The Devil Inside, page 11
Taking a breath, she descended the remaining stairs and followed Craig across the garage with him waving his arms to set the lights to flickering on as they went.
The garage was generously sized, the two cars and the medium-sized moving truck only taking up half the space. It made her appreciate the true size of the barn that the Barn House had been born from. ‘This place is much bigger than it looks.’
‘Yeah, it’s like the Tardis.’
‘The what?’
‘You’ve forgotten Doctor Who?’ His shock turned to a grin as he clapped his hands together. ‘Amazing. You get to discover Doctor Who all over again. Lucky girl.’
‘Yeah, lucky.’
‘Just trying to find the bright side.’
‘That seems to be a thing with you guys.’
He nodded as he opened the door. ‘There’s been some tough times, especially in the last few years.’ He tapped the tattoo on his arm—the same tattoo Phil had on his arm. ‘Bráithreachas an Aos Si. Brotherhood of the Sidhe. It’s a promise we made to always look out for each other, to make sure we’re not turning into dicks, that we’re not losing our shit, and to always find the light when one of us is sinking into the dark. You became part of that promise when you married Phil.’
‘Oh.’
‘Come on.’ He opened the storage room door.
She halted. It was a cavern of darkness. But before she had a chance to panic, Craig backed in, hands raised. ‘Let there be light!’
She almost sagged in relief as light flickered to life, catching even the darkest corners of the storeroom. About half the size of the four-car garage, the storage room had shelving that ran down both walls and across the back, most of them empty except for the shelving opposite the door.
It was filled with boxes, all labelled. She drew closer to them, touching the lettering, reading the words.
There were a few trunks labelled ‘clothes’ and boxes titled ‘shoes’, ‘costumes’, ‘essential toiletries’, ‘essential treats’ and ‘essential music: records and CDs’.
They carried these records and CDs with them everywhere. The box was filled with all their favourites that had given each of them inspiration.
Huh. How did she know that? Was it a memory?
She thought hard, but her head started to thump and no memory surfaced.
Just a knowing then.
Weird that she would know stuff like that but not remember how she came about that knowledge.
She shook her head, not wanting to look too deeply into that thought right now. She was here to find her paint supplies.
There were boxes next to and below the records box labelled ‘spare music stands’, ‘spare cymbals’, ‘skins’, ‘extra strings and pics’, and finally one labelled ‘Lover-man’s drumsticks’. Her fingers lingered over that wording.
Lover-man.
Phil.
That’s what she—Phil’s Mel—thought of him. Pronouncing it loud and proud on the box for all to see.
His friends ribbed him about it, but he always laughed.
She gasped as the flicker of memory came then skittered away.
‘I forgot this was here,’ Craig said, his voice full of a deep sadness. She turned to see him standing beside a table at the other end of the row of shelves where a case of scotch sat. He opened the box and pulled out a bottle. ‘Nigel always sent a couple of cases with us wherever we went so that there was always something decent for him to drink when he came to visit.’
‘He drank that much?’ Melissa asked. She remembered talking with Nigel a couple of times to set up the meeting about doing the promotion for the band. He’d seemed like a man who kept his shit together, not a drunk.
Craig smiled as he stared at the bottle. ‘No. Although, he did love a nip or two of this at the end of the day.’ He put the bottle back in the case. ‘He always sent a couple of cases with the instructions that we weren’t to touch it unless things were getting desperate and to tide us over until he got there to set us straight.’
‘He sounds like a character.’
‘He was.’
She wanted to ask him more, but the look on his face made the words stop in her throat. ‘What’s this?’ She gestured at a chair that stood beside the table in front of an empty shelf.
‘That’s Dae’s favourite armchair. He bought it years ago and takes it everywhere with him.’ He smiled as he joined her, his hand running over the old leather back of the chair. ‘He always found a place to put it even in the most cramped hotel room.’
‘Why’s it down here?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. For some reason he never dragged it upstairs.’
‘Lexi wouldn’t let him have it in the house?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘No. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She’s pretty cool and relaxed and isn’t all “this is my space” like some people.’
‘Like me you mean.’
He glanced over at her. ‘No. You weren’t like that either.’
Wasn’t she? She remembered always being pretty particular about her space. What had changed her so much?
Craig gestured to the other side of the stack of silver boxes—the kind of protective boxes that were used to carry musical and technical equipment. ‘Here’s your stuff.’
She walked around the stack and halted, her gaze skittering past the box Craig was lifting from a stack to the trunk sitting in the corner. A few boxes were stacked on top of it, a suitcase sitting beside it. Unlike everything else here, none of the things in that pile were labelled. It wasn’t like her not to label things.
She stared at them, unable to pull her gaze away.
That trunk. It was the matching one to hers. Papa had bought his at a yard sale when she was two then made her one just like it. He had never used his for storage though—he’d bought it without the key for the lock. For as long as she could remember it had stood in his office in the corner behind his desk with a tray of whiskey with a couple of glasses on it—he’d occasionally have a quiet drink in the office at the end of the day with his foreman or if a neighbour visited. She’d always been fascinated with it, running her fingers along the carvings on its lid and side, so like hers and yet different. He’d always joked with her that if she ever found the key and opened it, she’d be able to step into a different world.
