by Kelly Martin
Her blood.
She sat silently thinking about the life she'd never live. The babies she'd never have. The husband she'd never cook for. She'd never make her mother a grandmother, nor would she see her father again in this world.
Her eyelids became very heavy and she tried to hold them open, but it didn't work. They rolled back in her head and her head fell to the ground. Her first thought, actually her last thought, wasn't of Daniel or her father. It wasn't of her mother and the life she wouldn't have now. It was of God. Even though He'd been so cruel to take Daniel from her, she still heard the sermons her father preached echoing in her head. She hoped He wouldn't be mad at her and make her suffer.
****
"Hey, Lizzie. Wake up. You're still with me, right?"
She fought to open her eyes, but they were heavy, tired. Why? She didn't know. Hadn't she rested enough in her coffin all those years?
"Lizzie, sit up. Come on." The floor under her head fell away and she found herself in a sitting position with her head against something soft. A bed by the feel of it.
Peeking through the slits in her uncooperative eyes, she saw Shane kneeling in front of her. His brows were knit so close she thought it would give him a headache. "What's wrong? Did you pass out? Can you pass out?"
Did she? "I don't believe so. I tried to walk, and…"
"You tried to walk?" he said, flabbergasted. "Did it work? Did you fall and hit your head?" He scooted closer to her and pulled her head toward him, examining the back and sides. "I don't see any blood."
Her face must have contorted some way because Shane was back in her face in an instant. "Hey, Lizzie. Is something wrong? Is something… um… happening? Is whatever keeping you alive running out? 'Cause I can't have a dead body in my room?"
She had no idea why she was still on this earth, but she didn't feel like it was running out. She just felt tired. Sleepy even. It took every ounce of energy she had to shake her head. "No, I'm just sleepy."
"Sleepy, like passing out sleepy?" He sounded worried. She couldn't figure out why, except for the whole dead body thing in his room. She could see how that would be a bad thing especially when the 'body' was a 200 year old corpse.
"No, like sleepy. I've been working hard since you've been gone. I got my legs to move."
"Obviously, because you're lying on the floor so well."
Thinking back, she couldn't remember a more sarcastic person in her time. Well… maybe one… or two. Were all people like that now? Or had she just gotten lucky? "At least they moved. That was a start. I stood and started walking ,or rather sliding around the room, holding on to things of course."
"Of course." He smirked, but it didn't look like he meant it.
"And I couldn't go on anymore. I plopped to the floor and couldn't get up. I must have fallen asleep."
"How do you know you were asleep?"
A lump formed in her throat. "Because I was dreaming."
He sat down in front of her and crossed his legs at the knees, leaning over as if very interested in what she had to say. For her part, she didn't feel like saying anything. In fact, she'd rather forget it. "What were you dreaming?"
Her eyes fluttered at the request. No part of her wanted to get into it.
"Come on, you can tell me." He sounded genuinely interested. "What could a girl who has been in a casket for over one hundred and fifty years possible dream about?"
"Killing myself." She glanced at him when she said it, then averted her eyes to the floor, ashamed.
He clearly hadn't been expecting that. Shane cleared his throat and pulled the black ring holding his hair back out, causing the curls to spill around his face. "Oh, wow. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"Don't be sorry.. I did it. Might as well not be upset over it now."
"I know, but still, it's a big deal. You were so upset that you saw no other way out. That's pretty messed up."
A ghost of a smile pulled her lips. "Messed up it was."
"Do you… uh… want to talk about it or something?" He sounded very uncomfortable about it, and she didn't want to discuss it either. She'd let him off the hook.
"Not really. Can't change what happened or what I did."
He got so quiet, she took the chance to glance at him. Something was on his mind and she wondered if he'd spit it out. She should have known him well enough by now to know he would. "Do you ever regret it?"
She took a deep breath, trying to buy some time to find the right words. "Yes. More than you could ever imagine. It didn't turn out like I planned anyway." She laughed darkly.
