Clara

29

I had had enough. Enough! I couldn’t stand it for one more minute, being in that house with the ghosts and the red-cheeked traitors huddling together in the raven room. My nieces had ruined everything: my quiet life and my peaceful nights—the very house itself! My home didn’t feel like mine anymore. It was infested and fouled, ruined by something I couldn’t get rid of, and in the midst of all that were the girls, sniggering. Even my dreams of the future suffered, because how could I even think about Clarabelle Diamonds when I couldn’t even feed myself?

I should’ve been full of optimism at this point, eagerly awaiting the first finished pieces from Isabella, but instead I was surrounded by deceit and decay. The girls were supposed to be my salvation, but instead they had caused a literal nightmare. Instead of giving me the wings I so sorely needed to rise and soar, they had effectively grounded me.

And the bills came pouring in: Isabella’s fee, and the jeweler’s…white gold and precious stones. The girls’ stipend couldn’t cover it all, and I was way too exhausted to forge a new plan. Not even death, it seemed, could prevent my brother from making my life a living misery. The only silver lining I could think of was that if Violet had been the one to summon the ghosts, she could surely send them back as well—to rest, or whatever it was that dead people did. If only that happened, peace could be restored.

It was likewise unfortunate that my nieces knew what I had done. They were only girls, of course, and whatever claims they made could easily be dismissed, but in only a few years’ time, Lily would be an adult—a very wealthy adult, unless I could somehow strip her of that money—and people would perhaps not be so keen to turn a deaf ear then. My nieces had become dangerous to me, dragging up all sorts of nasty things from the past that were better left alone, and I could hardly be faulted for thinking of ways to end my torment. I did not particularly want to hurt the girls—it would bring me no joy—but what they now knew could undo all I had been working for. I would lose everything if the truth came out, and I could hardly launch my diamond line from prison.

My legacy would become something very different from what I had envisioned.

That morning after the sheriff’s visit, I paced my room up and down while thinking of clever ways of doing it. I could set a trap for them in the woods, I thought, and say it was an accident—or I could set a fire, a very small one, and say it was Violet who had been playing with matches. I could also just powder their oatmeal when Dina had her day off and claim that my nieces had run away.

The possibilities were endless—but also quite impossible.

It was the money, of course. I had come to depend upon the pay for their keep, and there was also the sweet hope of more money to come if only I played my cards right. If the girls were gone, there would be no more of anything, and Clarabelle Diamonds would die on the vine. I briefly contemplated working around this fact by taking out life insurance policies on the girls and putting myself up as beneficiary, but then I remembered the ghosts—or rather, the ghosts remembered me. Just as Timmy’s infernal knocking started up again, I realized that I had no idea if getting rid of Violet would rid me of the dead as well, and living with them was not an option.

It was all just such a terrible tangle, and it suddenly felt as if the walls of my beloved home were closing in on me. For a brief moment I had problems breathing, and all the while Timmy kept banging, while Ellie’s pale face stared back at me whenever my gaze grazed the vanity mirror. Cursing and sweating, I found my overnight bag under the bed, tossed it upon the purple bedspread, and went for the phone to make arrangements. I’d be damned if I stayed in that house for even one more minute!

Less than an hour later, I was in my car on the way to the airport, leaving—most of—my troubles behind. I hadn’t gotten far, however, before I caught sight of Ellie Anderson’s dark eye in the rearview mirror, and I knew better than to even try to stop for a snack. It didn’t matter. I had fashioned a plan and would have my little getaway regardless. I admit that I did feel relieved, though, when I had parked my car at the airport and could escape mirrors for a while. I didn’t even care if my dress was stained with melon juice, or that my hair was unkempt and my face all naked.

I just wanted to get away.

I felt jubilant when the plane took off and carried me above the clouds. Saying no to the little food tray was no bother either, as it was usually not to my taste, but I did miss the glass of wine I usually had when flying. To invite Cecilia into my little bubble of happiness was not an option, though. What would the man next to me—heavyset and suited—even say if the plastic cup went flying? I comforted myself by thinking of better things to come, and as soon as the plane touched down, I was on my feet, lifting the folded fur coat and my bag out of the overhead compartment, and stood impatiently in line to get to the next part of my ad hoc adventure.

