There's no place like HOME (Emma Frost Book 8) Read online

  Peter smiled as he walked towards the front door of his new client. He had been looking very much forward to getting his fingers on this particular house. It was an old brick house, one built a century ago. It had huge windows leading to the back yard. He knew it had, since he had often looked at it from the beach side while walking his Golden Retriever. He had adored those windows for years, and dreamt of dressing them in gorgeous silk draperies. He was hoping the new owners would agree.

  Peter held his briefcase with the samples and measuring tape in one hand, as he lifted the other to ring the doorbell. He was whistling with joy. He glanced at the old house next door that he had thought was this address. He must have been tired. Plus, in his defense, he had never actually seen the house from this side, only from the beach side.

  Peter whistled again, and studied the window next to the entrance. It was tall and slim. He knew exactly which curtain would be perfect for it. This was going to be one of the highlights of his career…and a true moneymaker, if he played his cards right. It was all about buttering up the wife. If he was on good terms with her, the sky was the limit.

  Maybe you’ll finally be able to afford that trip to Thailand you’ve always wanted to take.

  Yes, that was it. He would take a trip to the land with the best fabrics in the world. But he would go alone. Yes, Annie wouldn’t understand; she didn’t appreciate the quality of a good fabric like he did. She never had. Peter would find an excuse to go alone.

  Why isn’t anyone opening the door?

  He rang the doorbell again.

  Still nothing? Am I too early?

  Peter looked at his watch. No, he was right on time as scheduled when Mrs. Boegh called him over the phone. Peter grunted. He realized the front door was slightly ajar. They wouldn’t leave it like this if they weren’t home. No, not these people. They were good people. Peter had sensed it right away while speaking to Mrs. Boegh on the phone. She sounded like a very intelligent woman.

  Maybe Mrs. Boegh was in there somewhere, but simply didn’t hear the bell? Maybe the doorbell didn’t work? Peter Wagn pushed the door open while knocking on it.

  “Hello? Mrs. Boegh?”

  Still silence. Peter walked in. He gasped at the sight of the large windows. They were even more spectacular up close. And so tall. And wide. This was going to be very expensive. Maybe he could arrange two trips to Thailand? One this year and one for next year?

  “This is Peter Wagn from the Curtain Company. We spoke on the phone? I was supposed to meet you here today? Hello?”

  The door to the bedroom was wide open. Peter took a chance and walked inside.

  “Mrs. Boegh? Hello?”

  That was when he stopped. He had stepped in something. His shoes made a strange sound. Like they were wet. Peter looked at them. The entire floor was soaked in something. It wasn’t water. Peter held his breath. He followed the flood that led further inside the bedroom and surrounded the bed. Peter’s heart stopped at the sight that met him on top of the bed. He barely had the strength to let out the petrifying scream that was soon heard throughout the entire neighborhood.

  7

  July 2014

  VICTOR ATE HIS breakfast faster than I had ever seen him. Maya came down and sat at the table.

  “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” I said in a much higher-pitched tone than expected. It was strange how hard it had become for me to act like myself around her. Why couldn’t I just relax? Why did I feel like I had to be so extra attentive, extra protective, extra…well, everything around her?

  “She’s not going to break,” my mom had said to me the other day. “She’s not an expensive porcelain statue.”

  It was spot-on, but I didn’t tell her. It was exactly how I felt. Like Maya was so fragile she could break if I said something wrong. The truth was, I simply had no idea how to act around her.

  “Fine,” she replied, emotionless.

  I forced a smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. What would you like for breakfast? Cereal or buttered toast? I have buns from yesterday, if you’d like.”

  Maya shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  You don’t know? You always know exactly what you want, Maya. You don’t like my cooking, remember? It’s too unhealthy. Don’t you remember? Where are you? Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?

  “I’ll toast some bread for you, then.”

  “Okay.”

  Okay? Oh my. You used to fight me on this constantly. The first three things I would suggest, you’d wrinkle your little freckled nose and tell me no. Now, all you say is okay and I don’t know. Please, just fight me on this.

  I bit my lip and looked at her. Her eyes were so empty, so emotionless. She tried to smile, but it came off awkward.

  Give it time, Emma. Give her time. It’ll come back. She’ll come back eventually.

  I put the bread in the toaster and found some cheese in the fridge. I poured her a glass of juice and put it in front of her.

  “Thanks,” she said, and drank.

  I grabbed the photo album and sat next to her. She looked at it, and I could tell it scared her to have to go through it again.

  “Just a few pictures,” I said. “We need to do a little every day. School is starting soon, and…well, I don’t know what’s going to happen, to be honest, but you need to at least know your family.”

  “I think I know them by now,” she said.

  “Their names. Yes. You know all their names, but you don’t really know them, do you?”

  You have no idea how much they love you, do you? Don’t you even remember their love for you? Don’t you remember how much you love us?

  I grabbed her hand in mine. I could tell she was a little anxious. It was hard on her every time. But it had to be done. I opened the book and let her look at pictures of herself, then with me, then with her father and Victor. She forced a smile and went through them, nodding.

