The Rarest Rose

by I Beacham

  Ele was exhausted, and she felt like she was on an emotional pendulum. Last night, alone in the house, she had been petrified. She had closed every curtain, frightened to death that she might glimpse a ghost staring in at her. She even closed the curtains in her bedroom, something she never did. Her imagination wild, she conjured up thoughts of this strange man levitating from the ground and staring in at her as she lay in bed. Nothing happened, but the absence hadn’t stopped her having a sleepless night, aware of every creak in the house and every shadow in her bedroom. It brought her little comfort that Feathers had slept undisturbed on the bottom of her bed, or that Kiernan believed the spirit only “functioned” outside.

  Daylight brought a welcome calm; she always worried more at night and let her thoughts and emotions run rampant. Kiernan’s presence helped too. Her quiet composure and control soaked into her bones, and she turned more rational and charged. Ele was determined to discover who this man was and why he now appeared. She had to stand up to this unique predicament. If she didn’t, what was her alternative? To move? No way. This had been her home for too long and it held such precious memories. No ghost was going to rob her of those.

  She nudged close to Kiernan and studied the man’s face. At first glance, his eyes were all consuming and startling, with an edge of animosity lodged deep. It was not difficult to imagine he meant her ill will. But the more she forced herself to look, as the shock of this spectral discovery diminished, her opinion changed. It surprised her when Kiernan voiced the same view. Sometimes, she felt they were on the same wavelength.

  “The more I look at him,” Kiernan said, “the less I see him as willful or dangerous. His eyes are terrifying, but I sense sadness and loss there too, don’t you?”

  For a second, Ele wondered if Kiernan was making this up in a kind attempt to lighten the horror and to tone down its spine-chilling magnitude. Yet when she looked at her, she knew she wasn’t. She studied the man’s face again and knew it was true. His eyes begged, yearned for something, and there was desperation there.

  “Yes, I see it, too.”

  They reexamined his attire and the way he groomed himself—the slim moustache, the slicked back hairstyle with its short back and sides. It was reminiscent of the 1920s, perhaps earlier, when personal grooming was at a high and appearance leaned to the immaculate.

  “So what now?” Ele glanced at her, seeking comfort in serious eyes. She was grateful for her presence and to know she did not face this alone. She wondered if she would trust anyone else so quickly the way she did Kiernan. What if it had been another photographer from the magazine? Would she have felt so comfortable with them? It occurred to her, that their meeting was such luck. She might never have met her but for the article.

  “Do you have any idea who has lived here before you?” Ele listened to Kiernan’s rich voice. She loved the way it resonated.

  “No. The house was empty for some years. The man I bought it from inherited it and never lived here. I can find out though by drawing the deeds from the safe custody box at my bank. Older deeds often record the names of past owners, and I seem to remember mine are quite detailed.”

  Kiernan liked the idea. “I also wonder if, given the history of this area, there might be a local historical society. If there is, they might be able to help.”

  Ele crossed to her desk and picked up a copy of the local Yellow Pages. She scanned through it. “Nothing.” Then she riffled through a pile of paperwork before surfacing with a small pamphlet. “The village produces this twice a year. All the local businesses and social groups tend to advertise in it. I don’t look at it much, but you never know.” She flicked through its pages. “Aha! There’s a local historical society that functions through Chestleton Library, and there’s a number here. Shall I call?”

  “Worth a shot.”

  A recorded message from a man with a heavy nasal accent and overly pronounced words informed her that someone from the society was present in the local town library mid week between ten and two o’clock. If she required any information, she was invited to drop in to the library between those times.

  Kiernan had been about to leave when she said, “I’ll come with you to the library if you like. Two heads are better than one.”

  Ele was delighted. She hadn’t wanted to ask her in case she was being pushy. Kiernan was already doing so much, giving up her free time to help. When Kiernan volunteered, Ele couldn’t believe it. It was as if she had read her mind. It was just another thing that made Ele realize how singular Kiernan was, and that her initial impression of her was right. Not for the first time, she thanked the magazine for wanting to do an article on her.

