“But it was an accident,” I tried to protest, “It wasn’t your fault.” Even as I said the words, I knew they wouldn’t be enough to appease his regret and guilt he had carried for so many decades.
“I killed those men, Alice,” said Henry, “and now they want retribution and regrettably, they have discovered a way to get it.”
“What can they do?”
“They demand your life as atonement for my failure. O’Reilly ordered me to kill you and give you to the bay. Now that I have disobeyed, he will seek vengeance for himself—on you—and this town.”
I turned to Henry and gazed into his fearful blue eyes. “I’m not afraid.” What?! I heard myself say it, but I was lying for certain. Inside I was terrified, and a tight knot formed in my stomach, one that refused to relent.
“Darling Alice, I love you for that, but the only way we can be together is—to go away.”
“Go away?” I said, my voice touched with a tinge of excitement. “You mean…leave Monterey?”
Henry nodded. “O’Reilly will never rest so long as you are alive. Our only chance is to leave town.”
“But I can’t. What about Dad and Sophie?”
“They will manage. I fear for your life if you stay.”
“But what about you, Henry? I thought you couldn’t leave this place.”
“It is worth risking a try.”
I turned my head away and gazed out over the sea. I loved Henry, but wasn’t sure I could leave Dad and Sophie behind. There must be another way, I thought, desperately hoping one actually existed.
“We can fight O’Reilly and his men!” I announced confidently. “We can get help.”
A couple of faces floated through my mind, and I knew they would do their best to help—whatever that ended up to be. The more I thought about it, the calmer I felt, and I shared this with Henry.
“Very well,” he said, hope returning to his eyes. “We will give it a try.” He then pulled me in for a reassuring and passionate kiss, melting some of my fear away.
“I love you,” I said, words I never said to anyone but my family before now. I waited for him to parrot the words back to me, the words I wanted to hear. I desperately wanted him to love me, too.
Instead, he remained quiet, and turned and to looked out toward the horizon. For a moment, I detected a pained expression and a hint of melancholy—and fear. Whatever happened next, and whether he could say the words or not, I knew I would love him forever.
Chapter Nineteen: The Untouchables
Later that afternoon, Christian and Emily were waiting for us at Magnolia Bakery. I had called each of them, my voice so desperate and urgent that they had agreed to come at once. Since arriving in Monterey all those weeks ago, I hadn’t had a chance to make many friends, but I trusted the two of them and valued their opinion.
They were sitting in a far corner of the yard when we walked in. Emily had told me that she had gone out with Christian once or twice since homecoming. I had encouraged it, partly to shake off Christian’s infatuation with me, but also because I thought they might make a good couple. Besides, Emily deserved someone like Christian, someone kind and considerate with a good head on his shoulders. I wasn’t sure I could appreciate a guy like that. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, I sometimes thought. Maybe I’m only attracted to guys who come with pain and danger.
When Emily saw me, she immediately stood up and ran over to give me a hug. “Are you okay?” she asked, looking at me with her questioning green eyes.
I nodded and glanced across at Christian.
“Hey, Alice,” he said. “We’re real worried about you. Everything all right? You sounded weird on the phone.” He greeted me with warmth, but when he noticed Henry standing behind me, his tone hardened, and the smile melted away. “What’s he doing here?”
“Henry and I need your help,” I said, getting right to the point. “Something bad has happened.”
Christian looked from me to Henry, then back at me again. “Has he got anything to do with the trouble you’re in?” Christian asked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he does.”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Henry said and started to walk out.
“No! Stop!” I said, tugging Henry’s jacket sleeve. I turned to Christian and Emily. “Look, what I’m about to tell you will require your patience and understanding—also your forgiveness.”
Christian and Emily glanced at each other, then at me.
“Sure. Go ahead and tell us, Alice,” said Emily.
“Okay, but we’d better sit down.”
The four of us sat down uneasily at the table. I took a deep breath and began to tell them the whole sordid tale. I related the main points, skipping most of the details, but ended with the fact that O’Reilly and his eleven men were planning to attack Pacific Grove.
All the while, they listened in silence, like little kids hearing a ghost story around a campfire. Their faces seemed to grow whiter with each word. Afterward, I waited, searching their eyes for any signs of resentment, anger, disbelief, or disapproval, but I found none.
Then Christian cleared his throat. “How many of them did you say are coming?”
“Twelve.”
“Like twelve jurors, huh?” Christian said snidely, turning to Henry. “Kind of fitting, isn’t it?”
Henry remained silent, so I spoke up in his defense, “We didn’t come here for a lecture, Christian. Henry has paid the price for what he did, and he has been a huge help to me and looked after me all this time.”
“Yes, it’s quite gentlemanly of him not to throw you in the bay!” Christian snapped. “But his actions have put us all in danger, especially you, Alice,” Christian pointed out.
“I’ve had enough of his sermons. I told you it was a mistake to come here,” Henry said sternly, standing up to leave.
“No! Wait!” I shouted pulling him back down. “Henry is very apologetic for what has happened. Don’t you think he’s been punished enough? We all make mistakes in life, Christian, even you. What does the Bible says about throwing the first stone? You, of all people, should know better than that.”
