The Abandoned (3 page)

Shivering in the wet gloom, she climbed into her car and started the engine. Once she left the parking lot, the security lights faded and a canopy of live oaks shrouded the sky. It was a very dark night.

At the entrance, she flashed her badge and waited for the gates to slide open. Then waving to the guard, she drove through and eased into the flow of traffic on the busy thoroughfare. Exiting the secluded grounds was a little like crossing over into another dimension. The hospital was located inside the city, but it seemed so isolated behind those walls, a world unto itself, and never more so than tonight.

A few blocks east, Ree entered the Emerson University campus, a lovely and only slightly less insular world than the one she’d just left behind. Despite the mist, she rolled down the window and let the lush scent of a Charleston evening flow through her car. There was nothing more southern—or more intoxicating—than the mingled fragrances of jasmine, magnolia and sea. The heady perfume tugged at her senses like a memory. Like the eerie melody that drifted through the stereo speakers.

What
was
that song? It seemed so familiar and yet so strange. So…haunting.

Ree hummed along even though she was certain she’d never heard the tune before. The dreamy notes were almost hypnotic and with no clear destination, she found herself at the back of the campus where the grounds were edged by a thick forest. Somewhere hidden inside the woods was Oak Grove Cemetery.

She had a vague sense of where the graveyard was located. A drunken trip to the creepy necropolis was almost a rite of passage at Emerson, and during her freshman year, she’d been game for almost anything.

Looking back now, Ree could see her reckless behavior was a manifestation of her parents’ divorce. Luckily, the thrill of her sudden independence and the need to act out had waned in time and now she dwelled almost exclusively at the other end of the spectrum, unable to recall the last time she’d gone out with friends, let alone on a date.

Ree made the turn onto Cemetery Road, but she had no intention of exploring an abandoned graveyard alone at night. There was curious and there was stupid. Mostly, she just wanted to satisfy herself that she could find it again.

As the woods pressed in from either side, she leaned forward, peering anxiously through the misty darkness. Spotting a break in the trees off to her left, she pulled to the side of the road and let the engine idle while she surveyed her surroundings. Yes, this was the place. She could just make out the primitive trail that led to the entrance. It was too dark to see the gates, but Ree remembered from her previous excursion that they were kept chained. Not that a padlock was much of a deterrent. All one had to do was shimmy up a live oak and drop down on the other side.

Someone might be in there right now, she thought with a shiver. A homeless person, perhaps. Or a serial killer looking to dump a body…

What was that?

For a moment, Ree could have sworn she saw something in the swirling haze of her headlights.

It was nothing. Just a shadow. Or a darting animal perhaps…

It was nothing.

Putting the car in gear, she eased forward. If anything had been lurking in the mist, it was gone now.

She laughed nervously. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. No such thing as magic.”

And as she muttered the words aloud, another memory from that day at Rosehill Cemetery came back to her.

“That girl is a strange one,” her grandmother had said ominously when Ree told her about Amelia. “She has the kind of eyes that can see right down into your soul. My cousin Lula had them, too. She was born with a caul, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like a veil of skin. When they remove it, the baby is sometimes left with second sight.”

“What’s that?”

“It means they can see things we can’t, child.”

“You mean like magic?”

“Magic? I guess you could call it that.…”

Ree shook off the memory and glanced around. While she sat there reminiscing, her windows had frosted and a preternatural chill crept into the car. The hair at her nape prickled and it took her a moment to work up enough courage to glance in her backseat.

No one was there, of course, and she laughed at herself again.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

But she had to say it twice more before the conviction returned to her voice.

Hayden Priest checked the reading on the electromagnetic field detector and frowned. No fluctuation whatsoever. This was his second night in Oak Grove Cemetery and he’d yet to pick up so much as a flicker despite assurances by one of his colleagues at the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies that the abandoned graveyard was a hot spot for paranormal activity. The area around the Bedford Mausoleum—the oldest monument in Oak Grove—was supposedly known for its orbs. But Hayden had seen nothing. Maybe it was time to pack up and head to another cemetery.

