Oliver shrugs. “You’d have to ask him for yourself.”
That response is just what I’ve come to expect from him: frustrating. I blow out a puff of air. Still, I steal a glance at the big brown and white horse, who raises his head and pricks his ears in our direction.
Well, would it be the weirdest thing about this place if the horse actually talked?
Good point.
We continue down the street, passing the rows of houses and the assortment of vehicles parked in the driveways or by the curbs. “I know this is silly, but another thing I’ve been wondering is about all of the cars. I mean, there’s one in front of, like, every house. I’ve never seen one move the whole time I’ve been in Mitte, unless you count the taxi that brought me here.”
Oliver scratches his chin. “The taxi—now that’s a little interesting because we aren’t supposed to make really big things happen, like moving a car from its parking spot. The living notice that.”
My eyes widen. “The living? You mean there are live people here?” I scan the neighborhood for any sign that I’m not the only one. I’m not sure how to tell them apart from the dead since everyone here looks as alive as, if not more alive than, I do.
“Not really. The best I can figure, our world is sort of a reflection of some place that exists among the living. We all bring pieces of our humanity with us here—like my family’s cabin or maybe even Bud’s taxi. Other than that, most of Mitte doesn’t belong to us. We’re spooks, you know. Ghosts.
“Bud never came out and said it, but I heard from somewhere that he fell asleep at the wheel with paying customers riding along. Drove right off a bridge.” Oliver moves his hand in a line and then arcs it until he slaps his hands together to signify impact.
At least you’re not the only bad driver to set foot in this town.
I shake my head to clear my disturbing inner thought. “What happened to not wanting to know everyone’s story?”
“That’s where you heard me wrong. I said most of us don’t want to know,” he points out. “I like to meet people, get to know them, find out if they’ll make this place more pleasant or more difficult.”
“What’s your verdict on me?” I ask, my eyes sparkling.
“So far, I’d say a little bit of both.” He smirks.
Pretending to be offended, I yelp and smack him in the arm. He laughs, genuinely laughs, and swerves out of my reach in case I decide to swat him again. His laughter plays like a melody in my ears, and I wish I knew the secret to making it happen more often. There isn’t a whole lot to be thrilled about in Mitte, and just his little bit of happiness makes everything more bearable.
Too soon our smiles fade, and I make one last observation. “Life, or whatever this is, seems to go on. Everyone’s eating at the diner, my aunt has her morning cup of joe, you prune roses. It seems so ordinary. I don’t get it.”
“We’re creatures of habit, Luce, all of us—even you. It only gets worse on the other side. Our routines are the only thing we have left to remind us that, once, there used to be more than—” He sweeps his arm out toward the ghost town. “—just this.”
Oliver says it’ll be okay to stop by the orphanage since I’ve been worried about how Duke was healing up after Angus’ attack. I knock on the front door and wait, then knock again. No answer.
“They’re probably in town,” Oliver says.
I raise my eyebrows in silent question, my eyes flitting toward the center of Mitte.
“It’s a really bad idea, Lucy.”
“Please, Oliver?” I clasp my hands together under my chin and flutter my lashes. I’m not above using what little feminine charm I possess to sway him. If that doesn’t work, I’ll resort to flat-out begging.
Oliver stares at me, his expression rigid, until he drops his shoulders with a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he says. “But if I see anything—or anyone—suspicious, we’re out of there.”
We’d traveled a couple of blocks when I hear scuffling coming from an alley off to our right. The old, bent-over woman I saw meandering down the street the other day in her housecoat and tattered pink slippers is there, pacing. She must wander around aimlessly a lot because Oliver doesn’t even seem to notice she’s there. Her mouth moves in noiseless conversation as she wrings her gnarled hands, then she turns her back to us and shuffles away.
I catch Oliver by the wrist, and he looks down at my hand on his skin. There’s no time for that. “She looks like she needs help.”
“Sadie needs more help than most of us. She’s not in her right mind.”
