The River and the Roses (Veronica Barry Book 1)

by Sophia Martin

  I could go back to ignoring it. I could. I could shut myself off—make the dreams stop! If I try really hard. She had succeeded in pushing the visions and dreams away, mostly—she could do it again.

  But she felt better. Ever since she stopped fighting it, she wasn’t as tired all the time. She felt… cleaner. Like she was clearer, inside. It still troubled her, made her uneasy. But even that was getting easier. She was starting to accept it, she realized, and accepting it meant accepting a part of herself. She was starting to feel something she had never felt before: whole.

  And now this woman came to her classroom and accused her of being a con artist? And threatened her? Did Felsen really think Veronica might still be a viable suspect in the Gomez murder? Why say so if she didn’t mean it? Just to scare her?

  The warning bell rang. Five minutes until the start of first period.

  Veronica took in a deep breath and let it out, concentrating on making her shoulders relax. Okay, she thought. Let it go. It doesn’t matter what Felsen thinks. I’m giving up on talking to the police. I’ve done all I can with that. She closed her eyes and wished she could somehow apologize to Collins, but what could she do? I just have to focus on the parts of my life I have some control over. Like helping Mel and Angie.

  Students began wandering in and sitting at desks. Gratitude washed over her that teenagers tended to be so wrapped up in their own drama that they never noticed hers. She rolled her shoulders and her neck, trying to make Felsen leave her thoughts.