Truth be told, his belief in the unknown was running on fumes these days. For the past nine years—since his sixteenth birthday—Hayden had dabbled in ghost hunting. The closest he’d come to a supernatural finding was an indistinguishable sound that might have been a growl captured on his digital voice recorder in a rural Kansas graveyard dubbed one of the seven lost gateways of hell. Puny evidence for all his effort, but Dr. Rupert Shaw, the institute founder, resident guru and man behind the curtain, had a favorite saying: the field of parapsychology was not for the faint of heart or the impatient.

Few disturbances ever panned out. Out of the dozens of cases the institute investigated every year, only a handful remained without logical or scientific explanation. But it was the handful that kept the investigators motivated.

Or maybe by now it was just habit, Hayden thought. At any rate, he’d always found the lone cemetery vigils far more therapeutic than the group therapy sessions his parents had dragged him to after his brother’s suicide. Hayden hadn’t needed a psychiatrist—then or now—because he already knew he wasn’t to blame for Jacob’s death. His brother had been sick for a really long time. Early childhood schizophrenia was a rare thing, but Jacob had been diagnosed at eight. Even with medication, the voices and visions had steadily gotten worse until one day one of those voices had told him to hang himself from his closet door.

For years, solace had eluded Hayden. All through high school and college, he’d been tormented, not so much from guilt, but with questions that no one could answer—not his parents, not his psychologist, not even his priest. Finally, the cold spots and electrical fluctuations in Jacob’s bedroom had led him to seek answers from unconventional sources. And nearly ten years later, he was still searching. But to what end, Hayden had no idea.

Out on the road, he heard a car approach. Kids probably. Or maybe another ghost hunter. His heart gave an odd thump as he listened and waited. He could feel something in the mist. It was like…an echo. A memory. Some sort of strange vibration. A shiver raced up his spine and his pulse quickened. The night grew unbearably still, as if waiting for the dead to rise. Then after a moment, the car drove on and Hayden went back to his lonely vigil.

ILSA

As soon as Ree got back to her tiny apartment that night, she put on a pot of coffee and sat down at her desk to work on her thesis—a focus on personality development in old age. But her mind kept returning to the strange events of the evening. Finally she gave in to that incessant tug and scoured the internet for information about the Tisdales—a prominent Charleston family whose roots could be traced to the city’s founding—the Order of the Coffin and the Claw, a secret society that dated back to the mid-1800s—Oak Grove Cemetery, abandoned in the early half of the last century—and finally Amelia Gray.

Following a link to Amelia’s business website, Ree clicked through the portfolio of before and after cemetery images and then scanned Amelia’s bio. Her credentials were certainly impressive.
Undergraduate degree in Anthropology from the University of South Carolina. Master’s in Archeology from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Two years with the State Archeologist’s Office in Columbia before starting her own restoration business. And she was only twenty-seven. Comparatively speaking, Ree felt like a slacker.

Carrying her laptop to the sofa, she curled up to peruse Amelia’s blog. The wordplay title,
Digging Graves
, amused her, as did the posted news articles that referred to Amelia as The Graveyard Queen. The whimsical moniker took Ree straight back to that Sunday afternoon in Rosehill Cemetery.

On impulse, Ree dashed off an email:

My name is Ree Hutchins. You may not remember me. We went to school together in Trinity. I’d like to ask you some questions regarding Oak Grove Cemetery in Charleston. Would it be possible for us to meet?

To her surprise, Amelia responded in a matter of minutes:

Can you come by my place tomorrow at ten?

Ree jotted down the address and phone number, and tucked the note in her bag so she wouldn’t forget. Then she went back to reading the
Digging Graves
archives. She had no idea how long she’d been engrossed in the entries when she became aware of a chill. The air-conditioning must have cycled on. The outside windows were frosted and a fusty odor hung in the air, which Ree attributed to the moldy vents.

As she got up to adjust the thermostat, she heard the faint strains of a song. She thought at first the plaintive melody was coming through the paper-thin walls of her apartment. Then she realized it was the same tune she’d heard earlier.

Intrigued, she followed the sound into her bedroom. The numbers on the clock radio were flashing, an indication that the power had gone off. Ree had been working on her laptop so she might not have noticed a flicker. When the electricity came back on, the surge probably triggered the radio. Nothing spooky about that.

But the song…it was like being lost in a memory, Ree thought dreamily. She closed her eyes and let the music pour over her, into her, and then the haunting quality began to creep her out a bit so she snapped off the radio and the sensation faded.

