Bone Island 03 - Ghost Moon

“Oh, no. The man paid cash!”

 

 

Liam winced. “You wouldn’t still have any of those bills in the register, would you?”

 

“No, I’m afraid we deposit every night.”

 

“You have a bill of sale?” he asked.

 

“Of course!” she said.

 

“May I see it?”

 

“Of course,” she said again, eager to be helpful.

 

“What did this man look like?” Liam asked.

 

“Oh, um, regular height. He had a beard, a mustache…and he was regular build. You know, not skinny, not heavy.”

 

“What was he wearing?”

 

“A sweatshirt with a hood. It has been cool a few of the days lately.”

 

She was describing anyone, he thought.

 

She handed him the bill of sale.

 

He wasn’t surprised to see the name of the purchaser. Bel Arcowley.

 

 

 

“Go to the cemetery,” Bartholomew said.

 

Kelsey turned back to look at him. “You think that…we might find my mom?” she asked. “Or Cutter?”

 

“I haven’t seen them yet,” Bartholomew said patiently. “But I thought you might like to meet Pete Edwards.”

 

“Will I be able to see him?” Kelsey asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Bartholomew said. “But Katie will.”

 

That seemed good enough.

 

Katie drove to the Key West cemetery, parking as close as she could to the open gate.

 

They had been there just a few days ago, Kelsey thought.

 

Burying Cutter.

 

They walked down Passover Lane, moving slowly.

 

“Where does he usually hang out?” Katie asked.

 

“By the Confederate Navy section,” Bartholomew told her.

 

Kelsey glanced over at Katie, wondering what she was seeing.

 

“Anyone?” she whispered.

 

Katie glanced at her. “Several people,” she said softly. “I don’t know how to tell people to see ghosts. Just…I guess just knowing that they may exist is the best way.”

 

“Open yourself up,” Bartholomew told her.

 

She wasn’t sure how one “opened” themselves up, but she tried to concentrate on the cemetery. It was peaceful, eclectic and beautiful in an odd way. A glorious angel rose above one tomb, and she appreciated the beauty of the funerary art.

 

“I believe I see one of the Curry women,” Katie said. “She’s mourning the death of her husband. She might not know that she has joined him.”

 

Kelsey looked. The air seemed to ripple.

 

“She’s a lovely woman in a draping dress, short bobbed hair,” Katie said. In the same tone, she continued, “Do you think I’ve had too many island drinks?” she asked Kelsey.

 

Kelsey smiled. “I know that we’re walking with a handsome man in a hat and elegant brocade coat who is manly in tights,” she said lightly.

 

“Hose, my dear girl. Hose. I do not wear tights,” Bartholomew said.

 

The woman to whom Katie had been referring suddenly began to become a form before Kelsey’s eyes. First there just seemed to be an outline of a figure, and then Kelsey saw her.

 

Katie gripped her by the arm. “Don’t stop and gape.”

 

“Very rude, I’m afraid,” Bartholomew said.

 

“I’m so sorry!” Kelsey said.

 

“Leave her to her thoughts,” Bartholomew said.

 

The Beckett family vault was ahead to their left, while the O’Haras had their small mausoleum farther on, toward the monument to the sailors of the Maine. Kelsey’s family members were in a vault in the back section. The cemetery also had avenues, but she wasn’t sure where everything was, so Kelsey simply followed Bartholomew and Katie.

 

As she did so, shapes and figures slowly began to form here and there before her. She saw at least ten spirits walking in the graveyard.

 

She couldn’t help scanning the specters or spirits before her, hoping against hope.

 

“There,” Bartholomew said.

 

She saw the man. He was old, perhaps eighty or ninety. His clothing had something of an Edwardian appearance to it, and he knelt down in prayer.

 

“Slowly,” Bartholomew said.

 

They walked behind him.

 

“Peter,” Bartholomew said.

 

The man looked up. He saw Katie and Kelsey. He stared at them both. He seemed to want to struggle to his feet. Bartholomew reached down to help him up.

 

“You see me,” he said. Kelsey was surprised that he addressed her, rather than Katie.

 

“Yes,” she said softly.

 

“Why? Why are you here?”

 

“People are dying, Peter,” Bartholomew said. “Someone is copying your rituals.”

 

The ghost shook his head slowly. “I tried to atone. I knew that the hatred in my heart was so deep that it was the evil itself. I did not make things happen. I made people believe that they could happen. I had the book, the book of goodness against evil.”

 

“In Defense from Dark Magick,” Kelsey said softly.

 

He nodded. “I prayed with it. I prayed for those I hated, and those who were betrayed. And I prayed for forgiveness, for the war took so many souls, and I added to the misery.”