Dead Girl Walking (2 page)

Two sets of black boots stormed the bedroom. “In here!” called a gruff voice.

“Please.” Her mother’s voice quivered.

Ophelia shut her eyes, but it didn’t diminish the putrid stench of the men or the sound of their heavy breathing. Her stomach turned. Where was her father? Where were the guards? Someone had to come soon, didn’t they?

“Where’s your daughter?” the man asked. Ophelia felt queasy. She recognized the voice, it was one of the newly assigned east wing guards.

“You’ll never touch her!”

She heard a scuffle and then a muffled cry. Ophelia covered her ears but opened her eyes to see her mother’s dead body staring blankly back at her.

Ophelia swallowed the memory and the feeling of anxiety rising in her chest. “Can we please talk about something else tonight?” She didn't want to fight with him.

“Of course, Leila. Let me buy you a drink.”

Larkin shuffled over toward the bar. Ophelia watched Larkin with fascination, remembering the summer before when they’d met on the bridge.

“Is this seat taken?” the young man asked her.

Ophelia sat on the stone bridge, her feet dangling from the side. “It’s all yours,” she said. She wore a beige dress and dark blue cloak, letting it cover the top of her head. It wasn’t a cold evening, but she was trying to be inconspicuous.

“Do I know you?” he asked, trying to get a look at her face as he sat down beside her. He let his legs hang from the side of the bridge also.

“I doubt it.” Hesitantly, she turned slightly to face him and was surprised by his looks. As children they were taught that beauty was only in royal blood, but Ophelia was questioning much of her upbringing. He was quite handsome. She felt lost in his eyes of liquid amber, unable to pull her gaze away. She couldn’t let him know who she was. Her mother had told her they’d once considered naming her Leila, but Ophelia was a stronger name for a queen. “Leila.” She held out her hand.

“Larkin.” He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. Perhaps it was the reflection of the sun setting and the water down below. “I swear you’re familiar.”

“I doubt it.” Ophelia couldn’t let him know who she was. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t tell anyone, for fear that she’d be kidnapped. It wouldn’t be the first time greedy men kidnap a princess for ransom. She’d heard the tales growing up, and they scared her. Though not enough to keep her from venturing past the castle without guards.

Larkin stared at her, and then turned to face the last few rays of the sun as it dipped below the horizon. The pink and purple haze danced across his jaw and up his cheek line. Ophelia tried not to stare, but it was impossible. “I know where I’ve seen you before.”

“You do?” She swallowed a knot forming in the back of her throat. He couldn’t know who she was; she’d be in a whole lot of trouble if anyone found out.

Larkin nodded, sure of his response. “Yes, the market. I’m positive I’ve seen you there. Buying produce or fish, something.” He grinned. “Am I right?”

“Maybe.” Ophelia smiled. “Why didn’t you speak to me sooner?”

Larkin shrugged, frowning. “You were with someone, probably?”

“My family.” Ophelia nodded. “I’m sure I was with my father.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She did frequent the market. At times, she went with her sister and a dozen guards. Other times, she accompanied her father, King Philip. Anxiously, she swung her legs back and forth, the shoe on her right foot slipping off and splashing into the stream. “No!”

“It’s just a shoe.”

Ophelia was about to open her mouth to protest, when Larkin stood and walked toward the edge of the stone bridge. The shoe sunk beneath the murky surface. He climbed down the side of the bank between stone and grass, jumping in as he reached the edge. “Be careful!”

Larkin dove down, while Ophelia watched from above. She held her breath, waiting for him to reappear. Becoming light-headed, she opened her lips, exhaling, and let the air fill her lungs again. “Larkin?” Her voice trembled. Had something dragged him under?

He caused quite a splash, breaking up through the water. “Is this it?” he asked, soaking from head to toe. The river may not have been wide, but it was deep.

“Yes! Thank you.” It may have just been a shoe, but she borrowed it from Sophia, her maid, without her knowledge. The princess might have had tons of nice clothes, but commoner clothes were harder to come by.

Larkin swam to the edge of the bank and climbed out. A few minutes later, he joined her back on the bridge. The stars had come out and peppered the night sky. “For you.” He handed her the wet shoe.

“Thank you.”