Christian was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. “Yes, I suppose I have made mistakes.”
“So you’ll help us?” I pleaded.
Christian and Emily looked at each other and then nodded.
“Fine,” said Christian. “What do you want us to do?”
“Thank you,” I said and breathed a sigh of relief. I had assumed they would help, but for a moment there, the minister’s son had managed to shake my faith a little. “Well, Henry has a plan.”
“Imagine that,” Christian muttered, summoning a slap from Emily on his arm.
Henry turned to Emily. “Alice says you can sometimes see the future and speak to the dead.”
Emily nodded. “Yes, but it only works with some people. For example, with you, I can read nothing. If you are in some kind of spiritual limbo or exist on a different vibratory level, I won’t feel your energy—vibrations. The same is probably true for O’Reilly and his men. They are the untouchables for any with psychic talents—except maybe for a Maven.”
“A Maven? Where would we find one of those?” I asked incredulously. “Wait a minute! You saw a vision of me climbing up the lighthouse stairs, and that came true. You also predicted Heather’s disappearance. Maybe you are able to in some circumstances. . . Can you at least try to see where O’Reilly and his men might strike first?”
Emily closed her eyes.
The silence was tangible, and we waited expectantly, wondering what terrible visions she imagined.
Finally, she opened her eyes again and shook her head. “Nothing. I’m sorry. All I see is fog.”
“Fog?” I replied blankly, my mind taking off when she spoke about the fog.
“Yes. A great fog descended over Pacific Grove, shrouding everything in gray. I can’t see past it. I’m sorry.”
Henry did not seem all that surprised. “O’Reilly and his men
are using the fog to hide. They will plan their attack from within it.”
I swallowed nervously, knowing they were going to attack Pacific Grove and all its residents in order to get to me. It was like some hellish nightmare waiting to happen.
“What can we do?” asked Christian fearfully.
“We must fight them,” said Henry. “And for that we will need assistance, for we are no match for a dozen vengeful seamen on our own.”
“Who can help us?” I wondered aloud. “I mean, it’s like fighting an army of ghosts right? How can we kill them if they’re already dead?”
“I know where we can get help,” Henry said. “Alice, we must try to persuade them. Christian, take Emily and meet us back at your house. It’s our only hope to fight O’Reilly and his men.”
Chapter Twenty: Bay of Souls
It was twilight when Henry drove me in his truck to a patch of woodland a few miles south of Carmel. The Point Lobos Nature Reserve overlooked the bay. Ancient cypress trees cast long shadows on the grass. The forest was deathly silent; not even the birds could be heard settling into their night roosts, which would have been normal for that hour of the evening. But somehow, the ominous silence spoke volumes.
Point Lobos had been described as the greatest meeting between land and water. We walked to a spot known as Devil’s Cauldron, a granite outcrop overlooking the sea. When I peered out, I could see the beginning of a thick haze. Could this be the fog Emily witnessed in her nightmarish visions?
“Why are we here?” I asked Henry, shifting my feet uneasily on the damp ground.
The forest grew dark with shadows, and I found it spooky to be there at night. I heard something rustling in the trees, and I tried to convince myself it was just a raccoon or some other curious wild animal.
“If we are to defeat O’Reilly and his men, we need help,” Henry said, very solemn during the drive to Point Lobos, keeping his eyes fixed on the winding road and not even bothering to look at me. So insensitive sometimes.
I wondered what kind of help he referred to— it sounded as though an army would be required and apart from the Monterey Naval Academy, who could possibly offer us any feasible assistance? What can we possibly do against an army of ghosts?
Then Henry let out a long, drawn-out whistle, piercingly shrill and hollow. The tone was eerie as the sound echoed around the woods like the call of a distressed animal.
A deathly silence followed as I waited to see what would happen and whom or what would emerge from the undergrowth. Seconds passed, though, and nothing happened.
Then slowly, I could see something emerging from the darkness. At first, I thought they were just shadows, tricks of the dimming light of the evening, but as they approached, I realized that they were all too real. About a dozen men and women of all ages entered the clearing, single file. They wore plain, simple clothing, mostly muted colors of gray, black, and brown. They blended into the landscape like the brown and green lichens that grew on the bark of the trees.
“Who are they?” I whispered to Henry.
“Drowned souls, like me—victims of the bay,” Henry explained.
I gasped at the realization that all those people walking toward me were actually dead. They drowned in the bay and now walk among us as the living dead, confined to wander aimlessly along the coast of Monterey until they find way to atone for past deeds. Not one of them had human blood pumping through their veins—I am the only one here with a beating heart, I thought as I observed the procession.
Their eyes that gave them away, all appearing lost and confused. A chill crept over me as I watched them advance like a silent army. They made no sound as they trekked through the wood, not even the snapping of a twig underfoot.
When they reached the middle of the clearing, they formed a semicircle around us, waiting for Henry to speak, their faces motionless with dark eyes filled with hate. None of them seemed to be interested in me, and I almost felt invisible. In a way, that was a good thing.
“Thank you for coming,” said Henry in a loud, commanding voice. “I know some of you don’t want to be here.”