  Chapter Eight

  On an unexpected sunny mid-week morning, Kiernan bounced into Chestleton Library. She was in a good mood and looking forward to seeing Ele. She hadn’t felt this happy in a long time and knew it was Ele who evoked her elation. Though she reminded herself that they were simply becoming friends through interesting times, she couldn’t help feeling the spring in her step. God, when was the last time she’d felt that?

  They had agreed to meet at the library, but despite being a few minutes late, she arrived first. For a while, she hung around in the entrance waiting for Ele, but after the librarian at the desk stared at her for a third time, she decided to go ahead and seek out the representative of the historical society. She found him in a little room toward the back of the library, past the children’s corner full of bright, mega-colorful books and huge hanging cardboard cutouts of big yellow sunflowers and bright green ducks.

  Hugh Latimer’s persona did not match the brightness and glow of the sunflowers or ducks. Instead, Kiernan found a balding, bespectacled middle-aged man in a sleeveless cardigan who looked like he’d just received a final notice from the taxman. He could not have been more disinterested in Kiernan’s inquiries if he’d trained for it.

  “The historical society is primarily interested in material of historical value,” his monotone nasal voice declared in dismissive tone. “We seek to record, and preserve, those matters of historical past, be they people or buildings, that add to the rich narrative and import of this area.” He glanced at her over the top of his glasses, and in an almost disapproving manner, added, “What we do not keep, nor have interest in, is an A to Z of every person who has lived in every domicile residence within the area of historic value, unless of course”—Latimer raised a single skinny finger in emphasis—“they are of historical interest and can add to the colorful account, figuratively speaking, of our boundaries.”

  It took Kiernan a few seconds to realize Latimer had finished talking and was now looking at her, total indifference registered on his face. He was hoping to dismiss her and get on with whatever he had been doing before her interruption.

  Did people like this really exist? Latimer was like a modern day caricature of some slimy Charles Dickens secondary character whose task it was to hamper the hero or heroine’s objective, and cause them nothing but distress. Her imagination ran riot, and she was mentally enjoying pulling what little hair he had left on his head out, root by root, when Ele walked in behind her. The change in Hugh Latimer’s demeanor was nothing short of spectacular.

  “Oh, Miss Teal…” he spluttered.

  Kiernan watched as he rose from his chair and came from behind the desk, wringing his hands in delight and with a smile capable of lighting up Oxford Street’s Christmas illuminations. He’s got more teeth than a tiger shark.

  She heard Ele’s concise diction as she introduced herself and explained she also sought the information Kiernan did, that they were working together. Though she tried, Kiernan could not stop her eyebrows from rising high up her forehead. She stood dumbfounded as Latimer began imparting helpful information.

  “I deeply regret that we hold no record of persons who have resided at that domicile since its demise as a vicarage, but all is not lost.” He raised his index finger as he smiled at Ele. Kiernan ungraciously viewed a dirty fingernail. “However,
there is an elderly gentleman, Mr. Edmond Riser, living in Pegmire who has proved most useful in previous inquiries. Although he is in his nineties, he is still quite sagacious and alert, and because he has lived and worked in the village all his life, he might be able to shed light on previous occupants.” Latimer wrung his hands again, so overcome and delighted to be of assistance to Eleanor Teal.

  Kiernan shook her head as she watched Latimer open up to Ele like orange segments. What was it with some men who were so shallow they could only react to beautiful women, and seemed dismissive of the remaining ninety percent of the population? Latimer was no Adonis, and she meanly concluded he had gone through life having difficulty finding a mate. Wasn’t it in his interest to play nice with everyone? She rolled her eyes and continued to stand back and watch the ongoing performance. Latimer had to have been one of those adoring fans who had once fantasized over Ele when she was on morning television.

  Several minutes later, it seemed Ele had all the information she wanted from Latimer. She patted Kiernan on a shoulder to indicate they were leaving.

