Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story (72 page)

No!
Not one person had survived this curse, not through lifetimes and lifetimes. And she knew it, she had always known it. The first time he touched her, she knew it. The first time he laid her down on a bed, she knew it. Time was running out. Time had always been running out. That’s what they had all meant—Nick, Nora, and all those voices of the dead.

He would hurt, but he would live. He had so much in his life: his music, his family, his band mates. He would survive. Time would pass. The pain would change to a faint, dull ache then slip into wistfulness. He was so strong; she knew he could survive this. He had to survive this. But what about her?

Her foot found the gas pedal, and she drove on. Forward. Away. Cut out any feeling. Survive. Run. She would disappear. She could not fake her own death. She could not do that to her parents—or to Andrew. She would simply disappear.

Belden was easier to find the second time. At a convenience store she bought a local map, not wanting to take the one back at the cottage. The fewer clues she left, the safer she’d be. The clerk behind the counter looked at her oddly, and she tried to smile, but it was like moving her lips through cement. She glanced at her watch; she would have fifteen minutes, tops. An ATM sat in the corner. She drained everything she could from her account.

“Is there an Amtrak station nearby, and do you have a schedule?”

The man produced a pamphlet and handed it to her. The nearest train station was Fort Bragg. She could take the inland roads and then cross over, avoiding the coast. She would call her parents, tell them she was safe and what little else she could. She would find a small town, somewhere, anywhere. She could work, wait tables; she’d clean floors if necessary. Or maybe she could go to Canada, another country. Away. Far, far away.

Clutching the train schedule in her hand, she asked her last question.

“Can I walk to Belden Cemetery from here?”

“Hmmm. You’re not one of those crazies are you? We’ve had enough of that kind around here—we don’t want any more trouble.”

She thought of Dwayne and his friends; it felt like a lifetime ago. “No, I’m writing a—an article. I need to do some research.”

He eyed her strangely and pointed out on the map how to proceed. She could still feel his gaze fixed on her as she rushed out the door.

The sky had darkened with approaching rain clouds, and the wind whipped the trees around her as she climbed up the nearby hills. The branches struck at her face as she struggled over the uneven earth. Drops began to fall, the ground now slick below her feet. A tear hit her cheek—she shouldered it away—then another and another. Freezing and relentless rain began to spatter out of the slate gray sky. It stung her face, and seconds later the sky erupted, sending torrents of rain and sleet crashing to the earth and soaking her jeans to her skin. She ran, clutching her satchel to her chest.

Nora, I’ll do this. I will do this one thing. I promise you.

The map melted in her hands, and she squinted to try to see the print. “You’re lost, you’re going to die,” she yelled to herself as she staggered around for what seemed like hours. Then just when she thought all was lost, an orchard came into view, with rows of trees gone wild. She saw a wooden gate in a broken fence.

Belden Farm.

Andrew’s fist smashed against the side of the door. Simon’s eyes flashed at Andrew from the driver’s seat, the road racing past. They had lived this over and over: driving like demons, desperate to find her. Fate. It was playing itself out no matter what they did.

“Easy, Paulie, we’ll be needing to return this thing to the inn. It was bad enough when Buck told that old wanker we went medieval on his ghost.”

Andrew didn’t respond, and Simon drove on.

A second later, Andrew’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. “Yes.”

“Andrew, she’s not here,” said Margot, out of breath. “All her things are gone. The guys are in town trying to find her there. But she didn’t even leave a note. Please tell me you’ve heard something.”

“No.”

“Wait—hold on, Zoey is on the line with Christian. What? Oh, shit—she hasn’t shown up at the inn, either. What are we going to do?”

“Stay there,” he ordered her. “Call me if you find out anything. Tell Christian to do the same. Wait—is everything gone? Are Nora’s ashes gone as well?”

The line hung dead. “There’s nothing here. Andrew, you don’t think—?”

“Just stay there! We’ll call you if we—when we find her.”

He ended the call, his body rocking with fury. What was happening to him? His bones wanted to rip through his skin like knives. The thought of her running from him unleashed an unspeakable wrath—a need to kill. Then from the depths of his hatred came The Lady in Red’s voice, rasping in a joyous whisper. “It’s starting.”

Wrenching the farm gate open, Emily ran. Belden Farm—she had made it. Her satchel crashed into her leg, making her trip, her knees and hands scraping against the rocky ground. The rain blurred her sight, the merciless torrents now bulleting down in sheets. Her clothes were drenched, and her hair stuck to her face. She gulped mouthfuls of air as she spun this way and that.

Through the blinding rain she saw it. Set not far off was the cemetery. Old gravestones jutted from the ground like macabre decorations, bowing in supplication around a central mausoleum. The name “Belden” was chiseled into the cold dead stone. Beyond that stood a farmhouse that had fallen into ruin.

She circled the cemetery, desperate to find a clue. Shoving her hair from her eyes, she attempted to find a wall, or anything that would show her where Nick was buried. Pulling Andrew’s coat around her body, she searched and searched for what felt like hours. Nothing, she could find nothing. Nearly hopeless, she thought of clawing at the soil to unearth a hidden grave with her bare hands.
Nick, where are you?

