Shadows Falling: The Lost #2 (25 page)

I only have to keep her calm until Sam and Sonnet and Nora arrive.

That’s all.

She lifts her head and gazes at me with such a forlorn expression of grief and sadness that my heart feels as though it stops. I grow even colder when she says my name
- I am virtually made of ice, I think, and I will melt away - and just like that, when she begins to speak, slowly and carefully, I know my life is over and I am going to die.

29

“Please let me out!” I scream and throw myself against the door to Nora’s room. Outside, in the hallway, there is sweet escape from Rose. I can hear Miss Helmes on the other side, but she does not help me.

Rose stands by the window and watches me, sadly. She has not spoken in moments, not since I began banging on the door. The things she said before I cannot even bear thinking of. I see her sigh, and she turns and faces the window. Her face is reflected there, a mirror image of what I saw on the night of the masquerade ball: a beautiful face with yellow hair, and deep, bottomless blue eyes.

“Miss Helmes! Please! Why are you doing this to me?” I sink to the floor, but I don’t give up beating on the door, from my knees.

I hear footfalls in the hallway and hushed voices. They come, and they go. They have for what feels like hours. I swear I heard Mack and Dr. Ford, but they do not help me. Why won
’t they help me? What madness is this?

“
Lizzie?” I hear Mina’s sweet voice from the other side of the heavy door, and I feel a rush of relief and thanksgiving.

“
Mina! Mina, tell them to let me out. She’s here with me! Rose Gray is in here! Don’t let her hurt me! I need to get out! Please, Mina, unlock the door!”

Unbelievably, I don
’t hear the sound of a key turning. I stare hard at the knob, but it does not turn. Has my only friend abandoned me then?

“
Lizzie, no one is going to hurt you.” Mina’s soft voice comes through the crack in the door. I press my ear to it to listen and imagine I can feel her breath. “Calm down. Take a deep breath. No one is in there with you.”

I sputter with indignation and unbelief.
“How can you not believe me? Mina, let me out!” This last time I shout with all the passion and anger I can muster, which is plenty. I never thought she would—could—do this to me. And for what? What was their gain?

I turn to face Rose, but she still stares out the window. She
’s quiet as a mouse, blast her, not making a sound to let my friends know that she is here. I hear more footfalls, and these ones are familiar. Sam’s.

I want to cry out, but my voice is strained and cracked, and I can
’t catch my breath. I hear his incredulous rebuke of Miss Helmes, and I want to cry with thanks. He will make them let me out, and then they will all see who they locked me in here with. They’ll be so sorry. I will kiss him, and right in front of his wife, too. I won’t care. They can get the marriage annulled. He won’t stay with her after I tell him what she told me. He wouldn’t be so cruel. No one would. Jack the Ripper himself would take pity on me.

“
You shouldn’t have shut her in here.” Sam’s voice is full of rage. “Do you have no heart at all? Give me the key!”

There is a moment of silence, and I can see Miss Helmes evaluating her options in my imagination, sure as if I were on the right side of the door. She would be standing, with her bony arms crossed against her large breasts, and she would not give him the satisfaction of hurrying to obey him. I hear her yelp, and can
’t help smiling. She should have given in quicker.

I turn one last time to face Rose Gray, and she turns too, to look at me. She cocks her head, curiously regarding me. I hear the key turn.

“Goodbye, Lizzie,” she says, softly. “I loved you.” And unbelievably, as though her strange words weren’t odd enough, she begins to blur and grow fainter, not like Sam and Nora when they disappeared, more like a fading, like a photo in a darkroom, in liquid, only in reverse, lighter and lighter until she is gone.

I can breathe again, and everything is clear, and everything is right. All
’s right with the world.

The door explodes open, and I launch myself headlong into his arms. I am pressed up to his coat, my nose buried in the crook of his neck, his familiar smell invading my space; it feels like home. I feel his mouth on mine, and he pulls away, only for a brief, hard moment; then he cups my head and looks at me.

