The three most powerful words she’d ever spoken.
He stared at her a moment before his eyes lost focus. His hand dropped from her face to land on the floor with a thud. He shuddered once. Then was still.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think her heart shattered into a million pieces only to turn to ash and flutter away, leaving an empty, pain filled hole in her chest.
She had thought being trapped alone was horrifying, but watching him die was catastrophic.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Liam…” Her harsh whisper was lost instantly in the silence.
She closed her eyes and her tears continued to fall.
Suddenly her chest was tight. Mid sob, she couldn’t draw in a breath, and she gasped while trying. She couldn’t breathe. She’d just been tossed into a black hole where there was no air, no life. Nothing. This was how it felt to suffocate.
She fought to take a breath and couldn’t. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know her parents had pulled the plug on her. The machine was no longer keeping her breathing.
Her heart raced in her chest. Her vision blurred, and the room spun. The figures of Liam, Oliver, and Evelyn seemed to shimmer. She shivered as the room turned icy and filled with ghostly images. She recognized the others who had been at Liam’s dinner party. There were the Carringtons. She remembered her name was Mary, but caught in her struggle to breathe she couldn’t remember his. There was a gaping hole where his throat should be. He held Mary’s hand. The front of her deep pink gown was covered with blood. They stared at her and Liam on the floor.
Sam Hamilton, James Hadfield, and Henry Williams stood nearby, all watching. Sam was missing an eye, his features almost unrecognizable with the blood covering his face. Clare recognized him by his bow tie, the tie the others at the party had made fun of. Henry, like Liam, had a wound in his middle. James’s throat was cut.
But it was Penelope who grabbed Clare’s attention and held it.
Even if she’d been able to breathe, she wouldn’t while looking at all this. Penelope, sensible, sweet Penelope was cut from her chin to belly button. Her beautiful blue gown gaped open and was covered with her blood. Evelyn had slashed Penny’s gown, cutting both Penelope and the gown Clare had openly admired to shreds. Penelope looked at Clare and Liam with sadness in her eyes.
More movement caught her attention as two other ghostly figures stepped out of the drawing room. She recognized Emily, the woman she’d seen in the wagon as the latest Midnight Killer victim, only now Emily was dressed as Clare had first seen her—as the flight attendant on the plane. Behind her was Forrest Lensbrook, the man she’d talked with on the plane.
No!
This was not possible.
Clare wanted to scream, but she couldn’t.
Suddenly Ben was standing beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up and met his gaze, working to see past the blood covering his shirt.
“Yes, Clare, we are all dead. Some of us are victims of the Midnight Killer, victims of Evelyn and her evil brother, Oliver. Oliver chose us, tried to draw us into their nightly games. When we refused, they feared we would tell their secret. So Oliver grabbed us, and held us while Evelyn cut us or stabbed us. Liam insisted on waiting for you. I have no idea how he connected with you or how he knew you’d be coming. He said he had to be with you, had to hear your music, had to hear you play his piano, had to hold you close. And thanks to you, perhaps now Oliver and Evelyn will pay for their crimes.”
Beyond him was the man in the dark suit, the man she’d seen on the plane watching her, the same man who had been standing on the street watching her as Emily Foster had been taken away, the same man who had been in the alley when Clare was alone. Who was he? The Grim Reaper?
“No, Clare, I’m only the watcher,” he said as if he read her mind. “I’m here to watch you, to make certain you find your way on the path. We knew Liam wanted you here, so we allowed you to take a bit of a detour.” He offered her a small smile. “It’s my job to make sure everything works out.” He glanced at his watch. “But now time grows short, and you need to stay the course.”
Clare didn’t have time to consider his words. What she did know was this was not working out. She didn’t know how she could focus on his words when she couldn’t breathe. She registered the front door crashing open and three members of the City Guard rushing in.
“My God,” the first one said taking in the scene before him. Clare recognized him as the guard Liam called Dresden, the guard who had blown the shrill whistle and told Liam about Emily Foster. “He put up a fight, but they still killed him. The captain was right. It was two people working together, not one.”
Clare stared at the man who stumbled in behind the guards. He wore an orange jumpsuit. Doug?
Did she say his name, or just think it? She wasn’t sure, given she still couldn’t breathe.
“I had to come. I had to follow you. I had to tell you I’m so sorry.” Around his neck was a raw, angry rope burn.
She tried to concentrate, but her mind was growing foggy with the lack of oxygen. She didn’t want to waste her last seconds on Doug. So she looked down at Liam and grasped his bloody hand tightly. Then she leaned down, placing her head on his chest as she’d done every time she’d slept beside him. Dying wasn’t so bad, as long as she could be with him, her face resting where his heartbeat should be. She didn’t know what The Watcher meant about a detour or about going the course, but she hoped wherever she ended up, she and Liam might be together.
Darkness threatened. Cold. Frightening. She held on tighter to Liam and thought about his kiss, his touch. She wanted to hold onto everything she’d shared with him.