“You can thank me with a drink at the tavern and a dance.”

Ophelia raised an eyebrow. Was he serious? She was to marry Prince Astin Stafford. Of course, Larkin had no idea, because he thought she was Leila. What harm could one night out cause? “You expect me to buy?”

“I did save your shoe.” Larkin grinned. “I’m kidding. It’s my treat.” He offered his hand, helping Ophelia to her feet.

“Handsome fellow you got there.” She didn't recognize the voice. She turned her head upward and saw an older gentleman, gray scarf wrapped around his neck, matching his graying hair and beard. She found it odd, considering they were indoors and the wood burning stove heated the tavern.

“Larkin?” she asked and glanced back at the bar. “Yeah, he's pretty amazing.”

The older man studied her for a long moment and sighed. He reached out for her hand, gently grazing the skin on the back of her wrist. “It was nice meeting you. Have fun tonight; you both deserve it.” He backed away and disappeared into the crowd.

“That was odd,” Leila muttered, no longer able to see the gentleman among the other patrons. Larkin carried two beers back to the table.

“Who was that?” Larkin asked.

“I have no idea. He came over to comment on you and then told us to have a fun night.”

Larkin laughed. “He seemed friendly enough. I say we take his suggestion and have an amazing time together.”

“You would.” Leila wanted to ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss. What could she do about it though? He hadn't called her by name. There was no way he knew she was Princess Ophelia; she would be fine. She reached across the table and grabbed her beer, taking a swig. The bubbles tingled her lips and warmed her cheeks. “We should do this more often.”

“You mean sneaking out twice a week isn't enough for you? I told you, I'm happy to meet your father. Clear the air and let him know we're courting.”

Leila sipped her beer and choked on his words, putting the glass down on the table. “I'm not ready for that yet.” She would never be ready to tell her father that she loved Larkin. King Philip would have him beheaded. He wouldn't care that Larkin hadn't known she was the princess, not even his innocence could save him.

“Well, please let me know when you are ready.” Larkin sipped his beer, the froth leaving a slight mustache on his upper lip.

Leila grinned and leaned forward, wiping it away with her thumb. “I will.” She looked away with a nervous laugh. “I need to uh, use the latrine.” She excused herself, scooting back from the table.

“Do you want an escort?”

“No sense in both of us freezing to death.”

Leila waded through the crowd, bumping into a few patrons on her way out the door. She stepped outside into the cold night air, pulling her cloak tighter around her chest. She was freezing. Shivering, she walked toward the outhouse. It was dark and difficult to see. Usually a lantern hung from the back porch, giving off a fair amount of light, but it was extinguished tonight. “Hello?”

Something felt strangely off, but Leila couldn't place it. She walked blindly toward the latrine, feeling around the trees for the wooden door to the outhouse. Locating it, her hand grasped the cold metal handle as a heavy hand covered her lips preventing her from screaming.

Leila opened her mouth and bit down hard on the man’s hand. She gasped for breath and shrieked, hoping someone would hear her. With an elbow, she jabbed the perpetrator’s stomach, attempting to loosen his grasp. Rushing forward, she slammed her hand into the wooden outhouse, feeling a splinter pierce her skin. It was nothing compared to the horror of being attacked. Her pulse raced, and sweat beaded her brow. She couldn’t think, only react. Her feet slipped on the dried crinkled leaves as she punched the man in the throat; he grunted and kicked her feet out from under her. Leila fell face first in the dirt. She felt his dark presence above her. “Please, no! I’m the princess! I have money, I can give you whatever you need.” Had the stranger known who she was, would he have attacked her? A jagged knife sliced across her throat. In an instant, Ophelia Dacre was dead.

Ophelia took two steps back away from her corpse, her chest heaving. “What just happened?” The darkened figure took off in the opposite direction. “Get back here!” she shouted and found herself unable to catch her breath. She hyperventilated. This could not be happening. It wasn't real. It must be a horrible dream. She pinched her arm but didn't wake up.

“Hell of a way for a princess to die.” The older gentleman stepped out from the shadows, his feet crunching on leaves. “It's your lucky day though.”

“Lucky?” She wanted to cry. Tears wouldn't come though. She was angry. “I'm dead!” she croaked, seeing herself lying facedown on the ground.

