Page 20 of One Last Touch

No footsteps sounded aside from my own and I chuckled quietly, had he really thought I wouldn’t know I was being watched? My smile faded as I neared the place where the belladonna bushes grew and I gave them a wide berth, instead veering close to the trees as they opened up at the edge of the driveway.

The fountain looked sad as I walked past and ran a hand over its rim. Dry and crumbling, I decided I would make restoring it a priority. It would be a shame to let something so beautiful fade away.

My boots were fully caked in mud and my fingers were freezing despite being shoved deeply into my pockets. I gazed up at the house thoughtfully as I drew closer, noting the disrepair and the places that had clearly once shone with beauty. My eyes flicked up to the roof and the trail of Ivy that laced up the brickwork before stilling on what had to be the attic window. I hadn’t been up there yet. It was partially because it was out of sight and out of mind, but also there were more important rooms that needed some love first. Yet, in that moment, the attic became the most important part of the property. Because that was my mother’s ethereal face looking out at me.

I was frozen mid-stride, staring up at her as those familiar eyes seemed to burn into me in turn. Then I was running towards the house, keeping my eyes glued to her as if my gaze alone could keep her in place. Did my reaction make any sense? No. She was gone. Dead. I would never laugh with her, hug her, speak to her, ever again. And yet, I pumped my arms as quickly as I could, uncaring about the mud I tracked in as I reached the staircase, slipping only a little and knocking my shin against the stair.

I followed the stairs around, growing dizzy, until I came to the top of the house, the attic. The scent of decay was even stronger there than in the rest of the house, but as I stood in the doorway, panting, I felt my shoulders slump as grief threatened to squash me.

Empty.

And really, what had I been expecting? Of course it was empty. I’d seen her body, had verified that it was her, and I hadn’t been lying. My mother was gone, whatever I’d thought I’d seen had to have been a product of grief and exhaustion. Hope, maybe, even though it was foolish.

I walked over to the window where I thought I’d seen her face and analysed my own, not dissimilar, features. Maybe there were no answers to be had here at Alswell, maybe all I would find was pain, stealing my breath and sucking my spirit out through my marrow as I chased a justice that didn’t matter—it wouldn’t bring her back, after all.

I turned away from the sight of the treeline and my mother’s face within my own and looked instead at the contents of the attic. Who knew what they were storing up here, maybe I might find some of my mum’s things.

Intrigued and soothed by the thought of finding a small, tangible, part of her, I moved to an old-fashioned free-standing clothes rack and slid the garment bags open one at a time. The zipper on the last bag had a smooth rasp that raised the hairs on my neck as I parted the material to find a dress. White, exquisitely beaded, with a lace mesh overlay that was both ornate and tasteful. I had no doubt that it had been my mother’s. Was this the dress she’d married Edward Alswell in? Maybe one day, she might have presented it to me—something borrowed, or maybe something old, but those moments had been stolen away from us.

I sank to the floor in front of the dress as it seemed to morph into a figure of my loss in front of my eyes, everything I would never get to have with her. Everything that could have been.

The sob caught and burned in my chest as I clenched my jaw, refusing to breathe as the pain tried to find its way out and my body only tensed further. Eventually, when the pressure became too much, it left me in a wave that left tracks under my eyes, dripping onto my still-wet coat.

I stood abruptly. I couldn’t look at it anymore. Wasn’t sure I could stay here any longer with the reminders of her all around me, the lies she’d told and secrets she’d kept, pulling at the still-healing wound of her loss, re-opening it over and over. If I didn’t leave now, who knew how deep the scar tissue would run.

I turned for the door and slipped on the wooden floor in my muddy boots, arms pinwheeling back until I was caught.

I choked, the hand that had flashed out of nowhere closing around my throat and holding me in place, my spine bowing backwards as I hung there. Saliva pooled in my mouth, tasting metallic like blood as I felt my face flush red. The large, thick hand didn’t let up and grey eyes not unlike my own appeared like beacons that glowed with anger before darkness swallowed me whole.

“Georgina?” The voice was soft and then panicked as the ground shook beneath me like someone had fallen to their knees by my prostrate form. “Wake up, Georgina.” The command was firm but with an edge that had me stirring.

“What happened?” I coughed as I sat up slowly and Sage peered at me with hazel eyes full of a mixture of relief and something else that I couldn’t place.

“You tell me,” he said, dark brows slanting low over his eyes as he watched me. “Angie said you came storming past and then I found you here on the floor.”

“I—” What had happened? I’d stood, turned and slipped, but before I’d hit the floor… “How does my neck look?”

“Your neck?” Sage’s eyes sharpened as he brushed his fingers over the skin of my throat. “It looks fine.”

“Not… red?”

“What the hell is going on, Georgina?”

I bit my lip before shaking my head. “Nothing. I slipped and must have hit my head.” There was nobody there, I had probably just let all the local talk of hauntings get in my mind and mess with me. Nobody had been here except me—Sage would have seen them on the stairs otherwise.

I wasn’t sure if I was just concussed, or if hitting my head had knocked some sense into me somehow, but I no longer felt the urge to leave. The anger and grief bottled inside had been released, for now, and all I really wanted right then was a hot shower and a cup of tea. Besides, I’d said I wanted answers and I’d meant it. I couldn’t leave.

“Come on.” Sage held out his hand and I took it, stumbling a little as I moved too fast and fell against his chest. “You’re trouble, Georgina Alswell,” he murmured as he steadied me, the presence of his hand against my back filling me with relief, and I swallowed hard.

For so long, I had been Georgina Cole. It was only now that I was standing here, in this place, with this man, that I realised the name had never fit me at all.

Chapter Ten

After spending the majority of yesterday out in the rain and mud, I’d decided it was past time I hunted down the washing machine. I found it in a room adjacent to the kitchen that I hadn’t noticed before. Thankfully it had been fairly easy to use. I’d cleaned out the filter and felt a lump in my throat at the sight of several long, dark hairs that were caught in there. Fucking ridiculous, crying over fluff and dirt but it was her hair and after last night, I had been feeling somewhat delicate all day.

“Are you crying over fluff?”

My head jerked up and a smile broke out across my face. “Sage!”

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