Ruby's Letters

by Maggie Van Well

  Running to the door, she grabbed the knob. It resisted for only a second before it gave way and the door opened. Emma shoved Betsy through. “Go!”

  She hurried her client out the door, fearing she might push the older woman too far as they ran down the steps. By the time they reached the second floor, a load roaring pumped in her ears. Emma’s hair and clothes twisted in the sudden strong wind.

  Moments later, Hilary’s red tornado approached them, sucking in tools and debris from the bedrooms. The heavy musk in the air grew sickeningly sweet. Emma had to fight down the taste of bile rising in her throat.

  “C’mon!” The roar of wind was so deafening, she wasn’t sure Betsy heard her. Emma wrapped her hand around Betsy’s wrist so tightly the poor woman flinched.

  The front door stood open—only a few more feet. The red mist powered down the hallway, catching up with them. It grabbed Betsy and tore her from Emma’s grip, sucking her into its vortex. Ruby’s niece hid her face in her hands, crying out as small tools pummeled her back and chest.

  Emma reached for her, but as soon as she touched the mist, it knocked her hand away. She stumbled backward. The tornado was more solid, as if it grew in strength.

  The sun was beginning its downward descent. Hilary would only grow stronger.

  She had to save Betsy now, but how? She couldn’t just stand there and watch Betsy die. Without thinking, Emma reached into her pocket and fisted the seashell wrapped in red thread with rosemary inside. She punched her hand through the barrier and grabbed Betsy’s wrist. She pulled, afraid she was hurting her friend but too scared to let go. It was a life and death tug of war. Emma kept up the pressure. Finally, Betsy fell through, crying out when her palms hit the floor.

  For the first time, Emma saw fear in Betsy’s eyes as she hooked an arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. She put the seashell in the older woman’s hand. “Take this. Now go!”

  “I can’t—” Betsy stared at the shell and then looked up at her.

  “Please, you’re the one she wants now.” Emma shoved her toward the door.

  Betsy shook her head, bracing her feet against the floor. “Come with me.”

  Emma reached out, but before she could get a good grip on Betsy’s hand, the red tornado wrapped itself around her. Her hair whipped around her face. Her ears popped from the pressure.

  “Get help!” she shouted.

  Betsy stared at the object in her hand, shaking her head.

  “I know how to handle Hilary. Just get out of the house!”

  With one last look at her, Betsy ran to the front door. Emma wanted to cry in relief when she made it out.

  “You will pay for that, sweep.”

  She could hear Hilary? How was that possible? “Ruby, please!”

  “She’s can’t help you. She’s too spent from that trip down memory lane.”

  “Emma!”

  Betsy stood by the door, the seashell in her hand. She threw it to her. Emma cupped her hands, but as the shell soared through the air, a gust of wind tore through the foyer and it flew down the steps to the garden floor.

  Betsy’s look of horror was the last thing Emma saw before the door slammed shut.

  ***

  “Hey, angel, is your Mommy home?”

  “Hi, Ryan! No, she’s not home yet and Sheila is getting very worried, but I know Mom and I know she’s just fine.”

  Ryan frowned. His gut had been twisted in knots for over an hour. Something was wrong. “Can I talk to Sheila please?”

  “Sure…Sheila!” Nicole screamed so loud Ryan had to pull his headset from his ear. He drove along the Westside Highway in Manhattan. Traffic didn’t look too bad. It was early yet, but Ryan had left the job site hoping to find Emma and put his fears to rest.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Sheila, do you know where Emma is?”

  “Oh, Ryan, I can’t help but feel something’s wrong. She was supposed to be coming home early to take Nicole trick-or-treating before it got dark. I haven’t heard from her, and she’s not answering her cell phone.”

  Ryan swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Don’t worry. I’m making my way into Brooklyn Heights now. I’ll call you when I’m with her.”

  Sheila let out a sigh of relief. “You better, mister, or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  He ended the phone call. Emma was fine. She had to be.

