by Amy Sparling
It looks like a tiny treasure chest. Curiosity pulls at me, enough to make me crawl on my hands and knees over to the bed. I stop a few feet away, unwilling to get so close to the murder site. The box could be anything; it could be nothing. I scoot closer. It's probably nothing. I lean my head down toward the floor. It's nothing! It's definitely nothing, why am I still going closer to it?
Pushing the nasty factor to the back of my mind, I slide my hand under the bed, trying not to let it touch the dirty floor below or the blood stained bed above. I have to get so close, my head presses against the bed frame. But my hand locks around the handle on the side of the box.
I slide it out and sit back on my knees. Again, it feels like I'm being watched. The hairs on my neck stand up and goose bumps trail down my arms. But I've come too far to just run away now.
I lift the latch on the box and pull but the box remains closed. The lock is terribly rusty so I push my knees into the ground and pull as hard as I can until the lock snaps open. I take a deep breath and exhale. For some reason beyond my realm of comprehension, I absolutely have to know what's in the box. It's almost as if Mrs. Graves herself is sitting next to me, begging me to open it.
I take the box over to the window where I can see better. The initials M.E.G. are stamped on a golden plate on top of the little treasure chest. My hands shake as I lift open the lid. I don't know why it is suddenly so important to me, but I have to know what's inside.
The box is empty, except for a letter. Careful so as not to tear the paper, I unfold the letter. The handwriting is a very neat cursive script, and the ink is blotchy so it's difficult to read.
My Dearest Jim,
I hope this letter finds you before you return from sea. I've instructed Mrs. Hawthorne to deliver it to you right away, but you know how her mind is so forgetful. I regret to inform you that your second cousin, whom I remember strictly telling you not to employ, has been stealing money from your safe deposit box before he takes it back to the bank each night. I discovered this while escorting dear Mrs. Edwards to the bank to make a deposit after hours. She needn't have gone alone, so I offered to go with her. This is where I saw him pocket money from your box instead of depositing it like he is supposed to do. Since I will be traveling for the holidays before you return, I have secretly taken all the money from your business accounts and hidden it until you return. You can find it in the garden, under the tiles where you proposed to me. I wish you the safest journey, my dear husband, and I shall see you on Christmas morn.
Yours faithfully,
Madison Graves
Chapter 29
"Oh my god," I say aloud. Mrs. Graves wasn't a thief. She was murdered for no reason by the man she loved. I sit back against the French doors as this information sinks into my soul. I think of the portrait in the hallway; of how beautiful and sweet Mrs. Graves once looked. And yet her own husband didn't think twice before brutally murdering her, all over some stupid money. My heart sinks to the floor. Money is what makes the world go round. It made it go round a century ago and it still controls life today. Money is the reason my mom works at a strip club to pay the bills. And sometimes, it's the reason an innocent woman dies.
"I'm so sorry," I say, staring at the rustic floorboards. And then I hear a sound, almost as if in reply. It's fuzzy like a radio dial turned just to the left of where it needs to be. And yet, I swear it sounds like, "Me too."
"Who's there?" My voice comes out shaky and insecure. Again, the fuzzy voice speaks, sounding like it's right in front of me. "It is me."
"Mrs. Graves?" On wobbly knees, I push myself up into a standing position. Why did I say that? The woman is dead. I'm hearing things now. It must be the wind, or my imagination. I stand very still, listing to the distant sound of the ocean and waiting for wind to blow through the shutters and sound like a woman's voice. But there is no wind today.
I turn around. She's sitting on the corner of the bed, facing me. Her hair is in curls that fall on her shoulders, just like in the portrait. She's wearing a long sleeved dress. I can see straight through her.
"You're a ghost," I say, pointing my finger at her. Somewhere really far away, my heart beats a thousand times a minute. Somewhere really deep in my subconscious, I know this can't possibly be real. She shrugs her shoulders and clasps her hands in her lap. "I guess."
