Chapter Twenty-Nine
What the Dead Remember
Mary sat in her room, candlelight throwing restless shadows across the walls. Warm wax lingered in the air. So did the ghost of her daughter’s voice. Moonlight bled across Avalon like an old bruise while the waves whispered what only the dead understood.
Her hands trembled.
“Baby, I don’t know what’s happening anymore,” she said, feeling as if her daughter was sitting right beside her.
The reply came soft. Too soft to belong to the living.
“You do, Mom. You’ve always known.”
Mary’s breath hitched. Maybe she was losing her mind. Or maybe her mind was finally telling the truth she’d avoided for years.
“I know you aren’t here,” she whispered, “but I want it so badly . . . I don’t want to fight it anymore. I hear you.”
“Mom, you talk about death like it’s someone else’s story. But, we’re both a part of it.”
Tears slid down Mary’s face. “I can’t face it.”
“You taught me well, Mom. Stories have consequences,” her daughter whispered.
Mary’s stomach knotted. “Not like this,” she said. “Not this kind of consequence.”
“You think this is new?” the voice sighed. “You started paying the price a long time ago.”
Mary closed her eyes, pressing her palms to her ears. “You were my light. I’d give anything to hold you again.”
“Then quit denying that you hear me,” came the soft reply. “And don’t pretend you’re innocent in what’s happening now.”
Something cold settled in Mary’s gut.
As if she did know something.
As if she had been running from it for years.
The candle flared violently, the flame stretching thin before snapping back. For a heartbeat, Mary swore she saw her daughter’s silhouette in the window—hair, shoulders, the tilt of her chin. She could almost look into her eyes.
Almost.
Mary stood and paced. “Don’t do this, Baby, please, don’t make me remember.”
“You called me, Mom. I’ve always been here. But, I can only come when you call.”
Mary’s head was spinning so she wasn’t sure if the sound was real when a knock cracked against her door. Mary looked at the window again, and the image of her daughter was gone.
Her door opened.
Joey stood there, worry aging his young face. “Are you okay, Mom? I heard you talking.” His eyes swept the room—seeing nothing, missing everything.
She blinked fast, forcing a smile. “I’m okay. Just talking to myself.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? It’s clear you’ve been crying.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just exhausted. A lot has been going on. Go relax with your friends. I promise I’ll pull out of this funk.”
Joey hesitated. “I know you talk to my sister,” he said after a moment.
Mary froze.
“I don’t see anything wrong with it. Where I’m worried is when it feels like you’re arguing.”
“The dead don’t like to be ignored. When we do, they let us know.”
He hesitated, searching her face. “Lily’s worried.”
Mary’s heart clenched. “She doesn’t need to worry. I’ll check on her.”
Her son lingered another moment, then nodded slowly. He came over, kissed her temple, the gesture old and automatic, before moving to the door. He turned.
“If you need me, all you have to do is ask. And try not to stay up all night like you’ve been doing. It’s not healthy.”
“Are you the pot or the kettle?” she teased weakly.
He gave her a smile and a wink. “I’m young. My body can take it.”
She grabbed her pillow and threw it at him. He laughed, then ducked out the door. Mary let out a breath and told herself to pull it together. She didn’t want her children or grandchildren worrying.
She heard lighter footsteps in the hallway and knew the night was just beginning. She forced a smile as Lily opened her door.
“Grandma?” Her voice was tender as she stepped into the room. Rain was still glittering in her dark hair. She looked so much like her mother that for a dizzy second, Mary saw double.
“Come here, Sweetie.”
Lily crossed the room, sat next to Mary, and curled up against her. The feel of her granddaughter was grounding and ghostly at once. Mary buried her face in Lily’s hair.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. I just miss someone.”
Lily nodded, serious beyond her twenty-two years of life. “You’ve always told me that when you miss someone, speak to them, that they can hear us all the way from heaven.”
Mary’s throat ached. “Do you think she hears us?”
“Yes.” Lily looked up. “I like to talk to her too, sometimes.”
Mary’s hand trembled. “She loved you more than anything in this world.”
“I know,” Lily said softly. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I hear her voice. It doesn’t sound sad anymore. Just tired.”
Mary swallowed hard. “That’s what I hear, too.”
“What were you saying to her?” Lily asked.
