The Visitor

by Amanda Stevens

  Ignoring his question, I pushed myself up on my elbows to scan the window behind him. “You must have seen it, too. It was huge.”

  “Yes, I saw it,” he said with a shrug, but there was an unexpected roughness in his tone that his aristocratic drawl couldn’t disguise. “I only caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, but I’m sure it was an owl. Their wingspan is impressive, especially when you aren’t expecting to see one.”

  “An owl? In the middle of the city?”

  “It’s not unheard of,” he said. “Barn owls are fairly urbanized. They like to nest in church steeples. And we have plenty of those in Charleston.”

  His tone had lightened, but neither his words nor his demeanor soothed me. I found something ominous about the way he’d been staring out into the darkness so intently. “Whatever it was flew right past the window. Close enough to cast a shadow over your face and into the room.”

  Devlin said nothing, but instead moved toward the bed with his customary grace, his features an inscrutable mask. He looked perfectly poised, calm and unbent, but the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed a tightly coiled tension. Where moonlight slanted across his face, I could see a hint of trouble brewing in the furrows of his brow. I noticed the phone in his hand then. I hadn’t heard a ring or a vibration, much less a conversation, but something had obviously transpired to disturb him.

  My gaze darted to the window, then back to Devlin. “Is everything okay?”

  Normally, he was as adept as I at concealing his emotions, but I was picking up a weird vibe from him tonight.

  “What is it?” I urged.

  Another pause. “I have to go out for a while.”

  “Is it a case?”

  He hesitated for so long that I thought he didn’t want to answer, but then he said with a hint of dread, “It’s not a case. I’m told my grandfather has taken ill.”

  I glanced at him in alarm. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s not serious.”

  “He was in perfect health when we had dinner so I’m convinced he’s up to something. I just haven’t yet figured out his angle.”

  “Are you so sure he has an angle? What if he really is sick?”

  “That slim possibility is the only thing tearing me from this room tonight,” Devlin said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but in the meantime I’ll see to it that security keeps a sharp eye out for anything or anyone suspicious.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Whoever broke into my house is likely long gone. I’ll be fine.”

  “Amelia...”

  I waited expectantly. He wanted to tell me something. I could see it in the flare of his eyes.

  I put an encouraging hand on his arm. “What is it?”

  He leaned over and grazed his lips across my forehead. “I wouldn’t leave you if I wasn’t certain you’d be safe here.”

  “I know that.”

  “Get some rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  A moment later, he was gone.

  I wanted to call out to him, to tell him to be careful out there in the dark where dangers from this world and the next lay in wait.

  Instead, I got up and padded over to the window to search the night sky. I still wasn’t convinced I’d seen an owl earlier. For most people a nocturnal bird would have been a perfectly acceptable explanation for that diving shadow, but I wasn’t most people. I knew things. Saw things. Heard things.

  The past twenty-four hours had been full of strange happenings. I felt very off center. It was as if banging my head on the stairs had awakened something inside me, making me more attuned than ever to the unnatural world around me. And yet I suffered no other repercussions from the blow. I didn’t feel dizzy or disoriented. I hadn’t experienced any blurred vision or memory loss and even my headache had faded. I wanted to believe the visions and voices would disappear, too, once I left the hospital.

  What was it the resident had told me earlier? It always gets crazy during a full moon. No kidding.

  The moon wasn’t just full but ringed. When I was a little girl, before I knew about the ghosts, Papa would tell me stories about swamp witches and boo hags that traveled through the Carolina marshes by moonlight. I later wondered if those eerie tales had been his way of preparing me for what was to come. He used to say that a lunar halo signified a time when spirits were especially restless. A dangerous time when mirrors should be covered and babies hidden so as not to be replaced by changelings.

  Maybe there had been something to that warning. If the phases of the moon could affect ocean tides and human behavior, what might they stir in creatures from the other side?

  Wresting my gaze from that silvery sphere, I started to turn back to my bed when I happened to glance down at the street. It was misting and the pavement shimmered with an oily patina beneath the streetlamps. My room looked out on a busy thoroughfare, but there was very little traffic at this hour. Which might explain why my attention was drawn to a lone pedestrian across the street.

  The person was small, but I didn’t get the sense that I was looking down at a child. Something dark and flowing was draped over the shoulders, making it nearly impossible to distinguish the silhouette among the other shadows. Indeed, for a moment I thought I might have attached human shape to a bush or tree trunk.

  I told myself there was nothing at all sinister about someone being out and about at this hour. Perhaps the person was waiting for a bus. But I couldn’t dismiss the feeling that a gaze had been cast upon my room. Upon me.

  The sensation was so intense that I took a step back; my heart beat a rapid tattoo. When I dared to glance out again, the figure had disappeared, leaving me to wonder if the shadow had been nothing more than my imagination.

  I went back to bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Sleep came with disturbing visions. I had no idea how long I’d been dreaming when my eyes popped open, senses fully alert. It would be dawn soon, a time I always anticipated, but I could still feel the pull of the dead world.