  ***

  Even though she’d been shut in a room with a murderous wet saw, Emma had never known true terror until now. Hilary had learned new tricks. Now she just wanted to suck the life out of her.

  How could Emma stop her? How does one reason with an evil ghost? One that has no compassion or love for—love!

  “Hilary, stop this!” Emma choked out. “What would Nathaniel think?”

  The tightness around her chest lessened, and she pulled precious air into her lungs.

  “How do you know about Nathaniel?” Hilary asked.

  Emma took two more gulps before answering. “I read the love letters you hid behind the mirror. It wasn’t until I went through your pictures that I realized those love letters weren’t from your husband, Nathan, but Nathaniel, the boy you grew up with only a few blocks from here. I know you’re capable of love. I saw you cry when you read Mary’s letter. You loved your daughters. You loved Nathaniel.”

  A slight pause. “Yes, I loved him so much.”

  Emma closed her eyes, surprised she could actually feel anguish for Hilary. “I’m so sorry you couldn’t be with him. But don’t let your hate consume you.”

  “You were brave enough to stand by the man you love. So were my daughters. I wasn’t.”

  “Be brave now, Hilary. Let go of your hate.”

  The mist twisted and swirled until it formed itself into the shape of a tall, thin woman. Thank God! I’ve gotten through to her. “Hello Hilary.”

  She didn’t return her greeting. “It’s too hard to let go of hatred, especially after death.”

  “I did it. Ryan did it.”

  “You are not dead.”

  “Ruby did it.”

  She knew in an instant that was not the right thing to say.

  Hilary’s face turned to stone. The floor shook. Emma gasped when flames, a deep blood red, sprang up to form a circle around her. Hilary’s being grew with her rage. She loomed high over her. “I want you to look me in the eye when I kill you, sweep.”

  Starting from her toes, her blood froze and her veins pumped ice through her body. She cried out in agony. The breath she managed to exhale froze in midair and crashed when it hit the hardwood.

  With Ryan’s name on her lips, Emma dropped to the floor.

  ***

  Ryan ran through the crowded streets of Brooklyn Heights. With Vine Street closed, he’d had to park six blocks away.

  When he turned the corner onto Columbia Heights and saw Betsy, he stopped dead in his tracks. She was trying desperately to open the door to her home. He heard her crying Emma’s name from up the block and broke into a frantic sprint, unwilling to slow down until he reached her.

  “What’s going on?”

  Betsy grabbed him, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Ryan. It’s got her. That evil ghost.”

  The air surged from his lungs. “Tell me what happened?”

  “She saved my life. The stupid girl saved my life. Please, we have to find a way to stop that ghost from killing her. I’d go in and give myself to the beast if I could only get the door open.”

  Ryan looked around, for what he had no idea. Fear punctured any working brain cells. What was it Emma had told him? Something about stones, a seashell with a thread on it and certain plants warding off a ghost.

  Silver!

  “Do you have any silver jewelry on you?” he asked Betsy.

  “No. Why? Would that work?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he searched through his pockets. Maybe he had a stray silver medallion or a sprig of parsley somewhere.

  His hand dipped into his fr
ont jacket pocket and encountered a grainy substance. He pulled it out.

  Salt? How the hell had salt gotten into his pocket?

  “Use it, Ryan.”

  He looked at Betsy in surprise. “What?”

  “The salt. Use it.”

  Emma. She’d put it there. He didn’t remember her saying anything about salt, but he’d always been so busy staring at her in awe, he could have missed it. “I’m getting into that house. You go find some silver jewelry.”

  Ryan ran up the steps. With the salt in his hand, he pushed. The door swung open.

  Emma lay on the floor in the hallway. Red fire surrounded her, but it couldn’t be real. He saw nothing but red haze, and the only odor present was the musk. Cold seeped into every pore of his body. Icy flames licked his face. The sound of a locomotive made by the wind thundered through the house.

  “Bring it on, bitch!”

