Epilogue

One Year Later

The white plantation house stood proudly, high on a hill; standing guard over the now flourishing landscape. There had been many decades of sadness in the house, but now there was laughter and joy, and from the gleaming slate tiles on the roof to the pristine whitewash on the siding, to the black-painted wooden shutters proudly flanking the house’s windows, to the wide porch steps, the house seemed to know it and all but sighed with happiness.

Beautiful hedgerows once again encircled the estate like a graceful necklace. The lawns were once again lush and thick, and the trees lining the driveway were once again heavy with green. The cobbled area in front of the house was replaced with a blacktop area, and the massive stable made way for a covered garage.

In the back of the house, English Boxwoods lined the path to the more formal gardens. All of the original plants, Helleri holly shrubbery, Jasmine, lavender, marigolds, and hibiscus: all were blooming fiercely, sending their fragrances to mix in the light summer breeze.

Beyond the low gardens, the elaborate maze, sculpted from privet hedge, was fully restored to its resplendent glory. Interspersed with sweet honeysuckle, the privet wound around to an elaborate fountain that once again lured visitors with the sound of gently falling water.

Along the winding flagstone path, the rhododendron bushes were heavy with pink, purple, and white blooms. The lake regained its ethereal glow, and the man of the house, along with his guests and friends, would spend sticky summer afternoons swimming and frolicking in its cool, clear water.

The man who now lived in the house was young, beautiful, and full of life. He had truly made this house a home. The man’s lady-friend who visited frequently was equally lovely, and the connection between the pair was as strong as the courtship that started the house’s saga all those years ago. The pair had grown very close over the last year; the bond that had formed between them when they first met grew stronger with each passing month. Soon, the man hoped, they would be a family, and once again delightful children would chase each other through the house’s large rooms, and frolic with big, dopey-grinned dogs on the lawn.

This house, this home, was once again a happy place; full of joy and the promise of tomorrow.

THE END


Author's Note:

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who stuck with me through the lo-o-o-ong hiatus while I got this story back on track. Your kind comments and emails were very much appreciated.

And an extra-special thank you to my dear friend T for all her help and encouragement when I took on the task of rewriting this story. T, you offered advice, story ideas, and a kick in the pants when I was lagging on word count :)

Until next time, readers.

~ Hath

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“We have to find the ring,” Angel Rose said.

“Thank you,” Kirstin said, as tears of gratitude gathered in her eyes.

Angel Rose knelt by the hole in the ground and started sifting through the dirt. “We can start with the grave, I guess.” She looked to Kirstin. “What does it look like? Aside from it being a ring.”

Kirstin smiled. “It was the most beautiful, shiny gold I’ve ever seen. All around the outside were etched tiny little ivy leaves. It was beautiful.”

Angel Rose nodded and resumed searching the grave.

“Didn’t the sheriff already search in here?” Richie asked. When his question went unanswered, he sighed and joined Angel Rose graveside, thrusting his fingers into the earth.

Marty took up a position at the foot of the grave, a frown furrowing his brow. “I thought that you said that you thought my ancestor took the ring?”

“It doesn’t hurt to double-check,” Angel Rose said, digging furiously. Marty paced the edge of the grave, watching Angel Rose and Richie shift piles of dirt. He pinched his upper lip while he paced, and looked to be deep in thought.

When half an hour had passed with no luck, Angel Rose sat back on her haunches. She and Richie sat for long minutes, staring into the hole. “It’s not here,” she said dejectedly.

Richie put an arm around Angel Rose’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s just lost,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “Maybe it is. But maybe…” She looked up and met Marty’s eyes. “Marty,” she said, “are there any... what I mean to say is, is there...”

“Are there any old rings kicking about the Halstead manse that could be hers?” Marty looked sharply at Angel Rose, who blushed and stared at the ground. He shifted his gaze to Kirstin and shook his head. “Not to my knowledge,” he said. He frowned again. “Anyway, how do you know a critter didn’t make off with it? Jeremiah didn’t necessarily steal from the woman his brother killed.” Marty stood, dusted off his knees, and headed up the path without another word. Richie and Angel Rose stared after him until he was gone.

“Well that was rude,” Richie said.

Angel Rose smiled wryly. “Discovering you have a murder in your family history would tend to make a body a bit surly,” she said.

Richie agreed. “Hey, what about at the Historical Society? You said that you get estate jewelry and stuff all the time – why don’t we look there?”

Angel Rose shook her head. “No, I’d remember a ring like that if it had come through – the etching would have been unusual for the time. No, it’s not there.”

“And you catalogued every single piece that came in? Are you sure? “

“Richie, I know every piece of paper, jewelry, and other memorabilia that’s in that building. The ring is not there.”

“And we saw the sheriff dig through the grave, and yet we just spent almost an hour searching it...”

“Fine,” Angel Rose snapped, rising to her feet. “If it will make you feel better, we’ll go look for it.”

“It’s not about making me feel better,” Richie insisted. “It’s more about being thorough, I guess. I think we need to check.”

Richie didn’t voice the rest of his thought. If Kirstin “refused” to rest because she didn’t have her wedding ring, he would have her in his house for as long as she wanted to stay. On the surface, it didn’t sound like a bad thing, especially now they’ve found her body and Kirstin didn’t have to relive her last moments any more, but he really didn’t want to have a ghost in his house any longer than he needed to. If he had to irritate Angel Rose to make sure, absolutely sure, that the ring wasn’t at the Historical Society, then so be it. She’d get over it.

* * *

“I told you it wasn’t there,” Angel Rose said three hours later as Richie drove them back to the Thompson Estate. They had looked through every tray of rings, every box of baubles, contained in the safe.

“You were right, I was wrong,” Richie said. “Are you sure you want to come back to the house? You look exhausted, sweetheart. You should get some rest.” Ang looked as if she would protest, but Richie held up a hand to stay her protest. “I am not trying to tell you what to do; I’m simply making a suggestion. I’m just saying, it’s been a stressful day for everyone, and you’ve gone through more than most.”

“I’m fine, I promise. I feel I should be there with you when you tell Kirstin we couldn’t find her ring.”

“Yeah, about that; if she decides she can’t rest or whatever, I’m not really sure I want to keep a haunted house.” He stole a sidelong look at Angel Rose. He saw her nod, whether in agreement or disbelief, he didn’t know.

They rounded the last driveway bend, and Richie frowned at the house. “Who’s that on the porch?” he asked.

Angel Rose squinted through the windshield. “I think that’s Marty.”

Richie pulled up in front of the house and killed the motor. “Marty!” he called out as he exited the truck. “What brings you back here?”

“I wanted to apologize for the way I left earlier,” he said. “I was unconscionably rude.”

“It’s alright,” Angel Rose answered, “and completely understandable. It’s been a trying couple of days.”

“That it has,” Marty agreed, “but it’s no excuse for my lapse in manners.” He stretched out a hand to shake first to Angel Rose’s, then to Richie’s in apology. “There is another reason I came back.”

Richie noticed that Marty had left a small parcel on the porch railing. He and Angel Rose watched as Marty opened the box and withdrew a small velvet bag. “This was my grandmother’s,” he said. “It was passed down to my mother, and would have been passed down to my sister had she lived.” Angel Rose’s startled glance didn’t deter him from getting his confession out. “And if I had children, it would have passed down to my eldest. Unfortunately, Emily and I have not been blessed in that way.”

“Is that what I think it is?” Richie asked, taking a cue from Marty not to dwell on his personal history.

“It may be,” Marty said. He opened the bag and shook something out of it. He held it up for Angel Rose and Richie to see: a small gold ring.

“But you said -- ” Annoyed, Angel Rose started to ask him why he didn’t say anything, but Richie put a staying hand on her arm.

Marty smiled slightly at Angel Rose. “I thought the description of the ring sounded familiar, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes, and frankly, I wanted to be wrong. It’s bad enough there’s a murderer in my family tree, but a thief as well?” He shook his head. “It’s just too much.”

Angel Rose’s expression softened. “I can understand that,” she said. “May I see the ring?” She held out her hand, and Marty dropped it into her upturned palm. She held up the ring to the light, noticing the pattern of ivy leaves woven around the outside of the band. “It’s beautiful,” she said, turning the ring this way and that.

While Angel Rose was examining the jewelry, Richie asked Marty, “Is there any more to the story of how it came to be with your family?”

Marty cleared his throat. “All I know is what I told you earlier – that it was my grandmother’s. I can only assume that my grandfather got it from some other relation who had taken it from Kirstin.” He met Angel Rose’s eyes. “Sounds like the ring came from Jeremiah,” he said, “though I don’t want to admit it.” He looked from the ring to the upstairs window and back again. “Would you do me a favor I do not deserve? Would you bring the ring to Kirstin with my deepest apologies?”

“That is not necessary,” a voice said from behind them. The trio turned to see Kirstin standing in the doorway – none of them had noticed the front door opening of its own accord. “May I see the ring?”

Angel Rose approached Kirstin and held up the ring for her. “It is mine,” Kirstin said softly. She looked to Marty. “Thank you for returning it to me.”

Marty bowed his head slightly. “Miss Kirstin, I apologize deeply for the pain and anguish my family has caused you. If I could change the past, I certainly would, but I hope that this ring brings you some small measure of comfort.”

“It will,” Kirstin said, sighing happily. “And thank you for the gracious apology but you are not to blame for your forebears’ cruelty. You are a decent, honorable man, and do your family proud.”

“I thank you kindly, ma’am,” Marty said, blushing slightly. He cleared his throat and looked at Richie and Angel Rose. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.” He shook each of their hands in turn and left.

Richie and Angel Rose turned to Kirstin. “What do you want us to do?” Angel Rose asked.

Kirstin smiled and covered Angel Rose’s hands with hers. “I would love nothing more than for you to keep my ring,” she said, closing her eyes, and projecting warmth onto their joined hands. “You are my family, and it seems rather silly to bury my remains with it.” Kirstin’s eyes welled with tears. “You are the kind of woman I hope my daughters grew up to be. It would make me happy for you to keep it with you.”

Angel Rose couldn’t speak for the lump that formed in her throat. Kirsten turned her gaze to Richie, and continued. “And you, young man; you won’t have to deal with me much longer. Once I am laid to rest, I will be at peace. I thank you both from the bottom of my soul for finding me.”

Richie smiled at “his” ghost. “In a way, I’m going to miss you,” he said. “I am sorry for all that you went through, and wish it didn’t happen. We will lay you to rest with your husband just as soon as the Sheriff says it’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Kirstin said, then dissolved from view.