  “I know these people. Dad has even been here to visit me, remember? I know all I need to know about them.”

  The bread popped up in the toaster and I went to get it. I put a piece of cheese on top of it and put it on the table in front of Maya. She grabbed it and ate.

  Without even a wrinkle of the nose. You hate that kind of cheese, Maya. You don’t like it, and now you’re eating it like you’ve been eating it all of your life. How, Maya? How am I going to make you remember who you are?

  I stood by the sink and looked out the window while Maya ate and drank. I pressed back my tears, as I had done so many mornings before this. I wanted to cry, I wanted to yell. Hell, I wanted to scream at my daughter to make her remember. All the other mornings, I had done the dishes in silence, praying quietly that this would be the day when Maya came back to me. But, this day, I was done being quiet. I felt the frustration plant itself throughout my body, and I opened my mouth to just let it out.

  But someone beat me to it.

  8

  July 2014

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” Maya asked, for the first time showing some sort of emotion: fear.

  Victor didn’t even look up from his cereal.

  “I don’t know,” I said, startled. “It sounded like it came from next door.” I looked out the window and saw the Curtain Company’s red van parked outside in the driveway. The street was empty. Everything seemed quiet.

  “I don’t know,” I repeated. “Maybe someone was hurt in there. Maybe the curtain guy fell off his ladder or something.”

  I bit my lip, wondering if I should go in there and check to see if they were all right. But, then again, he probably wasn’t alone in there. The nice couple had to be there.

  I returned to my dishes with a strange unsettled feeling. The scream didn’t sound like someone getting hurt. It sounded like someone was afraid. Not just afraid. More like terrified. I turned on the faucet and started washing the pan from last night’s dinner. I couldn’t escape this strange feeling that something was terribly wrong. I looked out the window again, but the stre
et remained calm.

  I turned my head to look at my kids. Should I just go and check on the neighbors? I would want to know that my neighbors were looking out for me, wouldn’t I?

  But, I didn’t want to come off like a nosy neighbor either.

  “Only bad witches are ugly.”

  “What was that, Victor?” I asked. I looked at my son. He had stopped eating, but still wasn’t looking at me.

  “It’s from The Wizard of Oz,” Maya suddenly exclaimed. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God. I remember something. Mom, I remember the movie. I remember watching it with Grandpa when I was six. You and Dad were away for the weekend, remember? Now, where did you go?”

  I stared, baffled, at my daughter. I was about to break down and cry. I forgot everything else.

  Her eyes met mine. “Berlin, right? You brought us back that hideous porcelain sculpture that’s still in my room.”

  “The one that was supposed to be Winnie the Pooh, but you thought he looked scary.”

  “You had to hide it at night because it gave me nightmares. Mom, I remember. I remembered something!”

  Maya had tears in her eyes, and so did I. Victor was still staring at the table. I sat in a chair next to my daughter and grabbed her hand. I felt so overwhelmed with emotions; I was about to explode.

  “The Wizard of Oz, huh?” I said. “Maybe we should watch it later today. Would that be good?”

  “Yes, Mom,” Maya said. “I would very much like that.”

  “MOM!” It was Victor who was now yelling. He rose to his feet and held his hands to both his ears.

  “What is it, honey?” His body was shaking. This was serious. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “She’s wearing the shoes. She’s wearing the ruby red slippers!”

  I looked at Maya. “More Wizard of Oz stuff?” I asked. I hadn’t seen the movie since I was a child, but I did remember the shoes.

  She nodded. I looked at Victor again. It seemed very urgent, and I got to thinking about the scream coming from next door. Victor had this special gift of sensing things that no one else did. Maybe that was what this was. Maybe he was telling me something.

  “She’s wearing the shoes, Mommy. She’s wearing the shoes!”

  I got up from my chair and threw my apron on the table. “Stay here. Maya, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

  9

  July 2014

  I RAN INTO the street and towards my new neighbor’s house with my heart pounding hard in my chest. Victor was never wrong about these things. He knew before the rest of us, and I had to take him seriously. Even if I felt a little stupid and risked being the most annoying neighbor from now on.

  I stormed to the front door and saw that it was open. I knocked on it, as I walked inside. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Hello? This is Emma Frost. Your next-door neighbor. I thought I heard something, and thought I’d stop by to…”

  The house was so quiet, I doubted anyone was even in here. But I had seen the curtain van outside the house and the couple’s car was in the driveway. There had to be someone in here, right?

  I had a bad feeling as walked into the living room, only to find it empty. I continued into the kitchen, then the bedroom.

  Then I stopped.

  The sight was too gruesome to bear. I felt like the walls of the room were closing in on me and I was suffocating. What the hell was this? Blood was everywhere. The floor was soaked in it, the white bed sheets were soaked in it, and it was dripping from the bed onto the floor. The walls were sprayed with blood. On top of the bed lay two mutilated bodies, which I recognized as the couple from yesterday. They were both naked, and the woman was wearing a pair of glittering ruby red slippers.

