Shadows Falling: The Lost #2
Page 24
The Roxyettes later became the Rockettes
Mad Tom O’ Bedlam is a poem that dates back as far as the 1600s. For the most mad musical version, check out Charlene Kaye and the Brilliant Eyes. It’s marvelously twisted and catchy and I adore it.
Gretna Green is the site of many secret weddings, and my 13 year old self, who ate up Regency Romances by the dozen, just had to make mention of it
Lillian Gish and Mary Pickford were the Jennifer Anistons and Angelina Jolies of their day
Sylvia Plath was a recipient (or victim) of electric shock therapy
Lobotomies were a common practice and began around the late eighteen hundreds: removing small pieces of bone by drilling in the hope that violent patients would become calmer and passive (some were so calm and passive afterwards, they were dead). Walter Freeman was the most notorious lobotomy doctor, and was famous for performing them with ice picks, sometimes in a factory line session and as quickly as ten minutes each (trying to break his own speed record), and was reputed to have performed them on up to 25 women a day. He was killed by a patient
Bethlem Royal Hospital (Bedlam) was relocated in 1931. The thought of ghosts being at each location is a delicious thought that first came to my mind at the very beginning of Shadows Falling. What if Rose came back to the wrong location? Though this ended up not playing as large a part as I first planned, I still enjoy the idea. They did charge admission to see the “lunatyks” on the second Tuesday of each month, back in the day. They also allowed their patients to hold dances. There are many sources on the history of the hospital, each more disturbing than the last. Truth is stranger than fiction, and never more so than here in Bedlam.
From “Shadows Lost”
Book 3 of the Shadows Trilogy
I make no sneaky ceremony of jiggling the shed door, creeping up quietly, or softly calling his name. Instead, feeling rather like a vigilante, I shoulder my rifle, take off the safety, and then kick the door in with all fury and strength I can muster. The door bursts open. I aim directly for the shadowy figure that I knew would be inside, but he doesn’t even do me the courtesy of jumping to his feet, or shouting out in surprise. His long legs folded up as he sits on an overturned bucket, he regards me with something like amusement, and he takes the time to grind out his cigarette before he speaks.
“Hullo, Gray. You’re looking,” Luke pauses, “tan.”
“And you’re looking like a murdering piece of scum,” I reply. “What the hell do you want?”
“Language, language,” Luke tsks. “I admit, we didn’t part on good terms, but you could act a bit more polite. I am your brother-in-law, you know.”
I can’t help but feel taken aback, though I try not to show it. Luke and Rose, married? “No, I didn’t know. The invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.” I keep the rifle shouldered, though my arms ache. I wouldn’t lower it for a million dollars. “You two married ... there’s a thought that makes my stomach turn.”
“Why? Don’t you want someone to take care of your sister?” He pauses, waiting for me to answer, but I’m silent. “Obviously, you’ve given up on her yourself.” His voice is laced with disapproval and more: disappointment?
His words hurt, but I stuff the hurt down inside to deal with later. “You’ll make a lovely pair, I’m sure. Now, you have twenty seconds to tell me why you’re here and what your plan is for leaving again. Is Rose here?”
“Three questions, and only twenty seconds to answer them? You’ve gotten impatient, Gray. It doesn’t suit you. No, first of all, Rose is not here. She’s in 1931, in Bedlam.” He examines his cuff sleeve as if curious about it suddenly, like he’s acting more casual than he really feels. Typically, Luke is an exceptional actor, so this bit of careful nonchalance is out of place. He must be feeling more uncomfortable than usual. I look at his cuff as well; his clothes are fairly commonplace for the Lost to travel in. He wears characteristic nondescript black trousers and a white button down shirt. I’m no fashion expert – far from it – but I’d say they’re expensive and well made. Almost as if he came straight here from some wealthy party. Somehow I’m not surprised. There’s a lot of playboy in Luke Dawes.
“Why? Why did you leave her behind?” I’m surprised. I’m certainly not sad she isn’t here; in fact, I feel my shoulders relax a bit, but I’m stunned he would jump eras without her. That’s risky.