* * *
A week had passed since the simple ceremony that laid Kirstin Maddox to rest. Angel Rose, Richie, Marty, the Sheriff, and the local minister gathered around the Maddox family plot, and buried Kirstin alongside her husband. Richie had paid for the grave marker, and laid a single pink rose atop its arched peak. As Kirstin’s casket settled into the ground, a breeze stirred the grass around the grave. The wind lifted the rose from the top of the grave marker and sent it gently fluttering to the top of the casket.

Since the burial, Richie had started making plans for bringing the gardens back to life. He had a crew coming in to start making headway on the maze. Of everything on the property, that felt special to him, and he couldn’t wait to see it restored to its glory. When he heard the rumble of a diesel engine in the driveway, he rubbed his hands together with glee. Time to get started.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A startled gasp commanded the men’s attention. They both saw Kirstin staring down into the grave. "My ring," she cried, dropping to her knees. She reached into the grave to touch her skeleton, but her hand passed through. "Where is my wedding ring? I vowed never to remove it." She turned to the men. "Please; you have to find it," she begged. "I must have it back."

"You have to let me go," Richie said. "We did what you said; we found you, we will bury you properly. Let me go to Angel Rose!" His hands were clenched by his sides, rage humming through him.

"Rich," a soft voice called from the edge of the clearing. He and Marty spun at the sound.

"Oh thank God," Richie said, and ran to Angel Rose, scooping her into his arms. When she leaned heavily on him, he sunk to the ground with her cradled in his lap, and he peppered her face with kisses. He held her close, rocking her.

Angel Rose clung to Richie with all her diminished strength. She had woken to find herself sprawled on the ground, unable to move. She could hear Kirstin and the men talking, but could not raise her own voice above a whisper. She felt as if she were being pressed into the ground by a board, pinning her to the earth. When she heard Kirstin wail about her ring, she felt a surge of strength that brought her to her feet, and allowed her to stagger to the safety and comfort of Richie’s arms.

"Did you find her?" Angel Rose asked.

Richie nodded. "We did. I’m so sorry, Angel Rose," he said. "Kirstin kept me from coming to you. I don’t know what the hell she did…"

"She is very powerful," Ang answered softly. "More powerful than I thought she would be, but I was stronger. Rich, I made her let me go."

"And I’m so glad you did," Richie said, kissing her soundly.

Marty cleared his throat. "Uh there is the small matter of calling the Sheriff."

"Will he believe me when I tell him what went on here?" Richie was concerned. He knew he couldn’t possibly be blamed for this woman’s murder – he’d seen enough television programs to know that forensic study of the bones would prove their age. He did, however, worry about being labeled as losing his faculties with the story about the ghost.

Marty laughed for what seemed like an hour. "Boy, you are in the South. No self-respecting Southerner, lawman or not, would dismiss what happened here out of hand." He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "The Sheriff will understand."

When Marty had gone back to the house, Richie pushed Angel Rose back enough to examine her face. "Are you sure you’re okay?" he asked.

"I will be," she answered. She stood with Richie’s help, and spied Kirstin still kneeling by the hole in the ground, rocking back and forth and crying. "She’s upset," Angel Rose said.

Richie nodded. "I know," he said. "She’s crying over her wedding ring."

Ang was surprised. "You can see her?"

"Yep, and talk to her. Freaky as shit, let me tell you."

Angel Rose laughed. "God, you don’t even know the half of it."

She took off the locket and handed it to Richie. "Hold this for me?" she asked. At his nod, and with shaky steps she moved toward Kirstin.

Angel Rose settled onto the ground next to Kirstin. "I’m sorry," she said to the ghost-woman. "I’m sorry for your pain and for your loss. But now we can lay you to rest with your beloved Geoffrey. Now you can finally be at peace."

Kirstin looked at Angel Rose with watery eyes. "Thank you," she said. "I know that after what feels like an eternity of waiting, I should be very happy, and I am, but still..." she trailed off looking down into the hole at the naked bone of her left-hand ring finger.

"Your ring," Ang answered. "They’ll be coming soon, the Sheriff and his men," she continued. "When they, uh, exhume you, we will search the grave for your ring. I swear it."

Kirstin nodded and got quiet for a moment. "I am sorry for taking you like that."

Ang nodded. "I understand. I forgive you, Kirstin." She felt a pain stab through her forehead, and winced as she rubbed. Other than with Mathilda when she was a child, Angel Rose had not had a sustained, conscious exposure to a spirit. It was proving to be more stressful than she had imagined. "Richie," she called.

He was by her side in an instant, casting a wary eye on Kirstin. He helped Ang up and away from the grieving Kirstin.

"What’s the matter, Angel Rose?"

"She’s grieving all over again," Ang answered. "The emotions are making her very strong, and I can’t – it’s just – this pain through my head."

She trailed off and Richie nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Tell her that we’ll search her grave, but I think Jeremiah took her ring."

Richie looked surprised. "What? How do you know that?" Ang just gave him a sardonic look, and Richie grinned sheepishly. "Never mind," he said. "I’ll go tell her."

He approached Kirstin tentatively, keeping the open chasm of the grave between them. Angel Rose watched Richie with her. He crouched down and spoke softly to her, relaying the message. While he was talking, Marty returned, and sat next to Ang. "I called Sheriff Beauchaine," he said quietly. "He will be along presently." He nodded his chin at Richie. "What’s he doing?"

Angel Rose explained about the ring, and her vision that showed Jeremiah taking it from Kirstin’s hand. She explained about the headache that was coming on, and Richie going to talk to Kirstin.

"Girl, it sounds like this is getting dangerous for you. Are you sure you want to keep pursuing this?" Marty frowned at her.

Ang sighed. "Marty, I have to see this through. She won’t truly rest, no matter where her remains may be. This is the only way to really send her on her way."

The older man shook his head. "I don’t like this," he said.

"I don’t either," Richie said, returning. "When’s the Sheriff getting here?"

"Should be any minute now," Marty said. "I told him it was urgent, that there was a long-dead body buried here that needed taking care of."

Richie nodded. "Angel Rose, where do you think the ring is?"

Ang sighed again. This was becoming a habit. "I don’t’ know. I just feel that Jeremiah took it. We have to find it."

Richie groaned. "Here we go again. How do we know that there won’t be something ELSE she needs you to do. Maybe she’s just too used to being tied to this place, and doesn’t really want to leave. Can’t we MAKE her leave? Isn’t there some sort of mojo or juju you can throw at her and make her go away?"

Marty gave him a smile. "There are things you can try, son, but if they don’t work, the backlash is something terrible. I sure don’t want to be on the wrong end of the karma flow if something goes sideways." He shivered. "No, it’s better to do this her way," he said, indicating Kirstin.

Richie frowned. "Her way is no good," he muttered.

"Hey," Angel Rose said. "Isn’t that my decision?"

Richie kept speaking as if he didn’t hear her. "I mean, you saw what the last contact did to Angel Rose, and that was fairly brief. What if getting the vision to show itself takes more time? There’s no telling how long Kirstin would," he waved a hand in the air, "inhabit her body."

"HEY!" Angel Rose shouted. "It is not your choice. It is mine."

"But Ang, sweetheart…"

"Don’t ‘Ang, sweetheart’ me, Rich. I will not have you railroad over me. This is my choice to make or not make." She stood and threw her shoulders back.

Whatever else she was going to say was lost with the ringing of Marty’s cell phone. "It’s the Sheriff," he said, checking the display. "We should go get him, son," he said to Richie.

The younger man shook his head. "No. I’m not leaving Angel Rose here alone with HER."

"Oh for heaven’s sake," Angel Rose said, and grabbed the phone from Marty. She pressed the ‘talk’ button on the bulky device as she walked back toward the clearing. "Sheriff Beauchaine! We’re out by the lake!"

A slow, southern drawl answered her. "We’re on the way!"

A few minutes later, the Sheriff, along with a deputy, the county coroner, and the coroner’s assistant, came from the direction of the house. Angel Rose led them back to the partially dug up grave and looked around. Kirstin was standing just along the shrub line. The officers gave no indication that they saw her, and she said nothing. She stood back as the coroner climbed down into the hole. A sixty-ish man with a halo of white hair around the crown of his head and a graying goatee looked up at them.

"Who dug out this here grave?" he asked, his accent thick.

"We did," Marty said, indicating himself and Richie. "We stopped when we saw just what was down there."

"Uh-huh," the ME answered. "And just how did ya’ll come to be digging in this spot?"

Marty and Richie exchanged glances with Angel Rose. She rose and extended her hand to the coroner. "I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Angel Rose Summerlin," she said.

"Summerlin?" the man answered, taking her hand. "Well, that explains it, then. Tobias Matheson, at your service, Miss Summerlin. Who do we have here?"

"Kirstin Maddox," Angel Rose answered quietly, casting a furtive glance behind the Sheriff.

The look wasn’t lost on Tobias, though. "You seeing her right now?" he asked, raising a bushy white eyebrow. Ang just nodded. "Welll," he continued, raising his voice. "Let’s see if we can’t get Mrs. Maddox out of this terrible hole and into someplace more comfortable." He sent his assistant and the deputy back to the van for the gurney while he used a small brush and shovel to shift the earth away from Kirstin’s remains. It took him close to an hour before he had the skeleton unearthed.

Very carefully, one grayed bone at a time, the coroner transferred the skeleton to the body bag on the gurney. He made sure everything was laid gently in place, and when he was done, he swept the grave again, to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

"Is there a ring?" Kirstin asked.

Richie, Marty, and Angel Rose all turned to look at her, but the others did not here.

"What’s wrong?" Tobias asked. "What’s over there?"

Angel Rose shook her head. "Did you find anything else in that grave?"

"Like what?" Tobias asked, puzzled.

"Like jewelry? Her wedding ring, perhaps?" At Tobias’ strange look, she hastened to add, "all the Maddox family lore says that she never took it off; swore to Geoffrey that she would wear it for all eternity. It would be nice to bury her with it is all." It sounded lame, even to her, but Tobias didn’t call her on it.

"No, there’s nothing else here. I’ll take her back to the morgue. Who will come to collect her when I call?"

Richie stepped forward. "Angel Rose and I will." He looked at Ang. "We’ll make arrangements to have her interred with her husband."

Tobias nodded. "Very good," he said, and led his assistant and the deputy from the clearing.

Once the men were out of earshot, Sheriff Beauchaine asked, "Why did you really ask about the ring, Ms. Summerlin?"

Angel Rose blushed. "Kirstin is standing over there, and she asked me to ask." She extended an arm toward the far side of the clearing.

The lawman turned, but saw nothing. "You all see her?" he asked, looking pointedly at Marty.

"Yessir, Warren," Marty answered. "We all see her plain as day. Unsettling to say the least."

"Huh," Warren answered. He wandered over to where Kirstin was standing, and felt a slight dip in temperature. "Missus Maddox," he said, "we will have you settled right quick."

"We have to find her ring," Angel Rose said, "before we can bury her."

