by Cross, Amy
“You didn't see her?” I ask.
“See who?”
I open my mouth to tell him, but I can't bring myself to make such a ridiculous claim. Instead, I hurry past him and head through to the kitchen, where I quickly start pouring myself a fresh whiskey. My hands are trembling, and I can't get the image of that veiled woman out of my mind.
“Owen -”
Letting out a shocked gasp, I turn around, only to find that it's Charlie who has come up behind me.
“What's wrong?” he asks. “Owen, you're starting to scare me. You didn't see anything, did you?”
I stare at him for a moment, seeing the confusion in his eyes, before suddenly I realize that I've fallen straight into his trap. I've allowed the threads of my mind to be pulled one by one, until all my resilience and common sense unraveled. Charlie has only been here for a few hours, and I'm already a wreck. At the same time, as I continue to stare at Charlie, I can't help feeling that perhaps he's playing a game. Perhaps this is his revenge for what happened to him back in London.
“It was you,” I whisper.
“Huh?”
“You set this up.”
He takes a sip of whiskey. “What are you on about now?” he asks.
“I remember my bachelor party,” I continue, feeling a sense of rage starting to ripple through my chest. “You had that woman dress up as a police officer. You made me think...”
A faint smile curls across his lips. “And? That was a bit of fun, Owen. Nothing more. You remember the concept of fun, don't you?”
“And now you're here,” I stammer, “and you're trying to trick me again.”
He furrows his brow. “What?”
“I fell for it,” I add. “I can't believe I was so naive. I should have known that you'd try to pull another stunt on me. The bachelor party, the night out, the party... This is your revenge, isn't it? This is your way of getting back at me for what happened.”
“For what happened ?” He hesitates, as if he's trying to read my mind. “What are you talking about, Owen?” he adds finally. “You're my friend. Why would I want revenge for anything? What happened at your bachelor party?”
I stare at him in horror.
He smiles as he sips some more whiskey.
“What happened?” he asks again, and now his smile fades slightly. “Why do you feel so guilty?”
“Get out!” I shout, suddenly pushing the glass from his hand and sending it smashing to the floor.
He takes a step back. “Hang on, Owen, don't be all -”
“Get out of my house!” I yell breathlessly, struggling to keep from physically throwing him out the door. “Did you really come all this way just to pull a little stunt on me? Did you actually hire someone to dress up in a copy of that woman's wedding dress and stand at the window?”
“Steady on, I -”
“And at the train station, too! And at the storage facility!”
“What in the name of God are you on about?” he asks with a sigh. “Owen, maybe you've had a few too many whiskeys tonight, yeah? You're starting to sound absolutely paranoid.”
“I should have known it was you all along,” I continue, as all the pieces start to fall into place. “I bet you started researching the house as soon as I mentioned it. You must have been rubbing your hands together with glee when you found out about the so-called ghost. It's truly pathetic to think that you've got nothing better to do with your time than dream up elaborate hoaxes.”
“You're rambling,” he replies, stepping past me and reaching for another glass, only for me to push him back. “Steady on, Owen! You're gonna end up hurting yourself!”
“If you don't get out of my house right now,” I tell him, “I will throw you out, is that understood? I want you out of here, and I don't want you to ever call me again!”
“What did you see?” he asks. “Owen -”
“Get out!”
“Was it her?” he continues, with a hint of excitement in his voice. “Is that it? Owen, did you see the bride?”
“Get out of my house!”
“You have to come with me,” he replies. “Owen, I warned you, if -”
“Get out!”
Shoving him hard, I send him stumbling back until he steadies himself against the table. He's still staring at me with a shocked expression, as if he thinks I'm not serious, so I step closer to him again. He was never a big man, that was part of his problem with the booze, and I tower over him easily.
“Why don't we talk about this?” he asks. “Owen, you have to realize that you're being just a teeny tiny bit irrational here. If you saw something just now, it was nothing to do with me. Nothing, yeah? Do you understand?”