“Luke.” I breathe, and when I pull my gaze away, it’s only to stroke the neglected ring on my finger: shimmering gold with a single pearl in the center.

And he smiles.
“Rose.”

Luke
. Not Sam.
Rose.
Not Lizzie. I was finally home.

30

Everything had come back so swiftly, all at once. Perfect clarity—no more confusion, no more questions. The vision of Rose had shimmered and left and once it did, Luke’s name had passed by my lips. Like a cold wind blowing by, Rose Gray left the room, or rather, Lizzie did.

As a little girl, alone and ostracized by the village and by Old Babba, I used to sit and play with Lizzie. She was the only one who ever tried to understand me. She was a good girl, an orphan like me. She was going to be a doctor, and sometimes when I cut myself playing or experimenting, for sometimes my cuts and scrapes were on purpose, she would bandage them for me. She was the only one who loved me, until I got too big for imaginary friends.

After Spain, I began to unravel. We barely made it back to Bedlam together at all. I was coming apart at the seams, and I no longer remembered Luke at times. He was fading from my memory, blurry around the edges, no sound to his voice, no comfort in his arms. He forbade me from traveling anymore, but it was unnecessary; I didn’t recall ever having the capability. With Dr. Ford’s prodding, and Luke’s too, I painstakingly wrote everything down that I could remember. Now I know Luke placed the first diary where he knew I could find it, and the second at the Bodley, where he hoped I would track it. It was the last hope he had. He would have done anything for me. The last time I knew him as Luke, I begged him to just let me go, help me escape the hospital, give me time and space. Maybe it would all come back to me. I could feel myself slipping away, and the thought of doing that in front of him was more than I could bear. He let me go.

After a while, all I could remember was Lizzie. Luke was always there, of course; he never really left, never really went far, but I didn
’t notice him. He was a stranger to me, and I was building my life as Lizzie. He arranged the flat for me and convinced Miss Helmes to take me on as a nurse. She knew me as Rose, but as long as I was no longer being violent, she was willing to play along; all in her pursuit of science and medicine, or perhaps the wealth it could bring her. If this kind of therapy worked, she could be rich and infamous in the medical world and much more than just the glorified housekeeper. Mina knew, and being sweet Mina, she had confided in her mother. The reason Mrs. Dobson didn’t want me near Amy was far from her distaste of the poor. She was frightened of me.

Mr. Limpet knew me as Rose Gray when m
y hair was loose. He and I had
several interactions over the years, the most memorable for him of course being the stairs. When my hair was braided in two plaits, he only saw me as Lizzie, the helpful nurse, and he didn’t fear me. Such a pathetic disguise for anyone but him. Him and I, I suppose.

Danvers, of course, isn’t Danvers. That’s the housekeeper in
Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. The butler’s real name is James, I remember that now. And there was no Miss Temple in the orphanage; Miss Temple was the mistress in Jane Eyre’s orphanage. Of course, I had no orphanage to begin with, so does it really matter what I call her?

When I felt myself slipping away and losing my memory,
Luke had distanced himself like I asked him to, but he couldn’t keep it up indefinitely, not if he wanted a chance of being with me. Eventually, he would travel on without me. If I had no memory of being Lost, I would lose the ability, like my grandmother had. He couldn’t risk it; he didn’t have time. He had to interfere to save me. And save me he has. In many ways, I think.

The night at the ball, when I had seen Rose in the window
—it wasn’t a window. It was a mirror on the wall.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
I remember that story from the library. Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Solomon read it to me one dark night, while the thunder crashed outside. I remember the voices he used for each character, and I remember the way my eyes followed along the print with his finger, as I learned to read. I remember the Bodley, and the sideshow. I remember Old Babba and her cackling prophecies:
Goosebumps. Someone has just walked on your grave, little girl, on your grave
. I remember Sonnet and our father. I remember the way my mother’s hair blew around her face. I remember my wedding day.

I remember everything.