Warren nodded. "Understood. Anything I can do to help?"

"Not that I can think of, Sheriff," Angel Rose said, "but if I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know." She considered the lawman. "Why do you believe me?"

Warren smiled. "My grand-mama had the sight. Skipped my mama altogether, and I have no sisters, so I don’t know if it’s died out or not. I learned a long time ago to have the proper respect for the gift." He started back along the path, heading back to his deputy and his car. "Please call me if I can help you." He tipped his hat at where Kirstin was standing. "Ma’am," he said, and left the clearing.

"Well, that was certainly strange," Richie said.

"Not really," Marty answered. "I told you we have a healthy respect for our spooks and specters, no offense Missus Maddox."

Richie shook his head. "Okay, whatever. What’s our next step?"

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Richie and Marty watched as Ang/Kirstin walked carefully across the open area between the lake and the rhododendrons, as if afraid of getting her shoes dirty. She walked lightly, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As she approached the shrubs, she reached out a hand, as if trying to sense where the path was. Back and forth she walked along the rhodies’ edge, smiling and trailing a hand across the purple blooms.

Richie frowned. "Angel Rose?" He got no response, and tried again. "Kirstin?" This time, the woman turned to him. "We want to find you," he said gently, "but we don’t want to lose Angel Rose. Please," he said, reaching out to take her hand, though it was so cold it burned. "Please hurry."

Kirstin sighed and pulled her hand from Richie’s. "Very well," she said.

She turned toward the bushes and peered at their bottoms, looking for a gap in the thick branches. Marty and Richie helped, pushing the bloom-laden boughs out of the way. "Here," she finally said, triumphantly. "See how the branches twine at the bottom? They weren’t like that when I lived here."

Marty and Richie started pushing their way bodily through the bushes, wincing as branches snapped and poked at their arms and legs. They could just make out a path, or a strip with no roots, and followed it until they came to a spot where nothing grew. Sitting on the spot was a woman in a tattered peach dress, her face all beaten and bloody, a wan smile on her lips. "Here," she said, scaring the hell out of Marty. He hadn’t seen her before without Ang as a buffer.

"Where is Angel Rose?" Marty asked, looking around. In their haste to get through the dense shrubbery, they had lost the young woman.

Kirstin pointed back in the direction the men had come from. "She pried my hand from the locket, and I slipped away." She ran a hand lovingly, gently along the ground. "Be gentle," she begged, and rose from the ground.

Richie looked back along the thrashed path, but couldn’t see anything.

"She is drained from our partnering," Kirstin said sadly. "She is sleeping now." Richie started to run down the overgrown path back to Angel Rose, but Kirstin stopped him. "There is nothing for her now but to rest. She will come back to you. Dig."

Richie looked at Kirstin, incredulous. "I am not leaving her alone," he said, and started back down the path. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when he felt as if he’d run up against a stone wall. He staggered a few steps backwards and tried again, putting his hands out in front of him. He could only move forward a short distance before he was stopped again.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?" Marty asked, incredulous.

"I’m trying to get back to Ang," he answered, "but I can’t get seem to move down the path." He whirled on Kirstin. "Let me pass."

She shrugged delicately. "Once you have finished what you have set out to do, you will be able to pass. Dig," she commanded again, her voice colder than it had been thus far.

Kirstin moved off to one side while the men began to dig. Marty dug with enthusiasm, Richie more reluctantly. They got into an argument about how deep to dig, and how quickly. Richie wanted to keep going until they hit something, speeding up the process so he could get to Angel Rose. Marty wanted to be more careful, to not disturb the remains any more than necessary; if in fact they were buried here. In the end, Richie got his way, but only because he threatened to hit Marty with the shovel, and the older man didn’t know Richie well enough to know he would never really do such a thing.

Finally, the hole was close to waist-deep, and Richie’s shovel turned up something that was decidedly not dirt. He shared a look with the realtor, and tossed his shovel aside.

"What are you doing?" Marty asked.

"What the hell does it look like I’m doing, man?" Richie shot back, "I’m giving you your way." He had dropped to his knees, and was pulling handfuls of dirt from the hole they had dug. He traced the shape of an arm, revealing gray bone, one inch at a time. He kept one eye on Kirstin, who was still visible and sitting on the ground a few feet away. Her face was a mixture of sadness and elation. He kept looking down the path, willing Angel Rose to come out of the shrubbery so he’d know she was alright.

"Pay attention to the task at hand," Kirstin said softly.

Riche looked down and saw he had revealed most of a hand. He swallowed back a curse, and willed his stomach to stop rolling. He traced the bones in one direction until he uncovered all the fingers. He then reversed direction, and cleared dirt away until he found what looked like a smooth, rounded stone. As he moved more dirt, he saw three openings appear – the eye sockets, and the relief where the nose had been.

"Holy shit," Richie said, sitting back on his heels and shaking his head. "We need to call the police. We have to do this right. I can’t do anymore." He looked at Kirstin. "I won’t."

Marty looked into the hole, at the arm and skull Richie had unearthed, and touched it reverently. A strong jolt, like an electric shock, raced up his arm. In that moment, he saw the final flashes of Kirstin’s life, and the first few moments of her death. He saw Isaiah strangle the life from this poor creature, and Jeremiah try to stop him. He saw his ancestor bury the woman and drag his brother from the site. He got a flash of Jeremiah running down a lane as men’s voices called out.

"What’s happening?" Richie asked, startled by the blank expression on Marty’s face.

"I see…" he trailed off.

"What! What do you see?"

"Isaiah Halstead. He killed Kirstin." Marty looked down at the remains of Kirstin Maddox. "I’m so sorry, dear," he said, before looking at Richie. "You’re right, we need to call the Sheriff."

"What do we tell him about how we came to find this skeleton?"

Marty shrugged. "The truth."

Chapter Twenty-Six

They made it to the Historical Society in record time. The truck was barely stopped when Ang flew out of the vehicle. Keys in hand she ran for the front door. She flung the door open and raced to her desk. Richie shook his head at her retreating form, and stopped at the door to pull her keys from the knob. He ushered Marty in ahead of him, and closed the door. Ang was digging through her desk drawers, muttering to herself. Half a minute later, she came up with another small key. “Follow me!” she called as she flew up the stairs.

She went all the way to the third floor, and came to a skidding halt at a bolted door. A box of disposable, thin cotton gloves was mounted next to the door. With shaking hands, she unlocked the bolt and threw the door open; snagging a pair of gloves before rushing into the room. She pulled her gloves on as her eyes scanned the cabinets and tables in the space. With a smile, she crossed the room to an antique highboy dresser. She pulled out the third drawer from the top and peered inside. She exhaled sharply, glad that her memory hadn’t failed her.

“Angel Rose Summerlin,” Marty said, grabbing Ang’s shoulders and turning her around to face him. “Just what are we doing here? What are you looking for?”

“Not looking for,” Ang said, shaking him off and turning back to the dresser. “Found.” She held up a thin gold chain with a delicate oval locket suspended from it. “I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before! This will help, I just know it.” She beckoned the men over to look inside. “This is James,” she said, indicating the boy. “And these girls are Hope and Joy.” She had tears in her eyes. “These are Kirstin’s children. My ancestors.”

“My God,” Marty said. “Wherever did you get this?”

She shrugged. “It was always here, at least as long as I’ve been here. I’ve always had a pull to this piece of jewelry, and I never knew why. Now I do.” Ang looped the gold chain around her neck and closed her eyes. “Kirstin,” she murmured, “we’re coming to help you.”

They left the Historical Society as quickly as they arrived, locking up as they went. When they turned into the driveway, Richie noticed that barely an hour has elapsed. As they approached the house, the sun was shining brightly, and it seemed that its rays were concentrated on the dormer window that was Kirstin’s study. When they stepped out of the car, the air was warm and clear. As soon as they crossed the threshold, however, things were different.

There was a coolness in the air; an unnatural breeze that caused gooseflesh to rise on their arms, and an uneasy energy that caused the fine hairs on the backs of their necks to stand on end. When they went back upstairs to the study, they were shocked to see that the sunlight, though from outside seemed to pour into the room, did nothing but reflect off the window. The study was in deep shadow.

“Holy Mother of God,” Marty intoned, crossing himself.

The men looked to Ang for guidance. She had her hand clasped around the locket so firmly Richie thought she would tear it from the chain. Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused, and Richie was afraid of what she was seeing.

The Past

When the hole was full, when there was no trace of Kirstin left, Jeremiah sat and wept. When dusk fell, he gathered the shovel and himself, and walked to the lake. He stared out over the water for long minutes. “You had no reason to treat her like that,” he said to his now-dead brother.

Turning from the lake, Jeremiah started down the path that would lead him home. He stuck close to the side of the lane, afraid he’d be seen if he walked down the center. Simple as he was, even Jeremiah knew that a bloodied up man carrying a shovel would be known to be guilty of something.

In his mind, his brother’s death was a necessity. It was not a sin to protect the innocent from the evil. He felt in his heart that his God would understand. He knew just as certainly that his father would not. Jeremiah would not be able to go back home once Isaiah was found missing. He sighed unhappily, prepared to leave the only home he ever knew.

Not too far from his father’s land, Jeremiah heard the voices. Men’s voices calling Kirstin’s name. He turned to look behind him, but nobody was following him. He moved off the path, standing under a great oak tree. There was no way he could get Kirstin’s ring to Geoffrey without being seen. Not now. He simply could not risk being caught. Nobody would believe that it was his brother who killed the sweet woman.

Jeremiah pulled Kirstin’s locket from his pocket and opened the clasp, adding the ring to the chain. He fastened it again, then looped the long gold links around his neck. He gripped it in his hand and said one more prayer for her soul.

Then he tucked the necklace into his shirt ran.

The Present

Ang stood there, her hand clasped around the locket for a long time. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was moving slightly, as if she was saying something, but neither Marty nor Richie could tell what. Neither wanted to break the spell Angel Rose was under; they wanted this all just to be over. But Richie decided that if she didn’t come back to them soon, he was going to break into her fugue, and damn the consequences.

“What do you suppose she sees?” Marty asked quietly.

Richie just shook his head, unwilling to take his eyes off Angel Rose.

Angel Rose was deep in the rhododendron field, the sweet smell of the blooms nearly overpowering her. She was on some sort of path and was picking her way gently along; stepping over roots and stones. “Kirstin?” she called. “Are you here?”

“I am,” she answered.

Angel Rose whirled around, surprised to hear the voice coming from behind her. “This is yours, isn’t it?” She indicated the locket.

