Great. I’m undead by way of a voodoo priestess. I wouldn’t believe it if it wasn’t happening to me.
I’m still staring at the card when I catch some movement in the corner of my eye. The car door is open and Maisie is stepping out, concern all over her face.
I flash a look to the door Biff sits behind, and feel panic climbing my throat. If he looked out right now and saw Maisie walking toward me, worried, would he put two and two together?
We can’t risk it.
I walk to Maisie and grab her arm and lead her back to the car.
“Grady, what’s going on? Who was that?”
“Hush,” I growl, keeping my voice low. “Get in the car.”
I think she gets it, because she glances in the same direction I did and hurries her steps, staying quiet until we’re in the car. She wastes no time pulling out and driving away.
“What about talking to Biff?” she asks, breathless.
“Later. We need to talk. That was Ms. Josephine.”
Her mouth opens in a little O of surprise. “The homeless woman?”
“I know,” I grumble. “She didn’t look homeless to me either.”
“What did you find out? What did she say?”
“She said that someone had hurt me.”
Maisie waits expectantly for me to continue, but this will be the hard part.
“And that I died. Then she cast a spell on me, and brought me back. I don't know anything more than that, except she said she could help me.”
Maisie’s scoff is expected. I wouldn’t believe her either, if I didn’t have the few memories I do.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. What a quack.”
“I know,” I agree. “But...she said she could help me feel better.” I pull the card from my pocket and tip it into the light. “I’m supposed to go to this address.” I read it to her.
“No way.”
Surprised, I look up at her.
“No way,” she repeats. “That woman is obviously running some kind of scam.”
“What?”
“She wants money.” Maisie, nods convinced. “She’s scamming you, offering to help you, and at some point, she’s going to ask for money to do it.” Maisie puts a palm to her forehead. “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one responsible for your disappearance. That’s probably part of it.”
She stares at me, alarmed, convinced, and I don’t know how to tell her she’s wrong. I don’t know how to say that I believe everything, even though it sounds insane.
I pretend I’m considering what she’s saying. “She said she could help me feel better. I need to know if that’s true.” I give a weak cough for effect. “I need you to take me.”
“But your sister’s coming to visit-”
“I know. And it would be better if I wasn’t there. I can’t face her yet, and I know you want me to. But I won’t. We need more answers. And I need to know more about what happened. If you won’t take me, I’ll drive.”
“You’re seriously going to go see a scam artist over your sister who thinks you’re dead?”
“Yes.”
Into her speechless shock, I continue. “Whether or not she is responsible for this whole thing, she was there. I need to know what she knows. And the second she asks for money, I’m out of there. Promise.” I pause. “Though I really am not sure it’s a good idea for me to drive.” What would happen if my brain went all foggy and static-y while driving? Or if I had a panic attack? Or one of my blackouts? “Will you drop me off?” I feel a bit bad about it, but I use her worry for me against her. I guess I’m a liar all the time now.
She’s silent a moment, but then agrees, defeated. “Of course.”
Chapter Nine
Grady
I don’t know what I’m expecting when we arrive at the address on the card at dusk, but the pink and mauve gingerbread Victorian isn’t it. I wave at Maisie as I walk away from the car, and then climb up the big deep porch and knock on the door. Ms. Josephine answers in a bright patterned head wrap and a white apron.
Her hands are on her hips. “You’re late.”
Caught off guard, I stutter. “I apologize. I thought you said seven.”
“It is seven ‘o two.” She sniffs. “But no matter. Come in, come in.” She motions me in.
“Shoes,” she says, and I look down at mine. “Take them off and leave them by the door.”
Quickly I do as she asks.
Then she leads me through wood-paneled rooms to the kitchen. It seems a size or two too small for a house like this.
“I’m just putting on something to eat.” She pours a ton of salt into pot of water on the stove and stirs it in as she talks. “I wasn’t sure what time you might show, and I wanted it to be fresh.” She eyes me. “You’re lucky you weren’t any later.”
“Um, thank you.” She tears some herbs up into the pot as I look around. “You have a beautiful house. It’s not what I expected.”
“You expected statues, potions, skulls?”
And candles, shrines, and dolls hanging from the ceiling with sharp pins in them. I try to apologize, because that is what I expected and I’m ashamed, but my brain is thick and slow and I can’t find the right words.
She laughs and looks at me slyly, a twinkle in her eye. “I have a room that might fit that description. But only one.”
She taps the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and sets it on a plate. “Now. Give me your wedding ring.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your ring. You can trust me, but I need to know for certain that I can trust you, as well. You will get it back shortly, I promise.” She’s holding out her hand, lips pursed, waiting.
I need answers from her, so if this is what she needs to trust me, then fine. I work the gold band off my finger and lay it in her palm.
“Thank you,” she says, and puts it in a pocket on her apron. “Now come with me. We will talk, but this first. Come.” She motions for me to follow her, and my feet move almost of their own volition. Is she going to show me the room she mentioned? Do I want to see it? Is that how she’s going to help me?