  Ryan ran into the building, right through the flames. Long icicles slapped him, but they didn’t wound him. He didn’t know if it was because the salt protected him or because it wasn’t real fire.

  He gathered Emma in his arms. She was ice cold, her lips and face blue. Fear shook his body. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he lifted her up and put the salt on her forehead.

  The color instantly returned to her face as her body warmed. She opened her eyes, and her mouth trembled into a smile. “It’s about time you got here.”

  Ryan let out a small cry of relief. Hooking one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, he stood. “Well, you know, New York traffic.”

  He hurried to the door, but something wrapped around his ankles. He fell hard. Emma rolled from his arms, grunting in pain. The salt scattered everywhere.

  “Fuck!” He jumped to his feet, kicking away the electrical wire that had wrapped itself around his ankle. A gust of wind smashed into his chest, sending him flying through the air. He landed at the top of the parlor stairs.

  With flailing arms, he grabbed the handrail as he fell backward. His arm twisted. A loud snap echoed through his ears as pain stabbed his wrist.

  He landed on the floor, cradling his arm as he doubled over in agony.

  “Ryan!”

  Sweat broke out over his body, but he still managed to shout, “I’m okay!”

  Emma cried out. He had to get to her.

  Ryan scanned the room. Maybe there was some silver or salt down here. Something caught his eye. He focused on a small ball of blue mist. It hovered close to the floor, inching its way toward an object a few feet from where he lay.

  A seashell wrapped in red thread.

  He crawled his way over and wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing tight. “Thanks, Ruby.”

  A feeling of exhilaration spread though him. He cradled his left wrist against his body and struggled to his feet. With a deep breath, he ran up the stairs.

  A loud thumping shook the parlor floor. When Ryan saw what was causing the noise, he choked back a cry of fear.

  The four-hundred-pound granite hearth Emma and her men had installed exited the parlor room.

  The green slab walked its way toward her, leaving gouges in the floor and walls. Emma knelt by the front door, twisting on the knob. “Come on. Come on.”

  “I’m coming, Emma!”

  Ryan lowered his head and leaned his body into the wind. It pulled at his clothes and forced his eyes closed. He swayed on his feet.

  He dropped and lay on the floor. With the seashell tucked safely in his pocket, he crawled over to her.

  The hearth advanced on them. He grimaced and pulled on the doorknob. With a shout of anger, he used both hands to force it open.

  Using his body to hold it open against the force of Hilary’s wrath, he wrapped an arm around Emma’s waist. Bracing himself against the pain, he twisted his body and threw her out the door. He flung himself through the entry just as the granite crashed down.

  Ryan landed flat on his back and stared up at the woman he loved. Her left eye was swollen, and blood leaked from her lip and nose.

  Emma wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sat him up. “Are you okay?” she said, sobbing. “Please, God, tell me you’re okay!”

  Ryan reached up and wiped her tears away. “I think my wrist is broken, but I’ll survive.” He sat up further and pulled away. “What about you? Let me look at you.”

  Emma touched her fingertips to her lip. “I’m fine. God, what am I going to tell Nicole?”

  He gently stroked her hair from her face. “We’ll come up with something.”

  “Ryan! Emma! Thank the Lord you’re alright!” Betsy ran up the steps, her hands cupped together holding a few silver chain necklaces, one bangle bracelet, and a silver ring.

  Ryan chuckled, leaning against Emma. “You found that many people to give you jewelry?”

  Betsy turned to face the forming crowd and smiled at them before squatting down next to Ryan. She took his hand. “You’d be surprised how helpful people can be when an old lady is raving about an evil ghost.”

  He studied the mob, which was dressed up in the craziest costumes. The parade had followed Betsy home. “I guess because today is—”

  A loud roar of thunder coming from the house stopped Ryan in mid-sentence.

  Red mist hovered near the door. In it was a form he assumed was Hilary Smith, glaring at them. Betsy and Emma both tightened their grip on him. A loud, collective gasp spread through the crowd.

  “Do you see her?”

  “Is that really a ghost?”

  “No, it has to be a trick.”