Mary brushed hair from her face. “I was just talking. You have your mom’s heart. So much of her lives inside you.”
Lily rested her head on Mary’s shoulder. “Then she’s not gone.”
Mary’s tears dripped silently. “No, she’ll always be with us.”
Outside, the wind brushed the windows like fingertips. The shadows shifted across the walls, and for an instant, Mary thought she saw her daughter again, watching them both, smiling, loving them as they loved her.
Then it vanished.
Lily sat with her for a long while before leaving. Mary wasn’t alone long before another knock sounded at her door. Did people have a timer on their phones so she wouldn’t be left alone for too long? If so, it would drive her insane.
“Come in,” she called, knowing it wasn’t family. They might knock, but they opened the door right after.
Harmony stepped in quietly, shadows beneath her eyes, but still controlled—overly controlled, Mary thought.
“You look terrible,” Mary said.
“Thanks. Right back at you.” Harmony gave her a faint smile.
“What are you doing here?” Mary asked.
“Cass and Tosh are eating. Zach’s on a job site, and I found myself heading this way. No one wants to be alone. I didn’t want you to be, either.”
“I like being alone,” Mary said.
Harmony sat opposite her. “You shouldn’t right now. Candy’s death has everyone raw. You and her were close.”
Mary’s gaze flicked to her. “Not really.”
Harmony looked surprised. “But, you sang at her birthday—”
“That was a performance, not closeness. No one here truly knows anyone. Everyone performs.”
“What’s your role, then?” Harmony asked.
Mary smiled without warmth. “I’m the grieving soul.
It’s a good one, isn’t it? People forget what really happened, then label you for how you act.
They also forgive whatever you say if they think you have a good enough reason to say it.
Pain makes us holy, doesn’t it?” The words were spoken with sarcasm and disgust.
“Pain gives people tolerance and forgiveness,” Harmony said.
“Pain makes a person dangerous.” She paused. “Holy is far from what it makes you.”
The air between them went still. Something in her tone made Harmony’s skin prickle; it wasn’t a metaphor to Mary. It sounded like a verdict. For the first time, Harmony wondered if Mary was closer to the center of this story than she’d let herself believe.
Then, without warning, Mary stood.
“Do you want something to drink?”
Harmony looked like she wanted to argue. Mary knew people thought she was drinking too much. She didn’t care. Harmony finally shrugged. “Sure, it might take the edge off.”
Mary grabbed a bottle of wine and started opening it. Before she filled the two glasses, Cass appeared in the doorway like chaos in human form.
“This is officially the creepiest week of my life,” she declared. She paused as she studied Mary and Harmony. “Mary, you look like death’s understudy. You could be her twin, Harm. We have to stop this, or I’m going to start thinking we’re cursed. Pour me wine before I lose my mind.”
“It’s too late to stop anything. We’ve been cursed since the first ferry docked on this damn island,” Mary said.
Cass gulped wine. “Everyone is whispering around every corner. Some think Torie killed Candy. Others say it’s you, Mary. Some have even said me. A few say Zach. Harm is in the top three. It’s crazy.”
“What about Tosh?” Mary asked.
“He’s one of the few I never hear mentioned, which is insane. The guy can be as cold as ice,” Cass said.
“If we didn’t have gossip, we’d have nothing,” Mary said.
“They’re scared,” Cass said.
“They should be scared,” Mary said, her voice eerily calm.
Harmony tucked that away. Calm people with nothing to lose were always the ones to watch.
Another shadow darkened the door. Then Zach stepped into the room. He frowned. “Everyone is at each other’s throats in town. Tosh almost got into it with one of the deputies. He thinks the cops are covering things up.”
“Maybe they are,” Harmony murmured.
Zach snorted. “Or maybe you like the sound of a good conspiracy.”
Cass crossed her arms. “Maybe she’s right. Every time something happens, there’s less evidence than there should be. It’s like the island cleans up after the killer.”
Mary’s voice was soft but sharp. “Maybe the island is simply keeping what belongs to it.”
They all looked at her. Something in her tone sent a chill through the room. Zach cleared his throat.
“Are you getting enough rest, Mary?”
“I’m haunted and can’t sleep. But, aren’t we all?” she pushed back.
He hesitated. “I’m not judging, just worried about a friend.”
