by K. C. RILEY
“Is that your family?” I asked, attempting to act normal.
“Yeah.” Cassie sat the photo back on her desk.
“Your mom, she’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. Yeah, she was. She passed when I was twelve. My parents were divorced. I lived with my dad for a spell, but it didn’t work out.” Cassie rubbed her wrist, the place where the scars were.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
And what was she saying? There was never anything fine or easy about losing a parent. Something awful happened to her, a darkness that filled the room so much so, I could barely breathe.
“Knock, knock...there y’all are.” Josie came in with a box in her hand. “Jesus, who died? And why are you guys so serious? No matter, I have got the best news.” Josie pulled out two blue and yellow ribbons. “One for you and one for you.”
“What are these for?” Cassie asked.
“The two of you are now officially a part of the homecoming dance decorating committee,” Josie said proudly.
I couldn’t get the words out quick enough. “What? But I—”
“I know, I know, you’re welcome,” Josie interrupted. “Not only do we get out of classes, but I’ve got another surprise. But I can’t tell you. But you’re going to love it. I swear.”
Cassie and I looked at each other with broken smiles that said we weren’t sure if we’d survive any more buts or surprises. Josie then pulled out an envelope and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
I wasn’t sure why she was whispering. We were the only ones in the room.
“I know you’ve been having a hard time with the dancing and all. And well, everything has got to be perfect. I mean, we’re already completely sold out to alumni. So that’s a week’s worth of private lessons with the famous Blavatski.”
“I’m not that bad. Am I?”
They both shrugged.
“Wow. Really? Well, it doesn’t matter because I can’t afford these.”
“One, it’s called a gift, and two, it was all Blavatski’s idea, something about a dancing frog with two left feet embarrassing her masterpiece.”
In spite of the tension in the room earlier, we all stared at each other before busting a gut with laughter.
“She did not say that.”
“Yes, she did. And as far as time, find it. Make it work or something like that. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m counting on you. And for God’s sake, lighten it up in here.” And like a tornado, Josie was out the door.
“You know she means well,” Cassie said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I better get going.”
“Sure. Listen. If you ever wanna talk—”
“Yeah. Likewise.”
Cassie smiled.
On the way back to my room, I thought more on what Cassie said about the voices from the card.
I opened my door and went and pulled out Mom’s note.
Liz, I’m sorry for everything.
Shadowick, VA.
13TH hour, 483, The Destroyer.
I glanced at the package she sent with the lion’s head.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
The whispers inside my head roared like I had hit a nerve.
Listen to the voices.
There were so many of them. But, maybe Cassie was right.
I sat on my bed and nervously flipped the med bottle in my hand. The meds were what helped to quiet the whispers in my head. To take them or not to take them was the question. And were they even working anymore. I mean, I was having body spasms from hearing a gun go off that wasn’t there? Was it a side effect of the meds or was I getting worse?
I lifted up my shirt and checked my stomach where it felt like I had been shot, but nothing was there.
Listen to the voices.
They just kept getting louder.
Listen to the voices.
They wouldn’t stop.
Listen to the voi—
“All right,” I finally yelled.
I decided not to take another pill and as soon as I did, the whispers simmered.
All I could say was that I hoped Cassie knew what she was talking about.
Only time would tell.
7
With a nervous finger, I rang the doorbell at Mrs. Ellington’s home. Scratch that. Mansion. The glass door must have been made for giants at least fifteen feet tall. No one answered. I rang it again and peeked through, but no one came.
Then the door creaked open by itself. Weird. And creepy.
“Hello?” I said, peeping my head inside.
From the elaborate floral display on the foyer glass table and the ascending storybook Cinderella staircase, I gathered that everyone in Shadowick must be rich.
“Hello?” I said again. I was sure the address was correct, 149 Coven Lane. Yep.
With no idea where to go, I walked down a corridor of doors until the whispers in my head heightened at the door on my left. At least, that’s how it felt. So much so, I was nauseous. It was like they were pulling, pushing, or daring me to go in.
With a deep breath, I slowly opened the door and peeped my head in. “Hello?”
It was a library. From the second level, hundreds upon hundreds of books were immaculately encased within shelves that bled into the glow of wooden rails and an iron staircase that spiraled to the first floor.
The warmth of the entire room made me want to curl up with a book and drift off to some magical place far away from everything.
The whispers got louder, if that was possible. They were pushing me toward something at the far end of the room. I followed the mental chaos to a painting, a portrait of a distinguished older-looking man with white hair and a full beard posing in a pilgrim-looking outfit. There was a raven that sat on his shoulder. And he held a black book in his arm, one with a symbol, and a lion’s head that protruded from the cover. The one from my dreams and the package Mom sent me. There was no way.
The air around me thinned as my mind tumbled between what was real and what I was making up.
The temples at my head pulsed as the whispers pulled me deeper into the painting and deeper into the old man’s silver eyes.
Mesmerized, I stepped closer to the portrait to touch it.
As my fingers grazed the texture of the portrait, electricity shot through my limbs. Images and feelings flashed before my eyes as though I had fallen into the picture itself. There was a man tied to a stake along with the smell of smoke and burning flesh. The shadows of people screaming were everywhere. It was horrible. I couldn’t breathe.