Then, there was nothing.
Chapter Nineteen
Clare opened her eyes and blinked against the bright, white light.
Is this death? Should I go toward the light?
She couldn’t move. Her limbs each weighed a hundred pounds.
She took a deep breath, and things became familiar. The air was warm and perfect in her lungs. A hand gripped hers.
“Liam?”
“Clare?” His familiar voice filled her with bright joy.
She looked at him. “Liam?”
“Yes, yes, it’s me, Clare. I’m Dr. Liam Canfield. Clare, can you hear me?”
Damn, but her head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, too. And then she saw him.
He looked at her, studying her intently, watching her almost as carefully as he did when he’d first found her in Camden Place.
He was Liam.
But he wasn’t Liam. She would know his sea-blue eyes and dark hair anywhere. It was his expression that was different, more intense. He wore a shirt and tie and a white coat.
“Yes, I hear you.” Her words were nothing more than whispers. Her throat was dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She tried to swallow but there was nothing to swallow.
“Oh… Oh… It’s a miracle. Nick? Nick, come back. Come quick!”
That was her mother’s voice.
“Mom? Mama?” She forced her head to the other side and focused on her parents. “Dad?”
They were both openly crying. It was her mother who was holding her hand. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was her brother, Justin, who leaned in and kissed her forehead.
“It’s hard to believe, but I guess if anyone could come back from whatever void you just spent a week in, it would be you, little sister,” he said.
“A week?” she forced out, confusion feeling as heavy as her limbs. “No, it’s been much longer than a week. A week ago, I was getting on a plane for Charleston…”
She’d been floating around for a year, not able to play her music, searching.
“Yes, it was a week ago that Doug…”
“Justin.” Her father brought Justin’s words to a halt. “Not now.”
Nick was suddenly there, staring at her in awe. “Clare! Clare! You’re really back? I thought you were leaving
us forever.”
She forced a smile, blinking away the tears that filled her eyes. She didn’t tell them she did leave them. She went far away, over a thousand miles and a century away. “I’m back. I’m here.” Her little brother gave her a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek.
“Damn, girl, I’m glad to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you, too. I’m glad to see all of you.”
She couldn’t help but notice Dr. Liam Canfield stood a few feet away, allowing her reunion with her family, but all the while watching.
Just like Liam had watched her from the far end of the dining room table.
Chapter Twenty
The next weeks were filled with tests. Head scans, ears and eyes checked and rechecked, reflexes monitored, nerve conduction studies, and endless questions to see if she had any type of memory loss or neurological conditions.
While, she needed to heal from several skull fractures and facial fractures and a broken scapula, everything else seemed to be in working order. Her memory, her sensory perception, and her thought processes were all intact.
Dr. Canfield came into her room with a cup of tea.
“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” She took a sip. “Mmmm, just the way I like it. How’d you know?”
“I took a guess really. I got myself some coffee and got you the tea, and then I just felt like you needed yours with a hint of cream and a bit of sugar.”
Her heart did a little skip. She was taken back to Liam passing her the sugar bowl and the creamer while they sat at the dining room table. She had to force down a hard swallow and take a deep breath before she could continue. “You haven’t said much since I woke up, but you watch me. A lot.”
“You noticed, did you?”
“Oh, yeah, I noticed. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “I’m still shocked that you’re…”
“Alive?”
“To be honest. Yes.” He took a heavy breath. He moved closer, pulled a nearby chair closer and sat down next to her. “When I first saw your condition, how badly you’d been beaten, I remember thinking I wanted to kill the bastard who hurt you. Then, when the paramedics wheeled you in, there was a problem with the stretcher. It almost collapsed with you on it, and I was terrified the turbulence would injure you further.”
Clare blinked at him but said nothing as she thought of the turbulence on the plane in her…dream? How odd.
“Then I was beside you, and when I touched you, checked you for a pulse, something happened. It was like a flash of lightning went through me. I had to save you. I give my best to every patient, but you… I can’t describe it. I wanted nothing more than to actually reach right into you and pull you back. I felt crushed when I saw the tests. You were gone. There was no brain activity. Sometimes when the machine gets turned off the patient takes a breath or two. I didn’t even expect that from you. At the same time, I didn’t think I could turn off your ventilator. I stayed with you every opportunity I could, not that I got much time with you without your family here. I talked to you and hoped you heard me. Then when you looked right at me, I felt that lightning again, like a jolt of recognition. Wherever you were, wherever you went, it’s like it healed you and then it sent you back.”
She offered him a small, hesitant smile and thought of the first time Liam kissed her, how healed and alive she felt. “Maybe it did.”
“Then when you woke up, my name was the first word you said, my first name, not Dr. Canfield, which might have been something you could have heard while you were in your coma. But Liam, a name no one calls me here, a name I never told you when I talked to you. Then you looked at me and said my name, as if you knew who I was.”
“I did know who you were.”
