by Keta Diablo
He put his bottle of whiskey down and studied her for a moment, taking in the words she had spoke before going to her and kneeling in front of her. He reached out to touch her face, to try to understand the reality of what was before him.
"Compensation?" he whispered. "No. Nothing can ever compensate for the loss of the real you. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy, so happy, Elizabeth, to have you here. But it’s not the same, is it? It can never be the same."
Lizzie gazed into the clouded blue eyes, blue like a summer sky, like a calming breeze, the scent of flowers in a room, ripples on a pool. Blue eyes that had steadfastness in them, honor, trust, and love. She got up from the chair and reached her arms about his neck as he, too, stood, and she moved in for the much longed-for kiss. But instead, Colby grabbed her up in his arms.
And headed to the bedroom.
Chapter Eight
Dudley Worksop was an Englishman with a pedigree a mile long—and knew it. He dressed as if he were ready for a day at the Bank of England and spoke like a cut crystal decanter might speak but, instead of wine in his mouth, it was as if he had two fat plums. Lizzie found him pompous, arrogant, and a pain in the ass from the moment he fell out of the Tuesday stage.
Colby, she realized, on the other hand, was willing to listen to the young man with his stiff posture and upper crust ways. She believed Colby was mistaking arrogance for knowledge, smart clothes for superiority, and a way of blinding them with science for expertise.
"I see," Dudley was saying in a way that made her feel like emptying her stomach in front of him. "Elizabeth has returned unexpectedly after five years, and you are the only one to be able to see her. Except for myself, of course."
"If you can see me, Mr. Smarty-pants, what am I wearing?"
Dudley Worksop did not hesitate in his reply. "You are wearing a most outrageous assembly of working man’s blue jeans, cut at the ankles, with a belt that is wrapped twice around your incredibly small waist with a shirt that is far too big for you, and which, I presume, is your husband’s. Am I correct?"
"To a T." Colby managed to smirk at a disbelieving Lizzie. "Listen to the man, Lizzie; he’s a specialist, that’s why he’s here."
Lizzie snorted.
"This was your suggestion, sweetheart."
"Fine. Please proceed, Dudley Worksop."
"I find my accent—my Englishness, if you like—does, indeed, at times aggravate certain species of the afterlife community, particularly those that in their former lives have been Americans. I’m afraid that may be the case here. We’ll simply have to build up confidence in one another. I’m quite positive that may be achieved, hmmmm?"
"Hmmmm," Lizzie mimicked. "So you can see and hear me, and my former husband can see and hear me but no one else?"
"Exactly so. I have been blessed with certain—how shall I say it?"
"Extra sensory perception? Powers?" Lizzie’s tone was anything but pleasant, and she meant it so.
"Exactly. And this is precisely why I work for the agency, and am able to fulfill my duties to the highest degree." There was a breath before he continued. "I sense our lovely ghost here is not completely convinced."
"Your lovely ghost is not completely convinced, and would like to know exactly how much these powers are going to cost her living husband?"
"Ah. Did the agency not inform you? I fear there has been some miscommunication then. We always inform our clients exactly what the cost shall be."
"Well." Colby sat back in his chair ready to be shocked; the accent alone must cost him a fortune.
"I’m afraid it comprises all expenses, which must, of course, include my travelling expenses from Denver on train and stage, twelve dollars a day salary—"
"Twelve dollars a day!" Colby let out a whistle and looked across at Lizzie.
She shrugged. "I’m afraid I have no idea what the expenses are in eighteen ninety-seven; twelve dollars is damn cheap where I come from."
"And it is reasonable for the services which I may provide, I assure you. I am willing to live at the ranch for the duration of my investigation. Absolutely expense free, should meals be provided along with accommodation."
Colby cleared his throat. "Well, I’m afraid there’s only a bunk with the men in the bunkhouse, but you’re welcome to take meals with us if you prefer."
"I have, indeed, known less pleasing accommodation in my travels and been subject to varying degrees of discomfiture. So, now that is settled, shall we find the underlying cause of your problem?"