Kirstin’s eyes teared up. “It is,” she said softly, reaching for the locket. Angel Rose quickly took it from around her neck and opened it, holding it at arm’s length so Kirstin could see the photographs of her children. “It has been so long since I’ve seen my babies,” she said sadly. Looking up at Angel Rose, Kirstin said, “You are close to where I’ve been laid to rest,” she said. “Come with me, I will show you how to find the path.” She held out a hand, and waited for Angel Rose to take it.

“I’m afraid,” Angel Rose said shaking her head. “Afraid that if I take your hand, I won’t be able to let it go.”

Kirstin smiled sadly. “It will be so much easier for you to lead the men to this path if you allow me to guide them. I have walked this path a thousand-thousand times, and could lead them to it quickly.”

“As could I,” Angel rose answered softly, “if you could just show me the way.”

Kirstin sighed. “Follow me,” she said, and turned her back on Angel Rose.

Ang looped the locked around her neck again and followed the specter down the path and out of the field. She saw they were near the lake, almost exactly ninety degrees from the path that led back to the house. She turned around and looked behind her, fully expecting to see a path cut into the shrubbery. She saw nothing but a wall of green and purple.

“It’s overgrown,” Angel Rose said.

“Yes,” Kirstin agreed, “which is why you need me. You need me to show you where the entrance is. You need me to lead you to where I was buried.”

“Who buried you? Was it Jeremiah? I heard you call his name as you were struck. Is he the one who killed you?”

Kirstin just shook her head. “I cannot tell you these things, but I can show you. Take my hand,” she implored again. “I promise you that I will let you go once you find me.”

“I can’t; I’m afraid,” Angel Rose answered.

“You must,” Kirstin insisted.

Angel Rose watched Kirstin approach, and couldn’t seem to make her legs move.

Richie watched as a subtle change come over Angel Rose, her features relaxing, and her posture straightening. He thought back to that morning, when Ang was worried about Kirstin joining with her; and wondered if that was what was happening now. He hoped not. As he scanned Angel Rose’s face, however, he had a sinking feeling in his gut, and crossed the room to stand next to her. He touched her arm gently, and cringed at how cold her skin was “Angel?” he said, tentatively. “Angel Rose, talk to me. Please, sweetheart.”

Ang opened her eyes and smiled at Richie. This smile was different, more serene than he had seen it. Richie’s blood ran cold when he looked into the eyes of a woman he recognized, but didn’t know. “Kirstin?” he whispered softly.

“I am her, and she is me,” Angel Rose said in an inflectionless tone. She shook her head, and for a moment, Richie saw a glimpse of Ang, struggling to come to the surface. The hand on the locket loosened, and Ang’s voice came through, strong and clear. “We don’t have much time, Rich. If we can’t find her soon, very soon, I won’t be able to separate from her.”

“Where is she?”

“I am in the rhododendron fields,” Kirstin answered, her grip re-established on the locket. “I can show you the way.” She put a hand up to Richie’s cheek, and he violently flinched away from the icy coldness of her palm. “So warm,” she murmured. “It’s been so long since I felt something so warm. Oh Geoffrey!” she wailed, and tore herself away from Richie. She left the room sobbing.

“Sweet Baby Jesus,” Marty said, crossing himself again. “What do we do?”

“We grab the shovels, and we follow her. No way am I losing Angel Rose.”

The men hurried from the room and down the stairs. On the front porch, they paused only long enough to grab the shovels they had left there the night before. Angel Rose was walking down the path that led to the lake. They rushed to catch up with her, and flanked her as they came to the water. Ang turned and followed the lakeshore, scanning the thicket of rhododendrons.

“This looks so different,” Kirstin said. “This may be harder than I thought.” Her expression shifted, and a frown creased her brow. “It is not difficult,” Ang said angrily. “Find the hole.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ang sat for a long time, just staring out the window. She had Richie’s words circling around in her head. She wanted to believe they’d find Kirstin. NEEDED to believe that. If she started to doubt, well there was just no telling what could happen. She longed for first light, when Marty had promised to return and help continue their search. She felt her eyelids growing heavy with waiting. When Ang slipped into slumber a little before dawn, Kirstin was waiting for her.

"Why won’t you let me help you help me?" Kirstin asked, reaching for Angel Rose.

Ang jerked away from her long, cold fingers. "I am trying to help you," she said. "Letting you in is not the way."

Kirstin’s voice was a low, seductive whisper. "But it will be so much easier if I can just show you WHERE I AM."

"So show me. Show us. We want to help you." Ang watched Kirstin deflate, folding in on herself. "We are open to you," Ang said. "Just not that open."

"You are strong," Kirstin said. "You could let me in long enough to find me, then you could let me go." Her tone was hopeful, and her face was as guileless as a three-year-old’s.

"I am sorry," Ang said. "I just can’t."

Kirstin sighed. "Then you must find me quickly," she said. "The pull to join you is strong." She touched the side of Ang’s head, and for a moment, Ang felt her resolve weaken. She wrenched away from her touch and felt warmth rush over her face. She awoke with a start, as the sunlight caressed her cheek.

Ang stood and shook her head, struggling to rid herself of the dream. She looked up, and saw Richie still asleep. "Wake up," she said loudly.

There were general grumbles as he slowly came to consciousness. "Angel Rose, darlin’, it’s just barely morning!" Richie said when he finally managed to get his eyes open.

"We have to figure out a different way to help her. Searching the acreage isn’t the way," Angel said. "We’ll never find her before she binds to me irrevocably. We have to find another way. There’s too much out there, and you’re right, Richie, things – the landscape – will surely have changed by now."

"What else can we do?" Richie asked.

"I don’t know!" Ang said, exasperated. "Maybe there’s something of hers we can use. Maybe there’s something that will give us, me, a deeper connection to her without letting her into my head. I know she can show us the way if only the channels were clearer."

"Like those psychics you see on the police shows on TV?" Richie was incredulous.

"Do you have a better idea?" Ang asked, whirling on him. "If you do, I’d LOVE to hear it."

Someone knocked at the door. Richie shook his head and crossed the great room to answer it while he looked at his meager possessions scattered throughout the space. "Darlin’, I toured this place before I bought it. There was nothing in it. Nothing in the attics or the cellars, or in any of the rooms. Well except for the study."

"Mornin’," Marty said with fake cheer in his voice. He held up three cups. "I brought coffee." He looked Richie over and smirked. "Looks like someone could use a cup."

"Marty, you are a lifesaver," Richie said, taking a steaming cup of brew from the older man. "We were just trying to decide the best course of action for continuing the search."

"I think we need to find something of Kirstin’s," Ang said, refusing to give up on that idea.

"Is there any chance," Richie said, "that anything was left behind?"

"From that long ago?" Marty asked, shaking his head. "I doubt it. The place was thoroughly cleaned before it listed – at least this last time. I assume it was cleaned before prior listings as well. Unless the cleaning crews kept whatever they found, which is very unlikely, the place was completely empty."

"But what about in Kirstin’s room?" she asked. "If Richie couldn’t get in there, maybe the cleaning crews couldn’t either."

"For all this time?" Marty countered.

"Will it hurt to look?" Ang asked, getting testy.


And that’s how Ang, Richie, and Marty found themselves upstairs in Kirstin’s study, sifting through the rubble. They were looking for something – anything – that would act as a sort of divining rod to Kirstin. They’d been searching for half an hour, but found nothing but papers and splinters. Even the key, the key that Kirstin had slid under the door to Richie was gone.

"This is hopeless," Marty said, kicking at a pile of papers. "This house hasn’t been completely vacant since Geoffrey packed up the children and left. There were others here. Anything of value found in this house, sentimental or otherwise, is long gone." He wanted to know the outcome of Kirstin’s tale as much as Richie and Ang did. He had to know which of his ancestors had killed the poor woman. The lack of progress was making him antsy and angry.

"Hey!" Angel said, pushing a sweaty hank of hair from her forehead. "There HAS to be something here I can use to get closer to Kirstin. The alternative is far too scary."

Richie had to agree. The alterative was for Ang to let Kirstin deeper into her head, into her mind, and hope to hell Ang kept the strength to push the spirit out after the fact. He supposed he could dig up the entire estate looking for Kirstin’s grave. Given the choice of alternatives, he didn’t want Ang to go through with the former. Richie was seriously considering the latter.

"I just don’t want you getting your hopes up, Missy," Marty answered. "If there’s nothing here, you’re going to need a ‘Plan B’."

Richie spoke up. "Look, Marty, let’s just keep searching. Kirstin chose to stay in this room for a reason, right? It stands to reason that –"

"Reason?" Marty asked, incredulous. He stood up, looking down at a crouching Richie like the younger man was insane. "REASON? You think there’s reason behind this? Or that what, now you’re an expert? You don’t know anything!" he shouted. "This is a colossal waste of time."

Richie stood too, towering over the other man. "I heard you," he practically shouted. "I said we can’t call it a waste until we finish."

Marty’s face darkened. "Do not raise your voice to me, young man," he said, poking a finger into Richie’s chest.

"Keep your hands off me," Richie retorted, slapping Marty’s hand away.

"HEY!" Ang shouted, stepping up between the two men. She put a restraining hand on Richie’s chest and pointed at Marty. "That’s enough. Marty, if you don’t want to be here, you know where the door is." She stood there between them waiting for them to calm down,

Marty sighed. "Sorry," he said. "I guess this feels like whole lot of ‘doing nothing’."

"We’re doing the best we can," Ang said softly.

Marty circled the room, ranting like a petulant child. "But we’ve been up here for over an hour." He kicked another stack of papers, sending them flying. "We haven’t found anything useful at all! We should go back out to the thicket; keep working on the path." He kicked at a large chunk of wood, sending it sailing across the room.

The broken piece of chair hit the wall, making a solid, slightly metallic thud. The three of them stood slack-jawed, staring at the mark the wood made on the wall. Finally, Ang broke the silence. "What the heck was that?" she asked. "That was not the sound of something hitting a lathe-and-plaster wall." She crossed the room, and started knocking all around the area where the chair had hit. Sure enough there were different sounds around the area of wall. There was obviously something behind it. Ang looked at Richie, an unspoken question in her eyes.

Richie looked around at the wreck of the room. "Go ahead, Angel Rose," he said. "Whatever you want to do, it can’t make this room too much more of a disaster area than it already is."

Ang pressed a quick kiss to Richie’s lips. "Thank you," she said, and ran from the room. Marty and Richie stood there in silence until they heard her footsteps come pounding back down the hall. Ang skidded to a halt just inside the door holding a fireplace poker. She held it in both hands, angled across her torso like a spear.

Richie smiled. "You look like you’re ready to go off to war," he said.

Ang smiled back. "I feel like I’m getting ready to fight a war," she answered. "Whatever happens next with Kirstin, it won’t be easy."

Richie took the poker from her hands. "Whatever happens, I’ll be there right beside you," he said, hefting the iron bar and tapping its end against his open palm. "Now, let’s break something."

