“But, how can I do this on my own? I’m too afraid. You’ve already told me that I don’t have the abilities that I’ve always thought I had. I’m weak. I’m...”
“If you focus your mind and your energy, you’ll see that things have a way of working themselves out.”
Opal’s eyes twitched from lack of sleep, and she knew there were dark circles under them that looked like she had been punched. “Both things you’re telling me to do are impossible. And, even if I could do them, he’ll kill me before I could finish.”
“But, you’ve got to find his bones, dear. It may have been the Sumerian mumbo-jumbo that keeps this spirit going, but I’m guessing that he wouldn’t be so tied to that house if he didn’t die there. Maybe you can find a grave marker and...”
“Even if I could figure out where it is, do you really think my chubby old body could dig it up?”
Grace shrugged. “Perhaps you can find someone to help you.”
Opal couldn’t think of anyone that she could ask to help dig up the grave of some hundred-year old ghost. Karl had already heard enough of her insane story to be exasperated with her.
“You’ve got the words for the banishing ritual?”
“Yes,” she said as she took the folded sheet of paper from her pocket and looked at it again. It was Grace’s own hastily scribbled instructions for undoing the ancient chant and sending the spirit back from where he came. It involved blessing his bones, burying them on sacred ground in a churchyard, then confronting the spirit and circling him three times while saying the banishing spell. She couldn’t imagine getting very far in that process before he doubled over in laughter and struck her dead.
Grace worked her crochet needles in and out of the yarn, feeling her way along each loop with her fingers. “If his essence is re-materializing into flesh and blood, he’ll be as firmly rooted on this earth again as you or me. Each life he takes furthers his own. You should get back there soon...it may already be too late for this woman, Georgia.”
“Oh...” Opal moaned. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Then, your spirit may eventually take every life in that town to maintain himself. You must undo this horrible wrong, Opal!”
“Grace...I’m going to beg you one more time. Please come with me…”
“I can’t, child. This is your doing...and your undoing alone. I’m a very old woman. It’s not likely that I’d even make the ride back to Calathia. My time on this earth is counted in days if not hours.”
“But, what if I do as you say, and it all goes wrong?”
Grace held up her hand. “Enough! It’s time for you to leave. You’re wasting precious time here.”
Opal’s face sunk as Grace dropped the knitting and felt around on the floor for her suitcase. When she found it, she slammed it shut. Then, with all the strength in her hunched frame, she hauled it over to the door. As she pulled the door open, she pointed a bony bird claw finger and shouted, “Go!”
Opal grabbed her purse. As she saw the white hot look in her Aunt’s filmy eyes, she didn’t bother attempting another plea. “Fine. Goodbye, Grace. Say some prayers for me tonight and wish me luck...because I’m going to need it.”
Grace remained in her stolid position until Opal made it to her car.
As she settled her body down into the driver’s seat, the pewter cross dangling from her rearview mirror swung back and forth. “Yes, Lord…” she said out loud “…hypnotize me and make me your instrument of righteousness. I’d say I’m sorry for my dalliances with the dead, but you know as well as me...that I usually do a lot of good for sorrowful folk.”
When she looked back, Grace’s door was closed, announcing the complete and final end of her assistance. And, since she didn’t own a phone, there would be no way to get in touch with her once she was back in the immortal trenches of Calathia. Aunt Grace’s plan sounded like a death mission. She didn’t know if she could go through with it.
If only Wanda could find that old box of Crawford’s…
Chapter 49
“Daniel!” Georgia gushed as she opened the door. “I can’t believe what you did with the gardens!”
He grinned as he leaned against the doorframe with a blade of straw hanging between his lips as casually as a lit cigarette. “It is nothing,” he shrugged.
She held the door open for him. “I just can’t thank you enough for all of your work.”
He removed his cap and bowed his head as he stepped into the foyer. As he swept past her, she noticed that his skin didn’t seem as pale as it had the day before. In fact, it seemed to have a peachy glow. His hair was slicked back with gel, emphasizing his Roman nose and the chiseled lines of his cheekbones, his fingernails were clean and buffed to a shine, and there was a hint of cologne lingering about him, disguising some of the musty scent of soil that seemed to emanate from every pore on his body last night.
“I don’t know how you accomplished what you did overnight. All those pots of flowers...and wreaths! I’m leaving town tomorrow, so I won’t get to enjoy them for long. I guess I’ll have to give them to Annie next door.”
“Was it too much? I know you didn’t ask for it. It’s just that...I cannot bake a cake without putting on some icing.”
“No. It’s fine. I just wish Grammy were here to see it. She would have loved it. She loved the gardens so much... it’s a fitting tribute to her.”
He withdrew his glittering green eyes and focused them on the floor as if a moment of modesty left him without words.
“What you did in one night!”
His eyes fluttered as he returned her adoring gaze. “It’s nothing, McKenna. I just do my job...”
