The Language of Death

by K. J. Emrick

  "And you're giving him space to do it?"

  Darcy shrugged. "Yes."

  Grace pulled at the hem of her maternity shirt, trying to make it not sit like a tent hanging off her shoulders. "Did you ever consider, sis, that maybe instead of giving him space what you really need to do is go after him and show him that he still has feelings for you?"

  "And just how do you think I should do that?"

  "I can think of several ways," Grace answered her with a wink. "Do I need to draw you a picture?"

  "Grace!" Darcy protested, although she was laughing as she said it. "Look, Jon was the one who decided to leave me. There's a lot of things he and I need to talk about, to work out, but I can't think about that right now. I just need to go say goodbye to Chloe."

  Say goodbye, and figure out why she needed Darcy's help so badly.

  ***

  Darcy had never liked driving. She kept her license up to date because she never knew when she might need it. Like now. A day and a half driving in her sister's purple Honda was definitely not her idea of fun, though. She had already gone through every CD her sister had and for the last forty miles she had driven in silence.

  In that silence, her thoughts brooded.

  She still couldn't believe that Chloe was dead. They had always made promises to get together again but with their different lives and the distance between them it had just never happened. Now they would never get that chance.

  She came into Smithsville just before noon on Monday morning. The place was a town just about the size of Misty Hollow, with houses lining narrow two-lane streets and hometown shops and trees and green lawns everywhere. People walked dogs down the sidewalks and said hello to people they passed by. Chloe's service would be tomorrow. There was a little time to get settled in, but she wasn't here to sight-see.

  Chloe's mother had given her address to Darcy when they spoke on the phone. With printed directions from the internet she made a right turn at the post office, then a left at the next stoplight. On Wheeler Avenue she checked addresses until she found Forty-Five. It was a low two-story home painted green with red trim, a happy looking place that seemed at odds with why Darcy was here.

  There were already several cars parked in the driveway. Another was parked in front, up on the lawn, straddling the sidewalk. She took the example and parked behind that one, putting her sister's car on a slant up on the curb, the tires on the one side settling on the sidewalk with a soft crunching sound.

  Taking a moment to build up her nerve, she gripped the steering wheel tightly and blew out a breath. When she was ready she got out of the car and locked the doors behind her, going up to the front door at the end of the paving stone walkway. She knocked tentatively, biting her lower lip.

  The woman who answered the door looked so much like Chloe that there was no mistaking her for anyone other than Chloe's mother. Betsy Marrin had the same soft blue eyes as her daughter, wet now with tears. Little laugh lines at the corners of those eyes showed her age. Her golden brown hair was graying in streaks that zigzagged each other in a long braid. This was Chloe's face, just thirty or so years older.

  Her clothes looked like they had been selected with very little thought to them, black jeans and a red top that didn't match. Darcy doubted that anyone would fault Betsy for that. As she looked up at Darcy a smile smoothed away the wrinkles and lightened the shadows of her face. "Darcy," she said. "I'm so glad you could make it."

  She drew Darcy into a tight hug and Darcy could feel tears stinging her own eyes. "I wasn't sure you'd know who I was. I'm sorry to intrude on you."

  "Nonsense!" Betsy stepped back, wrapping her arms together. "My daughter has shown me so many photos of the two of you together that I feel like you're part of the family. Oh, the stories she's told me about your time at college. No, dear, you'll always be welcome here."

  Darcy felt a lump forming in her throat. It was exactly the sort of thing that Chloe would have said, and it reminded her of how much she would always miss her friend.

  "Please, come in," Betsy said to her, holding the door aside. "There's people here you should meet."

  The entrance led directly into a small room lined with storage shelves and hooks where winter jackets sat forgotten in the warm weather. An open entryway led to a living room. This was a cozy space, not very large, with two couches that faced each other and then two easy chairs at the far end. A doorway to the left led to what Darcy could see was a kitchen. Everywhere the walls were painted either blue or green and sometimes a combination of both, and windows had their curtains pushed aside to let light in. Betsy kept a tidy house, just as cheerful on the inside as it had looked from the street.

