The Visitor (10 page)

Fifteen

A
little while later, Devlin and I walked back to his car together.

After our initial greeting, we hadn't said much until we were through the gates and well away from Temple and the others. I could tell something was on his mind, but he didn't seem inclined to enlighten me.

I gave him a sidelong glance, studying his profile for a long moment before I broached the tricky topic. “How is your grandfather?”

“He's in the hospital having some tests run.”

“So he is sick, then.”

Devlin hesitated. “He's not himself.”

I wasn't sure how to interpret his response, but I also knew better than to press. If and when he wanted to tell me about his grandfather, he would do so. Just like I would confess all my secrets to him when I felt the time was right. Given all that I still kept from him, I could hardly expect candor in return. Still, I missed the closeness we'd shared during his recovery. The distance between us now made me worry about the strength of our bond. Made me ponder the sustainability of a relationship between two people as insular as Devlin and I were.

“I'll keep him in my thoughts,” I said, and he gave a brief nod.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Other than a little soreness, as good as new. Thank you for bringing my clothes by this morning.”

“No problem. You were sleeping so I didn't want to wake you.”

Now it was I who nodded and we walked on in silence until I stumbled over a tree root that snaked across the path.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Devlin asked as he took my elbow. “No lingering headaches or fuzzy vision?”

“Just clumsy,” I said with a smile. “It might help to watch where I'm going.”

“That's generally a good rule to follow,” he teased, but his eyes were dark and attentive. “I hate what happened to you.”

“It's over now and it could have been so much worse.”

“And preventable if I'd been with you last night.”

“No one could have foreseen the break-in. You were exactly where you needed to be last night.”

“This situation with my grandfather...” He trailed off with a frown. “I don't know that I'm ready to talk about it yet.”

“I understand.”

“He's been so deceptive in the past. It's hard to tell how much of what he's going through is manipulation and how much is delusion.”

“Delusion?”

Devlin glanced at me. “It's possible he could be seriously ill.”

“Then, you should go and be with him for these tests. You don't need to worry about me. As you can see, I'm perfectly fine.”

“And I intend to do everything in my power to make sure you stay that way. I've requested extra patrols on your street and I had all your locks changed. That's why I was late to the ceremony.” He fished a set of keys from his pocket and placed them in my palm. “As for the shopkeeper, Owen Dowling, I've run a background check. He doesn't have a criminal record and the shop is legitimate. It's been at that same location for decades and has an impeccable reputation among local collectors.”

“So that's that, then. It's a dead end.”

“It would appear so.”

“Well, I do have a bit of news,” I said. “Dr. Shaw brought Ezra Kroll's sisters to the cemetery to meet me earlier.”

“How did that come about?”

“Dr. Shaw and Louvenia Durant became acquainted a few years ago when she contacted him about disturbances on her property. I gather that's one of the reasons she came to see him this morning. They've had some recent sightings.”

Devlin's silence spoke volumes as he turned back to the path. His disdain for the unknown was our biggest bone of contention. How could I explain my gift to someone who clung to his disbelief as though it were a lifeline?

“Anyway, Dr. Shaw brought them to Oak Grove to meet me because they're interested in having Kroll Cemetery restored. You mentioned that you used to explore the old commune when you were a boy, but you didn't say much about the graveyard. Do you remember anything about it?”

“A little. As I recall, the entrance was hidden by a maze,” he said. “As a kid, I found that pretty fascinating.”

“Fascinating but not unusual. Mazes were often planted at graveyard entrances for the same purpose you'll occasionally see high thresholds in Japanese cemeteries. To discourage ghostly wanderings.”

He gave me a look. “How does that work?”

“Spirits can't step over or navigate crooked pathways. A superstitious community would have been especially cautious with suicides. The ghosts of those who take their own lives are considered notorious wanderers. That probably explains the high walls that surround the cemetery. In the old days, they would have buried the bodies facedown to disorient them.”

“The things you know.”

I merely smiled as we continued down the path. When we reached the car, he turned to me again.

“I need to ask you something.”

I tensed, because it had been my experience that conversations beginning in such a manner rarely ended well. “Go on.”

“These nightmares you're having. Do they have anything to do with what happened last fall?”

