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Sarah Jarvis, or Mrs. Jarvis as she preferred, carried a covered tray up the stairs to the third floor. Her thin hands, thin body and thin face contrasted with the bulk of her husband to such a degree, people often stared at them when they went into town for supplies. She wore a striped dress with a long skirt that emphasized her tall frame and a thin build. Her graying brown hair was tied back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck and she wore square-framed glasses over her grey eyes which perched on a long, thin nose. Her flat-heeled, crepe-soled shoes moved silently to the door at the end of the long hallway.
She withdrew a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. It opened without a creak to a small bedroom that had once housed the master's young son. Handwoven carpet in shades of brown and gold covered the flooring and in one corner of the room stood a bed made from mahogany. On the bed lay the young man from the crashed automobile. She narrowed her eyes as she put down the tray on a small table near the bed. The young man had a mild concussion and a cut, but she'd expertly dealt with both.
"It is time you wake," she said to the young man and took a step toward the bed.
As if he heard her, the young man opened his eyes and groaned. He turned over and jerked when he saw her standing over him. "Who are you?" he croaked.
His long, untidy hair, a day's growth of beard and the white bandage on his left temple obscured much of his face. He reached up and touched his forehead and winced. "What happened to me? What's going on? How did I get here?"
"You have asked the same questions each time I have been in this room. I am beginning to think your head trauma is worse than I initially thought."
"I don't understand."
"You were in an automobile accident. You were driving too fast like most young people. You have a slight concussion and a cut. I took care of it and I made sure to wake you every two hours overnight. You will have a headache, but you will survive."
"I – I thought that was a dream."
"I assure you it was not a dream."
"I'm not in a hospital," persisted the young man. "This looks like a private home."
"That is correct."
"Why?"
Mrs. Jarvis frowned, and her voice took on an icy tone. "As I said you were in a car accident. Did you not hear me, or are you dimwitted as well as concussed?"
"I'm not unintelligent, ma'am, but I want to know where I am and why I'm not under medical care."
She didn't like the belligerence in his voice, but then he was from the outside world, and well knew she the kind of men raised in the latter half of the last century. His mother hadn't taught him manners, obviously.
"Did I not tell you that you had medical care? I was once a nurse and a good one at that. You will be fine as long as you do as I say."
"Where's my phone?" The young man sat up, groaned and put both hands to his head. "I'd like to call a friend."
"Your phone was destroyed in the crash, along with your car."
"I don't remember any of that."
The alarm in his eyes tried to worm sympathy into her heart, but she shut out the emotion. Emotions were useless when one had to do what was necessary and right. "I have brought you food and some tea. Please eat slowly." She turned to walk away.
"Stop." The young man commanded in a tone that sent chills down her spine, despite her assertion to remain emotionless.
She turned with a stony expression firmly in place. The young man met her eyes forth-rightly and there was something in them that made an unfamiliar sensation well up in her stomach, It was fear and she hated feeling afraid of anything or anyone."
"I want my belongings, and a phone to call for my friends. Please provide them, now."
"We have no phone. Such distractions are unnecessary in Cedarwood. My master is involved in important scientific work."
"Then take me to the nearest town and I will find my own way home."
"The nearest town is twenty miles away. My husband, Mr. Jarvis has already made the trip and will not be back for some hours."
She saw defeat enter the young man's eyes and she rejoiced. Perhaps now, he'd eat, stay quiet and her day would remain on schedule.
"Where are my belongings?" He asked as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed.
"I have no time to search them out," Mrs. Jarvis said dismissively. "Mr. Jarvis took everything from your car. You may ask him when he returns."
She turned, left the room and locked the door behind her. She ignored his voice behind the door asking why he was locked in. It was for his safety; he would soon see and understand.
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Rachel carefully opened the door to her bedchamber and peeked out into the third-floor hallway. It appeared empty, but she couldn't be sure. Father always warned her about leaving her room without Mrs. Jarvis to watch over her. Mrs. Jarvis was a tyrant, Rachel thought, then shook her head. Father would punish her for thinking such thoughts about a loyal servant.
After several minutes of watching the stair and hallway, she slipped out and hurried down the carpeted hall to a room at the other end of the huge house. She hesitated at the familiar door and thought about going back to her lonely room.
"No," she said quietly. "This is why you came here. You need to see the stranger."
She drew in a breath and entered the room. It was a huge room done in shades of silver and blue. It had been her mother's room. Mrs. Jarvis kept it in perfect order per the instructions ordered by Rachel's father. Rachel came in here often despite her father's warnings. She'd been only five when her mother died, but Rachel remembered everything about the woman that had birthed her. She'd been beautiful, with eyes the color of summertime skies, cream and rose skin, with long wavy blond hair that reached her waist.