  There were five people sitting in the living room on couches or chairs, and every one of them turned to stare at Darcy as Betsy brought her in. An older man with wispy gray hair and wrinkled clothes and a sour stare must be Chloe's dad, Darcy figured. He stood up now and shuffled over to Betsy.

  "I told you to take it easy, Betsy," he said, reaching out to take Betsy's hands. "You've been going nonstop. You'll wear yourself out."

  Betsy smiled at him and turned her face for him to kiss her cheek. "Kevin, I told you. I need to keep busy. It's better than…"

  Everyone in the room managed to look away, knowing what Betsy was leaving unsaid. It was better to keep busy than think about how her daughter had died.

  "Well. Just don't overdo it." Kevin Marrin squeezed his wife's hand and then turned to Darcy. "You must be the famous Darcy Sweet. It means so much to us that you came. Thank you, so much."

  He had to stop for a moment, choked up himself. Darcy could feel the emotion in the room as a tangible thing. A heavy blanket that weighed down on everyone. Two women sat on the couch to Darcy's left, both about Darcy's age, dressed up in black. One wore black slacks, a black top, and black shoes with straps that crisscrossed the tops of her feet. She had several gold rings on her fingers and gold dangly earrings. Dark hair in a pixie cut framed a thin face with a pinched mouth. She looked at Darcy with narrowed eyes.

  The other woman was blonde and had round glasses in dark frames, her brown eyes wide and round like an owl's. She was very thin, and her black dress clung tightly across her chest and hips. Her smile was friendly though, and she even managed a little wave.

  Betsy leaned against her husband and waved a hand at each of the women in turn. "Darcy, this is Veronica Theissen, one of Chloe's friends," she introduced the one with the flashy gold jewelry. She nodded slowly to Darcy, and Darcy realized she had seen Veronica's type before. She might be dressed in black like she was in mourning, but it was really to keep the attention on her.

  "And Sami Wilmer." The second woman blinked at Darcy from behind her glasses. She smiled again, a little shyly.

  On the other couch, two men sat side by side, both of them as different as could be. The one was in blue jeans and a blue button down dress shirt, his black hair trimmed and swept to the side, his face gorgeous with a strong jaw and expressive eyebrows over crystal green eyes. He had an arm over the back of the sofa, totally at ease here in a room where everyone was grieving. The other was in a black suit with a deep blue tie. His face was wide and Darcy supposed he was handsome in a cute sort of way. His blonde hair was a little unkempt and his dark blue eyes were the color of the ocean. And he looked…

  "Hi Darcy," he said, standing up. "It's been a long time."

  Familiar. He looked familiar. Darcy stretched her memory. Yes. She sort of remembered him. From college. Oh, for Pete's sake!

  "Lorne?" Of course it was him. Lorne Sommers. They had been friends back in college, hung out a few times together with Chloe. More than a few times, as she recalled now. She hadn't thought of him in years. He'd been more Chloe's friend, but there had been a few nights out when Darcy and Chloe had both eyed him as potential boyfriend material. It had never happened, though, and looking at him now she had to wonder why she'd never followed through.

  Or maybe, she thought, she was just remembering
her time at college with Chloe in a rosy light now that she was gone. Either way, it didn't matter. They were here now.

  "How have you been?" Lorne asked her, stepping over to hug her quickly.

  "I'm good," she said, feeling awkward. "Wow. It has been a while, hasn't it?"

  "Since college. Chloe and I…we, uh, kept in touch. I live nearby. I'm guessing you and she kept in contact too?"

  "Yes," Darcy said. "I just wish I'd been able to see her more often. I live hours away from here."

  The man on the couch cleared his throat, then stood up as well. "Lorne, bro, you going to introduce me?"

  Darcy immediately didn't like this man. She couldn't say why. Maybe it was the way he looked at her like he wanted to wrap a bow around her. Maybe it was just his smug attitude. Lorne looked apologetically at her, then waved a hand between them. "Darcy Sweet, this is my brother Danson. Danson, Darcy Sweet."

