Writing her music had taken her mind off his words. She tried to tell herself he couldn’t be correct. She could not be lying in a hospital bed, kept breathing via a ventilator. At least she tried telling herself it wasn’t possible. But as she thought about it, there were just too many empty holes where memories should be. She would never have left Michigan without hugging her family goodbye. But she couldn’t seem to remember the action. Just as she couldn’t remember actually stepping into the airport or packing her bags.
Dead…
Once the ventilator was shut off, she’d cease to be. And according to Liam, her parents were preparing to flip the switch, to take her off life support. Rip her from the life she was only just beginning to love—no matter that it was in 1847. He didn’t say he saw them do it, though. Perhaps they changed their minds and she remained in some sort of limbo where she wasn’t quite dead. Not quite alive, either.
Oh, God, it was too hard to fathom. She certainly didn’t feel dead. In fact, since she’d somehow landed Charleston, in Camden Place with Liam Camden, she’d felt more alive than ever. She felt like playing and creating music. She felt like dressing up and meeting people and eating delicious food. She considered venturing out and exploring the city with Liam. Perhaps she could convince him to invest in her and she could still open her Sip & Spoon shop. Millie could make the pies.
Clare placed her pencil on the piano, her fingers stiff from gripping it for so many hours. If she was dead or close to it, how was it she could still feel pain in her joints or fear gripping her body?
But Liam was right. They always took time for granted.
If, somehow, she was returned to her family, she would never again let a day go by without hugging the people she loved and telling them she loved them. And, for however long she was allowed to stay with Liam, she would do the same for him.
With the morning light, Clare heard Gerard and Millie begin their morning routine in the kitchen. It wasn’t long before the enticing aroma of bacon and pancakes filled the house. Clare breathed it in as she looked over the notes she’d written. Soon, she’d play the entire piece. For now, she remained quiet as Liam slept across the room.
She felt Gerard’s presence more than she saw him since she again sat facing the piano with her back to the door. “Yes, Gerard?” she said quietly.
“I beg your pardon, miss. I didn’t know you and Master Liam were in here. I have the morning edition of the Charleston Courier.”
She turned to him. “I’ll take it.”
He stepped into the room and handed her the typeset printed single page edition of the weekly news. “Breakfast will be ready shortly, miss.”
“Thank you.”
He left without a sound as she stared at the newspaper. With its uneven black ink, light to heavy print, it wasn’t easy to read, at first. The page blurred and seemed to shimmer in her grasp. Clare shivered with a sudden chill. Then the newspaper came into focus. The headline “Midnight Killer Strikes Again” was in bold letters across the top. The next several paragraphs went on to describe how Emily Foster, the latest victim, had met her death at the hands of the infamous Midnight Killer and how she’d been found stabbed, her body discovered in the shadows of Death Alley.
Clare shivered reading the words.
Then she went on to read the list of the Midnight Killer’s previous victims.
JACOB AND MARY CARRINGTON
SAM HAMILTON
MADELYN GREENSPAN
JAMES HADFIELD
HENRY WILLIAMS
BENFORD GALLAGHER
PENELOPE MURPHY
Wait, that can’t be.
Clare read the list again. These were people who had been at Liam’s dinner party.
Yes, she remembered their names, remembered all of them saying their names. Ben and Penelope. Henry. She remembered Liam addressing the Carringtons, both of whom were drunk. James had choked on his wine when Clare blew out the candle. The only ones not on the list were Evelyn and her brother, Oliver, and Liam, of course.
She glanced up from the paper and took him in. He was still sleeping on the sofa.
Perhaps this was just a coincidence, that Liam’s friends had similar names as the victims.
After everything Clare experienced, Liam was right. All of this happened for a reason, and she didn’t believe in coincidence. What if Liam was meant to be the Midnight Killer’s next victim, and she’d been brought here to save him?
She looked down at the newspaper. Another cold chill passed through her. It didn’t matter that to her, everyone here was dead. After all, everyone in this place was a ghost. They’d all lived and died over a century before she was even born. It wasn’t as if she could walk down the street of 1847 Charleston and run into an old college girlfriend. She had met these people. She knew them. The fact they were all victims touched her heart like the cold metal of an ice pick.
And yes, when she’d first discovered the dinner party in progress, there had been no doubt the guests at the table were ghosts.
But now that she’d touched them, had lived among them for a few days, heard their voices, she didn’t see them as ghosts. They weren’t, by any means, ghostly or shadowed or misty or anything that could be construed as a dead. Sleeping in Liam’s arms had convinced her he could not be a ghost. She’d heard his heart beating. Ghosts don’t need to eat. Ghosts didn’t need medical attention.
She looked again at the list of victims. And there was something about the latest victim, something she should know or remember.
Emily Foster. Where had she heard that name before?
Then she remembered. The flight attendant on the plane. Her name tag had read Emily Foster.
Heart pounding, Clare gripped the paper tighter in her hands and breathed past another grip of nausea.
When she looked up again, she found Liam awake and watching her.
Chapter Sixteen
“You’ve been up all night, haven’t you?”
