Excerpt of Comes The Night by Norah Wilson, Heather Doherty

Alex trembled inside as she climbed the steep stairs ahead of Maryanne and Brooke, but she moved quickly, decisively. No way would she let the other girls see the fear she bit back as she climbed up to the darkened attic. But that wasn't the only reason she moved so quickly. Alex knew that if she stopped, she just might not go on. Might never return to that horrible place.

She'd have felt infinitely safer doing this in their shared bedroom, but at the same time that seemed wrong somehow. She had to honor Connie's words, and she knew the only way to really do that was to read them in Connie's prison. She wrapped her hand even more tightly around Connie's diary, deep in her hoodie pocket.

Behind her, Maryanne carried an as yet unlit candle which she'd lifted from the house kitchen. She'd been on clean–up duty tonight with a couple of first–floor girls. Two Grade Nine newbies from Fredericton who looked scared shitless to find themselves housed at Harvell.

Not that the candle was likely to be missed. It was obviously an ornamental thing meant to be tucked into a Christmas centerpiece for show. In fact, no candles were ever lit at Harvell House. It was forbidden, for insurance reasons. If they got caught with this candle, they'd be in trouble for that alone, never mind entering the off–limits attic. Yet when Alex had instructed Maryanne to snag the candle, she'd done so with much less coaxing than Alex would have imagined. Maybe Maryanne Hemlock wasn't such a chickenshit after all.

And Brooke... she might not be a chickenshit, but she sure could be a shit.

Anyway, there was nothing to worry about. They weren't going to get caught. It was well past midnight, late enough even for the wild girls to have crept back in on a school night. Lights out was ten o'clock, but Alex knew that rule didn't carry much weight with her old crowd, or what remained of it. One had graduated, one was back in juvie, and one just hadn't been heard from. That left Kassidy and Leah.

Kassidy and Leah. Alex felt the tension pouring in just thinking about them. They'd been on her case since they'd come back to Harvell. They'd expected the same old hard–partying Alex. They'd expected her to join them that first night drinking down by the river with the college crowd. But she hadn't gone. She hadn't had a drink at all since that first day back. And she hadn't asked for a new room assignment.

She had changed. She wanted to believe that. Needed to.

Fear would do that to a person. Scare them straight before something horrible—or more horrible—happened. But what could be more horrible than what she'd already gone through? Waking up half–naked on a hard floor, knowing she'd been raped. And remembering none of it.

Alex stumbled on the steps, and Maryanne caught her.

"You okay?" Maryanne whispered.

Alex jerked away. "I'm fine."

A moment later, Alex took the final trembling step off the stair treads onto the attic floor. She pulled in a choking breath. The dust... it stirred the few memories she did have, memories of waking up on the floor.

Except last time she'd been here, the room had been washed by the gray light of pre–dawn. Tonight, the white glow of moonlight poured into the small room from the lone window, laying a muted pattern on the floor. But unlike the light of dawn, this rectangle of moonlight only served to darken the room around it.

Alex's eyes were drawn to the stained glass window itself, where the moonlight had set the decorative image darkly glowing.

That other morning, she'd barely glanced at the upper half of the window, but now all she could do was stare at the Madonna holding her child. It should have been a peaceful image, there in the ancient window, high up in Harvell House. It should have been calm. Serene. But it wasn't. The poor woman stood in a bed of thorn–guarded roses, her feet bloodied.

"Whoa—time warp!" Brooke breathed.

Alex turned to her. By the flame of a lighter, Brooke moved toward the furniture piled in the corner.

"Spooky, creepy time warp. Ouch!" The lighter's flame went out. "That gets hot," Brooke said by way of explanation for letting the light die.

"You want to go back?" Alex asked. She knew her voice was quick with hope—didn't even try to hide it.

"No way," Brooke walked toward the window and stepped into the light coming through it, her shadow long and thin behind her. Silently Maryanne followed and held out the candle, which Brooke obligingly lit. Alex watched as Maryanne dripped wax into the makeshift holder—a fancy glass ashtray.

The two girls settled themselves on the floor, and Alex studied them in the moonlight.

Brooke's eyes were avid as she took everything in.

Maryanne, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by the candle, staring quietly into the flame. She was pretty, sort of, in a straight–laced, not–trying kind of way. Not to be confused with the "natural" beauty that took some girls hours to achieve. She had a hunch Miss Hemlock had led something of a sheltered life. How would she react to the revelations in Connie's diary? Of what had happened to her here in this attic?

Or of what happened to me?

Something hammered at her memory again. Still! And all the harder up here, just outside her reach. What had he done to her? How had he gotten her up here? And the worst question of all, was it just "he" and not "them"?

She wrapped her arms around herself, holding the shaking in. Well, until she caught Maryanne, staring silently up at her from where she sat on floor. Alex loosened her shoulders immediately, shrugged them back into a don't–mess–with me posture, and sat on the floor with the other two girls.