Where All the Dead Lie

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Taylor grabbed her boots and Memphis’s jacket and took off out onto the grounds of the estate. It was freezing cold, about to snow, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get away. Away from Maddee and her accusations, away from herself.

She heard a car engine revving and looked over her shoulder. Maddee’s Mercedes. She was leaving. Good. Taylor didn’t want to be anywhere near the woman. She didn’t want to see Dr. Madeira James ever again.

She turned and headed off into the woods. Memphis said she could have anything she wanted. And right now, she wanted that therapist to go directly to hell.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of the coat to find her gloves. Instead, she found a pill bottle. Her Percocet. She didn’t remember putting it in there, but she was glad she had-her head was splitting. The demons from the past hour were close about. She popped the bottle open and shook two pills into her hand. Swallowed them dry, forcing them past the lump in her throat.

Leaves lay thick on the path, reds and oranges and golds, as if it were a gaudy New England fall. The seasons here were not distinct. She knew the temperatures were relatively consistent, a range that normally covered no more than thirty degrees between winter and summer.

The dogs were barking, chasing each other around in circles down the path toward the gardens. She avoided them, cut north, going up the hill. She didn’t know where she was going, just that she wanted to be away.

She could feel the storm brewing. There was a displacement to the air that she recognized from big weather at home. She hadn’t been paying too much attention to the forecast, just assumed it would be cold and rainy, with a few flakes of snow thrown in for good measure. She’d have to check it when she got back. She’d bet her life it was going to snow, and snow hard.

The path went steeply up a hill, and she followed it blindly, seething, angry with herself for rising to the bait, and wondering just what Maddee intended. Some sort of reverse psychology perhaps, or something meant to break her down, like they do in the military?

Taylor wasn’t familiar with therapy, per se. She’d done her scheduled meetings with the department shrink as required for her fitness reports over the years, but she hadn’t spent anytime on the couch herself outside of this recent…situation. Despite her earlier thoughts, she had changed her mind. She hated therapy. Hated it with a passion.

The path straightened and she realized she was out of breath. She stopped for a moment, laid a cold hand on the moss-covered stone wall to her right, and looked around her. There was forest on three sides, and a smallish village in front of her. She assumed that was where the original town would have been, housing the support staff for the estate-a smith, a distillery and the like. In front of her was a small stone bridge arching over the road, and to her left, barely shielded by the large stone fence and the heavy tree cover, she could see a pile of stones.

She set off in that direction. After twenty feet, the path opened into a clearing, and she realized she’d stumbled onto the back way into the estate’s kirk. The church was missing its roof. The windows were caved in as if the eyes of the building had gone blind, and the doorway resembled a mouth crying out in agony. Another ruin, the second she’d seen on Highsmythe land. It pissed her off even more. Did these people care nothing for their past? Were they so busy with their ghosts that they didn’t bother with their souls’ shelters?

She picked her way closer, through the moss and lichen-covered gravestones. There was a clear path here, the leaves brushed out of the way. Someone had been here recently.

There was a large gravestone, not weathered and covered in lichen like the others, but still shining with the moist green mold that coated most everything inanimate in the Highlands-fences, stones, roofs, trees. Graves.

There was a small bundle of heather intertwined with roses, still fresh, at the base of the grave. She looked at the names, and everything clicked.

EVANELLE FRASER HIGHS MY THE

BELOVED WIFE

MAY 8, 1974-DECEMBER 21, 2008

JAMES FRASER HIGHS MY THE

DARLING SON

DECEMBER 21, 2008

TAKEN TOO SOON. YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.

She was standing on Evan’s grave, and the grave of Memphis’s unborn son.

Her mind whirled. Memphis had been visiting Evan’s grave last night, right before he came to her room and made love to her.

Not twelve hours after he kissed Taylor right on the spot where his wife died.

My God. What kind of man was he?

She wondered if he visited his wife’s grave often; she knew he wasn’t in the Highlands much anymore. Surely he was just tending to her grave. But in the middle of the night?

Looking around to her right and left, she saw the detritus that answered the question for her-small candles, broken stems, pieces of paper. A proper vigil had been kept here.

She looked at the date again and realized it was the anniversary of Evan’s death.

Jesus. Today was December 21. She’d never thought to ask Memphis when she died. She knew it had been recent, but she’d never asked the actual date. And here she was, at his mercy, a pseudo-surrogate, on the death’s anniversary.

She whispered a prayer, of forgiveness, of apology, to Evan’s spirit, then backed away and headed back to the castle. She needed to get away from here.

She started down the path and saw a flash of red. She tried to ignore it, turned her head away, picked up her pace until she was almost running. But it followed, growing closer, larger, and she finally stopped and collapsed in the middle of the path, arms over her head, silently crying out, willing it, whatever it was, to go away.

She was shaking, not from the cold, but from fear. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but when nothing happened, she finally screwed up her courage and looked.

There was nothing. Just the ever-present forest of trees, the thin blanket of leaves on the ground, and the chilled air.

She got up and turned slowly in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle.

Nothing but the gulls, soaring into the gray sky.

She knew she hadn’t imagined the red wave. It was almost like a cloth that had been draped in a breeze, flowing and rippling in the air, but luminous, more gossamer than thick. A disturbance in the air. Didn’t Memphis mention the ghost seemed borne of synesthesia to him? Was it possible that she was seeing the same thing?