He strode to the wall where Ang had heard the strange sounds. After making sure that an outlet hadn’t been added to the wall, he plunged the point of the poker through the wall. He pulled, tearing off a fair chunk of wall. "Sheetrock," he said. "Looks like this wall has been replaced once already."

Marty stepped forward. "Whatever is in this hole may be something from a more modern time than the Maddoxes." At Ang’s angry look he hastened to add "I’m just saying."

"And maybe it isn’t," Ang answered. "Just be quiet."

Richie continued to pull pieces of the wall away until he had a hole large enough to stick his arm into. He didn’t want to risk damaging whatever may be back there by just poking holes in the wall, so he reached in and felt around with his fingertips. They brushed against something that was definitely not wood. "Holy shit, there’s something in here," he said.

"Pull it out!" Ang shouted.

Richie started to methodically pull away parts of the wall until he could better reach the item. The original lathe-and-plaster wall came down with the Sheetrock. "Looks like they just put this wall up over the existing one," Richie muttered to himself.

"Oh, please hurry!" Ang pleaded.

Richie reached his arm into the hole again and wrapped a hand around a small handle. He lifted the object, and pulled it toward the hole. As he drew his arm back, the object came with it – a metal lunchbox. "Ang honey, I’m sorry." The metal container was still relatively clean and definitely not that old. "This isn’t Kirstin’s." He flipped the latch and lifted the lid. "There’s nothing in here except some costume jewelry," he said.

Ang was so upset she nearly cried. "Damn it!" she swore. "Damn, damn, DAMN!" She tore the box from Richie’s hands and upended it in the center of the floor. Dropping beside the meager pile of beads and paste, she pawed through it quickly looking for something, anything that would be helpful. "NOTHING!" She scattered the small pile, sending the pieces skittering around the room. One piece stopped it’s skid in a beam of sunlight. The light reflected off the faux-diamond pendant hanging from a silver-plated chain.

The glints of light hit Ang squarely in the eyes. "Damn, that necklace is blinding – OH!"

Richie looked at her, his pity turned to curiosity. "What?"

"The necklace!"

Richie scooped it up and examined it. "Honey, this isn’t that old."

"Not that necklace, you big goof; THE necklace!"

"What the Sam Hill are you talking about, Angel Rose?" Marty asked. "What necklace?"

Ang was already running out into the hall. "Come ON!" Ang called frantically over her shoulder. The two men shrugged and hustled after her. By the time they got downstairs, Ang had flung the front door open and was racing toward the truck.

"Ang, darlin’," Richie said, "where are we going?"

"To the Historical Society building," she called. "Hurry!" She looked inside the truck to see her purse on the floor and hoped her keys were inside. She repeatedly pulled on the handle of the truck’s door, and growled when she found it was locked. "You’re out here in the middle of nowhere and lock your freaking door?"

Richie chuckled. "I am not from here, darlin’. People steal things in LA." He fumbled the keys from his pocket and hit the button on the fob to unlock the doors. Ang jumped in, grabbed her purse, and dug through it, muttering under her breath until she found the key ring she was looking for. She jiggled it in her hand, the four metal keys clanging together as they lit out for town.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Richie couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined Kirstin, dirty and bloody, her peach dress torn, reaching for him. "I asked you for help," she begged. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he carefully extricated himself from Ang’s arms and stood, stretching out his back before leaving the room. She hadn’t wanted to go home. She said she had wanted to be back out there, literally at first light. Richie hoped to hell she would change her mind.

He went upstairs to Kirstin’s room and pushed a pile of rubble aside to sit against the wall. Almost immediately, he felt uneasy and tense.

"Kirstin, where are you?" he asked the room, not really expecting a response.

He sighed and leaned his head against the wall, letting his eyes lose focus as he tried to remember the dream he had when he first stayed at the house. Was it really only a matter of days since that dream? Richie shook his head. He sat there for hours, turning the dream sequence this way and that in his mind, trying to find something, anything that would lead them to where Kirstin was buried.

He was getting frustrated. Try as he might, all he could really remember was the arm poking out from the bushes, grabbing him.

"Wait a minute," he said, excitedly. "Poking out from the bushes! We’ve been looking in the wrong damned place!" He felt a sense of calm wash through him. "That’s it, isn’t it?" he said to the room. "Kirstin, I swear to you, we will find you."

Back in Richie’s makeshift bed, Ang was dreaming. Kirstin was calling to her, crying for her, begging her to keep looking. "Why can’t you find me?" she wailed.

Ang was heartbroken. "I don’t know," she answered. "We are trying, I swear to you, we’re trying. I need more help, more guidance."

Kirstin approached Ang. "There is a way," she said, and reached out with outstretched fingers. "Trust me," she said. "I can show you where I am if you just keep still." As Kirstin’s fingertips met Ang’s face, a bone-numbing cold began to permeate her body. Kirstin was trying to fuse herself, her spirit, to Ang’s soul. If she did that, Kirstin’s thoughts and memories would be Ang’s, and Ang would be able to find Kirstin easily.

"NO!" Angel shouted, sitting upright. She shook off the last vestiges of the dream only to find it wasn’t really a dream. She could feel narrow fingers of cold pulling away from her thoughts. "Why?" a voice said in her head. "Why...."

"Angel, what happened?" Richie had bolted down the stairs and to her side when he heard Ang’s cry. He dropped onto the mattress by her side and wrapped his arms around her. She was shaking and cold. So cold.

"It’s getting stronger," she told him. "Kirstin’s getting stronger. At first it was just troublesome memories. Little snippets that plagued my awake time. Now she’s trying to reach me when I sleep; trying to bind herself to me." She started to cry.

Her mind was a quirky thing; she had learned that long ago. It could allow conversation with a spirit, or could relinquish control on her psyche and let the spirit take over. The possession, the total abandonment of self, was something she had thus far been able to stave off. At best, letting another soul take over hers would be ill-advised, but at worst, it could be catastrophic. She, Angel Rose, could be lost forever. She’d heard stories of people deemed to be mad because they thought they were someone else. In some cases, a few cases, they truly were mad, but in others, most of them in fact, they really had become the spirit to whom their bodies had become hosts.

Angel did not want to become Kirstin Maddox. She was quite happy being Angel Rose Summerlin, gift notwithstanding.

But the fact remained, she found herself losing part of her essence to Kirstin. Every dream, every vision, she could feel the other woman winding her threads of self around Ang’s. It wasn’t malicious, it just was. It was the only way the spirits knew. She felt Kirstin becoming part of her and it scared her half to death. Ang felt, felt so deeply in her bones that she knew, that Kirstin was doing this because they weren’t helping her fast enough, that there was MORE that needed to be done.

"What happens if she does that?" Richie asked her, half-knowing the answer already.

"I become her," Kirstin said. "I mean, I’ll talk like I’m her, having her memories and oh Richie, I don’t want that to happen!" She pushed away from Richie’s chest and shook him by the shoulders. "I don’t want to disappear!"

"Shhh, we won’t let that happen. All we have to do is find her."

"I know," Ang said, getting angry. "But we can’t find her." She looked at her watch. It was coming up on five in the morning. "Soon it will be light. We have to go out and finish clearing the path. We have to find her grave."

Richie suddenly remembered the revelation he had up in Kirstin’s room. "Honey, I don’t think she’s under the path," he said. He recalled the dream to her, explaining how Kirstin’s arm had thrust out from the bushes to grab him. "That has to mean that she’s buried in the thicket of bushes, not along the path, right?"

Ang thought for a moment. "Yes, I think it would." She said. "But," she started getting excited. "We know she took off down the path; we followed her that way. We still have to clear it off, but now we know what we have to look for!"

"We do?" Richie asked. "How are we going to find her if she isn’t in the path? That’s a lot of bushes out there."

"I know," Ang said, "but think about it. Whoever buried her probably didn’t drag her too far into the shrubs. He wouldn’t have wanted there to be any trace. He must have buried her in an empty spot. A – a – void in the bushes. We just have to look for that void!"

Richie smiled at Ang. It sounded so simple, that should be easy to do. Except. "Hell, Angel," he said cautiously. "I’m no scientist, but wouldn’t the void be filled now? I mean, surely in all the time since she died, she’s been, uh, well, taken back to the earth you could say."

"Yeah, and?"

"And," Richie really didn’t want to discourage Ang, but he didn’t want her being disappointed when they didn’t find anything, either. "Well, wouldn’t things have grown over her grave?"

"Probably," Ang agreed reluctantly. "But the bushes are pretty thickly packed; not too much sunlight." She shook her head. "Nope, I believe there’s a place to look." She got up and strode to the window, willing the sun to peek over the horizon. "Now we just have to wait for the damned sun to come up." She put her chin on her fist, fixed her gaze on the horizon, and waited.

The Past

When it was done, when Isaiah was on his way to the bottom of the lake, Jeremiah went back into the woods to his friend’s grave. "I am truly sorry for my brother’s sins." He looked down at her mud-streaked face and cried. He didn’t want to leave her there, but what choice did he have? If he carried her back to her house, Geoffrey would surely believe HE had killed her. No, he decided she had to have her funeral now. But not here. Not in the place where Isaiah had terrified her and killed her. She had to go somewhere different; somewhere pure.

He walked along the path, but everywhere he looked, all he could see was his brother’s face. He veered off the path into the bushes, breaking a few branches as he went. He had to find someplace...here. He came to a place where two bushes had tangled together, making a canopy of flowers. Underneath was a mossy bed, almost fit for a princess to rest on. Grinning, he ran back to get the shovel.

He carefully dug the moss up, setting it aside so he could put it back on her grave when he was done. Then he dug.

Finally, he went back to where he had left Kirstin. He knelt by her side and took her hand. "I’m sorry I cannot take you home. You’re the best friend I ever had, and you should be home. But I can’t. But I found someplace pretty for you to be. I promise." He started to weep as he gathered her gently in his arms. He walked slowly through the bushes, not wanting anything to snag on her hair or poke at her skin.

When he came to the grave, he stopped at the edge and looked down. It looked so dark and scary in the hole. He put Kirstin on the pile of moss and stripped blooms from the bushes around him. Not too many; because he didn’t want to get caught, but enough to line the bottom of the hole. He picked her up again, and transferred her delicately onto the bed of flowers. He straightened Kirstin’s clothes, and crossed her hands over her chest. After dropping a few more blooms around her, he took Kirstin’s hand and said a prayer for her soul. Then he sent up another prayer that she would understand what he was about to do.

With shaking hands, he pulled Kirstin’s wedding ring from her hand and put it in his pocket. Geoffrey would want this. Jeremiah would give it to Kirstin’s widower before he left. He took the locket from her throat, the one she had shown him with her children’s pictures tucked inside, her most favorite thing, and put that in his pocket as well. That he would keep for himself.