The woman creaks in our direction again. Her eyes swim with confusion. She reminds me of my Nonna when she finally had to be put in a nursing home. I’m pretty sure Sadie has Alzheimer’s, or something close.
I squeeze Oliver’s wrist. “Give me a second, okay?”
He nods.
“Sadie, can you hear me?” I call as I head toward the old lady. The last thing I want is to startle her.
“Don’t bother. I don’t think she remembers her own name, Lucy.”
I shoot him a dirty look over my shoulder. “Shush! She can hear you.”
He puts his hands up, and I focus back on Sadie, who had tottered up to the side of one of the homes near the alley. She peers through one of the windows, cupping a crooked hand over her eyes. Not satisfied with what she sees through the glass, she returns to her pacing and hand-wringing. Since she won’t respond to me or even so much look in my direction, I place myself directly in her path.
“How did she go?” I mouth to Oliver, afraid to upset Sadie any further.
“Old age, in a place where there were a lot of other older people who also needed help.”
A home.
Sadie won’t meet my eyes when I grasp her by her jutting shoulders. I don’t mind—I don’t need her to look at me, just as long as she listens. “Sadie, I need you to hear me.” Her eyes stare past me and down at the ground. “Can you hear me?” No change.
“I told you, she’s—” Oliver starts. I glare at him and he shuts his mouth.
Images of my own fragile grandmother overwhelm me when I close my eyes to gather my thoughts. The illness had stolen away so many things that made Nonna, Nonna, including, but not limited to, her fiery spirit and her kick-butt chimichangas. I want to break down in the middle of the road and cry for my grandmother, but I clench my jaw and swallow the lump in my throat. This isn’t about Nonna, not really, but I’ve always wished I had the chance to tell her what I’m about to share with Sadie. I only hope that what I tell her is the right thing.
“Grandma, can you hear me?” I ask, craning my neck to try to place my face in her line of sight. “Grandma, please listen.”
I’ve about given up when her eyes rotate toward mine and pool with tears.
“Sarah. Is that really you?” She squints to see better, and a teardrop slides down the cracks of her worn face.
I falter, unsure of how to answer, then smile back at her. “Yes, it’s me, Grandma. Sarah.”
You’re probably not doing yourself any favors by lying in Purgatory.
Jesus Himself wouldn’t be able to look this poor woman in the face and say any differently.
That’s probably true. Carry on, Sarah.
“Oh, thank Heavens it’s you.” Her voice trembles with emotion. Behind me, Oliver gasps, but I’m too afraid to look away from Sadie and risk losing her forever.
“Grandma, I’ve missed you so much.” My lower lip begins to quiver.
She reaches up with her wrinkled hand and cradles my cheek in her palm. “Me too, child. I’m so sorry if I’ve been a burden to you.”
Tears fall from my eyes and trail onto her skin. “Never, Grandma. You’ve never been a burden to any of us, and you never will be. I love you.”
Sadie’s thin lips split into a warm, toothless smile, the last expression she wears before she disappears.
Before I crumple to the ground, overtaken by my own sadness, Oliver catches me in his arms.
&n
bsp; “I know why you’re here,” he breathes.
Chapter 20
Letty comes out of nowhere, or maybe it only seems that way because I’m still blinking away the tears for Sadie . . . and my Nonna. I’d been so lost in the moment that a marching band could have snuck up on me.
The wiry woman grabs both of my hands in hers. Her whole body flutters, and her eyes have grown to about three sizes larger than normal. “I saw that,” she squeaks, glancing rapidly between me and Oliver. “What did I just see? Where did Sadie go?”
Oliver loosens his grip on me in order to rest a hand on Letty’s shoulder. “We’re not sure, Miss Letty. Can you keep it a secret from the others until we figure some things out?”
She ignores Oliver and leans in so she’s nearly nose-to-nose with me. “Please help—”
“That’s enough.” Oliver’s words are stern.
“—them.” She finishes. The children straggle up the sidewalk toward us, and I’m relieved to see Duke walking with the others. Letty pulls back from me just long enough to motion them over. Before the kids reach us, she drops her voice and urges, “Help them. I’m begging you.”