Was Evan haunting her? Following her around the grounds of the estate? Coming to her in the night? Memphis had said the Lady in Red didn’t appear to anyone but the male heir to the title. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps all dead Highsmythe brides became the Lady in Red, and haunted whomever they damn well pleased.

She set off down the path, determined to gather herself once and for all. She was overly tired-a nap, her anxiety medicine and something stronger than tea was in order. She felt like an invalid, worthless to herself. She needed to get it together.

The first flakes of snow began to fall as she got to the back entrance, dancing lightly in the air. She stopped to watch their intricate ballet. Now this, this was real. Abundant water vapor causing small particles of ice, too heavy to be contained in the clouds, to fall to the earth. Science. Incontrovertible evidence. But at one time, it must have seemed like magic.

She opened her mouth and let one settle on her tongue, a cold pill that melted immediately. She took comfort in the fact that all things had an explanation, and headed inside.

The castle corridors were quiet. Deathly so. She hurried to her room, stripped off her outdoor gear, and grabbed her phone. There was a missed call from Baldwin. She took a deep breath. She pushed all thoughts of Memphis and last night out of her head. The two men were mutually exclusive in her mind. They had to be.

She dialed him back, and sank in the chair across from the fire as the phone began to ring.

“Hey,” he answered. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I’m sorry. I went for a walk. It’s starting to snow.”

Calm. Banal. Perfect.

“Whoa! When did your voice come back?”

“During a hypnosis session with Maddee James. But I’m finished with her. She’s not very nice.”

She dropped another log on the fire.

“Well, I’m glad it’s back. It sounds wonderful, darling. You’ll be ready to go home in no time. Now you can just have a little vacation and relax. Right?”

“Yeah. So long as I don’t have any more bad dreams.”

“Why are you having bad dreams?”

What to tell him about that? That she was being visited by otherworldly creatures? That she thought Memphis’s dead wife was shadowing her? Hardly.

“Overactive imagination. They’ve been telling me ghost stories. I have nothing to occupy my brain.”

“That’s what happens on vacation. I saw on the news there’s a big storm heading your way.”

“Where are you? Can you say?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. But everything is fine. Case closed. The question is, will you be all right there by yourself?”

Oh, Baldwin. Will I? I hope so.

“Wait. How do you know that I’m going to be alone? Do you have someone watching me?” Her voice ratcheted up an octave. “What the hell, Baldwin?”

“Honey, that’s not what’s going on. Don’t be paranoid. Of course you’ll be fine. I know there are plenty of people around there. I know Memphis isn’t there, that’s all I meant.”

“I’m not being paranoid. I hate it when you say that. How did you know Memphis was gone?”

“He called me from London. He said you suggested he ask me for help.”

Memphis. You son of a bitch.

He better keep his fool mouth shut. God, if he made some sort of sly comment and tipped Baldwin off, she’d never forgive him.

“That’s a change of circumstance.”

Baldwin laughed lightly. “Sweetie. Please, let’s not fight. It’s just so good to hear your voice again. That means you’re getting better.”

Baldwin kept chattering, seeking to connect with her. Damn, this was insane. His voice brought up all kinds of crazy emotions in her. She missed him. She was afraid to see him. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted him to stay away.

What had she done?

She loved him. She did. More than anything. And she didn’t feel like she could even tell him that, not without him getting suspicious. She needed him, not Memphis. She knew that. She’d always known that. God, she was so upset she was feeling dizzy. She took a few deep breaths for good measure.

“Honey? What’s happening up there? You sound really upset.”

“Just…give me a second,” she managed to say.

Get it together, fool. She swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and started again.

“I miss you.”

His voice warmed. “I miss you, too. No pressure, but if you want, I could come over for Christmas.”

“You’d do that?”

“I’ll do whatever you want, sweetie.”

She couldn’t help herself, she had to ask.

“Why are you helping Memphis?”

“Because I owed him a favor. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it when I see you, okay?”

“I should let you go. I’m getting sleepy.”

“In the middle of the day? Aren’t you leading the life of Riley? Lazybones.”

“It’s the talking. Head hurts, throat hurts.”

As she said it, she realized it was true. She really wasn’t feeling all that great.

“Oh, of course. I love you, honey. I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay?”

“Okay.”

She closed the phone and stared at it for a moment. She never felt quite so alone as she did when they disconnected-physically, emotionally, it didn’t matter. When she wasn’t with him, she didn’t feel whole. She knew he felt the same.

A wave of guilt overwhelmed her.

He could never know about yesterday.

She’d have to find some way to explain to Memphis, to make him understand that she didn’t love him. Not the way he wanted. Though his coldness this morning meant he might have already figured it out.

She was so tired. She just wanted to escape. Some oblivion. She found her medicine bottles, took her pills. Chased them with a beer.

Pill.

Beer.

Pill.

Beer.

Anything that let her avoid thinking about Baldwin and Memphis. About Sam, and Evan, and the ghosts of dead babies.

The hours passed. She was so very tired. She decided to go ahead and take a quick nap. Maybe some sleep would sort her system out and her voice would be back when she awoke.

She drew the curtains and bolted the door. The room wasn’t as dark as at night, but it was dim enough that the outside light wouldn’t interfere in her sleep.

The bed was soft and inviting, and she curled up under the blanket, cozy and warm. She realized she’d forgotten to mention to Baldwin that today was the anniversary of Evan’s death, to go easy on Memphis. She debated texting him, but sleep was dragging her under. She’d do it when she woke up.

She closed her eyes, and was asleep within minutes.