“You all think I’ve lost my mind. I talk to ghosts. I don’t sleep. I’m alone too much. I get why I’m an easy target. But this is me. Take it or leave it. And for the record, I’m not the one showing up at your houses.”
“We will always take you as you are,” Harmony said. “That doesn’t mean friends won’t worry.”
“I think everyone needs to worry more about themselves than about others.”
Harmony nodded. Cass exhaled. Zach said nothing.
“Maybe, we need to get out of this house and have a late dinner,” Cass said, trying to break the tension in the air.
“You guys go. I’ll stay,” Mary said.
“Not going to happen. We’ll continue to drive you crazy until you join us,” Harmony said. Mary’s shoulders sagged because she knew they’d do just that. At least if she went with them, it would get them out of her house. Then she could sneak away early and be alone to talk with her daughter again.
They made their way into town and went to Coyote Joe’s. It was surprisingly crowded for a weekday at eight in the evening. Tosh and Torie met them there.
Tosh leaned back. “The consensus is that one of us is doing the killings since it’s always someone from our group who dies.”
“They might be right,” Cass muttered as she looked at each of them.
“If you really believe that, then why aren’t you running?” Zach asked.
“I figure you all like me so I’m safe,” Cass said.
That made Mary laugh. “What about you, Harmony? Are you scared?”
Harmony smiled. “I figure, everyone wants to hear the end of the story, so I’m safe.”
“So, since we’re all the main characters in a twisted thriller, we’re safe?” Tosh said with a dark laugh.
“That’s pretty messed up,” Zach said. “I do know that if we turn on each other, though, the killer wins.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” Harmony said. “Maybe it’s not about death.
Maybe it’s about seeing what we’ll all become.
” She paused for a moment. “If I were writing it, I’d want to play with our lives until nobody knew which direction was up or down.
I’d twist and pull until I was even doubting myself.
” She smiled faintly, as if admitting a habit.
Tosh stared at her. “That’s dark, even for you.”
Mary had been still so far. She stared out at the water, her eyes unfocused. Finally, she turned, terrifyingly calm. “It’s not dark if it’s true.”
Zach watched Mary. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m remembering,” Mary said.
“Remembering what?”
Mary smiled. “That silence isn’t peace. It’s simply the calm before the storm.”
“We need to stay close. If we separate, then we become targets,” Harmony said.
Tosh nodded, though it seemed to be done with reluctance. “We need to stay in contact and not let anyone go long without checking on them.”
“I’m not into babysitters,” Cass said.
“Tough, it needs to happen,” Zach said. “Unless you’re trying to hide.”
Cass rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to hide. I look best under the brightest lights.”
“I don’t think there’s any place we can hide when they’re closer than we can imagine,” Mary said. The words sent shivers down multiple spines.
Harmony followed Mary’s gaze to the window. For a heartbeat, she saw a faint silhouette reflected there—watching.
She blinked, and it was gone.
Mary rose. “I need a walk. I won’t go anywhere scary,” she said.
She was gone before anyone could argue.
“Should someone go after her?” Zach asked.
“No, she needs time alone,” Tosh said. “Trust me.”
“Do you think she’s losing it?” Cass asked.
Tosh watched Mary’s retreating back, his jaw tight. “She’s not losing,” he said quietly. “Mary doesn’t lose things. She buries them.”
Harmony watched her disappear into the dark. “I think she’s remembering things that most people have forgotten.”
“Like what?” Zach asked.
“What to listen for,” Harmony said.
They all went silent. It really did feel like they were in a story, one that was being written, one that a single person controlled. They couldn’t stop it. Some of them didn’t want to. Some wanted to see how it played out. Maybe that was the trap.
There wasn’t anything they could do to stop what was coming, so there was no need to run. They’d face it and see who was still standing at the end of the story.
***
That night, Mary stood alone at her window, the ocean swaying below. On the glass beside her reflection, a faint handprint appeared . . . like someone stretching to reach her.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“For you to finish what needs finishing.”
The voice was soft, familiar . . . terrifying. But, she knew it was right. It was time to finish what should’ve been done a very long time ago.
Mary bowed her head. “Okay.”
A sigh of relief brushed her ear.
For the first time in years, Mary felt peace.
She might even sleep tonight.
The living were the ones who forgot. The dead remembered everything. Tonight, Mary finally agreed to remember with them.