“She doesn’t know me,” he replies, flatly. “Not as me, anyway. She doesn’t even know herself. If you thought Rose was,” his voice cracks, and I know he’s having a hard time saying the words, “insane before, back in London when last you saw her, she’s much worse now.” Luke runs his hand through his sandy-colored hair, the way he does when he’s tired or thinking deeply. It’s gotten long. He could probably gather it into a messy ponytail, and combined with his five o’clock shadow, he’d look like a twenty-first century movie star. His looks were always a little distracting.
I roll my eyes. I’m having a hard time imagining Rose being any worse. Is she boiling kittens in her spare time now? Setting orphanages on fire?
“She’s sick, Gray. Her illness has forced her into a place inside herself where she has built up an elaborate world. She doesn’t even know herself, calls herself Lizzie. She calls me Sam. Come on, you’ve been a part of the modern world; you’ve heard of multiple personalities, split personalities, dissociative personality disorder?” He waits for my response.
“What’s your point?” I sigh. There’s no hope for it; I can’t keep aiming this rifle. I lower it slowly, and my arms thank me by deciding not to fall off in a heap by my shaky legs. “Sounds like a great thing actually. No one but you would ever miss Rose Gray anyway.”
“Because she can’t travel.” Luke’s voice is monotone. His eyes search me and keep talking even when his voice stops. She’s stuck, his eyes communicate to me. Stuck in time.
I get a chill. “So, she’s stranded in Bedlam? And, what? You’re upset because eventually you’ll travel without her, is that it? Ah.” Again, his mouth stays shut, but his anguished eyes speak volumes. “Well, that does put a kink in your relationship.”
“Have a heart, Gray. I need to get her back before it’s too late. What if her memory comes back, and I’m not there to keep her stable? If I’m gone centuries in the past or in the future?”
“You’ve done such a lovely job up until now keeping her stable,” I scowl. “She’s probably better off without you enabling her anyway.”
“I see your point, but believe me, she’s much, much worse on her own. Think of all the damage she could do without me. She knows Jack. She knows how to steer her journeys. She found you once; she’ll do it again.” His smooth voice is a threat now. “If you help me bring her back to herself, I’ll keep her away from you. I swear it.”
I laugh without any humor. “Your word means nothing to me, less than nothing actually, and there are a couple problems with your grand, master plan: for one, I can’t get myself to 1931 even if I wanted to, and for another, how in the world could I help? Provided that I was even willing to, which I assure you, I am not.” I must be missing something; he had to have known I wouldn’t join forces with him. I frown, searching my memory, looking for the missing piece.
“Don’t you see? I’m hoping that seeing you will trigger something in her. You’re the biggest, realest thing in her life, like it or not. She’s been obsessed with you for years. She knows you. It’s my only shot. I’m desperate.”
“And the other thing, genius? Wait ...” My eyes narrow when a thought occurs to me. “How did you even get here if you’ve been to 1931 with her?” My thoughts are swirling, and I don’t like where they’re going. There is a certain kind of smugness to Luke’s handsome face now that worries me. He shouldn’t have been able to get to me intentionally if Rose truly isn’t with him, unless she’s taught him how to navigate. Merciful heavens, that’s all the world needs: Luke Dawes hopping through time, wherever he likes, on purpose. I shoulder the rifle again, but Luke onl
y looks mildly annoyed.
“For God’s sake, Gray, don’t trip or anything. We both know you aren’t going to shoot me on purpose.”
“You underestimate the depths of my hatred for you,” I respond, “and I’m not going to trip. If I shoot you, you can damn sure bet it was because I intended to, and just so you know, dear brother-in-law, I’m not aiming at your heart.” I lower the rifle about a foot to make my point. Predictably, his mild annoyance shoots up a notch to slightly nervous.
He puts up his hands in a surrendered stance. “Okay, okay. I got here because I brought someone with me, someone else who knows how to get where she wants: your grandmother, Nora.”
