by J. L. Salter
“No,” he moaned as he pulled her face closer. “Even though you’re dumping me, I still want to remember you.”
“It leaves too much pain to let these memories remain. When our embrace ends, I will be gone and you will have no recollection of having ever encountered me.”
Muir shoved aside hot tears with balled-up fists. “No memory of you at all?”
She smiled sadly. “Perhaps you will experience occasional stimuli which may seem like déjà vu. Possibly a tune… maybe a faint aroma or soft breeze. It may vary, but that prompt will give you a warm feeling. Such experiences may connect you back to our time together, but you will not have any clear recollections of me or anything we did. At best it will be images which are hazy and disconnected. And you will not recall anything of how I used you to reach Neddy.”
“Even though you played me, I don’t want you to go.” He choked back a catch in his throat. “I’m afraid I will be empty.”
“After I am gone, you will realize Miss Tierney fills that emptiness. You already knew this to some extent. It would have been a stronger awareness, except that I vexed your thoughts.”
Muir tightened his grip on her arms. “It was cruel of you to use me, to manipulate my mind, and to come between me and Lucy.”
“I realize that, and my sorrow is deeper than you can imagine.” She looked toward the sky. “There is not much time.”
“So it was never about me? Not at all?”
“Not in the beginning, Mr. Muir. You must believe I never envisioned either of us would develop the type and extent of affection which has resulted.”
“But you continued to play me.”
“As I grew fonder of you it was more difficult to take advantage of you, because you were in the process of capturing my heart.”
“But you said it belongs to Neddy…”
Danielle nodded slowly and looked skyward again.
“Why didn’t you just tell me, straight out, that the reason you needed my help was to move on toward your real lover?”
“Dear Mr. Muir,” she said kindly, as she gazed into his eyes, “a spirit has no way of knowing which mortal she can trust… or, indeed, whether any may be trusted. I sensed something different in you — possibly because of your skepticism — but I had no sense whether you’d assist me if you knew my complete reasons.”
“You should have given me the chance. Even if I’d known it wasn’t about me, I would have helped, if I could. Or at least tried to.”
“Yes, I believe you would, Mr. Muir. I am so sorry, but I have no right to ask your forgiveness.”
Muir hugged her so tightly that neither could breathe. “I hate what you did, Danielle, but I forgive you anyhow. Please don’t take away all my memory of you.”
“I must.” She took another quick glance upward. “While I extract these memories, it will hurt and you will even be sore for a few days, but afterward you will not feel any pain of this loss. By taking these thoughts from you, I quell the residual ache.”
“Please…”
“With each touch, I peel away a portion of your memory of me.” When she tapped his forehead, he winced. “With each contact, I draw out your recollections of our time together, beginning with these most recent experiences tonight.”
“Don’t, Danielle…”
She closed her eyes, holding him tightly.
Muir moaned and struggled to get away. “Why?”
“It must be so, for to recall what happened between us would be too distressing. It could drive you mad.” When she placed fingertips over both his eyes, he shuddered. “We are almost finished. I sense we are already back to the first time we met face to face.” She disengaged from their embrace and then touched his neck with the back of a delicate knuckle.
“No…”
She kissed him again and he groaned with the agony.
“It’s not fair.”
“Miss Tierney is your real love, and you know this deep inside. I have only borrowed you.” Then Danielle touched his left temple with the fingertips of her right hand. “Now I return you to her and take my place with Neddy.”
Muir writhed in the sopping grass of the right-of-way. “Don’t take away everything…”
Danielle reached as though she would brush away his tears, but stopped. “I will leave you with the recollection of our very first encounter, the one you experienced as a hazy dream. And you will mostly recall it only as a vision. But there will be moments, especially when you smell my fragrance, you will think you know it was more.” When her own tears began falling, she turned away her face to keep the drops from touching his body. “Now I must go.” She whispered something so faintly that he couldn’t actually hear it. Then she looked deeply into his eyes and said, “After you mended my heart, it breaks again. Goodbye, Mr. Muir. Farewell, my love.” She looked upward and backed away from Muir.