She blinked, feeling as if things came into sharper focus. Her throat was dry and it hurt when she forced out, “Yes.”
Liam shifted on the sofa and sat up, rubbing his neck. “Does your back feel like mine?” Before she could reply, he went on. “While staying in here with you all night was wonderful, next time I believe I will wait for you in my bed. This divan is not the best for my neck.”
He studied her. “Dear Clare, even after staying up all night, you look lovely, bright eyed and rosy cheeked. Is that what music does for you?”
She met his gaze, and felt the harshness, the fear that came with reading the newspaper. It gnawed at her like an animal with big sharp teeth. While being near him, hearing his voice made everything feel right, it wasn’t quite enough to make all her fear slide away. She couldn’t find her voice to answer his question.
“What are you holding?”
“This week’s edition of the newspaper.” She gripped it tightly, but her hands had gone cold. And despite how Liam made everything feel better, her heart still raced in her chest and she had to struggle to breathe in a deep breath. She still couldn’t believe any of it.
“Oh? And what has you so perplexed, my lovely?”
“The victims of the Midnight Killer.”
“Good Lord, why would you want to bring him up? He’s a killer. He’s killed several people. The City Guard doesn’t have a clue as to his identity. I would much rather discuss your music or the heavenly breakfast I smell cooking or the fact that my defense for the Brenners is looking good. After we eat, I plan to go before the judge and get a court date. My case should be finalized by next week.”
“When were they arrested and charged?” She still gripped the newspaper as if her fingers couldn’t release it.
“Last week.”
“Wow, the wheels of justice sure do roll fast here.”
He grinned at her. She found herself warming under it. It would be so easy to let go of any problem as long as she could be close to him. Except for the newspaper in her hands, every
thing was surreal. But the newspaper… It was so icy, it burned her fingers. Yet, she couldn’t seem to let it go.
“Well, it’s not a hard case. Besides, why drag it out longer than necessary?”
“Why, indeed.”
“How long would it take where you come from?” Liam asked.
“Months, maybe years.” She was light headed. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation, given the list of names on the paper in her hands.
“Good Lord, who has time to waste like that?”
She yawned loudly, and he laughed. “I suppose you’re exhausted after staying up all night writing your music.”
“I am, but at the same time I’m not. My music has always filled me with energy.” At the same time, she felt as if she was talking through a fog.
“Eat an omlet with me, and we can discuss important matters such as whether or not Ben is going to face his fear and ask Penelope for exclusivity.”
“I suppose that isn’t really possible, now is it, considering both of them are dead, victims of the Midnight Killer, according to today’s newspaper.” Just as she was surprised at the way being close to Liam made the world feel right, she was equally astonished she could feel so calm as she said the words.
He stepped closer and took the newspaper from her hand. “Of course it’s possible. Neither of them is dead. We just saw Ben yesterday.”
He glanced at the newspaper. “It only talks about Emily Foster being the latest victim. It doesn’t list any of the other victims.”
“What?” She snatched the paper back so quicky she was surprised it didn’t rip. Just as quickly, she scanned the story of Emily Foster, the latest victim being discovered just inside Death Alley. Her breath came out in a disbelieving whoosh. Impossible.
But then again, what about any of this has been possible?
Liam reached out and easily slipped the paper from her grasp. “I said we aren’t going to discuss such a horrid subject before we eat, and not when you’re suffering from fatigue. Have some of Millie’s delicious breakfast, and get some much-needed rest, while I get my work done. Then we will have a nice supper and talk things out.”
So what was that? Another vision? The need to learn more about the Midnight Killer still gnawed at her, but then he reached out and took her hand. His touch grounded her. It calmed her and yet started her heart pounding at the same time. “None of this makes any sense. Ben and Penelope were listed in the paper as victims. I saw their names. Almost everyone at your dinner party…”
“You’ve seen and talked to my friends. We both know they’re fine.”
“Fine as frog hair,” she put in. “You know as well as I do there is nothing fine about any of this situation.”
He set the newspaper on the small table before the sofa as he laughed heartily. “Fine as frog hair! I do so love your vocabulary. I know there is no situation. My friends are fine. You thought you read something that wasn’t there simply because you’ve been up all night reading music. You’re tired. Your eyes are tired.”
For the first time since picking up the paper and reading it, she felt as if she could take a deep breath. She was able to relax her fingers, and she clenched them several times to get the blood flowing in them.
He gave her hand a squeeze before he led her to the dining room where breakfast waited. He pulled out her chair and planted a kiss on her cheek before he sat in his own chair. “Hungry, dear Clare?”
She felt as she had the night of his dinner party. As if she was there but invisible. He saw her. He touched her. His kiss left her cheek tingling. And yet, she felt as if he’d somehow placed them both in a bubble where nothing in the outside world mattered. Even the idea of a killer at large didn’t seem that important.
“Yes, and stiff from sitting all night on the piano bench.”
“Well, get some of Millie’s great biscuits in your belly. You’ll rest better.”
She took a bite and found she was, indeed, ravenous.
When he reached out and grasped her hand again, she discovered he was everything that was important.
