Ghostwriting (9 page)

‘Great,' Billie moaned, ‘that only leaves us about ninety years of habitation to investigate.'

Shannon shrugged, unconcerned, pulling out a slim book on psychic self-defence. ‘The one thing I did discover was that a body free of toxins and acid foods, like meat, potato, flour and so forth, is more prone to psychic phenomena and out-of-body episodes.'

‘What is there left to eat for fuck's sake?' Billie wasn't intending to commit to that kind of diet change — being a body builder she craved high-energy foods like chicken, fish and pasta.

‘Fruits, except the sweeter ones, veggies, except —'

‘The ones that taste good,' Billie chided.

‘You'd still have your beloved rice,' Shannon said, ‘only it would have to be unprocessed,' she added, and Billie rolled her eyes, unimpressed. ‘There are soy products, tofu —'

‘Stop, stop, you're making my stomach turn.' Billie was stressing out, her face all shrivelled with disgust. ‘I'll just stick with my juice farce, thanks. It seems to fall into the criteria. So, what else did you
discover?' she asked, before finishing off the juice in her glass.

‘I found out that psychic phenomena can be directional, meaning —'

‘Even though you can see the occurrence, if the spook doesn't want me to see it, I won't,' Billie summarised. ‘I'm not a complete idiot, you know, I do know what directional means.'

Shannon pulled her head in, taken off guard by the overreaction. ‘Now who's suffering from detox shock?'

‘Sorry.' Billie realised she was venting frustration and mellowed immediately. ‘The truth is, you're making me edgy with all this ghost talk, which makes me miss my vices all the more.'

Shannon could sympathise. She'd felt the same these past few days. ‘How about a work-out and a swim?'

‘Damn fine idea,' Billie agreed. ‘That ought to get my mind off everything I'd rather be indulging in.'

 

After a strenuous workout, a bath, a healthy dinner, meditation, and more reading, both Shannon and Billie passed out on the floor in front of the fire in the lounge room.

Shannon woke shivering; the fire had gone out. Billie had pulled a blanket off the lounge and seemed peaceful enough curled up where she was. But the large Elizabethan-style four-poster bed in Shannon's
room seemed far more inviting to her stiff back and joints than the floor.

Shannon rose and wandering into the foyer in a daze headed for the stairs.

A knock on the door startled Shannon to full consciousness and she froze in her tracks. The second knock drew her attention to the door. Shannon wondered what she would find if she had the courage to open it, even though she knew she would not. She'd forgotten about the footsteps and they did not register in her petrified brain until they were nearly upon her. Shannon spun around to confront the spectre, expecting to catch a glimpse of the soul who was so obviously there.

A deathly cold wave of air swept over Shannon and swung her around to face the door.

She moved forward, and as she reached for the doorknob to open the door Shannon noted the old-fashioned attire she wore.

Looming in the doorway, his face red with rage, was old Heartley. In his hand was a letter, its wax seal broken; it was the letter from the album, the one that had never been sent.

‘You deceiving little whore!' He grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her out on to the porch. ‘You are my wife, and I shall see to it that you are buried here, close to me.'

She screamed, resisting as her larger, fitter husband hauled her toward the pool-house.

 

The sobbing woke Billie. ‘What the —' It took a moment to figure out that the television hadn't been left on and that Shannon was not in sight. ‘Shannon, is that you?'

‘Yes,' came a weak reply and a sniffle from the foyer.

Billie rose, realising it was the crazy hour. ‘What's happening, babe?' She approached Shannon who was crouched in the middle of the foyer with both arms wrapped around her legs.

Shannon slowly raised her eyes to Billie, and even with the lights dimmed low, it was easy to see her tear-stained face. ‘I just bore witness to a murder,' she muttered in explanation.

‘What?' Billie freaked, looking warily about for the evidence of her friend's claim.

