by S.J. Drew
beloved Elise." He sighed. "And so I am now where I was before. Alone." He disappeared.
"I am warding our rooms tonight, just in case," Isabella said, and Maryann pitched in to do just that. The storm dispersed quickly and soon everyone was in bed.
And all too soon, their alarms went off and they dressed, packed, and went downstairs for breakfast. Besides Mrs. Gable, they were the only ones awake at that hour.
"I feel bad for Fitzwilliam," Maryann said.
Leah yawned. "Why? He made his choice."
"Because he's still in love and he doesn't know how to move on. That seems awful for anyone, living or dead."
"We can't make choices for other people," Nora replied. "Whatever binds him kept him from moving on when he died. It's probably only gotten stronger by now."
"Yeah, I know, but I still feel sorry for him."
"He also was willing to imprison all of us in this house," Leah said harshly.
"Well, yeah, maybe, or he was just caught up in the passion of the moment," Maryann replied.
"He was known for having a temper," Isabella said. "I came across that in my research. There's a reason the family had so many years of bad blood with their Boston relatives."
"But you still called him out like that? That's pretty careless, don't you think?" Leah asked.
Isabella shrugged. "I can handle ghosts. That charm would have burned through sooner or later, but I think I got my point across. I wish reason had worked, though. I don't like to do that kind of thing."
Mrs. Gable walked by with a pot of coffee. "You girls missed quite a night. That nice young couple's séance was very interesting. They called on the ghost of Fitzwilliam Gable and he answered."
"You don't say?" Leah replied, not quite keeping the sarcasm out of her voice.
"Of course, family history portrays Fitzwilliam as a rather different kind of man than the one they were talking to, but who am I to argue with the experts on these things? I'm sure they're going to tell everyone they know and post it on their social walls or boards about the good, old-fashioned haunting," she continued, obviously hoping to get some more business to the bed and breakfast. "Would you like some more toast?"
They nodded and she walked away.
"Maybe I feel a little bad for the ghost," Leah said. "Who wants to be a tourist attraction?"
"So that's it?" Maryann asked when they were nearly finished. "We leave, the ghost stays, and nothing gets better? I don't like that."
"Sometimes we can't solve a mystery in 22 minutes with all the loose ends neatly tied up," Leah replied wryly.
They heard a muffled crash in the former parlor.
"Ruby!" the frazzled mother said, who now looked quite tired.
Her daughter crawled out from underneath the in-table and walked over to her mother.
"You knocked over that lamp again," the mother said, setting it upright and putting the lampshade back on. "You behave or you'll break your auntie's lamp and then you'll be in trouble. Now, go apologize to your auntie."
The little girl walked over to Mrs. Gable, who was already pulling out a high chair for her. The mother joined her, and in a few minutes Mrs. Gable was free to bring the band their toast.
"Mrs. Gable," Maryann said, "What if Fitzwilliam is still here? Isn't it kind of, well, not nice to try to use his death as a way to get business?"
Mrs. Gable adjusted her thick glasses. "I agree, using a death to get business isn't the most respectful way to treat the dead, and is a bit macabre. But the alternative is to lose the business and the house, and my dear husband already gave up a lot to try to save the house. History says Fitzwilliam was a shrewd businessman. If he's still here, he should understand sometimes business can be personally distasteful. And if that offends him, then he always has the option to leave. But, for the sake of family, of course I'll make sure to correct any misinformation the tourists may have when they come here."
Maryann still looked unhappy.
"Listen," Mrs. Gable said with a sigh, "people are really good at making their lives difficult and convincing themselves they don't have any choices."
"'We are all prisoners here of our own device,'" Leah sang.
The old woman nodded. "I saw the Eagles in concert once. It was great. But my point is, I feel sorry for Fitzwilliam too, if he's still here. But if he is, that's his own choice. He may not think he can leave or move on, and I've known so many living people who think the same way; I can see how the dead might fall into the same trap. Sometimes you just can't save people from themselves. Do you need anything else?"
They answered in the negative, so she tended to the other guests while they finished up breakfast. Soon they were on the road again.