  “No. She’s a murderer, and now the world’s going to know.” Ryan smirked and threw the seashell through the brownstone door. “Fuck you, you nineteenth century bitch.”

  “What on earth is going on here?” A young woman wearing a press badge and standing next to a cameraman moved to the front of the mob. “Whose house is this?”

  Betsy stood but didn’t answer the journalist. Instead, she mounted the steps and brought herself face to face with Hilary. “I am Betsy Morris. This house is mine.”

  As soon as Betsy spoke the words, Hilary’s red aura faded to black. Emma had no idea what that meant, but she had a strong feeling it was something good.

  Cradling Ryan in her arms, she turned to the reporter and smiled. “Do you believe in fate?”

  The woman appeared taken aback. “Well, no, not really.”

  “After today you will, because boy do we have a story for you.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “SOME GHOSTLY NEWS for our viewers tonight. In Brooklyn Heights, right near the famous Brooklyn Bridge, a hundred-year-old mystery has been solved and you won’t believe how it happened…”

  “It was nice of her to agree not to use our names,” Emma said as she sipped from her Blue’s Clues mug. She cringed as the hot liquid touched her swollen lip. The news camera had captured the red mist, and with it, a very faint ghostly apparition, a split second before it faded away. Emma was rather impressed with the footage, but there were sure to be skeptics to dismiss such compelling evidence.

  Ryan shifted beside her on the couch. “Nice? We handed her an award-winning story. Believe me there’s nothing nice about it.”

  She rubbed his knee. “How does your wrist feel?”

  Ryan held up the heavy cast on his arm and grimaced. “Weird.”

  Thankfully, no one at the hospital had questioned their story about falling down a flight of stairs. Nicole had no trouble believing it either.

  The doorbell rang, and Emma grabbed the bowl filled with candy sitting on her coffee table, plastering a pleasant smile on her face for the trick-or-treaters.

  But when she answered the door, it wasn’t a young girl dressed as Hannah Montana or a teenager dressed as wolverine. “Betsy! Come in.”

  “Hello, dear. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I asked my daughter-in-law if she wouldn’t mind stopping here before driving me home.”

  “Not at all. Where are your grandkids?”
<
br />   “Their mom took them trick-or-treating around your neighborhood. She didn’t want the kids to get bored. She’ll be back soon.”

  Emma showed her into the living room, where she took a seat in the chair next to the couch. Ryan greeted Betsy with a smile.

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry about your arm. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

  Ryan waved away her concern. “Nah. Besides, I should be flying high on painkillers any minute now.”

  “So.” Betsy clasped her hands on her lap. “Let’s hear it.”

  It took the better part of an hour for Emma to explain all the events of the afternoon.

  Betsy’s hand shook as she brought it up to her throat. “So you’re telling me that I bought a home in which my aunt was murdered and buried?”

  “Yes.” Emma went to her, placing her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “Oh, Betsy, I’m sorry. I’m not being very thoughtful. This must all be very upsetting.”

  She smiled tentatively. “I must admit, when our grandparents told us about their Aunt Ruby, my siblings and cousins and I always fantasized that she’d gone off on a great journey where she put her gifts to good use. Or she’d run off with a man to a tropical island somewhere.”

  She looked at Emma with tears in her eyes. “Now, I learn she was murdered and stuffed in a fireplace for over a hundred years. I’d say that would upset just about anyone.”

  “She did make sure it would be safe for you to live there.” Pulling a tissue from its box, she offered it to Betsy.

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Emma went into her office and came back with Ruby’s letters.

  “What are these?” Betsy asked, taking them.

  “They’re the letters we took from behind the mirror. We don’t need them anymore. They belong to you.”

  Betsy went through the letters, reading each one as Ryan and Emma watched the evening news. When Betsy was done, she handed them back to Emma. “Thank you for sharing them with me.”

  “What? But they’re yours.”

  “These letters mean more to you than they ever will to me. In fact, I want you to have everything behind the mirror.”