I pull in a ragged breath. “Keep Addie Rose away from me?”
Chapter Five:
Rachel
My hand glides over the page in slow arcs. A cathedral of some kind, maybe. I squint at the contrast of the heavy beams framing delicate panes of stained glass. I don’t recall ever being inside a church like this, but if anyone understands the fathomless depth of hidden memories it’s me.
The blankets are cold without Addie Rose, the basement especially empty. I blink away images of her tear-stained face when I explained why she had to leave. That I loved her, but I was sick and couldn’t risk her catching my deadly disease. It’s been less than twelve hours since she moved upstairs, and already I feel a hole I hadn’t known was there to be empty.
So I draw. For almost twelve hours I’ve filled page after page with sketches. Some I recognize, others are curious relics like this cathedral. Some crush my soul. Others warm a small speck of the void inside.
I look up at the flutter of sound and suck in my breath. Hovering just beside the boiler, she waits. Dress flapping and hair blowing from some phantom breeze, she’s the picture of everything I’ve come to fear. Tonight, though, I’m ready. After all, with Addie Rose gone, what do I have to lose? I’m not only ready, I’ve been waiting.
I push myself up and stand tall in the open doorway of my room. “Rachel,” I say.
She doesn’t move, just watches me with that unseeing, blank face.
“I’m here. What do you want?”
Still nothing.
“I’m here!” My tone is more urgent now. “You want to kill me? Go ahead.” I hold out my arms.
The head tilts to the side as if studying me. A sound, maybe a word, starts slamming through my mind but I can’t make sense of it.
“What are you waiting for?” I take a step forward, and the head snaps straight. She stills completely, not even a hair moves from its place now. Preparing to charge? I sense it in the rigid stance of her silhouette and brace for impact. Did I anger her enough to finally end this? Oh sweet relief. I’d give anything to disappear at the hands of a ghost and never have to face the real demons in my head. She’d be doing me a favor.
“Do it.”
Still, she doesn’t move.
“Do it!” I scream, rushing toward her.
The walls fade as I run. The noises from upstairs, the dirt floor, everything disappears that isn’t me and the shadow haunting my very essence. I charge forward, blind, deaf, numb. I’m a battering ram, invincible in my rage, until suddenly, I stumble back from an explosion in my head. I double over, hands on my knees, and absorb every detail of the image searing through my mind. For a split-second it slams into me with magnetic force—and then, she’s gone.
I cry out in frustration and swing my arm through the empty space by the boiler. “Coward!” I shout to no one. “You’re a fucking coward, Rachel! You know that?”
Shaking in anger, I have no choice but to make my way back to the cold blankets. The stillness returns, but I’m not alone anymore. No, and maybe I never will be again. Coward? Killer? Who is Rachel the Grave Lady? What is she? I don’t know anymore. How could I when, for a brief, unsuspecting moment, she was human.
This time when the vision comes, I’m alone. There’s no one to witness my weakness and no one to pick up the pieces. And strangely, I’m at peace. When you’re alone for long enough, the void becomes part of you. Suddenly you can’t live without it any more than a heart or a lung. You need it to breathe, to pump life from one frozen artery to the next. Try to fill it and you’re left with a tumor that eats away at what’s left. Somehow Addie Rose managed to shine her light into the abyss, which is even more reason to be grateful she’s safe and free upstairs. Who knows what my void would have done with her if given enough time. Maybe the new visions are a punishment for letting her in.
Rachel.
As the nausea from the latest vision fades, it’s Rachel’s name that fills my void. A face that for a brief moment wasn’t screaming or evil or violent. No it was… compassionate? I huff a dry laugh and press my palms against my eyes. I must be losing my mind. Grave Lady, compassionate? What, she felt bad for almost killing me, for scaring the shit out of a house full of troubled souls? Because it sure seemed like that was her only goal. And what about the drawings? And the screams? I shake my head; I’m definitely losing my mind. Is this the next stage? Total descent into insanity?
