Page 15 of After Life
Oscar’s glance darted toward the graves, then back at me. “Ah, am I correct in guessing you’ve decided what you’d like to do in the morning, love?”
I blushed. “Sandra was explaining that the Tibbins family is buried here and also in a newer site in the back of the property.”
“Except Jeremiah,” Oscar murmured, his gaze unfocused. “He’s...” He paused, snapping his attention to Sandra, who’d gone pale, clutching Lenny’s leash like a lifeline. “I’m sorry. Speaking out of turn again. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is comfortable with my abilities.”
Sandra sniffed, tugging the hem of her sweater down and straightening her spine. “It’s fine. You’re not the first person I’ve met who has the Sight.”
“The Sight,” he repeated. “You sound as if you have some familiarity yourself.”
She shrugged. “I’m a scientist,” she said, and I knew without looking that Oscar was fighting back a smirk—how often had that been my protest to any suggestion of the paranormal? “I’m a scientist,” she repeated, a bit more softly, “but I’m very open minded.” At her feet, Lenny made a noise of doggy boredom, seeming to draw Sandra out of whatever reverie she was slipping into. “Well. I can assure you there’s been no one out here. Maybe it was a dream? Sleep paralysis, perhaps?”
I nodded, face hot. “Maybe so. I’m sorry for keeping you from your morning.”
Oscar took my elbow and we picked our way back toward the house, Sandra’s eyes hard on our back until we were out of the reach of her flashlight’s beam.
When we stepped back into the kitchen, Oscar tugged me to a halt. “Look,” he murmured, pointing to the slick spot on the floor.
Or rather, where it had been.
“Dry as a bone,” Oscar said. “I came back through the house before going to find you. The spot was gone.”
“I hate myself for asking this but did you save any?”
Oscar snorted softly. “It was already gone by the time I came back through here.”
“So,” I said slowly. “What are we thinking here?”
“Possibly... ectoplasm?” Oscar winced as he said it. “I know, I know—it’s ridiculous. I’ve never, in my entire life, seen it. And I’ve seen hundreds of spirits, ghosts, what-have-you. Not a single time was there ectoplasm involved.”
“I haven’t done a huge amount of research but anything I’ve found regarding ectoplasm with regards to paranormal events has been about how it’s a hoax, or how to make it, or how it was used in spiritualist circles to rook clients.” But you know people who have done quite a lot of research... People who’ve been asking you to send in your CV and material, to set up a meeting with them...
Shut up, inner monologue. You’re not helping here.
It was Oscar who suggested it, surprising me. “Well, it’s not long till sunrise,” he sighed. “I don’t know if I can get back to sleep.”
“Me either. I think I might read a bit.”
He nodded, looping his arm through mine and leaning his head on my shoulder. “I know we said no investigating,” he murmured. “But I’m starting to think we might not have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” I sighed, though the tiny spark of excitement dancing in my veins couldn’t be denied. “We could just close our eyes and ears, enjoy the rest of the week and any time we hear footsteps in the night or see a shadow looming over us, we pretend it’s nothing and go on about our day.”
“True,” he allowed, slipping his other arm around my middle. “But do you want to do that?”
“No.”
“Me either.”
Chapter 3 – Oscar
Taking my tea on the front porch was a surprisingly lovely indulgence. The temperatures were much lower that morning than they’d been the previous day. Julian suggested it might be due to Hurricane Nelson, far offshore but doing a fine job of pushing cooler air ahead of itself. “Are you sure we’ll be okay?” I’d asked over breakfast, hating the tremor in my voice. “Sandra mentioned the ferry wasn’t running due to some high swells. A hurricane sounds terrifying, to be honest. We don’t have much of that back home.”
“I’ve been through...” He paused, staring out over the garden for a moment. “Oh, god, maybe six? They can be terrifying, true, but this place has stood for over four hundred years and weathered more than one hurricane just fine. Besides, Sandra is doing a supply run and we checked the forecast this morning, remember? It’s not going to be worse than a category one, and that’s if it even hits the island. There’s still plenty of time for it to hook back out to sea or decide to bother some other spot on the seacoast instead.”
I’d nodded, pretending to be assuaged by that, but really I was low key terrified. All I could think of was the fact we were surrounded by the sea, and the ferry would be shut down for the duration of the hurricane watch.
So I did what almost any Brit would do in a time of great internal conflict. I made a cup of tea and retreated to a comfortable chair. In this case, the chair was on the porch and overlooking a tangle of bright yellow flowers on a glossy green vine wrapping around the porch’s pillar.
“Mr. Fellowes.”