“What?” It’s all I can say. My tongue is tied in knots.
“Did Noah ever tell you about her?”
Did my father ever tell me about my grandmother? Not until recently, when he remembered to mention that she, too, knew how to find her way through time. I hadn’t thought too much of it, especially because he said she was a bit batty. Evidently, madness and supreme cosmic powers run in my family. All I got was the ice blue eyes. Nice.
“He mentioned her.” I tread carefully. “What do you mean? She’s here with you? She brought you here?” My voice threatens to squeak, which for me, is odd. I have a deep, throaty voice for a girl.
“She did, indeed, so if you’d like to meet her, you probably shouldn’t murder me.”
“It isn’t murder when the victim is a dirt bag. It’s public service. Anyway –” I get no further because I see Luke’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his hair the way they do when he’s surprised by something, and that something is behind me. I whirl, and am met by a string of profanity in at least seven different languages, including some Gypsy curses, a few hair-rising expletives, and also some very specific promises of what was going to happen next to the man in the shed.
“Israel, I can explain.” I swallow, but the rifle is already out of my hands before I can stop him, and Israel pushes me behind him with a force that I know is not entirely necessary.
“Later,” he growls, and I dread later already. “Dawes.”
BANG. He shoots the wall a scant inch beside Luke’s head. Luke doesn’t flinch, but his eyebrows haven’t returned to their normal resting spot either.
“Come on, let the girl explain.” Luke’s hands go up in a submissive gesture that only serves to irritate Israel further.
BANG. Israel blows another hole on the other side of Luke’s face. The expression on his face doesn’t change, but Luke’s eyebrows have completely vanished into his hairline now.
“He has my grandmother!” I shout. I probably don’t need to yell, seeing as how I’m only inches from his ear, but adrenaline has kicked in with the force of a hurricane. I may have just deafened my love. Getting a hold of myself, I lower my voice to continue. “I don’t much care if you kill him four ways from Sunday –”
“Gee, thanks, Gray,” Luke interrupts.
“In fact, I’ll help, but can we do it after we learn why he’s here and where he’s stashed my grandmother?”
“What?” Israel glares. “Prue is here?”
“No, not Prue, my biological grandmother, Nora. My mother’s mother.”
Israel sighs with enough passion and emotion to win him an Academy Award, a show I remember watching on the television with Harry and Matthias a couple of years ago. “This is not how I planned to spend my weekend.” I can literally hear his teeth grinding together in frustration. It sounds painful.
“Yes, well, plans change, old boy.” Luke’s eyebrows return to their rightful spot above his beautiful eyes, and I know that he knows that he’s won, at least temporarily. “Can we get out of here, please? It wasn’t the world’s most comfortable bedroom last night; I swear to God, I think I heard a lion prowling around, and I hate to be crude, but I really need to pee.”
“That was a rooster, moron, and I’m calling the shots here. You aren’t going to take a step, a breath, or a piss until I tell you you can.” Iz growls.
“Alright if I blink?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“How about one eye at a time?”
“Alright, girls! Enough already!” I am back to shouting. One boy at a time, that’s my limit; put these two together, and I feel like a drunken referee. I am hoping Luke’s story can be told incredibly swiftly, and he can either be sent on his merry way or put six feet under, because honestly, I cannot take the two of them much longer. Heaven help me if he sticks around.
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About the author
Melyssa Williams is a mom, sister, daughter, wife, friend, ballet teacher, ex-contemporary dancer, writer, and blogger, who resides in Southern Oregon. She was homeschooled back in the day when it was slightly odd and eccentric, which came in handy when she decided to be a writer. She drinks coffee too often and reads fiction at inopportune times. She has parented inner city teens and wants to sky dive, but that’s the extent of her excitement. Other than that, she finds baking bread and sipping wine to be the most thrilling parts of life.
She can be reached at www.shadowsgray.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
Prologue:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Acknowledgements and Notes:
Excerpt-From “Shadows Lost”
About the author