“Technically, your body is deceased. Your soul is another factor.”

“My what?” Ophelia’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Your soul. You know the body and the soul. The thing that makes you human.”

“I don't believe in God.” She'd given up believing when her mother was murdered in Ophelia's bedroom. A guard had betrayed the kingdom for a small bag of gold he never would see.

“Listen, kid, I don't care what you believe in. It's not for me to say what's true and untrue, real or unreal. My assignment was you. You get to be one of us, if you want it. Otherwise, you move on, life is over, kaput.”

Ophelia backed away from the stranger. For the first time, she realized she didn't feel cold and wasn't shivering. Is this what being dead was like? “One of you?”

“A grim reaper.” He held out his hand to properly introduce himself. “Edon Montgomery, head reaper and old soul.”

“You're joking.” Ophelia was not laughing.

“The oldest soul in our region. Anyways, you can choose to be one of us, reap souls for the next two or three hundred years, and see all you would have missed, or you can move on.”

“Two or three hundred years?” The thought of living another lifetime or two thrilled her. There was a lot she hadn’t seen or done; it was a second chance.

“It's a rough estimate. We don't ever know when our own number is up. It's a sort of gamble, if you will. You reap souls, you play by the rules, and we assume we get a ride to Heaven. Maybe Hell, if you're a rule-breaking reaper.” Edon laughed.

Was he making a joke out of this whole scenario? Ophelia had just died and Edon was laughing. This was not funny to her.

“It's not fair. I've been good. I was always nice to my sister. I was a good daughter. I don't deserve to die. Can't you take someone else instead of me?” She tried to plead her case, make the reaper see something he hadn’t before.

“Death is non-transferrable, kid. Once you're dead, you're dead.”

“So, I'm dead.” She restated the obvious. “I mean if I become a grim reaper, I won't have a heartbeat, I can't feel the cold or snowflakes anymore?” It didn’t sound that great.

Edon smiled. “Who said anything about not feeling the cold? Trust me, kid, it's freezing outside.” He tugged on the edge of his scarf. “You think I wear this just for show?”

“I don't know.” She couldn't believe this was really happening. It felt like a horrible nightmare that she couldn't wake up from.

“There are a few rules that you must abide by, and the first is no communication with your family. The past is the past. You can't go back to visit them. Bad things happen when you do. You hear me?”

Ophelia heard him, but she didn't believe the words. She could still be there for Mara. Life didn't have to be over. She could find out who killed her, and why. She needed closure and this was the only way to get it. “I'll do it. I'll reap the dead or whatever you need from me.”

“It's not that simple.” Edon led her away from the tavern. “You have to sign the contract, and that's back at the asylum.”

“The what?” Her heart would have skipped a beat, had she still been alive.

“Don't stress. It's really not a big deal.” Edon untied the white horse and climbed on.

Larkin stepped outside of the tavern, and Ophelia ran toward him. “Larkin!” she screamed, shuddering as he ran right through her body. She was a ghost.

“Have you seen Leila?” Larkin asked Edon as he walked toward the side of the building.

“Can't say I have. Have a good night.”

Once Larkin was out of sight, Edon reached down and grabbed Leila's arm. He pulled her onto the back of the horse with him as he took off from the scene of the crime.

“You have to take me back!” Ophelia slammed her fists into his back. He seemed to be the only one capable of seeing and feeling her existence.

“That's why there's no communication with your previous life,” he said into the wind. He held the reins of the horse as they moved swiftly through the forest. “Besides, he couldn't see you or hear you, Ophelia.” It was the first time he'd called her by name. “How do you think you'll be able to communicate with him?”

“You could tell him for me.” She doubted he would, but he was her last chance.

“Right. That will go over so well. Me speaking for a dead girl. I don't think so.”

Dawn broke over the horizon. “We're here.” Edon climbed off the horse.

“What time is it?” Ophelia didn't feel tired. She didn't feel much of anything physically. Emotionally though, her fears and feelings were intact. She was beyond nervous as she looked at what Edon had referred to as the asylum. It was every bit as creepy as it sounded. Covered in three stories of beige and red bricks, it could be classified as a haunted house.