~ The End ~

Acknowledgements and Notes
:

I could not write a paragraph, much less a page, without the following people:

My husband, who thinks I’m Supergirl, even when I get tangled in my cape

My kids, who don’t mind popcorn for lunch (again)

My parents and siblings, even the one who hasn’t read the first book yet (ahem, Dad)

My
fan base (quality, not quantity), whether in person or on online. I couldn’t have done this without you and all your shout-outs, encouragements, eagerness, and drum rolls (and occasional eye rolls)

Libraries everywhere

Finally, Shadows Falling is a work of fiction, but some things are true. Nathaniel Lee was an English playwright who was incarcerated in Bedlam, during which time he uttered the infamous quote, “They called me mad, and I called them mad, and damn them, they outvoted me.” This quote was far too wonderful to pass up – thank you, Nathaniel!

The Roxye
ttes later became the Rockettes

Mad Tom O’ Bedlam is a poem that dates back as far as
the 1600s. For the most mad musical version, check out Charlene Kaye and the Brilliant Eyes. It’s marvelously twisted and catchy and I adore it.

Gretna Green is the site of many secret weddings, and my 13 year old self, who ate up Regency Romances by the dozen, just had to make mention of it

Lillian Gish and Mary Pickford were the Jennifer Anistons and Angelina Jolies of their day

Sylvia Plath was a recipient (or victim) of electric shock therapy

Lobotomies were a common practice and began around the late eighteen hundreds: removing small pieces of bone by drilling in the hope that violent patients would become calmer and passive (some were so calm and passive afterwards, they were dead). Walter Freeman was the most notorious lobotomy doctor, and was famous for performing them with ice picks, sometimes in a factory line session and as quickly as ten minutes each (trying to break his own speed record), and was reputed to have performed them on up to 25 women a day. He was killed by a patient

Bethlem Royal Hospital (B
edlam) was relocated in 1931. The thought of ghosts being at each location is a delicious thought that first came to my mind at the very beginning of Shadows Falling. What if Rose came back to the wrong location? Though this ended up not playing as large a part as I first planned, I still enjoy the idea. They did charge admission to see the “lunatyks” on the second Tuesday of each month, back in the day. They also allowed their patients to hold dances. There are many sources on the history of the hospital, each more disturbing than the last. Truth is stranger than fiction, and never more so than here in Bedlam.

From “Shadows Lost”

Book 3 of the Shadows Trilogy

I make no sneaky ceremony of jiggling the shed door, creeping up quietly, or softly calling his name. Instead, feeling rather like a vigilante, I shoulder my rifle, take off the safety, and then kick the door in with all fury and strength I can muster. The door bursts open. I aim directly for the shadowy figure that I knew would be inside, but he doesn’t even do me the courtesy of jumping to his feet, or shouting out in surprise. His long legs folded up as he sits on an overturned bucket, he regards me with something like amusement, and he takes the time to grind out his cigarette before he speaks.

“Hullo, Gray. You’re looking,” Luke pauses, “tan.”

“And you’re looking like a murdering piece of scum,” I reply. “What the hell do you want?”

“Language, language,” Luke tsks. “I admit, we didn’t part on good terms, but you could act a bit more polite. I am your brother-in-law, you know.”

I can’t help but feel taken aback, though I try not to show it. Luke and Rose, married? “No, I didn’t know. The invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.” I keep the rifle shouldered, though my arms ache. I wouldn’t lower it for a million dollars. “You two married ... there’s a thought that makes my stomach turn.”

“Why? Don’t you want someone to take care of your sister?” He pauses, waiting for me to answer, but I’m silent.  “Obviously, you’ve given up on her yourself.” His voice is laced with disapproval and more: disappointment?

His words hurt, but I stuff the hurt down inside to deal with later. “You’ll make a lovely pair, I’m sure. Now, you have twenty seconds to tell me why you’re here and what your plan is for leaving again. Is Rose here?”

