The Visitor (24 page)

I tried to scream, tried to reach out to Devlin, but I couldn't move and neither could he, it seemed. He remained motionless as his gaze moved slowly up the wall as if tracking the entity all the way to the ceiling.

Forty-Three

I
n the space of a heartbeat, it was gone.

The smell vanished, the cold faded and Devlin seemed to shake off his trance as he leaped from bed and reached for the lamp. Light flooded the room, revealing nothing amiss in that tiny space but the rumpled bedsheets and our discarded clothing.

I scrambled out of bed and into my jeans, hands trembling so badly I couldn't manage the snap. Drawing on a T-shirt, I curled up in a chair and hugged my knees to my chest as I watched Devlin move about the room, shirtless and barefoot. He'd pulled on his pants, not bothering to buckle the belt as he checked windows and doors in full police-detective mode. I heard him moving around in the bathroom and when he came back out, he even searched under the bed.

“You saw it, didn't you?” I asked on a shaky breath.

He shot me a glance that I couldn't decipher as he opened the front door and scanned the porch. “I saw something,” he admitted. “Wait here while I take a look outside.”

I jumped up from the chair. “Don't go out there!”

He turned with a scowl. “It's okay. I'll just be a minute. Where's your flashlight? All I have is a penlight.”

I unzipped my backpack and fished out the light. “There's a loose connection. You may have to give it a thump.”

He tapped it on. “Lock the door behind me.”

That won't do any good!
“Maybe I should wait for you on the front porch.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but then nodded. I followed him out the door, watching from the top step as he disappeared around the corner of the cottage. My gaze lifted to the back of Nelda's house where the light in the upstairs window still shone. I wanted to take comfort in that lonely beacon, but instead I found myself wondering who was still awake at this hour and what were they up to.

Devlin came back around the cottage, playing the flashlight beam all along the edge of the porch.

“Did you find anything?” I asked anxiously.

“I saw some fresh footprints in the dirt below the bedroom window. Someone may have been looking for a way in.”

“Someone or some
thing
?”

That seemed to give him pause. “Let's go back inside.”

I turned with trepidation toward the doorway. I could see the bed from where I stood, and my gaze automatically scaled the wall over the headboard.

Devlin came up behind me. “Nothing's in there. It was only a shadow.”

I tightened my arms around my middle. “It wasn't a shadow. I felt it on my skin. It was touching my hair.” I remembered the phantom tongue along my jaw and shuddered. “I know you saw it.”

“What I saw was the breeze stirring your hair,” he insisted. “The wind is up because a storm's moving in. That also explains the static electricity.”

“There was no breeze inside. The doors and windows were closed.”

“The window in the bathroom was open.”

Had I not shut it earlier after my bath? I couldn't remember, but it hardly mattered because the entity didn't need an open window or an unlocked door. It could just have easily come up through the cracks in the floorboards.

“What about the smell?” I asked.

“The jasmine?” He flicked the beam down into the garden. “There's a trellis of it near the patio.”

I gazed back at him in shock. I'd smelled Papa's witch hazel, but the entity had manifested Devlin's daughter's favorite flower to entice him. It could use any scent. Invade any space in search of a conduit through which it could work its evil.

“We both know it was there,” I whispered.

Devlin took my arm. “Come back inside. I want to show you something.”

Reluctantly, I let him lead me back through the door and then I watched anxiously as he moved around the bed to turn off the lamp. Darkness and claustrophobia enveloped me and I had to fight the urge to flee back outside to the porch.

“Look at the wall over the bed,” Devlin instructed.

I didn't want to. I wanted to squeeze my eyes closed so that, like my great-grandmother before me, I could unsee the unspeakable.

“Do you see it?” he asked and I shifted my focus to the space above the headboard. Something moved on the wall. My pulse jumped before I realized it was the silhouette of a tree branch thrashing in the breeze.

“That doesn't explain the look I saw on your face,” I said. “You were frightened.”

“I was alarmed,” he said. “And with good reason. Someone stood outside that window looking in on us. Whoever it was cast a shadow on the wall, and the wind in the tree branches created an illusion of movement.”

I almost wished I could buy the explanation of a Peeping Tom. The notion of Micah Durant or anyone else spying on us made me ill, but the alternative was far more distressing. “That still doesn't explain the look I saw on your face,” I said stubbornly. Or the reflection I'd glimpsed in his eyes.