  “Bonjour la classe,” she called.

  ~~~

  The principal wasn’t in her office all day, so by the time Veronica tracked her down and school let out, it was too late to get the French teacher at Saint Patrick’s on the phone to make plans to visit the next day. So it would have to be Wednesday at the earliest, as she informed Melanie on the phone as she walked to her car.

  “Oh, frustrations all around!” Melanie said. “I didn’t have any luck digging up a court case on Grant Slecterson. If there was one, it’s been sealed.”

  “Because he’s a juvenile.”

  “Exactly. I talked to Darnell about prosecuting him for what he did to Angie, though. He said he’ll talk to the DA about it.” Melanie worked under Assistant District Attorney Darnell James, who answered to the DA when it came to who they would press charges against. “He said not to get my hopes up, though. He says a Juvenile Court judge would probably see it as a prank gone wrong, and a jury would be even worse.”

  “Well, so what? Shouldn’t Grant be punished for pulling such a bad prank?” Veronica asked as she unlocked her car.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. He said he’d talk to the DA,” Melanie said. “It’s just hard right now, with all the pressure from the budget cuts. We’re understaffed. The kids who are shooting each other or robbing liquor stores get a lot more attention than the ones people think are just screwing around.”

  “I wish we could find some kind of proof—if he really did kill one of those girls.”

  “Yeah, that would make the DA sit up and take notice.”

  “Okay, well, I hope he decides to pursue it anyway,” Veronica said, slipping her key into the ignition.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. The Gomez case,” said Melanie.

  Veronica tensed. She wanted to just forget about the whole thing. “What about it?”

  “Well, I don’t know what you might want to do about this, but the medical examiner released the body this morning, and the family is going to have the funeral soon. They’re having a public viewing at four this afternoon.”

  Veronica’s hand stilled, and then she dropped it in her lap. She never wanted to talk to Felsen or Seong again, so what was the point of pursuing the Sylvia Gomez thing? But it gnawed at her, knowing Collins would go to jail for the murder, when he was innocent. And it bothered her, knowing that if she had just been faster, she might have prevented the whole thing. Sylvia Gomez might still be alive. If she’d been in touch with her ability, if she hadn’t been denying it so hard, maybe she’d have had the dream earlier, like she did with DeeAnn all of those years ago. She might have been able to save Sylvia.

  “Where is it?” she asked at last.

  “At a mortuary called J. M. Hanley and Sons, on Twenty First Street. I googled it. It’s practically on the corner of Twenty First and N.”

  “The medical examiner took a while with the body,” Veronica said, buying time. Was she really considering doing this? Was she really thinking about going to this viewing? Veronica had always avoided funerals. She wouldn’t admit why—until now. And even now, she hated to think about the reason. The way a funeral home made her feel. The things she’d see out of the corners of her eyes.

  “Not especially. It’s the same as everything else. People’s jobs got cut, everyone’s understaffed, everything takes longer.”

  “It’s happening this evening?”

  “At four this afternoon.”

  Veronica chewed her lip. She wanted to whimper into the phone. Did she have to do this? No, she didn’t. She did not have to go to a funeral home and brave its creepy hallways. She did not have to look at Sylvia’s body, or pay her respects to Sylvia’s grieving relatives. Why go through that? It’s not like the police would believe her if she uncovered anything, anyway.

  “Veronica? You still there?”

  “Yeah,” Veronica said. “Just thinking.”

  But maybe she owed it to Sylvia. To at least pay her respects. She’d failed to help her, to save her life, and it looked like she was going to fail to help bring the right person to justice for her murder. The least Veronica could do was go to her viewing and shake the hands of her loved ones.

  “Okay, well, I’m going home to get changed,” Veronica announced, her voice sounding matter of fact, though inside she didn’t feel so convinced. “Any chance you’ll like to come to the viewing with me?”

  “So you’re going?”

  “What choice do I have?” Veronica sighed.

  “Well, you could… not go.”

  “Mel, the other homicide detective came to my classroom this morning,” Veronica blurted.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, it was pretty awful.” Veronica told her the story as she sat in her parked car.

  “Oh my god. She accused you of trying to con them?”

  “Yeah,” Veronica said.

  “I guess they’re pretty sure about their guy,” Melanie said.

  “But I know they’re wrong,” Veronica said. “And I feel bad, you know, because I’ve been thinking. About this ability I have.”

  “Being psychic?”

  Veronica cringed. “Yeah. That.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s not a new thing, right?”

  “Hon,” Melanie said. “I mean, I know it makes you uncomfortable—”

  “That’s just it. It’s this thing I’ve been avoiding and denying since—since forever. And now that I’m trying to be open to it—I’ve been thinking about other times I had visions, you know? And what I’m trying to say is, maybe I got too good at ignoring it.”

  “Too good?”

