“Marsha, you’re not going to get—wait. Anyone else? Who have you gotten killed?”
She turned back to Chris, her lips pressed tight and tears streaming down her cheeks. Swatting them away, she stabbed her cigarette out on the arm of the swing and got up. She disappeared inside the house. A few moments later she reappeared, carrying her wallet. Coming back to the swing, she opened it up and took something out. Then she thrust it toward Chris.
Looking up at her in wonder, Chris took the item she held out and studied it. It was the picture Ron had seen. She looked back up at Marsha. “Your niece?”
She shook her head. Then she quietly said, “My daughter.”
Chris somehow managed not to let her jaw drop open as she looked back down at the picture.
“Her name was Cassidy.”
“She was beautiful,” Chris said as she handed the picture back.
“Yeah.” Marsha smiled a watery smile as she gazed at the picture. “She really was.” She tucked it back in the wallet and returned to the swing. Chris resisted the urge to ask what happened, what she had meant about getting her killed. Marsha stared out at the woods, clearly struggling for control.
“I was sixteen when I had her,” she said after a long silence. She didn’t look at Chris but kept her gaze fixed on the woods. “I was a mess back then. Angry, rebellious…” She shook her head. “The things I put my parents through…” Squeezing her eyes shut, she sighed. “I straightened out after I got pregnant. For a while, anyway.”
Finally, she glanced at Chris. “I really wanted to be a good mom to Cassidy. I tried so hard. And at first, I didn’t even miss my old life, or my old friends. But then one night I was home alone with her.” She let out a sad, bitter laugh. “For the longest time, my parents didn’t trust me to be on my own with her. That was how badly I’d hurt them. But they finally believed I’d changed enough that I could be trusted to babysit my own daughter.”
She started crying again as she spoke and paused to wipe her nose on her sleeve. “They should have known better.”
Chris dreaded hearing the rest of the story, but she knew Marsha needed to tell it. “What happened?” she asked, not to pressure her to talk, but to let her know she was prepared to hear.
“Her father came over. At first, I wouldn’t let him in, but then…” She glanced at Chris. “He had a talent for charming his way into wherever it was he wanted to go, which was how I ended up pregnant in the first place. And I was so tired of trying so hard. I wanted to let go, if only for a little while, and not be anybody’s mom, not have to work so hard to make up for my past. I wanted to be seventeen and make out with a cute boy on my parents’ couch.
“That’s all we were doing. I wasn’t going to risk another baby. But that was enough. I was so distracted that I didn’t even notice how quiet Cassidy had gotten on the baby monitor.”
Chris felt sick. She reached out and put a hand on Marsha’s shoulder. “Oh, sweetie.”
She broke down into real sobs, and for a while, they simply sat there while she cried. When she could talk again, she said, “She was so cold when I found her. Cold and blue. I called nine one one, but it was already too late. There was nothing they could do for her.” She looked at Chris, her face anguished. “She was only a week away from her first birthday.”
“That happens to a lot of babies that age. It’s tragic, but it wasn’t your fault.”
Marsha shook her head. “I should have been listening. If I’d heard her get quiet…” Again, she broke down.
Chris got up and went into the house to find some tissues. She found a box on an end table in the living room and brought them outside. When she returned, Marsha had composed herself a little and accepted a tissue gratefully.
After mopping her face, she looked down at her hands as they twisted the damp tissue. “So that’s what’s happening.”
Confused, Chris’s brow drew tight. “What?”
“My ghost. Or poltergeist, or whatever you call it. It’s Cassidy.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “She blames me, and she wants revenge.”
Chris could only stare at her in disbelief. When she found her capacity for speech, she said, “Marsha, no. You can’t think that.”
“Can’t I? What else would it be? You said yourself that it’s the spirit of an infant.”
“I said that’s one theory. And even if that’s true, if it is an angry baby ghost, it’s not Cassidy.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because of the white lady.”
Marsha looked confused. “But that’s only a legend. What does that have to do with any of this?”
“Didn’t you see her this morning?”
“See who?”
Chris put a hand on her shoulder. “Marsha, why did you walk into the pond this morning?”
She looked away, clearly embarrassed, and shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I remember being in my granny’s kitchen, making some tea. But then suddenly, I was overcome with grief. All I could think about was how I’d let my baby die, and suddenly, I wanted to die.” She shook her head. “But I don’t remember going out to the pond. The next thing I remember, I’m lying on my back soaking wet, looking up at your father, and thinking that he looks so scared.”
“It was the white lady who lured you out there. You couldn’t see or hear her, at least not on a conscious level, but when she cries she makes you feel what she feels, which is grief and despair.”
“About what?”
“I’m not sure, exactly, but she fits a type of spirit, that of a woman who either murdered or accidentally killed her own child and then killed herself. I’m betting she drowned herself in the pond after somehow causing the death of her own baby. And that’s the infant spirit who’s attacking you.”
