by Liz Schulte
“You were going to leave me, dear. I can’t have that now, can I? My father left, then my mother not long after. Later my husband and Cindy both left me too. I stopped Mary from going, and now she’s with me forever—you can be too.” She patted my knee. “Maybe if you’re extra good, she’ll join us for tea later.”
“Mary? Mary’s here?”
“Yes, of course. Where else would she be?”
I stared at her. What the hell was she talking about? “But the car—”
“Shhh. We don’t talk about that. You’ll upset Mary.”
Wait, what? Was Martha keeping her prisoner? “Can I see Mary? I’d like to meet her.”
“Later, later.” Martha waved her hand in the air. “We must talk first. You need to understand.”
“Okay.”
“Oh.” Martha clapped a hand over her mouth. “I forgot to tell you Carter stopped by to see you. I couldn’t let him interrupt our night, so I sent him away, but I do believe that boy is sweet on you.” She patted my cheek. “I like him so much more than that detective you insist on seeing. You make a better looking couple. You’ll have to explain that to him.”
I wasn’t following her brand of crazy yet. “Explain what?”
She stood up and began to pace. “Why you can’t see each other any longer. You and Carter make an ideal couple. He sees it too. You’re the only one not with the program.”
I tried to smile, though my fear and confusion fought against it. “Okay, I can do that. Do you want me to call Gabriel now?”
“No, no. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Unless you struggle, like Mary did.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “You aren’t going to struggle are you? You want to stay with me, don’t you, Ella?”
I nodded and bit my lip.
She frowned. “I don’t believe you.” She fingered a gracefully curved knife on the table next to her.
“I do. I want to stay here. Jackson’s wonderful and everyone’s so friendly, especially you.” I tried again, hoping she didn’t notice my voice shaking.
She picked up the knife, touching its tip to the table as she tilted her head to the side.
“You never told me about your parents. What were they like?”
Martha paused and looked over, her eyes suddenly glassy. She lowered the knife and moved back to the chair. “Daddy died when I was barely schooling age. I was in his shop with him. You’ve been there.”
“Have I?”
She nodded. “The barn with the windmill was Daddy’s shop. People would bring him bodies of dead animals, and he’d bring them back to life. I was sitting on the table, watching him work, when blood started coming out of his ears. He grabbed the table and cried, ‘Help me’ and fell. More blood came out of his mouth and his eyes. I screamed and screamed, but Momma couldn’t save him. She didn’t know how to bring things back to life like him.”
I swallowed. Mary’s skin was taken. A horrible thought clawed its way into my mind. “Did you bring Mary back to life?”
A smile split Martha’s face in half. “You do understand.”
I nodded, my eyes filling with tears. I was in trouble.
Martha smoothed my hair back. “Don’t worry, dear. Even if you’re bad, I can bring you back. You have nothing to worry about.”
I curled my hands under as much as I could, but I couldn’t reach anything. Damn it, damn it, damn it. “Martha, these restraints are hurting me. Could we undo them?”
She shook her head, but smiled sympathetically because that made everything better. “No, I’m sorry. Not yet.” She retrieved the knife again. “Soon though.”
“I should’ve fattened you up a little.” She pinched the skin on my arm. “Do you want to see your model?”
I couldn’t find my voice, so I nodded; anything to move her and that knife away from me. She walked to my left and pulled a clay sculpture into view. It was slender and wearing my favorite jeans and a shirt I hadn’t missed—but there was no head.
“I’ve been working on this since you first came. What do you think?” Martha stood back to admire her work, glancing back and forth between me and it. I’ll have to use your skull or you just won’t look the same. I didn’t know that with Mary. I had to do her from memory, and it wasn’t quite right, so I started on yours early. Lakota’s skull helped matters though. I’m new to the art.”
“Martha, what are you going to do?” I asked.
“Do you want to see the other one I’ve been working on?”
I took a deep breath. No, I absolutely didn’t. “Yes, I really do.”