“Where is she now?”
“What do -”
“Get her out of my house!” I yell, stepping toward him. “Whatever actress you hired, get rid of her! I want both of you to get out of here right now!”
Reaching for his collar, I try to grab him, only to miss at the last moment and stumble. I slam into the side of the table and fall to the floor, letting out a gasp of pain as I feel a cracking sensation in my ribs. Wincing, I turn and start getting up, only to feel the pain again. This time, I hesitate for a moment, trying to get my breath back.
“You should be careful, Owen,” Charlie says, towering over me. “You're losing your grip. You've been here for, what, three days now? And look at you. You're already falling apart.”
“I was fine until you showed up and started playing tricks on me!” I hiss.
“There are no tricks here, Owen! Only the ones you're playing on yourself. Oh, and the ghost, obviously.”
“Get out of my house!” I gasp, trying and still failing to get to my feet. I think I might have fractured a rib, or at least given myself some heavy bruising. “I've had enough of people ! I want all of you to leave! Right now!”
I pause for a moment, before forcing myself up. This time I manage to stand, although it's hard to keep from crying out as I feel a crack of pain in my right side.
“Fine,” Charlie says, turning and heading to the door. “You're out of your mind, but obviously I can't help you. Have fun rattling around in this place by yourself.”
“Oh, I will,” I groan, waiting until he's left the room and then leaning back against the wall. “And take your partner-in-crime with you, if she hasn't run already! Tell her I'm sick of all these games!”
I wait, and a moment later I hear the front door slam shut. The house is silent now, and I swear I'll explode with fury if I find that those idiots are still here. Hobbling through to the corridor, I take a quick look around to make absolutely certain that I'm alone, and then I head back to the drinks cabinet and pour myself a shot of whiskey. Once that's downed, I pour myself a double and take it through to the study, where I stop for a moment and look at the window.
It was a trick.
Charlie was trying to make some kind of foolish point, but he's gone now.
I'm alone.
“Bob!” I call out, suddenly realizing that I haven't seen the dog for a few hours now. “Hey Bob, come here!”
Still wincing as I feel pain in my ribs, I head to the kitchen and then to the front room, searching for him. I have to check a few more rooms, but finally I locate him in the dining room. He's scratching at the floorboards, and after a moment I realize that he's still pawing at a spider.
“Hey,” I say as I head over to him. “Keeping yourself busy?”
He barely even looks at me. Instead, he hurries around the spider, still pawing the wood. It's as if he doesn't want to actually touch the spider, but he can't quite bring himself to leave it alone.
“That way lies madness,” I tell him, stepping into the room. “Buddy, you really ought to just -”
Before I can get any closer, he raises his head and snarls at me. I stop, shocked by his reaction, before figuring that he's probably just tired.
“Come on,” I continue, crouching next to him and taking a long, deep sip of my whiskey.
I feel pretty drunk now, but I need to calm my nerves somehow. For a moment, I watch the spider as it scuttles into a crack in the wall. “It's just me, Bob. I'm sorry tonight has been so weird, but you mustn't let it get to you. I threw Charlie out and he won't be coming back. It's just us, and that's the way it should be. At least you don't try tricking me and playing the fool.”
I reach out to him, and this time he doesn't snarl. Stroking his side, I can tell that he's on edge, and after a moment he looks toward the open doorway as if he expects to see someone.
“People are just annoying,” I tell him. “Maybe that makes me sound bad, but it's what I truly believe. I spent long enough in London, Bob. I tried to get on with the world, but I couldn't. People let you down. They hurt you. They lie and they cheat and they deceive.” I pause, before allowing myself a faint smile as I stroke the top of Bob's head. “But I won't do any of those things to you, okay? I'll look after you. I'll be better than all those crazy people.”
I take another sip of whiskey, before leaning back and resting my head against the wall. After a few seconds, my eyes slip shut.