“Three questions, and only twenty seconds to answer them? You’ve gotten impatient, Gray. It doesn’t suit you. No, first of all, Rose is not here. She’s in 1931, in Bedlam.” He examines his cuff sleeve as if curious about it suddenly, like he’s acting more casual than he really feels. Typically, Luke is an exceptional actor, so this bit of careful nonchalance is out of place. He must be feeling more uncomfortable than usual. I look at his cuff as well; his clothes are fairly commonplace for the Lost to travel in. He wears characteristic nondescript black trousers and a white button down shirt. I’m no fashion expert – far from it – but I’d say they’re expensive and well made. Almost as if he came straight here from some wealthy party. Somehow I’m not surprised. There’s a lot of playboy in Luke Dawes.

“Why? Why did you leave her behind?” I’m surprised. I’m certainly not sad she isn’t here; in fact, I feel my shoulders relax a bit, but I’m stunned he would jump eras without her. That’s risky.

“She doesn’t know me,” he replies, flatly. “Not as me, anyway. She doesn’t even know herself. If you thought Rose was,” his voice cracks, and I know he’s having a hard time saying the words, “insane before, back in London when last you saw her, she’s much worse now.” Luke runs his hand through his sandy-colored hair, the way he does when he’s tired or thinking deeply. It’s gotten long. He could probably gather it into a messy ponytail, and combined with his five o’clock shadow, he’d look like a twenty-first century movie star. His looks were always a little distracting.

I roll my eyes. I’m having a hard time imagining Rose being any worse. Is she boiling kittens in her spare time now? Setting orphanages on fire?

“She’s sick, Gray. Her illness has forced her into a place inside herself where she has built up an elaborate world. She doesn’t even know herself, calls herself Lizzie. She calls me Sam. Come on, you’ve been a part of the modern world; you’ve heard of multiple personalities, split personalities, dissociative personality disorder?” He waits for my response.

“What’s your point?” I sigh. There’s no hope for it; I can’t keep aiming this rifle. I lower it slowly, and my arms thank me by deciding not to fall off in a heap by my shaky legs. “Sounds like a great thing actually. No one but you would ever miss Rose Gray anyway.”

“Because she can’t travel.” Luke’s voice is monotone. His eyes search me and keep talking even when his voice stops. She’s stuck, his eyes communicate to me. Stuck in time.

I get a chill. “So, she’s stranded in Bedlam? And, what? You’re upset because eventually you’ll travel without her, is that it? Ah.” Again, his mouth stays shut, but his anguished eyes speak volumes. “Well, that does put a kink in your relationship.”

“Have a heart, Gray. I need to get her back before it’s too late. What if her memory comes back, and I’m not there to keep her stable? If I’m gone centuries in the past or in the future?”

“You’ve done such a lovely job up until now keeping her stable,” I scowl. “She’s probably better off without you enabling her anyway.”

“I see your point, but believe me, she’s much, much worse on her own. Think of all the damage she could do without me. She knows Jack. She knows how to steer her journeys. She found you once; she’ll do it again.” His smooth voice is a threat now. “If you help me bring her back to herself, I’ll keep her away from you. I swear it.”

I laugh without any humor. “Your word means nothing to me, less than nothing actually, and there are a couple problems with your grand, master plan: for one, I can’t get myself to 1931 even if I wanted to, and for another, how in the world could I help? Provided that I was even willing to, which I assure you, I am not.” I must be missing something; he had to have known I wouldn’t join forces with him. I frown, searching my memory, looking for the missing piece.

“Don’t you see? I’m hoping that seeing you will trigger something in her. You’re the biggest, realest thing in her life, like it or not. She’s been obsessed with you for years. She knows you. It’s my only shot. I’m desperate.”

“And the other thing, genius? Wait ...” My eyes narrow when a thought occurs to me. “How did you even get here if you’ve been to 1931 with her?” My thoughts are swirling, and I don’t like where they’re going. There is a certain kind of smugness to Luke’s handsome face now that worries me.  He shouldn’t have been able to get to me intentionally if Rose truly isn’t with him, unless she’s taught him how to navigate. Merciful heavens, that’s all the world needs: Luke Dawes hopping through time, wherever he likes, on purpose. I shoulder the rifle again, but Luke only looks mildly annoyed.