Yet how much longer could she risk being here? She fell down on her knees in exhaustion and muttered aloud the lines of the poem, the rain lashing in her mouth. “I dwell in a lonely house I know, I dwell in a lonely house I know…in a lonely house.”

The house—she had to search inside the house, not look for a grave! Trudging through the downpour, she staggered blindly to the imposing outline of the old farmhouse. She stopped dead. Shouting, she heard shouting. Pure fear, like a white hot strangulation, gripped her. She couldn’t move. How, how could he have found her so soon? No! She had to hide. Mired in the grip of viscous mud she struggled to free her feet, looking around wildly in panic, desperate for a place to run. The barn.

Dashing to the faded red door, she shoved it open with her shoulder; it moved silently despite its battered appearance. Inside, the sweet scent of hay hit her. Its warmth enveloped her.

Her breath rose up in wisps in the dim light as she wrenched the door back into place. In the shadowy light she saw the rafters of the barn rise up like a cathedral, the missing slates in the roof sending beams of gray down to the hay-strewn floor. The barn was empty; there was nowhere she could conceal herself where he couldn’t find her.

Swallowing down her fear, her gaze whipped up high to the rafters, and there she spotted it—a loft with a window. If she could reach it, she could conceal herself under the hay and then escape out the back. But she had no time—the cries were coming closer by the second.

“Emily!” She knew that sound. Her knees wavered, and she struggled to stand.

“Emily!” Andrew screamed in fury now. The sound unleashed her visions: him hunting her, the earth giving way on the cliffs, his hands gripping her throat.

Trapped in the back corner, she panicked. She had to run. Just then her foot hit against a ring on the barn floor. In one last desperate attempt, her hands swept away the hay and she saw the outlines of a door. She yanked on the ring and the door creaked open. Below was a hole no bigger than a coffin—a storage bin at one time. She didn’t have time to think. The shouting had almost reached the barn door.

Dragging her satchel, she shimmied down into the space and lowered the door shut with a resounding click, sealing herself in. The wood was inches away from her face, and the scent of mold and decay permeated the earth around her. Her eyes widened, fighting to adjust to the pitch blackness. The suffocating confines forced her to lie flat on her back, cramped, with her hands clutched over her heart.

Thundering footfalls erupted from above. She could hear the mad dashing of two sets of feet running across the floor. Her throat choked, and her eyes burned from the dirt dislodged around her. She fought back the urge to cough, slamming her hands over her face.

“She’s not here,” panted Simon, out of breath.

“No! She’s here, I know she is. Her footprints—we saw her footprints!” cried Andrew, his own footsteps circling the room. Emily’s hands shriveled into fists, and her eyes clenched tight.

“Those could have been anyone’s footprints, Andrew. This is where those blokes are going to have their party tomorrow night, yeah? Lots of people come up here.”

“No, they’re hers. I know—”

“Margot said her stuff wasn’t at the cottage. Dwayne and the guys didn’t spot her in Mendocino. Maybe she’s on her way back to San Francisco. Maybe this was all too much for her to take? I’ll call your mum and send her over to the house to wait for her—”

“No! She’s running. She’s running from
me
. Don’t you see that? She thinks it’s all true!”

Andrew’s pacing pounded the boards.

“Then why the hell would she come here if she’s running? We know she’s in the minivan. Let’s have the cops track her down. Claim it’s a stolen vehicle.”

Emily breathed a fraction, thankful that they had not spotted the minivan where she’d hidden it off the road.

“You don’t understand!” Andrew shouted back. “She’d come here—to find Nick. She has the key and Nora’s ashes. She has everything she needs to reunite them. She doesn’t give up on things…Oh bloody hell, I…I could kill her for this!”

“Might want to keep that to yourself,” Simon muttered, before he reasoned more loudly, “Hans said we could have his car for a few hours—which personally I think is a miracle after the way you were threatening him with dismemberment—but regardless, let’s phone the police, get an APB out on her or whatever they call it, get ourselves another rental, and then sit down and make a plan.”

“Listen to me! We have to find her! She’s going to disappear, I know it. I can feel it. And Christ, she’s alone, and she’s probably terrified to death. You know how she is…she believes everything, every bloody thing. If we don’t find her now—”

“Calm the hell down.”

“You were there; you heard her. You saw Emily’s face. Did you see the horror in her eyes? She believed it. Oh God. Fuck. What if it is true…?”

The pacing ceased. Heavy, labored breaths were the only sound. “That ghost knew everything about me. Everything. How the hell could she have known that? I just…I don’t trust myself anymore. I’m so fucking angry. I…I can’t control it. Control myself…this hatred…There’s something wrong with me. That monster was right—there’s always been something wrong with me.”

“Andrew. You don’t believe that shit, do you? I mean really believe it?” Simon asked, his voice suddenly serious. “You’re not a killer, man. You’re just not. But you need to stay away from Emily. Don’t look at me like that, you need to get out. This shit is wrong, don’t you see it? The girl’s been nothing but a nightmare of trouble since you met her. Get yourself out of here while you still can.”