Frowning, Marsha shook her head. “But I don’t understand. Why would it come after me?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it could sense your own guilt and grief over Cassidy and somehow mistook you for its mother.”
As this sunk in, Marsha looked more relieved and hopeful than you’d expect for someone who was told they were being targeted by a vengeful poltergeist because of a case of mistaken identity. “So it’s not my Cassidy doing this?”
“No.” Chris squeezed her shoulder. “Cassidy’s in a good place. Much better than this.”
Again, the tears began to flow. Through them, Marsha nodded and squeaked out, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still got to figure out how to make this stop.” She handed Marsha another tissue.
She blew her nose. “No, really. You have no idea what it means to me to know it’s not my baby girl doing this. To think that she was stuck here, so angry and in so much pain…” She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes. “I really did want to die, thinking I’d caused that.”
“Marsha, listen to me. You’re not the only mother who lost a baby to SIDS.”
“I know that.”
“Do you blame all those other mothers?”
“No, of course not. But—”
“Do you think they blame themselves?”
She took a moment to think it over. Then she nodded. “Any mother would.”
“Do you think they’re right?”
Her face crumpled up again as she shook her head.
“Neither are you,” Chris said. She rubbed Marsha’s back in circles as new tears flowed. There was something different about them this time. Chris recognized the kind of crying that meant she was overwhelmed by relief, not grief. The kind that meant a weight had been lifted.
When she finished, Marsha looked at her and offered a red, puffy, tear-streaked smile. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me by coming home with me, or letting me stay here. Either way, we need to work together to figure this thing out so you can get back to planning your wedding.”
Her smile faded. “But I called off the wedding.”
“You can call it back on again.”
She shook her head. “Y
our father… I hurt him so much. I wouldn’t even know what to tell him.”
“Tell him the truth.” Marsha practically flinched at the suggestion. “Does he know about Cassidy?” asked Chris.
“He knows I had a teenage pregnancy. But he thinks I got an abortion.” She glanced guiltily at Chris. “I didn’t tell him that. He inferred it and I let him. It seemed easier. When he finds out I’ve been lying to him, he probably won’t want to marry me anyway.”
“I don’t know about that. If there’s one thing today made crystal clear to me, it’s that my dad loves you.” She wanted to assure Marsha that she had no doubt he would be forgiving, but remembering how quick he’d been to cast blame that morning at the hospital, not to mention how he’d treated Ron… but at least he’d come around about putting the blame on Chris after he’d had time to cool down. “I think he deserves the benefit of the doubt. And to know the truth of what’s going on.”
Marsha nodded. “You’re right.”
“Is it okay if I call him?”
She stared back out at the woods a while. Then she nodded. “But you’ll stay, right? You’ll be here when I tell him?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Yes. Please. I’d like that.”
“Okay, then.” Chris pulled out her phone. As she thumbed through her contacts to find her dad, Marsha stood up.
“I guess I should go freshen up.”
“Okay. I’ll be in as soon as I’m done.”
Marsha started for the door, but as she passed in front of Chris, she stopped and put a hand on her cheek. When Chris looked up at her, she smiled. “I know I’m a little young to be a proper step-mother for you, but…” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together until they stilled. “I want you to know that if Cassidy had lived, I hope she’d have been a lot like you.”
Chris didn’t know what to say. Marsha didn’t seem to need a response. She patted Chris’s cheek, then made her way into the house.
Chapter Eighteen
She sat on the porch while her dad and Marsha talked inside the house. Apparently, Drew had left Chris’s place not long after Chris herself had left and had been driving around, more or less aimlessly. He wasn’t far from Marsha’s parents’ place when Chris called him. Unsurprisingly, he’d rushed over, eager to resolve things with Marsha.
Although she’d promised to stay with Marsha while she told him everything, when the moment came her presence had felt intrusive, so she’d stepped outside. She could still hear raised voices, followed by silence, followed by crying, before it started over again with the raised voices. She tried to distract herself from overhearing by texting Derek with a status update.
When things got quiet for a while, she thought maybe she should go check on them. She tried to think of a good excuse to go back inside. Before she could come up with one, her dad came out. Nodding to her, he came over and leaned against the porch rail, looking out at the yard and the woods beyond.
Chris got up and went to lean beside him, but she leaned backwards, the better to face him. “Are you okay?”
He flashed her a smile. “The wedding’s back on.”
“So you’ve forgiven her.”
“What’s there to forgive?” He looked back out at the woods, then glanced at her. “You know about the baby?”
She nodded.
“It was my own fault she never talked about it. I assumed she’d had an abortion. I knew she had this bad girl past, but she never seemed to want to talk about it, and I never pressed. I didn’t think it mattered. It wasn’t who she is now.” He shook his head. “If I’d known, I never would have left her alone in that house.”
“So you don’t blame her for what happened to her baby?”
He looked at her like he was shocked she’d even ask. “Why would I? It’s tragic, but it happens. I mean, your mother was so paranoid about it that you and Ron each slept in our room for your entire first year. But you can’t watch them every minute of every day. Besides, Marsha was only a kid.”
