While You Were Sleeping

He had sent a couple of his boys around to mine and my yard had some damage as well.

I stuck to my story that I was at the family cabin and had been for a few days, so knew nothing about it. He wanted to know if he should call the Sheriff about the damage, I just told him that it must have been the local children playing in the yards while I was away. I told him to put the damage to both yards right and put it on my bill, I would settle with him when I got back.

I had barely closed my cell down when Tessa burst out laughing again. "I love this family; there is never a dull moment with you two, is there?"

Staring at her was easy; she sure was easy on the eye. "I can go off you, you know."

She smiled right on back and refilled my coffee cup. "No, you can't, you love me."

As always, she was right. She wasn't my sister-in-law; she was Tessa, my sister.

My torture at the hands of my brother and his wife lasted a week. That's how long it took for the scratches to heal and all the bruising to go down. I bid them goodbye and Tessa extracted a promise that I was to keep her up to date on what was going on at the house. That woman was enjoying herself way too much at my expense.

*******

I got home late evening; no lights were on so I assumed they hadn't moved in yet. I went to my home office, Al Henderson put the amount for fixing the damage to both sides of the fence on a piece of paper and had posted it under the door, I shook my head at my own stupidity. What the hell was I thinking? The rest of the evening seemed to be spent sitting and staring at the computer screen in front of me. Even on the journey home I was still bringing my options to the front of my mind, few though they were.

Rather than turn in, my eyes focused on the last book Andrew wrote as a diary. I picked it up and read it again, from start to finish.

*******

On the insistence of Louise that she wanted a door, and even what wall it was to be attached to, he put his old skills to use one final time. In retaliation, he made Louise promise that she wasn't to look until it was all done, all the wood and the work was done from Andrew's side of the house. She agreed to Andrew's condition and he wrote later that it was probably the only promise she regretted making. When he had finished and the varnish was still drying, he showed Louise.

She fell to her knees and burst out crying. Andrew thought he had made a mistake until Louise could finally find the words to say it was beautiful. Louise stayed the night in his bed and according to Andrew's diary, she never really left it. The door remained open, except when family came to visit. She also cussed him up and down for only putting the lock on her side of the door.

In a more sober moment, Louise did sit Andrew down and tell him that she was a widow, and always would be. She would love and be loyal to Andrew for the rest of their lives, but she could never marry him. She needed to know before she invested too much of her heart into the relationship, if what she was offering him was going to be enough. It seems he pulled her back into his bedroom and neither one of them got out again, except when the need for a bathroom break became too much.

Of course, seeing a naked Louise walk back into the room made him hard again, much to the amusement of Louise.

Louise was fiercely loyal to Andrew: her affection and love every day proved that. She told him honestly that her marriage days were past. Andrew was slightly more practical. He got Louise in his bed every night, except, of course, when family visited. He didn't need a piece of paper telling him he was married. Looking at Louise in all her glory, he quickly realized, he had the hard copy.

Her hand held his and she said, "Andrew, I've done the marriage thing, and it gets old really quick. I'm in love with you and have been for some time. I'm willing to share my body, my heart and my soul with you, Andy. I just don't need a piece of paper to prove I love you that much."

Their relationship remained a secret for twelve more years, until that fateful night that Louise Gates died in her lover's arms. It nearly killed Andrew to agree to her last wish and return her to her own bed so that he could discover her the next morning. I knew from the gossips around town that the Sheriff lasted a year more before he died. My guess was from a broken heart, but was that the old romantic in me doing the thinking?

Just reading Andrew's diaries told me of a true love story. They were in love; they didn't need to stick a ring on each other's finger to be that much in love. They shared a bed and their bodies, their hopes and love in the one place they felt comfortable: this house and the enclosed gardens outside. This was the second time reading this particular book from cover to cover; it had the makings of a love story. But the way they closely guarded their secret meant they never wanted it exposed to the outside world.