"You're real?" I ask, my voice stronger with each word I say. I will not be scared of her. Her head tilts to the side. I can see the wallpaper through her face. "Yes." Her voice is child-like and whimsical, like something from an old music box.
I want to walk toward her, but my body is frozen up against the doors to the balcony. For a long time we just stare at each other, until her features become less transparent and more solid. Except for the white glow around her, I'd almost think she was a real human now. This is some kind of sick joke. Raine set this up. I know he did.
"Why are you in my room?" she asks politely. I want to look around for the machine that's projecting her image on the bed, but I can't tear my eyes away from her.
"I'm sorry, I-I just wanted to—" I sigh, not knowing how to finish my sentence. Because as ridiculous as it sounds, I actually came here to see her. I didn't even believe in her until now. "I wanted to see you," I say. "I wanted to know if ghosts exist."
"You do not want to be like me," she says, looking past me, out through the window at the sea. "But I am free now."
"What do you mean?"
She lifts a glowing hand and points at the letter still clutched in my hand. "You have discovered the truth. Please set me free."
Her body glows brighter, and her features become dim. "No!" I say, taking a step toward her. "No, please don't go. I need you to find Brendan for me." She flickers, fading even more into nothingness. "I can not," she says, her voice cracking like an old radio. If it wasn't so scratchy, I'd think she sounded regretful.
"Please," I beg, clenching my chest. Now, just a small glow of light in the room, her voice turns back into white noise. She says something to me, but all I can make out is the word, "beautiful." The light disappears and the room is silent once more.
My breath comes in ragged gasps now, as my heart slowly returns to a normal pace. I look from the note in my hand, to the bed and back, wishing she would reappear, but knowing she is gone forever. Raine didn't do this. This isn't a joke. Knowing what I must do, I fold the note back and put it in its envelope.
When I leave the room, I close the door with my back to the portrait. I don't want to see her eyes in painting so soon after seeing them in real life. They are much happier on the painting than I think they ever were in real life.
It isn't until I'm back outside with the sun warming my skin that I feel like normal again. I can't explain what just happened. I don't know if I'm imagining it or what. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I'll wake up in my old room at Dad's house and Brendan will still be alive.
I head back to the Ford and still haven't woken up when I climb inside and buckle my seatbelt. There's a safety pin in the ashtray. I open it and poke it into my finger. It hurts.
I leave the mansion with about thirty minutes to spare before I have to be at work. I think about dropping off my things at the new apartment, but the incident is probably still fresh in Mom's mind. I'll be better off seeing her after work when she's had a few drinks to make her forget all about it. Yeah, that's what I'll do.
Funny, how a fight with my mom seems like the smallest thing in the world now. I've seen a ghost. As much as I don't want to say it, and don't even know if I believe it, I've seen a ghost.
A freaking real ghost.
Chapter 30
Margret isn't in the museum when I get there, so I use the key she gave me for emergencies to let myself in. What used to be a harmless old museum with creepy statues is now scary with the possibility of being haunted. Strange how one close encounter with a ghost changes your entire view on life.
I flip on all the lights in record speed, switch on the open sign and turn on the ra
dio for good measure. I stay away from the statues even though Margret has left a box of new outfits for them to wear on the front counter.
Margret finally gets here five minutes before we officially open. She finds me sitting on the steps outside, flipping through a teenage magazine someone left here a while back. "Did you lose your key?" she asks, fishing her keys out of her purse. "No, I already unlocked the door. I just didn't want to be in there alone."
"Oh," she says, a smile crossing her face as she walks inside. "Did anything unusual happen?"
"No," I say, defending my reputation as the fearless seventeen year old night shift employee. Oh crap, I'm the night shift employee. I try not to think about it is as I follow her inside and help her change clothes on the mannequins.