He reached for her and yelled, “No-ooo!” Then he collapsed.
****
As distant lightning flashed and the drizzle intensified overhead, Lucy saw a faint glow surrounding the dim figure of a uniformed soldier. Having approached at the very end of their encounter, Lucy heard much of the exchange between the ghostess and Levi. “Is this your escort approaching?”
Danielle pulled the dripping strands of hair from her face. “Yes, at long last. My own Neddy.” Then, looking at her soaked dress. “I had forgotten how awful it feels to be cold and wet. It is so different to be alive again, albeit for so few moments.”
“You were wrong to manipulate Levi, but I agree it’s best he not remember this betrayal.”
“I apologize sincerely, though I doubt you will believe I never intended things to go as far as they did. I beg your forgiveness, too, though I realize it will not likely be possible in your case… even if I could leave your memory intact.”
“So you’ll drain my brain as well?”
“Your memory will remain complete for only three more days, because Mr. Muir will need your assistance to regain his proper footing in your mortal realm. He will be weak, both physically and emotionally, for that time.”
“And afterwards?”
“Your memory also erased. Except — as will Mr. Muir — you shall retain one or two scattered and hazy images. Only rarely will you ask yourself if they were ever real.”
“Is there a chance that I or one of my group members will ever encounter you in our investigations?”
“No, I will have moved on. But even if I remained uncommitted, I would be able to foil their efforts. Spirits cannot be compelled to appear if we do not wish it.”
The glowing figure closer and more distinct, Lucy wished she had a K-II device to get a reading of the young soldier. “Neddy’s manifestation is a handsome, strapping man… I can see your attraction.”
Danielle nodded. “Your Mr. Muir reminded me of Neddy in so many ways, it was at times difficult to convince myself they were not one and the same.” She reached in the direction of the figure, but turned back a final time toward Lucy. “Thank you for letting me borrow Mr. Muir. I truly regret the interference it caused, but there was no other way. Once your memories have emptied of me, you and he will resume your relationship right where it was interrupted. From that point forward, it is up to you.” Then Danielle embraced a smiling Neddy, and both began moving on together.
Shielding her eyes from the rain, Lucy waved goodbye to Danielle’s fading essence and then knelt down next to Muir. “Are you okay, Levi?”
Not able to see the rapidly vanishing ghostess, Muir struggled to sit up. “What happened? Why am I next to these tracks?” He moaned. “It’s raining. Ow! Who hit me? Why is it so dark?”
She ignored most of his questions. “Can you move everything?” Lucy felt his arms and legs for broken bones. He yelped when she reached his ankle. “Looks like you re-injured this. It was quite a tumble.”
“Yeah, I can move, but everything hurts. Was I mugged?”
“No, Levi, you were helping somebody.”
�
�Who?” He looked around and groaned again.
“They’ve already gone, and everything’s okay, but they wanted you to know they appreciated your assistance.”
He rubbed his head like he was polishing antique silver. “What did I do?”
“They were stuck and you helped them move on.”
“Who was it?”
She tried to support him with her arms. “Nobody you’d know, Levi. Someone from far away.”
“Well, I hope they don’t feel as banged up as I do.”
“No, they feel fine. Just fine. After a long time, they’re finally better.”
Muir winced with the pain. “Huh?”
“Never mind. Maybe we should get you to Doc Proffitt. You look awfully, uh, limp.”
“Just get me home, Lucy, and I’ll be okay.”
“You shouldn’t stay alone in your condition.” She waved her hand over his crumpled form.
“Whatever. Just take me somewhere. I feel awful.” He looked up at the dark wet sky. “I’m soaked and I think I’m shivering.”
“Yes, you are.” She reached under both his arms and tugged, without much movement. “Can you get up?”
“Not sure,” he grunted. “Might need some leverage.”
“Lean on me.”
“Are you strong enough to hold my weight?”
“You ain’t heavy, you’re my colleague. Now come on, Levi, push with your legs… at least one of them.”
