My mind groped for explanations. Brook might have remembered the song, but it seemed unlikely, given that he had avoided the schoolroom as much as possible. Robyn had rarely come to the third floor. Perhaps Trent or Mrs. Hopewell knew the song and remembered how Ashley had played the incorrect note, but how could they have taught it so quickly to Patrick, who had shown no piano skills the previous afternoon?
And why wouldn't Patrick admit that one of them had taught him? There were so many eerie similarities between the playmate Patrick called Ashley and the little girl I had known. It was growing increasingly difficult to pretend there wasn't something haunting this house, haunting this child.
Patrick sat with his hands in his lap, shivering.
"It's cold and late," I said. "You should be in bed."
"I wasn't cold till now," he told me, then slipped off the bench.
As he did, something leaped from beneath the keyboard. I screamed, then muffled the sound with my hand.
"It's just November," Patrick said.
The feral cat stopped short of the doorway.
"November! Why is he here? Did you let him in? You know you're not supposed to go downstairs by yourself at night."
"He was outside my bedroom window."
"Patrick, there is no way a cat can leap up to a second-story windowsill."
"My window by the roof."
I remembered that one of his side windows faced the extension that joined Robyn's wing to the house. Perhaps there was a trellis or some other structure that gave the cat passage to the low roof, then up to the window.
"There was snow on his fur, so I let him in to get warm."
"I'm sure the snow made him look cold," I said, "but he's a wild cat and used to being outside. He has a thick coat of fur. He's probably happier out there."
"No, he'll freeze. He'll freeze to death like Patricia!" Patrick's voice grew panicky. "He'll die!"
"Shh! You'll wake the others. November may stay here tonight, just tonight," I said, hoping I could close the cat in the schoolroom till Roger helped me put him out. I knew better than to fool with a feral animal that hadn't had its shots. "We'll talk about it further in the morning. Now let's get you in bed."
As soon as we moved, the cat ran out the door and disappeared down the main stairs. I sighed. There was no point in my bumbling around the dark house trying to find him. Patrick and I crossed the third-floor hall to my room, then took the back steps down to his. When I turned on Patrick's small nightlight, November slunk out from the shadows and leaped onto the bed. Patrick was charmed; I found it creepy. Ashley used to bring in the cat and hide it till bedtime so she could sleep with it. After a lapse of twelve years, what had suddenly drawn this wild animal back to her room?
"He can't stay with you, Patrick."
"But he likes me."
"You have allergies," I argued. "You're already starting to sniffle. Come on, November. Scoot!"
I waved my hand at the cat. He hissed. Determined to get rid of him, I moved closer. He hissed again and swung a paw, claws extended. He meant business.
"I don't think November likes you" Patrick observed.
"Can you get him off the bed-without touching him, I mean."
Patrick shooed him halfheartedly, and the cat moved down to the foot of the bed. Patrick happily climbed in at the other end.
"I'm running out of patience," I said. "Listen to me. The cat hasn't had his shots, and if he bites you, you could get rabies. You are not to touch him. Do you understand?"
"Yes, but he won't bite me."
I wouldn't admit it and encourage petting the cat, but I sensed the same thing. I decided I could leave them alone long enough to fetch some bait and get the cat out of the room. "Stay in bed and don't touch him. I'm going downstairs for a can of tuna and will be back in a minute."
The hall door had been knocked ajar by the cat. I opened it all the way.
"Someone has turned out the rose lamp," Patrick observed.
"It probably burned out."
With all the bedroom doors closed but Patrick's, and his night-light casting no more than a dim glow inside his room, the hall was black as night itself, its walls and corners invisible. Knocking over an antique rose lamp in a clumsy attempt to find and light it seemed a bad idea. Lighting the bright overheads in the hall might wake up Emily and Adrian. The more fuss there was, the harder it would be to get Patrick back to sleep, especially after Emily had strung me up for allowing the cat in his room. The best plan was to walk straight ahead till I reached the steps at the other end of the hall. There I could turn on the stairway sconces.
Holding one hand out in front of me, I walked slowly, slower still as I reached what I thought would be the wall next to the stairway. I finally touched it, but I must have veered slightly to the left while crossing the hall, for there were no switches there. I slid my foot to the right, feeling the wooden edge of the step. I moved farther to the right, my hand searching for the heavy wood banister and the wall with the light plates. I heard a noise behind me, a sound as light as padded feet. Something rushed against my legs.
I stifled a scream. The cat, I thought, teetering on the step. Just the cat. Relax, Kate.
The next moment something hard and flat, the size of a hand, slammed between my shoulder blades. I cried out and pitched forward. I reached out desperately for the banister-the wall-anything that could stop my fall. My bare feet slid, my arches rolling over the hard edge of the step. I began to tumbleheadfirst into the darkness-and yanked myself backward. For a moment I touched nothing, then suddenly I made contact, my right shoulder and hip banging down against the steps. I could count the steps I was sliding down, each one a blow against my upper arm.
At the landing, I stopped. I couldn't move. My ski jacket had padded the fall, but the right side of my body ached, and the feeling of tumbling helplessly had taken my breath away. So simple, I thought, so simple and effective-it didn't take much effort to hurt a person.
I sat up slowly, hearing movement in the hall above me. It was Patrick's light footsteps running across it. "Stop, Patrick! Don't run. You'll fall down the steps."
Lights came on, all of the ceiling flights, flooding the hall with whiteness. The door to Adrian and Emily's room opened.
"Kate!" Adrian exclaimed as he reached the top of the stairs. "Are you all right?"
Emily grabbed Patrick's hand, and Adrian started down the steps.
"What happened? Emily, you had better call 911."
"No," I said quickly. "I'm fine-a little shaken up, that's all."
"I'd rather be on the safe side," Adrian replied, arriving on the landing, bending over me.
"No, really, please don't. I didn't hit my head. I didn't break anything," I said, flexing my arms and legs, hoping to convince him. "I'm bruised, nothing more."
A door on the second-floor hall banged open.
"Why are the lights on, the emergency lights in my hall?" Trent asked, coming from the wing behind the stairs. He cleared the corner, looked down, and saw Adrian standing over me. "Good God! What has happened?"
"Kate fell," Patrick said.
"When we heard the noise out here, Adrian pushed the master switch," Emily explained.
A door at the opposite end of the hall opened, and quick footsteps crossed it. Robyn and Brook joined the others at the top of the steps.