sort of professional help. Why haven’t you spoken with your father? You’ve confided in him since you were a little girl. He could have helped you.”
“I don’t need professional help,” I said through set teeth.
“You certainly need something.” Her voice was sharp with worry. “Your imagination has always been an active one, but these delusions are harmful. I’m seriously worried about you.” She stood up. “I want you to come with me now. We’ll wake your father and have a rational discussion.”
I sat, stone-faced, on my chair and didn’t move.
She wilted. “Please, Chris,” she pleaded. “Just come with me to see Dad. That’s all I ask.”
The rebellion drained out me. What had I expected? This was my mother, Susan Donnally Murray, a woman who read nothing but the newspaper and fitness magazines. A more practical, rational person didn’t exist. Nothing would be gained by opposing her. “All right, Mother. If you think I should talk to Dad, I will. Why don’t you go wake him. I’d like to stay here for a while.”
“Promise me you won’t go anywhere.” She hovered anxiously by the door.
I smiled reassuringly. “I’m not crazy, Mom. I promise I won’t leave Traquair House without telling you.”
With an encouraging smile that did not completely erase the worry lines etched in her forehead, she disappeared behind the door. I waited for several minutes. When the sound of her footsteps had faded completely away, I stood and walked to the rosewood mantel. The panel was there, exactly where I’d expected it to be. As if I’d done it every day of my life, I pressed first in the center and then on the far left petal of the rose. On creaking hinges, the door swung open. I took the flashlight from my pocket, flicked it on, and pulled the panel shut behind me.
I was winded before I reached the top of the stairs. The attic room where I’d found the picture of Jeanne Maxwell was exactly as I’d left it. This time, as if someone were whispering instructions to me, I knew what to do.
Setting the flashlight face up on the floor, I pulled Jeanne’s cloth-covered portrait aside. In the semidarkness, the small doorway looked like nothing more than a crack in the wall. I leaned into the right side and pushed with my shoulder. The door opened. Leaving it ajar, I picked up the flashlight and stepped inside. The stairs, narrow and damp, twisted spiral fashion below me. Tentatively, I took one step down and then another and another until I lost track of time. Instinctively I knew that I was below ground level.
Even with the flashlight, the darkness was absolute. My eyes were useless. Senses, instinctive but long subdued by modern efficiency, rose to the occasion. I could smell the dank, mineral-wet essence of the earth. Water dripped from an ancient spring. I felt the cold, roughly hewn walls narrowing on either side of me. Something alive and fur-covered rubbed against my ankle, its whiskers furtively twitching, before scurrying past.
I lost track of time, but still I continued. It was so familiar, this never-ending descent into absolute darkness. Somehow I knew when the missing step was imminent. I stepped over it. I couldn’t see my own feet, but I knew when the ceiling lowered and the tunnel narrowed.
The twisting passageway had been straight for some time now. Was it my imagination or was there a glow in the distance? Heart hammering, I switched off the flashlight. Darkness engulfed me. I waited. There was nothing. Discouraged, I switched on the flashlight. Nothing. I switched it off and then on again. Still nothing. Panic rose in my throat. Whimpering, I leaned against the wall and slapped the metal wand several times against my palm. The darkness pressed in on me.
With trembling fingers I unscrewed the top and lifted out the batteries. Someone once told me that rolling dead batteries in your palm revived them. My perspiration-slick hands shook uncontrollably, but I managed to replace the first battery. Then the unthinkable happened. I lost my grip on the second one. It landed with a dull thud. Frozen with shock, I stood and listened for a long time as it rolled away from me down the gradual descent. There was no possibility of finding it in this suffocating darkness.
Defeated, I turned around to go back the way I came. Icy fingers closed around my shoulders. The breath left my lungs. Paralyzed with fear, I could no more have struggled out of