Chapter Sixteen

Slumped over a mug at the kitchen table, idly stirring in her creamer, Ang thought back to last night, trying to sort out when it was that she climbed into bed with Richie. She vaguely remembered waking to pee and she must have been on autopilot and gone back into her room. If she hadn’t been so mortified, she would admit to herself that there were far greater hardships than waking up in the arms of a handsome man. She allowed herself a delicate shiver at the memory of his body pressed against hers. Ang couldn’t believe she was so out of it last night that she didn’t remember having a guest, and chuckled. She sobered quickly as she remembered just why she had an overnight visitor.

Kirstin. And her curse. Her damned curse. It was a wonder Richie wanted to be anywhere near her with all this spooky stuff. As her brain turned over everything that had happened at the Thompson Estate yesterday, the whispering started in the far corners of her mind. Resigned to helping Kirstin and Richie she tried to reach past her self-taught reluctance toward the voices, straining to hear them more clearly. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing her concentration on the wall in her mind. She visualized a small sliding partition on the wall. In her mind’s eye, she reached toward the partition and opened it just an inch. A swirling white mist seeped from behind the wall to envelop her. She struggled to remain calm as the mist transformed into a woman’s form. Slowly, Kirstin’s features became clear in her mind, and the ghost-thought smiled.

“Thank you, child,” Kirstin said softly. “Thank you for helping me.”

“What do we do first? Where do we look? How do I find you?” Ang murmured softly.

“Child, you already know. You dreamt it.”

Ang gasped loudly as her eyes flew open. She bolted upright in her chair and jostled the table, sending coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug and splashing onto the table. In her haste to get to her study, she upended her chair, oblivious to the loud noise it made in her otherwise silent house. At her desk, she grabbed a pad of paper and a set of charcoal pencils. Her hands were shaking as nightmarish visions swirled in her head.

Stifling a cry, she swooned, bracing herself against the wall as vicious images flickered faster and faster in her mind, making her dizzy. After several minutes, she was able to walk, albeit on shaky legs, and went into the living room. She settled into a comfortable armchair by the window. “I’m listening, Kirstin,” she said tearfully, as she started to sketch.

Her hand flew across the page, working of its own accord. Ang was staring sightlessly at the piece of paper, not seeing the markings her hand made. Slashes of color punctuated her black-and-white drawings, and as each page was completed, she’d tear it from the pad and drop it to the floor before starting on the next one.

In the bedroom, Richie smiled as he woke from a wonderful dream and only opened his eyes when the aroma of dark, rich coffee invaded his senses. He rolled out of bed, pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, and followed his nose. He frowned at the overturned chair. “Ang?” he called, but there was no answer.

He turned to check out the living room, and stopped short in the doorway when Ang caught his eye. She was sitting by the picture window; the morning light bathing her and making her glow. She was writing something and it had her full concentration. Richie watched as she tore a page from her pad, tossed it behind her, and started on another page. That’s when he noticed the papers strewn all around her chair. Squinting at one, he could see it looked like a drawing. He took a closer look at Ang, and she looked like she did last night when they were talking to Kirstin: there but not quite all the way.

A bit apprehensive, he cleared his throat softly and spoke quietly so he wouldn’t startle her. “Mornin’, Angel Rose,” he said.

Ang’s head cocked slightly to one side at the sound of Richie’s voice, but she didn’t acknowledge him, and her hand never stopped moving. Richie ventured closer, moving slowly across the room. He was more than a little worried for Angel Rose; she looked like she was in some sort of trance.

“Are you okay, Angel Rose?” he asked.

Ang’s head turned a bit to follow her ear. When her eyes caught sight of him, her vision snapped into clarity, and she dropped the pencil. She barely registered the fact that his bare feet poked out from the legs of his jeans and his hair was sexily rumpled from having been in her bed. She slumped against the back of the chair and gasped as her hand cramped up.