I pick myself off the blankets and stagger to the basin. After stripping off my shirt, I lean my elbows on the cold metal ledge to catch my breath. This part was definitely easier with Lena’s help. Instead, it’s my own trembling hand that reaches for the valve. Icy water splashes out, pricking my skin, and I let my fingers hang in the stream while gathering the strength for more.
Milo.
I jump, spinning toward the voice until I realize it’s in my head. At least I think so. It can’t be from the phantom hovering six feet away, staring at me with huge sad eyes. Her hair is the same, her dress, but her face is… breathtaking. I can’t look away. If she’s intending to paralyze me again, she’s already two steps ahead.
“Rachel?”
Those sad eyes lift with a smile and she holds out a smooth hand. It’s then that I notice her features aren’t dead at all. Her skin is soft and fresh. Her cheeks hold the color of a woman barely beyond childhood. Grave Lady is young and very much alive.
“What do you want?” There’s no malice in my voice this time, no challenge. Just the trampled resignation of one who can’t fight anymore. This last vision… I start shaking at the memory and reach for the sink again.
“Stop.”
Surprised, I twist my gaze to find her stare inches from mine. How did she move so quickly?
“What do you want from me?” I ask, tired. So damn tired. I can barely stand anymore. These visions have been relentless. Daily, hourly, and now… My muscles tremble from the exertion of living.
Her lips don’t move, yet still the voice speaks, strong and fearless in my void.
“Just. Stop.”
I swallow and close my eyes, hoping she’s gone when I open them. I’m alone when I do.
Rachel. Rachel with the hair. Rachel with the dress. Rachel with the eyes that hold multiple lifetimes. Is she here to kill me? Not with eyes like that. Maybe I was scared shitless when she floated near my face, but something shifted in those few seconds. Peace. That’s what it was. A peace I’ve never felt in a lifetime of trials, let alone since my arrival at 723 Maple Avenue.
Just. Stop, she’d said. Stop what?
I shake my head and flip open my notebook. I’m especially cold tonight, though I can’t tell if the chill is internal or external. With my shirt drying over the sink, I’m left with only a blanket to pull around my shoulders.
Footsteps clap down the stairs, and my heartrate picks up. She’s back so soon? Wait, is my frenzied pulse because of fear or anticipation? I draw in a deep breath and lift my gaze, braced for terror or peace. I can’t even guess anymore. She makes me feel everything at once. Then again, her lair seems to be around the boiler. When has she ever descended the stairs?
“Milo?”
I force a smile when the intruder comes into focus. “Hey, Lena. How’s Addie Rose?”
“Fine. Misses you.”
My stomach does an invisible wrench. “I know. I miss her too.”
“Are you sure this is the right thing? It doesn’t feel right. And… hey are you feeling okay?”
Nurse Lena is already at my side, touching my clammy forehead.
“My gosh, you’re burning up! Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
I shrug, not sure how to answer that. Aren’t we all sick? Hell, isn’t that all we are? Still, I know what she means. I hadn’t realized my internal symptoms had started climbing out. Maybe if Grave Lady won’t kill me, whatever this is will. Maybe it’s the same thing. I have no evidence either way at this point.
“Here, lie down. I’ll go get—”
&nbs
p; I grab her wrist to stop her. “Please, Lena. Just… go be with Addie Rose.”
“She’s fine. I told you. You’re the one who needs—”
“Nothing. I need nothing.” Just. Peace. “Please?”
She folds her arms over her chest as she glares down at me. “Really? And how are the visions?” Her accusatory tone isn’t helping either of us.
I don’t answer. There’s no point in lying. “Please.” My voice is quiet now, resigned.
“How often, Milo? Daily? Hourly?”
It feels like every damn second. I need to get rid of her before the next one comes. I feel it clawing its way out from the dungeon of my brain.
She releases a frustrated grunt and moves toward the door. “You know, one of these days Addie will be gone. We all know it. Are you going to be able to live with the fact that you pushed her away?”
I don’t look at her when I say, “I have to.”
“No. You don’t. This”—she waves her arm around the basement— “is all part of your martyr complex.”
Maybe. Maybe not. “Thanks for looking after her.”
