Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story (71 page)

“Then there has to be something we can do? A way to escape this? Break this…end this…?”

“No one has ever broken the curse. They have tried, but in the end they have all died, each and every one.”

“And Nick and Nora?”

“Yes, they as well. Nora was haunted by the ghosts of another Chamberlain and Thomas fighting to be reunited. That is how she found Nick. He helped her, of course, then he fell in love with her as it has always been throughout time. They had the ashes of those two lost souls in their automobile as they were headed to be married. They wanted to cast them into the sea at the place where the two of them had died. Then Nick…he drove them off the cliff.”

“No! I won’t believe this. He loved her. He loves her. She knows that. He would never hurt her. He couldn’t.”

“It cannot be stopped. It has never been stopped. No cursed Chamberlain has ever married a Thomas. Throughout countless lifetimes each one has tried. Once they have pledged themselves, it is only a matter of time until they kill. The murders are horrible, gruesome. And the curse rends the lovers apart in the afterlife. There is no peace.”

“There must be something I can do to stop it? I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Are you strong, Emily Thomas?”

Her past words echoed bitterly back at Emily. “Are you strong, Emily Thomas? Can you live without your heart?”

“Please, please… I’m begging you. Tell me…tell me what I can do.” Emily ran toward her, trying to reach out and hold her, but her hands only pawed through icy vapor.

The Lady in White paused and looked out over the redwoods; droplets of water hung on her flowing hair like tears. “Do you love him?”

Emily nodded back, unable to speak.

“Then you must leave him.”

No. Anything but that.

“I can’t…I can’t leave him. I can’t. And…and he wouldn’t let me go.”

“He would if you were dead.”

Emily stood there stunned. “No. I won’t. I won’t.”

“You do not have to. He only needs to believe you have.”

Emily fell back against the tree. “I couldn’t do that to him.”

“Pain does not last forever. It fades like all things, until it becomes part of who we are. He will mourn, yes, but he will continue on with his life. He will find a way. He will find things to heal his heart…His family, his friends—”

“His music.”

Could she do this? Could she find the strength within her to do this to Andrew? What choice did she have? She couldn’t change fate. She couldn’t stop believing in ghosts and the horrors of the night—they were real and inescapable.

“Help me,” Emily begged her.

She pointed her hand at Emily’s coat. “You have the keys.”

Her previous words mocked her. The keys to the minivan lay heavy in Andrew’s pocket. It was then that a plan, crude and elementary, but a plan nonetheless, began to form in Emily’s mind. Before she moved a step, though, she had to know. “Tell me. If I do this, if I leave him, if I never…see him again…can Nick and Nora, can they at least be together?”

The Lady in White didn’t answer; she merely continued to look out toward the forest, silent. Her eyes swept back to hers, and they were full of the wistfulness of time. Did she even remember what it was like to yearn, to cry, to say goodbye? Or did she choose to forget? Was it easier?

“Yes.”

A calmness, more owing to shock than relief, fell over her. She could do this for Nick and Nora, this one last thing. They would have their happily ever after. As for her, there would be pain, unbearable pain, but what other choice did she have? She was beyond thinking herself sane.
Fate.
Fate was written on her palm, in her life line. Everything was marching steadily to only one conclusion. This supernatural nightmare had only one end unless she changed it.

She needed to run. To run as fast as possible. Once on the road she could think of the next step. Like a ghost with bones, she raced to the minivan. The key slid into the ignition without a sound. The seats were cold, and the smell of coffee lingered. The fog made the descent difficult, but it quickly closed in behind her, obscuring the van from view. She counted her breaths. The only feeling left within her was that of her freezing lips.

28

“A
NDREW
, J
UST
L
ET
H
ER
puke in peace,” said Margot, seizing his arm as he tried to charge the door again. Her face found his, and what she saw there made her drop her hand. “She’ll come back when she’s ready. Holy Mary, Mother of God, that was awful.”

“Awful?” he spat in disbelief. Awful didn’t even come close. To stand there and watch that thing, that abomination, spew that garbage and tell her that the man who was supposed to love her until her last breath was going to be responsible for taking it? Fucking no! No! He would not accept this. He recommenced his fevered pacing, raking his hand through his hair, only to glare at the door once more.

Christian stood with his arms around Zoey. Even Simon had slung his arm protectively over Margot’s shoulder. Only the stoners carried on as though nothing had happened, putting away their gear while Buck carefully swept up the ashes.
Why, why, why had he let her come here in the first place,
Andrew berated himself. He knew it was wrong. Bloody fucking hell!

He glanced at his watch. She had been gone for almost fifteen minutes. He couldn’t take any more; he had to see her. God only knew what she was thinking at this point—Emily, who took everything so seriously. “That’s it! I have to talk to her.”

“No,” said Margot. “Zoey and I will do it. She’s probably still a little bit…rattled. It was a lot of information to take in. Just calm the hell down, okay?”

“What information? So what if I’m a Chamberlain? I don’t care. For Christ’s sake, Neil’s a Chamberlain, you don’t see him driving off any cliffs. You mean to tell me I’m the one Chamberlain cursed out of thousands? There are no such things as curses. Coincidences, yes—but not curses.”

“We’ll be back in a minute. Calm, please.”

