by Keary Taylor
“Have you ever loved anyone?” I ask as my eyes travel the rooflines that surround us so I don’t see the places we frequented.
I feel his presence beside me, so solid and heavy. His broad shoulders seem to take up all the room on our walk. His long hair blows in the wind. He’s a creature of the woods, walking around the city like the world’s most obvious imposter.
“Maybe,” he says.
“How can you not be sure?”
He doesn’t respond immediately. And that’s okay. It was a serious question.
“There was a woman, once,” he says. “I told you that I left Roselock for a while. I went to South Carolina. Got a degree in music engineering. I had wanted to study in New York, but it was too expensive… So to Charleston, I went. We met the summer after I graduated.”
I glance over at him, studying his face.
He looks down at the sidewalk. His green eyes grow distant. His hair hangs into his face, a lock of it tucked behind his ear.
“I always wanted to be with her,” he continues. “She could make me smile and laugh without even trying. But…”
He trails off and looks up, his eyes sweeping about, not really looking for anything.
“But, what?” I encourage.
“We had nothing in common,” he finishes. “She was light and I was dark. She had a future and I did not. In the end it didn’t matter if I loved her or not; Roselock called me home, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of asking her to come and live all of that with me.”
I tear my eyes away from Sully, looking forward once more. I imagine it. Asking the woman he was with to go home with him, to Roselock. To the church that is falling apart. To the forest of bent trees. To the ground that bleeds.
“You loved her,” I say. “You loved her enough to let her be free of that.”
Sully takes five more steps before he says, “Maybe.”
He makes me eat four bites of a sandwich when we get home, and after that I can’t force any more down. He finishes the rest for me, but tells me to expect to eat more in an hour.
Maybe that’s how I’ll overcome this. Eat a tiny bit at a time, all throughout the day.
Maybe then I won’t look like a skeleton.
But eating requires food in the house. So we climb into the ancient car Sully drove here from Roselock and head to the grocery store down the street.
Two thoughts keep rolling through my mind as Sully grabs the cart and starts down the aisles.
One: how out of place he looks here. He looks like he just walked out of the jungle, a wild man meant to live with beasts, not humans. His tall figure, broad shoulders, and wild hair make him intimidating looking.
And two: there are so many people here. I’ve walked these aisles once a week for years, but somehow, all these people became…invisible to me in the past few months. And they’re familiar faces. People I grew up with. Friends whose houses I once slept over at. People who came over to my childhood home to have dinner with my parents.
No less than three people say hello to me by the time we reach the end of the produce.
“You have deep roots here,” Sully says, leaning toward me slightly as Mrs. Catala walks away, my home economics teacher from sophomore year in high school.
I nod, looking back at her, only to find her staring at Sully, a wary expression in her eyes. “That happens when you live your whole life somewhere. It’s grown a lot since I was a kid, but I still know all the core people.”
“Iona!” a cheery voice greets.
I turn to see Cathy, a woman I once worked with. She’s an over-the-top type, with a bubbly personality, and no personal filter.
She rushes over with her cart, a very pregnant belly brushing against the handle.
“It’s so good to see you!” she chatters. “I feel like it’s been forever. What? Probably two years?”
I nod, trying to smile and be pleasant, but really, it’s all very overwhelming. “Something like that.”
“I heard you’d gotten engaged,” she says, with a coy smile, her eyes sliding over to Sully. “Is this the lucky new husband?”
I look over at Sully, my eyes flooding with panic for a moment.
But Sully extends a hand, arranging a pleasant smile. “Sully. It’s nice to meet you.”
I’m sure I’m not hiding my surprise very well, but Cathy only looks up at Sully, smiling, admiring the giant beside me. “It’s nice to meet the man who snatched up Iona, here. She’s an incredible woman.”
“She surely is,” Sully says, giving me a little smile. “If you’ll excuse us, we have some shopping to finish. It was nice to meet you.”
And without another word, he pushes the cart forward, and Cathy calls a goodbye.
We turn down another aisle, making sure we’re well out of earshot, before I give Sully a side glance.
“What-”
“I didn’t think you wanted to tell her the full story,” Sully fills in, grabbing a package of pasta. “And I never confirmed that I was your husband, only introduced myself. I thought it was easier.”
I look up at Sully and study his face. He searches the shelves for more items to add to our cart, but it feels like he’s intentionally not looking at me.
“Thank you,” I say, more clearly than I thought I was capable of. “Thank you…for all of this.”
He only grunts, and goes to push the cart further down the aisle. My hand darts out, gripping around his wrist, stopping him.
“Really,” I say earnestly as he looks back, finally meeting my eye. “You don’t have to do this, you fulfilled your end of the bargain. You being here…” I shake my head, my eyes dipping for a moment. “With you here, I don’t feel so…dead.”
There’s something rolling behind those green eyes of his. Serious, and dark, and contemplative. But he nods his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.