Then after saying one last message of goodbye, and putting a mostly clean rag from his pocket over her face, he started to bury her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Richie led them to the edge of the dense copse of shrubbery. They fanned out and looked for any break in the foliage, but could find none. Ang called out, "Look at the bottoms of the shrubs," she said. "The branches may be overcrowding the path, but the roots will show the way."

They did as she bid, and fifteen minutes later, Marty called out, "I think I found it!" Richie and Ang ran to his side, and crouched down to get a better look.

"Yes," Ang said excitedly. "This definitely looks like it used to be a path." She started tearing at the branches, trying to make a hole big enough to squeeze through.

"Wait a minute," Richie said, pulling Ang back from the shrubs. "Shouldn’t we start from the house? Work our way into this from there?"

Ang shook her head and pushed Richie away, not wanting to stop. "It doesn’t matter. If she’s in there, we’ll find her." She continued pulling at the branches; throwing her whole body weight against them when they didn’t snap easily.

Richie again tried to stop her, this time clamping his hands around her wrists and turning her to him. "You’re going to tear your hands open doing that."

Ang shrugged him off. "We are so close," she said. "I just know it. If we could just..." She set to work again, frantically pulling furiously at the tangled overgrowth.

Rather than try to argue with her, the men shared a look and waded in, helping to remove some of the thicker branches. They quickly had cleared a path going a several yards into the shrubbery.

"This is going to take forever!" Ang lamented, starting to cry as they moved further into the thicket. "We’re going to lose the light!"

"Angel Rose," Richie said, pulling down another thick branch. "When we lose the light, we will start fresh in the morning."

"That’s right," Marty said. "We won’t give up. I for one really want to see if we can find her. Imagine. Being able to say we solved a hundred-year-old mystery. How thrilling!"

Ang turned on Marty, fire flashing in her eyes. "We are not just solving a mystery!" she cried. "We are finding a lost soul, helping a wandering spirit..."

"Angel Rose," Richie said patiently, "he didn’t mean anything by it. I think you’re a bit overwrought. Maybe we should stop and rest, and come back in the morn—"

"Overwrought? Screw you. No," she said, sniffling, looking past Richie into the dark tangle of leaves. "We will keep going until we can’t see anymore. Then you will go and find flashlights and lanterns and maybe a machete or..."

Richie grabbed Ang and gave her another little shake. "ANGEL ROSE!" he shouted. "I know this is important, but it’s too important to do wrong. What if we miss something in the dark? Huh? What then?"

Ang’s eyes slowly refocused on Richie’s. "I can’t stand that she’s in here, somewhere, all by herself."

"We don’t know that she’s even here," Marty said.

"Oh, I do," Ang answered. "I can feel it. Something happened in here, mark my words." She sighed. "Alright, we’ll work until dark. But at first light, I’m coming back."

"And I’ll be with you," Richie said. "I promise."

They worked hard, sweating with the effort of their labor. They had made it nearly a hundred yards before it was too dark to see. Ang’s hands were so battered; she was tasked with dragging the branches up the path and out by the lake as Richie and Marty pulled them down. Her last trip back, she stumbled on a root and cried out as she fell.

"That’s it," Richie declared. "It is now officially too dark to keep going tonight." Ang started to argue, but Richie was having none of it. "The last thing we need is someone getting hurt."

Ang’s shoulders slumped. "I know. You’re right. Enough people have gotten hurt in here already."

"People?" Marty asked. "You mean more than one person was hurt here? You really think so?"

"Not think so, know so," Ang replied. "Can’t you feel it?"

The Past

"Isaiah, what are you doing?" Jeremiah was confused. Why was his brother hurting his friend? He stood, transfixed, while Isaiah’s hands closed tighter around Kirstin’s throat. He saw her eyes start to roll back as she croaked his name again.

His brother glared at him. "Now, Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah, please," Kirstin said once more, then she was still.

Isaiah shot a triumphant look at his brother before turning back to Kirstin’s body. "If you’re gonna stay, you may as well help me dig, boy," he said, clawing into the dirt. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see a tree branch speeding toward his face. "What the—" was all he got out before impact.

Jeremiah wiped the spray of blood from his cheek. He had broken his brother’s nose with that branch and Isaiah was out cold for the moment, but he knew that wouldn’t last long. He also knew that once Isaiah told their father what had transpired in the rhododendron fields, he, Jeremiah, would face the brunt of their father’s wrath.

He knew he had to work fast.

He knelt by Kirstin’s lifeless body and shook her. "Kirstin!" he shouted. "Please, wake up!" Her head just lolled to the side, and he felt sick at the marks that surrounded her neck. "Oh God," he wailed. "Kirstin!" He hugged her close for a moment, mourning the loss of his friend.

Jeremiah knew he couldn’t leave her here; he couldn’t leave her out for the animals to find. He also knew he couldn’t bring her out of the woods. He knew that people would blame him. They wouldn’t believe him when he told them that Isaiah killed her. Everyone knew he was sweet on Kirstin, and when she married Geoffrey it had broken his heart. They all thought that the grief would turn him wildly violent; after all, that’s the way his father was, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? But they didn’t know that he would sooner cut off his own arm than to do anything to harm Kirstin. All he wanted was for her to be happy.

Now, he ran a gentle hand over her face. "I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you," he said. "And I’m sorry I can’t take you home." He laid her gently, reverently, on the ground and picked up the branch he hit his brother with. He dug the end of the limb into the moist earth, starting Kirstin’s grave. As he worked, tears streamed down his face as he apologized over and over for having to bury her here. "At least it’s so pretty here, Kirstin," he sobbed as he dug. It hurt his soul to see what his brother had done to the only woman who had ever shown him unconditional kindness. His only true friend.

When the hole was done, he sat back on his heels and looked at Kirstin. She was all bloody and bruised, and it broke his heart. She had never been anything but kind to everyone. She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to have his brother’s filthy hands all over her. Didn’t deserve to be dead. He prayed over her for a few minutes, begging the Lord to take care of his friend, and vowing vengeance for her senseless death.

A muttered curse had him turning toward his brother. He watched as Isaiah started to sit up, wiping blood from his face. "Damn you, boy, look at what you done. I’m going to kill you."

He staggered to his feet and advanced on Jeremiah. Jeremiah jumped up, but barely had time to register his brother’s big, meaty arm swinging around before he caught Isaiah’s fist with his mouth.

Isaiah laughed as his brother tripped backwards over Kirstin’s body and fell, landing bedside her. "That’s the first and last time you will ever lie with a girl, you bastard," he hissed.

Jeremiah scrambled to get up and nearly fell into the hole he had dug. Isaiah laughed cruelly. "Go ahead, jump in that hole. Save me some work. When I kill you, I’ll be nice and bury you with your whore."

"Do not talk about her like that," Jeremiah cried, his anger swelling until it consumed him. He scanned the ground around him and found a rock about the size of a ripe cantaloupe.

Isaiah sneered. "What are you going to do with that, little brother? You don’t have the brains or the balls to use it." He advanced again, smiling evilly. "I am gonna love beating you, boy," he said.

Jeremiah held his ground, waiting for his opportunity. Isaiah may be bigger and stronger, but anger made him stupid. He waited, lightly bouncing the rock in his hand while his brother circled closer, taunting him. When Isaiah threw the first punch, Jeremiah ducked, and used the rock as a ram, slamming it into his brother’s chest. Isaiah staggered backwards, in shock from the blow.

"Well, well, little brother," Isaiah said, rubbing his chest, "it seems you were paying attention all those years Pa beat you."

Jeremiah nodded. "I learned a thing or two about fighting dirty," he agreed.

"It really isn’t going to help you," Isaiah said, as he swung at his brother’s head. Again Jeremiah ducked, and this time spun around with the rock to hit Isaiah in the side. Jeremiah heard the satisfying crack of a rib, and smiled. Howling with rage, Isaiah swore, and advanced again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The ride to the house was short, but long. There was no chatter in the car; each occupant was lost in his own thoughts. As the house came into view, Angel Rose spoke up from the passenger seat.

"Marty, I think you should stay outside; at least at first."

"I have been in this house many times, and nothing has happened," he remarked. "Your ghost never so much as ruffled a curtain in my presence."

Ang turned in the front seat to face him. "Marty, I can’t explain it," she answered. "Maybe she didn’t know that you were there. She for sure didn’t see you; she couldn’t have. You would have known it if she saw you."

"All I’m saying is that there’s really no reason I can’t come in with you."

"But—" Ang started, but Richie interrupted.

"You’re right, Marty," he said, pulling up to the house and putting the gearshift into park. "Maybe if she sees you and Angel Rose together, once Ang tells her who you are, it will trigger a different vision. Maybe not. Either way, I want you to be very, very careful what you say or do. I will not be a happy man if you do something that makes Kirstin hurt Angel Rose."

They gathered on the front porch, and Richie put his hand on the knob.

"Ready?" he asked. Everyone nodded. "Then let’s go."

The first thing they noticed was that the house was a good fifteen degrees cooler than the outside temperature. Ang shivered and rubbed her arms briskly. "God it’s so cold in here," she murmured. "Kirstin is agitated."

Richie grabbed Ang’s hand and held on tightly. "Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you want to do this?"

Ang nodded. "It’s not ‘want’, Richie, it’s ‘need’."

The three of them ascended the stairs, noticing that it got cooler the higher they rose. By the time they hit the second floor, gooseflesh had risen on Ang’s arms. Richie wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tried to transfer some of his body heat to her. They approached a closed door. The door to Kirstin’s room. Richie squeezed Ang’s shoulder reassuringly and unwound his arm from her. He reached out to touch the knob and drew his hand back as a zing of electricity seemed to pass through him.

"What the hell?" Richie exclaimed, shaking his hand. He looked at his fingers, and saw his fingertips were blackened. "Jesus," he said.

Ang grabbed his hand and examined his fingertips. "This is not a good idea," she said softly, kissing the marks.

"The hell it isn’t," Richie said, pulling his hand back from hers. He wrapped his hand in the bottom of his t-shirt and poised it over the doorknob. With a muttered curse, he quickly turned the knob and flung the door open, ignoring the searing pain in his hand. He stood there agape, not quite believing what he was seeing. The room was in total disarray. Furniture was overturned and papers strewn around the room. The curtains were flapping in the window, and the rocking chair, Kirstin’s chair, was shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Oh my sweet Lord," Marty said, entering the room behind Richie. He looked around at the destruction. "Where is Kirstin?" he said, turning to Ang. "Is she here?"

Ang hadn’t yet entered the room. She was staring, slack-jawed, at the damage done. Her eyes scanned the room until they stopped on a shadow in the corner. "Oh no," she said, stepping into the room. She walked slowly toward that corner.