  Ruby red shoes. She’s wearing the shoes, Mommy!

  On the floor next to the bed, a pair of legs stuck out. They were dressed in a dark blue pair of pants.

  The curtain guy! He’s moving. He’s alive!

  I rushed towards him. He was still fully dressed, but lying with his face in the blood.

  “Sir? Are you alright?” I asked and turned him around. He groaned. I kneeled next to him. “Are you okay?”

  “What…what happened?”

  “I think you fainted.”

  He opened his eyes wide. “Oh, my God! The bodies!”

  He tried to get up, but felt dizzy, and fell back into my lap. His hair was smeared with the blood from the floor. Now, it was all over my pants and hands.

  “They’re still there,” I said, trying hard to calm myself down.

  Don’t panic. The worst thing you can do now is panic. Stay calm. You have to stay calm and focused.

  “Stay down,” I said, feeling slightly lightheaded myself.

  Remember to breathe. If you stop breathing, if you hyperventilate, you’ll faint too. Keep breathing.

  I found my phone in my pocket and called Morten, my boyfriend and a police officer on the island. My voice was shaking heavily as we spoke.

  “You need to come. Something terrible has happened.”

  I fought to keep the tears back. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

  “Where are you?”

  “They just moved in, Morten. They just bought the house and now…now they’re gone. It’s my neighbors, Morten. It happened right next to us. While we were in our house. It could have been us. Why did this happen to them, Morten? They were nice people. They seemed so nice.”

  “Emma, you’re rambling. I’m in my car now. Tell me. Are you in your neighbor’s house? Is that it? Is that where I need to go? Talk to me.”

  I was breathing heavily now. I found it hard to focus. The room was spinning. The curtain guy was groaning.

  “We need the doctor too. There’s a guy who fainted.”

  “Okay, I’ll call for him. What else, Emma? What happened to your neighbors? Where are they?”

  “They’re…they’re…they’re on the bed. There’s a lot of blood, Morten. A lot.”

  Morten went quiet. I heard him take a deep breath as well. “Okay. So…so you believe they’re dead? …Emma?”

  “I’m nodding,” I said, sobbing. “They were so young, Morten. They’d just gotten married. Just bought their first house. Who would do such a thing? They had their whole lives ahead of them. They were supposed to have children soon. They were considering it, they told me when I asked. Who…? Why?”

  “We can’t answer that now, Emma. They were new to the island. We don’t know anything about these people. I’m parking outside the house now. I’ll keep you on the phone till I see you. Now, where in the house are you?”

  “The bedroom.”

  10

  July 2014

  THE NUMEROLOGIST SAT behind the wheel of her old Toyota, keeping an eye on the house across the street. She had been sitting there every day for nearly a week now, keeping up with Emma Frost’s daily routines and writing everything she did down in her little notebook.

  This morning was particularly active for the dear author in the big house. Usually, it was her children that kept her busy, that and the few hours of writing she managed to squeeze in between chores. But today was different. Today, the numerologist had seen Emma storm into the neighbor’s house. She had a feeling she knew what Emma was going to find in there, since the numerologist had been sleeping in her car ever since she started the stake-out, and she had seen someone leave the house next door very late last night. A man with a ponytail and leather vest. The numerologist had detected a bad aura surrounding the man, and knew something was off. He had hurried away, walking with his head bowed, like he didn’t want to be seen, and with a smirk on his face that the numerologist had recognized. Whatever he had done in there, he had enjoyed immensely. No doubt about it.

  Not that she cared.

  Not even when she heard the scream. She wasn’t there to keep an eye on those neighbors. No, she was there to spy on Emma Frost, the woman who had ruined everything for her.

  There were a couple of p
eople on the numerologist’s list. But Emma was the one that the numerologist really wanted to kill.

  Now, Emma Frost’s annoying boyfriend, who, by the way, had also made the numerologist’s list, drove into the driveway in the island’s only police car, and hurried inside. The numerologist followed him with her binoculars and noted in her book once he was inside. A few minutes later, the island’s only doctor arrived with messy hair and his bag in hand.

  “The house number is 38…ouch,” she mumbled. “Well, bad things were bound to happen in this place, I guess. They had it coming. Too bad people are so ignorant when it comes to the power of numbers. When will they ever learn?”

  The numerologist grabbed a cracker from her bag and ate it while waiting for Emma Frost to come back out of the neighbor’s house. She took out another and took a bite. Misty was fussing in the passenger seat.

  “What’s up with you?” the numerologist asked.

  The rat looked at her. Its long whiskers were vibrating.

  “Oh, you’re hungry too. Of course,” the numerologist said, and handed the cracker to the rat. “It’s been a long night for the both of us.”

  The rat nibbled the cracker. It made the numerologist chuckle. Misty was so cute, so adorable with her brown eyes and pointy nose.

  Once the rat was done taking its bite, the numerologist finished the rest of the cracker. She flushed it down with some orange juice and threw the empty bottle on the floor. The car was filled with trash, and she knew she would need to clean it up soon.