For over twelve years they had the perfect life; neither wanted for anything else. An idea of sorts did come to me, and I just hoped that it would work. I loved my house and never wanted to change anything that Andrew did to it. The one thing that could bring down this house of cards was the door and his reasoning for only placing the lock on the one side.

Every so often I would wander into the room that held the secret door and open the closet to look at the back of the closet. Shaking my head in wonder at a man with this much talent, I knew there was a door here, I had taken a flashlight to every inch and found nothing. No hinges, no part of the door was worn, proving to me that Andrew really was good at hiding something in plain sight. Andrew Townsend truly was a master craftsman. I knew what I was looking for, and yet I couldn't find it. My own thoughts ran rampant as my fingertips searched from corner to corner.

Still having no idea if the door opened inwards or outward, my thoughts even went as far as wondering if it was a sliding door. My mind was exhausted with the possibilities, and still I looked and couldn't figure out how the door would work. Even deceased, between this door and those books he had hidden in the loft, the Sherriff was indeed, an intriguing man.

*******

A couple of days later I gave Al Henderson a call to come and collect money owed for fixing the damage to Louise Gates's rose bed and the work on my lawn and flowerbeds. Both he and I were on the front lawn when my new neighbor came out her door. She strolled over to us standing on my lawn and looked at me. Al quickly figured that he had to be someplace else right about then, and left. She was still standing and watching me.

I tried the obvious. "Can I help you?"

"You can't have my house; its mine and I'm keeping it. Great Granma Gates willed it to me on my birthday two weeks ago, so put your checkbook back in the drawer, because it's not for sale."

As she talked, I stared. I shouldn't have because it was rude. When my mind told me she had finished, my mouth took control long before my mind thought it wise to speak.

"You look a lot like her, it's the high cheekbones and the eyes." I think my gaze settled on her hair, since all of the photos I had seen of both Louise or Andrew were all black and white. The hairstyle was sure similar; I just wondered if the hair color was the same.

What I said next left my lips before caution could pull it back. "You should be proud."

Feeling my own cheeks start to warm and standing staring at her like I'd just made an absolute idiot of myself, and using the fact that her mouth had just dropped open and she was still searching for an answer, I turned and walked back to my house.

As the door closed with my body pressed against it, I looked up at the ceiling, thinking that I came across as a total nut-job in my first introduction to my new neighbor.

*******

The next few days were cordial, at best. When we saw each other, we nodded, but remained tight lipped. The daughter was just as cute as the mother. Andrew had a picture of Louise wedged into the pages of one of his diaries. She was a lot younger than some of the pictures I had seen of her in later years, so she would have given it to him as a keepsake. I guess Louise Gates's genes were very dominant within her family, since my new neighbor looked so much like her.

When the weeks fell into months, I started to relax, if only a little. Perhaps the secret door would remain just that, a secret.

It was roughly the sixth month living with a new neighbor that I started to get an odd feeling that I was being watched. It made no sense whatsoever, a floorboard would creak and when I turned to look, nothing. When I was stuck on a line or section of a story, I would take a glass of water and often stare at the garden from my home office. That feeling of being watched would come and go, a reflection of something moving behind me, yet when I turned to look, nothing.

The hairs on my neck would start to raise, and yet when I looked around, again, nothing. Sometimes I would inexplicably hold my breath in the hope that my hearing would pick up the reason for my unease. The peace of the house and the tranquility of the garden often helped me over a block in my writing, I just prayed that same tranquility would put my being ill at ease in my own house to rest as well.

My side of the house remained as silent as before. When I worked, the sound of classical music emanated from my home office, the typing of keys on a keyboard and either my printer or shredder pushed back at the silence.

In exchange, when I was out back in my yard, songs and music from children's shows emanated from the open windows next door.

Her name was Marcy Cartwright and her daughter was called Jennifer. Al Henderson told me, and he had a smirk on his face when he did. He found it funny that I had lived next to my neighbor for the last few months and it took the gardener to tell me the names of the people living next door to me.

"Have you invited them both over for a barbeque yet?"