"Please." Colby reached for Lizzie’s hand and the two stared at Dudley in expectation.
"As I understand it, from what you were able to tell me on our brief excursion to this ranch, neither of you can ascertain any reason as to why our little sprite here has returned."
"Correct."
"No frigging idea."
He held Lizzie with a hard stare. "Let me ask you: was your life, your new life, as happy as your old?"
"I can’t remember my old one. I told you! But, no, from what Colby tells me, we must have had quite an idyllic life together. My current life in St. Louis was not idyllic. It wasn’t bad...well, my boyfriend beat me, but aside from that—"
"Let us stop right there, shall we? It would seem to me, straight away, your soul is searching to relive the love you once knew. Do you think that possible? Please answer truthfully."
Colby was waiting for her answer as much as Dudley was.
Lizzie looked from one to the other. "Probably. Yes, you may be right. I seemed to not be able to settle into a happy relationship with a man."
"I am right." Dudley wrote a few notes on a pad he pulled from a jacket pocket. "And Mr. Gates, do you think, despite the fact you have remarried by all accounts, you still longed for your former, that is, your late wife?"
"Definitely."
"Well, there we have it. One reason for the return is quite clear. Our souls have many bodies through time that they inhabit. While it is unusual for a soul to return to an earlier time, rather than to go on seeking happiness in newer bodies, such a manifestation is not completely unheard of. However, there will, of course, be another reason—unfinished business. Your soul feels the need for retribution, perhaps, or it may want to uncover some mystery. Now, for someone young, such as yourself, Mrs. Gates—"
"Mrs. Gates! Wow! I hadn’t thought of myself...." Lizzie’s mouth hung open. "Mrs. Gates, Mrs. Gates...in a harsh voice...someone was calling me, pulling me...."
"Are you remembering? Lizzie?"
Lizzie released her hand from Colby’s and put it to her heart. Pounding in her head seemed to fill her ears until everything around her became hazy. She felt woozy, as if the life blood was being sucked out of her, and the room began to spin. A million voices were talking, shouting, moaning in her head, and breath seemed to leave her body, suffocating her as if the walls were moving in. Colby seemed to be down a long tunnel, far away, with a bright blue light, and she was unable to reach him. Her hands, her limbs felt heavy and unable to move.
She screamed.
"One may now assume Mrs. Gates remembers something quite dreadful from her past."
* * *
Worksop had agreed to take his meal over at the bunkhouse with the men that night in order to give Lizzie a chance to calm and recuperate. While Colby couldn’t say he liked the young man, he did have a certain respect for him and his capabilities. But now, his thoughts turned to Lizzie, lying in the quiet of the bedroom while he threw together a meal. He had always thought of them as soulmates; now Worksop had confirmed it. She had returned to him because she, too, was unhappy, and that knowledge accentuated the unhappiness he had, for so long, been trying to hide from himself. Marrying Sylvie was a mistake; he knew that now—honor be damned. He would face a long, miserable life if he stayed married to her, even if it was legal and she wasn’t a bigamist as they suspected. But what was he to do? Lizzie wanted, she said, to return to 2016, and she could not take him with her. On the other hand, it would be wrong of h
im to try to keep her with him. Making love to a ghost? Living with a ghost? The situation was a nightmare.
While he considered himself a strong man, everyone had their Achilles heel and his, he knew, was loneliness. The emptiness that had enveloped him after her death had been devastating, and his association with Sylvie was the product of that. Now he had to face reality; he was in a loveless marriage from which he had to somehow untangle himself, and he had to, at least eventually, let Lizzie go.
"It was awful." She stood yanking at her tangled hair, sleepy-eyed and frowning, in the bedroom doorway. "I wonder why I remember now?"
Colby went to her and lifted her chin to give her a small smile. "Worksop said he sometimes has that effect on people—ghosts."
"Ugh. Worksop."
"He’s not that bad, Lizzie. You seem to be prejudiced against him because of the accent and Englishness."
