sent me crashing into it.

On my right, I hear the swish of footsteps across the dew-dusted lawn. Carter’s voice cuts through the night. “Mary?”

I turn to see him already halfway across the lawn and coming closer. He halts when he realizes it’s me.

“Sorry.” He pauses, befuddled, like he’s literally just seen a ghost. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I huff, still breathless from my near miss.

Carter resumes his approach, reaching the end of the lawn and hopping up the steps onto the terrace. “For a second there, I thought you were going to topple over the railing.”

“So did I.”

I step away from the railing on rubbery legs. It’s the same feeling I had when I was first hit with the tilt on the second floor of Hope’s End. Which makes sense, seeing how the terrace is likely also slanted toward the sea. The thought makes me take another wobbling backward step.

Carter rushes to my side to prop me up. “Let’s sit you down for a few minutes.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Really.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Instead of leading me back into the mansion, Carter guides me down the steps and across the lawn to the stone cottage. Its open door spills golden light across the grass.

“Do you live here?” I say.

“I do indeed. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

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