Dead Ends

by JT Ellison

  He tapped the bell sharply. No.

  Oh, he doesn’t care for her, I thought, and was amazed at how easily I could decipher his animosity by the force with which he struck the bell against his bed.

  I smiled shyly as I took my seat at his bedside and removed In the Glass Darkly from my backpack.

  He watched me avidly.

  “Today I would like to read ‘The Familiar.’ Is that okay with you?”

  Two taps. Two taps, a pause, and two more taps. Yes, Alice.

  The time flew by and when I reached the end of the story, I glanced up to find that he had once again fallen asleep. Putting away the book, I rose, stretched, and then pulled the covers up around him. When I turned, I found Habella watching me from the doorway. She smiled her approval and then motioned me into the hallway. I followed her to the front of the house, but instead of seeing me out, she invited me into a small sitting room that looked out on the street.

  I wavered in the doorway just as the housekeeper had done earlier. “I should probably go…”

  “Come in and sit a spell,” Habella coaxed. “I’ve made tea.”

  She took a seat on the sofa and gestured to the armchair facing her. I hesitated for only another moment before joining her. She smiled in that mystical way she had as she poured the tea and offered me a cup.

  “This is good,” I said, after taking a tentative sip. “I can’t quite place the blend. It tastes flowery.”

  “My own concoction,” she said, still with that smile. “Sprinkled with a bit of life-everlastin’.”

  “The scent is intoxicating.”

  “Drink up, child. This brew is good for whatever ails you.”

  We sipped and chatted until I felt enough time had passed that I could politely take my leave. I set the cup aside and started to stand. “I really should be—”

  “Are you not curious about Simon, child?”

  “Oh, I don’t…” The protest faded as I sat down abruptly. “How did you come to know him?”

  “I was once his nanny. But that was a long time ago, when he was little more than a babe.”

  Before the kidnapping, I thought. “And more recently?”

  “He needed me and so I came. It has always been that way with us.”

  She told me a little about his schooling and the business empire he had inherited from his father. Simon had never been comfortable giving orders, she said, and had conducted most of his affairs through intermediaries and online. “He is uncommonly smart. Wise far beyond his years. A clever and curious young man, our Simon.” Her eyes twinkled. “You’ll see.”

  By the end of the week, Simon and I had gone through all the stories in my book, and I asked him to choose a new title from his collection.

  He tapped his bell a single time and then tapped out my name. No, Alice.

  “You want me to pick a book?”

  A single tinkle, a long pause. Two tinkles, a short pause, and then two more tinkles.

  I wrinkled my brow as I tried to decrypt. “No, Alice. No…Alice. No. Alice.”

  Two taps, a pause, two more taps.

  “Alice.” I took a shot in the dark. “You want me to tell you my story?”

  The bell tinkled twice in rapid succession.

  I didn’t like talking about myself even on social media, but I didn’t want to disappoint him, and it seemed only right that he should know something about the stranger that Habella had invited into his home.

  Settling back in the chair, I folded my hands in my lap. “I grew up in a funeral home. The Morningstars have been in the death care business for generations, beginning with my German ancestors. My grandparents died when I was a baby and my mother and aunt took over the family mortuary. I never knew my father. I don’t even know his name. My mother was just seventeen when I was born. Fragile and fanciful, she remains to this day the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. But I’m not going to tell you about my mother. Not today.”

  He watched me with unblinking fascination.

  “Today, I’ll tell you about my Aunt Fiona, the second most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. She was nineteen when I came along, her whole life ahead of her. But she gave up her hopes and dreams to help care for an infant niece and her aging, ailing parents. Once my grandparents were gone, she threw her heart and soul into the business. Aunt Fi has a talent for dealing with people. She knows just what to say, how to soothe and comfort the bereaved. When my mother got sick, we were forced to sell the mortuary. That broke Fi’s heart, but she has always done what needed to be done. My aunt is nothing if not pragmatic. In some ways I’m like her and in some ways, I’m not.”