Richie sat on the ottoman at Ang’s feet. “How long have you been sitting here, Angel Rose?” he asked. He cast glances at the papers all around Ang’s feet. He bent to scoop some of them up and sorted through them.

He sat forward abruptly, his pulse racing. “What is all this?” he asked, horrified at what he was seeing.

He looked up at Ang, who had tears in her eyes. “I dreamed it last night,” she said. “I dreamed it, and I think this is what happened to Kirstin.

Richie looked from the drawings in his hand to Ang and back again. “Sweet mother of God.”

The first drawing was a close up of a very terrified woman. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, her pupils mere pinpricks in her eyes. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream, and the way her hair was drawn, it was clear to Richie that she had whipped her head around and caught sight of something horrifying. Ang had perfectly captured a feeling of abject terror. The drawing made Richie extremely uncomfortable just looking at it.

The second drawing was of the back of a man’s form. He was drawn large and menacing; tall and muscular, and broad through the shoulders. His hair was wild and scraggly, and most of it was tucked under a watch cap. Just past him, Richie could see a flash of peach and a woman’s arm. It dawned on him that the arm belonged to Kirstin – and that she was wearing the dress she died in. This man looked like he was chasing Kirstin. He studied the drawing closely. There were no hints as to where the scene took place. No landscape or other background images. It was just the two figures, stark against the white page.

But it was the next drawing he flipped to that had Richie’s heart pounding and all the air squeezing out of his lungs. The perspective was from someone on her back. A delicate, dirty hand was held up, palm facing out, a woman’s hand, as if to ward off a blow. Between the fingers of the hand, Richie could see part of the angry features of a man. Even in this drawing, he could see the crazy in the man’s eyes. A shovel was flying through the air behind the man, and his hands were reaching for the prone person. Richie couldn’t make out the man’s face from the drawing; just one deep green eye.

Hands shaking with rage, he reached for some of the other drawings on the floor. They were pretty much just more of the same. Richie never wanted to burn anything as much as he did these papers right now. “What – how – does this happen all the time?” Richie asked Ang.

“Not all the time,” she said, wiping tears away, “not anymore. But I don’t know how. I just know that when I stop fighting my curse, they, those poor souls, leave footprints in my memories.” She shuddered, and started crying again in earnest. “I had a dream last night, a terribly vivid dream. It came back to me as I was stirring my coffee – and I knew I just had to draw. I had to get these images out of my head before I went mad.” For the first time, she realized how many sheets of paper littered the floor around her. “What are they? What did I draw? What memories did Kirstin leave for me?” With shaking hands, she took the pages from Richie. They burned her hand as if they were aflame, and she cried out, dropping them to join the others on the floor.

Without giving it a second thought, Richie knelt in front of her and gathered Ang into his arms. Ang curled up into herself while Richie’s arms wrapped around her. He rocked gently, murmuring nonsensical platitudes to her as he would a scared child. Ang’s tears finally dried, and she looked up to Richie. “Sorry about that,” she said in a small voice.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Angel Rose,” Richie said.

Ang leaned back gently, breaking Richie’s hold on her. She reached down to gather up some of the papers. With shaking hands, she flipped through them gingerly, afraid of the horrors they held. When she finished, she looked up and met Richie’s eyes. “We have to go back to your house,” she said. “We have to talk to Kirstin about this.”

Richie sighed. “Can you tell from these, or from what you didn’t draw where this all happened or who the green-eyed man is?” He reluctantly picked one of the drawings from the pile. This one showed a woman’s foot in a slim boot stepping on, actually nearly tripping over, a tree root. That could be anywhere.

Ang shook her head. “No, that’s why we need to talk to Kirstin. Now, while this is all still fresh.”

Richie sighed. “Are you absolutely sure?” he asked. When Ang nodded, he said, “Alright let’s go.”

Chapter Fifteen

Satisfied, Kirstin settled back into her chair and vanished from view. Richie sat there, mouth agape, staring at the chair. “Holy shit,” he breathed, sitting back in his seat. After a few minutes, he asked, “Is she really gone?”

