The Wedding of Rachel Blaine

by Amy Cross

  “No worries.”

  I turn to head toward the forest, figuring that Robert's most likely fiddling with the pagoda and trying to knock the whole thing into shape.

  “How long have you known your fiance, M'am?” Officer Dante asks suddenly.

  I turn back to him.

  “I beg your pardon?” I ask.

  “I was just wondering how long you've known him,” he continues, and now he looks more worried than ever. “Have you been together for a long time?”

  “Long enough,” I reply cautiously. “Why?”

  “No reason.” For a moment he seems poised to say something else, but then he allows himself a nervous smile. “Good luck for the wedding, Ms. Blaine. I'm sure it'll be a total success. Just remember that if you need anything, we're available twenty-four-seven to help you.” He pauses again. “I mean that,” he adds. “Anything at all, night or day. If anything just seems a little... off.”

  “I really don't know what you're talking about,” I reply, “but I don't think you need to worry about us. We're just here for a wedding, that's all.”

  “Of course.” He smiles. “I bet it's going to be the best wedding ever.”

  “Thank you.”

  With that, I turn and walk away again, and this time he doesn't call me back with any more weird comments. I swear I can feel him watching me, however, and by the time I reach the treeline I feel compelled to turn and look over my shoulder.

  Thankfully, I'm just in time to see him climbing into his car, and then I watch as he drives away along the gravel road that leads toward the main road. Something about that Officer Dante guy made me feel very uncomfortable, but I guess he probably just came by to check that everything's okay. He probably does that every week, and I imagine that out here in the middle of nowhere he doesn't have much else to do with his time. I need to relax and focus on what's important.

  Picking my way through the forest, I feel my chest tighten with fear as I make my way toward the pagoda. Deep down, I'm worried that – once he knows the truth about me – Robert's going to call the wedding off and never want to see me again. But if he's going to marry me, then he needs to know everything first. I owe him that much.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Wow,” I say as I step out into the clearing and see Robert standing on a small ladder in the pagoda, working on the roof, “you've really got a lot done out here.”

  Making my way closer, I can't help but marvel at the progress he's managed in the space of just a few hours. Sure, the pagoda still doesn't look perfect, but it's amazing how some flowers and a few spots of paint have managed to transform this space from an unpromising wreck to something that's actually quite beautiful. I guess I should trust Robert more, because evidently he saw some potential here that I – and pretty much everyone else – managed to miss.

  I never had Robert down as the creative type, but I guess I misjudged him.

  A moment later, I realize there's still a pretty foul smell in the air. It's a familiar smell, too, although it takes me a few more seconds to remember where I've experienced something like this before. It was in my dream, in the dream I had earlier when the dead bride was coming for me. The smell was intense and strong in the dream, and it's just as intense and strong now. I look around, worried that maybe somehow I'm still dreaming, but then I tell myself that I'm just imagining things. Still, I pinch my arm, just to be sure, before realizing that I need to get on with what I came to do. No more distractions. Just be honest.

  “Are you all alone out here?” I ask, playing for time before I tell him the truth about my sickness. The wooden steps creak beneath my feet as I make my way up onto the pagoda's main platform. “Are you sure you don't need help?”

  “I'm fine,” he mumbles, with his back to me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, picking up a trace of uncertainty in his voice.

  “I'm fine.”

  “Robert?”

  Heading over to him, I see that he's pulling some weeds from cracks in the roof. When I look up at his face, however, he briefly glances down at me and smiles, and I swear I can see tears in his eyes.

  “What's wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “You look upset.”

  “I'm fine.” He looks back up and resumes his work with the weeds. “I'm just busy, that's all.”

  He sounds as if he's about to start properly sobbing.

  “So I spoke to that police officer,” I continue, leaning against the railing for a moment. “He seemed... odd. Nothing to worry about, though. I guess it's not like London out here. Here, the police really do go driving around, checking in on people. Weird, huh?”

  “Yep,” he replies.

  He's keeping his answers brief and to the point.

  I wait for a moment, wondering what's wrong, but I know better than to keep asking directly. Robert's always been a very closed man – he barely ever talks about the deaths of his parents and siblings, for example – and he's very good at changing the subject. Still, as I watch him still working on the pagoda's roof, I feel more than ever that I need to find a way into his thoughts. This time tomorrow he's going to be my husband, so I need to know what he's really thinking.

  Then again, maybe I should start by being honest about my own life. Maybe he's feeling uncertain precisely because he can sense that I've been holding something back.

  I can't delay this any longer.

  “I came to tell you something,” I blurt out finally, keen to say the words before I have a chance to back out. “It's about me. It's something I've kept hidden from you.”

  He turns and looks down at me. Now the tears seem to be gone.

  “I should have told you when we first met,” I continue, “but the truth is, I've been keeping a secret. It all happened a very long time ago and I was convinced that it didn't matter anymore, that I could ignore it and I wouldn't even have to think about it again. But now I'm starting to... I mean, everything's fine, it's not happening again or anything like that, or at least I don't think it is, but then I again I don't think I really know anymore.”

