“I’ll leave the Fenton file for you to look at tonight. That’s a better prize than a failed séance.”
Chapter Thirteen
A LEXIS IS LYING ON HER red sofa, letting the candles burn out on their own as she reads a chapter from her mother’s book. She is just reading the section on how visions can be differentiated from memories when there is a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” she calls out, hoping it was a real knock from a real person.
The door swings open slowly and Alexis is about to panic when Maxwell steps forward. He smiles as she quickly swallows her momentary fear.
“I was just heading out for dinner and thought you might like some?”
She settles back on the couch and narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t get it. You all but call me crazy every time we’re together and yet here you are asking me out for dinner?”
He laughs. “Well, it’s not a date or anything. I don’t date crazy people.”
“How about clairvoyants?”
Maxwell scuffs a hand over his mouth to cover a frown. “You’re not sure that’s what you are otherwise you wouldn’t be reading that book all the time. Why not be skeptical together?”
“You’re skeptical; I’m honest. And, honestly, I’m not very hungry.”
He sits down on the arm of the sofa and gazes down at her. Just as she can feel her cheeks warming, he says, “To be honest, I have a lot of memories here. People are always complaining about the building: the lights flicker, there are noises, faucets run and turn off on their own. And people tell me they see things, especially the ghost of a woman.”
Maxwell slides down next to her. “Not just a woman, Delia. My grandmother. I loved her very much. She took care of me while my parents worked and I spent a lot of my childhood here. Until it all disappeared.”
He pauses and scrubs at his frown again. “So I have trouble hearing what people ‘experience’ here because everywhere I look are memories.”
Alexis reaches for his hand. “I’m not trying to tarnish your memories.”
He slaps his thighs and gets up. “And I want to believe you. That’s why I’m letting you see Delia’s apartment.”
She scrambles to her feet. “Really? Isn’t it rented out?”
Maxwell crooks his arm and she takes it. “No. The Maxwells built these apartments so their daughter would have a solid form of income. They never thought much of Otto and his blue-collar work. So they also built her a penthouse apartment. Everyone just assumes the top floor is an attic.”
He unlocks the wide door in the stairwell; the door Alexis assumed was a maintenance closet. Behind it is a curving staircase lit by pale stained glass windows.
“Unless you’re scared and want to wait until morning?” Maxwell jeers at her.
Alexis grabs the flashlight out of his hand and heads up the stairs. At the top is a long gallery-style room with three archways leading to the rest of the apartment. The middle arch is the largest, welcoming guests into an expansive living room crowned with a glass cupola. French doors connect the living room to the dining room, the first archway that overlooks the staircase. Alexis heads to the left, through another set of French doors, into a more intimate parlor. The penthouse is empty and echoing but a sense of comfortable elegance still permeates and she is speechless.
“There are two bedrooms, a nursery, bathroom, and a kitchen all along the back,” Maxwell tells her.
His footsteps are still echoing when he turns and realizes she is not following him. Alexis is drifting in a trance towards the built-in window seat in the parlor. The bay window there overlooks the courtyard and road and her face is lit by the faint glow of the streetlights.
“Alexis?”
“She loved it here. This is where she always sat.”
Maxwell scoffs. “Of course it was, who wouldn’t want to sit there?”
She doesn’t answer as she reaches the window seat. Instead of sitting down she runs a hand along the carved edge of
Chapter Thirteen
A LEXIS IS LYING ON HER red sofa, letting the candles burn out on their own as she reads a chapter from her mother’s book. She is just reading the section on how visions can be differentiated from memories when there is a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” she calls out, hoping it was a real knock from a real person.
The door swings open slowly and Alexis is about to panic when Maxwell steps forward. He smiles as she quickly swallows her momentary fear.
“I was just heading out for dinner and thought you might like some?”
She settles back on the couch and narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t get it. You all but call me crazy every time we’re together and yet here you are asking me out for dinner?”
He laughs. “Well, it’s not a date or anything. I don’t date crazy people.”
“How about clairvoyants?”
Maxwell scuffs a hand over his mouth to cover a frown. “You’re not sure that’s what you are otherwise you wouldn’t be reading that book all the time. Why not be skeptical together?”
“You’re skeptical; I’m honest. And, honestly, I’m not very hungry.”
He sits down on the arm of the sofa and gazes down at her. Just as she can feel her cheeks warming, he says, “To be honest, I have a lot of memories here. People are always complaining about the building: the lights flicker, there are noises, faucets run and turn off on their own. And people tell me they see things, especially the ghost of a woman.”
Maxwell slides down next to her. “Not just a woman, Delia. My grandmother. I loved her very much. She took care of me while my parents worked and I spent a lot of my childhood here. Until it all disappeared.”
He pauses and scrubs at his frown again. “So I have trouble hearing what people ‘experience’ here because everywhere I look are memories.”
Alexis reaches for his hand. “I’m not trying to tarnish your memories.”
He slaps his thighs and gets up. “And I want to believe you. That’s why I’m letting you see Delia’s apartment.”
She scrambles to her feet. “Really? Isn’t it rented out?”
Maxwell crooks his arm and she takes it. “No. The Maxwells built these apartments so their daughter would have a solid form of income. They never thought much of Otto and his blue-collar work. So they also built her a penthouse apartment. Everyone just assumes the top floor is an attic.”
He unlocks the wide door in the stairwell; the door Alexis assumed was a maintenance closet. Behind it is a curving staircase lit by pale stained glass windows.
“Unless you’re scared and want to wait until morning?” Maxwell jeers at her.
Alexis grabs the flashlight out of his hand and heads up the stairs. At the top is a long gallery-style room with three archways leading to the rest of the apartment. The middle arch is the largest, welcoming guests into an expansive living room crowned with a glass cupola. French doors connect the living room to the dining room, the first archway that overlooks the staircase. Alexis heads to the left, through another set of French doors, into a more intimate parlor. The penthouse is empty and echoing but a sense of comfortable elegance still permeates and she is speechless.
“There are two bedrooms, a nursery, bathroom, and a kitchen all along the back,” Maxwell tells her.
His footsteps are still echoing when he turns and realizes she is not following him. Alexis is drifting in a trance towards the built-in window seat in the parlor. The bay window there overlooks the courtyard and road and her face is lit by the faint glow of the streetlights.
“Alexis?”
“She loved it here. This is where she always sat.”
Maxwell scoffs. “Of course it was, who wouldn’t want to sit there?”
She doesn’t answer as she reaches the window seat. Instead of sitting down she runs a hand along the carved edge of
Similar Books