My brow creased and I said no to his question, then I asked him why I would do that. He laughed; he actually laughed and slapped me on the back.

"Martin, you may have lived here for a couple of years now, but your still stuck in city life. The invite should have been made seconds after they turned up, more so since she's single."

If I didn't look shocked, I sure did feel it.

Al got all smug again. "I handed her the invite from my wife a week after they came here. She's good company and that little girl of hers is as cute as a button. She's already friends with my two boys; I'm told their inseparable at school, and they told me they made her their adopted sister."

I paid Al for his work in my back yard; I refused to pay him for his dating advice.

*******

I was being pushed. I was repeatedly being pushed. It was still dark when I opened my eyes, leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp. Little Jennifer was standing next to my bed in her pajamas, with tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Mama's sick, please help me."

When she saw me get out of bed she was already heading for the door. By the time I had a robe on, she was gone. I didn't need to wonder where. I knew why I'd had the feeling someone was watching me, and in my own house.

She screamed, "Hurry!"

I met her in the room, the closet doors already open, and this time I saw the door slid to the side.

Jennifer took my hand and pulled me into a room. The smell was appalling. Her mother had been sick, and the lamp by her bed was on, I didn't need to touch her forehead but I did, she was burning up.

"Honey, does your Momma have a phone?"

Jennifer shook her head. She was clutching a teddy bear to her chest, and she lowered her head and rested hers onto Teddy's. "Mommy says we can't afford one."

I gambled a little. "Sweetie, you know where my home office is?"

She nodded. I had been right, but now wasn't the time to gloat about it. I told her to run next door to my office, pull my cell off its charger and bring it back. Jennifer and Teddy were off like an Olympic sprinter. While she was gone, I went to her bathroom and wet a towel, then placed it over Marcy's forehead. She was dry heaving so much I felt sure she was going to damage something internally.

Jennifer arrived within seconds and handed me my phone. I called the emergency services and gave them a breakdown of what was happening., They told me they had dispatched an ambulance, but they wanted to keep me on the phone, I couldn't allow that. I needed the time Jennifer and I had together, little that it was.

"Sweetie, you know the door between our houses is a secret?"

She nodded, but still watched her mother. What she said next threw me.

"Granma Louise showed me the door soon after we first got here and told me it was our secret, but I needed help with Momma. Granma smiled and told me to go get you."

I found my voice, I'm not sure how. "Jennifer, is Granma Gates still here?"

She shook her head. "Not anymore, when she told me to get you, she said that you will look after us from now on."

The pain in my head just wouldn't leave. Questioning this little girl was wrong on so many levels, and yet she freely gave the answers that had eluded me for so long. Perhaps another time and for sure a different place, because for now, time was against us, things needed to be done to protect us all.

"Jennifer, go through the door and I need you to open my front door for me."

I placed some emphasis on what I said next. "Don't go out and don't let anyone see you, okay? Just leave it open a little bit and get back here as quick as you can."

She simply nodded and left. I was holding her mother's hand when she got back, a small smile replacing some of the tears. Lights appeared in the street outside, I went and opened the front door as the paramedics were pulling bags of stuff from the back of the ambulance.

I held onto Jennifer's hand while the paramedics went to work on her mother. They quickly diagnosed her with appendicitis. They were taking her to our local hospital and we all agreed it would probably be straight into surgery, so it would be a waste of time for us to go with them.

Although I could see the logic, it's more difficult to explain to an eight-year-old that all we would be doing is staring at walls and waiting. I did get a call from the hospital twenty minutes later, wanting insurance details. I gave them mine and told them that they were to forward the bills to me, I added my brother's name and profession, as well as the name of his law firm, stating I was standing guarantee for all costs.

Knowing they were getting paid meant things ran smoother.

Little Jennifer became a bit of a zombie; I could understand why, of course. Despite my reassurance that her mother would be fine because the doctors would take care of her, children only believe what's in front of them, and the rampant imaginations of an eight-year-old can cause a great deal of worry. It was a waste of time trying to get her to sleep again, so I sent her to get dressed. What came back ten minutes later would have made me laugh in any other situation.