Her eyes narrow. “I want to be looking after you.”
Another reminder of how I wreck people. “I know,” I say quietly. I know.
Footsteps clap up the steps just in time for me to hide the next attack.
She’s perfect. I’ve never seen her before, but the way she’s been eye-fucking me the whole night I’ve been onstage means it’ll be a piece of cake. I’ve always been aware of the effect I have on women. Something about the bad-boy musician thing combined with a face that holds an innocence I’ve never had. Not for one fucking second of my life, but there you have it. Irony’s a bitch, right? Still, at least I’ve learned to use it instead of be used for it. Dad with his criminal agenda loved throwing my babyface in front of unsuspecting victims. Sinclair… an icy shiver rushes over my skin, and I shake it off. Better to focus on the future. He said he wants a girl next and finding a replacement won’t just guarantee another season of security for me but for others as well. It’s all about the equation. Balance that shit and things work out.
The pretty blonde’s smile grows to a grin when I make eye contact from behind the mic. They love that. I hang onto it with both hands for the final few tags. Gripping for dear life because this, right here, is my only hope of freedom. For the few minutes I’m onstage, I can let go and allow the music to cleanse my filthy soul. Not real cleansing of course. It’s just an illusion like everything else, but at least I can pretend I’m free. That I’m just a nineteen-year-old musician on the rise. Pursuing music, women, and dreams. I can play the part of youth, young and free—and not as a demon about to destroy yet another life.
I don’t get the warning gasp when I come out this time. I just go straight to the wrenching coughs. There’s no air left in the basement, no strength in my tired muscles. No, I can’t even make it to the bin, so I end up lying in a pool of my own sickness. Who cares anymore? I should die in a puddle of vomit. What better symbol of a life unlived? A blight on history.
I can’t move anymore. Lena was right. The sickness inside me has oozed outward to consume my entire body. The shaking is downright painful now. Trembling really, jerking me in tiny tremors that feel like death. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain.
“Rachel.” The sound of my voice in the darkness surprises me—her name. Why Rachel? Do I want that odd peace or the deadly claws reaching through to snuff out my poisonous brain? “Please. I’m ready. Just—”
I freeze. The rasp of my ragged breath is the only sound that remains when the shadow appears in the doorway. Her dress flutters in the invisible wind, long hair blowing in the same direction. Her head tilts to the right as if studying me. Her face though, that’s gone again, replaced by the ghastly swirling that makes me choke on the bile still bubbling in my throat.
“Rachel?”
She doesn’t move. Just floats in silence, judging me? Evaluating? Gloating? I can’t tell. Not without a face.
“I’m a cancer, I know it. I deserve to die. I’m ready. Please if you can—”
Before I can react, I’m on my back again. The blanket falls away, leaving me totally exposed to the scratch of her dress as it beats against my skin. Sweat and tears mix in sour streaks down my face as I pull in one last heavy breath. Mercy. Just a small act of mercy and—
I flinch, seized by terror as the twisting images become a different face. A dark, angry, evil one I recognize from the bowels of Hell. This face thrived on my pain.
“Sinclair.” The name is nothing more than a whisper from my lips, and my body reacts with spasms. God, it hurts so much. Everything, just broken and shattered inside and out. She’s come for me, right? Here for the final seconds of a blighted soul that can’t be more than a sliver of putrefied flesh at this point. She’s here because even the horrific visions haven’t been enough to punish me, and when her slim, pale arm reaches toward me, I know, finally, that my pain is about to end.
“Thank you,” I croak out into the silence. I close my eyes and…
They snap back open at the touch. The real touch. Soft and gentle on my cheek. Sinclair is gone too, along with the awful snaking coils of her face. It’s Rachel again, the girl with the giant, peaceful eyes, and this time the tears that pour out aren’t mine.
“Milo. Just. Stop.”
Stop what?
You know. The voice explodes in my head, as loud as any scream in the air around us.