“That would be Sir Isaac Crane.” An elegant southern voice—sweet as tea—cracked through the nightmare. Her skin was as luminous and as flawless as the white pearls that hugged her neck. And her black hair was done up like Marilyn Monroe or maybe, Elizabeth Taylor.
“Sorry, I got lost.” Disoriented, I could barely speak. Was it possible to dream while one was still awake? “I rang the doorbell, but no one answered. And the door was open. Vye sent me.”
“Yes. It’s easy to lose yourself in this place. And no worries. I’m Mrs. Ellington. Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, ma’am, nice to meet you as well. I’m Lizzy, Lizzy Maverick.”
“Well, now that we’ve gotten that all settled, you can set up over in the parlor. It’s the room on the other side of the hall.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I was about to leave but I couldn’t let go of the coincidence. The lion’s head. The dark images. “I’m just curious. Who was he? Sir Isaac?”
“Some would disagree, but he was the founding forefather of Shadowick back in 1636. I guess that would make him my great, great, great, well…” Mrs. Ellington chuckled. “You get the point. Grandfather.”
A woman in a maid’s uniform stepped in. “The guests will be here soon, Mrs. Ellington.”
“Thank you, Louise. We’ll be right there.” Mrs. Ellington gestured her hand toward the door. “Shall we?”
I smiled as I
tried not to freak out at the images I had seen from touching the painting. Or seeing the same symbols and lion’s head from my dreams and Mom’s package. And hyperventilating was out of the question. Sure. If only I could convince my body of that. Deep and slow breaths.
Right. What on earth was I getting myself into?
Mrs. Ellington led me over into the parlor, a spectacular room with a lot of natural light and dramatic ceiling to floor floral curtains. There were two white sofas and three large armchairs positioned in a semicircle. I assumed so everyone could see each other. Next to one of the armchairs was a tripod and a sign that read Dearly Departed: Messages from the Other Side with Kai Mitchell.
Jake was nowhere to be found. And everything, for the most part, looked set up.
Toward the back of the room, I unboxed and unwrapped fresh croissants, pastries, plates, and embroidered napkins. I then filled white china bowls with cream and sugar. I was about to fill two vases on the table with flowers Vye cut fresh from her garden on the roof top of the shop when a voice stopped me.
“Everything looks and tastes wonderful, Lizzy.” Mrs. Ellington smiled with her sparkling green eyes as she patted any evidence of sampled crumbs away from her mouth.
By nine o’clock, all the women—eight in total—had arrived. Once served, they each found a warm spot on the sofas and chairs. While nursing their tea, they caught up on the latest gossip of what lowlife tramp had been caught sleeping with so-and-so’s husband, the one running for office.
By 9:20 a.m., Mr. Mitchell walked into the room.
“Good morning, ladies.” With his fingers, he combed his dark hair out of his face. “Let me first thank Mrs. Ellington for such a warm welcome into her home.”
He was younger than I thought. Maybe nineteen or twenty? He was close enough in age that there was no way I was calling him Mister.
Kai took a seat in the large armchair next to the sign with his name on it. He was a down-to-earth kind of guy, and also sweet. It was yes, ma’am for this and no, ma’am for that. Not at all what I expected for someone living in Hollywood. With a scruffy five o’clock shadow, deep soulful gray eyes, and dark wavy hair that curled close to his head, it wasn’t long before every woman in the room was swooning in the palms of his hands, including possibly me.
“What happens when we die?” Kai cleared his throat. “Where do our souls go? And how do we find peace in those we’ve lost? That’s what we’re here to find out.” He leaned over and pulled out a large pad of paper and a pen. “Before we get started, though, do any of you lovely ladies have any questions?”
“Do you see ghosts, Mr. Mitchell?” asked one of the ladies.
He smiled to himself. “First, please, call me Kai. And no, ma’am, I do not see ghosts. At least not how you think. I promise you I won’t see anyone’s dead grandmother walking across the room this morning. Well, I hope not.”
The ladies broke out into flirtatious fits of giggles. Kai was good. Really good.
“Exactly how do you receive messages from the other side?” another woman asked.
“Well, the best way to explain it is that my sixth sense uses my other five senses. I tune in to the energy, and it guides me to communicate what I see, hear, and feel. For example, I may hear a name or a voice, or perhaps I might get a visual of what someone looks like. I might even get a smell or a certain type of sensation in my body, especially if someone passed away in pain or discomfort. I pull all of that information together in a way that makes sense. It’s kind of like stringing together a trail of breadcrumbs that tell a story.” Kai looked at me in the back of the room and motioned for something to drink.
I ran up to him with a bottle of water. Our eyes met for just a sec before he gave me a wink and mouthed a silent thank you.
He opened the bottle, took a sip, and continued. “As I was saying, telling a story. So the way this works is that you’ll watch me scribble on my pad here, and this is my way of tuning out my surroundings. Scribbling lets me focus on a central point when making a connection to the other side. It lets me pick up on any subtle impressions that may come through. I believe you were all asked to bring an object of sentimental value to the deceased with you, yes? Holding on to such objects, at times, allows me to make a stronger connection to the other side with a particular person. And that’s pretty much how this all works. So, if no one else has any questions?” He looked around at all the ladies. “Well then, shall we?”