We finish our shopping, and go to check out. Eggs, steak, cheese, apples, carrots, all fill the cart. My stomach instinctually tightens at the sight of it. But there’s something that sparks in me, anxious to try. To get my life back.
I pay for the food and we walk out to the car. The bags loaded, Sully points us back toward home.
Together, we carry the food up to my apartment. And Sully begins cooking dinner.
“What about inviting your sister over?” Sully asks as he cuts the carrots and puts them in a big pot. “Viola?”
I watch him from the couch, my knees tucked into my chest, my arms looped around them.
I swallow once, the very thought making my heart jump into my throat.
All recent contact with my sisters has resulted in a massive fight. In screaming and yelling and horrible accusations flung.
But I have to do something about all of this.
“That’s a good idea,” I say. But it takes every muscle in my body, giving one hundred percent to climb off the couch and actually go to the phone on the wall. It’s far too difficult to press those buttons and spin that rotary.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Viola,” I say, trying to sound light and casual. “It’s Iona.”
“H…hi,” she says in surprise.
“Uh,” I stutter. I look back at Sully, twisting the cord around my finger. He only gives me an encouraging nod. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight? With me…and Sully.”
She pauses for a long time. For a moment, I’m worried our connection has been lost. But finally, “Yes, that sounds amazing.” And her voice is too excited, too happy to quite be casual. “What time?”
“Five-thirty?” I say, looking to Sully for confirmation. He glances at the clock and nods.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” she says, and I can hear the smile I know is on her face just through her voice.
We say goodbye and I hang the phone back up. I keep looking at it for a moment, and take a big huff, feeling exhausted, suddenly.
“You did good, Iona,” Sully says.
I look over at him, and see him giv
ing me a little look, a small smile pulling in the corner of his mouth.
It changes his entire face. Even though it was small, even though it was a little forced, a smile on Sully’s face makes him look…different.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
SULLY
I scoop Iona into my arms and cross the small apartment to her bedroom. She hardly even stirs as I lay her down, pulling the covers up and over her. She lets out a little sigh.
My shoulder pressed to the doorjamb, I cross my arms, watching her as she sleeps, just to make sure she keeps breathing.
The dinner with Viola was somewhat forced, but considering everything, it went well. Little, light conversations. Pleasantries. I’d almost forgotten how to converse and talk like a normal human being to other human beings. But I managed. Because I had to for Iona.
At eight o’clock, I walked Viola down to her car.
“Who are you?” she asked me. “And what does my sister mean to you?”
It had taken me half a minute to come up with an answer, as honest of an answer as I could manage. Because this woman cared about Iona, and deserved as much of the truth as I could give her.
“Iona came to me for help, to deal with Jack’s death,” I said. “I’m trying to help her get the answers she needs for some closure.”
Viola’s eyes welled with tears. She pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. “I don’t know how you’re doing it. No one else has been able to reach her. She just got angry and shut down. She cut everyone out. But you’re doing something.” She looked to the side as a little strangled sob leaked through her lips. “This tonight, every single minute of it, it’s an improvement. She’s doing so, so much better.”
She closed the distance between us and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I stood there, stiff and awkward, but hesitantly returned her hug. “You’re welcome.”
By the time I walked back upstairs, Iona was sound asleep on the couch.
I give one last look at Iona sleeping peacefully in her bed and turn to go back into the living room.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the cloth with the ring carefully folded into it. I cross to the counter, placing it on the laminate surface. The fabric falls open, revealing the ring.
I told Iona I would only speak to the three dead women if she wanted me to. If she really wanted answers.
Staring at it now, it’s all I can do to not put the cold metal against my skin and rip them from the afterlife into the present.
And I look down the counter, to Iona’s purse, where I know Jack’s pocket watch still resides.
My hand twitches. Slides a little further down the counter towards it.
I press my lips into a thin line.
I take a step sideways.
A metallic tang sparks in the back of my throat as the dead press closer in on the gate.
My fingers grip the leather of the bag and I pull it toward me.
For five seconds, I wage an internal battle.
I shouldn’t do this.
I need answers.
This has to be Iona’s choice.
My rage is barely contained.
I yank the bag open, looking down into its contents.
Lip stick. Keys. A tattered book that looks like it’s resided inside for months. A package of tissues. Other various things.
And there at the bottom, because it weighs the most, I see the glint of a gold reflection. A chain. And there, tucked in the corner, I see the edge of the pocket watch.
What were you really up to, Jack? I internally ask. What are you trying to do to Iona?
I look over my shoulder, back to her bedroom door. It remains slightly cracked open, the apartment utterly silent. In the dark and in the quiet, I hold my breath, fighting the monster of temptation.
My hands grip the bag, and on silent feet, I cross to the door. It squeals only slightly as I pull it open.
A thundering steam machine—that’s what my heart is as I storm down the stairs. Out the front doors, and into the blowing snow outside.
