Chapter 14
Fourteen
AURELIA
The doorbell cuts through my thoughts. For a second, I freeze. It must be another box, another set of bones from The Caller.
But the ringing doesn’t stop. It keeps going, louder, more insistent.
I push myself to my feet, my heart already racing, and step out of the bedroom. By the time it rings a third time, I’m halfway down the stairs, nearly slipping as I rush toward the door.
I pull it open.
A tall man stands on the porch, pale against the daylight, dressed in a blue uniform. A worn leather bag with letters hangs from his shoulder. In his hand, he holds only one.
“Miss Aurelia Vale?” he asks, his eyes moving over me like he is checking for something.
“Yes.”
He places the letter into my hand.
My gaze drops, and the name catches me instantly.
Dasha Ivanova.
I look back up, but the man is already turning away, heading down the path.
“Sir. Sir?” I shout after him.
He stops and glances over his shoulder.
I hurry toward him, the letter clenched in my hand, one thought pushing through everything else, that I have to write her back.
“Would it be possible for you to come back tomorrow?” I ask, slightly out of breath. “To pick up a letter I want to send?”
He shakes his head. “We don’t do that, miss. There’s a post office in town.”
“Please.” I say. “I can pay. I’m not allowed to leave the house.”
He exhales. For a moment, he stares at me, then he gives a nod.
“Fine. I’ll be here tomorrow at eight.”
Relief loosens something in my chest. I nod back.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
As he walks toward his bike, I tear the envelope open, my fingers shaking as my eyes race over Dasha’s handwriting, clinging to every word.
“Malyshka, I had to write to you because every time I tried to call, the phone didn’t work.
Last week the police came to the school looking for you, and when they couldn’t find you, I went to see what they wanted.
They found your parents’ bodies, and I wanted you to say goodbye to them, but when I went to identify them… it’s not a pretty sight.”
My hand trembles as I keep reading.
“People are asking if there will be a funeral, but because of the situation, maybe it would be better to bury them in the caskets already underground and keep the final respects just to yourself. But it’s your decision, Malyshka.”
My eyes blur.
I lift my face to the sky, blinking hard, trying to hold the tears back, but they spill anyway down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the back of my hand and force my eyes back to the page.
“You know I will be by your side whatever decision you make. Please write back to me that you are okay.
Your Dasha.
P.S. They are still searching for Daniel’s body.”
I clench the letter between my fingers and slowly walk inside, my hand pressed over my mouth.
Now it feels real. Now it feels like I lost them, like they aren’t coming back.
An emptiness spreads through my chest, and I fight for breath. As if I stop breathing, it might bring them back. But nothing will. That stupid accident. That stupid day. I didn’t even want to go to that stupid gala of Daniel’s parents.
A scream tears out of me, and I drop onto the end of the stairs. The box with bones is still there. I push it aside.
I miss them. So much.
We think we have time. We push people aside, tell ourselves they will always be there. And then the moment comes. They are gone, and all that is left is regret. I didn’t visit enough. I wasn’t there enough.
I keep replaying the times I brushed off my mom. The coffee dates we used to have, sitting across from each other, talking about music while her cup cooled in her hands. I chose Daniel instead. I chose running after something that never stayed.
And my father. He kept calling and I kept forgetting to answer, telling myself I would call back later. That there would always be a later.
Now I sit alone with a cup of coffee, staring at the phone attached to the wall, waiting. Just for one call. Just one more chance to hear their voices.
A needle lodges in my throat. It stays there, stealing my breath.
Tears blur everything, and suddenly I am sixteen again.
I remember how my fingers trembled over piano keys miles away from home while my grandmother was being buried without me. I missed her funeral because of a competition I thought mattered.
I remembered my father’s voice when he called me after. He told me it was okay. That she understood. That she knew how much I loved to play. That she would have wanted me to keep living as if she were still there.
When I came back home it was already February. My Dad handed me strawberry ice cream, he knew it was my favorite. He must have gone out of his way because only a few places had it during the winter.
“She died in her sleep,” he said. “She felt nothing. She lived her life. Now it is our turn to live ours.”
I remembered how I cried that day, how it felt like something inside me broke open. But even that didn’t come close to this. This is heavier.
I wish I held them tighter, stayed a little longer, listened instead of rushing away. I wish I had chosen them more. But life doesn’t wait. We are born, and one day we leave, nothing but dust carried somewhere else.
They didn’t die in their sleep. They drowned. And even though they lived their lives, so much of it was spent on me. They were working, and giving all of it to me. Making sure I had everything I ever wanted. And it still felt like it was not enough.
