by R. L. Weeks
I shudder as I think of being so close to the murderer and almost trip. I look at Emmett suspiciously. Could it have been him who moved her body? He was in the cemetery at the time, but then why would he help me? He wouldn’t have had time to do both, surely. I dismiss the thought.
“Careful.” He half smiles. “I’m guessing you’re not the graceful type.”
“It’s been a weird day, that’s all.”
Weird is an understatement.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
“No,” I say, answering a little too quickly. I see the red-and-blue sign of the butcher’s shop. “I’m actually okay from here.”
He rests me up against the iron fence of one of my neighbour’s houses. “Walk then,” he says.
I try to hold my own weight, but I end up falling back. Lucky for me, he grabs me before I meet the concrete. He helps me back up to a standing position and wraps one arm around my waist and holds my stomach. “I got you. You are definitely headstrong.”
“Sorry,” I say breathily. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
I see him smile in the dim light of the streetlamps. “You are most welcome, Miss Pride. I’m grateful to have met you before anyone else. You’re the town ghost.”
How ironic.
“Town ghost?”
He laughs. “I know this town and everyone in it. You’re just a rumour to most. Your grandmother has kept you well hidden. I bet that was your first time leaving the house in a while.”
I gulp. “I…yes. Well since I was eight.”
He tilts his head. “Most curious.”
I offer nothing but a shrug.
“Well,” he says as we reach my front door, “I better not shatter the illusion.” He rests me against the doorframe. “It’s been a pleasure. I hope to see you again soon.”
He knocks on the door, turns, and walks down the street.
I watch after him curiously. He walks with grace, such certainty, and I can still smell his strong cologne on me.
I jolt as Nora opens the door. “Oh, dear. What has happened to you? Where have you been?”
She holds me up and walks me inside. “Gertrude has been worried about you. We all have.”
“Raven Pride,” Grandmother scolds as she marches out of the living area in her emerald-green dress. While most women wear a simpler dress during the day, she does not. She likes to be dressed in her finest wear always, in case she is ever needed in a hurry.
“Sorry…” I don’t know what to say.
She places her hands on her hips. “Where have you been? You should not have gone outside.”
Tears fill my vision. “It wasn’t as bad as you think, Grandmother.”
“You have no idea what you could have done. You must stay hidden here, and my gosh, what has happened to your head?”
“I fell onto a crypt. A man helped me, and he didn’t think me strange or anything.”
Her eyes widen so much that she reminds me of an owl. “You spoke to someone? Does he know who you are?”
I cock my hip. “Yes, and he didn’t try to hurt me. He helped me.” I can see it in her eyes that she thinks I have betrayed her. “I didn’t intend on leaving today, but it wasn’t as bad as you made me think it would be. I do everything you ask—”
“No, you do not, you silly, spoilt little girl. You could have gotten yourself killed, you reckless child.”
I purse my lips, and tears form in my eyes. “I’m sorry, but I cannot be you, ashamed and afraid of the world.”
Confusion sweeps her features. “How dare you talk to me like that? Respect your elders.”
“Respect goes both ways.”
I watch her jaw drop and turn to Nora. “Please take me to my room. I need to rest.”
She looks at my grandmother, who throws her hands up in the air. “Take her up.”
Nora walks me up the stairs. I do not look back at Grandmother. I know she wishes only to keep me safe, and I do feel awful for what I said, but I cannot help feeling the way I do. I mean, what is the worst that can happen by leaving the house?
Six
Some birthday this is.
Grandmother has gone down to the market and has left strict instructions that I must not leave the house. Ever since I left the house last week, she has hardly said a word to me.
I gaze out the window and catch a glimpse at the headstone of Alice Pride. What I saw in that cemetery has been haunting me all week, and I’ve been itching for a chance to see the gravestone again.
I walk into the living room and see Nora sat on Grandmother’s chair. “Oh, I didn’t see you there.” She jumps up.
I wave my hand. “I won’t tell her you were in her chair.”
She winks at me. “That’s my girl. Want this?”
She holds up the local paper. I’ve been reading it every day since I found Tabitha’s body in hopes that I would catch some news of who killed her.
“Please.” I grab it and scan the pages. More children have gone missing, but no bodies have been found. I sigh and dump the paper onto a side table.
“Why the sudden interest in the news?” Nora asks, cocking her head.
I shrug. “Something to do.”
She sips her tea and sets the cup down on the side. “Happy Birthday by the way.”
I shrug again. “Just another day.”
She half smiles. “It’s not every day one turns eighteen.”
“Thanks for the paper,” I say and eye it again. “I’m going to go play some piano or something.”
“I’ll call you down when your grandmother returns.”
I don’t wait around. I hurry out the door and over to the stairs, but I’m not going to the music room, not today.
I avoid the creaking boards and head to the back doors. I exit as quietly as I can. I run to the wall and catch my breath.
My head still hurts when I touch it, but I no longer feel dizzy or sick like before.