In another ten years, perhaps, she would make a great fashion guru. At that moment, though, she was all odds and evens. When I asked if I could come into her room, she looked confused, I felt sure she'd never had an adult ask her that before. Self-preservation made me ask.

It was stark. What little furniture that was in the room must have been here when they arrived. Her clothes were clean and hung up, just not much choice. I laid some clothes on her bed and then told her I would see her in the kitchen. There wasn't much choice there, either. A stark realization came to me while I held the cupboard doors open: Marcy & Jennifer Cartwright were broke, and hanging onto life together a day at a time. No wonder she moved there when the lawyers told her she had inherited the house; other than themselves, it was the only asset they had in their lives.

When Jennifer came in and dressed, we both went to my place and had breakfast there. We spoke in generalities. I had my suspicions and wasn't about to interrogate an eight-year-old to prove I was right. With breakfast over, and since I didn't own a television, I sat her in front of the computer and sorted out a children's movie for her to watch.

As the day grew in strength, so did the phone calls. The hospital told me that Marcy was out of surgery and doing well. She was still out from the anesthetic, so wouldn't be able to have visitors until at least the end of the afternoon. The tension in little Jennifer eased a little when I told her that much.

My brother called, wanting to know what the hell I was up to now. When I explained, he laughed and told me he would sort out the hospital. The accounts department of the hospital, in turn, phoned me back a couple of hours later thanking me for confirmation of Miss Cartwright's medical bill payments. Subtlety was never these people forte; I can see why I suppose. Money did indeed make the world go around.

*******

We still had a few hours before going to the hospital. My jaw ached. Every time I looked at Jennifer, I kept wondering how long Louise Gates had remained behind. Over and over again I had to stop myself from asking her. She made it clear to Jennifer that once she opened the door that evening between the two houses, her job of looking after them was over. That was a hell of a lot of information, not to mention pressure she heaped onto an eight-year-old.

I wasn't a superstitious man, but I did actually believe in ghosts. Hell, living in that house has been nothing but proof personified. I think it was that belief that let me accept Jennifer's statement that Louise had sent her to me, without so much as a blink back at her. Louise was simply waiting for these two people in her house, to catch up with her.

Then the sudden realization came to me. It was only then that I sat up straight, causing Jennifer to look at me, her eyes carried a confused look. Making it look intentional, I stood and made us both an orange juice. She thanked me when I handed her a glass and took a sip before placing it onto the table, her attention back on the movie.

That message wasn't for Jennifer: that message was for her to tell me.

Another thought did occur to me. Was the door something else that both Louise and Andrew had not anticipated? When Andrew made the door, it locked only on Louise's side of the house. I had to wonder if Andrew was indeed too good a carpenter. With the door closed, were they both also trapped on either side of the door, since it took a human hand to open it?

I understood they were ghosts, but according to Andrew's diaries, he built that door with love and to protect the women he truly loved on the other side of it. Both the house and door were doing what they were built to do. Perhaps Andrew just didn't realize that his love for Louise had somehow transferred itself to the door. In human form she could open it. After their deaths, the door was indeed a barrier between them.

I shook my head. Perhaps I was just over-thinking everything. My mind was throwing out so many hypothetical thoughts that they all seemed to blend into one.

The hairs on the back of my neck, as well as a cold chill ran down my spine, standing and acting on instinct, so did I. I made it out of my office before a tiny hand slid into mine. Looking down at the little munchkin got me a smile. Her hand gripped mine tighter as we stood just inside the room belonging to the secret door, staring through to Louise Gates's side of the duplex.

The spirit of Andrew Townsend held onto his greatest gift. Louise Gates held him right on back. They both turned for a moment and looked at us. I can't vouch for Jennifer, but I heard a thank you from them both as they faded away, and finally, they were where they both belonged: in each other's arms.