I don’t! I can’t take this anymore. I know I was a monster but—
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
The shrieking is so loud I can’t even tell if it’s inside my head or on the outside. I scream against the pain, pressing my palms to my ears. I hear distant sobs echoing through the dark basement but I don’t recognize them. Mine? Probably. But…
The sobs are close, so close they almost have to be from my throat, and yet, there’s a pureness to the timbre that could never come from such a degraded soul as mine. I start to roll to my side, pushed from behind by a force I can’t control. A strange pressure flattens against my back and spreads warmth through my cold, dewy skin. A feminine arm drapes over my shoulder and locks around my chest. Everywhere it touches pulses with the heat of life. Grave Lady? How ironic when she seems to be the opposite of death. Is this the end? Is this how we’re finally freed from our mortal prison?
Peace.
I close my eyes again, drawing in a full breath for the first time in days. My chest still aches from the trauma of these last weeks, but I’m breathing. More than that, I’m at rest. Pure, serene tranquility.
I drag in a long stream of air, picturing it inflating blackened lungs and bleeding color like a drop of red ink in a pool of water. Slowly they fill, transforming into organs capable of supporting life.
“Milo.”
My name sounds like wind chimes when she says it. I refuse to open my eyes, this time afraid she will be gone when I do. Breathing is so addictive when you’ve been drowning for so long.
“Just. Stop.”
“Stop what?” I whisper.
Her fingers trail over my chest, and I notice that she’s tracing my thick, violent tattoos. Odd, since she can’t see them from her position behind me.
I draw in a sharp breath. She must have my body memorized. How long has she been watching me? Prowling the shadows by the boiler. Or is this a connection born of a place with different rules?
I know nothing except that these few seconds of warmth are the best of my life. I never want it to end. I could stay here for hours absorbing this peace I don’t deserve.
I count each exhale that tickles the back of my neck, proof I’m not alone.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Rachel.”
“I know but…”
Shh. Not now.
I understand when my eyes drift closed again. Exhausted, I rest in the warmth that transforms the silence from lonely to content. Is this what
it’s like to feel safe?
What are you doing, Milo? You know you can’t have this. You’re refuse, human debris. You’re—and now the cold sweat returns.
I flinch at the sudden pain shooting through me again. From the shadows in my mind to the soles of my feet, a piercing sensation flares through every vein and cell of my body. I can only groan until the pain eventually spreads into numbness. The cold returns then, icier after the few moments of warmth.
“Rachel?” The shaking is back too. The weakness. Every awful thing I am. When I finally manage to shift to my back, she’s gone.
Chapter Six:
Caverns
I never used to be afraid of the dark.
I drag myself across the floor, ignoring the ancient debris slicing into my skin. My palms and knees are torn, but suddenly I have to reach the window at any cost. I don’t remember ever feeling such a pressure for light. Not since finding myself in this basement in what seems like a lifetime ago. No, I’ve always been fine in the shadows. Comfortable and safe. It’s here where I’ve thrived amongst the demons and vipers, the parasites who suck the light they need from others. That was me for as long as I can remember. Maybe I had my own light once, but I’d been bled dry so early, who even knows?
Then she showed up. Grave Lady who turned out to be a force so alive it made the shadows dangerous.
She broke into my dark, and I can’t be alone with my sickness anymore. Not when it’s become clear that the constant nausea isn’t from the visions at all. It’s me. The sick, perverted essence of Milo Marchesi, bred, raised, and bred again in a hellish cycle of human stain. One glimpse of light, though, and suddenly I’m a new kind of addict, lugging myself in hideous jerks toward a grimy window pane that seems miles away. Fear settles in as I crawl, terror that the dark isn’t enough. That suddenly I need the light to breathe. How will a prisoner trapped in a basement survive on light?
It’s strange experiencing my prison from this angle as I inch along. Sure, I’ve wandered around in the eternity I’ve been here, but I was the king of the dark then. This was my castle, not the dungeon it feels like now. From my position on the floor, the rustic shelves look enormous, towering above my head at imperfect angles like a monument. The boiler seems smaller without the amplifying cloud of mystery, and I notice a tattered trunk tucked behind it for the first time. A mystery for another time because right now I need the window.
Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story Page 4