  "Hi." Darcy offered her hand for Danson to shake. "Were you a friend of Chloe's too?"

  "No," he said simply, like he didn't have to explain. When the silence stretched, he looked over at the other couch. "I'm Veronica's fiancé. I figured I should be here. Moral support, you know?"

  "Sure," Darcy said, even though she didn't like the way he said it.

  "Well," Betsy said, patting her husband's shoulder and wiping at her eyes. "I suppose I should offer some refreshments. Then maybe we can sit. I'm sure you younger folks have a lot to catch up on."

  She turned, her husband trying unsuccessfully to get her to sit down and let him take care of things. Betsy told him he was a dear, and then went off into her kitchen where she took out boxes of crackers and plastic serving trays.

  Darcy took a seat in one of the chairs, not feeling comfortable enough to sit on either of the side couches with the others. She was glad for Lorne. It at least gave her someone to talk to. She had meant to go straight to her hotel and get ready for the service tomorrow, but she had felt like she needed to come here first. She needed to see Chloe's mom and tell her how sorry she was, but more than that, she needed to start looking into why Chloe's ghost had asked her for help. She needed to quietly look into Chloe's death.

  Darcy hadn't asked Betsy about it on the phone. It didn't seem the time to ask such questions. Now that she was here, she wasn't finding it any easier. She was working up the courage to ask Chloe's dad about her death when a chill climbed her spine and made goosebumps pop up on her arms. She knew what that meant. It had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

  It had everything to do with her special ability.

  Across the living room, between the two couches, Darcy saw a figure appear. Someone Darcy's age, who would never be any older than that. Someone with golden brown hair that she liked to wear in a braid. Someone who had her mother's eyes.

  Chloe's ghost had materialized in the room. She stared directly at Darcy, making her stop midsentence in something she had been saying to Lorne. Her friend's spirit wore blue jeans and a wide belt similar to Darcy's, a fashion they had both perfected in college. Her top was simple and gray with sleeves that were too long. That was definitely something Chloe would wear. Darcy's breath caught in her throat.

  "Darcy?" Lorne asked. Everyone stopped to stare at her. "Darcy, what is it?"

  She couldn't help it. Here was her friend, as vivid to her as she had been in life. Ghosts didn't really wear clothing, just the appearance of what they remembered wearing in life, but it was like Chloe had just stepped out of her dorm room ready to go to class. Except for the pinkish froth spilling out over her lips. That wasn't normal.

  Darcy felt the color drain from her face. This was how Chloe had died. This was how she was remembering herself. The manner of her death had been so frightening and traumatic that it had carried over into the afterlife with her. That happened sometimes. Usually in one particular kind of death.

  Suicide.

  Chloe suddenly tipped back her head and her mouth opened in a silent scream, a scream with no sound, no voice, muted by the divide between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Bloody spittle dripped from around her mouth and down both cheeks. Then she dropped to her knees there on the living room floor, and one ghostly hand made a sweeping, arcing gesture as dark eyes stared.

  Darcy couldn't stand it. She jumped up from her chair with a mumbled apology and ran out of the house. Out on the front lawn, she stopped, shaking, physically sickened by what she had just seen. It was one thing when some random ghost appeared just to say hi to Darcy or to demand her help. It was another entirely when that ghost belonged to someone she loved and cared about. Especially when the memory of Chloe's death was strong enough to be right there in front of her in living color.

  She twisted at her ring, wishing she knew what to do. Suicide? Chloe had killed herself? Was it possible? Was that why she had come looking for Darcy's help? The spirits of those who killed themselves were in constant turmoil until they could resolve their issues from life. Some of them never did, in Darcy's experience. Darcy would be able to help Chloe some, with her talents, but the truth was there was nothing to do for suicides except help them understand the error of what they had done. If Chloe thought Darcy could do more for her than that, then she didn't know if she could stand being here a minute longer…

  "Darcy?" a voice from behind her said.

  Lorne. Darcy looked over her shoulder to see him coming out of the house after her. "Darcy, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  Wow. If she had a nickel for every time someone had said that to her.