Instead she leads me out a back door into a long yard with a chicken coop and a garden in the back. The screen door closes with a slap behind me. It feels like a long walk. My feet are heavy, my gait slow.
“It is fortunate that we ran into each other again.” She shakes her head. “I tried to be there when you rose, but was out of town for something important. And I could sense there is more work for me to do, but I could not guess what.” She nods in my direction. “Now I see. I’m still supposed to help you.”
In between sentences, she opens the coop door and closes it behind her. She picks one hen up under her arm and pets its head as she walks out and closes the door again.
“Wait here,” she says.
“Okay.” I have my thoughts and words, but my body seems beyond my control.
As I watch, clueless, she sits down on a bucket near a tall, wide tree stump, and sets the calm bird on its back on top of it. She strokes its belly and it relaxes more... then in a split-second she stretches out its neck with one hand and whacks through it with a cleaver with the other. Head out of the way, she bleeds the chicken into a small bowl.
“I thought you didn’t do animal sacrifices,” I say, queasy. My stomach flip-flops between disgust and...something else.
“I don’t.” She looks up from the decapitated chicken and gestures with the cleaver, smiling her ultra-white smile. “This is dinner.”
Though it’s old-fashioned, it makes sense. She plucks the feathers off in handfuls, and is done about the same time blood stops dripping into the bowl. I stand there the whole time, silent, watching the thick red liquid drip. “Follow me,” she commands, and I do. She picks up the chicken and the bowl of blood and walks into the kitchen, chatting. Somehow it feels like I’ve gotten fuzz in my brain, and though I hear her words, I can’t really understand them or reply. All I can do is follow her.
&
nbsp; “Sit.”
I do as she orders and sit at the table, mind blank except for the echo of the cleaver hitting the cutting board as she cuts the chicken into pieces.
“Half for you, half for me. But this is all you can have for now.”
The flames on the stove sizzle as she drops some chicken into the water. Then, before me appears a plate of pieces of chicken, just like it looks after you take it out of the package from the supermarket. Raw.
“I know you’re hungry. Eat up.” Ms. Josephine walks back to the stove.
I feel the darkness coming, and I don’t know whether I should fight it or give in. This feels like a safer place, safer circumstances to let it happen, but how can I be sure?
I don’t seem to have a choice though. Without realizing it, I’ve picked up a leg off the plate.
It’s still slightly warm.
***
Maisie
I’ve barely arrived back home when I hear Krissy’s car pull up in front of the house. Grady’s truck is still in the driveway beside my car, so there’s no place for her to park.
I smooth my hair as I walk to open the door for her at her knock. I give her a big smile and a hug around the rectangular dish she’s carrying. “Hi Krissy.”
“Hi,” she replies, smiling back with a strange expression on her face as she looks me over.
I wave her inside. “I haven’t started the coffee yet. I’ll do that right now.”
I put the fragrant grounds in the filter as Krissy drifts to the table.
“You’re cooking again. That’s good.”
I turn around as I start the machine to see her standing there awkwardly with the casserole dish, looking at the table where my dirty plate and fork from lunch sat.
“Oh, sorry.” I grab the dishes, take them to the sink, and then reach out for the Pyrex dish in her hands. “Yeah. I’ve been cooking more recently, but only out of necessity.” People cope in different ways. For many weeks, I’d coped by not cooking at all. Krissy seemed to cope by over-cooking. But I didn’t want to reject her gift. Maybe helping me made her feel useful, gave her purpose. I don’t want to take that away from her. “Here, let me take that.”
She sits as I open the fridge. But Grady’s plates are all over the place. I shut the door quickly, not wanting her to worry that I wasn’t eating. “You know what,” I say, walking over to the stove, “We’ll have this for dinner.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay that long.”
That’s when I catch my slip-up. She thought I meant her and I, not Grady and me. I have to be more careful.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll freeze the leftovers.” I pop down into the chair across from her and give her a smile.
She tilts her head, staring. “You seem well.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She blinks with surprise, and I realize I’ve done it again. As far as she knows, Grady is dead, and I’ve been a wraith for weeks. I take a deep breath and try to sober things up. I look down at my hands, wringing them for good measure. “Yes, well. Today’s one of the good days.” I’d read those would come at some point.
She nods and relaxes, and I know she’s probably read the same grief books and articles I have. “I would never begrudge you a good day,” Krissy says, looking down, “but I confess that I'm a bit jealous.” Tears drift down her cheeks as she gives me a smile. “I haven't had one of those yet,” she says, swiping at her eyes.
Oh God. The poor woman. I hadn’t yet before this either. I reach my hand out and grab hers. She clings to it silently.
To think, just a week ago I was worse than her in my grief. It truly was a miracle. One I desperately wanted to share with her, but I couldn't.
Not yet.
I search for words. For weeks now, Krissy’s been the strong one, keeping me afloat with her support. But now I find myself in the odd position of being the comforter. For the death of a man I knew to be alive. Damn him for keeping this from her.
I said the only thing that I could think of. “Your brother loves you so much. He wouldn't want you to be so sad.” That much I knew was true, no matter how he felt about telling his family he was back.