“Yes,” Angel Rose answered in a tiny voice. Richie looked over at her, and was dismayed to find her swaying on her feet. He jumped up to steady her, and helped lower her into the rocking chair.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”

Ang held up a hand briefly to stop his questions. “It’s alright,” she said. “It’s just been a while since I let them in, and I’d forgotten what a toll they can take.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I just need to go home and get some sleep. I’ll be okay.” She stood and immediately started to fall. Richie again caught her in his arms.

“You can’t be driving when you can’t even stand; let me drive you home. We can sort out your car in the morning.” When Ang just nodded weakly, he helped her downstairs, and sat her in one of the window seats while he stuffed his pillow into his duffel bag and scooped it up.

“What’re you doing?” Ang asked as she slumped against the side of the seat.

“I’m a little freaked out at the moment,” he answered honestly. “Is there anyplace in town I can stay after I drop you off?” Richie asked. He kept glancing back at the stairs, apprehensive a about spending the night.

Ang checked her watch. “Not without waking someone up or heading out of town,” she said. Richie checked his own watch and saw it was pushing ten o’clock. “The B and B’s are pretty much full or asleep for the night.”

“Holy cow, how’d it get so late without my noticing it?” He could have sworn it was dinner time, but nearly four hours had passed. He’d missed dinner, and wasn’t even hungry.

“That’s just how it works,” she said, shrugging. “You lose all track of time.”

Richie looked at her, nodding in agreement, though he had no idea why. “OK then, after I take you home, I’m going to sleep in the truck tonight while I wrap my head around this whole thing.” He helped her up and supported her weight as they made their way to his truck. He dropped his bag on the ground and helped Ang up into her seat. She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Richie tossed his stuff in the backseat and slid in behind the wheel.

She gave him directions to her place, and soon he was pulling into the little driveway in front of her cottage. “Cute place,” Richie said.

“It is,” Ang agreed. The short drive with the windows open had perked her up somewhat, but she was still bone tired. She poured out of her seat and braced herself on the door handle. Richie chuckled and went around to her side of the truck. He led her up the few stairs and waited while she unlocked and pushed open the door.

“Are you going to be alright?” Richie asked.

Ang nodded. “Yeah, I just need to sleep. Thanks for taking me home.”

“Of course. Well, good night.”

Richie started to back out of the door when Ang stopped him.

“Look, if you don’t want to sleep in your truck or drive all over the place to find somewhere to stay, you’re more than welcome to crash here.” Richie just looked at her. “What’s the problem?” she asked. “We’re both adults, and I think I can trust you, right?” Richie nodded. “Then there isn’t any problem. Go get your bag.”

By the time Richie returned, Ang had pillows and a blanket stacked on the foot of a short sofa.

“You can take your bag into the bedroom,” she said. Richie just winged an eyebrow. Blushing, Ang said, “Look, you’re much bigger than I am, and you won’t fit on the couch.” He started to object, but Ang put up a hand. “I’m gonna be asleep in about 40 seconds,” she said, yawning widely to emphasize her point. “I won’t even notice. End of discussion. There’s some food in the fridge if you’re hungry; please help yourself.”

“But – ” Richie protested.

Ang just gave him a look. “I promise you, I will be fine. Please,” she said, yawning widely. “Have something to eat, and get some sleep. There’s a television in the armoire if you’re not sleepy yet. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, she took a blanket and pillow from the closet and tossed them on the couch. She disappeared into the bathroom where Richie heard the rustling of clothes and the run of water as she brushed her teeth and changed for bed.

He smiled when she came back into her room wearing a long t-shirt over light yoga pants and heavy socks. She smiled sheepishly as she fluffed up her pillow and sat on the end of the sofa. “My feet are always cold,” she said. “There’s extra pillows in the hall closet, and clean towels in the bathroom,” she said, shaking out the light blanket and effectively dismissing him.

