by Mona Marple
“Me? You’re the one who ran away from your family.”
“How dare you!” She whispers. You know she’s really angry when she whispers.
“You couldn’t handle living in my shadow.” I say. This is a repeat of every argument we’ve had since she left Waterfell Tweed. I know my lines without even concentrating.
“I was only ever in your shadow in your own head.” She says. “Can we stay focused on the job we’re doing?”
And so we continue moving through the empty streets, disturbing the occasional cat, causing the odd porch light to switch on as we pass. I hold the flyers, she hammers, and we snip at each other like only sisters can.
“It’s not my fault I’m the pretty one.” I say.
She glares at me. “Do you know how annoying it is that you’ll never age? It’s just so typical of you to get to die while you’re still young and beautiful.”
“I’m sorry you hate me so much.” I say. This is my argument-ender. She can’t stay angry when I throw this line in.
“You’re insane.” She says, and I see her face soften. I feel the tightness in her chest relax. I can literally sense the red anger seep out of her body, leaving her with a blue aura of calm. I feel those things, even if she doesn’t believe me.
“So, you want me to explain to you what you’re feeling?” I ask.
She nods as she hammers in another flyer and crosses the street so we can start looping back towards home.
“You’re an empath.” I say. “It’s a real thing, I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”
“You’re serious?” She asks and I nod. “Does it freak you out?”
“It’s really not a big deal. For a long time, I thought everyone could do it. It’s not like I can read thoughts, it’s just general emotions. So I know if someone’s happy or sad. Is that how it is for you?”
“I don’t know.” Connie says. “It’s only started recently. It’s more that I’ve picked up a dark energy around a few people. That sounds terrifying. I felt it from Devin Summer.”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.” I agree. “There’s nothing terrifying there, though. That’s pure grief.”
“I just wanted to get away from her when I felt it.” Connie admits. “I couldn’t have said it was grief, just something I didn’t want to be near.”
“You’ll tune in to it more.” I say.
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“Well, I don’t think you can just switch it off. And it can be quite handy. Trust me.”
“It feels like I’m intruding on people’s thoughts.” Connie says. “I don’t want to know how people feel, unless they want to tell me. I’m already worn out by dealing with everything else.”
I hold up the last flyer and Connie nails it in to the wooden noticeboard outside the church. “Job’s done.” I say and stifle a yawn.
A light flicks on in a bedroom window of a house as we pass. We both instinctively look up towards the light. A blond woman cocooned in a white dressing gown stands in front of the window, bends down, scoops up a baby and begins to pace back and forth in the room.
“She’s new.” I say.
“I’ve spoken to her.” Connie says. “Adele. She’s here on her own with twin babies until her husband joins them.”
“If he joins them.” I say. “Maybe he sent them here so he could get some sleep.”
Connie looks at me, horrified. “That’s an awful thought. Why do you think such awful things, Sage?”
“It was a joke, geeze, you’re no fun tonight. I’m not sure why I gave up my beauty sleep to help you out.”
Connie shakes her head. We’re still gazing up at the window.
The woman notices us, and her mouth is set in alarm until she recognises Connie, at which point she grins, waves, and gestures for her to wait a moment.
“She’s coming down. Probably wonders why you’re wandering the streets alone at night with a hammer.” I say, because Adele won’t be able to see me.
Connie looks down at the hammer in her hand and hides it away in the backpack she brought out with her, which she places on the sidewalk behind the picket fence. “Good point.”
“Look, I’m gonna get going back. You’ll be okay?”
“Sure.” Connie says. “You don’t have to go, though. I’m sure she’s only popping down to say hi.”
“Okay.” I say. I don’t want to let her walk home alone.
There’s a dark presence in Mystic Springs. A presence she hasn’t trained her empath skills enough to pick up on yet, and one I hope I never have to protect her from.
The front door of the house opens and the blond woman appears, her feet bare, the baby swaddled into her dressing gown.
“Connie?” She calls, standing on the veranda and peering out into the darkness. “Are you okay? What are you doing out at this time?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She says. “I struggle to sleep sometimes. It’s so peaceful out at this time, I thought I’d have a little walk.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Honestly, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I didn’t even know this was your house, I just saw the light go on and looked up without thinking. You settling in okay?”
Adele laughs. She’s adorable, I decide right away. The kind of woman I’d be drawn to as a friend. “The place is a tip, but I’ve found the coffee machine so I could care less.”
“You’re awfully jolly for the middle of the night, is that your secret?” Connie jokes.
“I’ll crash tomorrow, don’t worry. In fact, if you’re free, I’ll probably take a stroll to the coffee house at some point.”
“That’d be great.” Connie says. “Drop me a message.”
“Ok, will do. Well, good night!”
“Good night Adele.” Connie calls.
“I love her.” I declare.
“She’s pretty cool, isn’t she?” Connie says.
“Did you say something?” Adele calls from the doorstep.
Connie laughs. “Nope, just thought I was going to sneeze!”
