Page 50 of Her Dark Lies
“That she did. She wouldn’t leave our rooms without Eliza’s pearls. Ah, I do miss her. Do you remember the time May went swimming with the dogs?”
Jack isn’t about to ruin the old man’s moment, so he stands with him and listens to a few of the stories. He knows them all by heart—Will has told them all a hundred times before—but he listens, and laughs, and wipes his eyes a few times. Finally, when Will slows down and yawns, Jack suggests the two find their way upstairs to their respective beds.
With a sigh and a good-natured pat of the plaque on the door to May’s tomb, Will agrees, and Jack thumbs on his flashlight again and blows out the candle. He is careful to secure the padlock to the crypt, vowing to return later to see Morgan’s body and lay her ghost to rest in his mind.
He leads his grandfather toward the kitchens, careful not to show worry, or scold, just grateful they’ve had a moment together to revisit some of the old stories.
At the door, Will grabs Jack’s arm with surprising strength. “Be careful, Jacky.”
“Careful? Of what?”
“The dead don’t like to stay that way.”
“Signore Compton, there you are. We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Fatima stands at the edge of the root cellar, a scowl on her face, hands folded in front of her. She is half in shadow and Jack is reminded of a bleached skull. Her hair is a wiry gray mass, and her face is lined. She has always been slightly warped in his mind. He would think her an unhappy woman if she weren’t so devoted to his mother, and so excellent at her job.
Will moves past her gruffly. “Well, you’ve found me. And I’m thirsty. Let’s have a nightcap.”
Moments later Will’s nurse, Petra, bursts into the kitchen. She is out of breath and overflowing with apologies.
Fatima looks at her coldly, and barks in Italian, “It is not safe for him to be wandering around alone.”
The nurse bows her head. “I know. I fell asleep. It will not happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Fatima says, and stalks off.
Jack hands his grandfather over to the nurse, who looks relieved to have found her charge in good hands.
“Va bene?”Petra asks Jack warily, and he nods and replies in English, “Just fine. We had a nice chat.”
“I’m glad.” She nods once, then scuttles after Will, scolding him lightly. “You scared me, you can’t wander off like that.”
Will says over his shoulder, voice fading as he strides off, “G’night, Jacky. Petra, get me two fingers of Oban. And quit hovering. I’m not a child.”
Jack sags back against the wall. As heartbreaking as that had been, it was good to connect with Will.
Jack knows he should go back to the crypt, satisfy his curiosity, but the idea is suddenly distasteful. What purpose will it serve? Dragging up the horrible memories of the night Morgan died, what good will that do? It is a way to cling to the past, to continue accepting the blame for her death.
He resolves to stop looking back. He wants to look forward. To carve out his love story. His childhood nightmares seem far, far away. Seeing Will talking to May’s spirit was comforting. There was such peace between them. Such love, and such peace.
One day, he wants Claire to weep over his body, or he, hers. He doesn’t want his life with her to start sullied by the vision of the blanched bones of his first wife. He knows himself well enough. That vision is something he will never, ever be able to erase. It’s time to let the ghosts of his past rest, and focus on stopping whoever is trying to hurt him now.
30
Love Is Blind
Don’t let him fool you. This is simple. An unassailable truth.
We met. We fell in love. We were perfect together. Everyone said so.
So, we married.
And then he killed me.
And he’s going to kill her, too.
I’m going to make sure of it.