  He starts climbing down.

  “Rachel...”

  “I'm not crazy!” I stammer. “I mean, not really. I mean, not anymore. And I know that what I thought I saw, I can't really have seen, but I suppose that makes it even worse.” I take a deep breath. “The point is -”

  “Rachel -”

  “Let me finish! The point is, if I can't be certain that I'm free of it all, then I have to tell you. Robert, when I was sixteen I...”

  My voice trails off.

  He's staring at me, waiting for me to say the words that might very well make him hate me.

  Now it's my eyes that are starting to fill with tears.

  “When I was sixteen,” I continue finally, “I had to spend some time in a hospital. In a psychiatric ward. I'd started hallucinating, seeing things and people that weren't really there, and hearing voices. Mum tried to get me to go in voluntarily, but when that didn't work she had to have me committed.”

  I wait.

  No answer.

  “I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner,” I blub, “but -”

  Suddenly he steps closer and puts his arms around my shoulders, pulling me tight.

  “It wasn't just once, either,” I continue, still convinced that at any moment he'll tell me this is too much for him. “I was basically in and out of that place, and others like it, for three and a bit years. They tried everything on me, from drugs to therapy to E.C.T., but there were times when all I wanted was...”

  Again, my voice trails off.

  How can I tell him about the darkest times? How can I tell him that I once overdosed on pills? How can I tell him the things that were even worse than that? It all feels like a lifetime ago, and I've been careful to move on, but now I have to acknowledge that I'm still the same person.

  “I don't even have an excuse,” I add, pulling back slightly. “I had a great childhood, I had everything a kid cou
ld want. But for a while I got bullied at school, and somehow it all snowballed. I'm fine now, at least I think I am, and I don't take any meds, not anymore.”

  I look into his eyes, waiting for the slightest flicker of a response.

  “I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before,” I continue, starting to panic a little, “but if you're angry and you feel like you can't go through with this now, I -”

  “Wait,” he says suddenly, placing a finger against my lips to stop me talking. He does that a lot, and it always works.

  I swallow hard, expecting him to tell me that he's shocked by my revelations, but instead he simply stares into my eyes as if he's searching for something. The silence stretches on, and I want to break it somehow, but I guess I need to let Robert make the next move. If he tells me he needs time to think, I'll have to respect his wishes.

  “Can you pass that hammer?” he asks finally.

  “Sorry?”

  “Over there, on the railing. I need to fix a loose panel. After all, it might rain tomorrow and I wouldn't want my bride getting drenched while she's saying her vows.”

  “But...”

  I hesitate, trying to work out exactly what this means.

  “Do you seriously think,” he continues, “that you could say anything that would make me not want to marry you?”

  I can feel more tears welling in my eyes.

  “You had your reasons for not telling me about what happened,” he adds, “and I understand. Totally. I'm glad you told me now, but only because I want to feel like you know you can tell me anything. And I'm sorry you went through so much bad stuff when you were younger, but you have nothing to apologize for.” He uses a finger to wipe a tear from my cheek. “If you want to tell me more about it, I'm here for you. Although you'll have to put up with me hammering at the same time, because I'm really up against a deadline.”

  “Okay,” I reply, feeling a rush of relief as I realize that he doesn't hate me. “Sure.”

  I head over and grab the hammer, before passing it to him, and then I watch as he climbs up to resume his work. Does he really, truly accept everything I just told him? Or does he somehow not understand? Does he think I'm joking, or that it wasn't serious? For a moment I wait for him to speak, but then I realize that it's probably my turn.

  “Where do you want me to start?” I ask.

  “Wherever you like. The beginning seems like as good a place as any.”

  “The beginning's pretty rubbish,” I explain. “I was just a messed-up kid who let a bunch of bullies get to her. I shouldn't have cared so much, but I was sensitive about a few things and somehow those cracks grew and grew until I went a little weird.”

  As I continue to tell him what happened, I can't help feeling a huge sense of relief. In the time since I first met Robert, I've been carrying this secret around with me, and now I can tell him everything. At the same time, I can't help noticing the strange rotten smell that seems to be filling the pagoda. We're going to need to do something about that before the wedding ceremony tomorrow morning. I might be a flexible bride, but I draw the line at getting married in a stench.

  But for now, I simply sit and talk to him while he works, and I tell him everything.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Where have you been?” Becky asks, hurrying along the corridor to catch up to me as I head away from the reception area. “I was looking for you everywhere!”

  “I just needed some peace and quiet,” I tell her, figuring that there's no point telling her I was out at the pagoda with Robert for pretty much the whole of the evening. “I'm sure you can imagine what it's been like.”

  “I have a million questions to ask you,” she continues breathlessly. “First, the table decorations are -”

  “Just use your best judgment.”

  “Oh, I don't have any judgment,” she stammers. “You know me, I have no common sense at all.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Do you want the blue or the -”

  “Whatever you pick will be fine.”

  “But some of them have lace edges!” she gasps, stepping in front of me and blocking my way, staring at me with an expression of pure, aghast horror. “I don't know which ones people will like!”

