Authors: Jeanette Battista
Devon reeled back, Charlotte’s words a slap to her face. She wanted to lash out, to hurt this proud woman who’d always treated her like trash, when really Charlotte was the one who was horrible. Her hands clenched into fists, but she forced herself to stay still, to think.
Like lightning striking a tree, inspiration struck. Devon suddenly knew how to hurt Charlotte. She knew what the woman was most afraid of; she understood why the woman had gone to such lengths. It was all about pride.
Softly, Devon said, “Oh, they’ll listen, Grandmother. You know how this town loves a good story, even more than they love the truth. In this case, the truth and a good story happen to be the same.” Devon began to walk away. She had Charlotte. “How do you think everyone will look at you once they hear about what you’ve done? Once they hear about what my mother did to your son?”
Devon turned around and gave Charlotte her coldest smile. “It doesn’t matter if they believe everything I say. It’s enough that they’ll wonder if there’s any truth to it.”
“What do you want?” Charlotte asked again, no longer keeping the hatred from her voice.
“Nothing from you,” Devon shot back. “You can’t buy your way out of this one.”
Charlotte stalked over to her. She wasn’t an imposing woman, but the light in her eyes was terrifying. Devon had to stop herself from stepping back. “Say one word, Devon, and you will regret it. I promise you that.”
Devon raised her chin. “You’ll regret it more. I swear it.” She backed away from Charlotte, afraid to take her eyes off of the woman. She stopped when she felt the door at her back and reached back to open the door. Charlotte watched calmly, blinking slowly, as if they had discussed nothing more stressful than what to have for lunch.
Devon slammed the door shut behind her, grateful to be out from under that reptilian gaze. Charlotte had no power over her, but Devon still wanted to get as far from the woman as possible. She rushed through the gate, fumbling in her bag with her phone so she could call Brock. She was only slightly surprised to find her hands were shaking.
It was freezing cold in early March, the land held in Mother Nature’s frosty iron fist. Devon shivered in her jacket and wished for spring. It was one thing to watch the fluffy snow sift down like powdered sugar from the warmth of a sofa; it was quite another to be out in it at nearly eleven o’clock at night. But Brock had asked her to meet him—he’d said he had more information on the term paper setup—so she risked being out past her curfew and possible frostbite to hear what he had to say.
It would be good to see him again. It had only been two weeks since his parents had put the official kibosh on their…whatever it was they were doing, but she really missed the chance to spend time with him. She couldn't call him—and she found that she missed their talks.
It amazed her. Devon hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on him with all of the family mysteries and ghost sightings, but once he was gone, it became clear to her how much of a partner he’d been. Brock had been a good one to bounce ideas off of, someone who could be trusted to try and see the bigger picture. Now that she was trying to do everything alone, it was so much harder. Brock was the only one who knew everything; even Gil had been kept in the dark about Jessamy.
But he'd found something out that might help them clear their names at school. And, if his call were any indication, he might have found something important. He was risking an even worse punishment than she was, by sneaking out of the house when he was grounded. That made the freezing her butt off worth it.
She curled her hands into fists inside her coat and kept up her pacing. When she looked up to check the time on the old clock, she saw Brock on the other side of the street. He waved at her, his face blossoming into a large smile, despite the cold. Devon began to make her way down the treacherously slick steps to the sidewalk.
Devon was crossing the street when she heard the engine roar as the car it belonged to put on a burst of speed. She froze, unable to move as the dark shape hurtled toward her. She could hear Brock yelling at her, but she couldn’t seem to make her body move out of the way. The car’s grille was nearly upon her when she felt a hard shove at her back and then she was falling, falling through a mist of white.
*****
Devon pushed herself up, looking at the floor beneath her hands. She was no longer outside; instead, she stood on a wooden floor, one sanded and polished and well taken care of. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was by studying the furnishings. She was in a house, and it was large and neat. She’d fallen in front of the large staircase that led to the second floor. Everything had the feeling of age to it. She wondered where in the past Jessamy had sent her.
She heard voices coming from the upstairs. Devon scrambled to her feet, looking around for a place to hide, then mentally smacked herself. They couldn’t see her. She stayed where she was. As the voices grew louder and closer, Devon realized she recognized them. The woman’s voice was Jessamy’s. Which meant the man’s voice had to be Keaton’s.
Devon shivered. She remembered Keaton’s arrogant gaze from Daniel’s jail cell. The urge to hide flared up in her again, but she quelled it. He couldn’t hurt her, not when she was out of time like this.
They were arguing, their voices growing louder as they approached the top of the stairs. Devon could see them now; Jessamy wore a dark dress similar to what she wore as a ghost, but Keaton was dressed in lighter colors. She could see the marks of grief on Jessamy in the tired circles under her eyes and the frown lines like commas around her mouth. She was thin, her dress draping over her instead of fitting like it had in previous times.
“I know you’ve been leaving the house at night!” Keaton shouted.
Jessamy whirled, spots of color blossoming on her cheeks. “Are you following me?” Her voice was low, but it had a dangerous edge to it.
“You’re my wife. I expect you to act with some semblance of decorum.” Keaton took a step closer to her. They were now almost at the head of the stairs.
“I can’t sleep at night, so I walk.” Jessamy turned away from him, lifting her skirts so she wouldn’t trip on the hem going down the stairs. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Keaton took two quick steps and grabbed her upper arm. “It depends on where you go when you walk.” He pulled her close, his face flushed. “You’re visiting him, aren’t you?”
“What does it matter?” Jessamy struggled to pull away from her husband’s grip, but she was held firm.
“You’re MY wife. It’s not proper!”
“HANG PROPER!” she shouted at him.
“He’s DEAD, Jess.” He tried to put his arms around her, but she resisted. “You have to let him go.”
