by Kelley York
Adelia slowly uncurls her hands. “Mr. Fletcher?”
Still bound and limited in his movements, Abraham rolls part way onto his side to look up at her. “Lady Adelia,” he says hoarsely. “What… Where am I?”
“You’re in my cellar. Are you all right?”
He stares at her distantly, attempting to sit up and finding his range is rather limited, which, in turn, seems to make him panic. A justifiable reaction, I think. “I… I was… What am I doing in…”
“He’s likely in need of water and food,” Virgil says. “Lord knows when the last time he ate or drank was. I also need to look at that wound.”
I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands against them, trying to make my head clear. “I think we could all stand to eat and get some nourishment. Let’s see about getting him untied and upstairs.”
We set to getting Abraham’s bindings off him. As he tries to get to his feet, his legs shake beneath him and he has to lean into Adelia and me for support just to get across the room and up the stairs.
Per our instructions, the kitchens are still free of people. All the better. Wakefield himself is likely somewhere nearby, fretting over his daughter. I’ll send someone to give him news that she’s well in short order. One thing at a time.
Virgil pushes aside a pile of potatoes in the middle of being chopped earlier this morning so that Abraham can have a seat on the table. Before long, Virgil’s cleaned, stitched, and bandaged the puncture wound from the fireplace poker. We’ve got a cup of water placed in Abraham’s hands, and Adelia helps him take a few careful sips. Soon, he’s swallowing it down in eager, thirsty gulps.
I try to be patient, but the questions are itching to burst free. Chances are he remembers little about his time possessed, but if he has anything to offer, anything at all, that might lead me to James… “Mr. Fletcher, do you recall what’s happened to you over the last several months? Or even the last few weeks?”
Abraham stares down into his empty glass as though he’s not sure how it got to be that way. “I was… Madeline and I—we were wrong, you know. He warned us about it.”
Virgil frowns. “Who warned you about what?”
“Sinning. That’s what we were doing.” He looks to Adelia. “A man and woman should only lie together if they’re married. It’s only proper.”
He’s making little sense, though given the context— “Do you mean Reverend Thomas?”
“What’s he got to do with this?” Adelia asks.
“He warned us,” Abraham repeats. “He said not to leave, but we did. We tried. We were punished. That’s what The Order does.”
The Order. I glance at the others to see if that name means something to either of them, but their stares are just as blank as mine. “Mr. Fletcher, you’ll need to slow down a bit and start from the beginning.”
“He’s got to fix it all. Right the wrongs, for God.” Abraham doesn’t seem to hear me in the slightest, his shaky hands turning the cup round and round as he stares down into it. “No. No. No. It’s all right. You don’t understand, but you will. He’ll come for those who need to be punished.”
Adelia rests a hand against his arm. “Abraham, deep breaths. You’re rambling. Are you saying Reverend Thomas is responsible for this? For what’s happened to you?”
A chill settles in my veins at those words. That can’t be right, can it? Adelia has made it clear she cares little for the man, but perhaps her bias is showing. Perhaps…
Perhaps the holy water wasn’t working because it wasn’t holy water at all.
Abraham chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not seeing. It’s more than that. Bigger.”
Something in the sound of his voice has taken on a colder edge and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I pluck the cup from his grasp. He stills.
I ask, “What’s he done with James?”
Slowly, Abraham’s eyes roll up, the colour vanishing from his irises. A smile drags the corners of his mouth into a wicked smile.
“He’s a sinner, too, dear William.”
Before I can respond, Abraham grabs the knife from the half-cut pile of potatoes, and swings.
I grab Adelia and wrench us back, narrowly out of range, but his focus was on Virgil, not us. Virgil doesn’t dodge quickly enough. The blade slices through his shirt and skin, the upward stroke catching his shoulder, glancing off his clavicle, and cutting a deep, thin line up his jaw and cheek.
Virgil recoils in pain while Abraham leaps from the table and knocks past him. He makes a mad dash for the door in the same breath Adelia is yanking free of my grasp to rush to Virgil’s side. I hurry to do the same, noting the blood coating his hands as he presses them to his face.
“Virgil—”
“Go,” he hisses, jerking his head to the door. “We can’t lose him again!”
I hesitate only a second, looking to Adelia and back again, before rushing out the door.
It’s evening. I still have daylight, and it’s been snowing enough that I can make out the hurried prints of Abraham’s departure heading in a straight line away from Evenbury.
If I lose him this time, if he returns to Reverend Thomas, if he’s able to tell him what we now know, then James—
I shove the thought from my head, charging onward. Just past the manor and the gardens is swamped by trees for only a short distance. It opens soon enough into wide swaths of hillside, the occasional farm and manor dotting roads in the distance, trees scattered haphazardly across the landscape in small clusters.
And in the open land, I can see Abraham, a blurry figure running through the snow up ahead.
I have no hopes of catching him, but if I can follow him to wherever he’s going, all the better. If Reverend Thomas is involved, then it’s just as likely he’s headed for the church.
I run until I’m certain my lungs are going to burst. My legs are going to give out, and I am struggling to maintain my footing. The rolling landscape slopes up sharply before me and I push onward, using my hands to clamber up and over the ridge to where the ground levels again.