“Good night, Angel Rose,” Richie said, and backed into her bedroom, closing the door as Ang settled in on the couch.

Ang sighed when she heard the bedroom door snick closed, and she relaxed into the cushions. She wasn’t kidding when she’d said she’d be out like a light in a matter of seconds. After these encounters, she always slept; it allowed her brain to unwind. She stuffed her arm under the pillow behind her head, pulled the light blanket up to her ears, and fell asleep.

Richie changed into jogging shorts and a tank top, and opened the door. He smiled when he saw Ang all but passed out on the couch and continued into the kitchen. He fixed a thick sandwich, grabbed a Coke, and went back into Ang’s bedroom. He set the plate down on the nightstand and crossed the small room to open the armoire. He snagged the remote from the top of the TV and sat on the edge of the bed to pop the top of his soda. He flipped through the channels until he found a baseball game and reached back to grab his dinner.

As he chewed through his hearty meatloaf sandwich, he thought back to the encounter with Kirstin. He was amazed at everything that had transpired, and knew he had to help the poor woman. Ghost. Whatever. No woman deserved to be beaten like she was, he didn’t care when it happened.

And Angel Rose. She called her gift a “curse” but he thought it was just incredible. She had the ability to interact with the spirit world. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be that in tune to the cosmos around him. He thought it would be phenomenal to be able to talk to his ancestors, for example, to find out what their lives were like. Or to have a conversation with some of the great men and women of history. He frowned, thinking more on that. What if he couldn’t choose who came to talk to him? What if there was so much noise in his head, it drowned out his own thoughts? He shuddered. That must be what Angel Rose means by curse.

Whatever it’s called, for the moment it was fascinating and new and a little bit scary, and he wanted to experience it again. “Not going to be tonight,” he said to himself as he polished off his sandwich. He brought his plate and empty can back out to the kitchen and placed them in the sink. He stopped to watch Angel Rose sleep for a minute, wondering if she was dreaming of Kirstin.

He grabbed the extra pillows from the closet before closing himself into Angel Rose’s room and climbed into her bed. He was a sprawler, and probably would use up the whole bed. He shucked his shirt and lay in the cool sheets, Ang’s scent teasing him. It was fresh and clean, and nothing like the death and decay he had smelled at his house. “Olfactory Hallucination” is what Ang called it. He didn’t care. It was creepy, and this was much preferred. He was mulling things over in his head, trying to grasp the enormity of what had transpired earlier that evening. Eventually, though, his brain gave up the ghost, so to speak, and he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

In the middle of the night, Ang partially awoke, needing to go to the bathroom. She stumbled into the bathroom without turning on a light and did her business, already on the way to being asleep again. Barely conscious, she went into her bedroom and climbed into bed, totally unaware of the other person sleeping there. A short time later, Ang was dreaming that she was suffocating. She was being buried alive. The air was heavy in her lungs, and she couldn’t breathe. She clawed at the dirt, but it didn’t help. A faceless man hovered over her, his hands reaching for her throat as he threw his shovel aside. With a strangled scream, she wriggled with all her might and sat upright. She looked around the room, frightened, and completely disoriented.

The scream and motion woke Richie, who bolted out of bed. “What the hell?” he asked, and fumbled for a lamp. “Angel Rose? What are you doing in here? “

Ang blinked and looked around again, her eyes still unfocused. “Am I ok?” she asked in a small voice.

Richie nodded slowly. “Yes, darlin’, you’re perfectly safe, but...”

Ang was already sinking down into the bed again, her eyes closing. Staring at her, Richie watched as she drifted off to sleep. She probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning, but now what the hell was he supposed to do? Ang sighed and turned away from him, apparently deeply asleep. He shrugged remembering her “we’re both adults” statement earlier, and got back in on the other side of the bed, careful not to touch her. He rolled away from her, closed his eyes, and tried to go back to sleep.