He turned on the light. “I admit, I let my imagination get the better of me for a moment.”

“What about my imagination? Do you think we conjured the exact same thing at the exact same time? How do you explain our simultaneous reaction?” I'd been hovering just inside the door but now I took a tentative step toward him. “Besides, you're not the type to let your imagination get the better of you.”

“Normally, no. But all this business with my grandfather must be taking more of a toll than I realized.”

I gazed across the bed at him. “What business?” I asked carefully.

“All the fantasies he's cooked up. For a moment, I let myself get dragged into his delusions.” His voice was so calm and measured he almost had me convinced.

“You really think all you saw was a shadow?”

“I do.” He walked around the bed and put his arms around me. “Whatever either of us saw or felt, it's over. Nothing else is going to happen tonight.”

“I hope you're right,” I said uneasily.

He brushed his fingers through my hair and I couldn't help shivering. “I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. If it'll make you feel better, we can leave the light on for the rest night.” He was teasing me now, but when I pulled back to search beyond his coaxing smile, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes that I knew was dread.

Forty-Four

D
evlin was already up the next morning when I roused. I hadn't closed my eyes until just before daylight and when I finally did doze off, my dreams were dark and disjointed. Like Rose's puzzle, I couldn't make sense of them, but an overwhelming feeling of loss plagued me, so much so that I awakened once with tears on my face.

Even curled in Devlin's arms, I couldn't go back to sleep. I lay fully dressed on top of the covers and listened to the distant rumble of thunder as a feeling of doom descended. It wasn't just the insidious nature of the malcontent or the persistent chatter of all those ghostly voices in my head that tormented me. Something was wrong between Devlin and me.

The growing gulf had troubled me for weeks and now the memory I'd slipped into earlier only solidified my doubts. I didn't know why or how, but I sensed our relationship had reached a turning point—perhaps the crossroads that Dr. Shaw had warned me about. I wanted to believe that eventually all would be well, but I had a bad feeling that rather than uniting us, our shared encounter had changed things in ways I couldn't yet understand.

A part of me wanted nothing more than to rush back to Charleston and put the incident behind me. Distance myself as quickly as I could from the manipulations of a malicious entity. But that wouldn't end the hauntings. The ghosts would follow me wherever I went, harassing me night and day until I found a way to release them. I was as trapped as they, and the sooner I returned to Kroll Cemetery, the sooner I could solve Rose's puzzle and be free of them.

The urgency to act drove me out to the porch, where I found Devlin staring out at the garden.

“Good morning,” he said easily. “Did you finally manage to get some sleep?”

“A little.” I went over to stand beside him at the railing. “Did you?”

“Enough.” He lifted his hand so that I could see the twig he held between his fingers. “I found this on the porch when I came out.”

I took the stem so that I could examine the attached cicada shell. I thought at first it was the same one that had been left on my bedside table. But when I held the husk up to the light, the amber glow was muted because something remained inside. The casing had failed to open all the way so that the winged nymph had become trapped. Half in, half out.

The flesh at my nape tingled and I felt something unpleasant curl in my stomach. Was this a gift? A warning? Another clue? Something about that amber prison made me inexplicably sad. I thought about Mott and what she had become because her sister wouldn't release her from their earthly bond. Or perhaps their connection had been so strong that Mott had lingered of her own accord. Whatever the reason for her unfinished journey, I didn't want to take the chance that our motives could be misconstrued, and so I quickly returned the twig to the porch.

Devlin watched me curiously. “Don't you wonder where it came from?”

“There are cicada shells all over the place,” I said. “Wait until you see the cemetery. That is, if you want to go with me this morning.”

“I wouldn't miss it. And besides, I don't think it a good idea for you or Dr. Shaw to be alone out there. Not after everything I've heard about this Micah Durant.”

“After what happened last night, Micah Durant is the least of my worries.”

Devlin scowled. “After last night, you should be even more worried about him. I wouldn't be at all surprised to find out those are his footprints beneath the bedroom window.”

“You're still convinced that what you saw on the wall was a shadow.”