All afternoon I am dying to tell Margret about the letter in my back pocket. She would know exactly who to call on the historical committee and Mrs. Graves' story would finally get to be heard. But I decide to wait because Raine deserves to see it first.
I call him on my break. "Hello Taylor," he says. I don't have to listen long to figure out that an episode of a ghost hunting show is playing on his television. "Hey, are you busy tonight?"
"No, what's up? You know this is the first time you've ever called me," he says. "Weird. You got your phone like two weeks ago."
"I figured it would be great for getting a hold of my boss, and all," I say. The TV goes silent on the other end. "Psh, I'm not your boss. I'm your business partner."
"Well as a business partner, I have something incredibly amazing to show you."
"Is it naughty?"
"Raine!"
"Sorry. Do you want to come over after work?"
"Can't you just come up to the museum?"
"No can do, Tenacious T. I'm babysitting tonight."
"Tenacious T?"
"I was trying it out as your nick name. But clearly it sucks."
"I'm insulted that you think I'm tenacious."
"You are the nonbeliever," he says. "That makes you the most tenacious person I know."
I turn the letter over in my hand. "You may think differently after I see you tonight."
"Hmm, exciting," he says with a smile I can hear through the phone. "Can't wait to see you."
Usually the trick to making slow days go by quicker is to get out there and chat with all the visitors. Staying busying tends to make the hours fly by. Tonight, however, it doesn't help at all.
"The museum became the owner of Mrs. Kline's jewelry because the Kline estate was bequeathed to the island's historical committee after the death of their youngest son. He was an artist who moved to New York City and wanted nothing to do with his family's heirlooms," I tell a woman and her husband. They're newlyweds taking their honeymoon on the island and it's totally grossing me out. Their fingers are so entwined I'm afraid their skin has fused together, and every time they walk to the next display they shower each other with kisses. The guy wears thick rimmed glasses and skinny jeans. I wonder if he'd kill his bride over a few thousand dollars, but then he drops a twenty into the donation box. No one ever donates that much—so he must be a high roller—which makes me turn my evil thoughts toward his gold digging wifey.
It's a little after nine when Raine opens his front door for me. "Hey," he says, leaning against the door frame. He pats his stomach. "I really hoped you were the pizza guy."
"Sorry to disappoint you."
Stormy runs from the other room, her feet making little patters on the wood floor. "Bubba is the pizza here?" She stops when she sees me. "This is my friend, Taylor," he tells her. I wave, trying out my best little kid smile but it only makes her grab Raine's leg and hide behind it. Raine lets me inside and I follow him to the living room.
"Stormy was watching this movie," he tells me in that voice used to get kids attention while making it seem like you aren't talking to them. "It's about some boy wizard, but I can't remember his name."
"Harry Potter?" I say. Stormy lets go of Raine's leg. "Do you like Harry Potter?" she asks me.
"Yep." Brendan used to make me read the books to him because he was dyslexic and hated reading. I join Raine on the couch and Stormy falls onto a mountain of pillows on the floor in front of the TV. "Who's your favorite character?" she asks me.
"Sirius."
"He's dead. You can't like someone who is dead," she says all matter-of-factly. Raine watches us like he's being more entertained by my fumbling to impress the child than the movie.
"Well then, I guess I like the owl." She crosses her arms. "She's dead too."
I frown. "Who is your favorite then?"
"Hermione."
"Okay then, me too," I say. She grabs a stuffed rabbit and pulls it close to her. She looks as though she's going to ask me another question. She looks at her brother and then back at me. "You're pretty," she says.
My cheeks turn red. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Raine nod. We settle down and watch the entire movie before I remember that I came over here for a specific reason. It's funny how a child's blunt words can make you forget everything, even the fact that you just saw a ghost.
"Grab her bunny, will you?" Raine says as he scoops up Stormy in his arms. She passed out as the credits started rolling. I take the bunny and a handful of her blankets and follow Raine up the stairs to her room. He sets her in bed and covers her with a princess comforter. I place the bunny next to her.