One of her mother's dresses lay carefully on the huge four-poster mahogany bed. It was lovely white silk with lace at the throat and around the elbow sleeves. Her mother had worn it on the night of the last party ever held in this house. She'd taken it off, laid it on the bed and then – Rachel didn't know. Her father wouldn't tell her. He said it was her fault her mother had died. How? She shook her head and looked to her right where her mother's dressing table resided. Her eyes swept over the contents of the table, perfume, makeup, brushes and a golden wedding band father had refused to bury with her.
To her left was a bookcase and a window, that let in grey light from outside. It still rained, but the storm was passing, she could feel it in her bones. She went to the bookcase, felt for a lever at the back and pulled. The bookcase swung open and she entered the space behind. She didn't know which room held the stranger, but she would find it.
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Spencer lay on the bed looking up at the canopy over his head. He could barely see the room he was in because heavy curtains covered the windows but for a small gap that let in the stony grey light. He could hear the tapping of rain on the glass and feel the chill in the air. He'd tried to find a light, but there were only candles and no matches. He looked at the tray and the cooling food it held. His stomach grumbled, but he wanted out of the room. Food could wait until he was back in his apartment and safe.
He had summoned the strength to rise and explore the room despite the throbbing pain in his skull. After walking the circumference of the room several times, and looking for a way out, he'd lost his reserves of strength and couldn't think of anything but more sleep.
A noise brought him back to reality. It was a small noise, but in the relative silence of the huge house, it rang out like a church bell. He turned his head in the direction of the small bathroom he'd found in his search and saw a figure standing still in the grey light of the morning or was it now afternoon.
"Who are you?" He demanded in a hoarse voice. "Let me go, now."
"I cannot," said a voice, but it was unlike any voice he'd ever heard. It had a musical quality that lifted the hair on his head. "I do not have a key."
"Then the door is unlocked," Spencer said in delight and began to get out of bed.
"No, it is fastened tight."
"How did you get in here?"
The figure, a woman judging from her voice, stepped back from him. "I cannot say."
"Come into the light," Spencer said, attempting another tact.
"I cannot," repeated the voice. "My father warned me to stay away from this room, but I was curious. I have never seen a man like you."
"Like me," Spencer inquired. "What do you mean?"
"I have said too much. I must go."
"No," Spencer called to her as she turned away from him. "Please, tell me where I am. I need my belongings. My friends will be looking for me."
"No one comes here," said the woman. "We are alone. I am alone."
"Wait," Spencer begged. "Please find my shoes. I need to leave."
The figure stepped toward him and as she did sunlight suddenly burst through the clouds and streamed into the room between the gap in the curtains. It fell over the woman and showed her clearly. She wore a long, white dress, white slippers on her feet, and a white veil over all her face, except her eyes, which were as blue as a clear mountain lake on a golden day. The veil obscured her hair, and when she jerked out of the light and back into the shadows, he noticed her tiny graceful hands. She was about five-three and very slim.
"I must go – the sunlight," she turned away at the same time a lock sounded in the door.
Reid turned to see a tall man enter the room with his messenger bag, and his badge and gun. The man appeared to stand about six foot five, he had greying brown hair, a short, neat beard and piercing blue eyes like a predator bird. He reminded Reid of the actor Vincent Price, but when the man spoke his voice shattered the illusion that it might be a dream hijacked by the British thespian.
"I see you are awake," he said in a deep, booming voice. "Good, we have much to discuss, Agent Reid."
Mrs. Jarvis entered the room and approached him with a syringe in her hand. She reached for him and he bolted around her to the door.
The tall man dropped Spencer's bag and gun on the floor. He grabbed him with both hands. They were like vice grips. "I briefly considered letting you go after you served your purpose, but my faithful servant Jarvis found these in your car. We cannot let you go, now."
"No!" Spencer shouted and utter panic at Mrs. Jarvis readying the needle made him buck and jerk wildly in the grip of the man.
"Father, please do not hurt –"
"I will deal with you later, daughter. Go back to your room. Now!"
"Leave her alone," Spencer gasped as he tried to escape the iron grip of this obvious madman.
"Do not worry about my daughter. Soon, this will all be but a dream, young man."
"NO!" Spencer shouted. "I won't let you give me drugs.
"Hold him," commanded, Mrs. Jarvis.
"Be still," said the tall man and his grip tightened until Spencer cried out.
Mrs. Jarvis inserted the needle into his arm and a minute later, blackness claimed him again.