Jessamy paled. Keaton at least had the decency to look contrite for his harsh words. She jerked her arm out of his violently, causing her to lose her balance. Keaton reached for her, but Jessamy twisted away from him. She screamed as she tried to right herself, but it was too late.
Devon watched in horror as Jessamy plummeted down the steep staircase. Her body bounced off of the wooden stairs as if it was made of rags. Keaton cried out, rushing down the stairs after her. When she landed at the bottom of the staircase in a bloody heap, Devon could see that her neck was bent at the wrong angle.
Keaton gently turned Jessamy over. Her head flopped loosely, like a limp chicken’s and Devon felt bile rise up in the back of her throat. It was obscene, the way it hung over Keaton’s arm. Her face was bloody—Devon figured she must have hit her nose on the way down. Her eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling.
He looked at her for a moment, almost as if he couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Slowly, he reached out his free hand and closed her eyes. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He looked blasted, the lone survivor of a horrible attack. Finally he placed her body back down on the floor and stumbled out of the room.
Devon turned her head away. She jumped back when she realized Jessamy’s shade stood behind her, watching the proceedings. “He didn’t mean to,” she whispered, then seemed to notice Devon for the first time.
She raised her index finger and touched it to Devon’s forehead. Then Devon was falling backwards, into the cold, swirling mists.
*****
“Devon!” Cold hands held her cheeks. “Dev!” The voice was frantic, choked with fear and tears.
Her eyes fluttered open at the desperate sound of her name. She was freezing, surrounded by something cold and wet. Snow, she realized as she looked around. She was lying in a drift in the front of the Town Hall. Her eyes focused on Brock, his pale face inches from hers. His hazel eyes looked leeched of color under the streetlights.
“Thank God,” he breathed, pulling her up into a bone-crushing hug. “When I saw that car coming at you…” he dug his face into her shoulder so she didn’t catch the rest of what he said.
Her eyes followed a blot of shadow just outside of the circle of lamplight. Jessamy stepped forward, looking more at peace and solid than Devon ever remembered seeing her before. She had her veil pulled up, exposing her lovely face. She was no longer drawn and sad; as she watched, Devon saw the ghost smile.
Devon pushed away from Brock. He looked at her quickly and she pointed with her chin at Jessamy. Brock slewed around on his knees, his eyes widening at the sight of the spirit. “She pushed you out of the way,” he whispered, awed.
Jessamy walked towards them, her hands outstretched. Brock helped Devon to her feet, checking her over for any broken bones. Devon let him, but her eyes were on her family’s ghost. Nothing had been what she thought, she realized. Jess wasn’t evil or a curse. Devon took one of the ghost’s hands. She gestured for Brock to take the other.
As soon as they touched, Devon could hear Jessamy’s light and musical voice in her head. “Thank you, Devon, for freeing me.”
“I should be the one thanking you,” Devon thought back. “If you hadn’t pushed me…” she shuddered as she trailed off. She felt Brock squeeze her hand.
Jessamy’s face grew hard for a moment. Her eyes looked beyond them, at the ruin of a car that had plowed into a lamppost. Steam hissed in billowing white clouds from beneath the busted hood. The car resembled nothing so much as an elderly dragon able to spit smoke, but no fire. The ghost studied the wreckage briefly, then turned back to Devon. “You broke the cycle.”
Devon was confused, and said so. “I don’t understand. What cycle?”
Jessamy's voice fluttered, a breezy sound. "You made the right choice."
Devon remembered the feeling she got when she was sitting in the front office when Brock had offered to say he had been alone in selling the term paper. It had been almost unbearably cold then. "You were there?"
Jessamy nodded. "You did what your mother and I could not. You put someone else before your own wants and desires. I've been trying to atone for my past mistakes, while waiting for some woman with the courage to stand up for the man she loves. That woman was you, Devon."
Brock nodded, sharing a look with Jessamy. He said, “She was never your family’s curse. She was a protector of sorts, am I right?” At the spirit’s nod, he continued. “She does appear, as a warning, but she doesn’t cause the things to happen. That’s why your mother saw her. Jessamy was trying to warn your mother about what could happen to her. And trying to get her to make the right choice.”
“And Gammy had only heard the legends, so she assumed you were bad,” Devon finished for him, her eyes on Jess. “But I still don’t get the atone part.”
The ghost smiled, a bare upturn at the corners of her mouth. “As penance for what I’d done.” She met Devon’s eyes. “You, of all people, should know what harm I caused. I should have waited. I should have married the man that I loved instead of marrying the man that loved me.”
“The man that loved you framed Daniel,” Devon reminded her, not willing to let Keaton off the hook so easily. Daniel was dead because of Keaton.
“I know that now.” Her smile turned sad. “I wasn’t strong enough to follow my heart. But we were all to blame for the decisions we made. I had to make up for my part of it.” She paused, holding Devon’s gaze with her own. “You are stronger than I ever could be. You are stronger than your mother. Only you could free me.”
“So saving me is how you atoned?” Devon shook her head. And all this time, she thought she had to do something to save Jessamy, to put her at rest. But all she had to do was let Jess help her. It was going to take some time and serious thought to understand fully the events of the past few months.
Jessamy nodded once. "Yes, that, and something else that I think you will find pleasing."
Before Devon could think too much about that last statement, Brock asked, “But how did you manage to be physical enough to push her?”
“I can gain strength in direct relation to the threat posed to Devon.” She smiled again, this time a little wicked. “I was able to manifest at the dance that night because of those two that were threatening you. And I was able to push you out of the way of the car because of the threat to your life.”
“The car!” Devon cried, breaking contact to run over to where the car had stopped, its front end crumpled around the light post. She heard matching footfalls muffled in the snow as Brock followed after her.