“And apparently, you're still equally convinced that it wasn't.” He skimmed his knuckles briefly down my bruised cheek as his gaze softened. “Believe it or not, there is a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Years ago when I worked at the Institute, we were always sent in pairs to investigate any unusual activity. Sometimes my partner and I would see or feel or hear the same thing at the same moment only to discover later that we'd experienced a sort of shared delusion brought on by the power of suggestion. It still occasionally happens in police investigations. No matter your best efforts, your mind will go where it's predisposed to go.”

“You think that's what happened to us last night? A shared delusion? Brought on by what?”

“The gruesome history of Kroll Colony. It's been on both our minds for days.”

I wanted to believe it was that simple. A shared delusion conjured by our preoccupation with all those mysterious deaths, but I knew better, and deep down, Devlin did, too.

Nelda came through the garden just then and gave us a cheery wave. “Looks as if the storm blew itself out last night. The breeze was pleasant though, wasn't it? I trust you had a good sleep.”

I smiled and murmured something noncommittal as her gaze slid to Devlin.

“Good morning,” she said. “I don't believe I've had the pleasure.”

“Miss Toombs... Neddy, I'd like you to meet John Devlin. He drove in from Charleston last night. I'm hoping to show him the cemetery this morning after my meeting with Louvenia.”

If she was surprised by his presence at the cottage, she didn't show it. Instead, she seemed quite taken with Devlin as he went down the steps to greet her.

“How do you do, Miss Toombs?”

“Quite well, Mr. Devlin. Thank you.” She smiled demurely as she offered her hand. “I trust you had a good sleep, as well?”

“The cottage is very comfortable,” he said with a neat sidestep. “You have a lovely place here.”

“I try my best.” Reluctantly, she shifted her focus back to me. “About that meeting with Louvenia. I'm to tell you she's running late and will meet you later at the cemetery. She would have telephoned you directly but she didn't want to disturb you.”

“Thank you.”

“And there's a message from Dr. Shaw, as well. I'm afraid he's feeling under the weather and would like for you to come up to see him before you leave.”

“It's nothing serious, I hope.”

“Just a bug, I imagine. Anyway, I'll be serving breakfast shortly. Would you like some coffee or tea in the meantime?”

“Coffee would be great,” Devlin said, and she beamed.

“Maybe tea a little later,” I said. “Right now I'd like to check on Dr. Shaw.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Devlin asked when Nelda had gone back inside the house.

“No, just sit here and enjoy your coffee. I'll be back soon.”

“Amelia...” He caught my arm and I turned to glance up at him.

He looked as if he wanted to tell me something, but instead he bent to kiss me. “Go see about Dr. Shaw. We'll talk when you get back.”

I left him in the garden while I went up to Dr. Shaw's room. He answered the door in his robe and slippers, looking frailer than I'd seen him in months.

“Dr. Shaw, are you all right? Nelda said you're not feeling well.”

“It's nothing to worry about,” he said as he motioned me into a small sitting area. “I expect I've overtaxed myself. I'm used to spending all of my time in the office these days. Field investigations are a young man's work.”

“Can I get you anything?” I asked in concern. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No, thank you, my dear. As you can see, Miss Toombs is taking very good care of me.” He sat down at the table where a tea service had been placed and motioned for me to join him. “A morning's rest and I should be as good as new.”

But I wasn't so certain. The pallor of his skin worried me and I couldn't help noticing how badly his hand trembled as he poured our tea.

“Where's your associate?” I asked as he handed me a cup. “He hasn't already left for the cemetery, has he?”

“He had to return to Charleston on another matter and I'm not sure when or if he'll be back. So I'm afraid neither of us will be able to accompany you this morning. However, I did hear from my friend about the braille inscription.”

“Oh?” I leaned in anxiously. “What does it say?”

“It's from a seventeenth-century poem by Henry Vaughan. I'll forward you the email, but in the meantime, take a look.” He opened up his tablet and handed the device across the table to me. “Vaughan was one of the metaphysical poets. Welsh, I believe.”

I read aloud from the screen:

“O calm and sacred bed, where lies

In death's dark mysteries

A beauty far more bright

Than the noon's cloudless light.”

“What do you think?” Dr. Shaw asked.

“‘A beauty far more bright than the noon's cloudless light,'” I mused.
A beauty far more bright.
The line niggled, but I didn't know why. I glanced up. “Other than the obvious death reference, I don't have a clue. But the poem must have been important to Rose or she wouldn't have gone to the trouble of hiding it in braille. I must say, I'm thoroughly intrigued by the inscription. And even more eager to visit her grave.”