‘Like the wardrobe that leads to Narnia, Papa?’
‘Something like that,’ he’d say, and wink at her, making her laugh.
Why would Phil have brought it with him? Maybe he thought it was something significant because it was like hers. And what was in the boxes on top of it? The suitcase. Was this the stuff he’d found secreted away in the hidey-hole in her parents’ bedroom?
An oily, creeping feeling chased over her, gripping the back of her neck and running down her spine. She shuddered and backed away from the trunk and the boxes on top of it. She wanted to get away from them. Away from the room.
‘Melissa?’ Craig called after her as she fled through the door and back into the garage.
Her legs were too wobbly to make it up the stairs again, but she needed air. Needed air.
She ran to the door on the far side and opened it, staggering out into the sunlight, gasping in gulps of air.
‘Melissa? Are you okay?’ Craig stood beside her—she hadn’t noticed him following her.
She nodded jerkily. ‘Fine. I just felt claustrophobic all of a sudden. I needed some air.’
‘I’ll get Phil.’
‘No.’ She grabbed his arm before he could turn away. ‘I’m fine. I don’t want to worry him. I just needed some air.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ She leaned against the wall of the Barn House and stared into the distance, heartbeat a thunder in her chest, breath too fast, ignoring Craig and his worry. Alan had taught her some breathing mantras and while she’d scoffed at them to begin with, she’d actually found them helpful. She did one now.
When her breathing was under control, she turned her head and met his gaze. ‘See, I’m fine.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
She pushed away from the wall, relieved that her legs were no longer shaky. ‘Please don’t tell Phil about this. I really don’t want him to worry.’
‘You should tell someone.’ She began to shake her head. ‘You looked like you were going to pass out. You’re still a little pale.’
‘Nothing that some fresh air and sunlight isn’t fixing already, right?’ She tried a bright smile. It felt almost natural.
He quirked his brow. ‘Seriously, Melissa, I think you should tell Prof Alan at least. There might be something he needs to check out.’
She blew out a breath, wrapped her arms around her. ‘I’ve been poked and prodded enough for a lifetime’s worth. If there was anything physically wrong with me, they would have found it already. I just think …’ She looked back out into the distance, not wanting to explain what had happened in there—not able to explain what had happened in there. ‘Seeing all that stuff—it brought on little flashes of memory and knowings. It was a bit overwhelming.’
‘Really? That’s amazing. Not about being overwhelmed, but about the memories.’ He dipped his head and caught her gaze. ‘You should tell Phil about it. He’ll be wrapped you’re remembering things.’
She bit her lip. ‘They weren’t really about him specifically. Just rushes of knowing. So, you see, that’s why you can’t tell Phil. I don’t want to fill him with false hope. He’s been so kind and patient. I know he must be hurting. I don’t want to hurt him more. Okay?’
He stared at her for a long moment then nodded slowly. ‘Okay.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you want me to go in and get your box of paint stuff?’
‘You know which one it is?’
He chuckled. ‘We’re talking stuff you packed. They will be labelled ‘paint supplies’, ‘spare canvas’ and ‘easel’. I think I’ll be able to find them.’
‘Great. Okay. Thanks.’
‘You staying out here for a bit longer?’
She glanced back out at the scenery. She really wanted to stay out here, but if she did and Craig went back upstairs by himself, Phil would know something was up. ‘I’ll come back in with you and wait at the stairs while you go and get the box.’
‘Sure.’
They headed back inside. She sat on the stairs while he went to fetch the boxes out of the storage room, her thoughts flipping back to the trunk and the unlabelled boxes on top of it. Why had the idea of looking inside made her feel so much … what? Panic? Fear?
Grief over the loss of her parents she could understand. But she didn’t even know what was in those boxes. So why would she feel anything about them at all?
Her pulse began to race again.
Craig exited the storage room, two boxes in his arms labelled ‘paint supplies’ and ‘spare canvas’.
‘That didn’t take long,’ she said, standing, wincing a bit at how relieved she sounded.
He grinned as he joined her. ‘Your need for order makes finding things easy. I’ll have to come back and get the easel. Shall we?’
They ascended the stairs.
Phil wasn’t in the lounge area when they reached the main floor—he must be putting the baby to bed. She was kind of glad he wasn’t there. She still felt edgy and, given how well he seemed to know her, he’d notice.
‘Where do you want this?’ Craig asked.
She looked around. She’d really prefer to paint out here where there was the view and the changing light patterns but, ‘Perhaps it would be best if I painted in my room.’
He stared at her as if she’d gone nuts. ‘Since when do you paint in your room?’
She shrugged. Never as far as she could remember. She’d always done it in an open space or outside or in a studio at the farm at home. ‘Would you mind if I set up over in the corner nook there?’
‘Why would I mind?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s a communal space.’
He looked around. ‘It’s a large space.’
‘Will Phil mind?’
‘Of course not.’
