So Fell The Sparrow

by Katie Jennings

  He accepted her hand numbly, torn and broken. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

  “Good.” She awkwardly closed the distance between them and kissed him one last time, wishing that things could be different. “Goodbye, Ian.”

  “Bye, Grace.” He backed away from her, his eyes haunted. He gave her a casual salute and made his way out the front door.

  Her eyes didn’t leave him until he shut the door with a definitive click, slicing the string that tied them together once and for all. With it, her heart broke neatly in two.

  She heard the van start up and take off down the street, and as it faded away, a low rumble of thunder replaced it. It trembled through her body, and she shut her eyes tight against the onslaught of regret.

  For the next few hours, she wandered around the empty house. The old furniture was gone thanks to Johnny and his guys. Soon the bones would be removed by officials from the state. There was nothing left there for her. Without her friends, without the ghosts, the house felt like a vacant tomb.

  The very next morning she drove back to Chicago. The only part of the house she took with her was Sally’s photograph.

  * * *

  Two weeks passed by in a blur after she arrived home.

  She found herself in a pathetic state watching reruns of The Golden Girls on television with a full glass of Pinot Noir in her hand. Her cat Charlie lounged beside her on the sofa, cleaning his soft, white fur.

  She reached over to scratch his chin, her gray eyes meeting his bright green ones. “We’re gonna be okay, aren’t we, baby?”

  Charlie yawned and settled in for a nap.

  Grace sighed. Even the cat was bored with her.

  She had gone straight back to work, eager to fall into her old routine. Her friends and coworkers were ecstatic to see her, but she saw the concern behind their kind smiles. They thought she might break at any moment, crumble to pieces the way she had before she left for Massachusetts. Apparently, a leave of absence wasn’t enough to convince them that she was okay.

  Everywhere she went, she was reminded of her father. She saw him in the faces of those who had known him, in the rooms of the hospital they had shared, in the numerous plaques and awards lining the halls. His presence was strong there and, while she loved seeing his legacy live on, it was bittersweet.

  She was over the worst of the grief. Accepting the afterlife had, in many ways, comforted her. It made her understand that her father was still out there watching over her. She recalled what Jackie mentioned all those weeks earlier about her father leading Ian and Alex to the Sparrow House. And then Ian’s insistence that she was the doctor spoken of by the voice he caught on his recorder long before they even met.

  If it was true, then her father had given her the most amazing gift—two ghost hunters and the medium that saved her from herself. Three strangers who had become friends that taught her how to breathe again. How to live.

  Missing them was a daily struggle. Regret was an hourly plague, and loneliness a second by second reality.

  When asked how she’d spent her time in Massachusetts, Grace lied. The entire story of ghosts remained a closely guarded secret. She kept the leather case holding Sally’s photograph in the drawer of her nightstand, and often found herself waking in the middle of the night to look at it. To remember how it felt to see the little girl, to see proof of life after death.

  What would her friends think if she described what happened in Mad Rock Harbor? Would they believe a single word?

  Doubtful. In fact, they’d probably encourage her to see a psychiatrist, maybe go on medication. And then what?

  Grace sipped her wine, disillusioned. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had fundamentally changed since her stay at the Sparrow House. The lightning fast pace of her old life disoriented her. How had she ever kept up with such a hectic, packed schedule?

  Exhausting nights at the hospital. Frantic surgeries in the E.R. Congested city streets and hour-long commutes home. A never-ending thrum of traffic noise and sirens out her bedroom window.

  All these things were maddening to her. They piled on top of one another to form a heavy weight that brought her to the floor, anxious and afraid. How could she live this way, as she once had? It seemed impossible now.

  Despite everything, she longed for the Sparrow House. Even though she knew it was empty, she missed the way she’d felt when she was there. In many ways, she’d left her heart behind.

  Part of her wondered if it was time she went back for it.

  The buzzer sounded, announcing someone waiting to be let up. The sound caught her off guard and she jumped, the red wine in her glass sloshing precariously. She set the glass aside and went to the intercom.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Rick?”

  “I need to talk to you. Please, let me up.”

  “I really don’t feel like doing this right now.”

  “It’s about your father, Grace.”

  She froze, her heart plummeting into her stomach. After a moment’s silence, she pressed the button to let him in. She waited by her front door, then opened it slowly when he knocked.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Rick smiled at her, but she saw the anxiety that lined his tired face. He hadn’t been sleeping. His body was draped in an expensive black coat and she noticed he was lightly dusted with snow. She wondered if he had walked there.

  Without a word, she stepped aside to let him in and closed the door. He wandered over to her sofa, sat down, and tried to pet Charlie. To Grace’s pleasure, the cat hissed at him and ran away.

  Rick shook his head and rested his hands on his knees instead, his back rigid. His eyes found hers as she took a seat beside him. “I heard you were back in town, so I wanted to get this off my chest, once and for all.”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

  Rick sighed. “About a week before Allen died, he came to see me. He said he had this house in Massachusetts he needed to sell immediately and that he would sell it to me for way under market value. Said I could use it as a rental, or fix it up and resell it, turn a profit. Either way, it was too good an offer to refuse.” He rubbed at the black stubble lining his jaw, distracted as he recalled the memory. “I flew out to see the house and wasn’t disappointed. It needed some yard work, but the place had potential. I could easily double my investment on it had I purchased it.”