"It's not fair," Maryann sighed.
"Life's not fair, why should death be?" Leah asked. "Anyway, Mrs. Gable is right. For better or worse, the ghost has made his choice. We did our best to help him and it didn't work. He's still stuck on Elise and for now nothing is going to change that."
"So what did we learn from this, Maryann?" Nora asked.
The redhead pouted a moment. "Don't get Isabella mad at you."
"We know that," Leah said. "I think Nora means, what did we learn about love and romance and all that?"
She sighed. "Sometimes love isn't enough after all."
"We should write a song about that," Nora said.
"Good thing we're a band then," Leah said.
The Lyrics:
Bound by love
Giving from the heart
Together forever
'Til death do we part
But what happens then?
When we cross the Veil
What of our great love?
Is that the end of the tale?
Refrain: All things end
And cannot be saved
Not even love can endure
Beyond the grave.
The story doesn't matter
Romeo and Juliet
Or the rakish scoundrel
And his fair soubrette
No matter the romance
Comedic or tragic
The story draws to a close
And ends the magic
Refrain
We loved each other
Our lives were entwined
But why stay forever
Held by ties that bind
So when it comes time
For beginnings to end
It's better not to stay
It's better to transcend
Refrain x2
Track 2 - Ghost Writer
The Interview:
Kelly: This next track is pretty interesting. The music is alternative rock, but I would have thought with a title like “Ghost Writer” you would have written the music to be reminiscent of the Beatles “Paperback Writer.”
Anna: We thought about that, but we thought that was just too obvious.
Bryan: That makes sense. Is there something you want to tell us about who really writes your songs?
Lee: Nope. We actually do give credit where credit is due. That's why Dave, that's Dave Rafel, gets some credit all by himself.
Kelly: Then why write a song about a ghost writer who obviously wants credit for his work?
Lenore: Because a lot of artists are stuck being ghost writers. In music, but also literature, and it really isn't fair to exploit someone else's talent.
Belle: Obviously, people do choose that arrangement figuring it's better to get their work out and some pay for it than nothing at all.
Bryan: Did you ever consider that?
Anna: We didn't, but we were lucky, I guess. We never felt quite that desperate.
Belle: We did get pretty desperate. This is a hard business and I'm sure every artist in any business gets desperate at some point.
Lee: And then we can turn that desperation into a song.
Kelly: So it all works out in the end?
Lenore: If we can't use our own experiences
as inspiration, we'd be hard pressed to come up with any songs at all, wouldn't we?
Bryan: That's true. So who was the source of inspiration for this song? A particular person or just the plight of all the un-credited artists out there?
Lee: It's so funny the way you think you'll get a straight answer from us.
Kelly: Hey, we have to try. Maybe if we get desperate enough, you'll feel sorry for us and give us a straight answer.
Lee: Maybe. What have you got to lose, right?
The Inside Story:
“Good show, ladies, good show,” the club's manager said to them as they started to pack away their gear.
“Thanks!” Maryann said brightly.
“Hey, which one of you is Anna again?”
“That's me.”
“Well, Joe, one of the bouncers, told me some young guy was trying to get backstage to see you and of course he told him that wasn't allowed. Finally the guy asked Joe to give Anna this.” He held out a small box with a clear top and an envelope. “The envelope doesn't have any white powder on it or anything.”
“You checked for that?” Nora asked dryly.
The manager gave her a severe look. “Of course I did. I take these things seriously. Can't be too careful you know, but I didn't open it, so that's all on you. Didn't know if you wanted anonymous gifts from crazy fans. Looks like just some kind of pen.”
“What happened to the guy?” Isabella asked.
The manager shrugged. “Joe said once he gave him the stuff, he went back to the bar and he didn't see what happened to him after that. Guess he listened to the show and went home. So you want this stuff or not? It's your own risk.”
“Oh, I'm sure it's fine,” Maryann said, and took the box and envelope. Through the clear top she could see an old-fashioned ink pen. “I love stuff like this.”
“Okay, well, it's all yours then.”
“Can Joe come help us load our gear?” Isabella asked. “Or at least talk to