It was not graceful because Muir had difficulty gaining traction on one side and he couldn’t put any pressure on his other ankle. But Lucy finally got him to his feet. He staggered, limped, and weaved a bit as Lucy helped him back across the tracks. As she crossed, she paused to pick up the scrap of Danielle’s dress hem which had tangled on the metal spike.
Muir was pretty much out of it — not only from the physical results of the rescue, but from his recollections being drained. “What’s that?” He pointed vaguely toward the fabric.
“Nothing. Just a piece of memory.”
“Leave it and the next train will swoop it along.”
“No, some scraps need to be preserved.”
“Okay.” Muir looked a little too goofy.
“Levi, you cannot be alone in your condition. No sir. If you won’t go the doc or the hospital, you’ve got only two choices — you stay at my place or I stay at yours.”
“Have you got cable?” Another loopy smile.
She pinched his arm. “No. Now make up your mind. What’s our destination?”
Muir closed his eyes tightly and then opened them impossibly wide. “Let’s stay at your place anyhow,” his voice sounded tipsy. “I heard somebody say my apartment’s haunted.”
Chapter Twenty
Monday, September 1 (Labor Day)
At her rather undersized rented duplex adjacent the old Magnolia cemetery, Lucy had been nursing Muir back to health since she’d dragged him home from Friday’s midnight incident. Danielle’s prediction that he would be physically and emotionally weak had certainly proved correct — Muir had been in bed for two days, part of the time with light fever. He’d slept three nights on the loveseat’s fold-out bed while Lucy had stayed in her own room, so everything was according to Hoyle.
The only reference — albeit vague — to the ghostess who’d haunted him was Muir’s repeated sessions staring at Danielle’s grave through the window of Lucy’s duplex. When asked what he was looking at, he’d only answered, “A shadow or something on the grave you showed me of that Gregg girl.”
On Monday morning, Lucy took him for a brief visit to his Aunt Martha, who’d been worried and had left multiple voicemails on his phone. Then Lucy drove Muir back to the Whitecliff Apartments.
Standing outside, Muir looked up at the second story windows, but not with much more scrutiny than he apparently paid the architectural details of other old downtown structures. “Can you tell what kind of birds those are?” he asked, pointing to the long row of indeterminate fowl sculptured in some type of masonry.
“I always heard they were eagles,” she replied, “and supposedly a link to the hotel name, Majestic. What do they look like to you?”
He squinted and shaded his eyes. “The first time I saw them, I guessed either hawks or ravens, but now that you say eagles, I guess that sounds about right.” He pointed. “Though the one right over my parlor window looks more like a buzzard.” Then Muir chuckled.
Entering the former hotel, he took the stairs with no hesitation besides general physical wooziness and favoring his recovering ankle. Then he went straight down the hall to his suite door. On entering, Muir took a deep breath and looked puzzled.
She wasn’t too far behind. “Anything wrong?”
“No. Thought I had a whiff of something, but I guess not. It feels like I’ve been gone for weeks. The place seems different somehow.”
“Well, it’s September now. Might be you’re sensing an early taste of fall weather.”
Muir shook his head. “No, not weather. More like atmosphere. Can’t really explain it.”
“You’ve been poorly for a couple of days. Probably just your equilibrium.”
“Maybe so.”
Lucy remembered Danielle’s instruction that she’d have only three days of memory, so everything had to be completed before Monday midnight. On both days that Muir was in lala land, Lucy had visited his empty suite and carefully packed away most of the ghostess material. However, she’d left the framed portrait, though not on the wall anymore. Over near the door, its faded tan canvas backing faced outward.
During his recovery, Muir had asked numerous questions about how long he was out of it, why he felt so odd, why he remembered seeing an antique train locomotive really close up, et cetera.
Lucy had tiptoed around most of his queries, trying to ascertain whether he remembered anything on his own. Of that fateful Friday night, Muir mostly recalled eating supper with Lucy, introducing Lucy to Tacket at the bar, talking with Lucy in front of the hospital, and then regaining consciousness alongside the train tracks. He finally rationalized the close inspection of the locomotive as a scene he’d experienced in a 3-D movie.