“Lucy’s been through a lot. Give her a little time to—”
“Both of you, stop it!” I cry, squeezing my eyes shut in a weak attempt to center myself. They quiet, shocked at my admonition.
I am Lucy. Only Lucy. Letty wants me—no, is begging me—to save them, like I have any clue how to do that. I kill, not rescue, everyone I care for. They have the wrong girl.
Magnolia reaches me first, wrapping her chubby arm around my leg in greeting. She focuses her gigantic blue eyes on me. “You didn’t get any ice cream.” After all was said and done, Maggie was most concerned about my lack of junk food. I laugh.
I lift my head from Oliver’s chest and manage a tired smile for the others. Duke isn’t with them, and panic washes over me. Oliver promised me he would be okay, but where is he? Before I can ask, I notice the bundle in Tessa’s arms. Nestled in Tessa’s embrace is a baby who looks pretty fresh from the oven.
As if my faith hasn’t been shaken enough already with all I’ve lived and all I’ve experienced in this place, the sight of that ruddy-cheeked little one with curious blue eyes focused on Tessa’s face deals a heavy blow. It’s enough for grown people to suffer unspeakable torture each night, imprisoned by their grief. But now this little one, too? It’s too much.
“A baby?” I croak, more tears spilling from my eyes.
“This is Johanna,” Letty says.
Maggie runs over to touch the bundle with her stubby fingers. “But I call her JoJo, ’cause her real name’s too hard.”
“Johanna came to us two days go,” Letty explains. Her voice quiets, but each word stretches thin and tight like a rubber band on the verge of popping. “They’ll keep sending them to me. It’ll never end.”
I can’t take any more. My head needs time to sort out everything swirling in my brain. Wiping my eyes and my runny nose with the back of my hand, I turn my eyes up to Oliver. “Please, let’s go.”
“All right.” Oliver nods, stroking the back of my head with his hand. “We’re leaving now,” he says to the others.
“You’ll think about my request, won’t you, Lucy?”
My current Plan A involves running away and thinking about as little as possible, including her big scheme to somehow transform me into a superhero. Instead, I offer a tiny nod. “I’ll try. To think about it, that is.”
“Leave her be, Letty.” There’s a hint of edge to Oliver’s command. He’s on guard again, and gratitude surges through me. Letty likely poses no threat to me, physically, but her tenacity could easily push my sanity past its breaking point. I know it and he knows it, and he reacts quickly.
Leaving one arm anchored around my shoulders, Oliver peers down the street and whistles. With an answering nicker, Jasper trots our way. Maggie claps and grins as the horse approaches, while Tessa’s eyes grow in adoration. What is it about girls and horses, anyway? Before yesterday, I’d never understood the almost instinctual draw to the big animals—then again, I’m not really your typical girl. At this moment, though, I totally get it. Watching Jasper slide to a stop inches from Oliver’s side makes me smile through my tears.
“You’re driving,” Oliver announces. Before I can react, he launches me into the saddle.
“Ladies.” He brings two fingers to his brow in a salute. None of them responds, watching as he swings himself into place behind me.
“You watch too many movies, you know that?” I sigh as we walk away.
“Movies?”
“Movies didn’t exist when you were alive? How old are you?”
“It was 1864 when I passed—the twenty-fourth of June. I was nineteen then. Don’t really know how long it’s been since then.”
“Yeah, you probably don’t want to know,” I reply quietly.
He had been so young when he died, a young man only beginning to build his own life. My chest aches for him and what that must have been like—until I remember that I’m stuck in Mitte with him and the others, doomed to live each day as if it were my last. We ride in silence for a while as I let that horrifying tidbit sink into my brain.
My head’s throbbing, the beginning of what will turn into a colossal migraine. I get them a lot, thanks to a car stuck in my cranium and the resulting surgery to remove said car. Even though I’ve grown used to their occurrence, I still don’t know how to do life while I have one. Trying to keep my eyes open to steer Jasper sounds like a pretty awful idea, and Oliver suggests we head back to Aunt Perdita’s so I can rest.