I found a taxi at the airport and was careful not to look in the mirrors while the vehicle wound its way through bustling city streets. Nightfall was not far off, and the neon lights shone brighter, spilling splashes of pink and blue upon the pedestrians lining the streets. The rush of nightlife was not what I had come for, though. I had come to find some peace and to think, and I knew just how to make it happen.

The hotel room, at least, was as beautiful as always. Chill air and cool colors met me as I opened the door. The gray carpet was clean and soft, while the curtains in the floor-to-ceiling windows looked reassuringly thick enough to deflect all the light. A large bed made up in blue hues dominated the floor. The room also contained a dresser, a wardrobe, and a vanity set. I promptly covered up the mirror with a robe from the bathroom. Then I lay back on the soft blue bedspread and let out a deep breath of relief.

My stomach growled, though, which was only to be expected, an alarm bell to let me know that the next part of the plan had to be executed. I rolled over on the bed and stretched out a hand to grab the phone. While waiting for the connection, I skimmed the room service menu, twice, and settled on a delectable selection. When the call ended, I finally got up to change out of the melon-stained dress and into a more comfortable purple silk robe, turned the TV on, and settled in to wait.

Sebastian arrived after half an hour, which was high time, seeing how the food was already there, waiting under silver domes that I couldn’t even look at, lest Ellie Anderson look back at me in turn. My lover looked as pristine as always in his three-piece gray suit, with a pale pink bow tie and his meticulously trimmed mustache. He had been surprised when I called him to say that I would be in the city that night, but pleased, too, I thought. We often met at this hotel, as he shared his home with his elderly mother and a quarrelsome parrot named Tulip. Ever since Cecilia, I hadn’t much liked being around the sick and old. I suppose I’d had enough of it to last me at least a lifetime. Tulip was also both noisy and loud and had a limited vocabulary consisting mostly of curses. Sebastian had adopted the bird as company for his mother, and clearly its former home had been a wild one. I much preferred the taxidermy parrot in my winter garden.

Sebastian presented me with a single red rose as he entered the room. Clearly, he thought this meeting was a romantic one, and I could hardly blame him for that, since he had no reason to think otherwise—yet. When he leaned in to kiss me, I ducked.

“Later maybe,” I told him, and moved farther into the room. I dropped the rose on the vanity. “First you have to feed me.”

“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow in a playful way, but my stomach ached too much from hunger for me to appreciate the gesture. “With pleasure,” he added in a sultry voice.

“Not in an erotic way. I need you to help me get sustenance.”

“But of course!” He still thought it was some kind of play.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted one of the silver domes to reveal the chicken and assorted greens. I knew that under the dome next to it was a piece of salmon and some fancy potatoes. There was also a glass bowl filled with strawberries and meringue. On a small china platter all by itself stood a single piece of artisan chocolate.

“A little bit of everything.” I handed Sebastian the fork.

He did look a little astonished when he settled in and started feeding me pieces of chicken and fish—it was probably not what he had imagined when he arrived, ready for a night of lovemaking. He was far too polite to ask, however, which was just what I had been counting on. The food tasted good, though—it was the best I had had since Cecilia came back—and I savored every juicy mouthful. Sebastian gave me wine, too, trickled it into my mouth, and he didn’t even spill one drop, unlike Dina at home.

Three strawberries in, I was sated and motioned for him to put the fork down. By then, however, his politeness had given way to worry. “You seem starved, Clara—what is this nonsense? Are you on a new diet?”

“No,” I muttered. “Nothing like that. I just wanted you to feed me, that’s all.”

“But why?” His large brown eyes looked up at me with worry. “If it’s not in an ‘erotic’ way—”

“Perhaps I do have some issues. Maybe sometimes it’s hard for me to feed myself, and I need a little help to get it down.”

“Oh, Clara.” He was instantly all soft compassion; he scooted farther up on the bed, placed his hands on my shoulders, and started gently kneading the steely knots of muscle he found there. I had to admit that it felt amazing. “It’s the stress,” he said. “I’m sure it’s just the stress of everything that has happened lately, with the girls and your brother’s death…Grief can take all sorts of shapes.” He leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “You know I would feed you every day if you would let me.”

I caught his kneading hand in my own and whispered back, “I know.”