“For God’s sake, Gray, don’t trip or anything. We both know you aren’t going to shoot me on purpose.”

“You underestimate the depths of my hatred for you,” I respond, “and I’m not going to trip. If I shoot you, you can damn sure bet it was because I intended to, and just so you know, dear brother-in-law, I’m not aiming at your heart.” I lower the rifle about a foot to make my point. Predictably, his mild annoyance shoots up a notch to slightly nervous.

He puts up his hands in a surrendered stance. “Okay, okay. I got here because I brought someone with me, someone else who knows how to get where she wants: your grandmother, Nora.”

“What?” It’s all I can say. My tongue is tied in knots.

“Did Noah ever tell you about her?”

Did my father ever tell me about my grandmother? Not until recently, when he remembered to mention that she, too, knew how to find her way through time. I hadn’t thought too much of it, especially because he said she was a bit batty. Evidently, madness and supreme cosmic powers run in my family. All I got was the ice blue eyes. Nice.

“He mentioned her.” I tread carefully. “What do you mean? She’s here with you? She brought you here?” My voice threatens to squeak, which for me, is odd. I have a deep, throaty voice for a girl.

“She did, indeed, so if you’d like to meet her, you probably shouldn’t murder me.”

“It isn’t murder when the victim is a dirt bag. It’s public service. Anyway –” I get no further because I see Luke’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his hair the way they do when he’s surprised by something, and that something is behind me. I whirl, and am met by a string of profanity in at least seven different languages, including some Gypsy curses, a few hair-rising expletives, and also some very specific promises of what was going to happen next to the man in the shed.

“Israel, I can explain.” I swallow, but the rifle is already out of my hands before I can stop him, and Israel pushes me behind him with a force that I know is not entirely necessary.

“Later,” he growls, and I dread later already. “Dawes.”

BANG. He shoots the wall a scant inch beside Luke’s head. Luke doesn’t flinch, but his eyebrows haven’t returned to their normal resting spot either.

“Come on, let the girl explain.” Luke’s hands go up in a submissive gesture that only serves to irritate Israel further.

BANG. Israel blows another hole on the other side of Luke’s face. The expression on his face doesn’t change, but Luke’s eyebrows have completely vanished into his hairline now.

“He has my grandmother!” I shout. I probably don’t need to yell, seeing as how I’m only inches from his ear, but adrenaline has kicked in with the force of a hurricane.  I may have just deafened my love. Getting a hold of myself, I lower my voice to continue. “I don’t much care if you kill him four ways from Sunday –”

“Gee, thanks, Gray,” Luke interrupts.

“In fact, I’ll help, but can we do it after we learn why he’s here and where he’s stashed my grandmother?”

“What?” Israel glares. “Prue is here?”

“No, not Prue, my biological grandmother, Nora. My mother’s mother.”

Israel sighs with enough passion and emotion to win him an Academy Award, a show I remember watching on the television with Harry and Matthias a couple of years ago.  “This is not how I planned to spend my weekend.” I can literally hear his teeth grinding together in frustration. It sounds painful.

“Yes, well, plans change, old boy.” Luke’s eyebrows return to their rightful spot above his beautiful eyes, and I know that he knows that he’s won, at least temporarily. “Can we get out of here, please? It wasn’t the world’s most comfortable bedroom last night; I swear to God, I think I heard a lion prowling around, and I hate to be crude, but I really need to pee.”

“That was a rooster, moron, and I’m calling the shots here. You aren’t going to take a step, a breath, or a piss until I tell you you can.” Iz growls.

“Alright if I blink?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“How about one eye at a time?”

“Alright, girls! Enough already!” I am back to shouting. One boy at a time, that’s my limit; put these two together, and I feel like a drunken referee. I am hoping Luke’s story can be told incredibly swiftly, and he can either be sent on his merry way or put six feet under, because honestly, I cannot take the two of them much longer. Heaven help me if he sticks around.

********************

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