A lot of things had happened last fall. I'd been targeted by an evil presence in the little town where I'd been born, and upon my return to Charleston, a powerful witch doctor had stalked me through my dreams. But neither of those predators was responsible for my current distress.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I know something's bothering you. Even before the break-in, you were having trouble sleeping. I thought it was because of this cemetery, because of what happened here, but now I'm not so sure. Amelia...” He paused. “If you felt threatened in any way, you'd come to me, wouldn't you?”

And tell you what? That a sightless ghost followed me back from the other side and now something is nesting in my cellar, crawling through my walls, leaving insect husks on my nightstand?

“Sometimes there's no rhyme or reason to dreams and nightmares,” I evaded. “You really don't need to worry about me.”

“I wish that were true.” He lifted a hand to my bruised cheek, emotions warring on his face, feelings that made me too breathless to contemplate. After all this time, I still wasn't used to the electric hum that raced through my veins at his slightest touch, the quiver in my stomach when he said my name. I'd never in my life experienced anyone like Devlin. I was certain that I never would again.

“It's not just the nightmares,” he said. “It's a look in your eyes. The way you stare out the window. It's as if you're waiting for something. Watching for someone. And yet you won't talk to me.”

His hand slipped to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I went without protest because the intensity of his dark gaze enthralled me. I couldn't have drawn away at that moment if I'd wanted to, which, of course, I did not. I stood there frozen, mesmerized by the tiny flames dancing in his midnight eyes.

“Why is it that even with you in my arms, I can feel you slipping away from me?” he murmured.

“I sometimes feel the same about you. You're here but you're not here. There's a distance. A part of you that won't let me in.”

“I
am
here,” he insisted, his gaze so intense I had to look away. “When I'm with you, there's nothing and no one else.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

He took my chin and made me look up at him. “There are many things to wonder about in this world, but that's not one of them.”

Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against mine, and I melted into him, letting his energy wrap me in a safe cocoon. He was warm, solid, human.

But even as I settled more deeply into his embrace, I had the strongest urge to glance over my shoulder. Something was out there even now. I could feel an unnatural presence lurking at the edge of the woods, slinking through the gloom where all the dark things thrived.

Sixteen

A
fter leaving the cemetery, we dropped by police headquarters so that I could sign my statement, and then Devlin drove me home. After a quick search of the house to make sure everything was in order, he headed out, but whether to spend time with his grandfather or on some other errand, I had no idea.

Alone, I took another slow walk through all the rooms. Devlin had had someone in to clean up the broken glass and furniture, a service he trusted, but I remained uneasy. The echo of my footsteps seemed to punctuate the utter quiet of my sanctuary as I made my way down the hallway.

I tried to distract myself by puttering around in the kitchen, but the homey sounds of clinking glass and clattering pottery reminded me of all the times I'd watched my mother move gracefully about her kitchen. The memory didn't soothe me. Our evening meals had often passed in uneasy silence. When the sun went down and the breeze picked up, the scent of roses from the cemetery would drift in through the open windows, a lush harbinger of the coming nightfall. My eyes would sometimes catch Papa's and for an instant, there would be a spark, a fleeting acknowledgment of our mutual fear before he once again retreated into his dark place.

I'd often pondered the dynamics of our family. Despite Papa's withdrawal, our “sight” had irrevocably bonded us while my mother had kept me at arm's length even when she embraced me. It wasn't until a trip to my birthplace that I understood why. Because of how I'd come into this world, she was afraid that I would be taken from her. And maybe a part of her was a little afraid of me, too.

One by one, the pieces of my life had fallen into place with that journey to Asher Falls. But there were still blank spaces, still too many secrets that had yet to be revealed. How it would all come together and where it would end remained a terrifying mystery.

And speaking of mysteries...

The stereogram once again beckoned. Succumbing to the lure, I put the card in the holder and rotated my chair toward the light, but this time, I concentrated my attention on the girls rather than the face in the window. As I studied their images, I detected a faint outline beneath the cloaks where their bodies were joined by the humps on their backs.
Together forever.

My mind flashed back to the form I'd spotted in Oak Grove Cemetery and the smell of cloves when Nelda had leaned in. Given what Dr. Shaw had told me about the use of the spice by the living twin to cover the stench of her sister's death, I wondered if the scent had been an attempt at contact by the dead twin.

Whatever that tiny creature was, she wasn't a ghost. She had more substance, more lingering humanity than most of the apparitions I encountered, leaving me to wonder if the physical, spiritual and telepathic bond with her sister had somehow changed her death course. Perhaps she hadn't made the full journey through the veil, but instead resided in an in-between space that allowed her passage into this world, into my cellar, even into my walls.