  Simon tapped my name faintly and I smiled.

  I talked on about my childhood and about my pursuit of a PhD in psychology. When our time was up, I rose quietly, tucked in his covers and tiptoed from the room. Habella waited for me in the sitting room with an encouraging smile and a cup of fragrant tea.

  “He’s becoming very attached to you,” she said. “I’ve never seen him so taken.”

  I didn’t know how to respond so I ducked my head and sipped the tea.

  “It won’t be long now,” she said. “It’s good that he has you for this part of his journey.”

  I left as soon as I could, breathing a sigh of relief as I exited the garden and turned down the street. My time with Simon had drained me and yet I felt strangely euphoric. I didn’t bother with dinner or my studies, but instead went straight to bed, where I slept the sleep of the dead.

  It was raining the next day when I returned to Culleton House. The gloomy weather matched the housekeeper’s expression, but her dourness no longer intimidated me. The windows were open in the library and dampness permeated the room. Beneath the scent of drowned flowers and wet earth I detected the medicinal aroma of camphor.

  Simon didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps the way he normally did. He seemed mesmerized by the rain. I went over to the window and stood watching with him for a moment. His eyes looked glazed, his skin blanched and translucent.

  “Are you all right?” I asked as I moved back to his bedside. “Simon? Can you hear me?”

  He didn’t stir, not so much as the blink of an eye. I tried to quell a rising panic as I touched my fingers to his wrist. I could barely feel a pulse, but when I would have hurried away to fetch the nurse or Habella, his fingers closed around my hand and he held me with the force of a vise.

  I froze, for a moment too stupefied by the action to break free. When I finally did struggle, his grip tightened until I cried out. He released me immediately and I backed away from the bed, cradling my hand to my chest as I stared at him in fear and bewilderment. Then I whirled and hurried from the room, calling to Habella as I all but sprinted down the corridor.

  She appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression unfathomable. “What is it, Alice? What has happened?”

  “Simon—” My heart was still beating so fast I couldn’t get the words out.

  She came down the stairs quickly, her long skirt swirling around her ankles. “What about Simon, child?”

  “He’s not himself. He’s…” My voice trailed off as a light flared in her eyes.

  She nodded and ushered me into the sitting room. “Wait for me here.” She returned a little while later with a tea tray.

  “Is he okay?” I asked anxiously.

  “A little weaker, I’m afraid.”

  “Weaker? He grabbed my wrist. See?” I held out my arm to her. “There’s already a bruise.”

  “That’s impossible, child.”

  “I’m telling you he did!”

  “Then it was a reflex,” she insisted. “A muscle memory, like the twitching of a corpse.”

  “Has this happened before?”

  She hesitated. “He had a bad night. We had to increase his medication and sometimes a stronger dose produces unintended consequences.” She sat down on the edge of the sofa and poured the tea. “Drink up,” she urged.

  “Shouldn’t I get back to Simon
?”

  “He’ll sleep for the rest of the day. Tomorrow he’ll be back to normal. Normal for him,” she added.

  I took a sip from the delicate floral cup she handed me. “This tastes different.”

  She smiled. “A different blend today. Passiflora incarnata. Passionflower. It will help calm you. Finish your tea and then go home, child. Get a good night’s sleep and come back tomorrow.”

  For the second time in as many days I went straight to bed when I got home, falling asleep almost at once. But dreams plagued my rest. Strange, psychotropic visions of the afterlife. Simon was there with Habella. I could see them just beyond an ornate gate. He held out his arms to me, but I couldn’t make myself go to him. When I would have turned to flee, a hand clamped around my wrist. Habella was suddenly at my side, but she no longer looked like the gentle death doula I’d come to know. Her gaze was brazen and feral, and she said against my ear, “Do not fight this, Alice. He has chosen.”

