Page 25 of One Last Goodbye

Standing some distance from the perspective of the viewer is a tall, pale woman clad in a white dress. Her long hair, blonde but nearly white as it would be in such light, hangs straight down the middle of her back. I don't need to see the woman from thefront to know that empty black holes exist where her eyes should be.

I feel Olivia’s hand leave mine and realized that I’ve stood stock still in the middle of the room. I snap myself out of my funk and cross to her bedside. “Would you like me to stay with you?” I ask.

I don’t know why I make this offer to Olivia but not to Ethan. Perhaps the sight of my sister’s… of the portrait of the pale woman unnerves me. Perhaps it draws me. Either way, I feel a touch of disappointment when Olivia shakes her head and turns away to stare at her wall.

I remain for a moment longer. The rest of the room is filled with similar paintings, all with the same eerie aesthetic as the portrait of the pale woman. Bookshelves contain replicas of certain tropes associated with witchcraft: pentagrams, crows, skulls, candles.

My thoughts turn to the moment when I caught Olivia in her father’s study, walking paces around the globe with her candle. The action and the décor in this room are childish, silly things that have as much to do with real pagan practice as storks have to do with pregnancy.

But that picture…

I look back at it to make sure I’m not imagining it. It’s not just the fact that I’ve seen this exact image in nightmares several times. I’ve seen that exact image in the form of a painting at the Ashford House when I worked there. Cecilia denied the painting exists, and I put it off as the first of my nightmares featuring the pale woman, but it can’t be coincidence that I’m seeing the same exact image now as a pencil drawing created by a teenage girl halfway around the world from the painting.

I make myself stand and leave the room. As I navigate to my own room, I convince myself that I’m mistaken. That picture can’t be what I believe it to be. It only looks familiar. It’s acommon theme, after all: the ghostly creature standing ahead in a dim forested path. I could do an internet search and pull up hundreds of similar images. Ihavedone an internet search and pulled up hundreds of similar images.

But not that image. Not that exact image that I see in my dreams. Not the image of my sister’s accusing ghost.

I reach my room and try to sleep, but like the children, my eyes refuse to close. I fear that when they do, I will once more see the tall woman with her black hole eyes accusing me of abandoning her to her fate.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I must sleep at some point because I distinctly remember opening my eyes and seeing that the room is considerably brighter than it was when I entered. I check my phone and confirm that it is nearly eleven in the morning. I've slept for five hours.

The shock of yesterday has faded for me, so I’m able to think more clearly about what to do next. I am eager to get to the bottom of this mystery, but my first responsibility is to the children.

That doesn’t mean I need to stop, though. I have a resource now who can help me from the outside. I turn the shower on, but before I enter it, I call Sean, hoping that the running water will diffuse my voice to anyone who might be eavesdropping.

Sean answers. “Well, Mary, surprise of the century. Frederick Jensenissleeping with Veronica Baines. I don’t have any X-rated photos, I’m afraid, but I have them entering a hotel room together, and one where she kisses him. You’ll be interested to know that I can’t find any evidence that Hugo van Doren and Catherine Jensen slept together. Looks like they’re just good friends. I could speculate and say that Hugo wouldn’t mind sleeping with her, but that only makes him a man. Hell,I’dsleep with Catherine Jensen so long as I didn’t have to worry about consequences.”

I purse my lips. “I take it from your crassness that you haven’t heard the news.”

A pause. “Uh oh.”

“To say the least. Frederick Jensen was murdered last night.”

A longer pause. “Shite. I apologize for my comment about sleeping with his wife.”

“You don’t owemethat apology, but I suppose it wouldn’t help for you to apologize to Catherine. Thank you for confirming the affair, though. That gives at least one person here a motive.”

“First things first. Are you all right? Are the children all right?”

"I suppose it depends on what you mean, all right?"

“In danger, Mary. Are you or the children in danger?”

“Oh. I don’t believe so.”

“Have the police been informed?”

“Yes. The place was crawling with them yesterday.”

“Did they talk to you?”

“Yes, a detective did.”

“Did you tell them your suspicions?"

I steel myself for an argument. “No, and I don’t intend to. Not until I have more information.”

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