I returned the stereoscope to the desk, my thoughts racing. Something very strange was happening to and around me. I recognized a supernatural manipulation as surely as I could sense the icy chill of a ghostly presence. I was being guided—herded—to Kroll Cemetery, but to what end? The intrusion from beyond both angered and frightened me, but I couldn't deny a certain fascination.

Dr. Shaw had suggested that I search the cellar for additional stereograms and I thought it was a good idea. If there were other cards to be found, maybe the images could provide more clues.

I wasn't anxious to explore that murky cellar alone, but far better to go down there now with the sun still burning brightly in my garden. I would make quick work of the search. In and out. A matter of minutes.

It sounded so simple.

Changing into my work cargoes, I loaded my pockets with a flashlight, pepper spray and my cell phone. Then I went out into the yard and lingered among the flowers as I tried to bolster my courage.

Idling plucking a pink rose from a nearby bush, I twirled the stem between my fingers as I walked over to the cellar steps to stare down at the door while I sniffed the air for a musty odor. I smelled nothing but the sweet scent of the rose. Dropping the blossom on the top step, I slowly descended.

I unlocked the door and thrust my hand inside to grope for the light switch. The weak illumination cast by the bare bulb was hardly inviting so I hovered in the doorway, piercing the dreary corners with the flashlight beam. I saw nothing and smelled only the faintest trace of decay.

Propping open the door with a brick, I stepped inside. Macon had accomplished a lot after I'd fled. The shelves at the front of the cellar were all reinforced and neatly arranged, the discarded boxes and broken bric-a-brac piled to one side for easy transfer to the curb on trash day. I walked slowly through the gloom as I flicked the light over the crumbling brick walls, assuring myself that I was alone.

The old staircase was to the left and toward the back of the cellar in an area as yet untouched by Macon. The shelving that had been built over the boarded-up kitchen door was piled high with boxes and debris. I began to shuffle everything around, temporarily abandoning my stereogram search for a darker quest. How had something gained entrance to that stairwell from the cellar? Could there be a hidden passageway into the walls of my home?

Nothing seemed amiss at first, but then as I stood back and fanned the beam over the wall behind the now-empty shelves, I saw a crack near the floor. Dropping to my knees, I crawled under the lower shelf to get a better look, and then pried back one of the boards so that I could shine the flashlight up the rickety staircase.

Playing the beam over the kitchen door, I spotlighted the keyhole as I imagined a tiny humpback being peering in at me, somehow shriveling into something minuscule enough to scurry through my walls.

As I brought the light slowly down the stairs, a flash of fire caught my eye. The crystal bookmark—I was sure of it. Proof that something had indeed been in my bedroom and had somehow exited the house via the stairwell and cellar.

But why take the bookmark? Why leave the insect husk in its place? Was there a message in the exchange that I hadn't yet deciphered?

At the bottom of the steps, I could see bits of cloth and shredded paper as if something had tried to make a nest there. Quelling my desire to flee the cellar, I went in search of Macon's tools and supplies, and then, easing back under the shelf, I set to work with grim determination. Dust rained down upon me as I pounded away, but I didn't stop until I'd thoroughly secured the stairwell.

Brushing grime and cobwebs from my hair and clothing, I returned to the front of the basement to resume my search for the cards. Even as alarm bells sounded inside me, I took my time, moving boxes around and shining my flashlight into all the dark recesses.

But the longer I remained below ground, the greater my unease. As I turned to toe a plastic carton out of my path, the light dimmed. I thought at first the overhead bulb had gone out, but then I realized that something had blocked the natural light streaming down the steps into the open doorway. I wanted to believe a cloud had passed over the sun, but I could still see ribbons of illumination trimming the edges of the door frame. Someone—or something—stood at the top of the stairs.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to the opening, sniffing the air for a death scent. Nothing came to me and I thought—hoped—it might be Macon. I told myself to call out. What harm could it do? I wasn't exactly hidden nor could I slip away unnoticed. I was trapped. I knew it; whoever was at the top of the steps knew it. But neither of us made a move and the only sound I heard was the drumming of my own heartbeat.

As I stood there immobile, my tongue suddenly tingled with the warm taste of cloves. I saw a flash in the doorway, an arc of reflected light, and then came a metallic ping as something hit the brick floor and bounced toward me. I glanced down warily, an icy breath whispering down my collar.