Chapter Seventeen
Clare woke to a cold, dark room. Damn, she must have slept all day.
She looked at the hearth and muttered, “I wonder why Gerard hasn’t stoked the fire. Liam must have told him to not disturb me. And maybe he doesn’t think it’s proper for him to come in here when I’m here and Liam isn’t.”
She tossed the covers aside and ignored the stiffness that filled her from head to toe. “I must have slept for hours in the same position. I think I need an oil can for my joints.”
“Great… Now I’m talking to myself.” Rolling to her side, she was about to push herself up to sit on the side of bed when she lingered on Liam’s pillow and breathed in deeply. His leather, masculine, outdoors scent filled her. He must have gotten caught up in work. She couldn’t believe he’d let her sleep all day. After another deep breath, she sat up. She’d slept in nothing but her underwear again and she shivered in the chilled room.
The gown she’d worn to breakfast was not hanging over the chair where she’d left it when Liam helped her out of it and tucked her into bed. Liam must have taken it somewhere, perhaps downstairs to Millie or Gerard to ‘freshen’ it.
Her backpack was next to the bed. She reached into it and hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans and another blue sweatshirt, and followed it up with a pair of clean socks and her boots. Then she stood and stretched more, doing her best to work the kinks of stiffness out of her muscles. At least it had been another great sleep, free of nightmares.
That idea brought a smile to her lips. She left the bedroom and raced down the stairs, only to stop at the bottom so suddenly, she almost stumbled.
It was the silence that stopped her. The silent darkness as night settled over Camden Place.
“Gerard! Millie!”
Only silence replied.
“No.”
Her single word was filled with anguish and cold terror clawed at her soul. Not now. Not when she’d finally found where she felt she belonged—where she wanted to be—with Liam. It didn’t matter that he was in 1847 Charleston. She wanted him, she wanted her life with him. She wanted the gowns Miss Weatherby had measured her for. She wanted to sit beside Liam at the dinner table during the next party. She wanted a life. With him.
Her previous life had been snatched away and she’d been shown a new one, one that she wanted, desperately.
She ran to the kitchen and stopped short again.
The kitchen was as it was in 1847, filled with shelves holding Millie’s utensils and pots and dishes, but it was empty of Millie or Gerard.
She grasped the back door knob and almost pulled the door from its old hinges.
The early evening was foggy. Mist snaked its way about the back yard and seemed to swirl around Gerard and Millie’s quarters.
Yet, nothing else moved. There were no ship bells echoing in the distance, no carriages, no horses, no people, no critters, no chirping insects—nothing.
It was as if she was still caught in 1847, but now she was trapped in a vacuum. Alone.
Across the yard in the alley where she’d seen Liam’s neighbor on horseback that first night she saw the man wearing the dark suit, the man who was always watching her. What was he? Death? Please no, not now that she’d found Liam.
“No.”
Her single whisper was loud in the utter silence.
She slammed the door, leaned against it and stared into the dark kitchen. How can this place be so empty? Hell, she still smelled Millie’s apple pie.
What happened? Had her parent’s pulled the plug? Was she now dead, and this was where the dead go—some empty, echoing, eerie place made up of darkness and fog? Alone?
She sucked in a breath, the air burned her throat, pushing past the lump of fear and sorrow lodged there. She realized that being alone was the most terrifying. Even more terrifying than the Midnight Killer, more terrifying than her memory and her nightmares of what
Doug Hall had done to her, more terrifying than leaving her parents and her brothers. Even more terrifying than losing her music. More terrifying than losing Liam.
“No, please.”
Coldness filled her, her legs were suddenly weak, her gut heavy, and her chest tight. She couldn’t be dead, obviously she wouldn’t need to breathe if she were dead. Closing her eyes against the tears she felt, she slid down the door until her bottom hit the floor.
“No, I’m not dead. This is not death. I refuse to believe this empty place is death!”
Yet, when she opened her eyes again, the room was unchanged.
She allowed herself a few moments of self-pity then she forced herself to her feet. She’d never backed down from a hard piece of music. No, she’d worked it measure by measure until she learned. She’d never given up when Doug and Jackson held her down. No, she’d kept fighting, biting and scratching and pushing and kicking. She had never given up on her career. She kept playing and learning and searching every opportunity.
Until it all had been snatched away the night of Doug and Jackson’s attack.
That was her only regret. She shouldn’t have allowed the actions of another person rob her of her joy for music.
Never again. Never again would she stop fighting for her own joy, for what she wanted.
She wanted her life back. She wanted Liam.
With a strong sense of determination, she lifted her chin. She would not be defeated now. She had this house. She had Liam’s piano. She could—and would—play and write and create. She’d be the light in this dark place.
She raced back up the stairs and found her purse still lying beside the bed where she’d dropped it that first night she arrived. Had that only been a few nights ago? It felt like months… A lifetime…
She took out the lighter she’d stashed there. She started in the kitchen, turning up the lamps, and lighting the kindling gathered and arranged in the stove. Within moments heat poured into the room.
Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three Page 15
