Over
Mildred only raised her eyebrows at Charlie but didn’t say a word about his blunt statement of what Meg certainly saw as the truth. “I shall go upstairs and fetch Bertram for you,” Mildred said, glancing at the detective before she turned to ascend the stairs. “It will give me the opportunity to say goodbye to him privately.”
Meg was certain that last comment was a jab at her, her mother implying what Meg had always known was true, that the relationship between her mother and uncle was more than either of them were ever willing to admit to, but Meg ignored it. The emotions running through her mind were too much, even for her carefully guarded compartments, and she felt like she might begin to crumble at any moment.
“Miss Westmoreland, we are prepared to take your statement whenever you are ready,” the detective said quietly, a weak smile pulling at one corner of his mouth out of politeness.
“Give her a few moments, won’t you?” Charlie said on her behalf, only lessening his grip a bit as he did so.
“Yes, of course,” Det. Weber replied, taking a step backward into the parlor, his polished black shoes squeaking on the waxed floor.
“Would you like some water, Meg?” Jonathan asked.
She turned to look at him and could see concern all over his face. She realized she must look a mess if he was worried about her. “I’m fine, thank you. Just shocked. I’ll be all right once this is all over.”
“The worst is done with,” Charlie assured her. She knew his words were meant as a comfort, but that was only because he had no idea how difficult it would be for her to sit across from Det. Weber and tell him all of the things Bertram had done to her. She realized she didn’t want to be standing there when he came down. She never wanted to see him again.
A scream broke through the silence in the house, making them all jump and look up at the second story as if they could see through the floorboards. “Dear God! Someone—help!”
It was her mother. As the shouting continued, the officers took off up the stairs, even some who had previously been standing outside, Jonathan joining in the pack. Charlie held Meg back. “Stay here.”
“What… what do you think.... Why is she screaming?”
“I’m not sure, but I suppose we’ll find out shortly.”
Tessa came running in. “What’s happening? Why is your mother shouting?”
“I don’t know. But I want to go find out. Charlie, please?”
He released her. “All right, but I wish you wouldn’t.”
As soon as she gained her freedom, Meg began to climb the stairs on shaking legs. Here, where her Da had bounded up the steps to catch her in his strong arms upon returning from trips abroad, always with a gift in his hands. Here, where she’d scraped her knee, and Da had scooped her up to bandage it, singing a silly song about little girls who tumble down the steps as he did so. Here, where she’d stomped down the stairs to confront her mother when a servant had accidentally delivered a letter from Charlie. Here, where Tessa had saved her from her uncle—momentarily—when she’d fallen and he’d snatched her ankle. Here, where Bertram had carried her up the stairs—screaming—to her room to torture her. Here, these steps, the ones that led to the second story and her room, the one place she swore she’d never enter again. The hallway where he’d stood and shadowed her doorway time and again—lurking. The hall where her mother had screamed at her—barely conscious—as she lay in agony on her bed. This doorway, two past her own, where a flood of police officers stood staring up at the ceiling, her mother sobbed, and Jonathan waited for her in the threshold.
“I need to see,” Meg said quietly, Charlie just behind her.
Jonathan nodded and crushed himself against the doorjamb so Meg could squeeze through.
The officers parted as she entered, as if they all knew the importance of closure.
Meg looked up. Her uncle dangled from a rafter, his face blue, his eyes bulging, the rope around his neck frayed and thin. A chair lay on its side beneath his dangling feet, one shoe sliding off at the heel. Her mother had called for help, as if there were a possibility of saving him, but he had been lost to humanity long ago. Meg nodded once and backed into Charlie, who escorted her out of the room.
The monster was gone forever. Suddenly, Meg could feel the air in her lungs in a way she’d never felt it before. Her shoulders fell back and her head tipped up as if they were free of the weight of years of distress.
“Are you all right?” Charlie asked as they continued down the hallway.
Meg didn’t slow. She only said, “Yes,” and proceeded toward the stairs. She’d still have to deal with the knowledge that her mother had killed her father, that Ezra had strangled Charlotte, and that the demons in the boxes may still try to get out from time to time, but for now, there was no reason to tell the officers what she’d endured. She could return to America, freer than she’d ever been before.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused and imagined her Da coming through the door, a large grin on his face, his arms open. She imagined flinging her six-year-old body into his arms, giggling, the feeling of security enveloping her as he pulled her close to his heart. One last time, a tear slipped from her eye, and Meg let it fall. She closed her eyes tightly, and tilting her head up to the heavens, she said, “Thank you, Da.” She walked out of the door of the only home she’d ever known and kept right on walking, never looking back.
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