Page 21 of One Last Touch

“Yes,” he said cautiously and I cleared my throat, arranging my face into a more neutral expression, unsure why I’d been so happy to see him.

“Where have you been all day?”

“Around,” he said, waving his hand vaguely when I raised an eyebrow. I would have pressed him more except… he looked exhausted. Oddly pale, like he was faded around the edges.

“Are you okay?” I brushed the fluff out of the filter and into the bin and he nodded.

“Yeah. Just tired running around after you,” he teased before nodding to the bin. “So, the fluff?”

I pulled one dark strand free and bit my lip. “It’s hers.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I think I’m going to go and see her today.” I had wanted to wait until I knew, until I could tell her what had happened, who had killed her. But after the weird dreams and strange visions I’d been having, I wanted to go sooner rather than later and remind myself that she was really gone and that dreams were just that—whatever I’d thought I’d seen had just been the product of stress and grief.

“Do you want me to come?”

I eyed him, noting the frail cast to him, and shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ll be alright. You should just get some rest.”

He smiled like I’d said something funny but nodded. “Sure. I hope…”

“What?” I held my breath as I waited to hear what he would say next. We hadn’t spoken since he’d found me yesterday and I wondered if it was as fresh in his mind as it was in mine right then.

“I hope it goes okay.”

“Oh, thank you.” For a moment we just stood staring at each other before I cleared my throat and clapped my hands lightly. “Well, I’m going to—” I pointed off into the distance and he smiled slightly as he nodded.

I was nervous about going to the cemetery later, but it needed to happen, and soon. Before I lost my damn mind.

I slotted the filter back into the machine and got the washing going, standing and staring at it for a few minutes as dread filled me. But there was no more reason to put it off. It was time.

I pulled on my coat, scarf and gloves and by the time I’d laced up my boots I was clammy under my layers, although maybe that was the anxiety.

The walk to the cemetery was surprisingly pleasant, all things considered. The leaves on the trees had turned fully orange and decorated the ground, crunching softly under my boots as I walked on the woodland trail and followed it around to the left as Ms Weathers had instructed. I could have taken the boat across the lake, but I wanted to stretch my legs a little. It was so peaceful out here that sometimes I felt guilty. Guilty for enjoying it, guilty for loving these woods and the life I was slowly building, because it was only possible because she wasn’t here and that was a complicated emotion for me to dig into. Was it okay to feel happy? Especially when that happiness was a result of my mum’s death?

I wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel right. But at the same time, what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t stop living because she was gone, nor would she have wanted that. My mind drifted as I remembered how elated and how simultaneously crushed I’d felt seeing her in that dream, glowing blue. I want you to live. I truly believed that was what she would have told me in real life too, if she could.

The trees began to open up and the birdsong started to fall away as I left the cosy shroud of the forest and stepped out onto a stone road that had been well-maintained. It was technically part of the land I now owned, but some rights had been sold off years ago to the council to allow it to be a public space. The Alswells still had their own mausoleum though, tucked right at the back of the cemetery. Neat rows of headstones lay ahead of me, some newer than others, and it felt like a fist was in my gut, squeezing tighter with every step forward I took. Because this was it, and the moment I saw it, it was real.

Identifying her had been awful, not because she was gone, but because she was right there. How could she be dead when she was right in front of me? This though, here in the cemetery, was a different kind of grief entirely.

As I stopped in front of the Alswell mausoleum and plot, I spotted another familiar name. Edward Tobias Alswell. I brushed my hand across his name and date, dead the same year I was born. Was this why she’d left Alswell?

I took a deep breath, letting the smell of the fresh air into my lungs and then pushing it out all in one go as I looked at the headstone next to Edward’s. There had been no room in the mausoleum for them, the space had been filled long before their time, but they were laid to rest together, just metres away from the rest of the Alswell ancestors.

Natalia Margerie Alswell.

My breath caught in my throat and if not for the hand that landed on my shoulder, I would have sunk to my knees right there.

At first I’d assumed it would be Sage standing there, having followed me even after I told him I was okay. It was the sort of stubborn thing that I guessed I would do too. But it wasn’t Sage.

Instead, a man with dark hair and light eyes stood behind me, his white skin only a little lighter than the clouds that were gathering and turning a darker shade of grey by the minute.

It felt like he looked through me more than at me, his eyes tracing over the letters of my mother’s name with the kind of reverence that made it feel like I was the one intruding.

“Hello,” I said quietly and he blinked, letting his hand drop as he looked around as if confused as to how he’d gotten there. “Did you know her?” I nodded to the headstone and his eyes turned distant once more.

“Better than I know myself,” he said and his voice was the kind of gravelly that put you at ease, commanding, but gentle. “She didn’t deserve what happened. Neither do you.”

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