‘But the smell might affect the baby.’ That was something a mother should think of—right?
He shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t think so. As I said—large space.’ He took the decision out of her hands and walked to the area she’d gestured to behind the lounge. It was a lovely little library nook with shelves full of books and a chaise, side table and lamp set up. It overlooked the view out the window. He put the box down. ‘If we move this here—’ he dragged the chaise and table back a bit and to the side, ‘—you have plenty of room for an easel. Which I’ll just go grab for you.’
She began to order her paint tubes and brushes to see what she had but was only halfway through when he returned.
‘Here it is. Where do you want it?’
She gestured to a spot that gave her the best light. He set it up like he’d done it many times before—maybe he had—then stepped back. ‘Well, I’ll go find out where Phil is and leave you to it.’
She nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He touched her shoulder, smiled and then was gone.
She returned to the comforting process of unpacking and preparing her painting space.
Ten minutes later, she stood in front of the easel, a blank piece of canvas in place, and without doing any sketches, began to paint.
Chapter 11
‘Hey, Phil. Wait up!’
Phil looked up to see Dae and Craig at the top of the hill, coming down the path towards him. He hadn’t spent any alone time with them in the week since bringing Mel and Arwen home. It wasn’t like he was trying to avoid them—they spent time with him and Arwen every day and chatted with Mel when she wasn’t painting—but he hadn’t been to dinner up at the main house or gone to the studio with them or even just had a drink at the end of the day as they’d used to. There always seemed to be things to do with Arwen and Mel around the Barn House. Not that they were pressuring him or anything. They’d been amazingly understanding. Especially about the fact they still hadn’t got back into the studio to finish the album.
Maybe they wanted to discuss that now. Sweat sprang out on his hands and he rubbed them surreptitiously against his jeans as he waited for them.
‘Beautiful morning for a stroll,’ Dae called out as he drew nearer.
‘You heading to the garden?’ Craig asked equally loudly.
Phil rocked the stroller back and forth with one hand while waving with the other for them to keep their voices down. He’d just got Arwen settled and back to sleep—they’d been up since five and she should have been down an hour ago—and he didn’t want her waking before it was time to feed her again.
His friends pulled a ‘sorry’ expression and started doing an exaggerated tiptoe towards him.
Dickheads. He smiled and shook his head.
‘We were just going for a walk before the day heated up,’ he said as they came up beside him. February was proving to be hot even here in the hills.
They peered into the stroller. ‘She looks so blissful,’ Dae said. ‘How is our little princess today?’
‘Good.’ He yawned—Arwen had kept him up most of the night. ‘You’re up early.’
‘Yeah.’ Dae ran his hands through his hair. ‘Been up for hours actually. Alexia had an idea for a song at two this morning and we’ve been up since then getting it down.’
‘Why are you out here then?’
‘Alexia and Cat are having a girl’s day, so she had to set off early to get to the Peninsula on time. I just waved her off and decided to go to the gym for a workout. Craig was there when I got there.’
‘You were?’ He turned to Craig, brows raised. Their keyboardist was a night bird, not a morning person. He generally didn’t get up before ten if he didn’t have to and you weren’t likely to find him near the gym before mid-afternoon.
‘I just woke up early and decided I needed a workout.’
Dae snorted. ‘That’s not what you told me.’ His smile broadened as he ignored Craig’s not so subtle gestures to shut up. ‘Arwen was crying half the night apparently.’
‘She kept you up?’ Ah hell. He felt like a shit. Craig had come in to offer help at twelve, but Phil had told him he was fine. Craig stayed for a short time but then headed off and he’d thought his friend had gone back to sleep or headed off to the studio. ‘You should have told me she was disturbing you.’
‘It’s fine.’ Craig shot a killing look at Dae, making Dae laugh out loud. ‘Dickhead here shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
Phil looked between them. ‘I can move to the smaller room downstairs.’ Next to the larger room that had been his and Mel’s but was now just Mel’s. It was the room they were going to use as a nursery. Now only Mel was down there, Phil having taken the room that had been Dae’s before their singer had moved up to the main house to be with Lexi, the main reason being that there was a smaller room next to it that could be for Arwen.
Craig waved his hand. ‘Don’t do that. It might make Melissa feel uncomfortable or pressured—and didn’t Prof say we should try to make sure we don’t put any pressure on her?’
‘Yeah.’ Shit. What was he going to do? ‘I suppose, maybe, I could move somewhere else.’
‘No!’ Both of his friends almost shouted at the same time.
Arwen jerked in the pram, her little face screwing up. Shite. He began to rock the pram again.
‘Sorry,’ Dae and Craig whispered together.
Arwen’s face screwed tighter and then she opened her mouth and wailed, the sound starting out small and ratcheting up into a siren-like sound in seconds. ‘Shite.’ He picked her up and cradled her against him, patting her bottom and jigging around. ‘Come on, baby-girl. It’s not time to be awake. Sleep a little longer for Daddy, okay. You hardly slept last night. You have to sleep, okay? Daddy needs you to sleep.’ It was humiliating to hear the desperation in his voice.
