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Silent Screams

Harlequin Enterprises

Chapter One

The ocean crashed and thundered as it rolled to the sandy shore, the wildness of the water somehow matching the wildness of the house that sat nearby.

The house, rising out of the area of isolated Long Island beachfront, was a monstrosity. Constructed of wood and stone weathered to the color of the surrounding dunes, it was imposing, an architectural nightmare.

Boasting no particular style, the mansion contained hidden rooms and stairways to nowhere, all attesting to the madness that had eventually consumed the original owner.

"And it's all mine," she breathed to herself, still finding that fact difficult to believe. She settled back against the hard stone of the cement bench, her gaze captured by the house.

There were times when she wondered if she hadn't been just a little bit crazy herself in her intense desire to own the place. Its checkered past had daunted many a buyer.

Originally built by Randolf Weathers, a famous silent-film star, it had been occupied by Randolf and his wife, Daphne, for a little over a year. They had been a golden couple ... untilRandolf had plunged into a madness that had eventually resulted in their tragic deaths.

When Kelly first bought the house and had it renovated, she'd worried that the ancient tragedy might make the five individual apartments difficult to rent. But that hadn't been the case. First Jeffrey Richardson, a young art student, had contacted her about renting. Then Susan and Gary Philips, her best friends and avid old-movie buffs, had agreed to move in. Finally, Dalton Waverly, Randolf and Daphne's grandson, had called her to rent an apartment.

She leaned her head back and tilted it toward the early evening sun. The warmth was pleasing, but the air was unpleasantly thick and heavy, portending an approaching storm in the distance. She closed her eyes and thought about Dalton Waverly.

She had yet to meet him, although they'd had several phone conversations. He was working on a book about his infamous ancestor and had rented one of her apartments for six months, telling her he thought the ambience of the house would inspire him.

On an intellectual level she was anxious to actually meet him and learn more about the book he was writing about Randolf. But on an emotional level, something about Dalton Waverly's voice had unsettled her. Although deeply masculine and attractive, she'd sensed a tension, a vibrant force coming from him, that had both intrigued and repelled her.

As a cloud moved over the sun, momentarily usurping the bright sunshine, she opened her eyes, her gaze automatically seeking the house once again.

It was a place that loved the shadows, seeming to grow and maintain an eerie nobility of its own in the dark shades of approaching night. And it was a house never completely silent. It whispered to itself in creaks and groans, as if loving the sound of its own voice.

In truth, the first couple of nights here alone, she'd been uneasy, unsettled by strange sensations. She'd felt as if the walls watched ... waited ... anticipating something Kelly was unaware of.

She knew some people would think she was crazy to imbue the wood-and-stone house with any human characteristics, but she'd always possessed a special sensitivity to space and energy, and this house positively throbbed with unseen energies.

It was the same with people. It was as if Kelly had a special insight into others' souls, and she was rarely wrong. There were times when she wasn't sure if the unique ability was a curse or a gift.

Again her thoughts drifted back to Dalton Waverly. She looked up at the small, round window in the third floor. She'd put Dalton in the attic rooms, anticipating that his poetic soul might enjoy the charm of the slanting eaves and rich woodwork. Besides, he'd mentioned that he intended spending a lot of time watching old reels of Randolf's movies. The attic dormer was long and narrow. It would make a perfect screening room.

She frowned slightly. There was something about the upstairs rooms that set her teeth on edge, filled her with anxiety. An energy there that gave her a feeling of not quite being alone. Although the unease she'd experienced in the rest of the house had somewhat dissipated, her disquiet regarding the attic had only intensified.

Initially, she'd worried about the rooms being too warm, worried that the air conditioner wouldn't be sufficient to cool the stale air. But she needn't have worried. Every time she'd been in the rooms she'd noticed a distinct chill. Apparently the insulation in the old house was better than she'd imagined.

She looked at her watch and smiled in anticipation. Not only was Jeffrey Richardson due to arrive anytime, but Susan and Gary as well. It would be wonderful to have people in the house once again. She'd go put on a pot of coffee.

Standing up, she stretched. Something at the attic window suddenly captured her attention. A flash of movement, then a glimpse of a pale form framed in stark relief.

She jumped and stifled a gasp, but when she looked again, the figure was gone and the window was just a round yawn of darkness.

Probably just a reflection of the sunlight, she thought uneasily, looking back to where the large dark cloud had moved away from the sun.

The unblocked sunlight painted the house in lush, golden tones, but didn't quite dispel the deep shadows that lingered around its edges. Once again, she looked up at the window, deciding that whatever she'd thought she'd seen was indeed nothing more than a trick of the sunlight playing peek-a-boo with the clouds.

And by the look of the dark clouds gathering on the horizon, there would definitely be a storm before nightfall. She would be interested in seeing how the roof fared in a heavy rain.

Checking her watch one last time, she went back into the house, anxious for her friends to arrive. The house needed people, needed laughter and life to chase away the pervasive gloom that seemed to wrap itself in and around her new home.

Once inside, she finished making the coffee, then sat down at the long wooden kitchen table to drink a cup of the brew. She sipped from her mug and gazed around her in satisfaction.

Yes, the workmen had done a good job, and she was particularly pleased that she'd been so cautious in choosing the furnishings for the house.

Some of the original furniture had been here when she'd bought it, and she'd used every piece, wanting to restore the house to the splendor it had once enjoyed.

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Excerpted from Silent Screams by Carla Cassidy Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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