When the first rays of sunlight peeked in the blinds, Ang woke slowly. She was toasty warm, but not uncomfortably so. When she woke a little more she tried to stretch, but something was holding her down. She came all the way awake when she realized it was Richie’s arm. He was spooned against her, holding her to his chest.

Ang swallowed hard, and groaned to herself. She had no recollection of getting into bed with Richie, never mind cuddling up with him. She mentally took inventory, and determined they didn’t actually do anything last night. Judging by what was pressing into her backside, she’d definitely be feeling it this morning if they had. She smiled and blushed, then gave herself a mental shake.

Gingerly lifting Richie’s arm, she tried to sneak out from under him. He murmured incoherently and pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck. “Mmmm, where’re you going?” he rumbled sleepily.

“Richie, wake up,” Ang said softly.

“Don’t wanna,” he whined.

“Okay,” Ang said softly, “then let me up for a minute.”

“You’ll come back?” he mumbled as he released her, his words barely discernable.

“Sure thing,” she answered as she slid out of bed, not intending to do anything of the sort. In fact, she hoped he had no memory of this at all. She was mortified beyond belief to have found herself nestled in bed with him – a man she barely knew. She pulled a robe from the closet and put it on, then hurried to the kitchen where she started a pot of coffee.

Chapter Fourteen

“You’ll really help me?” Richie asked. Ang nodded.

Richie was quiet for a long moment, taking everything in. “So, we know some of the rumors, and some of the history, but we need to know more. We need to know what happened to her,” he said. “We’ll be able to find out?”

Ang sighed. “We can simply ask her,” she said. “Depending on what she remembers, then yes.”

“And you’ll really be able to hear her?” Richie was shocked. He never believed this would be possible, never mind happening to him.

“Yes, I will,” Ang said quietly. She got up from the ground and brushed off the seat of her jeans. Richie stood behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Any time you want to leave, I will take you home.” She nodded and led the way into the house.

Right away, Ang felt chilly. She looked at Richie. “She’s waiting,” Ang said. “Let’s get upstairs.” Ang unerringly led Richie led up to Kirstin’s door; a door that was again closed. Ang tried the handle, but the door was locked. She looked at Richie who took the key from his pocket and handed it to Ang. “Why’d you lock the door?” she asked him.

He looked at her and shook her head. “I didn’t.”

They went into the room, and Kirstin was rocking in her chair. She stopped when she saw the woman enter. Good heavens, that girl looked just like her Hope! Her eyes misted over, and she waited for the woman to come to her. She was still a little hurt that the girl had fled from her, especially knowing they were relations. She was leery of showing herself to the girl until she was certain the child wouldn’t run away again.

“Did you see that?” Richie asked. Ang just nodded. “Can you see her?” Richie asked in a low voice.

“Not just now; she has to want to let me,” Ang said in her regular voice.

“Is that what happened before?” Richie said, still speaking softly.

Ang shook her head. “No, being in that hidden room relaxed something, or made my curse stronger or something. Not now.” She thought a moment before continuing. “I can feel her blocking me from seeing her at the moment.”

“Do you think she’ll show again?”

“I don’t know,” Ang said. “And for the record, you don’t have to whisper. Kirstin, is that you?” The chair started rocking again, then stopped.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked. The chair didn’t move.

“My name is Angel Rose Summerlin. Do I look familiar to you?” The chair moved.

Richie watched with wonder on his face as Ang had a stilted, painful conversation comprised of yes/no questions that didn’t really tell them anything they didn’t already know from the mounds of paperwork they had found. Finally, she asked one last question of the chair. “If I promise not to run, will you show yourself to me? To us?” She looked at Richie, who nodded, though his stomach was in knots.

Very slowly, the chair rocked forward and back, just once, then stopped; like someone had gotten up out of the chair. The door to the room slammed shut, which made Richie jump, but Ang put a calming hand on his arm. She drew him over to the couch, and motioned for him to sit, and she sat next to him.