  "I'm fine," she lied. "I just, I mean, I just needed some air. It all kind of rushed in at me at once. I couldn't take it."

  He stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks and watched the lazy traffic going up Wheeler Avenue. "I know what you mean. I can understand why it was hard for you. The two of you were always so close in school. It's a little harder on me, too, since Chloe and I were…well."

  Darcy looked intently at him, her mouth hanging open. This was the mysterious man that Chloe had told her about! "You and Chloe were dating?"

  He nodded, but coupled it with a shrug. "Engaged, actually." He took a deep, shaky breath. "We hadn't told anyone yet. She had talked about calling you and asking you to be the Maid of Honor. It would have meant a lot to her for you to be there. I know it would mean a lot for her to know you're here, now."

  Chloe had been getting married. Darcy fit that into the mental picture that was starting to form. Chloe had never been a girl prone to depression. In fact, there had been any number of times that Chloe had helped Darcy through a funk. Now, in her home town, with a man she was about to marry, with everything she had ever told Darcy that she wanted out of life, she had killed herself.

  "I don't get it," Lorne said as if he had been reading Darcy's thoughts. "Why would she do that? Why would she do that to herself?"

  Darcy's heart went out to him. She went to him and put her arms around him and let him cry on her shoulder.

  She had to agree with him. It didn't make sense.

  Darcy held Lorne for a long while like that. It kind of reminded her of how she and Jon used to comfort each other when things got rough. It felt nice, to know there was someone else who cared about Chloe so much. Someone she could share her own sad feelings with.

  Someone she could talk to about Chloe's death.

  "Lorne," she said after a while. "I understand that Chloe, um, killed herself. Are the police looking into it?"

  He shook his head bitterly. "No. As far as they're concerned, it's case closed. She was found in her room, in her bed, with a pill bottle next to her. Epilepsy medication. Strong stuff, especially when mixed with alcohol. Enough to stop a beating heart. No one knows where she got it from but do they care? No. How did they put it…no signs of foul play."

  Darcy had hoped to get some help from the local police, but apparently that was out the window, if they'd already made up their minds that it was a suicide. "How did this happen?" she asked. "Did so
meone see her do it?"

  He swallowed a couple of times before pushing gently out of her arms. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to continue being held by Darcy, but he pulled the cuffs of his suit coat back into place and straightened his tie and tried to make it look like he was back in control of himself instead. "No one was with her when she did it. I've asked all these questions already, Darcy. I know the whole story forward and backward now. If you need to know anything, just ask. It didn't exactly make me feel better knowing any of it, but I'm told it helps for some people."

  "Who found her?" Darcy asked. He looked mildly surprised that she had asked that question first.

  "Veronica, actually. My brother's bride-to-be. She and Chloe were supposed to go out that night." He huffed out a breath. "That night. Well, it was only this past Friday night, actually. Three days ago. Four? I can't even think straight. I can't believe it's only been that long since she's been gone."

  His voice trailed off and his eyes lost focus. Darcy didn't press him. She let him come back to the story in his own time.

  "Anyway," he said, wiping at his eyes to clear them. "She and Veronica were close. Maybe not as close as you and Chloe had been in college, but Veronica was the best friend Chloe had here. Other than me, I suppose. Those two went out almost every Friday night. There was a local place they liked to go to. The Hoot Owl. I didn't usually go. It was a girl's night thing. You know, like you and Chloe used to do to ditch me."

  He actually managed a smile when he said that, and Darcy couldn't help but smile back at the memory. She recalled now how Lorne would be tagging along behind one or the other of them and Chloe would whisper they should do a girl's night, just to see if he would follow them. It would mean he was serious, Chloe would say. Darcy remembered feeling disappointed when Lorne, ever the gentleman, gave them their space instead of insisting on going, too.

  How had Lorne and Chloe ended up engaged? They must have stayed close after college, something Darcy hadn't managed to do. A wave of sadness swept over her again at the lost opportunities life sometimes dealt you.