Dr. Shaw took a tentative sip of his tea. “You're not going out to the cemetery alone, I hope.”

“John is going with me, but you already knew he was here, didn't you? Why did you call him?”

“After our conversation yesterday, I was concerned for your safety. I can hardly be blamed for that, can I? I've grown quite fond of you, my dear. You're like a daughter to me. But if I've overstepped my bounds, I apologize.”

I was very touched by his acknowledgment and said so. “And please don't apologize. I appreciate your concern. I'm glad to have John's company. Although...” I stared down into my teacup for a moment. “Something happened after he arrived last night. There was an episode.”

A snowy brow lifted. “What kind of episode?”

“We both felt a presence in the cottage. And I could tell from John's face that he actually
saw
something. He wouldn't admit it, of course. He still won't. He insists it was nothing more than a shadow.”

“But you know better.”

“I believe it was the entity from Rose's sanctuary. I could smell the witch hazel it used to cover its stench. But the odd thing is, John smelled jasmine. That was his daughter's favorite flower.”

“How did he explain the scent?”

“The bathroom window was open and Nelda grows jasmine in her garden.”

Dr. Shaw observed me through tired eyes. “That's a reasonable explanation, isn't it?”

“Not if you'd seen his face.” I set the cup aside, realizing my own hands had started to tremble. “You've known him far longer than I have. Why do you think he clings so rigidly to his disbelief? Why can't he allow for even the slightest possibility that there are things in this world that can't be explained? He hasn't always been like that, surely. He would never have been involved with the Institute if he hadn't at least been curious. It's almost as if he experienced something terrifying in his past, something he may not even remember, and now he uses his denial as a means of protection.”

“I can't answer those questions, Amelia. That is something for you and John to work out. But perhaps I've given you the wrong impression about his time at the Institute. Even back then he was a skeptic.”

“You once told me he was one of your best investigators.”

“Precisely because of his incredulity. I'm sure that trait also serves him well in his police work.” Dr. Shaw grew pensive. “I will say this, though. Losing a child can change you in ways you never could have imagined. In essence, the person you were dies, too, making it easy to turn your back on whatever beliefs you once held.”

I sat quietly riveted. I could never fully understand what he and Devlin had gone through, but at times their pain seemed tangible, as if I could reach out and pull the hollow ache of their loss into my own chest.

Dr. Shaw absently twisted his pinky ring, and for a moment I was mesmerized by the play of light on the emblem. It was the same symbol that Devlin wore around his neck. Dr. Shaw had never spoken of his affiliation with the mysterious Order of the Coffin and the Claw, but I had no doubt that both he and his son, Ethan, had been members.

“John was always a skeptic,” Dr. Shaw continued. “But he also had the kind of sensitivity I've rarely come across in my line of exploration.”

“Sensitivity to what?” I asked.

“People, places.” Dr. Shaw shrugged. “Perhaps what you witnessed last night was a reawakening of sorts. An unconscious prod by an intuition he long ago buried. But I would caution you about putting too much emphasis on that one incident or pushing him beyond his comfort zone. Whatever he experienced, he obviously needs time to process it.”

“Yes, I'm sure that's true. It's strange that we should be talking about his time at the Institute. He mentioned it himself this morning and that's so unlike him. He almost never talks about his past. There's still so much about his life that remains a mystery to me.” I paused. “Do you know anything about his grandfather?”

“Our paths have crossed on occasion.” I waited for him to elaborate, but he merely frowned.

“And?”

“From what I've observed, he's a cold and imperious man. A bit old guard for my taste.”

“Do you know anything about the Devlin family history?”

“Only that they are one of the oldest and most influential families in Charleston and Jonathan Devlin would be the last to let you forget it.” Dr. Shaw observed me from across the table. “Why the sudden interest in John's lineage?”

“I overheard something recently. But...it's not important. I shouldn't bother you with so many questions when you obviously need your rest.” I stood. “Are you sure there's nothing I can get you before I leave?”

“I'll be fine.” He started to rise to see me out, but I waved him back down. He sank heavily onto the chair as though the feeble effort had exhausted him. “Be careful at the cemetery today. My own intuition is telling me that things are apt to get darker before this is over. Even with John at your side, I can't help worrying about you.”