Chapter 2 - Don't Touch the Wall
I didn't move my hand off the wood trim. The blood was still moving. That was the worst part. It didn't stop when I looked at it. It kept going down in a slow line past the flowers.
Evelyn's shoes made no sound on the dark floor until she was right behind me. I felt the heat off her dress first. Then her shadow cut across the wallpaper and over my arm.
"Step back." Her voice was low and even. Not loud. She didn't look at Milo yet. She looked only at my fingers where they were pressed to the trim.
I couldn't. My breath was stuck high in my chest and my palm had gone damp against the wood. The lock of hair in the tear moved a little, like air was coming through from behind it.
Milo stepped in between us. He put his shoulder in front of me so fast his dark shirt brushed my cheek. "Don't," he said to her.
Evelyn's mouth tightened. She reached past him and laid her whole right hand flat over the tear. Her palm covered the hair and most of the blood. Just her fingers showed against the red and green flowers, pressing hard. A little more blood squeezed out under the edge of her hand and ran toward her wrist.
"Go to the end of the hall," she said. "Now."
Milo didn't move. He grabbed my wrist with his left hand. His grip was too tight and his skin felt hot. "Come on," he whispered to me, but he didn't back up toward where she pointed. He pulled me sideways, away from her hand, toward the middle of the hallway where the light was.
"Nora." Evelyn said my name once. She still had her hand on the wall. She turned her head just enough to look at us straight. Her pulled-back hair hadn't moved at all. Her face didn't change. "You did not see anything. Do you understand me?"
I stared at her fingers. Blood was on them now. I could see it dark against her skin.
Milo pulled harder. "Leave her alone," he said. His voice shook at the end, but he said it loud enough that it bounced a little off the double doors.
Evelyn lifted her hand off the tear for half a second to look. The hair was still there. The line of blood was longer. She pressed her lips together and put her hand back over it, like if she held it long enough it would go back in.
She reached into the side of her maroon dress with her free hand. I heard fabric shift. She pulled out something small that caught the warm hallway light. A brass key. It was old and short, with a round top.
She didn't explain. She walked the three steps to the double doors, keeping her bloody hand tucked close to her side now. Milo dragged me back another step as she passed. The doors were still closed tight, the wood trim around them the same dark color as the floor. She fit the key into the right-hand door, under the brass handle, and turned it.
The click was loud. Louder than it should have been in that quiet. She tried the handle after, once, to check. It didn't move.
"Those doors stay shut," she said without looking at us. She slipped the key back into the pocket of her dress and smoothed the fabric down over it. I watched the shape settle against her hip. "You don't touch the wall. You don't talk about the wall."
Milo's hand was still around my wrist. "Why is there blood in it?" he said.
Evelyn finally looked at him. Full on. Stern and controlled, like she was waiting for him to be done. "There isn't," she said. "Go stand by the stairs."
"You're lying," Milo said. Quiet this time.
I felt my throat start to close up again. I wanted to say I was sorry. My tears were still wet on my face and my nose was running. I wiped it with the sleeve of my shirt and left a damp spot on the light fabric.
Evelyn pointed down the hallway, past the doors, toward the far end where it went darker near the stair rail. "Walk," she said. "Both of you. I will deal with this."
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Milo didn't let go of me. He started walking backward, pulling me with him, keeping his eyes on her. I stumbled once on the dark floor and he caught my elbow. We kept going until my back was almost to the stairs. The hallway felt longer than before.
Evelyn stayed where she was, beside the doors, her body angled to block the tear. One hand in her dress pocket now, holding whatever was in there. The other hanging at her side with blood on the edge of it. She watched us to make sure we stayed.