"What does she see?" Marty asked Richie. "Is that where Kirstin is?"

Richie shook his head. "I don’t know; all I see is shadow." He followed Ang across the room, and stopped just behind her. Ang reached blindly behind her, and Richie grabbed onto her hand. The instant their hands connected, Richie saw what Ang saw. He saw a huddled, scared woman, bloody and battered, cowering in fear. He watched as Kirstin looked up with a petrified expression on her face.

"Help me," she said. "Please."

"What’s happening?" Marty asked, coming to stand behind Richie and Ang. Kirstin looked at him and screamed.

"Jeremiah!" Kirstin shrieked, and Ang recoiled. It was the same tone, the same fright as what she experienced in her vision. Angel Rose blanched when she saw Kirstin reaching for Marty. "Help me, Jeremiah!" Kirstin cried. Richie and Ang looked at each other, then turned around to look at Marty.

Marty looked confused. He saw the looks of fright on Richie’s and Ang’s faces, but couldn’t see what they were so afraid of. "What are you two looking at?" he asked, turning to look behind him.

"You," Ang said. "Kirstin is reaching for you. Asking for your help."

"What should I do?" Marty asked, on the edge of unease.

"Give me your hand," Ang answered, holding out her other hand to the startled realtor.

Marty was hesitant, but grabbed on to the proffered hand, and gasped when Ang’s fingers closed around his. He now saw what Richie and Ang saw. "Good Lord, what happened to that poor creature?"

"Jeremiah?" A weak voice called. "Please help me."

Marty cringed for a moment when Kirstin reached for him, the tendrils of cold wafting from her. Very slowly, reached his free hand toward Kirstin’s. When they clasped, Marty shouted at the surprisingly strong grasp this ethereal creature had.

Richie felt the shock of the connection all the way through his body, and wondered how the hell Ang survived the jolt.

Angel Rose then saw clearly what she had missed in the first visions.

The Past

Crying and spitting blood, Kirstin begged the man attacking her for her life. "Please," she said. "Please, let me go back to my children. I will give you anything you want, just let me go home to my children."

"Shut up," he said, hitting her again, blackening her eye. He pressed his hand hard over her nose and mouth, and she couldn’t breathe. "Shut up or your precious children will be next." Kirstin grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand further into her mouth so she could bite him. He howled in pain, and reared up, shaking his hand. Blood droplets sprayed as he shook. Kirstin tried to lever the man off of her, but he was too strong. He grabbed her wrists and brought her arms down to her sides, pinning them with his knees.

His hands closed around her neck like a vice, choking off her airway. She started to get dizzy, and random images of her children and her husband floated through her head. She smiled at one memory, and the man got angry. "What are you smiling at, bitch?" he demanded, and loosened his grip long enough to smack her hard across the face. Kirstin snapped back to the present, and struggled anew when she felt his hands close around her throat once again. She was able to gouge his hand with her fingernails, but she was too weak to push him away.

As she struggled for breath, Kirstin tried to pull the mask away from the man’s face. She had to know who had done this to her. Maybe then she would know why. She caught the edge of the mask’s chin with a fingernail, and it slipped enough so she could make out her attacker. As her world started to turn black, she started to weep. She wept for her husband, her children, and herself.

Suddenly, she saw a glimpse of something, someone, over her attacker’s shoulder. A familiar face. She struggled against the pull if unconsciousness and tried to focus on another pair of green eyes. Kind eyes. "Jeremiah," she gasped in surprise. "Please, help me."

Her attacker turned toward Jeremiah. "Leave now, little brother."

"Isaiah, what are you doing?" Jeremiah was confused. Why was his brother hurting his friend? He stood, transfixed, while Isaiah’s hands closed tighter around Kirstin’s throat. He saw her eyes start to roll back as she croaked his name again.

His brother glared at him. "Now, Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah, please," Kirstin said once more, then she was still.

Isaiah shot a triumphant look at his brother before turning back to Kirstin’s body. "If you’re gonna stay, you may as well help me dig, boy," he said, clawing into the dirt. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see a tree branch speeding toward his face. "What the—" was all he got out before impact.

The Present

Ang jerked and twitched in Richie’s and Marty’s grasps. Papers and scraps of wood and fabric tossed around the room on their own. A horrible, high-pitched wind poured through the open window, even though the trees outside did not move an inch.

"What is happening here?" Marty asked, clearly scared. He couldn’t seem to pull his hand away from Kirstin’s, which terrified him even more. He watched as Ang’s color got low. He watched in horror as bruises and cuts appeared on Ang’s face. He struggled to pull his hand from Kirstin’s, but the icy cold grip was unrelenting. "Sweet Mother of God, what is happening to her?"

Richie swallowed hard. "She’s reliving Kirstin’s last moments."

"How can she stand it?"

Richie couldn’t answer, for he wondered the very same thing. He tried to slide his hand from hers, fully intending to pull Ang into his arms and flee the house, but he couldn’t get his hand free. Her grip was stronger than that of ten men, and she felt as unyielding as if she were carved into a mountain. Her strength, rigidity and immobility frightened him. Then, just as suddenly as the assault on the room began, it ended. Ang became limp and her hand slipped from Marty’s as she slumped against Richie. The shadow in the corner seemed to retreat. Richie hurriedly scooped Ang into his arms and left the room. He ran down the stairs and outside. Marty followed, slamming the front door shut behind him.

As soon as the warmth of the sun hit Ang’s face, she started to stir. Surprised, for last time this happened, she had to be brought far away from the house, Richie dropped to the ground, cradling Ang in his lap. Marty was half a step behind, panting as if he had run a marathon.

"What the blue-spotted hell just happened in there?" Marty dropped next to Richie and Ang.

"It wasn’t Jeremiah," Ang said softly, her eyes starting to flutter open. "Isaiah killed Kirstin, not Jeremiah. She called out to him for help, but it was too late." Tears sprang to her eyes as Marty swore. "Richie, we have to go back in there."

Richie shook his head. "No. No way. You’re bruised and cut again, Angel."

Ang struggled to sit up in Richie’s lap. "We have to. She showed us what we needed to see. We can ask her the right questions and get her to tell us how to help her." Richie was still shaking his head, and tightened his arms around her. "I know we can; please," she begged.

Marty put his hand on Ang’s shoulder. "Angel Rose," he said, "you can’t be serious."

"We have to help her," Ang said simply, the tears flowing from her eyes.

Richie sighed and stood, still cradling Ang in his arms. Slowly, he started back for the house. As he approached, the front door opened. The threesome stopped dead in their tracks. Ang saw Kirstin descend the once-grand staircase to the lawn. "Do you see that?" she asked in a low voice. "Put me down."

Richie complied and nodded his head. "I see her. Marty?"

"Yes. My God, I can see her too. Where is she going?"

They watched as she circled the house and disappeared.

Richie and Ang looked at each other. "The lake," they said in unison, then started to follow.

Marty watched after them for a moment, stunned beyond belief, and then followed as well.

When they reached the lake, they scanned the shore for Kirstin. "Where did she go?" Richie asked.

"Do you see her?" added Marty.

Ang just shook her head. "I don’t see her," she answered. She was pulled to the large boulder that sat by the lake, getting warmed by the sun. When she reached it, she would have sworn she heard the rock whispering. She rested her hand against it, shuddered. "Here," she said. "Kirstin was sitting here. She was feeding the water birds, and something startled her. It sent her back to the house in a hurry."

Marty frowned. "But the local lore says she disappeared on the way to a neighbor’s from her house. She wouldn’t have had to come this way," he said. "She wouldn’t have run into trouble out here."

Ang slapped her hands at her sides, sighing loudly in frustration. "Dammit, something happened here." She put both hands on the rock. After a moment, she rested her forehead against it and closed her eyes. Several minutes later, she pushed back, disgust in her face. "Something definitely happened here, but it wasn’t Kirstin’s death. We have to go back to the house. See if we can find her there."

"In my dream," Richie said, "she was on some sort of wooded path." The three of them turned their heads toward the thick tangle of rhododendrons. "Maybe that’s where she went."

"Then why would she lead us back here?" Ang asked, exasperated.

"I don’t know; you’re the expert," Richie retorted.

Marty spoke up, speaking softly and calmly. "There may have a path through there once. Several, in fact. There are acres of rhodies in those fields. Some of it’s been thinned, of course, as the developments and farms went in all around here," he said, "but I suppose it’s conceivable she entered the thicket from the house, and..."

"And that’s where she met with trouble and disappeared," Ang said.

Richie shook his head. "Conceivable, but it’s not probable. I read all those news articles; neighbors walked those paths for hours, days, looking for some sign of her." He held up a hand when it looked as if Angel Rose would interrupt. "But, we have to try," he said. "That’s where she reached out for my help. She’s got to be there somewhere."

"But –" Marty started.

"But nothing," Ang said. "Let’s go."

Chapter Twenty-One

The Past

Jeremiah Halstead had a tough childhood. He was a surprise pregnancy, and his mother died giving birth to him. His father hated him on sight for that, though it wasn’t anything Jeremiah had control over, and his upbringing was left largely to his older brothers. His brothers were a rough group, and were equally pissed at this child for taking their mother away from them.

The five Halstead boys were always getting in trouble for something or other, and more often than not, it was Jeremiah who took the brunt of the punishment. Since he was the youngest, he didn’t know any better than to listen to his brothers, and more than once he took the switch for something one of the older boys did.

Out of necessity, Jeremiah worked hard to be faster and stronger than his brothers. The beatings he withstood would have broken a weaker child, but Jeremiah was tough. He had to be. Any sign of weakness was pounced on by his bothers, and the beatings would only get worse if he cried.

All the hard physical labor meant he’d grown up bigger than his peers. To the young children who were his neighbors and fellow pupils in school, he looked older than he was, so they made fun of him for being "stupid". He got into many fights over this, and each time he did, his father or oldest brother would beat him more for fighting at school.

Jeremiah never knew a tender touch or a mother’s hug, so had no idea that there was gentleness or love in the world.

Until he met Kirstin St. Claire.

Kirstin joined his school when they were both fourteen. She was warned to stay away from "that creepy Jeremiah" by the other girls in the class, but she was brought up to be kind and considerate to everyone, so she chose instead to give him the benefit of the doubt. She saw how the other pupils treated him as a blight; in fact they called him "Jeremiah the Pariah" though few of them knew what the word meant. That only made her redouble her efforts to befriend the loner.

One afternoon, when the class had broken for lunch, Kirstin noticed the boy sitting by himself under the sprawling oak that dominated the area in front of the school. She watched as he furtively unwrapped a cold meat sandwich from a greasy wrapper, and took a bite, smiling a little in satisfaction. Then she watched as an older boy, clearly one of his brothers, strode up to him and took the sandwich from him. Jeremiah leapt to his feet in anger, but his brother pushed him down into the dirt.