We are selfish as children. We take and take, thinking it’s their duty. Maybe it is. But they do it out of love. And we are supposed to give that love back when they grow older.
My parents never got that chance.
And it hurts.
That is the part that hurts the most.
Night falls, and I think about the funeral. About the final goodbye.
I decided not to go. Not because it’s too hard, but because I don’t see the point.
They are just bodies being lowered into the ground, and if I go, that is what I will remember.
Not their laughter. Not the way my mom hummed while making coffee.
Not the way my dad looked at me like I could do anything.
Just bodies.
I want to keep them the way they were. Alive. Just Mom and Dad.
I walk to the church instead. Maybe I can light a candle for them. Maybe I can finally say the words that have been sitting in my throat all day.
As I reach the front door, I notice a shovel leaning against the stone wall. I turn my head, and to the left, beyond the path, there are freshly planted flowers in a small graveyard.
I didn’t see them there before.
Before I can think it through, my hand closes around the shovel, and a thought slips in. Thought that The Caller might have buried Daniel there.
A part of me still believes he could be alive. That this is all some twisted mistake. And another part of me is terrified that it isn’t. Because if he is out there somewhere, I might never be free. Not even The Caller would be able to hide me from him.
I stop in front of two tombs.
Helena Rosewood and Lilibeth Rosewood.
I think about what Victor said. About the way Margaret looked at me when she said he knows the story better than anyone. I try to piece it together, but it slips through my fingers.
The ground in front of Lilibeth’s tomb is where fresh flowers have been planted.
I step closer.
My hands move as I push the shovel into the dirt, tearing through the flowers, scattering petals across the ground. Trying to search for Daniel’s body. I dig again. And again. But nothing is there, just dirt.
Each thrust of the shovel pulls something out of me. My thoughts begin to fade, turning quiet, then empty. The only thing left is the sound of shovel and dirt.
I don’t even notice how hard I’m breathing until I hear something behind me.
I freeze, my grip tightening on the shovel as I turn.
A small strand of blonde hair is peaking near Helena’s tomb.
It’s Lily.
She looks at me. “Don’t do it.” She whispers. “If you do… something bad will happen.”
I ignore her and keep digging until the shovel hits the casket. The sound travels up my arms. I swallow and lift my face toward her. She just stands there, shaking her head.
I strike the casket once more, then crouch and pry it open.
A year shouldn’t be enough for the body to turn into bones, yet there is nothing left but bones. My gaze catches on the left hand, on the gold wedding ring. I know this is wrong.
But I take the hand. I lift it, holding it in the air, staring at the gold ring.
I set it on the ground. Then I close the casket and push the dirt back in, packing it down with my feet, as if I haven’t already crossed a line I can’t uncross. Lily doesn’t speak until I finish. She waits until the earth is smooth again, and the flowers back in place.
“You’re in trouble,” she whispers, and then she is gone.
A cold gust blows in from the direction of the church. I stand, clutching the bones, and make my way back to the house, past the garden, toward the entrance.
The front door is already open.
I slow down, then step inside. The cold settles on my skin again. My gaze drops to the floor. There are wet trails across the floor. I step to the right and move quickly up the staircase. Water drips somewhere in the right wing.
At the top, I stop. There is a shadow on the right. No, a woman.
She’s standing by the window, her hair pulled into a neat bun.
She is still watching me.
I freeze.
Lily’s fingers wrap around my hand and she pulls me fast into the bedroom, then shuts the door behind us.
“Lock it,” she says. “Hide the bones and go to sleep.”
“What is happening?” My voice barely makes it out. I turn the key. “Who is she?”
I hurry to bed. I shove Lilibeth’s bones inside the box that is on the right side, and I snap the lid closed.
“She’s the lady of the house,” Lily says, urging me toward the bed.
I drop onto it and pull the blanket over my head, squeezing my eyes shut. My heart won’t slow. My breath becomes thinner.
I can feel the mattress dips.
Someone is above me.
Pressure presses into the bed, like someone is leaning onto it. I keep my eyes shut. If I open them, I know I won’t be able to close them again. I try to count, to calm myself, but she doesn’t move.
I’m starting to believe I see the dead.
I once heard that if you face death, you might carry something back with you.
A gift. But this feels like a curse. It feels like a door I can’t close, like something is pulling me closer to becoming one of them.
Another ghost, trapped in this house under her rule.
The only ghost here that makes my blood run cold, that holds me still with fear.
The pressure lifts.
The cold eases, but I stay where I am, eyes closed, too afraid to move.