"No, it’s his know-it-all attitude, but I suppose you’re right. Maybe that comes with the accent." She wandered into the room and settled on a chair. Her voice was dreamy, detached. "It seems...." A burst of giggles surprised Colby and he almost jumped. "I was going to say it seems like another lifetime. But it was!" The corners of her mouth curved up, and the twinkle in her eye told him she was getting back to her old, playful, mischievous self. "So now what?"
"Worksop says you’re here for another reason. It cannot be just love that brought you back; it has to be, will always be, unfinished business."
"Finding my killer?"
"I believe so."
"But it was you."
"Yes, but the man who caused me to shoot you. The outlaw. And, he says, when you’ve finished your work, you’ll most likely disappear."
"Do you want me to?"
Colby took a breath as if pulling air into his lungs would wash away all his doubts and fears and clear his brain to think straight. "Lizzie, you know dang well I don’t want to be parted from you. Ever. But what’s right is right, and what needs to come to pass, well, if it’s the right thing for us to do, I guess we better do it. I been thinking. I can’t leave Sylvie in town indefinitely. I think I must go tell her the way things are; it’s the only honorable thing to do and, if, as you say, she is involved in some romantic way with Elzy, the sooner this marriage comes to an end the better."
"But you said—"
"I know what I said: that I was going to leave it ’til she wanted to come back. But I feel now it might be best to get her out of the way so we can concentrate on what has to be done to get you sorted. While she’s hanging over my head, I can’t even think straight."
"Right. Well. I think I should try to have another look in Elzy’s room."
"I don’t want you getting hurt, Lizzie."
Lizzie let out a sigh that made Colby laugh. "Really? Hurt? I doubt there’s much more that can be done to me now."
Chapter Nine
The early morning sun had the two men sweating somewhat, but Lizzie sat in the buggy as cool as a dip in the Snake River. And why not? Ghosts didn’t feel temperatures the way humans did, but it still remained a mystery to Colby why she was hungry all the time. Dudley Worksop, who had joined them for breakfast, regaled them with his theory ghosts were somewhat like amoeba and had a consistency of what was known in the world of science as ‘ectoplasm.’ This substance needed sustenance, hence Lizzie’s need to be fed. But it was definitely known that ghosts consisted of plasma. Lizzie, he said, had an abundance of the substance, possibly because she had a life elsewhere, and therefore an unusually high need to eat.
"Was she always a big eater?" he enquired from his seat in the back as the buggy bumped and rattled its way to Buffalo for the noon stage.
"She was a great cook. Never seemed to gain weight, so she was slim. Wouldn’t have said she ate tremendous lots—had a penchant for chocolate cake though."
"Still do!" Lizzie piped up from where she was ensconced beside Colby. "Love chocolate. I guess some things never change."
"Indeed not," agreed Dudley.
Colby glanced back for a moment to catch Dudley adjusting his bowler to a jaunty angle to avoid the sun.
"I do hope I have been of some service to you both whilst I’ve resided amongst you. I do pray you do not feel the recompense owed for my services has not been duly warranted."
"Oh, geesh."
"Lizzie.... Mr. Worksop, I’m sure the help you’ve given us has been of great benefit and the charges, well, pretty well warranted."
"They should, of course, have told you the charges prior to my engagement. I do regret that, and intend to see if I might affect at least a small reduction in the bill."
Colby gave him another glance before turning back to the road. "I’d surely appreciate that, sir. I surely would."
"Let me remind you of one last thing before I depart, if I may."
"Go ahead." Colby smiled to himself knowing full well what Lizzie was thinking.
"Elizabeth—Lizzie, if I may—will disappear once she has accomplished what she has come to do. You must accept that. I sense a somewhat...how shall I say...loving relationship, Mr. Gates, between yourself and the ghost, your late wife. Please be aware Mrs. Gates is, indeed, a ghost, as much as she seems to be quite...ummm...human in many ways."
"But she’s not a figment of my imagination?"
"Oh, no, absolutely not. Had she been so, I would not be able to see and speak with her."
"Right."