After a quick shower, she crawled into bed, but sleep was a long time coming. Even in exhaustion, she couldn’t shut down. Too many disturbing things had happened to her that evening, not the least of which was Miss Violet’s passing.

When she finally drifted off, she had the oddest dream. She was in Oak Grove Cemetery. It was her…but it wasn’t her. And instead of the trashed-out graveyard of present day, the necropolis was lush and well tended, though no less unsettling.…

She wore her favorite frock, an icy-blue sheath shot through with silver threads that caught the moonlight as she moved through the maze of headstones and monuments. Her grandmother had brought the dress back from Paris, a gift for her seventeenth birthday. Father had not been happy. He thought the cut risqué and forbade her to wear it so she’d hidden it away in her closet along with her other illicit treasures. If anyone ever discovered that naughty cache…

She shivered deliciously, the fecund scent of ivy and damp earth enveloping her as she paused in front of a gothic-style crypt, the spires and crosses eerily silhouetted against the night sky. Where was he? They’d agreed to meet at the Bedford Mausoleum, but what if he’d changed his mind? What if he’d decided that she was too young and taboo for someone with his aspirations?

She tried to shake off a nascent unease as she climbed the steps and peered through the leaded glass. Moonlight slanted in from an opposite window, but she could see little beyond a glistening patchwork of cobwebs.

Turning, she scanned the cemetery. The deep shadows cast by the oak trees highlighted the ghostly glow of the marble statues. The unseeing eyes watched her as she ran down the steps and searched among them.

Suddenly, she could hear music from the nearby party and a wave of relief washed her. They were playing her song and that could only be his doing. He was here after all, sending her a secret message. Closing her eyes, she lifted her arms and began to dance.

As she twirled among the angels and saints, she glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye. Dark and brooding, he watched from the shadows. Then he came out into the moonlight and she caught her breath. He was so tall, so regal, so elegantly dressed. She went to him at once and cupping her hands around his neck, pulled him to her for a kiss. He obliged without hesitation, his tongue snaking in and out of her mouth until she grew dizzy with anticipation.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said breathlessly.

“And here I am.” He kissed her again, but this time there was something cold about his touch. “Did you have any trouble getting away?”

“It was almost too easy,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Father left hours ago so all I had to do was wait until everyone else turned in, then slip out the back way.”

“No one saw you?”

“Why would they?” She gazed up at him through her thick lashes. “I’ve had lots and lots of practice, you know.”

“You really are an incorrigible little thing, aren’t you?” His hand stroked her breast and she shuddered. “If the old man knew what you were up to, he’d never let you out of his sight.”

“Must we talk about him?” She pulled away. “You said you had a surprise for me. Where is it?”

“All in good time.”

He still seemed preoccupied and anxiety crept over her. The music had stopped and the night grew unnaturally silent. Where were the crickets? The birds?

“I don’t like this place.”

“I didn’t think you were scared of anything,” he taunted.

“Who says I’m scared?” She lifted her chin in defiance, but couldn’t help jumping when she heard a twig snap. “What was that?”

“Probably someone from the party. Just relax. Here…” He pulled a flask from his pocket and handed it to her. “Drink up.”

She took a long swallow, letting the fiery liquor chase away her apprehension. “Who are all those people back there anyway? Why won’t you tell me their names?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Everything’s a secret with you.” She folded her arms and pouted. “It just seems so silly and childish…these clandestine gatherings in a cemetery.”

“You wanted to come.”

“Will I at last get to witness the ceremony?”

“Oh, yes. You’ll have a very good view.”

“Is that my surprise?”

“Shush. Enough talk.”

Already, his hands were busy at the long row of buttons at her back. When he had them undone, she shimmied out of the dress and stood before him in the moonlight. She felt no shame, no embarrassment. Nothing but the most decadent eagerness.

She touched a finger to the silver medallion he wore around his neck.

“Father has one of these,” she murmured, recognizing the emblem.

“Anyone who is anyone in Charleston has one of these.”

He pulled her to the ground and she rose over him. Her eyes dark and hooded, she bent to kiss him, nipping his bottom lip before she trailed her tongue down his throat. When she reached the side of his neck, she sank her teeth in deeper.

“You little vampire.” He caught her roughly by the shoulders. “I told you not to do that.”