  I saw the ghost then, hovering deep in the shadows. As if sensing my awareness, she drifted out of the gloom with outstretched arms and paused at the end of my bed to turn those dark-stained sockets upon me. It was the eeriest sensation, the way she stared down at me. Could she see me or did she merely sense me? Could she feel my warmth? Had she been drawn there by my energy?

  She made no move toward me, to latch on to me, but instead levitated at the end of my bed for the longest moment as if making certain that I was awake. She had manifested in the same white lace dress from her previous visit, but now I saw that she clutched a key in one hand.

  Before I had time to process this turn of events, she drifted through the closed door. Her message couldn’t have been plainer. She wanted me to follow.

  There had been a time when trailing an entity would have been unthinkable, but the days of ignoring the other world were long behind me. The ghost knew that I could see her. She was already haunting me. Perhaps if I did as she wished, she would go away and leave me alone. Not likely, but it was the only thing I had at the moment to cling to.

  Climbing out of bed, I crossed to the door and glanced into the corridor. The overhead lights sputtered from an electrical surge caused—I was certain—by the ghost’s energy. There was an elevator by the nurse’s station and another at the opposite end of the hallway large enough to transport gurneys from floor to floor. That elevator went all the way down to the basement level. I wasn’t sure how I knew this unless I’d subconsciously taken note of the buttons when I’d been brought up to my room.

  The tiles were cold beneath my bare feet as I slipped down the hallway in the wake of the ghost. The moment I rounded a corner, out of sight of those behind me, the electrical fluctuations subsided. I entered the elevator, the doors closed and, as the car descended, the hushed voices from the morgue crept back into my head.

&nb
sp; When the elevator stopped, I stepped out into a wide hallway with branching corridors on either side. In front of me was a set of double doors with narrow glass panels through which I could see into the receiving area of the morgue. A red sign marked the outside bay where bodies were delivered and picked up, and beyond a long counter were several closed doors, which I assumed were the autopsy rooms and coolers.

  The ghost voices faded as an unnatural hush fell over the hallway. Time seemed to stop as I hovered between the dead world and the living world. The floating sensation was not at all unpleasant, but it lasted for only a heartbeat before the babbling in my head started up again, rising to a sharp, painful crescendo. The walls started to spin and I slid down the cool cinderblocks, curling myself in a ball as I clutched my ears.

  Even in the grip of that debilitating vertigo, I could feel invisible hands reaching through the walls for me, diaphanous bodies squeezing in on me as I huddled on the floor breathless and trembling.

  For a moment, I let myself entertain the possibility that all of this was nothing more than a terrible hallucination. A nightmare from which I would soon awaken.

  But I knew better. It was real. It was happening. And in a moment of enlightenment, I realized why the blind entity had led me down to the basement. The voices were stronger in the morgue because the newly departed had somehow opened a door, allowing those trapped souls to reach out to me. Individual spirit communication was one thing, but this mass beseeching was a new development. Another terrifying facet to my dark gift.

  Twelve

  I staggered to the elevator and somehow managed to make it back to my room without detection. I felt very alone and frightened. Something was happening to me. Something that I’d never experienced before. The ghost voices in my head were silent now, but the echo of that cacophony lingered.

  Since the age of nine, I’d avoided contact with ghosts. Papa had warned me early on that their parasitic nature made them especially dangerous to people like us because what they craved above all else was to be human again. To acknowledge their presence only deepened that craving and caused them to cling even harder to those they haunted. How was I supposed to follow all these strange clues without making myself vulnerable to them? Without compromising both my physical and mental well-being?

  I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

  And yet even as I resolved to protect myself, I was irresistibly drawn to them. The blind ghost wouldn’t go away until I solved her puzzle. The voices in my head wouldn’t let me rest until I found out what they wanted.

  Climbing into bed, I cowered under the covers until the sun came up, refusing to succumb to exhaustion until the ghosts had once again drifted back through the veil. Then I dozed on and off until the cheerful clatter of the breakfast trays awakened me, and I tried to put everything else out of my mind. I didn’t want to think about that predawn trip to the morgue or to dwell on the dark direction my gift had taken me. With sunlight streaming in through the window, it all seemed like a very bad dream to me now.

  And that was how I wanted to think of it. An episode brought on by the trauma of my attack and the strangeness of my surroundings. I told myself that as soon as I left the hospital and returned to my normal routine, everything would be fine.

  But my life had never been normal or fine. A bump on the head hadn’t brought the sightless ghost into my life or the scratching into my walls. Something was definitely going on, but I shoved every bad thought to the furthest corner of my mind as I nibbled on a piece of toast and sipped weak tea.

  Devlin had stopped by earlier while I slept. He’d left a small bag of toiletries and a fresh change of clothing, which was a very good thing since I had nothing to wear home but the pajamas I’d had on when I was admitted. I was touched by his thoughtfulness and grateful for his foresight. While I waited for the doctor to make his rounds, I showered, dressed and then perched on the side of the bed, picking at my broken nails.