  “Maybe if I had accepted it years ago, I’d have known about what was going to happen to Sylvia Gomez earlier. Maybe I could have saved her.”

  There. It was out. What a relief to say it.

  After a pause, Melanie said, “Sweetie. You’re not blaming yourself, are you?”

  Veronica felt tears in her eyes and blinked rapidly. “No, not really,” she said.

  “Oh, honey. Come on. You can’t blame yourself. You did the best you could. This psychic thing, it’s not easy to bear.”

  The tears welled up more. “I know,” Veronica said, her voice cracking. “It’s hard, Mellie. But I helped Angie with it, right?”

  “Yes, you did! You better never forget that!”

  “So I think, maybe I’m supposed to use it to help people. Maybe it happens so I can do that.”

  “Sure.”

  Veronica
nodded even though Melanie couldn’t see her. She sniffled and grabbed her bag with her free hand, digging in the pocket for a tissue. “I’m okay, Mel,” she said. “I’ll be fine. But I’m just sorry I couldn’t help Sylvia. It seems like I won’t be able to help her at all. But I think maybe if I pay my respects, that’s something, right?” She found a wadded up tissue and dabbed her nose.

  “Sure, V.”

  “So yeah, I’m going,” Veronica said, looking for a place for the tissue. “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Well, ordinarily I would jump at the chance to go look at a dead body with you—”

  “Ew.”

  “Hey, my best friend is a bona fide psychic, how could I pass it up?”

  “Oh god.”

  “Honey. Anyway, the point is I don’t want to leave Angie alone in the house. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Understandable,” said Veronica. She stuffed the tissue in a used styrofoam coffee cup. “Okay then, I guess it’ll just be me.” She took a deep breath, feeling more calm now that the decision was made. “Wish me luck.”

  Chapter 11

  Veronica put on a black skirt, black long sleeved tee and black sweater. Nothing to be done about her navy coat. At least it was a dark color. She drove over to the mortuary, her throat tight. What would she see there? Would she see anything? It’s not like she saw things all the time, or heard things, or anything. Except it seemed to be happening more since she stopped fighting it. Or maybe she was just noticing it more, even at school. Movement out of the corner of her eye. Noises in the empty hallway during classes—true, the noises could be coming from inside the classrooms, or maybe someone cutting class and doing something right around the corner—but maybe not. Had she always seen these things? Heard these things? Lately memories kept coming up. Sometimes she would realize for the first time that she was experiencing second sight. Other times, like with the memory of the sorority hazing, it was like she knew she was psychic but chose to lock it away in the back of her mind and ignore that it ever happened. She had been practicing shutting herself off from it for a very long time. Even now, acknowledging it felt dizzying and very frightening. She also still felt like she was doing something wrong.

  Veronica supposed that some people would say that it was wrong, allowing herself to see visions. That it was a kind of witchcraft, and evil. She had several students whose parents forbid them to read Harry Potter books and the like, because they believed magic of any kind, even fictional, was evil. What would they say about her if they knew? They’d forbid their children from interacting with her, that was one thing for sure. She would have to be careful. It didn’t take much sometimes, to set parents off. The last thing she wanted was some huge scandal erupting around her at the school. Had anyone seen Detective Felsen waiting for her outside her classroom? Would Felsen’s accusations somehow get out? Veronica didn’t know which would be worse: if people found out she was a psychic and shunned her for being evil or if people heard that the police thought she was a con artist.

  The parking lot of J. M. Hanley and Sons was full, so she parked a block away on the street. She had to take four deep breaths before she could get herself to leave the car. A few feet from the door of the mortuary she stopped and couldn’t seem to keep going. People came in and out in a constant if somber rhythm. Probably more than one viewing was going on, she realized. Okay, it’s not going to get any easier, she thought. She gave herself a short nod and walked to the door. A man was coming out so she held the door for him. He smiled at her and went by.

  Inside a man stood by a guest book.

  “Good afternoon. May I help you find your way?” he asked in a soothing voice. What a strange job, she mused. He greeted mourners and sent them to the right room. I bet he sees a lot of unusual stuff, she thought.

  “Um, yeah. I’m here for Sylvia Gomez,” she said.

  “Certainly. That’s number four.” He turned. “Down the hall and to your right. Second door. It should be open.”

  “Thank you,” Veronica nodded.

  Walking down the empty hall, she hoped that everything would just stay normal, but she could feel energy in the air. She slowed down, and the hairs on her arms prickled. This place was very haunted.

  “No surprise there,” she murmured, unsettled. It had never seemed like such a strange thing, to want to avoid funerals and death. Now she admitted to herself that she had been avoiding more than the fear and morbidity that an average person might. There was this—this sixth sense. She sensed ghosts. What was she supposed to do about that? They didn’t try to communicate with her, however. No visions came or voices spoke.