  Grace’s stomach rolled over, making her sick. “So, why didn’t you?”

  His eyes shot back to hers, dark with concern. “A woman, the neighbor, harassed me the second I set foot on the property.”

  Grace’s lips parted in surprise. “Nellie.”

  He grimaced. “She actually shouted at me that I couldn’t buy the house, that I didn’t belong there. Said she’d call the police and have me arrested for trespassing. She was like some rabid dog, snarling and spitting at me. It was more than enough to convince me that I didn’t want the place, so I flew back home and told your father I couldn’t buy it.”

  “I wonder why she did that.” Grace thought back to the way Nellie had reacted when they first met and how hostile the woman had been until discovering Grace’s identity. Then it had been like flipping a light switch—aggressive to welcoming.

  “I don’t know, but no wonder your father wanted to get rid of the house.” Rick reached for Grace’s wine glass and took a long sip. When he set it back down, he met her eyes again. “Allen made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you about the house. It seemed like he was intimidated by it. Makes me wonder why he ever bought it in the first place.”

  “He didn’t; he inherited it,” Grace corrected him. “I found out that it’s been in my family for a hundred years.”

  “I see. In the end, he left you the house anyway. Imagine my shock when I found out where you’d run off to. After all of Allen’s talk about keeping you away from the house, he gave it to you in his will.”

  Grace chewed fretfully on her
lower lip, saying nothing.

  “I don’t know what changed his mind, but now you know the truth.” He reached out to take her hand, urging her to look at him. “And now you’re home, so everything is as it should be.”

  She pulled her hand away, shaking her head. “This isn’t my home anymore.”

  “What?” Rick gaped at her as she rose to her feet, a gleam of discovery in her eyes.

  “It all makes sense now.” She threw up her hands with a giddy laugh, her mind churning over all the new information. “He tried to get rid of the house to spare me, but quickly realized he couldn’t. No Sullivan could ever get rid of it; it’s like an addiction. So instead he gave me the tools to save the house once and for all, to make it a place I could call home.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Grace.” Rick pulled her back down to the sofa, slipping into psychiatrist mode. “You think the house is addictive? And what are these tools he gave you?”

  She nodded, not caring what he thought. “It was addictive, anyway. And he sent ghost hunters to help me.”

  “Ghost hunters?”

  She waved off the remark. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Okay…what about that neighbor? She didn’t give you any trouble?”

  Grace’s chest tightened. “She died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Rick feigned sympathy, but she knew he was delighted. “What happened to her?”

  “Cardiac arrest.” The memory of it brought back the wave of grief, but this time she embraced it. It was simply a part of her journey now. “She was such a giving woman, compassionate and stubborn. She never let me feel down about myself, despite everything that happened. She opened my eyes to a danger I was too closed off to notice, and in turn helped me see.”

  “See what?”

  Grace smiled, tears in her eyes. “Sally.”

  “Who’s Sally?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” Grace reached for her wine, polishing off the glass. She fondled it in her hands as her thoughts drifted back to Nellie. “My father asked Nellie to take care of the house in his absence. That’s probably why she was so defensive when you met her.”

  “Defensive is putting it mildly,” Rick countered, anger tightening his mouth. “The woman was insane. Frothing at the mouth crazy. If she’d come to me as a patient, I’d have put her on anti-psychotics in a heartbeat.”

  “I don’t get it; she wasn’t like that with me.” Grace set her wine glass aside and faced him. “She was a bit overbearing at times, but not crazy.”

  “So why go to such great lengths to scare off a potential buyer of a house that’s not even hers?”

  Grace pondered this, realizing she didn’t have an answer. Why had Nellie reacted that way? It was almost as if she didn’t want anyone but another Sullivan to come into the house. As if she knew the house would only accept the bloodline that thrived within its own walls.

  But Nellie claimed she’d never seen the ghosts, nor believed in them, until Grace arrived, so how could that be true? Unless she lied. Grace sucked in a sharp breath as she ran through the events again in her mind. It did all seem rather convenient to her, in retrospect.

  Nellie said Grace’s father had told her about seeing Sally. So why did it take Grace’s arrival for Nellie to see the girl herself? It seemed timed perfectly so Grace would witness her horrified reaction and begin to question everything.

  And after the dark shadow supposedly pushed her on the basement stairs and then disappeared into the wall, instead of placing the blame on normal things like vertigo, Nellie immediately ran off to call in ghost hunters. As though that had been the plan all along.

  Had it been? Had Nellie purposely sought to convince Grace to allow paranormal investigators inside her home to rouse the spirits and remove them? If so, then why hadn’t she just been straight forward about it?

  Grace knew she wouldn’t have accepted it outright, but still. Surely staging everything had been more work than a simple discussion on the matter. Why all the theatrics?