He watched them leave and resumed his pacing, but the more he stalked the room, the more the images assaulted him. His hands around her neck. Her screams. His uncontrollable rage.

“No!” he yelled, frightening the hell out of Egan, who dropped a camera onto the floor.

“Listen, man,” said Simon, appearing more troubled by the second. “Let’s just get the hell out of here. Find a bar and drink this off.”

Andrew scrubbed his face, trying to rid himself of the sense of dread growing within him. Where was she? He had to see her, reason with her, make her understand.

“So do you really think you got her?” Christian asked, staring at the last of the ashes Buck had swept up from the floor.

“There’s no way to be sure, man,” Dwayne replied. “Neutralizing her psychic makeup is one thing, but to get rid of her for good…? You can suicide with her along for the ride, but if she’s strong enough she might get loose, although, face it, she’s in a pretty gnarly state as is. You can always try to dry rub her with another ghost’s ashes, but good luck getting her to hold still for that.”

Andrew ripped the rowan berries off his neck in disgust. Another five minutes passed. By now the stoners had packed up their gear and were about to head out when Margot and Zoey reappeared in the door way. “She’s not in any of the ladies’ rooms on this floor,” Margot told him.

“What?”

“I think she might have gone down to the lobby for more privacy,” Margot added quickly. “We’re going to look.”

He pushed them roughly aside. Together they headed down the stairs, but he outran Zoey and Margot as he rounded the corner of the lobby and sprinted to the nearest restroom.

“Emily?” he hollered, his voice reverberating off the tiles. It was empty, save for a startled cleaning lady huddled near the sink. “Are there any other bathrooms in the hotel?” he demanded.

She crept to the door and pointed a finger at a long corridor. He dashed out the door like a shot and slammed into the girls. Together they searched the next restroom, but it was empty.

“Maybe she didn’t make it to a bathroom. She was almost sick before she left the séance. I bet she ran outside, and she’s probably under some tree now, getting herself together,” Margot said hopefully as they rushed back to the lobby.

The fog was as thick as mud as they raced out of the side doors and into a small park. They broke up, their shouts ricocheted off the trees, but there was no answer; only the cold mist of drizzle hung about them. Andrew kept running, his heart pounding in his chest. He scoured the surrounding acres, from the trees to the rear of the hotel, but could see nothing.

“Emily!” he cried, still hoping he would spot her slouched at the base of some tree. Yet as every second passed, his spirits became more and more fractious. Finally he grabbed the girls, and they ran back into the hotel. Simon and the stoners stood in the lobby, staring at them as they entered like they were insane.

“Where the hell’d you get to?” Simon asked.

“Emily’s missing. We can’t find her anywhere,” Andrew replied bluntly, feverishly scanning the lobby.

Just then Christian dashed in the front doors, his face severe. “Andrew, the minivan. It’s gone.”

“What? Where’d it go?” Simon cried.

Reality smashed into Andrew. The truth he’d been fighting so hard knocked him blind. Emily believed what that thing had said. She believed he was going to kill her. She was running.

Forward, Emily. You have to leave, run. Now.

As Emily drove the minivan, she estimated how long she could risk at each stop. The hotel was first. She madly combed every inch she could reach, raking clothes, jewelry, and toiletries into her bag. The smell of him was everywhere and overpowering; his very energy bounced off the walls, even in the tousled sheets. Her hand reached out to smooth his crumpled pillow. “Andrew. I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.”

No. She needed to run. If she didn’t escape soon, she never would.
Forward, Emily
, she screamed at herself.
Forward. You have to leave—run. Don’t cry. Don’t cry now.

Two minutes, she had two minutes left. Andrew would know she was gone by now. She could picture him storming out of the inn, tearing across the grounds, and screaming her name. Would he realize the van was gone? Would he know where she was headed?

Shutting the thoughts from her mind, she threw her bag in the back of the van but not before transferring one packet to her satchel. Nora. Her hand patted the cool plastic.
I won’t fail you. I promise.

The fog had socked in the highway, making the sea a silver knife to her right. She reasoned that they would take the stoners’ van and go to the hotel first to find her. That left her precious little time. Her hands clenched the wheel as she pushed the van as fast as she dared. Her breathing caught in her chest as she spotted the turn off. It wouldn’t be long now. Yet as she stomped on the gas, images of Andrew began to speak to her, fighting to pull her back.

He stood on stage, singing—his eyes closed, his head bent.
“This next song is about a girl. It’s always about a girl, isn’t it?”
Her hands choked the wheel, and she punched the gas pedal harder. The image changed to him at the foot of their stairway, her shoe held in his hand.
“I believe this is yours.”
In anguish, she fumbled on the radio and turned up the volume as loud as it could go. The picture glided to that of him standing in the attic with his hand outstretched to her, wearing an old fashioned dinner jacket, his face beaming.
“Dance with me.”

Her shoulders shook, and she lifted her foot off the accelerator
.
“I can’t do this, I can’t do this…” she cried out to the inside of the empty van. And then in one last attempt to reach her, Andrew stood helpless and lost on their front porch, the rain pelting his face. Silent.

She slammed back into the seat at the pain and stomped on the brakes, launching her body into the steering wheel. Shaking, she laid her head on her hands.