Graveminder

Epilogue

R EBEKKAH OPENED ANOTHER OF THE JOURnals that she’d recovered from Cissy’s house and began to read.

William tells me he saw Alicia again. It’s foolish of me to feel envy, but I do. Graveminders cannot see their own, and I’ve accepted that. As I’ve come to terms with Charles’ games, I’ve realized that some of the rules are for our own protection—not just his. That doesn’t mean I like them. Sometimes I weary of secrets. I grow weary of feeling so alone. It’s tempting to go there, to stay and let myself slip into that world, to let myself see if the vibrancy of the dead remains when I too am one of them.

I can’t.

Yet I stay here knowing that my family has been devastated by the burden that Alicia passed on to my mother. I stay here knowing that she will not answer my questions if I have William carry them to her. I tried sending a letter. It vanished when she touched the envelope.

Does it get easier? Does knowing that you will pass this one to one you love ever not hurt? I have questions. I do what I do. I’m lived my life for this town, and I do so knowing what I do is for the love of my town and my family—even as I know that it will also destroy them. The child I love best, the one I find strongest, will also be the one I contract.

Sometimes I loathe Charles. I loathe Alicia. I loathe my own mother. Yet I will do as I must, and I will hope that my granddaughter will forgive me.

Rebekkah understood that she could’ve written that entry, that she could’ve written so many of the entries in the journals that her grandmother had kept for her. These were the answers that she had been seeking. She was not alone. Even as those who had written these words were gone, they were still here for her in their absence.

Instead of continuing reading the next entry, she turned to the end of the most recent journal and began to write: “Daisha was the first dead girl I met ...”