When I had returned to the orphanage, after going to my room, Grandmother insisted I see a doctor, but my speedy recovery called her off. She was grateful too. I could tell. The doctor in town knows about me, but Grandmother likes to keep visits to a minimum. No one can say she’s not cautious.
I climb the wall, dangle down the other side, and jump down onto the grass. I take a second to catch my breath and let the shooting pain in my head pass.
“Miss Pride.”
I jump as the familiar voice greets me. “Emmett.”
“In the flesh,” he says jokingly.
He looks better in the daylight. In fact, I’d say he’s quite handsome.
I eye his clothing. He wears a double-breasted waistcoat with a handkerchief sticking out of his left pocket. Underneath that is a long-sleeved blue shirt and silk necktie. His black trousers cover the top of his buttoned boots, the tips of which are coated with mud.
“Been digging?” I ask, staring at his boots.
He chokes on the smoke from his pipe. “No. It was muddy on my way over here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”
“Visiting.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“Okay.”
His lips curve into a half-smile. “You look much better.” He reaches out and strokes a gloved hand through my hair. “I’m glad.”
“My grandmother knows I’m here,” I say quickly.
“I doubt that,” he says with a grin and takes a puff from his pipe. “No matter. I’m not going to try and hurt you if that’s what you think.” He pauses. “We don’t hurt pretty things.”
My lips part and curve into a smile. “I am more than just a thing, Mr White.”
He smirks. “That you are. But still pretty.”
I flush red. “Thanks, I guess.”
He glances down at my leather journal. “Nice book you have there. Do you read?”
“I write,” I say proudly and open it to the front page. “It’s my journal. I write my innermost thought
s and theories.”
He raises both eyebrows. “Theories?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you are different, I’ll give you that.”
I glance at the empty space around us. “The gravestones are over there,” I say, pointing. “Why are you by my wall?”
He smirks again. “The whole area is the cemetery. Besides, I do not think you’re in a position to be questioning anyone, Miss Runaway Girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Right.” I lick my lips as I feel them dry. “What happened to the missing girl? Was she found?”
His smile disappears. “Why are you so interested in that?”
I fiddle with the black ring my grandmother gave me for my birthday and rub my finger over the curves of the black raven on it. “I just am.”
He eyes the ring too. “That’s nice.”
“My grandmother gave it to me for my birthday today.”
His eyes widen. “Happy Birthday.”
I smile in response.
He pushes his cane into the grass and extends his arm. “Let me accompany you to wherever you are heading.”
I press my lips together. “It’s okay. I don’t want to trouble you.”
He shakes his head. “No trouble at all. Someone needs to keep an eye on you in case you almost kill yourself again.”
“I slipped,” I say defensively.
He rolls his eyes. “Please, Miss Pride. I did, after all, save your life.”
“I’m looking for a grave,” I explain.
“Your parents?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, she’s an ancestor of mine.”
“Okay. Well, do you at least know where she’s buried?”
I nod.
He holds out his arm for me to take. I link my arm with his.
“So, Miss Pride, how much trouble did you get in for leaving the house?”
“A lot,” I admit. “Grandmother doesn’t like me leaving the house ever.” I laugh. “If she had her way, I’d never see the light of day.”
He narrows his gaze, and I look away.
“Strange.”
I suck in a deep breath and match his quick pace. “She’s just…protective.”
“Right,” he says, seeming unconvinced.
“It’s not strange!”
He laughs. “No need to get defensive, Miss Pride. I will not push it any further.”
I jolt my arm but decide it will look even more suspicious if I run from him now. “Well, there really is nothing to know.”
To my annoyance, he laughs again. “Of course.”
“We’re here,” I say with relief as we reach the weathered stone, but the feeling is quickly replaced with panic.
The ghost of Alice Pride appears in front of me. Her gaze latches onto mine. I’m unable to look away, even though I want too. I squeeze Emmett’s arm for a sense of touch to keep me connected to reality, but it’s too late.
The veil is more visible now, and I am behind it again. Everything is darker here. I guess sunlight can’t reach the realm of the dead.
“Raven.”
Her wispy voice sends chills down my spine. Her ash-blonde hair reaches down to the bottom of her back. There is an invasiveness to her stare. She holds her hand out and touches me.
I jump as the cold fingers entwine with mine.
“How can I feel you?” I ask.
“You are behind the veil.” She looks at me with a deep sadness. “Raven, you must stop the murder.”
“The man who murdered Tabitha?” I ask desperately. “Do you know who it is?”
“It is complicated.” Her voice grows hollower with each passing second. “Use your Sight to find them but be careful. Don’t let them in.”
I feel Emmett pull on my arm, and I jolt away from Alice and her cold, bony fingers.
“What happened?” he asks and strokes my cheek. “You’re so pale.”
I hold onto his arm for balance and put my weight on him. I glance back at Alice’s ghost before she disappears altogether. “I think…” I say, my voice cracking, “the more I am around death, the quicker I may join it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
What did she mean when she said, “don’t let them in”? Who’s them?
Emmett props his cane under his armpit reaches his other arm out and wraps it around my waist. His touch sends tingles through me.