  I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart thudding in dread. I lay very still as I oriented myself to the darkness. I was in my bedroom in the carriage house. The doors and windows were locked tight for the night. I was safe and sound, yet I couldn’t shake a feeling of impending doom that hung heavy on the sultry night air.

  Rising, I went into the bathroom for a drink of water, guzzling straight from the faucet as though I had been trapped in the desert for days. Then I went to the front window and stared out into the garden. The rain had stopped and the stars were out. Moonlight glimmered from a thousand water droplets clinging to the treetops. The garden seemed ethereal and enchanted, but even as I took in the gossamer beauty, the shadows seemed to creep in from all the dark corners.

  Someone was out there watching me. Some thing hid in the shadows. It was all I could do not to grab my phone and call my Aunt Fiona to come to my rescue. Even the sound of her voice would be a lifeline, but I wouldn’t do that to her. I didn’t want to worry her. After the hell she’d been through with my mother, the last thing she needed was a delusional niece on her hands.

  I went back to bed but I didn’t sleep. I rose at dawn and hit the books until my first class at nine. Afterward, I lingered on campus, reluctant to return to the carriage house, though I couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the dreams I’d had the night before or the proximity to Culleton House, a place that no longer fascinated but repelled me.

  I wouldn’t go back, I told myself. I didn’t need the money that badly, but of course, I did. My situation was just short of desperate, exacerbated by the astronomical student debt I’d amassed. It would be stupid and irresponsible to turn down easy money because I’d had a few bad dreams. Nor would it be fair to Simon. He had grown used to me, perhaps even fond of me, and it seemed cruel to needlessly upset him when he had so little time left to him.

  With fresh resolve, I returned to Culleton House that afternoon and was relieved when Simon turned at the sound of my footsteps. His eyes were clear and very blue and though his expression never shifted, I sensed he was happy to see me.

  I greeted him with a jaunty hello and he responded with a light tap of his bell.

  “Shall we continue where we left off?” I asked.

  Yes.

  “Today I’ll tell you about my mother. Her name is Katherine Morningstar. Kitty for short. Sometimes my aunt calls her ‘Kitty-cat’ the way she did when they were little. That always makes my mother smile. For the past ten years, ever since my twelfth birthday, she has resided at the Milton H. Farrante Psychiatric Hospital here in Charleston.”

  Chin in hand, I stared out the window as I continued.

  “As I mentioned before, the sisters took over the family business after my grandparents died. My aunt was the face of the mortuary and my mother worked behind the scenes. When I was little, she would bring me into the prep room to keep her company. She was a true artist, my mother. She had her own special way of blending the fluids so that the skin looked dewy and supple, and she was an expert at facial reconstruction and cosmetics. A magician, some called her. She created such natural presentations that she came to believe her touch really could bring the dead back to life. I came to believe it, too. At first, it was just the flutter of an eyelash or the tremor of a finger. Then I heard their voices. I would catch them staring at me, sometimes angrily, sometimes imploringly. There is a term for such a disorder. Folie à deux. The madness of two.”

  I glanced at Simon to see if he had fallen asleep. He had turned his head to the window, but I could tell that he was still alert. Still clever and curious.

  “My aunt found a psychiatrist who took a keen interest in our affliction. He convinced Fiona to have my mother committed for a short time. The separation, he said, would weaken her hold on me. But weeks became months and then years, and my mother didn’t get any better. It soon became painfully obvious that the woman we knew and loved would never come home to us.

  “I still visit her at least once a week. Sometimes she’ll see me and sometimes she won’t. Sometimes she remembers me and sometimes she doesn’t. But I still go. Every Sunday afternoon without fail.”

  I drew a heavy breath and released it. Simon’s eyes were closed now. I got up, fiddled with his covers, and then left the room. As had become our habit, I met Habella in the sitting room and she handed me a cup of tea, something flavorful and aromatic.

  “Passionflower?” I asked as I sipped appreciatively.