She dragged out a bigger, male sculpture. “It looks just like him, doesn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure who the headless statue was supposed to be, but I guessed it was Fagan. “Exactly.”
“Should we call him? Bring him back here?”
“I don’t know… Perhaps we should have him meet us at the farm? Surely, you can’t work here.”
“It’s true, the smell and noise would upset the neighbors. Do you think Carter would mind going to the farm?”
I shook my head, and she narrowed her eyes.
“I knew you didn’t want to be here. You’re just like Mary. Your detective is sitting outside my farm as we speak. I heard you talking about it.” She came at me with the knife, and there was nowhere I could go to escape.
She leaned in close. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt, dear.” She rammed the knife into my side. Pain shot through my body. I cried out.
“Shhh,” she soothed.
Warmth seeped into my dress and down my side. Pulling the blade out caused a fresh batch of agony, taking my breath with it. Faintly, I heard footsteps above me, but I wondered if it was wishful thinking, until Martha pulled away and listened. She pressed a finger to her lips, pulled the string on the light, and disappeared into the darkness.
“Martha? Ella?” Fagan’s voice came from upstairs. His quick step thumped down the stairs.
“She’s in here, Fagan. Watch out,” I rasped, having trouble catching my breath. It was like a weight was sitting on my chest, making it impossible to expand.
“Ella? Is that you?” The clothes were shoved to the side.
“Get your gun,” I said, but my words were barely a whisper. There was a scuffle and a thud. Something heavy hit the ground. “Fagan?”
The light came back on, and Martha stood over me with a smile. “He came on his own.” Her face turned serious. “But you, you were very naughty. You could’ve ruined everything.” She slapped me hard enough to jar my body, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my side and chest. She walked away and went to Fagan. “I wasn’t quite ready for you.”
She hooked her arms under his shoulders and dragged him away from me, then laid him down again and wiped sweat from her brow. “You girls are much easier. But we need a man around the house.” She shuffled out of sight and, after some rustling, produced another chair identical to mine. She sat it beside me, hefted him into the seat, and fastened the straps.
“I made these chairs myself.” There was a high level of pride in her voice.
The edges of my vision darkened, and my head lulled forward. When I opened my eyes again, the light was still on, but Martha was gone. Fagan was slumped beside me. I stretched my fingers ‘til I thought they’d tear out of their sockets and nudged his hand. “Fagan.” It was hard to talk, but I managed. “Carter.”
“Mmm,” he moaned. His eyes fluttered; then he looked down at my hand. “Ella?” He looked over at me. “Christ, my head.”
“Shhh. Martha.” I tried to suck in a breath, but it burned and the pain in my side flared. “Killer.”
Understanding flitted across his eyes. He jerked his arms up, but the chair didn’t give any more than mine. He tried again, his muscles tightening and his face red with effort, but nothing.
Everything in me sank. “We’re going to die.”
“No, we aren’t. Gabriel will find us. I called him and told him you were missing and where I was going
. If he can’t get in touch with me, he’ll look here.” His hushed tone was comforting, but Gabriel would never make it in time.
Fagan’s phone went off, lighting up his pocket. He shifted toward me. “Ella, can you reach my phone?”
I stretched my fingers toward him, but I was nowhere close. I shook my head. He hopped his chair until he was in front of me, but the phone had stopped ringing. I could barely scrape the edge of his pocket. “Back a little.”
He moved back, and I reached, forcing the leather cuff up as far on my arm as it would go, finally getting close enough to put one finger on the edge of his phone case and inch it toward me. The phone slipped and bounced off Fagan’s chest. I almost screamed. Tears poured down my face when it landed on my lap, face up. I slid my finger across the screen to unlock it and called Gabriel’s number. His “hello” almost undid me. “Help,” I said.
“El, where are you? I can hardly hear you. Is Fagan with you?”
“Martha… has… us. Help.”