She nods, swallowing hard. I pass her the box of tissues and she releases my hand as she dabs at her eyes. “Is that what helped you? To know that Grady wouldn't want to see you torn up over him?”
“Sort of,” I hedged. Knowing he wouldn’t want me to be sad was no comfort at all, before. I couldn’t help it, and that made me feel guilty, like I had let him down by being so depressed. Maybe it would have been comfort, in time. There were two reasons for my improved outlook, but I could only share one. I could tell her, right? It would be the perfect explanation for why I had suddenly found my will to live without my husband. And it might help her cheer up too. I didn't want her to suffer so badly before we could reveal that Grady was actually alive. “And because... I'm pregnant.”
Her head pops up, red eyes wide. “You are?”
“Yes.” And I give her a little smile, because she's smiling through her tears, and because it's a relief to not be the only one who knows.
She squeals as she enfolds me in her arms and we hug, rocking back and forth. “I’m going to have a niece or nephew!”
For the first time the news makes my heart swell with pure joy, unshadowed by grief.
I hadn’t even had the chance to really think about it yet. We were going to be parents. Together. Grady and I are going to have a baby.
Her look of sympathy as she pulls back tells me I said that out loud, when I hadn't meant to.
“Oh sweetheart,” she says, grabbing my hands. “He is with you in spirit, I know it. And he would be so happy.” She hugs me again.
He would be so happy, if I told him. “I know.” He will be so happy. I’m going to tell him soon. Maybe it will help him deal with everything. “But you can't tell anyone else,” I caution as we pull apart. I don't want her to let the cat out of the bag to Grady when she found out he was alive. Not until I'd had the chance to tell him myself.
“Of course.” She nods and blots her eyes. “How far along are you?”
I press my hands against my lower abdomen. “Only about two months.”
Krissy nods and her eyes fill with tears again. Her smile is painful, wavering into sorrow, as she reaches out and puts a hand over mine on my stomach. “I'm so glad we have a piece of him still.”
I put my hand over hers and then enfold her in another hug. “Just hang on. It'll get better. I promise. Better days are coming soon.” I try to put all my conviction in those words. It would be better, soon. As soon as we can tell her Grady is alive, and where he’d been, and what happened to him.
She nods against my shoulder and pulls back. “I have to go. You take care of yourself.”
I barely have time to say, “Bye,” as she leaves in a rush with no explanation.
My heart breaks more for her.
I've left every place I've been in the last six weeks in a rush just like that. It meant an ugly-cry breakdown was coming, and she didn't want anyone to witness it.
Damn it, Grady.
Someone had kept the fact that my husband was alive from me for six weeks, and if I find out who...
I can’t keep doing this to his family. His mom and dad are suffering just as badly as Krissy, maybe more. He was their child. But I love them too, and I can’t go on knowing they are going through horrible, completely unnecessary heartbreak and grief. And yet I can’t just tell them, either, because it’s Grady’s choice, and because we don’t know much about his disappearance yet.
Either way, if I tell them or don’t, someone is going to be angry. And maybe unforgiving.
I’ll pick up Grady and see what he says about his meeting with Ms. Josephine and then try, once again, to convince him to tell his family, and end their suffering.
Chapter Ten
Grady
When I come back to myself, Ms. Josephine is eating soup across from me. She takes a bi
te, rolls it around in her mouth, then salts it some more before her next bite.
I must have made a noise or something, because she looks up at me and smiles around another bite.
“Tell me, do you feel better?”
Dread wraps around my shoulders like a blanket. I look down at the plate. But it’s empty and clean...ish. The horror show I was expecting isn’t there, just some stripped bones. Everything else seems fine, too.
I expel a sigh of relief. “Yes.” I do feel better. Sharper, not as foggy. Still slightly hungry, but not hollowed out with insatiable hunger pains.
“Good.” She stands and grabs my plate and takes it to the sink, and then returns to her seat across from me.
“You can have this back now.” She slides my wedding band from her apron pocket and sets it gently on the table beside me before returning to her seat.
I slide the ring back on my finger, flexing all of them. “How long was I...?”
She tilts her head to one side. “You don’t remember?”
I shake my head. “I black out sometimes. Usually when I eat.”
“About ten minutes.” She takes another bite of soup while staring at me. “And your eyes were red while you were eating.”
I drop my gaze. “Which means?”
“Which means...things are complicated.”
On that, we could definitely agree.
Meeting her eyes again, I ask, “Ms. Josephine, do you know who killed me?”
She doesn’t deny my murder. I was hoping she would, hoping she would have another, saner, explanation.
But she shakes her head, eyes and mouth rueful. “I do not. I only arrived... after.”
I close my eyes, only just now realizing how much I’d been depending on her to answer that particular question. But I had more questions she might be help on.
“What am I?”
“You are you, just undead,” she says matter-of-factly, tearing her bread and dipping a piece in the broth. “Caught between the world of the dead, and the world of the living. You are both, and neither.” She takes a bite and then rises from her seat. “Stay here.”
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 22