  She thought back to what Ian told her right after they saw Mercy jump off the dock. He suggested that the spirits could possess not just furniture, but people. At the time, she’d been worried for her own mind. She hadn’t even thought about Nellie’s…

  The image of Mercy’s screaming face flashed before her and along with it came a seemingly impossible realization. Had it been Mercy all along? Had Nellie been Mercy’s catalyst to get the ghost hunters into the home, ultimately breaking the bond that tied her to the house?

  Her mind started running with the possibility, insane as it sounded. It occurred to her that every contact she or the others had with Mercy happened after Nellie’s death and not before. It gave credence to the idea that Nellie had not been Nellie at all. Instead, she had been possessed by a spirit with a motive to free herself from the clutches of the house. To sever the ties her father had created and at last send him where he belonged. In Hell.

  And once the task was complete, the spirit ended the possession and brought the host back to her original state, vulnerable in the midst of a heart attack. Without the spirit to sustain her, Nellie died, alone on the very dock where Mercy had taken her own life.

  Then Mercy returned to the Sparrow House and ramped up her efforts, becoming the terror Grace and the others thought for sure was Ray.

  “God,” Grace murmured, burying her face in her hands.

  Beside her, Rick shifted uncomfortably. “Everything okay?”

  “No.” She let her hands fall and stared at them. She remembered holding Nellie’s lifeless body, mourning the death of a woman she apparently had never even known. “I was used. I fell right into her trap.”

  “Whose trap? The neighbor’s?”

  Grace tilted her head to look at him. “The ghost’s.”

  * * *

  Ian cursed under his breath as he weaved in and out of traffic on the highway, bound for Mad Rock Harbor. He drove in silence, unable to listen to the radio. He pushed the rental car to its limit but still it didn’t go fast enough.

  Grace’s ominous voicemail from the day before echoed painfully in his mind. Come back to me, Ian. To the Sparrow House. I can’t face this alone.

  Every attempt he made to call her had failed. She must have turned off her phone.

  His pride despised the power she had over him, that she knew he would come running to her at the drop of a hat. Then again, if she truly needed him, how could he refuse?

  He loved her. He’d always love her.

  His mind raced with fear and uncertainty over what he’d find once he made it there. Was she suicidal? Had she fallen back into a deep depression? Was she still trapped in the house despite having rid the place of spirits? Any one of those scenarios frightened him. What if he couldn’t help her?

  When he saw the sign for the off ramp he needed, his heart kicked up in speed. Palms damp with sweat gripped the steering wheel as he drove the car off the highway and barreled down the quiet streets of Mad Rock Harbor.

  It wasn’t until he pulled up in front of the Sparrow House that he began to breathe again. He tore out of the car and raced up to the front door, ignoring the snow that began to fall. After knocking and receiving no answer, he tried the handle. It was locked.

  “Damnit, Grace.” His breath formed visible clouds as he ran down the porch steps and rounded the side of the house, peering in the windows. He saw nothing.

  Then he turned toward the harbor and saw her. She sat on the edge of the dock in nothing but a thin cotton dress as gray as her eyes, facing the icy water. Flecks of snow dotted her hair.

  He wasted no time hurrying toward her, calling out her name. He nearly slipped on the ice-slicked ground, but nothing could stop him. Nothing could keep him from her.

  She turned to face him, eyes wide and startled. His name fell from her lips as she rose to her feet. Within seconds he was with her, throwing his arms around her and pulling her close. She gave in to the d
izzying relief and held on to him.

  When he accepted that she was unharmed and whole, he shrugged out of his coat and threw it over her. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  She managed a weak laugh as she bundled up in his jacket, though there was little humor in it. “Boy, do I have a story to tell you.”

  “Let’s go inside first.”

  “No. It has to be here.” She backed away from him, shivering despite the warmth of his coat. She rubbed her hands together to fight back the chill. “It’s about Nellie. Or should I say, Mercy.”

  Ian frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  She turned her eyes back to the water, to the place where she had once seen Mercy’s face. “Did it ever seem strange to you that Nellie seemed to know all the right things to say to get you guys to come here? To get you to investigate this place?”

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  “What about the fact that she avoided Jackie like the plague? Wouldn’t you think she’d be interested in speaking to a real clairvoyant about the spirits she claimed to see?”

  When he said nothing, she continued. “It’s because she knew Jackie would see right through her charade.”

  “Charade?”

  She turned back to him, face pale and eyes huge. “And what about when she ended up dead right here on this very dock, the same location that Mercy took her life?”

  “Where are you going with this, Doc?” Ian crossed his arms, concerned even as the wheels of his mind began to turn.

  “Rick told me that he came to see the house long before I ever showed up here. He said Nellie chased him off. Why would she do that? And then I show up and she slowly puts it in my head that there’s ghosts in the house. Then she calls you guys in to investigate, and she suddenly takes off. Jackie comes in and Nellie stays far away from the house. Then Nellie mysteriously dies and we start seeing Mercy.”

  “This is all very strange coming from you,” Ian admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Then again, it’s not completely irrational.”