Returning to the house that had scared me so badly last night doesn’t seem to be such a frightening prospect now. True, Aunt Perdita dies each night under the skilled hands of a dirty, rotten cheater, and only a matter of a handful of rooms away from mine. Now that I know she’ll be alive and back to her grumpy self each morning, the house isn’t as ominous. Plus, indoor plumbing. That’s about as close to a win-win as I’m going to get.
Oliver tucks me into bed before heading off to find me something to eat. I tell him I can’t stomach anything when my head gets like this, but he won’t listen, of course, and it hurts too badly to bother arguing with him. I fall into dreamless sleep before he makes it back with a cold-cut sandwich and glass of water.
The next time I open my eyes, my migraine has downgraded itself to something more tolerable. I’m alone, which, to my surprise, disappoints me. Darkness seeps in through the thin curtains, and I draw the covers around my shoulders to ward off a chill shuddering through my body. At that very moment, Oliver is dying. At that moment, everyone in Mitte is dying. I roll toward my bedside table and grab one of the halves of the sandwich Oliver made me, now probably closer to a science experiment than actual food. I take a bite, staring at the rose in its glass house. If Dad was here, he would know what to do.
I wake up again to the grey light of morning. After my shower, I dress and venture down to the kitchen, waiting for Aunt Perdita to come out for her coffee. She doesn’t come out of her room the whole time I dawdle at the counter, stirring my Cheerios around with a spoon until they fall apart into mush. She hasn’t shown me the least bit of kindness since I stepped foot in her house, but now it kind of makes sense. Each and every person in this wretched place is miserable; some people just hide it better than others.
I don’t know why I’m here. Oliver seems to think I’m here to release them all from a fate worse than death itself. To be a savior, one has to be special in some way. I’ve only ever been special in that I’d been able to pick up one foot and put it down quickly, rinse and repeat. I’d had a family who loved me—that had been pretty special, too. It isn’t very special to take all that good away from yourself. Even knowing how broken I am, Oliver still believes I’ve come for a higher purpose. I still maintain that he’s a wee bit dramatic.
For a few days, we pretend like nothing happened with Sadie or any of the others, and that we’re just spendin
g time together exploring the town. Oliver continues to let me sit in the saddle when we ride Jasper around, and even teaches me how to ask him for a trot once I’m balanced enough to do so. After a while, I start looking forward to our rides. It’s probably all in my head, but I even think I notice my legs getting stronger, and the limp in my one side becoming less and less. I push it away as a combination of wishful thinking and heat exhaustion.
It’s turning out to be a pleasant existence, eating, sleeping, riding all day, and nearly always in the company of a certain tall, dark, and handsome gentleman. It’s the stuff romance novels are written about—well, really boring romance novels written about girls with a thing for ghosts. Okay, so it’s nothing like the stuff romance novels are written about. It would be easy for me to continue on this way forever. But, like all good stories, this one must come to an end, too.
Chapter 21
Deep down, I know my time with Oliver can’t last. Somehow there will be an end, and I feel it creeping toward us like the dusk. Oliver must feel it, too, because he’s barely left my side, except to die. Determined to soak up each remaining second like a sponge, tonight we spend our last moments of lingering sun lying on a blanket surrounded by nodding roses.
A wisp of clouds swirls above the canopy of trees, blown by the whisper of a breeze. The air trails across my skin, and I close my eyes, happy for the memory. When I open them again and turn my face to him, Oliver’s watching me. He grins when our eyes meet.
“What?” My cheeks heat up beneath his gaze.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he whispers. “I hoped you’d make it, but . . .”
His words confuse me, as always, but I’m used to it now.
“I can’t believe I’m here, either.”
The magnitude of what might happen in the next few days rushes back into my mind, and I turn from him and stare at the sky again. “Tell me what to do, Oliver. I’m so lost right now.” My voice cracks and my lips tremble.
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