I wait until Adele returns into her home and closes the door then begin to laugh. “Look at you, making friends.”
“What does that mean?” Connie says.
“Well, it’s not your best skill.”
“I have friends.” Connie protests.
“You have clients. And neighbours.”
Connie stops in her tracks. “Oh my God. You’re right.”
I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. Geeze, I thought you knew. You just don’t really get that close to people.”
“I probably spend too much time with the dead.” Connie quips.
“Well, don’t get any ideas. I’m not going anywhere. Nobody fights with me the way you do, sis.”
Connie shakes her head. “And nobody holds flyers up with the flair you do.”
We laugh and then Connie gasps.
“What’s up?”
“I’ve left the backpack. I need to go and get it.”
I groan. My body aches with tiredness.
“You go on, I’ll only be two minutes. I’ll see you at home.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, but I’m already floating away from her towards the house.
“Yes, I’ll be fine. Go on.” She says.
And I do.
16
Connie
I reflect on Sage’s words as I retrace my footsteps back to Adele’s house. The bedroom light is still on and I see her, standing with her back to the window, a small face peeking over her shoulder as she rocks the baby back to sleep.
I know I shouldn’t, but I stand and watch. Imagine. Dream.
I always wanted children but it seems they didn’t want me. I’ve made my peace with that mainly, but something about the intimacy of the new mother rocking her baby captivates me. It feels like the biggest event happening in the world at this moment. Why isn’t the whole town out here with me, watching? How can people sleep through this?
Adele turns a f
raction, plants a kiss on the baby’s head, and I dive for the ground and hope she hasn’t seen me.
When I peer at the house again, the lights are out.
The show’s over.
I reach across the sidewalk for the backpack, but it’s gone.
I let out a small, nervous laugh.
Of course it hasn’t gone.
But it’s gone.
I clamber to my feet and turn in a full circle. The backpack is nowhere in sight.
“Hello?” I call out, which is a ridiculous thing to do, because there’s nobody there and nowhere to hide.
I shake my head. I must have misremembered where I left the bag. I’ll go home and worry about it after a good night’s sleep.
I ignore the churning in my stomach and begin the walk back towards my house.
I force myself to count the steps I take as I walk, but my mind fights against me, imagining noises. A twig snapping. Footsteps behind me.
When I turn, there’s nobody in sight.
And yet, I’m not alone.
I pick up the pace and curse myself for not being more fit. The yoga pants I’m straining into have rarely been worn, and definitely never for yoga. I can feel a tightening in my chest, my body warning me to slow down. I’ve already done a full lap of the town putting up the flyers, that’s more exercise than I have in a day and now I’m trying to go faster instead of collapse on the settee with a bowl of pretzels? My body says hell no.
I take a deep breath, try to steady my breathing.
I can almost see my house. Just a few more minutes.
And then I feel it. An energy so dark I find myself bursting into a run.
If I thought Devin emitted an energy I wanted to get away from, this is a hundred times worse. Just to be near it makes me cry because I know I’m not fast enough to get away.
And not strong enough to fight it.
I run as fast as I can, barely faster than the walk, and the dark energy around me is so strong I can almost see it, as a black swirling cloud around me, surrounding me, suffocating me, swallowing me whole.
“Help!” I scream, although my body can’t handle the strain of running and shouting, and I have no idea if a word actually comes out.
My heartbeat hammers in my ears, blocking out all other sound. Surely, help will come when they all hear my heartbeat? Surely, someone will help me.
“Help!” I try again.
The black energy grows thicker, taking over my vision until I can no longer see the road. The world is darkness, and I have no idea which way to move or how to lift one foot after the other. I’m moving, but I can’t tell which direction I’m headed in. Every step feels as though I could be plummeting to the ground.
“Please!” I scream at the top of my voice now, utterly desperate. “Help me please!”
I force myself to raise my arms, through the darkness, and rub at my eyes, hoping the world will be revealed to me again. Nothing. The world is so dark now I don’t know if I’m seeing blackness or nothing, or are the two the same?
I begin to cry, and the effort of that together with the movement, is too much. I slow, and as I do, I feel a sudden crack against my head, a blow that forces me to the floor and switches the whole world off.
This is it, I think.
It’s time.
**
“Connie?” A voice calls through the fog of pain. I try to open my eyes but can’t. I try to groan, to make some kind of response, but I have no idea if they can hear me.
I return to sleep, to sweet dreams of bouncing babies, until the babies glare at me and pick up tiny hammers and begin to chase me. I sit up then, eyes forced open, and have no idea where I am.
“Connie, it’s Adele. Can you hear me?” The attorney sits at my side. I’m in a hospital bed, hooked up to a machine that beeps rhythmically. The room is bright lights and bleach and I love it. I want to live here, in a world so artificially lit that the darkness can never return.
“Do you remember who did this to you?” She asks. She is baby-free and this troubles me.
“Where… where are… babies?” I manage. My throat feels like a desert.
“Oh.” Adele laughs. “My husband’s joined us now. Don’t worry about them. Do you remember what happened?”