“No...it’s not nothing. You’re far too talented to be wasting yourself in this dumpy little town. You should go to Kansas City...Topeka...or somewhere where you can really shine and be rewarded for it. You could do contracting...garden design…”
A sigh blew out of him as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Renoir did not paint for the people of Paris; he pleased himself just as Rodin did not mold clay into the simple imagination of his patrons. I am nothing in comparison with these geniuses, but I can no more transform flowers and earth into the vision of another than these men could do with their creations.”
“Eloquently put. I think I get it. Do you know something about art as well as gardening?”
“Ahhh...yes. I have a passion for the fine arts.”
“Really? I studied art in college. I own a contemporary gallery in New York.”
“The modern artist—a mystery. It’s a shame your gallery is not closer, so you could teach me more about it.”
She laughed. “Modern art is one of those things that people either love completely or find baffling. I used to be quite confused by it in the beginning as well. When I began painting I...”
“You paint?” he interrupted. “Fantastico!”
“Well...I haven’t for many years.”
“But, you love it, no?”
She nodded sadly as she thought about the old tubes of paint stashed in a closet in her Soho apartment. There was still a wood easel somewhere in the basement in this house, probably rotten and covered with spider webs.
“Why did you stop?”
Her upper teeth dug into her lower lip. “I’m not sure. I guess it just fell by the wayside after I got married. There was so much going on with social functions and trips and—”
“You’re married?” he asked as his head dipped into a shrug.
She looked down at her left hand and rubbed the spot where the ring used to be. “No...divorced.”
His hand reached out and gently grasped her arm, giving it a light shake. She felt a strange tingle course up to her shoulder.
“You should paint again,” he said as he looked into her eyes with a fiery excitement.
“Maybe someday...”
“No. You should do it right now.” He squeezed her arm tighter. “This minute!”
“That’s silly. I couldn�
��t. I don’t even have paints or a canvas.”
“Hmmm...” he said as he withdrew his hand and stroked the fine hairs on his chin. “Then...you must do something else to rekindle your passion. Tell me about this art in your gallery.”
“It’s quite modern. A lot of sculpture and abstract whimsical things. I used to love the impressionists...that’s what I studied most in college, but—”
He leaned against the edge of the small table in the foyer, rapt with thought. After a moment, he asked, “But...now you are tied to this business...and not your own passion?”
Georgia sighed. It was true. “I haven’t painted for a very long time...and I guess my love for it has been given the backseat for so many years that I’d almost forgotten about it.”
“Your grandmother’s library. Aren’t there some art books in there?”
She looked at him quizzically, “Yes...I think some of my old textbooks are in there.”
“I’d love to learn more. Can you show me?”
A new smile crept across Georgia’s face. Far from being the half-hearted ‘Smile’ that she gave to placate strangers, this was an expression of true joy, dusted off and pulled out of an old trunk of emotions. “It’s been a long time since I looked at any of them.”
“It would be a pleasure for me.” With a flourish, he gestured for her to lead the way.
In the library, she found some of her old textbooks. She opened one then sat in the recliner with it on her lap as Daniel pulled up a wooden chair with a velvet cushion next to her. He turned it around backwards and straddled it, so close that their knees almost touched.
She flipped through the pages and told him which of the Monet’s, Cezanne’s, and Degas’ she preferred over the others, talking about the importance of capturing the light on the canvas and how she loved art as a young girl.”
“It’s the same in the gardens,” he said, “...capturing the light through the leaves...manipulation of color, texture, and form.”
“Yes...nature has her own palette. She is the greatest artist of all.”
He leaned in closer, his voice softening to a whisper as if asking her the most intimate thing imaginable. “Do you have any of your old paintings here?”
She thought for a moment. “There are dozens of them down in the basement somewhere.”
“I’d love to see them.”
Her face flushed. “I haven’t shown them to anyone in almost twenty years.”
“You should paint again. I can hear the sadness in your voice and feel it in your heart. To give it up for good would be a great tragedy.”
“You’re very persuasive,” she said as she felt the heat of her reddening face. “I think I’d run out to an art store right now...if there was one in town.”
They returned to the book and continued with their conversation, talking about each artist...what they liked and what they didn’t in each piece.
“A me piace di piu questo quadro impressionista. Forgive me ...but I prefer this one.”
His hand brushed against hers as he pointed to a painting of a young Victorian woman in a long cotton dress, sitting on a park lawn next to a flock of geese. When his skin touched hers, she felt a jolt as if a spark of electric voltage had passed into her. As she withdrew her hand from the book and looked into his eyes to see if he had noticed the static shock, a frisson rippled down her spine like a thousand tiny tickling fingers.
Daniel didn’t seem to notice as he discussed the boldness of the color and the odd smile on the woman’s face, “...much like Da Vinci’s MonaLisa.”
A half an hour passed...then another. She was so entranced in her conversation that she didn’t hear the phone.
A few minutes later when it rang again, she bolted up, catching the book before it crashed to the floor. “I forgot that I was supposed to be over at my sister’s for dinner. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
“No problema. I’ve kept you for too long...”
“What do I owe you for all of your work?”