  She came to the second door on the right. It stood open into a large room with chairs and couches in shades of burgundy against the walls. A casket rested against the far wall with a curtained window above it. Several large bouquets flanked it. The lid on the casket was up. About a dozen people mingled, speaking in soft voices. A man lingered near the casket, whispering to a woman who put her hand on his shoulder and then moved on. A boy about Angie’s age sat on one of the chairs with his head in his hands.

  Veronica walked to the man first. “Hello, are you Mr. Gomez? Sylvia’s husband?”

  “Yes,” he said, attempting a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Veronica said.

  He nodded. “Thank you. How did you know her?”

  Veronica breathed in deeply. She had debated over what to say if someone asked, and she decided it was best to just tell the truth. “I didn’t know her,” she said. “I’m the one who found her body, Mr. Gomez. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to meet her when she was alive. I just wanted to pay my respects.”

  He looked a little stunned, but he recovered. “Of course. Thank you for coming.”

  Veronica put out a hand to shake. He took it. In a rush, she saw him sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant with Sylvia. They were arguing.

  “What do you want me to say?” Sylvia demanded. She had tears in her eyes.

  “Things have to change. Even you see that, don’t you? It can’t go on like this.” He kept his voice low but his face was very red. A vein pulsed out in his forehead. He looked furious.

  “What am I supposed to do? Don’t you know how awful I feel about all of it? I can’t change the past and I can only pray that things get better—”

  “You saw it too, Sylvia. You can pretend you didn’t, but you did. We have to take steps, now—prayer is not going to be enough—”

  Sylvia burst into sobs and covered her face. She pushed away from the table, knocking over her chair. She looked around for a second at the other diners, who were staring at her. Then she headed for the door.

  “Sylvia!” he called.

  The image snapped and Veronica was back at the mortuary, and he had withdrawn his hand. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “What were you arguing about?”

  “What?” he asked, color draining from his ashen face.

  “At the restaurant?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She left,” Veronica said. “She was so upset.”

  Gomez stepped back, but was hindered by a bouquet behind him. “I’m sorry, I can’t—please, just pay your respects and leave Miss—Miss—”

  “Veronica Barry,” she said. “I’m so sorry to distress you.” She moved away from him. The police claimed he had an alibi, but maybe they were wrong. He had been so angry. Did the argument happen the same night as the murder? Had he followed Sylvia from the restaurant and into the park?

  She went to the side of the casket and looked at Sylvia Gomez’s body. She wore a lacy blouse with a high collar. Veronica imagined they wouldn’t want to see the scars from the autopsy—

  To hide my throat, came a woman’s voice in her ear. Veronica looked around, and saw a wispy ghost figure at the head of the casket, not two feet away. Veronica grasped the edge of the casket with both hands, squeezing until her knuckles whitened. She could barely make out the features of th
e face, but she recognized her. Sylvia.

  “Your throat?” Veronica murmured.

  He crushed it. Couldn’t breathe.

  “Who did?” Veronica whispered.

  Something like a shock wave seemed to hit the misty shape. Sylvia’s body contorted—was she struggling? And then broke apart like smoke. Veronica felt the most overwhelming sadness she had ever experienced wash over her. She raised her hand to her mouth to push back a sob. As the feeling subsided, she moved from the casket and looked around quickly to see if anyone was staring at her—but such emotion wasn’t out of place here. No one seemed to take any notice of her.

  As the feeling passed, Veronica wondered what she had just seen. Sylvia’s disappearance had not looked voluntary. What had caused it? Had whatever hit Sylvia provoked the sadness that Veronica felt afterwards? It didn’t make sense, and this place, encountering Sylvia’s ghost and seeing it dissipate—it all made her skin crawl.

  She debated with herself. Mostly she wanted to leave without saying another word. But these people all knew Sylvia. She had come to pay her respects, and now she knew that she couldn’t leave without trying to find out more about who had killed her. This might be her only chance to talk to Sylvia’s family and friends.

  She walked over to two women who murmured in the corner. She held out her hand to one of them. “Hello, I’m Veronica.”

  “Veronica? I’m Carla, Sylvia’s sister. This is Benita, our aunt.” Carla shook her hand. Veronica heard a faint echo of voices. It sounded like children playing. It had a hollow quality. But it was over immediately. When Benita shook Veronica’s hand she didn’t get anything at all. Maybe the children were Sylvia and Carla—it made sense she’d have memories of their childhood on her mind at a time like this.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Veronica said.

  “Were you a friend of Sylvia’s?” asked Benita.

  “No, I didn’t really know her. I wish I had had a chance to,” said Veronica. “I just wanted to pay my respects.”