Slowly, the chair moved again, as if someone were getting into it. Ang put her hand on the arm of the chair and waited. Slowly, the smell of earth filled the room. Richie nearly gagged from it, but Ang seemed unfazed. She closed her eyes concentrated hard on opening her mind and she felt a door open in her head. A blinding pain hit her between the eyes for a millisecond, and was gone. Ang took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.

“What do you see?” Richie asked, whispering. “I can’t see her,” Richie said, frustrated.

Ang described the young woman sitting serenely in her chair, hands folded in her lap, and elbows resting on the arm rests. “She’s the woman from the photo, isn’t she? The one I saw in my dream?” he said, and Ang nodded.

“Holy shit,” Richie said, and Kirstin flinched.

“What he means is,” Ang said, casting a withering glance at Richie, “is that he’s disappointed he can’t see you like I can.”

Kirstin looked at Ang. “Can you hear me as well, child?”

“Yes, Kirstin, I can,” Ang nodded slowly, her eyes tearing. The voice was somehow viscerally familiar to her. She needed no other proof; she knew without a doubt that she was descended from this woman. Ang looked at Richie, who shook his head. He couldn’t hear her either.

Ang put her other hand in Richie’s and squeezed. “Don’t force it,” she said. “Just relax and let her come.” Richie closed his eyes and concentrated on the woman he saw in the maze, and the battered creature he saw on the path leading back from the pond, and his heart squeezed. The smell of earth started to recede, and a different, more disturbingly cloying scent filled the air. “Richie,” Ang said softly. “Open your eyes.”

He did, and gasped. Sitting in the chair in front of him was the woman from his dreams.

“Hello,” he said to her, not quite believing what he was seeing. He had a death grip on Ang’s hand, not wanting to let it go for fear of breaking contact with Kirstin.

Kirstin nodded. “Good evening,” she said in a soft voice.

Richie sucked in a breath. That same voice had begged him for help in his dreams.

Richie looked at Ang, unsure what to do. Ang, for her part, was surprised it was this easy for Richie to see her. In her experience, most people were reluctant to believe this was even possible which made communication difficult at best. Richie was so open to this, it was just amazing to her. He didn’t seem the type. “Talk to her,” Ang said. “You don’t need me for this.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Richie begged Ang.

She gently shook the hand Richie had crushed in his grip. “I couldn’t if I tried,” she said.

Richie looked at Kirstin. “You asked for my help,” he said to her. Kirstin nodded. “You want me to find you. What does that mean?”

Kirstin shook her head. “I am trapped here,” she said. “Trapped in this house while my family has gone. I watched my beloved wither and suffer in this house. Saw my children turn from hopeful to mournful, and it broke my heart. I wasn’t able to watch over them like a mother should.” She turned away now, tears in her eyes. Richie felt for her. He didn’t understand any of this, but he felt like he was talking to a real flesh-and-blood woman, not a specter of who she used to be.

“When I saw you on the path, you were hurt,” Richie said delicately.

Kirstin kept her gaze averted, staring out her window to the grounds beyond it. “I was,” she said sadly.

“Who hurt you?” Richie asked.

Kirstin shook her head again. “It makes no difference now, he’s long since dead, and I’m sure his God has seen to his punishment.”

Richie grew angry. “It does matter; people should know who did this to you.” Kirstin smiled at the indignation on Richie’s face, and reached out to touch his face. Shocked, Richie felt her touch, as real as Ang’s hand felt under his.

“You are a warm and caring man,” she said. “But truly, it would do no good to anyone to bring this man’s family shame.”

Richie nodded. “As you wish,” he said. “How will I find you?”

Kirstin shook her head. “I haven’t a single notion. I just know I cannot rest or leave this house to be reunited with my Geoffrey until you do. Please,” she looked at Richie, “will you help me?”

He looked into smoky gray eyes filled with desperation and hope. “Of course I will,” he said. And, he added to himself, I will find out who hurt you.