He closes her bedroom door and turns to me. We're standing alone in the hallway. "So what is this news you wanted to tell me?"
"Do you think we could sit down first? Somewhere with light?" He takes me to his room and shuts the door behind us. I try not to freak out about being in a guy's room. I've only ever been in Brendan's room and that was different. He was my best friend and my sorta boyfriend.
He flips on a lamp by his desk and pulls out the chair for me. I sit and he sits across from me on the bed. "Spill."
I take out the letter from my back pocket, open it up and smooth it out on his desk. His eyebrows crinkle together. "What is this? It looks hella old."
"Try a hundred years old," I say. He stands up and pulls the lamp closer to the desk. "What does it say? I can't make out the letters."
I read him the letter, the handwritten words coming to me easier the second time I decipher them. When I get to the end, I take a deep breath. "Yours faithfully, Madison Graves."
Raine's mouth falls open. "She was innocent." I stare at the paper on his desk. "I know."
"Where did you find this?"
Now comes the hard part. I can't pretend to know how Raine will take the news that I've gone behind his back and visited the mansion. And he really can't know what I saw. He'll think I'm insane, or worse, he'll feel like a failure because I got her ghost to appear and he couldn’t. So I tell him only what he needs to know.
"I went to the mansion today."
"Alone?" he asks, his voice hard but not angry.
"Yes, I-I got in a fight with my mom and I couldn't go home and I needed somewhere to go."
"So you drove all the way out to Thirteen Mile road instead of just calling me?"
"I live out by Thirteen Mile road now." I don't even try to hide my embarrassment. "Mom and I moved to Shell Shores today."
"I see."
"Trust me. As soon as I turn eighteen, I'm moving out by myself." He smiles. "Me too. I'm going to travel to all the haunted cities in the country. I can't wait."
"Wow, that sounds awesome." Traveling would be a good idea for me too. If I never stay in one place too long, then I'll never have to miss anyone. No one can die on me if no one is my friend.
"Back to the story," Raine says, pulling me out of my daydream. His hand slides over mine. "You went to the mansion alone, and you snooped around?"
"I didn't snoop exactly. I went to her room, and I just felt compelled to look under the bed."
"Gross."
"I know. But there was a box under there, and this letter was inside. I can't explain what came over me, b
ut I felt like I absolutely had to know what was in the box."
"It was her," he says without a doubt in his voice. "She wanted her secret to be exposed."
My hand gets uncomfortably warm under his, but I don't move it. Raine's hair falls over his eyes and he doesn't brush it away, which is out of his usual character. "You look different," I say. "I'm not sure how."
"It's the clothes." Now that he mentions it, I know he's right. He's wearing light blue jeans and a sweatshirt from the local college. He almost looks normal. And his hand is still holding mine. "I have something to tell you too," he says, leaning closer to me. "I have a huge crush on you." He says it so casually, I almost don't understand what the words mean. Does crush mean something different on the island than it did back home? "What am I supposed to say to that?" I ask.
He lets go of my hand. "Just whatever you want."
"What would a normal girl say?"
"I've never said it to a normal girl."
I'm laughing now—really laughing. Not just nervous laughter either. I may have spoken to a ghost today but Raine admitting that he likes me is the craziest thing that's happened all year.
"Why is this so funny?" He narrows his eyebrows. For a second he looks like Raine from the billboards. "Guys don't like me," I say. "Guys don’t even talk to me." I realize the mistake I've made before I finish saying it. Guys may not talk to me, but one guy did. One guy liked me. But it was too late once he realized it. "What's wrong?" Raine asks. "Why did your face go all dark just now?"
I manage a weak smile. "One guy liked me. But he's gone now."
"He broke up with you?"
"No." I sigh. "He's dead."
Raine sits back. "Oh. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He had a girlfriend. He chose her over me." I don't know why I'm saying all of this to him. Why am I saying all of this?