The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

I sat back and watched her carefully for signs of injuries or lingering aftereffects from her brief possession. She seemed fine—a little dazed, but that was understandable.

 

She got to her feet and moved with purpose to the back stairs, stopping to look at and then pick up Mom’s purse from the bottom step. Upstairs, she crossed through the day room into the ward.

 

“Mom?” she called. “Where are you?”

 

A weak voice, heavy with relief, answered her from Room 2. “Here, Janie.”

 

When Janie walked in, Mom struggled to act normal, pushing herself up to a sitting position.

 

I glanced at the floor. Eliza was gone.

 

But in this moment, I had to stay with my family.

 

“What happened?” Mom asked. Her voice sounded like someone had taken sandpaper to it.

 

Janie didn’t even sit down. “I want to go,” she said. “Right now. If I have to carry you down the stairs, I will.”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Mom said. “I think I can make it. Leave the bags, leave everything. We only need the car keys. They’re in my purse.”

 

Janie dug through Mom’s purse for a minute and then looked up, dismay etched on her features. “No, they’re not,” she said. “Where could they have gone? Who would have taken them?”

 

“I’m sure no one took them.” But my mother’s voice didn’t match the confidence level of her words. “I could have left them downstairs, I guess. Maybe they’re in the car. But I don’t think so.”

 

My sister’s eyes flashed. “What about your phone?”

 

“In my purse,” Mom said.

 

Janie’s lips parted, and after a deep inhale, she said, “No, it isn’t.”

 

“Well, they must be somewhere,” Mom said.

 

But as my sister looked around the room, I could tell she had zero expectation of finding the missing items.

 

She knew the house too well by now.

 

 

 

 

 

When I emerged into the hall, Penitence came up to me. She was studiously calm, her eyes wide and concerned.

 

“I moved Eliza into Room 4,” she said, and in her voice I heard the rhythm and inflection of not just a helpless bystander but of a woman of authority—a wardress. “I thought she’d be more comfortable. Go see her, and I’ll keep watch here.”

 

Eliza was lying on top of the covers, her eyes open but unfocused—so unlike her that a chill went through me.

 

Someone’s walking on my grave.

 

“Never thought I’d end up back on the ward,” she said, trying to smile but managing only a grimace of pain.

 

I knelt beside her. “You’re going to be all right.”

 

“Delia, honestly.” She made a cross face at me, and her mood actually seemed to lift. “Your optimism is truly colonial.”

 

“I’m so grateful for what you did,” I said, reaching down to smooth what remained of her hair. “You saved my sister and my mother.”

 

“I told you I would,” Eliza said, a hint defiantly. “I seem to have a thing for playing the hero, don’t I? If only I were a more competent fighter.”

 

A seizure-like convulsion shook her body. But after a few seconds, she opened her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. Ghosts don’t die from injuries like this. I’m not going anywhere … anywhere at all, I suppose. Ever again.”

 

I leaned over, meaning to take her hands, but they were wrecked and limp, as if all the bones had been crushed. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

 

“Oh, don’t be maudlin,” Eliza said. “Now my outsides match my insides. Damaged soul, damaged body.”

 

“You’re wrong,” I said. “Your soul is perfect.”

 

She slumped against the pillow, staring out the window at the sinking sun.

 

“I don’t think I’ve watched the sunset in seventy-five years,” she said quietly.

 

“I imagine it gets old after a while,” I said, pulling up a chair and sitting next to her.

 

“It shouldn’t, though, should it? How could something so incredible get old?” She sighed weakly. “Shouldn’t you go look after your family?”

 

“In a minute,” I said. “Penitence is with them.”

 

Eliza tried and failed to stretch, then gave up and settled uncomfortably back against the bed. “So what happened with Florence? You won?”

 

“She’s been neutralized,” I said.

 

“You do keep astounding me, Delia.” She sighed and looked back out the window. “How terribly sad, though. I thought she was my friend.”

 

“She’s been very lost for a very long time,” I said.

 

Eliza clucked quietly. “Haven’t we all?”

 

“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m going to fix things, if I can.”

 

She nodded, and then there was a long pause. When she spoke again, her tone was soft and sad. “I know it’s foolish, but … I’d sort of hoped this would have redeemed me. I thought perhaps my business was to help you, and then I could drift off into the ether to the sound of angelic trumpets or something. But … I suppose not. There must be more work to do.”