“Actually...instead of payment, I have another suggestion.”
Georgia barely heard his words as she stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the changing kaleidoscope of colors.
“You see...I’m in a bit of a bind right now. I put my house up for sale this summer, because I had considered moving. But, now that the house is sold...I’ve changed my mind. I can’t bear to leave Calathia. This is my home,” he said as he swept his arm in a wide arc. “I don’t think I could trade this fresh air and the sounds of the birds singing on a spring morning for the noise and bustle of a big city. You understand, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. Since I’ve come back here...it’s hard to remember why I left New York.”
“There aren’t a lot of houses for rent around here. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be forced to give up my home to the new owners, and I’ll either need to purchase something else in a hurry or waste a lot of money on a hotel. I’d rather sleep out in a field under the stars than do either at the moment. And I would...but...the nights are getting a bit chilly. I was wondering...” He looked straight at her and caressed her with his luminescent eyes, “...if you needed a caretaker for this house while you are away.”
Before she could reply, he raised a hand up.
“I’d keep up the grounds and gardens and work on some of the things in the house that need fixing. You can be sure that this place would stay safe with me on guard. I just need a place to lay my head at night when I’m not working...and it could be as temporary as you want.”
Georgia felt light-headed. She’d never been one to make rash decisions...but she had lost sleep worrying about the house standing empty and not knowing what to do with it. Maybe this was the answer...at least for now.
“Alright, Moreno. Daniel. If I can trust you to take as good of care of this house as you have the gardens, then you’d make an excellent caretaker. I’ve been worried that while I’m gone, the place might go to ruin or be burglarized...or I might come back to find a family of bats in the chimney and raccoons playing house in the kitchen. It’d give me peace of mind to know that someone was here to keep an eye on things, and I haven’t really wanted to burden Annie and Fred next door with it.”
He bowed. “I would be honored to keep it in magnificent order during your absence.”
Her mind raced as she pondered this hasty decision. Of course, if this was in New York, she would have insisted upon a background check and references. But here...with someone that her grandmother knew and trusted to look after her gardens, she didn’t feel that it was necessary.
“I’m leaving early in the morning, but I’ll leave the key next door with Fred and Annie. I should be back for Christmas if not sooner. I still haven’t decided what to do with this place.”
“I will be a most excellent house guest.”
He held out his hand. She took it, noticing his firm grip and the fact that though it felt cool upon her first touch, it grew almost unbearably hot before he let go. “Signora...” he said as held his cap in front of his chest. “I am most grateful.”
“I’ll call you after I get to New York.”
She showed him to the door and watched as he walked down the length of the porch. In a blink, he disappeared. She leaned forward out the door and looked toward the driveway to see if he had made it to his truck. But, in the royal blue light of the night’s arrival, she could see nothing but blinking stars and gravel in that direction. She wondered if he had walked or ridden a bicycle.
A moment later, after grabbing her purse and her leather jacket, she rushed out the door to see Fred and Annie before heading to her sister’s.
Her feet seemed to hover over the ground as she flew over the field.
Chapter 50
Opal was back in Calathia before the sun set that night. She’d heard about the murders in town on the radio.
Back in her house, she closed her blinds, double-checked the locks on her doors, and didn’t dare turn the television o
n.
She knew the deaths were her fault.
Curling up into a ball on her bed, she fell asleep and dreamt of tumbleweeds blowing down Main Street. She envisioned bodies lying in the wheat fields, skeletal victims rotting in their beds, posed with a coffee cup in their bony fingers or a cigarette between what was left of their lips. As the townspeople were murdered one by one, the wind whistled through the treetops with no one left to hear its sad song.
Would he come for her last?
When she woke in the middle of the night, she thought she heard a knock at the door and huddled in her bed sheets. Was that the sound of footsteps?
After a few moments of silence, she dared to crack an eyelid and saw him standing there in her bedroom doorway. He towered against the frame. His handsome young face cocked to one side as his tall hat listed perilously above. She saw an expression of sheer joy come over him. Then, something changed in his green eyes. The color muddied, turning an earthy shade of brown. The flecks in his iris began to glow, and then pulse until they turned red. She felt the heat emanating from him. Tendrils of fiery energy curled out from his eyes and snaked across the room towards her.
Paralyzed with fear, she felt the warmth tugging at her chest. At first it was a gentle pull, but it grew stronger with each passing second. Her heart no longer beat of its own accord—it was a puppet on strings, and he was its master.
Still...he smiled.
Her heart slowed from the pressure within. In a couple more seconds, she knew that it would explode.
But, as the beating muscle began to tear apart, her eyes popped open, saving her from dying in the nightmare.
She was fully awake now and saw nothing but the long shadows on the walls of her bedroom and her empty doorway.
Tied to the property? She whimpered before a crazed cackle came out. Maybe the house was his home base, but she knew now that he was mobile, moving about town and stalking his victims like a wild animal. He fed off them, not like a vampire who hungered for something as visceral as blood, but consuming the invisible spark of energy that gave them life.
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