“Why did you call us?” demanded a woman who stood at the front. Thin, with straight dirty-blond hair, she looked to be in her mid-forties, but was most likely a century or so older. She was so thin that she reminded me of my mother’s chemo days. The look in her eyes frightened me the most; a dull, lifeless look, devoid of hope, the unmistakable face of the undead.
“Because I am in need of your aid,” said Henry. “Long ago, I drowned in the bay, just like you. I made a terrible mistake and have spent a century trying to atone. Like you, I have been cut off from all others, unable to visit my family or loved ones as I atone for my deeds, but then I met Alice,” Henry continued, turning to me.
I felt all eyes on me, and I shivered. It was as though a dark blanket enveloped me.
“I saved her from the same miserable fate we all share, and in return, Alice has shown me compassion like no one ever before. She has shown me what real love is.”
“You broke the rules!” the woman spoke her accusation with a scowl. “We are prohibited from being involved with humans. This is the fourth plane and the rules cannot be broken without paying the consequences.”
My heart sank as I realized they did not want to help after all.
“We do not need rules,” Henry bravely said. “Do you not see? All of us have the power to move on. It is within us, each one of us, but the bay will hold us back using our fear as the bonds. If we release the fear, we can be free to atone for our deeds through service to humans—the fastest way out of our predicament.”
A murmur spread through the crowd, and included noticeable confusion and hesitation displayed in their dull eyes. One or two glanced sideways at each other, seeking guidance. Henry’s words had thrown them into turmoil.
“Why should we help you?” asked a heavyset man near the back, dressed in a black t-shirt and dark trousers with an ugly knife scar across his face.
“Because all of us are joined by the same predicament–the bay’s curse,” Henry encouraged, “We all share the same fate. We drowned and tried to atone, but sorrow is our common bond. If we stand united, we can beat this curse.”
“What do you expect us to do?” shouted a younger Latino man.
“I need your help to fight O’Reilly and his men. They are coming on the Evening Tide. I cannot fight a dozen men alone, and I need your help.”
“Why should we help you?” asked the blond woman, who appeared to be the spokesperson for the group.
Henry turned to face her. “Because I made a mistake and have paid the price for the last century. We must show compassion for those we left behind and the human race. If we show that compassion, it will be proof we are ready to atone through service and only then will we be truly free.”
I studied the group, wondering if Henry’s words made any impact on their position. Many just stood motionless, as still as granite, impossible to discern. I saw no flicker of sympathy in their undead eyes.
Some of the ghosts, though, began to whisper to each other in the enveloping darkness, and the wind carried the sound through the trees reminding me of the time I’d heard those whispers before on the day I came to search for Henry along the coastal path. Were they watching me then?
One boy standing in the back of the group, slightly apart from the others, walked into the clearing. A handsome boy, around fifteen or sixteen, with sandy hair and a cleft chin—features like a Greek statue. He listened intently to the other ghosts, but would not speak, and I found myself wondering about him.
“We do not get involved with the living,” the woman said with finality. “Our answer is no. It is not our fight to lose.”
My heart sank, and I glanced sideways at Henry. I expected him to look thoroughly disheartened, but he didn’t seem too fazed by the news. Instead, he slowly nodded his head in acceptance.
“As you wish. I respect your decision, and thank you for coming.”
&
nbsp; One by one, the ghosts turned their heads and slowly started to disappear back into the forest, as silently as they had come. I watched the boy in the back hesitating—torn by the decision to go or to follow Henry. Just as he was about to leave, I remembered Mrs. Prescott’s son—Is that him? His clothes were a bit more modern than the rest.
“Johnny?” I called. “Are you Johnny Prescott?”
The boy turned to me with contemptuous, unfriendly eyes. “Why do you want to know?” he asked with unconcealed hostility.
“Because I know your mother, Mrs. Prescott. She often talks about you.”
Johnny’s eyes showed no trace of emotion. “I have no mother. I left that life behind a long time ago.”
“Well, she has never left you behind. She still misses you very much. I know if she were here now, she would tell you she loves you.”
Johnny’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, I thought I detected some recognition, some glimmer of interest.
“She would tell you how sorry she is for all the things she said to you when you were alive. She never thought of you as a failure. In fact, she thought quite the opposite. Your mother was proud of you, Johnny, and she has always loved you.” I told him before starting to walk away.
“Wait!” Johnny called. “If you see my mother again, will you pass on a message to her?”
“Of course.”
“Tell her I hope—that she’s okay. That she needn’t worry about me.”
“Sure,” I said. “I will do that.”
When the last of the ghosts left, Henry and I walked away from the clearing.
“I’m sorry. They should have listened to you,” I said.
Henry shook his head. “We have very little time, now. We must leave.”
Chapter Twenty-one: The Church
Henry drove his truck like a NASCAR driver down the winding road back to Pacific Grove. We had hardly exchanged words since the meeting at the clearing. Once or twice, I glanced across at him. He just looked focused, solemn at the wheel—gripping it tightly as he navigated the curves and bends on our way back to town. I glanced at the speedometer, and it showed we were traveling more than fifty miles an hour.
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