“I'll take care of you, Bob,” I whisper as I start to fall asleep. “You'll see. You can trust me.”
I fall silent for a moment, and my mind empties of all thoughts. This is better. This is how things should be.
***
Suddenly a bell rings out in the distance, and I open my eyes.
Bob lets out another faint whimper.
The bells rings again, a little louder this time.
“Are you serious?” I stammer, finding it hard to believe that I'm going to be tested again. Checking my watch, I see that it's almost midnight. I must have dozed off for a couple of minutes, right here on the floor like a goddamn drunk. “What fool is out there now? If that's Charlie, I swear I'm going to wring his neck!”
As the bell rings for a third time, I haul myself to my feet and down the rest of the whiskey, before heading to the kitchen and pouring myself another. I'm swaying a little now, and I know I'm drunk, but I figure I deserve a little reinforcement before I head back out there into the cold night air. I guess I was wrong to think that Charlie was going to leave me alone. Maybe he wants to drive me crazy, but I refuse to yield.
“I'm coming, I'm coming!” I slur, as the bell rings yet again. “Keep your panties on, asshole!”
Stumbling over to the back door, I push it open and spill out onto the steps. I almost trip a couple of times, but finally I reach the lawn and start making my way through the darkness, taking regular sips from my whiskey until I reach the tree-line and make my way around to see the ruins of the church towering high above me. For a moment, silhouetted against the starry sky, the old church actually looks rather beautiful.
I take another sip of whiskey before stumbling toward the ruins.
“Okay, Charlie,” I mumble, “let's be having you. I know you're -”
Suddenly the bell rings again, and this time there's no doubt about where it's coming from. Stopping at the foot of the tower, I look up toward the top as the bell's echo starts to fade. I don't know how he's managed it, but Charlie has managed to rig up some kind of sound system that makes it seem as if there's really a bell up there. If I wasn't so annoyed, I might actually be impressed.
“I know it's you!” I yell, swaying slightly as I continue to watch the ruined tower. High above, the stars seem to be swinging, although I guess that's because of all the whiskey I've drunk. “This is the most pathetic pantomime I've ever known! You might as well cut it out!”
As if to answer me, the bell rings out yet again.
“You're not going to let this go, are you?” I whisper, feeling a wave of tiredness even as I realize that I'm going to have to take measures to nip this madness in the bud.
Turning, I look around at the darkness, but I doubt I'd be able to see Charlie right now even if he was standing five feet away. He's obviously decided that he wants to torture me, and I suppose he thinks he's being clever, but I was cleverer than him when we were students and I'm a damn sight cleverer now. Nobody makes a fool of Owen Stone.
Looking around, I finally spot a ruined wall nearby. I head over and check that it's sturdy, and then I start climbing up.
“I'm not an idiot,” I mutter, balancing carefully and taking another swig of whiskey, before looking up and trying to judge the best way to climb. I know Charlie can't have gone too high when he planted some kind of speaker system, so I doubt I'll have to go all the way to the top of the tower.
Regardless, anything Charlie managed to do, I can do too.
Reaching up, I grab another section of brickwork and then I haul myself higher. I have to hold the edge of my whiskey glass with my teeth, freeing my other hand so that I can steady myself. The stones and bricks feel firm as I continue to climb, and I'm convinced that at any moment I'll find some stupid little speaker connected to an iPod. Of course, it's possible that Charlie climbed up a different way, but I don't really see another route. Still gripping the glass between my teeth, I reach up and fumble for a moment, before climbing up a little further.
Stopping again, I take one more glug of whiskey, finishing the glass. I look down and see to my surprise that I must be twenty, maybe twenty-five feet off the ground. Wow, I climb fast. For a moment, I consider setting my whiskey glass somewhere safe, but finally I realize that it's just a distraction. I hold it out for a moment, admiring it in the moonlight, and then I let it fall. Looking down, I wait a couple of seconds and then I hear it smash against the wall below.