  “With a dash of life-everlastin’. Not just good for the body, but for the soul.”

  I wondered if she had listened in on my story. No matter. I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

  I studied in the garden until twilight. When I could no longer see the text before me, I put the books aside and let my mind wander, back to my childhood, back to my mother, back to that dark place where she and I had once dwelled together. I had an image of her in the prep room, explaining to me about that moment after death when the body still clings to life. There are those who fight transition even after the heart stops beating. Even after every drop of blood has been drained from the arteries. Their resistance can sometimes turn violent. That’s why you must never, ever turn your back on a corpse, Alice.

  The mosquitoes came out and I gathered up my books to go inside. I tried to study in bed, but my eyelids soon drooped and I pulled the covers to my chin, succumbing to exhaustion.

  Something awakened me after midnight. Not a bell this time. Not a sound of any kind, but a scent. The aroma of camphor flooded my room.

  I rose from bed to check all the doors and windows and to peer out into the garden. Nothing stirred. Nothing seemed amiss, but I had the terrifying notion that someone had found a secret way into my home. And that someone had stood at my bedside gazing down at me as I slept.

  The next day I insisted that Simon and I choose another work of fiction to read. I was done with the story of Alice. I could feel his gaze on me as I wandered around the room, searching and searching until a familiar title struck my fancy. I plucked a copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho from the shelf and returned to his beside.

  I read until he fell asleep, had tea with Habella, and then went home. The pattern continued for days, but on the Friday of my second week at Culleton House, I sensed something was different. Simon looked the same, the house felt the same, and yet something had changed.

  Halfway through our session, I paused in mid-sentence and shivered. Without looking up, I knew that he had slipped away. I set the book aside and got up to check his pulse, lingering at his bedside to adjust the covers and smooth back the lock of hair that fell across his forehead. Then I went down the hallway to the sitting room. Habella glanced up as I hovered in the doorway.

  “What it is, child?”

  “He’s gone.”

  She rose and came to the doorway. “I’ll fetch the nurse and call the proper authorities. Arrangements will need to be made…” She took my hand and squeezed my fingers before she went down the hallway muttering to the portraits.

  I didn’
t know what to do so I stood at the front window and watched the street. Habella returned some time later with a tea tray. I didn’t want refreshment. I wanted nothing so much as to escape from that house, but Habella seemed to take comfort in my presence, and so I stayed until two of my colleagues from the funeral home came to collect the body.

  That night, I sat in the garden and thought about Simon. How strange it was to have him so near. In the old days, someone would have sat with him all night, but that was a pointless exercise. The essence of Simon Straiker was already gone. His body was nothing more than a shell, an empty vessel. No matter my mother’s belief to the contrary, the dead did not awaken.

  Habella summoned me back to Culleton House the next day, presumably to settle our account. She had tea waiting for me, and as I sipped the fragrant brew, she explained that Simon had left a gift for me.

  “It belonged to his great-great-grandmother,” she said as she handed me a velvet jewelry box. The antique diamond ring nestled inside took my breath away.

  “I can’t accept,” I said on a gasp. “This is too much. He barely knew me.”

  “He knew you well enough. You became like family to him. Please don’t deny him this last request.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing at all. Take the ring and wear it in good health, child. Everything else—his houses, his art collection, all the business holdings…” She shrugged. “The staff will be taken care, of course, but the rest will be dealt with by lawyers. I’m glad the ring will be safe from all those ravenous vultures.”

  I tucked the velvet box in my pocket and stood. “I should be going. I know you must have a million things to do.”

  “Stay, Alice. Finish your tea, child. Your presence brings us such comfort.”

  Without Simon, the house seemed more oppressive than ever and I suddenly had need of fresh air. But under the circumstances, I could hardly refuse her request. I picked up my teacup and sipped. She chatted on about the arrangements and I tried to murmur the appropriate response but my mind wandered. It wasn’t until she said my name sharply that I snapped back.