I didn’t grab a jacket, and the thick snowflakes cling to my exposed forearms. It tangles in my hair, instantly melts onto my neck, running down into my collar. But I don’t even feel it as I stalk straight for my ancient vehicle, and yank the half rusted door open.
If anything, it’s even more frigid in here. My breath billows out in giant clouds, only slightly illuminated by the streetlight halfway down the block.
For a moment, I just stare at Iona’s purse, resting in the passenger seat.
My blood is ice.
My veins are on fire.
The questions burn a wormhole into my chest.
With the force of a man out for murder, I plunge my hand into the bag, and close my hands around the pocket watch.
The cold metal burns my skin. But I grit my teeth hard, yanking it from the bag, casting my eyes around the space.
“Jack,” I call, not keeping the distrust and malice from my tone even a fraction. “You better give me some damn answers.”
A couple of seconds, that’s how long it should have taken Jack Caraway to appear.
But the seconds tick by, and my eyes only search the small space of the car, the immediate vicinity outside the vehicle.
I cough, hugging tighter around myself as it grows colder. My heart picks up, anticipation eating its way through my blood.
I look around, and still, Jack doesn’t appear.
I cough again.
“Jack!” I bellow into the night air. I squeeze the watch tighter and feel the metal begin to bend around my force. “Show your face! I summon you from behind the gate.”
I cough again, this one more forceful. My hand raises to my lip, to the spot where I felt the warm wet. It comes away with a splash of blood.
I notice the tightness in my veins. Not just the anger, but a tightness that is physical. As if my entire body is recoiling, trying to force my life essence away from the watch in my hand.
I cough again. More blood fills my mouth.
“Jack,” I growl, determined.
I broke my promise to get answers.
I will get my damn answers.
My free hand goes to my chest, to my white shirt, clawing at it when it feels too tight. Immediately, it’s hard to breathe. Everything in me constricts, revolts against me trying to reach the dead.
It’s Roselock, I know it. Telling me that I cannot leave. That I have no right to use its gifts outside of its borders.
I cough again, only there’s too much blood and I can’t clear it.
I thrash. I throw myself half out of the car door. Spill the blood onto the crisp snow.
Fight.
Live.
I release the watch, letting it clink into the drivers seat.
But the world still goes black, as my brain begs for oxygen.
Chapter Forty
IONA
When I wake, Sully is nowhere to be found.
The dishes from dinner are washed and fully dry by now, lying on a towel. The apartment is relatively clean, part from Sully’s cleaning spree I didn’t even notice for a day, and partly due to me waking up and realizing I was letting my life literally rot away.
I stand in the middle of the apartment, looking around.
I suddenly feel very alone.
Feel a hole in my chest open up.
Where is Sully?
Would he really just leave like that? Without a word? Without any kind of closure? The answers to be found were not for him, but still. He was invested in this now, too.
I don’t know what to think.
His jacket rests on the back of the couch. But that’s the only trace of him. He very well could have just forgotten it as he left me in the middle of the night. The man is nearly an animal, anyway; I doubt he really feels the cold.
The hurt at his departure cuts deeper than I want it to. I feel his absence in a hollow, cavernous way in my chest.
But I lift m
y chin. Swallow twice.
I turn, head back into my bedroom. I shower. I dress. Do my hair and makeup. I even force myself to eat a slice of toast before I want to vomit my guts up.
When I go to leave though, my purse is nowhere to be found.
No trace of my car keys. No signs of my wallet.
I stand in the middle of my living room, my eyes wandering. I take a hard swallow.
I don’t want to let the words surface.
But they do, anyway.
Would Sully really have taken my purse, with all of my money? Would he have taken my car?
No, no, the words echo in my head.
But really, how well do I actually know Sully?
I shake my head, pushing back the sick feeling in my stomach.
No. Something else is going on.
But for now, I have a life to live.
I have to get to work. I’ll figure out what’s going on later.
My determination to survive, to stare into the void and survive this time is short-lived.
I step outside of the building, into the snow-blanketed world.
Across the street, Sully’s ancient car still waits, buried in six inches of snow.
The door to the driver’s side is open.
I squint through the still dim light, trying to make out the lumpy shape that spills out from the car, onto the road, covered with snow.
I sprint across the street, the snow falling down into my boots. I barely make it across before a plow cuts around the corner, nearly taking me out.
“Sully!” I scream, falling at his side. I sweep the snow off of him, my horror growing threefold when I uncover blood-soaked snow. I dig and dig, shoving aside the snow, uncovering the man who I thought had abandoned me.
“Call an ambulance!” I scream at the first person who walks out into the early morning. The man startles, his eyes growing wide as he sees what I’m doing. “Now!”
He darts into a nearby coffee shop.
“Sully,” I whimper as finally, I uncover his face.
His head rests against the concrete, as if he fell out of the car. There’s blood spilling from his mouth, frozen against his skin. Snow melted against the warmth of him, and then refrozen.