  By the time all the release papers had been signed and my personal belongings returned to me, I barely had enough time to call a cab and get to the Oak Grove Cemetery for the dedication service. Under the circumstances, I could have skipped the ceremony and no one would have held it against me, but Dr. Shaw had asked me to say a few words and I didn’t want to let him down.

  And, as eager as I was to leave the hospital, I wasn’t so keen on returning home alone to face the scene of the crime. Focusing on work had always been my salvation and this morning, even Oak Grove provided a welcome distraction.

  But I had gone no distance at all down the cemetery pathway when I froze in trepidation. The day was sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and already a small crowd had assembled. I could hear laughter and the lighthearted chatter of a friendly gathering that would undoubtedly lavish praise upon my work.

  So why the foreboding? Why the thorny dread that had manifested at the base of my neck and now scratched its way down my spine?

  I’d detected a death smell, I realized. A trace of decay so faint I could almost believe my imagination had manufactured the scent. I scanned the perimeter of the cemetery as I sniffed the air, but the odor had already vanished.

  Temple Lee, the state archaeologist and the closest thing I had to a best friend, sauntered over. “Admiring your own work, I see.”

  I tore my gaze from the wall to glance at her. “What?”

  “You were obviously captivated by something and I don’t see anyone in this geriatric crowd that would elicit that level of enthrallment.” She caught my arm and turned me toward the light, her expression instantly sobering. “Is that a bruise on your face? What on earth happened?”

  “I took a tumble, but I’m fine now. It looks a lot worse than it feels.” I didn’t want to begin the event with a lengthy explanation about the break-in or my attack, especially with someone as sharp and inquisitive as Temple. So I shook off the incident with a quick smile and change of subject. “This is a nice surprise. I didn’t expect you to drive all the way in from Columbia for the ceremony. How did you even know about it?”

  “I received an invitation a few weeks ago. I happened to be in town so I thought I’d drop by and see what you’ve done with the place.”

  “And?”

  “Impressive, but you already know that.”

  “The restoration was a lot of hard work,” I said. “And I don’t mind admitting that I’m glad it’s finally over.”

  “I don’t blame you, considering all that went down here.” Temple glanced out over the headstones. “Hard to believe all of that happened only last year. Seems a lifetime ago.”

  “I know.”

  Her gaze drifted to the gathering. “I don’t see Devlin among the illustrious. Surely he means to show up for the big unveiling.”

  “I don’t know if he’s coming. He has a lot on his plate these days.”

  Temple turned to scrutinize my expression. “Do I detect trouble in paradise?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re still together, then?”

  “Of course,” I said a little too defensively. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  She shrugged. “No reason except that I’ve always found the two of you an unlikely pairing.”

  “You’ve never made any bones about that.”

  “Don’t be offended. I’ve heard you say the same thing yourself.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “He’s fully recovered from the shooting, I trust.”

  “He’s back on the job if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s not at all what I mean and you know it.”

  As much as I enjoyed Temple’s company, I remained a private person and felt no compulsion to share with her the more intimate details of my life. “Oh, look,” I said. “There’s Dr. Shaw. And I believe he’s headed our way.”

  She gave me a knowing glance. “You’re very good at changi
ng the subject, but I’ll let it slide because I’m in no mood for Rupert. I’ll just make myself scarce and let the two of you have a nice chat.”

  “I’ll tell him you said hello.”

  “Yes, do that,” she said over her shoulder as she sauntered away.

  I watched her disappear down a pathway before I turned to greet Dr. Shaw. He was in the company of two women who looked to be about his age or perhaps even a few years older. One was tall and slim and appeared athletic for her age, the other tiny, stooped and walked with a cane. The latter wore a dark print dress with a smock-like jacket that covered her shrunken torso while the taller woman was attired in jeans, boots and a lightweight blazer. I wondered if they were members of the committee, the group of distinguished, often eccentric and always private Emerson University alumni that had hired me to restore Oak Grove Cemetery once it had become a candidate for the National Register.

  As Dr. Shaw and his companions approached, his gaze went immediately to the bruise on my face. “My dear, what happened? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I had a fall, but nothing serious.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, giving me a worried look. “I’ve brought along two guests who are eager to meet you. This is Mrs. Louvenia Durant and her sister, Miss Nelda Toombs. Ladies, this is Miss Amelia Gray, the cemetery restorer I told you about earlier.”

  My gaze flashed to Dr. Shaw but he gave an imperceptible shake of his head as if to warn me to say nothing of our previous conversation. “How do you do?” I murmured.

  The tiny woman transferred the cane to her left hand and offered me her right. Her grip was surprisingly strong, although her skin felt as dry and fragile as tissue paper. “Louvenia and I are very happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Gray. Dr. Shaw has been quite effusive with his praise of your work, and I must say, he did not overstate your accomplishments. It’s a beautiful restoration, isn’t it, sister?”