What could she do? She felt her own sanity ebbing away as visions of cliffs and screaming tortured her. She heard screams that were her own screams, and saw cliffs where Andrew stood, murderous and intent. Then he turned and became Nick, driving recklessly along the coast, staring wildly at her.
Pressing her head against the tree, she closed her eyes and prayed. She whispered to God, begging, pleading. But there was no answer, only the wind and the solitary, numbing drizzle. She began to shake uncontrollably as though she had stepped into an ice cold stream. She opened her eyes and backhanded her tears, then gasped. There stood The Lady in White, far away near the edge of the forest. She hovered above the sodden ground with a face so full sorrow that her very aura seemed restrained as in bereavement.
“Is…is it true?” Emily struggled to say.
“Yes, it is. I wish she could have told you otherwise.”
“No. No, it can’t be. Please, tell me it can’t be, please!”
“You know it is true, Emily. You do. You have always known. He has always been dangerous to you. It is what drew you to him in the beginning. You have chosen not to see it.”
“Then there has to be something we can do? A way to escape this? Break this…end this…?”
“No one has ever broken the curse. They have tried, but in the end they have all died, each and every one.”
“And Nick and Nora?”
“Yes, they as well. Nora was haunted by the ghosts of another Chamberlain and Thomas fighting to be reunited. That is how she found Nick. He helped her, of course, then he fell in love with her as it has always been throughout time. They had the ashes of those two lost souls in their automobile as they were headed to be married. They wanted to cast them into the sea at the place where the two of them had died. Then Nick…he drove them off the cliff.”
“No! I won’t believe this. He loved her. He loves her. She knows that. He would never hurt her. He couldn’t.”
“It cannot be stopped. It has never been stopped. No cursed Chamberlain has ever married a Thomas. Throughout countless lifetimes each one has tried. Once they have pledged themselves, it is only a matter of time until they kill. The murders are horrible, gruesome. And the curse rends the lovers apart in the afterlife. There is no peace.”
“There must be something I can do to stop it? I’ll do anything. Please.”
“Are you strong, Emily Thomas?”
Her past words echoed bitterly back at Emily. “Are you strong, Emily Thomas? Can you live without your heart?”
“Please, please… I’m begging you. Tell me…tell me what I can do.” Emily ran toward her, trying to reach out and hold her, but her hands only pawed through icy vapor.
The Lady in White paused and looked out over the redwoods; droplets of water hung on her flowing hair like tears. “Do you love him?”
Emily nodded back, unable to speak.
“Then you must leave him.”
No. Anything but that.
“I can’t…I can’t leave him. I can’t. And…and he wouldn’t let me go.”
“He would if you were dead.”
Emily stood there stunned. “No. I won’t. I won’t.”
“You do not have to. He only needs to believe you have.”
Emily fell back against the tree. “I couldn’t do that to him.”
“Pain does not last forever. It fades like all things, until it becomes part of who we are. He will mourn, yes, but he will continue on with his life. He will find a way. He will find things to heal his heart…His family, his friends—”
“His music.”
Could she do this? Could she find the strength within her to do this to Andrew? What choice did she have? She couldn’t change fate. She couldn’t stop believing in ghosts and the horrors of the night—they were real and inescapable.
“Help me,” Emily begged her.
She pointed her hand at Emily’s coat. “You have the keys.”
Her previous words mocked her. The keys to the minivan lay heavy in Andrew’s pocket. It was then that a plan, crude and elementary, but a plan nonetheless, began to form in Emily’s mind. Before she moved a step, though, she had to know. “Tell me. If I do this, if I leave him, if I never…see him again…can Nick and Nora, can they at least be together?”
The Lady in White didn’t answer; she merely continued to look out toward the forest, silent. Her eyes swept back to hers, and they were full of the wistfulness of time. Did she even remember what it was like to yearn, to cry, to say goodbye? Or did she choose to forget? Was it easier?
“Yes.”