"I keep thinking and I just don't understand how you're here. It doesn't make any sense." He scooted against the desk across from her and crossed his arms. Hopefully if she was lucky, he'd drop the conversation about her suicide and talk about something else. "If you wanted to die, why aren't you dead?"
It was a good question. "I have no idea. It's not like I used any sort of magic to keep myself alive. I know that was your theory, but I didn't. That would have been counterproductive, wouldn't it?"
"I'd say so." He bit his lip and some sort of clicking sound came from his mouth. His eyes squinted together and he studied her up and down intently. It was starting to get very uncomfortable. "Maybe you didn't use any sort of magic, but maybe someone else did."
That was his big assumption? "Like who?"
"I don't know. I wasn't around in the eighteen hundreds. But, honestly sister, magic is the only theory that makes sense at this point."
Speaking of sisters… "Your sister was here earlier."
His eyes lit up like he'd seen a rattlesnake. "In here? With you? What did she say? What did you say?"
Obviously, this wasn't good news to him. "She said I needed to leave because all of your girls were expected to be gone by the time you got back." He slammed his forehead in his palm, and she swore she saw him blush. "And then she got a message on the little rectangle thingy from a man named Drake."
His head shot up. "That idiot? What did Cheyenne do?"
"She said she needed to meet him somewhere."
"And she didn't say where?"
"Yeah, she did actually. And your mom came up here."
"My mom!" He sat up straighter and looked a funny shade of green. "Did she come in? Did she see you?"
"She stood outside and said she was working over tonight. You know, you should really be nicer to her."
His features darkened. "Thanks for that sage advice, but you don't know my mother. Enough about her, what about Cheyenne? Where did she go?"
"You mean after she told me I was a, how did she say it, a notch on your belt and that I should leave before you got back and weren't happy to see me?"
Shane cringed. "Don't listen to her. The one thing you can't do is leave. We have to get this all figured out first. If someone finds out about you, about the church, I'd be in huge trouble."
It was her time to knit her brows. "Why would you be in trouble over the church? It was an accident, right?"
His mouth opened a few times, but nothing came out. He looked like he'd been caught eating a piece of mother's pie after she'd put it out to cool. "Never mind. Just, you have to stay here until we figure this out. First things first, we need to figure out how you are alive. We don't want you to drop dead any second and then I'd have to explain a body to the cops."
His compassion was overwhelming. Oh lookie, she'd gotten the sarcastic thing too. Now she was a real futuristic girl.
"Did anything different happen to you before you died? Did you see someone new? Or put on something new? Anything?"
She didn't have to think long. "Both actually. Frederick, Daniel's friend, came to see me about his death. He's the one who told me."
"How did Daniel die exactly? In the war I suppose." He didn't sound mean by his question, but it didn't hold a lot of compassion. It was just a question with no emotion in it. It had been very emotional to her.
"Shot. As were many men I assume." She wondered if her fathe
r had been shot too. The odds were likely that he had been.
"But this Frederick wasn't." He kept right on going with this conversion.
"No… well, actually, he was. Had his arm off at the shoulder and a head injury. It was wrapped when he came to the house. I think he said he was going to visit his family, then join the Confederates again, but I venture to say he didn't. I wouldn't have gone back if I were him."
"So, Daniel and Frederick fought for the South."
She nodded. "And my father for the North."
He looked shocked. "You don't say. I don't think I've ever heard that part of the legend."
"Well, that legend is my life, and I lived it so I know it to be true. Caused quite a bit of tension actually. The last Christmas we were all home, it was very hard for all of us. Daniel begged my father to change sides and fight with him, but my father refused."
"Why?"
She shrugged. "He had his reasons. The war was fought for many reasons: state's rights among them."
"Slavery," Shane added.
"Slavery," she agreed. "My father didn't believe in it."
"And Daniel did?" The way he asked, Lizzie took it to mean Daniel was losing favor in Shane's eyes.