"Well, I’m glad you’re agreed on that, guys. Guess I could’ve told you—"
"No, Mrs. Gates. I doubt you could have told us, or at least told me. A figment of one’s imagination can say and do anything, but would not be seen by a third party."
Lizzie’s little snort turned into a cough and splutter. Colby sensed she had something more to say to the redoubtable Dudley Worksop.
"One more question then, before you disappear, Mr. Worksop."
"Of course. That is what I am here for. You have my full attention while I am in your service."
"Will I be able to get back to my last life, or will I simply disappear or be laid to rest once and for all?"
"I...."
To Colby’s surprise, Worksop seemed stumped and hesitant. For the last two days, the man had never wavered in giving a response. Now he was silent and pensive.
"I have to say, Mrs. Gates, Elizabeth if I may, I have no experience of someone returning from a later life to be a ghost in an earlier one. However, from what I have learned about the formation and reformation of plasma, I would infer you had a reasonable chance at returning to your previous life, wherever that was. Your soul should be laid to rest once and for all, once you have accomplished your mission."
"And do you know how I get back? I mean, there are no glittering ruby red slippers I have to click three times and whisper, ‘There’s no place like home,’ is there?"
Colby glanced across at her with a raised brow.
Lizzie turned in her seat to glance back at Worksop, who also had bewilderment on his face. "Never mind," she said with a shrug. "I think the book comes out in a few years and you can read all about it then."
Dudley cleared his throat. "May I ask where Mr. Gates found you?"
"In the barn."
"I see. And from whence did you leave your last life?"
Lizzie turned around and looked Worksop straight in the eye. "My dear boyfriend smashed my head into an antique mirror that turns out to be the same mirror my husband had bought for me in this life."
Dudley digested this. "I gather, from your somewhat convoluted statement, the mirror your husband bought for you in this life, in 1897, or rather prior to your death five years or so ago, was purchased by you in your last life as an antique. Is that correct?"
"That is correct."
"Then, in my estimation, you will transport back to your present life—that is, the one in which you are alive—through the mirror. It is also my belief the barn holds some significance for you. Is there something you remember occurring there?"
"Hol
d on, hold on. Are you telling me I have to crash through the mirror again? That Colby has to smash me through it?"
"Not at all. Did I say that? No, I did not. I simply stated you shall transport back through it."
"Like ghosts walking through walls?"
"Not all ghosts can walk through walls, Elizabeth—Mrs. Gates. Have you walked through any?"
"Nope."
"Then it is most unlikely you will start now."
"Have you tried, Lizzie?" Colby snapped the reins as the buggy jangled over some rocks.
"No, I haven’t actually. Guess I should. Might be fun."
Colby could almost see Lizzie’s imagination getting a hold on her, of how she could really do some scaring. He shook his head to rid the thought. "You said you thought the barn held some significance for her," he called back to Dudley in the rear seat. "Is there some way she can find out what it is?"
"I’m afraid not—not, at least, in the sense I believe you mean. It will be uncovered when Mrs. Gates discovers the reason for her return, and what she needs to accomplish here. And now, at last, I see the Buffalo way station up ahead and must bid you adieu."
* * *
Lizzie felt a certain jealousy as she watched Colby approach Sylvie, sitting so demurely in the drawing room of the boarding house. Watching the slender, black-haired beauty with glistening green eyes, Lizzie could well understand how a man might fall under her spell. But beauty is as beauty does, as her mother had always told her in her latest life, and Sylvie had a falseness to her that negated any beauty she might have. Still, Lizzie thought, she was alive and married to Colby, something Lizzie was no longer able to say about herself.
As soon as Sylvie had been led outside for a private conversation with Colby, Lizzie made her way up to her room.
The door was locked.
Guess this is as good a time as any to find out if I can walk through walls!
She took a couple of steps back from the doorway, braced her shoulders like a football player ready for the tackle, and took a run at the door. Whooooooaaaaaa! She didn’t go through it—but the door flew open as Elzy stepped out, and Lizzie went flying into the room, landing in a heap at the window.