On the other hand, Lucy remembered complete details of her meeting with Danielle and all the rest of that evening, including Tacket and the sights and smells of the bar. Plus, she recalled every second of the horrifying incident with the train, the excruciating emotional exchange between her Mr. Muir and the ghostess, and the glowing figure of Neddy coming down to escort Danielle.
She knew when she awoke on Tuesday morning all those memories would be gone. Bracing herself and Muir for beginning that new chapter was Lucy’s focus for the rest of Monday.
Lucy was still angry at Danielle for her callous manipulation of Levi. And still jealous over Levi’s anguished expressions of affection for the ghostess. But she took Danielle at her word that the relationship between Levi and Lucy would resume at the spot it was when the trapped spirit had interrupted and thwarted.
She’d kept the scrap of linen from Danielle’s dress, still amazed that it existed in physical form. Lucy wondered if it would still be in her possession after midnight, and, if so, whether she’d recognize it.
As for Muir, he seemed significantly better and should be fit enough to resume classes the following morning, provided they could keep Mrs. Gull from inspecting him too closely. He’d appreciated all the care Lucy had provided, and had told her so frequently during that long weekend. But there were several moments during that time when Muir appeared puzzled about their relationship. He knew he was sick, of course — though unclear about what type of virus — but he couldn’t quite seem to grasp why he’d spent three nights in Lucy’s duplex. He had not yet asked her about it, however… at least not directly. Muir had stumbled a bit around the topic, with awkwardly phrased references to Lucy’s couch bed, but she’d merely smiled and reminded him it had been either there or the hospital.
To initiate their effort to correct the misrepresented verdict of Danielle
’s suicide, Lucy had contacted Mr. Sproule at his home on Saturday afternoon and fought vigorously with Mrs. Sproule just to get her husband to the phone. “I’m not trying to jump his bones, Mrs. Sproule,” she’d finally said, “I’m just trying to pick his brain.” Lucy had mentioned the depot worker who remembered the Scroggins eye witness testimony of the locomotive’s collision. Sproule’s files already included the porter’s affidavit and he reminded Lucy he’d tried to show it to them when they’d visited nearly two weeks before.
“Is that enough to reopen the case?” she’d asked Sproule.
“By itself, likely not,” he’d replied, “but with the added details of someone allegedly bribing the coroner not to accept Scroggins’ testimony, perhaps there is justification to search more deeply through the records and correspondence.” Then he reminded Lucy that such investigation would require a great deal of effort and time.
“No particular hurry, Mr. Sproule,” she’d replied. “Danielle Gregg has already waited a hundred years to correct this record, so another week or two won’t matter.”
“Oh, by the way,” Sproule had added, “I finally located another piece of correspondence which referred to the Harrison boy — that would-be suitor of Danielle’s whom her father threatened. Turns out his first name was Ned. He’d been despondent since Danielle’s death and couldn’t seem to find his way here in Magnolia, so he joined the army when they raised the 81st Division during 1917. He would have been about twenty-three by then.”
Lucy had inquired further about Ned Harrison, Danielle’s Neddy.
“Young Ned died during one of the Meuse-Argonne offensives,” Sproule had reported. “Buried somewhere in France. The Harrison family never had enough money to bring his body home. That, plus the earlier threats from Mr. Gregg, made the whole clan quite bitter. And that includes the Tacket line, some of whom still live here.”
“The what line?” Lucy had asked.
Once Sproule explained, Lucy finally understood those feelings of déjà vu when she’d bumped into Tacket — whose mother, they quickly established, was a niece to Ned Harrison, though he’d died without ever seeing her. Before Lucy could ask any more about the Tacket connection, Sproule’s wife had ended the call. Lucy had made copious notes, but did not know how much of this she could explain to Muir… or how much she would even comprehend once her memory was wiped.