  “Well, that went really well,” Ele said as they walked out of the library and toward the town car park. “Don’t you think so?” She glanced over to Kiernan who stared back at her in total amusement. “What?”

  They halted at a pedestrian crossing.

  Kiernan drew herself into a hunched position and wrung her hands before her. She impersonated Hugh Latimer’s pinched looks and nasal voice. “Oh, Miss Teal, how can I assist you? Whatever you want, please let me fall over myself to deliver it.” She bared her teeth.

  “I thought he was delightful and most helpful,” Ele replied, poker-faced.

  Kiernan straightened and sighed. “He was to you. He treated me like an imbecile. I couldn’t get anything out of him. What a puffed-up pigeon of a man.”

  “Oh.” Ele reached out and patted Kiernan on the shoulder in an exhibition of simulated sympathy, and in her most caring voice said, “You poor thing, he dented your ego.”

  “He didn’t dent it,” Kiernan said with mock defensiveness. “He crushed it.”

  “Oh, you’re crushed.” Ele was playing with her and Kiernan loved it.

  She couldn’t stop grinning and felt almost excited when Ele beamed back at her, her eyes sparkling and her face laced with fun. She allowed herself a laugh and as she did, emotional shackles fell from her, and she was lighter again—like she had been before Chrissie. Before Chrissie had hurt her so much, and she had feared she could never heal the wounds. She was drawn to Ele, like a compass point to true North. And it felt wonderful.

  Ele reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Why don’t I make you feel better? Come home and have lunch with me.”

  Kiernan hadn’t thought the moment could improve, but it just had. Ele’s physical contact only added to her happiness, and though she reminded herself this was just the building of a firm friendship, a minute part inside her whispered, “Could it be more?” Was it possible that, in her dreams, Ele might also be attracted to her? The aperture of a memory opened and reminded her of a photo on a piano―that of Ele and another woman. It tempered her elation before she accepted the invitation without hesitation. She could think of no better way to finish an already perfect day.

  Lunch over, she was even more content. Though it was cold outside, the sunshine poured into Ele’s sitting room as they sat at a small round oak table that rested by a window overlooking the front of the house. Remains of lunch lay scattered before them.

  Kiernan felt sated and leaned back in the chair. She looked out at the light reflecting through autumn leaves that still clung to branches despite recent high winds. November was such a destructive month.

  Eyeing her car in the driveway, she joked, “Do I get my own parking space if I keep coming here?” Her light banter was rewarded with another rich smile as Ele sat opposite her finishing her coffee.

  Quiet moments passed, and Kiernan allowed the comfort of silence to wash over her. It was something she cherished in life, the ability to sit with another—someone nice—and neither feel a need to fill silence with words. It was a behavior that spoke of contentment and well-being, of peace with the world. Well, at least it did to her. And she was at peace now. Usually, she was on the go and hated idle hands. She’d always been a busy person, the type who liked to put thirty hours into a day, but her hive of activity had increased lately. A deliberate action. Work stopped her thinking about Chrissie and curbed her pendulum of emotions.

  Her last relationship had failed at the final hurdle, and the aftereffects had been colossal. It left her wary of trusting another too soon, fearing they too might let her down. She had given her heart to Chrissie, but it had been rejected. But time was ever the great healer, and she felt it was doing its job, for here she was contemplating the possibility—though slim—of another expedition into matters of the heart.

  Ele invigorated her, and when she had put her arm around her after they had left the library, Kiernan had felt desire. She reminded herself to be sensible and not read what she wanted into otherwise innocent actions. The arm around her shoulder was simple friendship, a gesture to thank her for her support, nothing more. She doubted Ele was looking for love. Someone important was or had been in her life. Though the person appeared absent, she still wore a ring, and there were numerous reasons why that might be. Whatever they were, Kiernan was certain Ele was not in the market for romance. She found it disappointing.

  Her attention was refocused as she heard the cat growling at her feet. It was a strange noise, and she wondered whether it was the animal’s way of letting her know she wasn’t welcome here. He knew how to make his intentions clear. All through lunch, he’d eyeballed her from a distance.