‘Old Heartley's first wife didn't run off on him,' Shannon stated, barely able to contain her emotions. ‘He drowned her in the pool and buried her on the property.' Billie was looking at her doubtfully, but Shannon continued despite this. ‘He found the letter, the one in the album. Katlin must have tried to send the letter off in secret, but obviously nothing got by Heartley. He knew his wife couldn't swim, and that Katlin's disdain of him was known to the community. So when he drowned her in the pool and then told everyone
that she'd run off home, his story was all the more believable. The bastard buried her here to ensure she'd never rest in peace beside her beloved … even in death Heartley could still torment her. It's sick,' Shannon exclaimed at last. ‘Don't you think that's sick?'

Billie had both eyebrows raised in total amazement. ‘Either you've got a fantastic imagination or … you're on to something? Can you prove any of what you claim?'

Shannon nodded. Her pretty blue eyes were red and swollen from crying and the blank, horrified expression on her face made her look as if she had been possessed. ‘I saw where he buried her.'

The colour drained from Billie's face, and she was not easily spooked. ‘And so what if we find her? It's not like we can take the guy to trial for murder.'

‘Don't you see? We have to take Katlin back to Ireland and bury her in County … whatever it was in the letter.'

‘Now hold on a goddamn second,' Billie felt compelled to protest. ‘There is no fucking way that I am flying to fucking Ireland with a goddamn fucking corpse in my luggage!'

‘Fine.' Shannon stood. ‘I'll do it myself.' She moved to head upstairs, but Billie gripped her arm.

‘This is not your property, Shannon,' she cautioned her. ‘If there are any corpses here, they belong to Simon.'

‘I'll only dig in one tiny spot, and then I promise to clean up when I'm done. Satisfied?' Shannon glared at her friend, and then realised they were having an argument. ‘Sorry. It was just so terrible to witness.' Shannon tried to explain her irrational state. ‘He raped Katlin before he murdered her,' she muttered, her jaw clenched to contain her disgust and anger. ‘But then, he probably abused her all of their married life. Perhaps, in the end, it was a relief for Katlin to know it would be the last time he'd impose himself upon her.' Shannon looked away, lost in the memory of what she'd seen.

‘I'll help you dig.'

Shannon looked up to find Billie appearing decidedly more determined, and Shannon smiled in appreciation.

‘If we find a skeleton,' Billie proffered, ‘then we'll decided what should be done about it.'

 

The next morning, with spades, a pick, a bucket and a wheelbarrow, Shannon and Billie set out from the pool-house to find Katlin's last resting place. Billie pushed the barrow with all the gear in it and Shannon retraced Heartley's criminal path.

‘Down past those rocks is a clearing surrounded by trees,' Shannon advised, bounding off down the leaf strewn slope of clay and rock to see if she was correct.

Billie decided to take a break from pushing the barrow; if Shannon was leading them on a wild
goose chase she'd save herself the chore of having to push the barrow back up the hill.

‘Fuck me!'

The words were alarming to Billie as Shannon rarely swore with any conviction. Billie left the barrow and headed off down the slope, through the trees and into the clearing. In the direction Shannon was looking was a tall sandstone rockface. There hadn't been any rain for a few days and the bushland was dry as a bone, and yet on the tall rockface was a clear watermark forming the initials, KO.

Billie was awestruck. She came to a standstill next to Shannon.

‘You do see that?' Shannon queried, without taking her eyes from it.

‘Oh, yeah,' Billie confirmed. ‘But, ah, shouldn't it be KH?'

‘Her maiden name was O'Connor,' Shannon said, having a talent for remembering details. ‘And the man she loved was Timothy O'Mally.' She shrugged not knowing to which name the ‘O' referred. ‘The name Heartley never brought her much joy. I don't blame her for not wanting to use it to identify herself.'

Shannon approached the rock wall, carefully stepping around one particular patch of ground, and Billie gathered that this was where Katlin was buried. Shannon touched the moisture on the wall
that formed the letters and then tasted a droplet of the water.

‘Are you nuts?' Billie stressed.

‘It's salty,' Shannon informed, ‘like tears.' She looked at Billie, unable to explain the anomaly.

Billie's eyes dropped to the nominated patch of earth. ‘Let's get her out of there then.'

They'd only dug down a couple of feet when a pale piece of bone became apparent amid the rich, dark soil.