She had to remedy that. "No. He didn't. He and my father agreed on that part. But he thought that the states should get to decide how they wanted to live and that the federal government shouldn't be able to dictate it. I mean, we did secede from England after all. Why couldn't a few states secede from the Union?"
Shane didn't seem to have an answer for that. Good, because she was finished talking politics.
"Anyway, Frederick came to my home and told me all that happened to Daniel. Daniel had made him promise as he lay dying on the battlefield so Frederick fulfilled his promise." Her mind wandered. "I wonder what became of him."
"We could look it up, I suppose," Shane said.
"I'd like that." She smiled back. For a second, she caught herself staring into Shane's beautiful brown eyes. He really was handsome in his own way. She blinked a few times to get that thought out of her mind. Daniel was her beau, and she'd best remember it. "I bet my home isn't even there now."
"No, it is." Shane said, surprising her.
"It is?"
"It's a museum now. A museum dedicated to you. You're pretty popular here in Dixon actually."
It made no sense to her. "Why? What did I ever do to get notoriety? I took my own life."
"I guess that's why. People love a good, dramatic love story, and yours is a pretty tragic one. Your house is there and the barn you, um, for lack of a better word, did the deed in. It's all there."
"Huh," she looked away and let her mind try to process that. "I'd like to see it again, I think. I never in a million years thought I would."
"I don't know about a million years, but I do know one hundred and fifty years later, it's still there. But I don't thinking seeing it is a good idea."
"Why?"
"Because," he said like it was the most obvious thing ever. "There are pictures of you everywhere. I think they'd recognize you at the 'Lizzie Monroe' museum."
"Probably so," she said sadly.
"Yeah. So no going to the museum. Let's get back on track. You say this Frederick…"
"Davis!" she said quickly.
"Yeah. That's my last name… so…"
"No, Davis. Frederick Davis. That was the man's name that told me about Daniel. That's why I had a fit when I learned your name yesterday."
"You had so many fits, I never noticed." He smiled. "A Davis actually told you about Daniel?"
She nodded.
"Hmmm… that's pretty cool, I guess."
"You don't think it's a coincidence?"
"I don't know, but it is pretty darn interesting, I'll give you that. Did he do anything or give you anything that was different?"
"He gave me this." She held up her hand and showed him her finger.
"The ring?" He scooted closer to inspect it. He twirled the little oval thing to the left, then to the right, inspecting every angle. "An engagement ring?"
She nodded. "Frederick said Daniel gave it to him as he was dying. Made him promise to give it to me."
"Did he say where he got it?"
"Said he bought of it from a fellow soldier from Louisiana."
Shane's head shot up and his eyes narrowed. "Louisiana? Like New Orleans? Voodoo?"
Uhhh… "I guess so. But I know Daniel. He wouldn't give me anything attached to Black Magic."
"He might not have known." Shane again inspected the ring on her finger. "What's that?" He pointed to a small symbol on the back of the band.
"I don't know. I saw it earlier."
"Hmmmm…" He looked it over more carefully. To be honest, it felt strangely nice for him to be holding her hand. He was warm and had just the right amount of muscles showing through his black shirt…
Stop it! she ordered herself.
"Maybe we can do an internet search to see if we can find any information on this ring. Hold on." He took his rectangular thing that I thought he said sent telegraphs and people's voices through the air and did some things with his thumbs. He then fixed her hand into a ball and held the contraption over it. "Don't move." He ordered as he stared at the rectangular thing.
"Why?" she whispered, almost afraid to move. It wasn't entirely comfortable what he was doing, whatever it was.
"Because I don't want the picture to be fuzzy. Now hold still." He kept his eyes on the little device the entire time.
"Picture? Like a photograph?"
"Exactly." He did something and then looked at her with a smile. "Got it."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. See?" He put the device to her eye level and pushed a button. "There?" He turned it around, and sure enough. It was her image.
"Amazing. I've looked better, however. My hair…"
"Looks good for your age." He smiled warmly. His eye twinkled. "Okay. Turn your hand so I can get a picture of the symbol." She complied and he stared in the rectangular thing again.