Kai unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. “Why don’t we begin with our lovely host, Mrs. Ellington?”
By the time Kai got done bringing Mrs. Ellington’s father through, there wasn’t a dry eye left in the room, including mine. The guy did everything in his power to keep her from the love of her life, her late husband, Reginald Ellington III. Her father ended up apologizing and asking for forgiveness before Mrs. Ellington broke down crying. He said he felt no one was ever good enough for his little girl and that he was wrong.
Another woman had been suffering her whole life with depression. She lost her baby to a crib death almost twenty years ago and never got over it. Kai channeled the infant’s spirit, a playful child that told her there was nothing she could have done to save him, that she was not to blame herself a second longer, because it wasn’t her fault. It was just his time, and he was in a place where he was happy. The woman bawled until only peace was left on her face.
In addition to manning the tables, I was also on tissue duty. The emotional tension and energy in the room were thick. Kai came to his final reading for the morning, and thank God. I was running out of tissues.
Kai picked up his pad and went to scribbling. “Someone’s name starting with the letter E,” he said. “I wanna say, “Eliza...Elizabeth?”
My heart stopped. Sure, there could have been someone else in the room named Elizabeth. But every part of my body screamed it was me.
“Elizabeth? Is there someone here named Elizabeth? No, wait.” Kai scribbled some more. “She’s calling you Lizzy, but says she also calls you Dragonfly.”
I couldn’t speak. No one called me that but Mom. All eyes were on me. I quickly scanned the room for a table to crawl under until it was all over and safe.
“Lizzy?” Mrs. Ellington said. “That’s got to be you, child.”
Why? I, for sure, wasn’t there to resurrect anyone from the dead or get a reading. Especially not in front of all those people. I looked at Mrs. Ellington like a raccoon caught in headlights. And then I looked at Kai, who I swore stared straight into my soul—one that should have been under bolt, lock, and key.
“Dragonfly? It’s Mom.” Kai’s voice changed.
This was not happening.
Kai continued. “The Destroyer is coming. Not much time...ascending...water and fire.” He wasn’t making any sense.
The lights in the room flicked on and off. Some of the women gasped and clutched the precious pearls and gemstones that hugged their necks.
Kai, Mom, whoever, continued. “Not much time, sweetheart. She’s coming.”
I stood there, catatonic and dumbfounded. “Who’s coming?” I whispered with nowhere to hide.
Everyone gawked at me like I was the weirdo and not the guy channeling my dead mother. My cold hands went from dry to hot and clammy in a matter of seconds. Paranoia consumed me as Kai’s words gutted me from the belly up. I never felt so vulnerable. So raw.
Kai’s voice soon returned to normal as though the connection had been cut. A look of concern and empathy washed over his face. “Lizzy, your mother wants you to know how much she loves you and how special you are. I can still hear her saying how proud she is of you.”
I would have given anything to talk to Mom again, but not at the expense of my deepest wounds and regrets being broadcasted in front of everyone. I was no longer sure what to make of Kai.
He continued. “And with that, ladies, I want to thank you for spending time with me this morning and providing such a warm, inviting space for connecting with you
r loved ones on the other side.”
Everyone stopped holding their breath and exhaled back to normal, whatever normal was.
Mrs. Ellington stood up. “Ladies, please. Let’s give Mr. Mitchell, I mean Kai, a hand.”
Applause filled the room while I tried to disappear into my shirt and go back to work. With my head down and shaken, I cleaned up plates, tissues, and coffee cups from the room as though I’d never heard a message from my dead mother.
I just wanted to finish my job, avoid all eye contact with Kai, and go back to my room. As I cleared the back table, I rationalized he probably read about the accident in the papers or online like everyone else at school.
“It’s Lizzy, right?” Kai asked.
My voice squeaked like a cornered mouse. “Yeah.”
“That was a little intense, huh? Any idea what it meant?”
“Not the slightest.” I kept moving and picked up more cups from the floor by the couches and placed them in the trash.
“Your mom came through really strong.”
I kept my eyes fixed on the trash. Clearly he wasn’t getting the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it.
“Please,” Kai said warmly. Besides, he wasn’t going away.
I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him. “She died six months ago.”
Up close, Kai’s eyes sparkled with the depths of an old soul. “I’m sorry. And maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this. But I think you ought to know. I’ve been doing this since I was twelve. I only channel messages from loved ones on the other side, you know the ones that have moved on. But this was different. Your mom’s spirit is still here trapped somewhere on the earthly plane. You probably think I’m nuts. I’m not.”
I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make me feel better. It didn’t. “I better go.”
“I understand. I think you should have this.” He ripped off a piece of paper from his doodling pad and gave it to me. It looked like a picture of a medallion with a gem at the center. Underneath, he sketched the symbol from the door in my dreams, the same one from the book Sir Isaac held in his hand. “It’s from your mom. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn’t.”