‘Oh, Billie.' Shannon got the willies and jumped out of the hole. ‘What is it?'

‘Oh, great, leave me to check,' Billie grumbled, having suspected that she'd get landed with the gruesome work. She grabbed a small spade and brush, and began digging around the object. It soon became fairly clear what it was. ‘It's a skull.' Billie sat back on her haunches once she was sure, and looked at Shannon, who was deathly white and looking as if she was going to be sick.

‘Ireland here we come,' Shannon said flatly, praying to God that Billie would agree to go with her.

‘Looks that way.' Billie caught Shannon's eye and smiled. ‘Fuck it. Let's go make some travel plans over a cup of real tea.'

Shannon nodded, and felt her dread of executing this task alone lift from her thoughts.

As they headed up the steep slope, Shannon became aware of the ghostly figure of a woman,
attired in a long old-fashioned dress, making her way up the slope ahead of them. ‘Katlin?' Shannon called out to her, startling Billie, who saw nothing bar the afternoon sun through the trees.

The woman turned back to Shannon and smiled before continuing on her trek toward the house.

Despite her efforts, Shannon didn't manage to catch up to the spectre, who remained about ten metres ahead all the way back to the house. Once inside the small mansion, Shannon searched, but Katlin was nowhere to be found.

In the kitchen, Billie was making tea. ‘What the hell was that all about?'

‘It was nothing.' Shannon sidestepped explaining further and sat down at the table to look through the house album again. She knew she'd come across an old black and white photo of Katlin in there the other day, but she hadn't had a reason to take any real notice of the picture at the time.

On second viewing, Shannon saw a woman the same age as herself, fear clearly reflected in her expression. Katlin had long dark hair that fell to her waist, where it curled into ringlets. Her pretty, soulful eyes told a sad story, as they were filled with despair and anger. Katlin's lush lips where pulled taut — to contain her rebellious protests, Shannon imagined.

Shannon wished she could have sat down with Katlin all that time ago; she would have talked her
into leaving Heartley and defying her family. How sad that a true love had been lost forever, and how strange that after all this time, two women, much the same age as Katlin, had come along to aid her. Shannon had to wonder: if they'd all lived at the same time in history, would they have become friends? How nice to know that one could make good friends over a century after one's death.

 

After a trip to the local travel agent to pick up brochures and maps, the evening was spent trying to locate the place in County Kerry where Katlin had once lived. To find the exact burial place of Katlin's beloved Timothy O'Mally was going to take a bit of research, which they would do once they arrived in Ireland.

Today, their flight of fancy was still a bit unreal. However, neither woman had yet suggested that maybe they should forget the idea and go home.

Billie had undergone a huge shift in attitude. The situation had gone from being Shannon's delusion to a very real scenario in which a heinous crime had been committed and gone unpunished.

Shannon ventured to ask Billie about her sudden conversion to the cause and for the first time since she'd met her, Shannon saw a look of regret on the warrior woman's face.

‘I know what it feels like to be in a loveless relationship,' she replied rather sombrely and
without using the ‘f' word once. ‘Be damned if I would allow anyone to be trapped in that hell for all eternity.' She sniffed back a tear and forced a smile. ‘Old Man Heartley can just kiss my fucking arse!'

They would both sleep well tonight, they suspected. No footsteps or knocking on doors.

 

Someone was crying. Shannon didn't want to wake. Was it Billie she could hear? She recalled Billie reminiscing on a loveless relationship the previous evening and, fearing that they'd opened a can of worms, Shannon forced herself to consciousness.

She wandered into the hall, rubbing her eyes and having a yawn. ‘Billie?'

It was Katlin seated on the stairs, and although her appearance was transparent and colourless, her features and dress were well defined and very like the photograph Shannon had been viewing earlier. Katlin had obviously died young, or rather, been murdered young. Tears were streaming down the young woman's face, but unlike her image in the photograph, Katlin wore a huge smile.

‘What's with all the tears?' Billie appeared at the top of the stairs and halfway through her descent she stopped dead in her tracks, having spotted Katlin.

‘You can see her?' Shannon whispered to her petrified friend.