The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge by Lucia N Davis

Author:Lucia N Davis
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Orange Vine Publishing
Published: 2018-12-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Dusk is setting in. It has rained recently—the air is damp, and the smell of wet soil drifts up. Sara stands on a balcony next to a well-lit house. The balcony overlooks the yard, but the disappearing daylight prevents her from getting a good view. It’s quiet, no traffic nearby; whenever the trees rustle, raindrops trickle on the leaves.

A sliding door is partially open onto the balcony, a beam of light coming through the gap, the rest of the door closed off by a curtain. She takes a peek inside. The screen door is closed, but through it, she sees a study of some sort, with rows of books lining the wall and a big sleek desk on one side.

Lauren, reading glasses perched on her nose, is sitting behind the desk, peering over some documents. A deep frown betrays her concentration as she scribbles with a pencil on the paper, her movements decisive. Then she drops the pencil loudly, pushes her glasses on top of her head, and rubs her eyes. “God, what a mess,” she says.

Lauren pours herself a glass of white wine from an open bottle beside her. She sits quietly for a while, staring into space, before picking up the stack of papers in front of her. She places them in a pink file, and without getting up, reaches down to the side and puts them away. Sara can’t see where she’s put them—it could be a bag or a drawer. A new file appears, bright red this time; Lauren opens it and starts reading.

Minutes pass. Bored, Sara fidgets on her feet. How long has she been standing here? An hour? Longer? Wondering whether there’s more to see inside the room, she tries to open the door further, but it doesn’t move. She inspects the balcony to see if there’s a way down. With nothing to hold on to and barely able to see the ground, she quickly gives up; she’s stuck up here.

A sound comes from inside the room—Lauren is talking. Sara scrambles back to the door.

“What are you doing? Are you insane?” Lauren exclaims, standing up. Sara can’t see whom she’s talking to. The person must be coming her way, because Lauren turns toward Sara.

A black-gloved hand appears on the other side of the glass door, grabs the handle, and closes it. The curtain pulls closed. Sara places her hands on the door handle, pulling hard. A tiny ball of worry begins to grow inside her; this dream is not going to end well. Fear—Lauren’s fear—is seeping through the glass. Sara can smell it, taste it. With all her might, she pulls harder on the door handle. It doesn’t budge.

Resting her forehead against the glass, Sara notices that the lower edge of the curtain isn’t closed all the way, leaving a gap of a few inches. She drops to her stomach and presses her face to the glass, wetness seeping into her shirt from the balcony. She peers through the crack.

Lauren is sitting behind the desk again, stony-faced.

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