Outraged, Kirstin ignored her friends and stalked over to the two boys, who were squaring off for a fight.

"Stop that this instant," she demanded, fury clouding her soft gray eyes.

"Who’s gonna make me?" the belligerent boy, whom she recognize as Isaiah, Jeremiah’s brother, asked her, raising his chin in defiance.

"I will," Kirstin said, stepping to stand between them.

Isaiah laughed. "You, a girl, cannot stop me from doing what I want, when I want." To prove his point, he kicked dirt at his brother, who was sitting in awe of this young girl who wasn’t afraid of Isaiah.

"I said stop that." Kirstin’s voice was getting louder, and some of the other pupils started to wander over to see what would happen. One student went inside to fetch their teacher.

Isaiah looked at his younger brother. "You gonna let this little whore do your talking for you?"

That shook Jeremiah from his reverie. He stood, fire in his gaze. "You don’t call her that filthy name."

His brother’s dirty laughing had Jeremiah pulling back his arm and letting a punch fly that sent his older brother staggering backwards, his arms wind milling to no avail; he fell in the dust, and Jeremiah smirked.

"You’ll get it later," Isaiah said, standing and brushing the dust from his pants. "Just wait until you come home." With that last threat, he turned his back and walked away.

"I’m sorry he called you that awful name," Jeremiah said.

"That’s alright," Kirstin said bravely, though tears clouded her eyes. "I notice he took your lunch; do you want to share mine? My mother always makes more than I can possibly eat by myself."

Jeremiah nodded shyly and the two sat under the tree and shared Kirstin’s cold chicken sandwich and chatting softly with each other.

Jeremiah was in love.

The Present

Richie had stayed with Ang, holding her deep into the night. They made love tenderly close to dawn, and woke to the blaring alarm clock when the sun was climbing high into the sky.

"Good morning," Richie said, kissing the side of Ang’s head.

"Mmmm, morning," Ang answered, and planted a kiss over Richie’s heart. "What time is it?"

"A little after eight-thirty."

"We should get going then, if we’re going to meet your realtor." She stood and looked at Richie; the sheets barely covering him. "Are you sure about this?"

Richie shook his head. "I’m not absolutely sure, but pretty sure." He slid out from under the covers, and stretched; his nakedness making Ang want to crawl back into bed with him. Instead, they showered and dressed, and stopped off at the Thompson Estate for Richie to change clothes. He set a record for fastest quick-change ever, relieved that Kirstin didn’t make an appearance, and the pair made it to the Historical Society a little before ten.

They had been standing over the counter, looking at the drawings they had spread over its expanse, when the door opened and Marty walked in. Ang turned white and gripped the counter for support. "Jeremiah," she whispered.

"Marty!" Richie said, striding toward the man with his hand extended. "Thank you for agreeing to meet us here this morning."

"Of course, of course," Marty answered. He saw Ang’s face, and frowned. "Are you alright, miss?"

"F-f-fine," Ang said, though she was far from fine. When she saw Marty’s face, she knew, beyond a doubt, that this man was descended from the man Kirstin called ‘Jeremiah’.

"So," Marty said, redirecting his attention to Richie. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Richie flipped through some of the drawings on the counter and selected two. One of Kirstin, and one of the man who was chasing her. He showed them to Marty, whose eyes went wide as he scanned the pictures.

"What is this?" He tilted his head. "Why does this man look familiar?"

"’This’," Richie said, "is what I wanted to talk to you about. My house is haunted."

Marty started to chuckle, but stopped when he saw the look on Richie’s face. "Aw, damn," he said, resignedly.

"So you knew," Richie said, surprised.

"I knew there were rumors," Marty said, "but I didn’t know for sure." He dropped the drawings and held up his hands. "Nothing I had heard mentioned anything violent or malevolent; I just thought it was talk."

"I suspect you thought more than that," Richie said, "but that doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is that man you thought you recognized. Looked in a mirror lately?"

Marty blanched and picked up the sketch of the green-eyed man. "The chin is the same and the eyes....do you really think this looks like me? Where did this come from?"

"I drew it," Ang said. "After Kirstin Maddox showed him to me."

"Who?" Marty asked.

"My ghost," Richie said.

Over the course of the next couple of hours, Richie showed Marty the research he and Angel Rose had been doing, and told him about his experiences in the house. Marty didn’t so much as flinch when Richie told him about the scratches on his arm, and the rocking chair that moved on its own. He didn’t snicker or shake his head when Ang told him about making contact, and seeing through Kirstin’s eyes, what her last moments were like. He did go pale when Richie told him about the vision Angel Rose had had about being chased by a monster called Jeremiah.

"Angel Rose? Summerlin?" When Ang nodded, Marty just said, "huh. Are you sure you heard the name right?" he continued, looking from the drawing to Angel and nervously to Richie, who was hovering just behind Ang’s shoulder.

Ang answered, "Mr. Halstead, there are very few words that sound remotely like ‘Jeremiah’. In fact, I can’t think of a single one."

"Please, call me ‘Marty’," Marty answered distractedly. "And of course you’re right. It’s just – " He trailed off as he stared at the drawings and processed everything he’d been told.

Richie pointed at the drawing of the green-eyed man. "And you did admit he resembles you."

Marty nodded his head. "I do recall having an ancestor named Jeremiah," Marty said slowly, "but I never heard anything about him hurting anyone."

"Anyone but Kirstin, you mean," Ang interrupted.

Marty shot her an annoyed look. "No, that’s not what I meant at all. He was the gentle one. Now, if it were one of Jeremiah’s brothers – that I would believe. Isaiah especially was a real bastard." He looked at Ang. "Tell me exactly what Kirstin showed you."

Ang was surprised. "You don’t doubt that Kirstin spoke to me?"

Marty shook his head. "I knew your mother," he said. "She had the gift. She had thought that her birth mother, your maternal grandmother, did as well." He smiled an easy smile. "Besides, child, I’m from the south. Southerners have a predisposition to believing in the supernatural."

Ang smiled back, happy not to be ridiculed.

Richie was incredulous. "How do you know so much about Angel’s family?"

Marty chuckled. "Son, it’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. Story goes that Joy was only 16 when her daughter was born. Her parents were mortified when their only daughter turned up pregnant one day. She was shipped off to a maiden grand-aunt, Beatrice, I think her name was, in Seattle until after the baby was born. A private adoption was made, though unbeknownst to her parents, Joy arranged to keep contact with the adoptive family. When Joy’s parents, Hope and Connor died, she made contact with Angel Rose’s ‘natural’ grandmother, I think her name was Aideen..."

Richie held up a hand. "Marty, I need a scorecard to keep up. Why don’t we just leave it at everyone knows everyone else’s business, and be done with it." He shook his head. Coming from the East Coast, this was totally foreign concept to him. Where he came from, privacy was valued, and outside of immediate family, events like teenaged pregnancy wouldn’t be so freely talked about.

"All right," Marty said with a smile. "Miz Summerlin?"

Ang smiled and leaned into Richie for support while she launched into her story. She told Marty about the contact she made with Kirstin in her third-floor room. A room that looked like it hadn’t been touched in the nearly 200 years since it was furnished. Ang told Marty about both she and Richie having a conversation with Kirstin, asking yes or no questions that she answered with her chair, and Marty just nodded. She next told him about the vivid vision she had: about a happy, carefree Kirstin being grabbed by a hand in the bushes. She told Marty about Kirstin fighting off her masked attacker and fleeing from him.

She continued on, telling Marty about Kirstin trying to run for the lake, and being pushed from behind. Richie noticed Ang rubbing at her hands as if to take rub the sting of the fall away. She gripped Richie’s hand when she told Marty about the man hitting Kirstin, splitting her lip and blackening her eye. Richie interrupted to tell Marty about how matching marks marred Ang’s face while she was in the throes of the vision. When she told Marty about the choking, tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered the terror she had felt at reliving Kirstin’s memories.

"She reached out and snagged part of the mask," Ang said. "That’s when I saw the green eye, and heard her say ‘Jeremiah’. It had to be him."

Marty leaned back in his chair as Ang finished her story. He thought for long moments until Ang thought the silence would drive her mad. "Well?" she demanded.

Marty stood. "I want to show you something," he said. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket. From a protective sleeve, he took a small photo. "Do you have a magnifying glass?"

Ang nodded and retrieved it from her desk. Marty handed her the picture. "Look at the picture," he said. "Look very closely at all the men in the photograph; tell me what you see."

She scrutinized the photo for several minutes, then turned the glass over to Richie. He looked, studying the men’s faces. When he was done, he and Ang shared a look.

Angel Rose blew out a breath. "It’s kinda hard to tell, but the men all appear to have green eyes," she said.

Marty nodded. "The young men in the picture are me, my younger brother, and three cousins on my father’s side. The older men are my father and two of his brothers. Green eyes run in the men in my family. All the color photos and family oil portraits show the Halstead boys having green eyes. It very well may have been Isaiah that Kirstin saw, but she thought it was Jeremiah."

Ang looked shocked, and shook her head vehemently. "No, I don’t believe it. Why would Kirstin use her dying breath to say Jeremiah’s name if he wasn’t the one who killed her?"

"Are you sure it was her dying breath?" Marty asked. He held up a hand when it looked as if Angel Rose was going to protest. "From your own words, you lost consciousness, and therefore contact with Kirstin before the very end."

Richie started to speak, but Ang put a stalling hand on his forearm.

"No, I’m not sure, but it sure felt like she was dying." Ang was getting irritated.

"I’m not trying to minimize what you saw or felt, or claim innocence on my family’s behalf. If someone in my family tree did in fact kill someone in yours, I’m truly sorry; but before we update the family Bible with that, I want to be certain." Marty was quiet for a long moment. "Do you think she would talk to me?" he asked.

Ang just shook her head. "I think she’d take one look at you and, well, freak out without some forewarning. I should go with you, and see if she’s receptive."

Richie stepped protectively in front of Ang. "There’s no telling how it would affect Ang if that happened. I don’t think it’s a good idea."

"How else are we going to figure out what happened?" Marty asked.

"We?" Richie echoed, arching an eyebrow.

"I think I have just as much a vested interest in this now as you do," Marty responded. "Maybe even more so, if my blood was involved in something so sinister." He shook his head. "What if Angel Rose stays here?" he asked Richie. "Does Kirstin talk to you?"

Richie rubbed at his arm and smiled ruefully. "Not so much talk as gouge and scratch," he said, making Ang chuckle.

"Richie, I should go," Ang said. "We know she has a connection to me, and you can take me out of there if something starts to happen." At the frown on Richie’s face, she hastened to add, "besides, I know she will talk to me, do you KNOW she’ll talk to you?"