I don’t know how long I’ve run, but I know I’ll not be able to run much farther.
Though it looks like I won’t have to; up ahead is Abraham, poised in the snow, his corpse-like gaze levelled right on me.
Except he isn’t alone.
Beside him is a girl. Sturdy, dark-haired, dressed in the clothes of a worker. I remember what Nathaniel told me: the possessed boy, Mitchell Keiser, had a sister who also went missing.
“You must be Sarah Keiser,” I say, more to myself than to her because I doubt she can hear a word I say.
I have only a single phial of holy water—what I sincerely hope is real holy water, but I’ve lost count—left on my person, and I plan to save that for James. I’m worn down, physically at my limit…and I am most definitely outnumbered. Lovely.
They sprint toward me. Exhausted or not, I have no choice but to run.
I’ll not lead them back to the estate. I pick the route that appears to be the flattest—not that I’m the best at telling as much without my glasses. The ground is wet and slick. Abraham and Sarah may be tireless, but they’re subject to the same difficulties with gravity that I am, and I try to utilise that.
Except, as we run through a cluster of trees and come out the other side, the texture of the ground changes. Not snow. Not grass.
Ice.
A lake, frozen over. What’s more, I can feel a stitch beginning to form in my side, along with a sharp shooting pain up my leg.
One misstep, one limp, and Sarah slams into me from behind. We pitch forward. I hit the ice on my shoulder and we go sprawling away from one another. The ice groans and crackles beneath the assault. I look down, brushing aside a thin layer of snow; the ice is thin enough I can see the water beneath, and my breath catches.
Sarah begi
ns to clamber to her feet with a delighted, shiver-inducing laugh, and Abraham barrels out from the trees and onto the lake right along with us.
I can hear it—the cracking. Splintering.
Mustering my waning energy, I heave myself to my feet, trying to gain traction, but unsure where the lake ends and solid ground begins. I can’t see a bloody thing. I can’t stop to try to figure it out.
Abraham goes in first.
The ice around his feet gives beneath him, and in the second it takes me to glance back twice, he’s there and then gone, into the freezing dark water. From that gaping hole, the ice splits wide, an open maw to swallow us whole.
Only by some heavenly mercy do I manage to breathe in before I’m plunged into darkness.
The world goes blindingly, breathtakingly silent and cold. Every muscle in my body locks up in protest, and it’s all dark. So dark.
Fingers latch around my ankle, and then my shirt, and I cannot see properly in the murky, pitch-black water, save for the brief glance of a wicked face trying to drag me down, down, down.
It’s too small to be Abraham. Sarah, then. I grab a handful of floating tendrils of hair and pull as hard as I can, until I can get a leg up between us to plant against her torso and kick. It’s enough. Her grip isn’t strong enough. She releases, and she vanishes into the depths.
I try to relax, to allow my body to find its way back to the surface. My fingertips touch solid, unbroken ice above my head, and panic seizes hold. Have I really strayed that far from the opening? I haven’t the air nor the strength to search.
Relax, darling. Steady on.
James still needs me. I cannot give up yet.
I press my palms to the ice. There’s light, just that way. I drag myself toward it, and a moment later—
I break the surface of the water, gasping in air until it bloody hurts, and clutch at the ragged edges of ice. I can scarcely feel my legs. I need to get out. Except when I try to pull myself up, the ice crumbles and gives way beneath me, dropping me right back down.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“William!”
Virgil’s voice. I scan around until I spot him and Adelia, almost straight ahead, dismounting from a horse. They begin to rush for me but Adelia grabs his arm, halting, pointing—I think—to the lake. I cannot hear a word they’re saying.
I can see in the next moment that Adelia puts her back to Virgil and, at first, I haven’t a clue what they’re doing. They’re pulling off her outermost skirts, bodice, corset…stripped down to a scandalous few petticoats, chemise, boots, and scant little else.
“Be still, William, I’m coming!” Adelia calls, as though I can do anything else but cling for dear life and try to keep my legs moving, try not to relinquish my hold. I cannot feel my fingertips any longer where they’re digging desperately into the ice.
Adelia begins to walk out onto the lake, leaving Virgil behind holding an array of garments and staring helplessly after her. She moves with caution, watching her steps. I choke on the sound of a helpless near-sob, struggling to focus on my breathing, to not panic.
As she draws nearer, Adelia sinks down to her knees and then to her stomach, scooting the last few inches to the edge of the ice and extending her arms out toward me. I can see her shivering already, cheeks and lips flushed, yet her voice remains even-keeled and reassuring.
“Take my hands. I want you to listen to me carefully. Relax. Kick your legs to try to put your body horizontal in the water, can you do that?”
I’m certain if I move, I will be sucked right back down and will not come up again. I close my eyes a moment, forcing myself, one hand at a time, to reach for her. Adelia closes her fingers around my wrists, the left and then the right, and her skin is a blossom of warmth against my skin.
“I can’t feel my legs,” I manage through a jaw clenched tight to keep my teeth from chattering.