He was silent for a long moment as he thought this over. Then he chuckled. “You know? When you go to medical school, it’s all science and text book stuff. But when you’re here, there’s a lot more to it. Sometimes it’s a higher power than science.”
She bit her lip. “I’ll bet it is. I’d even venture a guess that it can be an entirely different ballgame altogether.”
“Maybe you’d like to share that place, that ballgame, with me sometime.”
She shrugged lightly, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. “You could wheel me down to the cafeteria and we could have some lunch together. I could tell you a little about where I was.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’d love to. I have time for a quick bite and some conversation.”
Epilogue
Liam opened the front door for her. For a long moment, Clare didn’t go in. She drew in a breath and swallowed.
“I have the feeling there’s more to this place than what you told me, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re feeling up to this? We could get a hotel.”
“No, Dr. Canfield, I’m fine. I promise.”
“That’s nice to know, Mrs. Canfield. But if you’re so fine, what are you waiting for?”
Clare stepped into the house and stopped. The squeak of the hardwood floor beneath her step was familiar. She took a deep breath. “Do you smell that?”
He stepped in behind her, closed the front door, and breathed in. “Apple pie.”
“Yes, and home.”
“We passed that dessert place a few blocks back. As soon as we take a look around, we should walk back and enjoy some dessert for supper,” Liam suggested.
“I’d love to.” She looked down and swallowed hard again, working to ignore the memory of Liam dead on the floor where she now stood. His blood had covered…
There was no sign of it now, no sign that anything had even happened here.
Liam flipped the nearby light switch and the foyer lit up, casting out the shadows of the late afternoon. She didn’t tell him but she had stepped through that door at almost the exact time a year ago. The paintings and the three chairs and few small tables that lined the walls were as she remembered.
“Look at this, Clare. Did your uncle play the violin?” He held up a violin case that was resting on the floor up against the wall near the door.
“I don’t know.” Clare licked her lips to bring them some much-needed moisture. She didn’t tell him, didn’t even want to think about where her violin had been all this time.
He left their large rolling suitcase in the foyer, just where she’d left her backpack, and followed her to the dining room. She stood in the doorway for long, silent seconds, taking in the room, feeling it. She thought she would feel Liam, or perhaps remnants of his life, or the dinner party with his friends. But she didn’t. Was it because she felt the present him, the real him, right next to her?
He reached out and took her hand. “Tell me what you’re thinking, my love.”
“I lit those candles, the ones on the dining room table. There was a dinner party. I ate chicken gumbo and drank too much wine.” She smiled at the memory. “There’s a grand piano in the music room.” She had told him about Camden Place, about Charleston and Death Alley. She never told him about Liam, and he had never asked again how she knew his name. Perhaps it had just been as the nineteenth century Liam had said—that his soul would always know and love hers.
“Show me,” he requested.
Just as the dining room was what she remembered, the music room, too, was exactly the same as her previous visit. Except for the electric lights. “I was afraid the electric lights would somehow make this place too modern, but they don’t,” she said when he switched them on.
“Have you thought about what we should do with this old place?” he asked.
“Well, we still have to talk it out with my brothers since we all inherited it together.”
“That’s true, but they don’t seem to be as interested in it as you are.” He stepped to the hearth.
“Maybe I’ll open up a pie shop.” Clare gathered her courage and moved to the piano, touching middle C and listening as the perfect sound moved through the room just as it had the last time her fingers touched those keys. Sh
e played a rolling chord, amazed that it sounded as tuned as it had before.
“I can just imagine you running a pie shop and playing the piano for your customers.” Liam spoke behind her.
She smiled at the idea. There were old sheets of music on the music rest. She turned them over.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart skipped as she stared at the music, the penciled notes.
Behind her, Liam was still speaking, but she couldn’t focus on any words. His voice sounded far away.
A Bridge Across Time (Liam’s Song). Next to the title was written, To Nick and Justin, With Love, Clare.
Without a word, she put it down and worked to breathe.
“Look at this.”
She could finally understand Liam’s words. She had to swallow and steady her voice before she could reply. “What is it?”
“It’s an old newspaper.” He paused to read it. “It says the reign of terror brought on by the Midnight Killer has ended with the hanging of Oliver Wanesworth and his sister, Evelyn, who were apprehended and arrested after the murder of Liam Camden, their final victim whom they killed Saturday, November fourteenth.
“Wow, so that’s what happened to the guy who built this place. How terrible.”
She still stared at the music. “Yes, it was terrible.”
He looked at her, like he’d looked at her when she first woke from her coma. But he demanded no further explanation. “What did you find there, some music?”
“Yes.”
He sat down on the sofa, just like he had when she’d written it. “Play it for me, Clare. I love to hear you play.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, my darling, I could listen to your music forever. Do you think you can play it?”
She sat down. “Without a doubt, my love.”
She placed her fingers on the keys where they belonged.
She was where she belonged, too. In Camden Place. With Liam.
The End
Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 17