A calmness, more owing to shock than relief, fell over her. She could do this for Nick and Nora, this one last thing. They would have their happily ever after. As for her, there would be pain, unbearable pain, but what other choice did she have? She was beyond thinking herself sane. Fate. Fate was written on her palm, in her life line. Everything was marching steadily to only one conclusion. This supernatural nightmare had only one end unless she changed it.
She needed to run. To run as fast as possible. Once on the road she could think of the next step. Like a ghost with bones, she raced to the minivan. The key slid into the ignition without a sound. The seats were cold, and the smell of coffee lingered. The fog made the descent difficult, but it quickly closed in behind her, obscuring the van from view. She counted her breaths. The only feeling left within her was that of her freezing lips.
28
* * *
“ANDREW, JUST LET HER puke in peace,” said Margot, seizing his arm as he tried to charge the door again. Her face found his, and what she saw there made her drop her hand. “She’ll come back when she’s ready. Holy Mary, Mother of God, that was awful.”
“Awful?” he spat in disbelief. Awful didn’t even come close. To stand there and watch that thing, that abomination, spew that garbage and tell her that the man who was supposed to love her until her last breath was going to be responsible for taking it? Fucking no! No! He would not accept this. He recommenced his fevered pacing, raking his hand through his hair, only to glare at the door once more.
Christian stood with his arms around Zoey. Even Simon had slung his arm protectively over Margot’s shoulder. Only the stoners carried on as though nothing had happened, putting away their gear while Buck carefully swept up the ashes. Why, why, why had he let her come here in the first place, Andrew berated himself. He knew it was wrong. Bloody fucking hell!
He glanced at his watch. She had been gone for almost fifteen minutes. He couldn’t take any more; he had to see her. God only knew what she was thinking at this point—Emily, who took everything so seriously. “That’s it! I have to talk to her.”
“No,” said Margot. “Zoey and I will do it. She’s probably still a little bit…rattled. It was a lot of information to take in. Just calm the hell down, okay?”
“What information? So what if I’m a Chamberlain? I don’t care. For Christ’s sake, Neil’s a Chamberlain, you don’t see him driving off any cliffs. You mean to tell me I’m the one Chamberlain cursed out of thousands? There are no such things as curses. Coincidences, yes—but not curses.”
“We’ll be back in a minute. Calm, please.”
He watched them leave and resumed his pacing, but the more he stalked the room, the more the images assaulted him. His hands around her neck. Her screams. His uncontrollable rage.
“No!” he yelled, frightening the hell out of Egan, who dropped a camera onto the floor.
“Listen, man,” said Simon, appearing more troubled by the second. “Let’s just get the hell out of here. Find a bar and drink this off.”
Andrew scrubbed his face, trying to rid himself of the sense of dread growing within him. Where was she? He had to see her, reason with her, make her understand.
“So do you really think you got her?” Christian asked, staring at the last of the ashes Buck had swept up from the floor.
“There’s no way to be sure, man,” Dwayne replied. “Neutralizing her psychic makeup is one
thing, but to get rid of her for good…? You can suicide with her along for the ride, but if she’s strong enough she might get loose, although, face it, she’s in a pretty gnarly state as is. You can always try to dry rub her with another ghost’s ashes, but good luck getting her to hold still for that.”
Andrew ripped the rowan berries off his neck in disgust. Another five minutes passed. By now the stoners had packed up their gear and were about to head out when Margot and Zoey reappeared in the door way. “She’s not in any of the ladies’ rooms on this floor,” Margot told him.
“What?”
“I think she might have gone down to the lobby for more privacy,” Margot added quickly. “We’re going to look.”
He pushed them roughly aside. Together they headed down the stairs, but he outran Zoey and Margot as he rounded the corner of the lobby and sprinted to the nearest restroom.
“Emily?” he hollered, his voice reverberating off the tiles. It was empty, save for a startled cleaning lady huddled near the sink. “Are there any other bathrooms in the hotel?” he demanded.
She crept to the door and pointed a finger at a long corridor. He dashed out the door like a shot and slammed into the girls. Together they searched the next restroom, but it was empty.