“I need you to try, William. Focus on me. You can do it.”
I swallow hard and nod. I will my legs to kick, uncertain at first if I’m even getting anywhere with my attempt. But after a moment, I’m able to dig my elbows onto the shelving of ice. Slowly but surely, I’m dragging myself—with Adelia’s assistance—out of the water. She inches back as I emerge, never faltering on her grip. Only when we’ve cleared the gap in the ice by a few feet does she sit back. “Do you think you can stand?”
I’m not honestly sure, but I have to try. I give a tight dip of my head, releasing one of her hands to plant it against the ice and slowly leverage myself up. My legs are weak beneath me, devoid of feeling, but I’m standing, and if it gets me off the lake that much faster, all the better. Adelia puts an arm about my middle, helping me along.
Soon, the creaking ice gives to solid ground, and a rush of breath escapes me. Virgil immediately steps forward, having lain the garments over the horse’s saddle, to gently take my elbow and help guide my shivering form.
“We need to get somewhere warm,” Adelia says.
“The church,” I manage. “We need to find Reverend Thomas.”
“You need to get out of those clothes and into something warm before anything else,” Virgil says.
“There’s no time. If he finds out we know, if he flees before we have a chance to confront him, we lose all hope of finding James.”
“Where’s my shawl?” Adelia picks her way over to the horse to rummage through the garments.
“Dare I ask why you needed to remove most of your clothing?” I say.
“Had the ice broken and I’d fallen in, I would not have wanted to contend with all those garments, thank you very much. Now, I believe you were right; we should be going.” Rather than using it to regain some semblance of modesty for herself, Adelia drapes the shawl around me. It’s a meagre comfort given my own dripping clothes, but I clutch it around myself tightly with a murmured thanks.
Virgil exhales heavily, but he’s outnumbered, so he doesn’t argue. Instead he tries to help Adelia make sense of her clothing to get dressed again. He insists Adelia and I take the horse, helping me up into the saddle where I huddle and shiver and attempt not to get Adelia soaked by leaning into her for warmth.
“I don’t suppose either of you know which direction that is from here.”
Virgil points off to the distance. “That way, isn’t it? We saw the bell tower through the trees.”
I puff out a breath and gesture for him to lead the way. He’ll have to keep pace alongside us, one hand on the horse’s neck, which means we’re stuck moving slower than I would like. It’s still faster than I’d be able to move on foot right now, so that’s something.
To Adelia I say, quietly, “Thank you.”
She ducks her head. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“I’m glad you have impeccable timing.” My gaze flits to Virgil. From this angle, I can’t make out the injured side of his face. “Is he all right?”
Her voice lowers. “I made quick work of bandaging what I could in what little time we had. There will be scarring, I think.”
I could almost laugh and congratulate Virgil on joining the club. He’s officially a ghost hunter now, I suppose. Scars to match mine and James’. Instead, I just feel angry and saddened; never had it been my intention to drag him and Adelia into this, and yet I’m aware that I could not be doing this alone, either.
We ride in silence. By the time the church comes into view, we’re moving by the orange glow of sunset, the wind has picked up, and while the sky is gloomy and overcast, there is no snow yet. I hope that luck holds a bit longer.
Some semblance of feeling has worked its way back into my legs so that I can slide from the saddle unassisted, but I still cannot shake the chills wracking my body. We tie the horse to a nearby post, proceeding with caution to the church doors. Virgil pushes them open a few inches, just enough to peer inside, and then more so we can enter.
&n
bsp; The chapel appears empty, void of movement save for the flickering of candles and lamps along the walls. We close the doors behind us. I strain to hear, to sense, to feel anything off, anything lurking about the shadows, and feel nothing.
“I think we’re alone.”
For now, at least.
Down the centre aisle, we scan between the pews for anyone—anything—that might be lurking. At the far end, to either side of the altar, are doors leading elsewhere. I recall Reverend Thomas stepping into one of those rooms for the so-called holy water upon my last visit here, so that’s the direction I go.
Through the door sits the vestry, one wall lined with books, another with a desk stacked with papers and more books, and a fire filling the four walls with warmth. I let out an involuntary noise of relief and immediately drop before the hearth and hold out my hands as close to the flames as I dare.
Adelia sinks to my side to do the same. Virgil disappears back out the door, returning a few moments later with a wool blanket to drop about our shoulders. “The other room is clear, as well. We appear to have the place to ourselves for the time being.”
I swallow back the fear of what that might mean, if Thomas has already left, if he took James with him...or worse. “I don’t suppose you found spare clothes with this blanket.”
“Afraid not, but you really do need to get out of those wet things.”
“I’m not strolling naked around a church, Virgil. Even I have some respect for sacred places.” I glance around the room. “Should we go through his things to see if there’s anything of interest? Something about ‘The Order’ Abraham spoke of?”
Adelia hunkers down, unmoving. “He’s foolish enough that I wouldn’t put it past him to leave something of importance lying around.”
I glance askance at her. “You’ve certainly got opinions about him. What is it about him you dislike? Prior to all of this, I mean.”
She studies the fire. “Have you ever read the Bible, William?”