Fagan bounced his chair back hitting my knee. I lost my tentative grip on the phone, and it crashed to the stone floor. “Ella? Ella?” Gabriel’s voice called out.
Something banged upstairs, and Fagan and I looked at each other. “Hang up,” Fagan said down to the phone.
“What?” Gabriel said back.
Fagan looked at me helplessly. We couldn’t let Martha find out we called for help, or she’d be waiting. I angled my heel the best I could and pulled the phone close enough I could smash it. The cuff tore at my skin as I slammed my foot down, ending the sound of Gabriel’s voice.
Martha’s footsteps came down the stairs.
“Kick it away,” Fagan hissed.
I bit my lip against the pain of having to lift my leg again. I’d barely shoved the phone a couple inches, when Martha was back through the clothes, knife in hand.
“Martha.” Fagan looked at her with a disarming smile. “I think I’m going to need you to fill me in on what’s happening. Ella’s a bit out of sorts.”
I kept my chin on my chest. My breath wheezed in and out.
“Ella was leaving.”
“Well, she doesn’t live here.”
“But she should, don’t you think?” She glanced at the clothes behind her. “Mary needs a family.”
“Mary? She’s here too?” he asked.
“Of course she’s here,” Martha said in a pleased, relaxed tone. “She’s been in my room, but I thought she might want to come down and see you both. Would you like to see her?”
“I’d love to,” Fagan said.
“Ella?” Martha asked, lifting my head with the end of her knife. “Are you still pouting about our tiff?”
I shook my head. “No, no… Please, can we see Mary?”
“Of course, dear. Now sit up straight. You want to make a good impression.” She put her hands under my arms and heaved me up, making me squeak with pain. When she pulled away, her right hand was red. “Oh my, one second.” She disappeared into the clothes again.
“Are you hurt?” Fagan asked.
I nodded and looked down at the steadily growing pool of blood beside my chair. Fagan’s eyes followed mine and he gasped a little. Martha returned with what looked like an old leathery mannequin. Fagan looked on, speechless, as she turned it around to face us. It was Mary in the most perverse way—and she was wearing the same dress I’d borrowed from Martha.
“Holy shit,” Fagan mumbled.
“She thought Ella looked so lovely in this dress that she begged to wear it.”
“She looks very pretty,” I struggled out.
“Are Lakota and Nikki here too?” Fagan asked.
Martha’s face clouded. “Of course not. Lakota was going to spoil the surprise for Ella. You are surprised, aren’t you, dear?”
I nodded.
“And Nikki… Well, I wouldn’t have that filth in my house. Did you know she was with Cindy when she died? Then she tried to ruin Mary too, spreading lies about affairs. Getting rid of her was a public service.”
One of the stairs creaked. Martha started to turn back.
Fagan coughed, then spoke quickly, adamantly. “Mary isn’t looking like herself Martha.”
Martha whirled around and looked at Mary, then at Fagan. “What do you mean?”
“Look at her. She doesn’t look anything like Mary. She looks like a monster.”
Cold fury filled Martha’s eyes. She charged at Fagan, and the distinct sound of a gun being cocked filled the room. Martha stalled and turned as Gabriel came through the curtain of clothing.
“Martha, put the knife down,” he said calmly.
Her cheek twitched and she squeezed the knife handle.
“Drop the knife,” he repeated, taking a step closer.
I struggled to keep my eyes open as adrenaline fled my body. A shot rang out; then my vision failed.
“She’s hurt,” Fagan’s voice was far away. “Get her first.”
The restraints loosened. Hands caressed my face. “Ella? Ella? Talk to me.”
I wanted to brush him away, but my arms were too heavy to move. The hands moved from my face down my side. “Her lips are blue. What happened?” Gabriel asked.
“I don’t know. She was like this when I got here,” Fagan said.
Gabriel’s hand pressed hard into my side. I groaned.
“Ella?”
“Stop touching me.”