“Do you feel faint?”
My face flushes with heat.
“You’re going red,” he says with concern.
Oh, body, don’t betray me now.
“I’m just, uh…”
He cups my cheek and looks into my eyes. “Yes?”
My heart races, and my stomach flutters.
“Sorry. It’s nothing.”
“You’re going redder,” he says.
“Yeah.” I huff, hating that my emotions are so obvious. “Maybe it’s all the stress,” I add, hoping it’ll cover how I really feel.
The truth is that I’m not sure what this feeling is. Maybe it’s just because I’ve not met many other men? Perhaps this is just my emotions catching up with me?
I lean back and rest my hand on Alice’s gravestone behind me.
Bad idea.
As soon as I touch it, my vision hazes, Emmett disappears, and I am pushed into another memory.
Not again. I roll my eyes and look around the cemetery. I’ve honestly had enough of this for one week.
An alive Alice walks past me and sits in front of a gravestone in the old part of the cemetery. She looks around where I’m standing but sees right through me. Next to her sits a man I don’t recognise. He wears a top hat, a striped black-and-white waistcoat, and black trousers.
I walk over and crouch down. The ground is covered with conkers and crisp red and brown leaves.
“Happy Birthday,” the man says to Alice. His thin lips curve upwards. I notice a scar reaching from the corner of his eye down to his right cheek.
“Thank you,” Alice says. Her voice is lighter in the memory than it is in death, but there is an edge of anxiety to her tone. “Benjamin,” she says, pleading, “please stay this time.” She reaches out and touches his arm.
He looks at the ground. “You know I cannot.” He squeezes her hand. “I must return to London tonight.”
Her mouth twists into a frown. “How can you go again, after all I have given up for you?”
He gets to his feet and pulls on his leather gloves. “I have no choice.”
“We all have a choice.”
“Not me.”
She grabs his hand. “I am shamed because of you. People talk, Benjamin. They all know I am off with eldest of the Shaw family. They have their suspicions about you.”
His expression remains unchanged. “They are not wrong. You knew what you were getting into.”
She places her hand over the bottom of her stomach. “Things have changed.”
He sighs. “Sorry, Alice.” He presses his lips together until they turn white. “Goodbye.”
Alice clenches her fists at her sides as he walks away. “I don’t care that the darkness plagues you. I love you, and I know you love me. You are capable of love. I have seen it!” she shouts.
“That’s why I must leave.”
I half expect him to stay. He hesitates before turning away from her. He walks down to the gates.
Alice falls to her knees. Tears fall down her porcelain cheeks and onto her navy-blue dress.
My heart hurts as I watch the sparkle dim from her blue eyes.
Seven
I wake up and am met with Emmett’s stare.
“Can you hear me?”
I grip the ground and sit up.
“You fainted,” he says, answering my unasked question. “You obviously were not okay. I caught you and laid you down, so you didn’t bang your head.”
I shuffle my body around until I see the headstone. “I need to talk to my grandmother,” I say without offering anything else.
She’s the only one who may know what’s happening. She was the one who mentioned this mystery woman who was like me. Maybe she even said her name was Alice. I can’t remember. It was so long ago.
Emmett helps me up and checks his pocket watch. His expression darkens. “I’m so sorry, but I must leave. I’ll be needed at the orphanage.”
My heart pounds in my chest. “Right,” I say. My mind is fuzzy. “Thank you for your help.”
I want to say that hopefully the next time we meet it won’t be because I have fallen or fainted, but I keep quiet. I definitely have the damsel-in-distress thing down. I hate that.
I don’t wait to watch him leave. I have too many questions pushing around inside my head that need answering. I feel totally out of control. I glance at the wall. I am getting the hell out of this cemetery before something else happens that I can’t explain. I mean, I know I wanted answers, but all this trip has accomplished is bringing me more questions.
I run to the wall and desperately try to climb up its smooth bricks. There is nothing on which to climb, unlike on the other side of the wall.
Well, this is just great. Grandmother is going to freak out when she finds I have gone outside again. Reluctantly, I leave the wall and run down the cemetery. I daren’t touch a single headstone. I stick to the path. Before long, I break out into a run.
My hair whips around my face as I run down the path. A new feeling creeps through me—freedom.
No one is around to tell me how to act or what to do, and the wind feels so good on my skin.
My fears dissolve and are replaced with excitement and joy. I grip the journal in my hand as I run faster.
I reach the gates and stop to catch my breath. I lean against the wrought iron poles and suck in cold breaths. I look down at my journal. Now I actually have something real to write about, something alive. That’s how I feel as I stand here, leaning against a gate, looking out into the horizon—alive!
I have the gift of Sight—I am able to see the dead and memories that are trapped in time—but for the longest time I have felt like I have been a part of their world.
I have just been waiting for my life to start.
Isn’t it odd how something as small as running through a place for the dead can make you can feel alive?
I finally get my breath back and laugh aloud, not caring if I seem mad to the birds in the trees or children who have just come out of the orphanage to play.