It was the cruelest irony of my life that I had found this nice, clever, and handsome man only after it was too late for me—and through Timmy’s betrayal, no less. The first time we had met, I had still been running hot on the fumes from the night of the ax and had wanted to milk the high of its every last drop. That was why I had sought him out: Sebastian Swift, the flustered appraiser I had spoken to on the phone, just so I could see what he looked like, the man Timmy had approached to help him sell my diamonds. I had even brought a few rings along, keeping up the ruse. I had not expected to find a lover, though, when stepping across the jeweler’s threshold; had not expected to find a man whose passion even rivaled my own.

He had held my hand in the coming months while the police still looked for Timmy and his mistress. He had showered me with compassion and brotherly kisses; brought me tissues when it all became too much; and had waited, patiently, while the hope of finding Timmy dried up, until he finally made his move. I was already quite taken by then, and could not help but feel a flutter in my chest whenever he was near. In a different story, we would’ve been a perfect match—but alas, it was too late for me. I had paid with blood for all I got, and despite my best efforts, I no longer knew how to trust.

Sebastian was also a decent man, and decent I was surely not. I liked that he thought that I was, though—decent. I liked who I was in his eyes. Whenever we were together, I could somewhat forget the crushing of the pills and the honing of the ax, and be that woman for a little while. It brought me an immense sense of relief—but of course, I never forgot. I never fooled myself into thinking it could last, or even truly develop. If I brought him too close, I was doomed to slip up, or he would lift the wrong cushion and see what was hidden beneath.

He was better off with his mother and Tulip—it was safer for him, with them.

To his credit, though, Sebastian was still here, ten years after we first met. Though I had been clear about my expectations, he still kindled hope. I suppose it was a gift to be loved like that, even if said love was doomed—and even if the woman he truly loved was nothing but a mask that I sometimes slipped on.

“You need to relax,” he cooed at me next. “Do you want me to draw you a bath?”

I nodded in reply, but then I changed my mind, remembering the large, well-lit mirror in there. It just wouldn’t do if Ellie showed up sporting her glistening wounds.

“Let’s just stay here,” I told him. “Keep working your magic on those knots.” I lifted a hand to motion at my shoulders, and he grabbed it and kissed the diamonds on my fingers—to him, they were as much a part of me as the hand itself, and just as worthy of affection. I adored this side of him. “Perhaps I feel a little romantic after all,” I admitted, then turned my head to beg for a kiss, and soon we were both at it, tugging at each other’s clothes.

For a while then, all was good. Sebastian and I moved in under the covers and had enjoyed each other for quite some time when the first knock erupted. At first, I thought the sound came from the hallway—that some hapless maid was trying to force her way inside to change soiled sheets and mini soaps, but then the knocking sounded again—and again—increasing in strength with every knock. It didn’t take me very long to realize that the knocking came from inside the room.

Sadly, Sebastian had realized as well.

“What is that?” He stopped what he was doing and looked up.

“Oh, nothing,” I murmured, wanting him to continue.

“But it sounds like there’s someone inside the wardrobe—”

“Nonsense.” I tried to laugh, but it came out unconvincing. “There’s no one inside the wardrobe.”

Then the lamp by the bed started blinking, and the hissing sound came creeping, and then Sebastian sat up in the bed and looked wildly around him.

“What is this?” he asked the air. “Is there a fire?”

I had no idea why he drew that particular conclusion, but I sighed and sat up as well. “I have no idea.” I feigned astonishment. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the electric—” The room service cart flew across the floor on rickety wheels, crashing into the vanity. A silver dome and several flower-shaped potatoes dropped onto the lush carpet.

“Oh my goodness!” Sebastian cried, and fled the bed. “Did you see that, Clara?” He looked at me, wild-eyed.

“Yes, yes.” I sat up under the covers. “Maybe it’s an earthquake,” I tried.

“Perhaps.” Sebastian’s voice was shivering, and the bedside lamp kept blinking. He was already reaching for his pants, so I figured that was all the relaxation I would get.

Next, the bathrobe I had so carefully draped over the vanity mirror fell down—doubtlessly guided by my husband’s spectral hand—and since I was in clear view, Ellie Anderson came rushing forward, grinning out into the room with bloodstained teeth.

“Who is that?” Sebastian cried. “Do you see the woman, Clara?” He lifted a finger to point at the ghost, who, despite being dead, was clearly both younger and prettier than me.

“Of course I do,” I snapped. “The wretched thing keeps following me around!”