"Do you want me to take it off?"
"Um… No. That might not be a good idea until we know what it is," he said, pushing more buttons.
"Why?"
He looked up at her. "Because I've watched TV and movies in my time. That ring might be the key keeping you alive. Who knows what will happen if that's true and you take it off."
She hadn't thought about that. "Good point. I've worn it this long. Might as well wear it longer."
"That a girl," he said. "There. It's uploaded."
She didn't know what 'uploaded' meant, but she just went with it. "What is?"
"The picture. Look." He turned the phone so she could see it, and, sure enough, there was a picture of her hand right there."
"Amazing," she said in awe.
"Back in your day, I bet it was a chore getting your picture taken. No point and click."
"It was not an everyday occurrence, that's for certain. I recall one time a photographer came through town. He took all of our pictures. Mother, Daddy, and I got dressed in our Sunday best." She could still remember the summer day. It had been warm and her layers made her perspire, but Mother had insisted they look their best. It wasn't every day one got their picture taken, and Mother couldn't wait to have a photograph of them to keep. "I had on a dark purple dress and a matching bonnet. I wasn't fond of the bonnet, but Mother said it was necessary. She had on a light pink dress Daddy had paid to be made specifically for her. It was beautiful. And my Daddy, well, he had on a black suit and hat. We all were warm that day." She laughed at the memory.
"The photographer had to wait on the sun and sing this silly little song. And we couldn't move. Not a flinch. Not even a smile."
"Is that why people in old photos don't smile?"
"We were told not to because it messed with the exposure or something. The photograph actually turned out pretty good." Guilt hit her. Lizzie wondered if her mother looked at the picture after she'd k
illed herself. It was all she had of her family. If Lizzie could have taken it back, she would have. It had been a very rash decision, a decision she now regretted. Her poor mother. Didn't matter now though. Her mother was dead herself, just like everyone she knew. And so should she be.
"Is that the picture at the museum?"
Lizzie tilted her head. "How would I know? You won't let me go. But we didn't have many taken, so I assume it is the same one. I'm glad she kept it." She thought again of her mother. What kind of a life had she had after Lizzie left?
"How about this picture? Do you remember taking it?" Shane reached for his wallet and pulled out a piece of parchment. Lizzie looked it over. The top said, Love's Suicide. Under it was a picture of her. She had brown ringlets falling around her face and a white dress.
"Where did you get this?" she asked as she stared at herself. The girl in the photograph had so much potential in life. It had been taken only a year before Daniel's death.
"Google," Shane answered.
Like that was supposed to mean anything to her. "Why do you have it?"
Shane put the parchment in his lap. "It's my band's logo… our… uh… calling card. What we use for advertising. I told you, we got our name from your story."
"Love's Suicide."
"I'm sorry. It wasn't like I actually thought I'd ever meet you. You were just a story. The town legend. A way to get paying customers." She couldn't decipher if Shane felt bad or not, but him using her picture to make money wasn't something that appealed to her.
Shane folded the paper and placed it back in his wallet. "I am sorry, you know. I never really thought about you as a person. I just thought it was a pretty sick story."
She just stared at him. Sometimes when he spoke, it sounded like gibberish.
"And… by sick, I mean pretty cool." He tried to explain himself by using other words she didn't understand. Not every helpful.
She stared some more, unsure of what she should say.
"And by pretty cool, I mean interesting. Fasciniating."
"Oh!" It finally made sense.
Shane's rectangular photograph/telegraph/telephone machine started ringing like a bell and he, fiddled with it some more and leaned back against the desk. "I've posted the pics to a message board I've been on a few times. Old timey things I had to look up for a school project once. If anyone knows what it is, it'll be them. And I'm going to try to look up the symbol."
Lizzie sure wasn't going to ask what a message board was. All the new information might make her mind explode."Do you really think this ring has something to do with why I'm here?" She rolled it around her finger. Such a little thing to cause such a big unnatural act.