  “God, not another hairball, Feathers.” Ele stood and moved to the front door to let the cat out. He followed swiftly. Kiernan felt relieved.

  When Ele returned and sat down, she apologized. “I’m sorry for being late this morning. I went to my bank to get the house deeds, but they took a while to find them. Said they were filed in the wrong place.” She raised her eyes. “You would think a bank would have a functioning filing system, wouldn’t you? Hopefully, they’ll tell us past owners. We might get lucky. I suppose I also ought to try to―”

  Ele didn’t finish her sentence. Kiernan saw the color drain from her face as she looked beyond her, and outside. Her smile disappeared and was replaced with a frozen look of horror.

  “Look at Feathers,” Ele whispered, her voice quiet as if she didn’t want to disturb something.

  Kiernan turned a few degrees to look over her shoulder. At first, all she could see was the cat outside on the gravel, but as she watched, she saw what Ele did, and what scared her.

  Featherstone walked around in a small tight circle before standing up on his hind legs as if to brush against something, or someone, rubbing his face against an object unseen. He kept looking up, and when he resumed walking, it was as if he was weaving in and out of something.

  Kiernan had seen him do this with Ele when they arrived back this morning; a welcoming behavior. He was now repeating this to nothing but the air. She saw him defy the law of physics as he stood once more on his back legs with his front paws resting in mid air for too many seconds.

  Kiernan glanced at Ele and wondered if her heart pounded like hers did. Neither of them spoke as they continued to watch.

  They could see Feathers meowing as he looked up again. Then he sat down, but his eyes seemed to move slowly toward them, as if he were following some movement, of something coming their way.

  What happened next made Ele and Kiernan bolt away from the table and stumble back into the room, their eyes still fixed on the window. As they sat there, a sudden mist appeared on the glass before them. It stayed there for mere seconds before fading from the edges and disappearing into the middle.

  Kiernan stared at Ele, who could only stare back at her. They had witnessed someone’s warm breath materializing on a cold pane.
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  It was Ele who broke the silence of the terrifying moment. “We have to find Edmond Riser.”

  *

  Ele did not want to spend the night in her house alone. It felt strange and alien to her. After Kiernan left, she considered booking into a hotel, but realized it wasn’t practical. She had Featherstone to think about, and one night away wasn’t going to solve anything. In time, she’d have to come home. But what happened at lunchtime filled her with dread, and she had been in a high state of anxiousness ever since.

  She huddled up against the warmth of her sitting room fire, seated on the rug in front of it. All the lights were on and the curtains drawn, and she knew she should go to bed, but the thought of having to leave this room and move upstairs? What if something else happened? She was alone. Even Feathers, who was curled up beside her fast asleep, made her nervous tonight. What if he started acting strange again?

  Ele ran her fingers through her hair. A shower would feel great, but forget that. A room full of mist and a closed shower curtain? The last thing she needed was an unwelcome scene from Psycho. She contemplated staying in her sitting room tonight and not moving upstairs.

  It wasn’t as if the haunting was her only problem. Today, which had started out so well, had turned from bad to worse. When she phoned Edmond Riser, there had been no reply nor a way to leave a message. At about that time, her phone started making strange clicking sounds that continued through the evening. If she picked it up to see if anyone was trying to ring her, all she heard was static. It added to her fright.

  She looked down at the broken photograph she held in her hands, the one of her and Beth. When she scrambled back from the window earlier, she had knocked it off the piano and broken the glass inside the silver frame. Kiernan had picked it up and handed it to her, but not before long scrutiny. Ele had felt an instant distance between them. Ignoring it, she had asked Kiernan to stay on and have dinner, declaring—with frank honesty—that she was scared, but the invitation was declined. Kiernan left shortly afterward, obviously having put two and two together. She had recognized that the woman in the photo was Ele’s lover, her partner. Ele had sensed Kiernan’s disapproval.