“Farewell, little glass,” I mutter, as a particularly cold gust of wind blows against me. “You served well, and you died for a noble cause. You were -”
I let out a sudden hiccup.
“You were the finest of glasses,” I add, before reaching up and starting to climb once more. “You were one of the glasses Vanessa bought for our apartment, I believe,” I continue. “And now, if you'll excuse me, I intend to find this goddamn speaker, even if it's the last thing I ever -”
Suddenly my right hand slips. As I try to grab hold of another purchase point, my feet slip too, but at the last moment I'm able to grab a protruding stone and keep myself from falling. I wait, trying to regather my composure as I cling precariously to the wall of stones, and then I haul myself up again. I'm drunk, sure, but not drunk enough to make a mistake, so I know I can climb without too much risk. Still, my left foot almost slips on the cold stones, and I take a moment to consider my next move before starting to haul myself up a little higher.
If I don't find the source of the ringing sound soon, I'll give up until morning and then I'll hire a goddamn cherry-picker.
A moment later, as if to goad me on, the bell rings out again. This time, I can tell that the source is still quite a way above me, maybe even at the very top of the tower. I stop climbing for a moment, before realizing that there's no way I can go all the way up. I adjust my grip carefully, and then I start climbing back down. Maybe the cherry-picker is a good idea after all.
“You don't beat me that easily!” I yell, so that Charlie can hear me no matter where he's hiding. “I see right through you! Do you realize that? I know exactly what you -”
Suddenly my left foot slips, and this time I'm not quick enough to steady myself. Instead I fall from the side of the tower and plummet through the darkness until I slam into the ground far below.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Katinka - 1859
The church looks so beautiful late at night, with moonlight catching the bricks.
I limp across the clearing, forcing myself to keep going despite the immense pain in my side. Glancing back toward the house, I see that the only light comes from the fire that still burns in the study fireplace. Mother and Charles both retired to bed some time ago, and I'm sure they'd be shocked to learn that I am up and about. After all, it's close to midnight and a lady should have no business being outside at such an awful hour.
Still, I make my way through the dark forest, barely
able to see a thing, until finally I spot a sliver of moonlight that has caught the edge of Pippa's dead face.
“Hello, sister,” I say as I stop next to her. “My, it is cold out here, isn't it?”
I pause, leaving a space for her to speak even though I know full well that she cannot. Still, one must be polite, even around the dead.
“I was thinking over dinner,” I continue, kneeling next to the corpse. “Oh, dinner was magnificent, by the way! We had pork, your favorite!”
Smiling, I'm able to see her dead features a little more clearly now. Her eyes are wide open, just as I left them earlier, although the breeze has blown dirt across her face. Her mouth is slightly parted, almost as if she's on the verge of speaking. When I peer around the side of her head, I see that thick, congealed blood has begun to dry on the various spots where I crushed her skull.
A moment later, I see yet another of those infernal spiders crawling across her cheek. I watch, fascinated, as it stops at the edge of her mouth. Its spindly legs twitch, feeling the dead lips, and then suddenly the spider disappears inside her mouth and I realize I can hear a very faint scratching sound coming from the back of her throat.
“I don't want to do what I'm about to do, dear sister,” I say softly. “Then again, I didn't want to kill you in the first place. You just drove me into such a rage, and you know I can't always control myself when I'm angry. Really, I think the blame is equally yours and mine. We merely -”
Before I can finish, a second spider climbs up the other side of her face and – like the first – scurries into the dark cavern of her mouth.
“You're popular tonight, Pippa,” I say with a smile, as a third spider joins the other two and enters her body. “Perhaps there's still a little warmth, somewhere deep down in your body. Whereas your mind...”
I stare at her dead eyes for a moment.
“Did you find the oblivion of death?” I ask, trying to imagine what it must be like to have one's mind snuffed out. “Are you gone entirely? Or do you linger in some way? Are you a ghost?”