“You told me not to do a lot of things. But then you enjoy them anyway.”

“Not that. You’re like an animal,” he said in disgust. She merely smiled as he rolled her off him. Then he caught her hands and lifted them high over her head. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

She didn’t panic. Even when his fingers tightened around her wrists and his body pressed down on hers.

She felt no fear at all…until she heard the chanting.…

A night bird called from the treetops and Hayden wondered if he should consider it an omen. Where the mist thinned, he could see a ring around the moon.
Guard your mirrors and hide your babies
, he thought as he absently touched the medallion around his neck. Not tiger’s eye, but silver would have to do. Luckily, he wasn’t overly superstitious. Ironic, considering.

Despite the lunar halo, the spirits were definitely not stirring. His readings remained boringly static. If he left now, he’d still have a few hours to study for the bar. That would keep the old man off his back and the partners at his law firm happy.

He checked the EMF meter one last time and was just about to gather up the other equipment when he felt it again…that strangle ripple in the mist. A chill swept across his skull and lifted the hair at his nape.
Something
was stirring.

Then, from his periphery, he had a visual. His pulse quickened as he turned slowly. There! Just beyond a broken angel. Hayden could hardly believe his eyes. After all these years, an apparition floated before him in the mist.

He was so startled he very nearly dropped the delicate thermometer he’d been using to check for cold spots. Now his hand gripped the handle excitedly as he watched her, so pale and fragile and lovely she might have been spawned from a gothic poem.

But she was no ghost, Hayden realized almost at once. His phantom was flesh and blood, and dressed in white cotton pajamas that were diaphanous in the filtered moonlight.

When she got to the steps of the mausoleum, she glanced around expectantly, then cocked her head, as if a sound had caught her attention. Slowly, she lifted her arms and began to dance.

Maybe it was the uneven terrain, but she moved with very little natural grace and no discernible rhythm, stumbling every now and then over roots and bits of broken headstone. Hayden was at once amused and totally captivated.

After a moment, though, he began to grow uneasy. He felt a little sleazy spying on her, but he didn’t want to frighten or embarrass her by announcing his presence. Nor did he want to slip away silently, leaving her alone in an abandoned graveyard. What the hell was she doing out here anyway?

He cleared his throat, but she paid him no mind. He took a bolder approach and stepped from the shadows where he knew she could see him. She froze. Their gazes locked. And then she did something Hayden would never have predicted in a million years. She came to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her for a kiss.

He was so taken aback, he didn’t have time to resist. Nor did he mean to respond. The whole situation was just too damned strange, but when she pressed her body against his—and man, those pajamas left
nothing
to the imagination—he felt the stirrings of an arousal even as he told himself to get the hell out of there. This chick was
weird.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said breathlessly.

“You’ve been waiting…for me?” He gazed down into her upturned face. Pale skin, full lips, blue eyes…all framed by a cloud of dark hair that smelled like ginger. Never mind Hawthorne or Poe. She might have sprung straight from his fantasy.

Still moving in a dreamlike stupor, she cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. Her mouth was open and eager and when she nibbled his bottom lip, he shuddered. He couldn’t help himself. And it wasn’t to his credit that it took him a moment to break away.

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “Father doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“He…doesn’t?”

Smiling, she reached for his hand and placed it on her breast. With her other hand, she reached for him.

“Hey. Take it easy there.” He stepped back.

She gazed at him demurely as she began to unbutton her top.

“That’s not a good idea. You don’t know me, I don’t know you…”

The top fell to the ground. Her skin glowed like marble in the moonlight.

Good Lord
. Hayden didn’t want to stare, but…
good Lord
!

He picked up the garment and thrust it at her. “Come on, now. Put this back on.”

She frowned, glanced around, and then with a slow dawning, gave a little shriek and drew back her hand. He had no doubt she would have popped him across the face if he hadn’t caught her wrist. “Whoa. That’s not a good idea, either.”

Her eyes widened and she looked on the verge of hysteria. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He lifted his hands. “Nothing. I swear—”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You came on your own. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Then how…” She glanced down, gasped, and clutched the pajama top to her chest. “Oh, God.”

It was as if he’d doused her with cold water. She stumbled back, mortified and not a little frightened. “Don’t touch me!”