“She was seventeen.”
“What are you saying? You think she’s responsible?”
“No, of course not. But I’m surprised you’re so quick to absolve her because of her age.”
He seemed a little confused by this but shrugged. “Man, if I was held responsible for every stupid lapse in judgment I made when I was seventeen…” He shook his head as if to emphasize that it wouldn’t have been good.
Chris hesitated, unsure if she should keep pressing the point. Her dad had already been through a lot today. Maybe this wasn’t the right time. But as far as she was concerned, it was long past time. “Do you know who else was only a kid?”
He seemed unsure of where she was going. Warily, he asked, “Who?”
“Ron. She was twelve, Dad. She was an actual child. And all she did was play with her toys on the stairs, which is what children do. Mom was the adult. She was the one who had the responsibility to watch her step.” As she spoke, his expression grew drawn. His gaze shifted from her back to the woods, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the porch rail.
“Marsha stopped blaming herself today for her daughter’s death. Now it’s time for you to stop blaming your daughter for Mom’s.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. As he turned his face toward Chris, she braced herself to be yelled at again. But when he opened his eyes he only said, “I don’t blame your sister. I blame myself. How could you think I blame her?”
Chris’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Dad, how can you ask me that? After the way you treated her?”
He winced at the accusation. With a sigh, he straightened up and went over to the swing. “I know how much I failed Ron as a father. But it wasn’t because I held her responsible. For crying out loud.”
“Uh, no. You don’t get to be indignant about this. She lived her whole life believing you thought it was her fault that mom died. Even worse, she agreed with you.”
He cringed visibly at her revelation. “She really thought that?” Chris nodded. He lowered himself into the swing and buried his face in his hands.
In spite of everything, Chris felt bad. She knew this was a bad time, and she’d pushed him too far. She sat down next to him on the swing. “Look, Dad…”
He held up a hand to stop her. Leaning back, he shook his head. “It hurt too much to look at her. Not because I blamed her for what happened. I mean, I guess part of me did, at first, but I knew better and I got past it.”
He paused to rub his face, and Chris realized how weary he looked. Her father was a handsome man, youthful for his age, but at the moment, he was showing every one of his fifty-five years and then some, as if this day had aged him.
“But she was so much like your mother. And it got worse as she grew up. It wasn’t simply her looks, but everything about her. Her voice, her personality… she had so much of her mother in her. And I missed your mom so much. I suppose it should have been a comfort, having Ron around, but it only reminded me that your mom was gone forever.”
He looked at Chris, his face earnest. “I loved your sister. I know it’s not an excuse, but I didn’t know how to deal with all of that. And now I’ll never get to make it up to her.”
Chris took her father’s hand and held it. For a moment, they sat in silence while she considered her next step. Hoping the events of the day had opened his mind enough, she said, “Maybe you should go and tell her that.”
He didn’t say anything. For a while they sat there, watching the shadows stretch as the sun dipped behind the trees. The swing swayed forward and back. She wasn’t sure which one of them had started moving it.
Finally, he squeezed her hand. “I think you’re right.”
Chapter Nineteen
Ron sat in her sister’s office, the laptop open before her with a list of search results pulled up on the screen. The reason was ostensibly to make herself useful by researching possibilities for dealing with Marsha’s harasser. But really, she’d wanted to distract herself from th
e million or so things on her mind.
It wasn’t working.
Her gaze kept drifting to the window, her thoughts traveling to what had happened in the attic earlier. What she’d managed to do. She still wasn’t sure how she’d done it. When prompted to try, she’d had such a clear picture in her mind already of what she’d look like on her wedding day.
Would have looked like.
How the picture in her mind had externally manifested, she couldn’t be sure. She wondered if she could do it again. But what would be the point?
The exercise seemed as futile as Joe’s suggestion that they could have their own wedding. Neither would change the facts.
And the facts were that they were both dead and their lives were over. Ron had been denying those facts, but it was high time she accepted them for what they were.
With that settled, she tried to turn her attention back to the search results. But instead of focusing on which article to click, she found herself wondering how Marsha was doing, and whether Chris was making any progress with her. And she wondered about her dad, how frightened he’d been when he’d left. He hadn’t exactly run screaming from the house, but for him, his hasty exit came close.
Joe appeared on the other side of the French doors that led into the office. They were closed, but that didn’t keep him from walking through them. Ron smiled as Joe ambled into the room. They could both simply transport themselves wherever they wanted with a thought, but Joe often preferred to move around the old-fashioned way.
“There you are,” he said.
“Here I am.”
“Whatcha up to?”
“Research.”
He came around to her side of the desk and peered at the screen. “Find anything useful?”
“Not so far.”
“Not surprised.”
She looked up at him. “Why not?”
“’Cause the look on your face says you’ve been in here doing more broodin’ than readin’.” He adopted a posture of leaning casually on the desk and looked down at her. “Somethin’ on your mind?”
“Too many things.”
Bound Spirits Page 14
