Free Reborn by Aiden James, Lisa Collicutt Page B

“Have you been here with Auntie Mel before?”
    “No. Today is the first time.”
    “Somehow, I don’t think this is your first time here. Maybe before your memory loss?”
    I shrugged, searching myself for an inkling of memory to put truth to her speculations. But the only thing that came to mind was closing the door behind us, and then holding the key, door already locked.
    Desiree’s eyebrows knitted together. “Hmm.”
    She handed me the key, and I slipped it into a front pocket of my jeans.
    “Well, looks like we’re stuck here for a bit. This is one room the tour guide won’t be able to show.” Her fresh smile lit up the dull space.
    She walked to the front wall of windows, which showcased the columns on the receiving balcony and the long driveway beyond, and started closing drapes.
    I got the hint and helped.
    “Can’t have tourists peeping inside,” she said in a lighter tone.
    Once the curtains were closed, the room was dark enough; I could just make out the outlines of things, including the long curls framing Desiree’s upper half.
    She took out her cell phone and held it outward, shining the display light around the room, stopping when the glow fell on a table beside the sofa, and the oil lamp that sat on top of it.
    “I don’t suppose you have a lighter, or matches, do you?” she asked, shining the light on my face.
    I looked into the rectangular device she held, squinting. “No.”
    The drawer in the table that held the lamp beckoned to me. In my head, I saw a small box with the words Parlor Matches written on it. Desiree opened the drawer and pulled out the exact box I envisioned. The unpleasant vibe—as Melba would call it—was nothing compared to the downright dread I felt after Desiree lit the lamp and turned up the flame, creating a familiar glow in the center of the room, while an eerie gloom fell around its edges.
    “I better call my aunt. She’s probably having a heart attack about now, wondering where we’d run off to.”
    A moment later, a loud voice came on the other end of her phone. “Auntie Mel, I know. Didn’t you know there was a tour today?”
    After a moment, Desiree put her hand over the phone and turned her attention to me. “She didn’t know. Says it wasn’t on the schedule.” Then she turned her attention back to her phone and the frantic voice inside. “We’re in Solomon’s Den.”
    Her description of the room sent a chill up my back. As if realizing what she’d said, she looked up from the phone and gave me an apologetic look.
    “Okay,” she shook her head to the phone. “Well, we’re stuck here for now. Right. Okay, we’ll meet you later.”
    “She says the tour should take about an hour, and not to let anyone see… us.”
    I got the feeling she meant—me; specifically, my resemblance to the infamous Solomon Brandt.
    After glancing around the room, my gaze came back to Desiree. The glow of the oil lamp haloed her hair, making some strands appear golden, like her skin. She was the most beautiful thing in my memories, and just looking at her quelled any anxiety welling inside me.
    “It’s kinda creepy in here in the dark,” she said, her voice suddenly low.
    “There must be a light switch somewhere,” I said.
    “No, we’d better not. It’ll be too bright. They might see it in the hall.”
    No sooner did Desiree speak than a noise coming from behind her, by the far wall, made her jump. She scooted beside me, close enough that I felt her arm brush against mine. I wasn’t sure if instinct or desire made me wrap an arm around her, nestling her into my side. She snuggled her frightened self against me, her hands clasped in front of her mouth, against my chest.
    “What was that?” she whispered.
    I didn’t know what the scraping noise was, but I knew I had to reassure her everything was okay. “Something probably loosened when we closed the drapes, and decided to fall at this time.”
    Her short laugh moved her warm body against mine. The