“Maybe she didn’t make it to a bathroom. She was almost sick before she left the séance. I bet she ran outside, and she’s probably under some tree now, getting herself together,” Margot said hopefully as they rushed back to the lobby.
The fog was as thick as mud as they raced out of the side doors and into a small park. They broke up, their shouts ricocheted off the trees, but there was no answer; only the cold mist of drizzle hung about them. Andrew kept running, his heart pounding in his chest. He scoured the surrounding acres, from the trees to the rear of the hotel, but could see nothing.
“Emily!” he cried, still hoping he would spot her slouched at the base of some tree. Yet as every second passed, his spirits became more and more fractious. Finally he grabbed the girls, and they ran back into the hotel. Simon and the stoners stood in the lobby, staring at them as they entered like they were insane.
“Where the hell’d you get to?” Simon asked.
“Emily’s missing. We can’t find her anywhere,” Andrew replied bluntly, feverishly scanning the lobby.
Just then Christian dashed in the front doors, his face severe. “Andrew, the minivan. It’s gone.”
“What? Where’d it go?” Simon cried.
Reality smashed into Andrew. The truth he’d been fighting so hard knocked him blind. Emily believed what that thing had said. She believed he was going to kill her. She was running.
Forward, Emily. You have to leave, run. Now.
As Emily drove the minivan, she estimated how long she could risk at each stop. The hotel was first. She madly combed every inch she could reach, raking clothes, jewelry, and toiletries into her bag. The smell of him was everywhere and overpowering; his very energy bounced off the walls, even in the tousled sheets. Her hand reached out to smooth his crumpled pillow. “Andrew. I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.”
No. She needed to run. If she didn’t escape soon, she never would. Forward, Emily, she screamed at herself. Forward. You have to leave—run. Don’t cry. Don’t cry now.
Two minutes, she had two minutes left. Andrew would know she was gone by now. She could picture him storming out of the inn, tearing across the grounds, and screaming her name. Would he realize the van was gone? Would he know where she was headed?
Shutting the thoughts from her mind, she threw her bag in the back of the van but not before transferring one packet to her satchel. Nora. Her hand patted the cool plastic. I won’t fail you. I promise.
The fog had socked in the highway, making the sea a silver knife to her right. She reasoned that they would take the stoners’ van and go to the hotel first to find her. That left her precious little time. Her hands clenched the wheel as she pushed the van as fast as she dared. Her breathing caught in her chest as she spotted the turn off. It wouldn’t be long now. Yet as she stomped on the gas, images of Andrew began to speak to her, fighting to pull her back.
He stood on stage, singing—his eyes closed, his head bent. “This next song is about a girl. It’s always about a girl, isn’t it?” Her hands choked the wheel, and she punched the gas pedal harder. The image changed to him at the foot of their stairway, her shoe held in his hand. “I believe this is yours.” In anguish, she fumbled on the radio and turned up the volume as loud as it could go. The picture glided to that of him standing in the attic with his hand outstretched to her, wearing an old fashioned dinner jacket, his face beaming. “Dance with me.”
Her shoulders shook, and she lifted her foot off the accelerator. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this…” she cried out to the inside of the empty van. And then in one last attempt to reach her, Andrew stood helpless and lost on their front porch, the rain pelting his face. Silent.
She slammed back into the seat at the pain and stomped on the brakes, launching her body into the steering wheel. Shaking, she laid her head on her hands.
No! Not one person had survived this curse, not through lifetimes and lifetimes. And she knew it, she had always known it. The first time he touched her, she knew it. The first time he laid her down on a bed, she knew it. Time was running out. Time had always been running out. That’s what they had all meant—Nick, Nora, and all those voices of the dead.
He would hurt, but he would live. He had so much in his life: his music, his family, his band mates. He would survive. Time would pass. The pain would change to a faint, dull ache then slip into wistfulness. He was so strong; she knew he could survive this. He had to survive this. But what about her?