He chuckled a little, sounding relieved. “I can’t. Open your eyes.”
A gurgling cough erupted in my chest. The pain was excruciating. “Is Martha dead?”
“Shhh, don’t talk. The ambulance is on its way.”
Gabriel helped me back into my house, despite my protests that I was capable of doing it myself. He’d stuck with me like glue—wouldn’t even leave the hospital at night. I was sore, and the walk from the car to my living room left me out of breath. The doctor said it might take a while, but I would heal. I sat gingerly, careful not to strain my side, and leaned my head back, inhaling the smell of home. Gabriel sat in front of me and rubbed his hand gently over my knee.
“Do you need anything?”
He was going to drive me crazy with all this hovering. “No, I’m fine.”
“Okay. I have something I need to do. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
“I’ll be here.”
He kissed my forehead. “You better be.”
I watched him leave, then closed my eyes, letting the peace and quiet roll over me. Gabriel and I had several arguments—or, rather, I endured his lectures because I couldn’t talk very long without getting winded. He tried to extract promises that I’d never take cases like this again, that I was done putting myself in harm’s way. But truth be told, even having been stabbed and very nearly killed, I would do it all over again. I’d survived and brought justice to three girls taken from the world at far too young an age.
Writing would always be my first passion, but doing this gave my life purpose. I had no intention of giving it up. When Gabriel finally came to that realization on his own, he decided I had to finish my driving lessons and enroll in self-defense classes—a small sacrifice.
Several people from Jackson visited me in the hospital, but I managed to get out of town before too much of a fuss was made. The confusion from that night and about what really happened lingered. I told Gabriel and Fagan the whole story, the best I could remember, and Fagan explained what I’d overheard between him and William. Fagan hadn’t been asked to cover up anything. William was telling him to solve the three cases or he’d call in the FBI to take care of it. William, after all, had an election coming up, and there was nothing like three unsolved murders to mar one’s image.
“Glad you’re home.” Grant’s voice came from behind me. “How’d the case go?”
“Solved,” I said, not bothering to turn around. The damn ghost could come to me.
“You’re hurt.” He walked into the room and stood in front of me, looking so real.
“How do you
know?”
“I can feel it.”
“That’s weird.”
He laughed. “The house is my domain, and so long as you own the house, you’re part of that. I can feel any disturbances here—but how is that any weirder than you talking to me?”
I thought about it. Maybe it wasn’t. The more ghosts I encountered, the easier the idea was to stomach. “How did you die?”
“Bayonet to the chest. Would you like to see?” His hands hovered over his shirt.
I shook my head. I’d seen enough wounds to last a lifetime. “If I sell the house, would you come with me? You know, like haunt me somewhere else?”
Grant shook his head. “And you should be thankful that I can’t. If we could just switch our hauntings, you’d never have any peace. You have no idea how boring it is to be a ghost. I hadn’t spoken to anyone for centuries before you came. Every ghost you encounter would traipse after you.”
“Mary’s ghost followed me around.”
He looked thoughtful. “Maybe she didn’t have a domain, just unfinished business.”
“How did you talk to me outside of the house before?”
“It wasn’t easy, and it took nearly all the energy I’d collected since I died.”
My phone rang, but I didn’t move to get it. Grant smiled, bit his lip in concentration, then lifted it from the end table and held it out to me. I took the phone from him, my finger sinking into the icy depth where his fingers were.
“I’m glad you didn’t die. If you need me, I’ll be around,” he said and faded into nothing, leaving me with a cold phone in my hand.
“Hello?”
“You still owe me two events. Don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” Fagan answered. “Stabbings are no excuse. I’ll pick you up at 8:00 p.m.”
I groaned. “Don’t make me laugh.”
His voice softened. “I take it you made it home okay?”
“I did.”
“The town’s pretty grateful for what you did. I think they want to do something special for you, if you’re up for it.”
“Honestly, I’m not. Maybe when this book comes out, we can plan something.”