  “Just pick one and go with it,” I reply, and I can already feel her nervous energy transferring to me. “Remember to breathe, Becky, and everything will instantly feel so much better. I promise you, the table decorations aren't nearly as important as you think they are. Come on, I'm the bride here and even I'm not that fussed. Just let it go.”

  She stares at me for a moment, and then suddenly she takes an enormous, almost comically large breath. It's almost as if she's trying to suck in all that air in the corridor, and then finally she breathes it all out again.

  “Better?” I ask.

  “I don't know yet,” she replies, still sounding incredibly tense.

  I wait.

  “Maybe,” she adds, furrowing her brow. “A bit. Maybe you're right. Maybe I just need to remember the bigger picture.”

  “Sure,” I reply, even though I don't remember saying anything about the bigger picture. “Do whatever works for you, but don't turn yourself into a giant ball of stress.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I need you to be more or less sane in the morning, remember? I'm counting on you.”

  She takes another, even bigger breath, and nods in the process.

  “Thanks,” I say, “and now, if you don't mind, I'm going to pop away for a few minutes to my room. I think I might even have an early night. I need to get my head straight and make sure everything's ready for the morning. Good night, Becky. I'll see you at half three.”

  With that, I turn and start walking away.

  “He doesn't really love you,” she says suddenly. “He loves me.”

  I stop in my tracks.

  I must have misheard. There's no way Becky just said what I think she said.

  “This is all for me,” she continues. “I always knew he'd come back. I've been waiting and waiting, and now the time has almost come. We're going to be together again, and this time it'll be forever. She's going to let us.”

  I turn to her, and I'm immediately struck by the tense expression on her face as she stares at me.

  “What did you just say?” I ask.

  I wait, but she doesn't reply.

  “Becky... what did you say just now?” I step back over to her. “I thought -”

  “Nothing,” she says suddenly, interrupting me. “Why?”

  “You just said something about...”

  My voice trails off. I still can't quite believe what I heard.

  “I didn't say anything,” she continues, and then she shrugs. She looks genuinely nonplussed. “I said I'll see you later. That's all.”

  “You said you've been waiting,” I tell her, feeling a ripple of fear running through my chest. “You said something about the time has come and you'll be together forever.”

  “Huh?” She furrows her brow. “No, I didn't say anything like that. I just said I'll see you later, and that's it. Why?”

  “I heard -”

  I hesitate for a moment, before realizing that maybe I'm in danger of seeming crazy again. It was probably too good to be true, thinking that I was going to instantly get better, and maybe a few auditory hallucinations are still drifting around and catching me out. After all, I know Becky really well and there's no way she'd ever say anything mean.

  Plus, I thought I heard Mum say something similar earlier.

  “Forget it,” I tell her finally, smiling in an attempt to lighten the situation. “You know what? I'm so out of my mind right now, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know whether I'm coming or going.”

  “Okay, well, don't freak out on us,” she says with a chuckle, before turning and starting to head back toward reception. “There'll be time to get weird after you're married. Then again, you won't have much of a chance. You'll be dead by morning.”

  “I'll -”

  “Nigh
t!”

  I watch as she walks away, and I force myself to remember that I'm still capable of mishearing things. There's no way Becky said some of the things I think she just said, and if I fixate on these imagined comments then there's a real danger that I'll set myself off and everything will get worse. I just need to push on through the wedding, and I'm sure everything will be better on the other side.

  Still feeling a little off, I make my way toward my room. The evening is drawing in, and I think I need to avoid people for a little while.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That's it.

  Done.

  Now all that's left is to wait for the actual wedding itself.

  It's almost 8pm, and I'm standing at the window in my room. After a crazy day of running around and getting things sorted, I've finally managed to get some peace. I came back from the pagoda to find that Mum had retired to her room to sober up and that everyone else seems to be chilling in the bar, but I excused myself and came through here so that I could get my thoughts together. Now that I'm staring out at the dark lawn, and at the pitch black lake beyond, I can finally feel all the madness of the day starting to drain from my body.

  This time in about twelve hours, the dawn ceremony will be over and I'll be Mrs. Robert Porter.

  I can start my new life.

  “Mrs. Robert Bennington,” I whisper, and I can't help grinning at the sound of that name. “Mrs. Bennington. Rachel Bennington. Rachel Blaine-Bennington.”

  No.

  Definitely not double-barreled.

  Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I'm quite happy to take my husband's name once we're married. It's like I'm getting a new start, like I'm shedding my old skin. So that's settled, then. I'll be Rachel Bennington. I can get used to that.

  And then I see a light flickering out in the darkness.

  At first I think I'm wrong, that what I'm actually seeing is a reflection. After all, I can see my own face mirrored in the glass, so I reach over and switch off the lights, plunging the room into darkness. Now I can see outside much more clearly, but I can also see that there's definitely a small light burning a couple of hundred feet away, in the direction of the old wooden jetty that reaches out into the lake. It's as if someone has lit a candle out there.