Her foot found the gas pedal, and she drove on. Forward. Away. Cut out any feeling. Survive. Run. She would disappear. She could not fake her own death. She could not do that to her parents—or to Andrew. She would simply disappear.
Belden was easier to find the second time. At a convenience store she bought a local map, not wanting to take the one back at the cottage. The fewer clues she left, the safer she’d be. The clerk behind the counter looked at her oddly, and she tried to smile, but it was like moving her lips through cement. She glanced at her watch; she would have fifteen minutes, tops. An ATM sat in the corner. She drained everything she could from her account.
“Is there an Amtrak station nearby, and do you have a schedule?”
The man produced a pamphlet and handed it to her. The nearest train station was Fort Bragg. She could take the inland roads and then cross over, avoiding the coast. She would call her parents, tell them she was safe and what little else she could. She would find a small town, somewhere, anywhere. She could work, wait tables; she’d clean floors if necessary. Or maybe she could go to Canada, another country. Away. Far, far away.
Clutching the train schedule in her hand, she asked her last question.
“Can I walk to Belden Cemetery from here?”
“Hmmm. You’re not one of those crazies are you? We’ve had enough of that kind around here—we don’t want any more trouble.”
She thought of Dwayne and his friends; it felt like a lifetime ago. “No, I’m writing a—an article. I need to do some research.”
He eyed her strangely and pointed out on the map how to proceed. She could still feel his gaze fixed on her as she rushed out the door.
The sky had darkened with approaching rain clouds, and the wind whipped the trees around her as she climbed up the nearby hills. The branches struck at her face as she struggled over the uneven earth. Drops began to fall, the ground now slick below her feet. A tear hit her cheek—she shouldered it away—then another and another. Freezing and relentless rain began to spatter out of the slate gray sky. It stung her face, and seconds later the sky erupted, sending torrents of rain and sleet crashing to the earth and soaking her jeans to her skin. She ran, clutching her satchel to her chest.
Nora, I’ll do this. I will do this one thing. I promise you.
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The map melted in her hands, and she squinted to try to see the print. “You’re lost, you’re going to die,” she yelled to herself as she staggered around for what seemed like hours. Then just when she thought all was lost, an orchard came into view, with rows of trees gone wild. She saw a wooden gate in a broken fence.
Belden Farm.
Andrew’s fist smashed against the side of the door. Simon’s eyes flashed at Andrew from the driver’s seat, the road racing past. They had lived this over and over: driving like demons, desperate to find her. Fate. It was playing itself out no matter what they did.
“Easy, Paulie, we’ll be needing to return this thing to the inn. It was bad enough when Buck told that old wanker we went medieval on his ghost.”
Andrew didn’t respond, and Simon drove on.
A second later, Andrew’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. “Yes.”
“Andrew, she’s not here,” said Margot, out of breath. “All her things are gone. The guys are in town trying to find her there. But she didn’t even leave a note. Please tell me you’ve heard something.”
“No.”
“Wait—hold on, Zoey is on the line with Christian. What? Oh, shit—she hasn’t shown up at the inn, either. What are we going to do?”
“Stay there,” he ordered her. “Call me if you find out anything. Tell Christian to do the same. Wait—is everything gone? Are Nora’s ashes gone as well?”
The line hung dead. “There’s nothing here. Andrew, you don’t think—?”
“Just stay there! We’ll call you if we—when we find her.”
He ended the call, his body rocking with fury. What was happening to him? His bones wanted to rip through his skin like knives. The thought of her running from him unleashed an unspeakable wrath—a need to kill. Then from the depths of his hatred came The Lady in Red’s voice, rasping in a joyous whisper. “It’s starting.”
Wrenching the farm gate open, Emily ran. Belden Farm—she had made it. Her satchel crashed into her leg, making her trip, her knees and hands scraping against the rocky ground. The rain blurred her sight, the merciless torrents now bulleting down in sheets. Her clothes were drenched, and her hair stuck to her face. She gulped mouthfuls of air as she spun this way and that.
Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story Page 49