I shouldn’t have gotten angry, of course. I knew from experience that it was a bad idea. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, chaos erupted: The pillows rose from the bed by themselves and exploded in a flurry of feathers; the rest of the silver domes on the room service cart flew up in the air and clattered down again, while mangled chicken and tomato wedges came hurtling through the room—aiming for me.

“We have to get out!” Sebastian declared while fighting to get his pants back on.

“No kidding,” I muttered as I bent to get my robe off the floor. In the mirror, Ellie Anderson laughed soundlessly.

The hissing sound was nearing its crescendo by then, and the dresser drawers started opening and shutting by themselves. The wineglass I had previously drunk from came crashing into the wall above the bed, showering the mattress in glittering shards and missing me by inches.

“Oh, come on, Timmy!” I yelled at the invisible man. “As if you have a right to be jealous!”

I should not have said that, though, as the glass-enclosed overhead light instantly exploded, adding even more glass shards to the grotesque mélange. I screamed, and Sebastian screamed, and we were both running for the door, picking up items of clothing as we went.

Out in the hallway we both leaned against the wall to breathe. Neither of us was bleeding, I noticed, which was a small miracle. There were no security guards in sight, so it didn’t seem like the haunting had caused a stir yet. It was still going on in there, though; we could hear more items hitting the wall all the time. Sebastian looked at me with wild eyes. The fear had all but ruined his complexion; he was white as a sheet under the tan.

“You are haunted,” he accused me—or stated the obvious. “Who was that in there?”

“Timmy,” I grudgingly admitted. “And Ellie Anderson.” I sighed deeply. I was clutching the melon-stained dress in my hands but was still wearing just the silk robe. “He seems to have had a change of heart after death.” I served Sebastian a story he just might buy. “His mistress has not, though. I think she is jealous of him coming home to me.”

“Oh my goodness, are they dead?” He shook his head and stared at the closed door.

“Clearly,” I said with a snort. “Something must have gone wrong on their travels, or perhaps they both succumbed to some disease. Whatever the reason, they are here now and just won’t leave me in peace.”

“Have you told the police?” His eyes were round as marbles.

“No, of course not. What would I say? That my vanished husband is haunting me? They would never believe such a story.” With some effort, I managed to break through the ire I felt and arrange my face in a sad expression.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He briefly folded me into his arms, before letting me go again, brushing tiny specks of glass from his suit.

“I have never experienced anything like this,” he said next, sounding utterly astonished.

“Well, I would rather not ‘experience’ anything like it again.” I gave him a very dark look.

“But it is proof of life after death.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you should call the press?”

“Oh no!” I held up my hands as if to shield myself from the flashes. “I just want them both to be gone.”

His mood shifted instantly. “Yes, it is a tragic thing, isn’t it? Being trapped on this side.” He was still staring at the door. “At least you know for sure that he is dead—so I suppose that’s a relief, even if we have suspected it for a while—”

“Yes.” I would rather not talk about Timmy’s death. “I just wish he would rest in peace.”

Sebastian looked at me with compassion. “My mother saw my grandfather once, but it wasn’t anything like this…I suppose you are right, though, and that he did have a change of heart. Not that I blame him one bit.” The statement was followed by a look of adoration, which I shamelessly sucked up.

“How did your mother get rid of him?” I asked.

“He just disappeared by himself. It was only the once, though, and he never acted like that.” He pointed at the door with a look of amazement. “Have you tried to get rid of them?”

“You mean like with a priest?” I dearly wanted a glass of wine or four, but I didn’t think I could find it in me to ask Sebastian for help again.

“Yes…or with a medium,” he replied. “They are the experts, after all. They can make the spirits go into the light.”

“Into the light, huh?” I muttered, just as another crash from inside the room made us both cower. “What kind of light is that?”

“The place where people go when they die,” Sebastian explained when we had both straightened up. “Only the people who become ghosts refuse the light, or they miss it when they die.”

“How would that even work? How would the medium ‘make’ them?” This was, in fact, very useful information.

“The medium can talk to them,” Sebastian replied. “Sometimes they just need some convincing; other times they need their stories to be heard. A medium can help them with that.”

This was definitely interesting. “How do you even know all this?” I asked, while picking glass shards out of my hair.

“I saw it on TV.” He shrugged. “I’m sure there are plenty of books about it.”

I felt a little better then—even if I would have to pay for the damaged hotel room.

“The light” seemed to be the answer to my plight, and I knew just who was going to help me make it happen.