I try to shake my head, stop when shooting pain spasms across me.
“Someone attacked you.” Adele says. “With a hammer. You didn’t see who it was?”
“No.” I admit. I could have turned around. I could have looked behind me, but I was too scared. I didn’t want to know.
“Well, don’t worry. They’ll catch whoever it was.”
“They?”
“The police.”
“We have no police.” I say. That’s the only reason I was out at that time of night flyering to catch a murderer.
“Oh, didn’t I say? My husband’s the new Sheriff.”
**
Taylor Morton is an English gentleman, impressive in his uniform, generous in his attentions.
He insists on paying for a private ambulance to drive me home when I get the all clear, and then he paces around my old house checking that every lock is secure and every window fitting is in place. He draws curtains, tests smoke alarms, and removes anything that could be considered a weapon from the garden.
It’s clear that Taylor Morton believes my life is in danger.
“He’s a planner.” Adele says. She sits with me in the lounge, mindlessly pushing the stroller back and forth to keep both babies asleep. The miracle she has been dreaming of, and she’s stuck here looking after me instead of enjoying the peace. “He means well, but he can be a bit over the top with it all.”
I nod my head and immediately wish I hadn’t. Pain shoots across my temple.
I hear Taylor stride back towards us. He appears in the doorway, bald head gleaming, dark rimmed spectacles sitting on his slim nose. He looks too bookish to be a Sheriff, and yet as soon as he moves, or speaks, it’s clear he’s a man in control.
“I still think you should come stay with us, ma’am.” He says, not a hint of the British accent left. He moved to the US when he was 10, Adele has explained, and now he feels about as American as apple pie.
“Honestly, I’ll be fine.” I say. “I have plenty to be getting on with.”
“Like what?” He asks.
“Well… my work.”
“What do you do for work exactly?”
“I’m a medium.” I say. This is always an awkward moment. Depending on who I tell, I either go up or down in their estimation when they hear this.
“I see.” He says. His reaction is impossible to read. He must be used to people much more strange than me.
“Oh, I didn’t realise.” Adele gushes by my side. “I’ve always wanted to see a medium. Do you, like… read fortunes and things?”
“No.” I say. It’s a common misunderstanding. I have no more idea what a strong love line looks like than how to prepare for a marathon. “That’s something different. If you’ve lost someone, I can sometimes contact that spirit and allow you to speak to each other through me.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” She says. “That must be so nice for people.”
“I think so.” I say. It isn’t always wonderful, though. Sometimes the spirits don’t say what people want to hear. Death does not heal all tensions, lemme tell ya.
“Well.” Taylor says, then coughs. “You live alone?”
I nod. “I mean, my sister’s here most of the time. But she’s a spirit.”
“Could she protect you?” He asks. If he’s cynical, he’s professional enough not to show it. Or maybe he thinks it’s the head injury.
I shake my head and wince. “Spirits can’t hurt people.”
“So effectively, you’re here alone. Do you realise that someone tried to kill you, Connie?”
“Well… I…” I say, and feel my throat constrict as tears build up. “I wouldn’t want to put it exactly like that.”
“That’s exactly wh
at happened, there’s no reason to put it any other way. Someone out there tried to kill you. Someone’s already killed Lola Anti. Now, I’m going to investigate these things, but my priority is keeping you safe. Will you please come and stay with us?”
“No.” I say, remembering not to move my head. “I can’t. I have to be here. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Taylor sighs and shrugs. He glances across at Adele but her gaze is focused on the babies in the stroller.
“And anyway, if I’m in your home, I’m putting your children at risk.” I say, sure that I’ve just found my trump card.
“Not really.” Taylor says. “Whoever did this was coming after you. Nobody else.”
His words send a shiver down my spine and for a moment I’m tempted to pack a bag and go across to his house. I can imagine a future of slotting myself onto the edge of their family. Grateful for the shelter, I’d make myself useful by getting up early and making pancakes for everyone’s breakfast, then I’d offer to mind the babies so Adele could take a shower. In the afternoon we’d walk to the coffee house together, taking it in turns to push the stroller and drink our drinks as the babies woke and slept and cried and nursed. It could be a good life.
“I’ll be okay.” I whisper. “And, Sheriff, you should know, I’ve been investigating Lola’s murder.”
“You’ve what?” He asks, outraged. “Don’t you see how dangerous it is? You’ve made yourself a target.”
“With respect, I wasn’t keen to get involved, trust me, but we had no law enforcement before you arrived.”
“So you became the police force?”
“Me and a few spirits. The former Sheriff, Patton Davey, and a couple of others.”
“Davey?”
I nod, then curse.
“I know him.” Taylor says. “We trained together. I didn’t know he’d passed.”
“He’s a good guy.” I say.
“Yeah, he sure was. That’s too bad. I knew he’d headed up this way, I just thought he must have moved on somewhere else.”
“He has, in a way.” I say with a smile. “He’s still very involved. I bet he’d like to speak to you again, if you ever want me to contact him for you.”