“What is it?”
“You may need to prepare yourself for the possibility that the spirit you’ve encountered isn’t just leaving clues. And the endgame may not be justice or even revenge. Indeed, you may not be dealing with a single entity at all, but a manifestation of mass rage. A pent-up fury that needs a conduit. In other words, it needs you, my dear.”
Twenty-Five
My heart thudded painfully as I picked up the congealing tea to calm myself, only to set the cup back down with a clatter. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to be more unsettled than I had been earlier when I’d trespassed into Devlin’s memory, or even later on the Battery with the smell of ozone in the air and dread in his eyes. But the notion of mass murder, mass rage, mass possession went far beyond doubt and disquiet.
I wanted nothing more than to pull Papa’s rules over my head and bury myself in the twin defenses of denial and pretense. But it was too late for that. The ghost and the in-between knew that I could see them. No amount of make-believe would send either away. I hadn’t yet suffered any physical ramifications of a haunting, but it was only a matter of time before the drain on my life force weakened me.
“My dear, are you all right?”
“I don’t know.”
“It seems I’ve upset you once again, and I’m sorry for that, but I felt I had to warn you. If you’re to visit that cemetery, you must be forearmed. Perhaps under the circumstances, it would be better to postpone your trip.”
“No, I can’t do that. I have to go. The sooner, the better. I have to find out what they want. I can’t hide or run away from this, Dr. Shaw. That would only make things worse. Following the clues may be the only protection I have left. For whatever reason, I’m being summoned to that cemetery. I think there’s a message to be found on those headstones. Maybe you were right the other day when you asked who better than I to solve the riddle. I’d like to think that nothing more will be required of me than my professional expertise.”
“I hope so, too,” he said, the foreboding in his voice an echo of my own trepidation. “But promise me you’ll take care when you get to that cemetery. I’ve no special intuition or extrasensory perception, but I do have a hunch that you’re approaching a crossroads. A physical and spiritual turning point in your life. I would once again advise that you proceed with the utmost caution.”
We talked for a moment or two longer before hanging up, and then I returned to my research. I heard nothing else in the walls and maybe it was my imagination, but the quality of the silence had shifted. Despite Dr. Shaw’s warning, I no longer felt frightened or threatened. It was as if my decision to visit Kroll Cemetery had temporarily placated the interloper.
Even when I rose a little while later to get ready for bed, I didn’t feel the need to glance over my shoulder as I walked down the hallway. I wouldn’t say that I felt as safe and secure as I once had in my sanctuary, but my mood had certainly lifted. I showered, dried my hair and then crawled into bed, rolling to my back so that I could watch the changing patterns of moonlight on the ceiling until I grew drowsy.
Sliding down between the crisp sheets, I cocooned myself in the covers as the ceiling fan stirred the night air. I was just drifting off when I heard a tap at the window.
My eyes flew open as I lay there, listening to the darkness. The sound came again. Tap, tap, tap. Trying to relax my muscles so that I could move more fluidly, I shifted my position until I had a view of the window.
Something dark covered the glass. I thought at first the curtains were drawn, but I didn’t remember closing them before I turned in. And once my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see the glisten of moonlight in the upper pane. As I focused on that pale stream, I saw an insect fly to the window and cling to the screen. Then another came and still another until I realized the darkness covering the lower panel was neither curtain nor shade, but a cloud of black moths.
Maybe I wasn’t fully awake or maybe I’d become inured to the unusual, but in that first instant of awareness, I was more curious than frightened. I even entertained the notion that the beacon inside me—the unnatural light that attracted the ghosts—might also have summoned the moths.
The quiver of their iridescent wings was hypnotic and my focus became almost trancelike until a dank cold penetrated my fixation. A draft so icy I could see the frost of my breath in the remaining moonlight. And with the plunging temperature came a scent that reminded me of damp earth and old death.
Tap, tap, tap.