with you, but I can walk behind you, sure as anything. And just see if any of them in the lobby will have something to say.”
“Thank you,” I said, knowing I was speaking to the only friend I had in the world.
His eyes held me, his steps filled the wake of fear mine left behind. Out of the bar, down the hall, and through the lobby still dotted with guests—curious and festive. Hushes fell as I passed, and I left a trail of silence like a field of grass trampled behind me. I could only guess as to the expression on Bert’s face, the size to which he’d puffed himself, the implied threat in his posture and gait. He walked with me to the bottom of the stairs. Once there, I turned and whispered, “Thank you,” and he tipped an invisible hat.
Carmichael was correct. My room had been put to rights. Were it not for the thudding in my chest, I might never suspect that a crime of such supernatural horror had occurred only hours ago. My bed was turned down, everything neatly arranged on my desk and vanity. My trunk was closed. Every garment that had been draped about the room had been put away, including the stockings that had been drying over the grate. I noticed a teapot and cup on the bedside table, and a touch revealed it to be warm. I poured a cup, sloshing a bit with my shaking hand, and sat on the edge of my bed to drink it.
The night stretched before me, and I knew I would not sleep. I had no desire to try, to even lie upon the bed. I took my teapot and my cup, my grip now resolved, over to my desk. Once settled, I drew a fresh page of hotel stationery and penned the now familiar salutation to my husband’s sons. Ink poured forth as I explained my plight, pleading for mercy—and what was owed to me.
Then, glancing aside for thought, a glimmer caught my eye. A wink from the corner of the room. Not a reflection; the light was not strong or bright enough for that. Nonetheless, an existence made itself known. I put down the pen and went to my knees, my hand finding the attention-seeker immediately. My earring, the amethyst. I clutched it like a promise, brought it to my lips, and kissed the stone. As I was in a position of prayer, I offered one of thanks to the God who always seemed to rescue me. One earring would be useless for adornment, but the gem held value. It wasn’t much, but it was here. And it was mine.
Without leaving the floor, I reached up and grabbed the unfinished letter. I balled it within my other fist before crumpling my body in imitation. Those brats, I thought, picturing their names on the page. Fat, drooling monsters. It was just a matter of time now before they found me. Before they took the last of any good thing I’d ever have in my life. I knew this as well as I knew the pattern of the carpet on the floor beneath my face. I knew this because I was a fool. It had taken only one glimpse into a moss-green eye, one moment seduced by the scent of cigarettes, and one question that I’d answered with the truth.
Chapter 14
Excerpt from
My Spectral Accuser: The Haunted Life of Hedda Krause
Published by the Author Herself
I brewed for days, fearful to leave my room. In fact, I didn’t, choosing instead to order up pots of tea and simple meals of toast and cheese and fruit. Even of that, I ate little. Twice Mr. Sylvan tried to summon me by sending a note, and I responded to each by saying I felt too ill to speak to anyone. The poor messengers were sent away without even a nickel for a tip.
Midmorning on the third day, I answered a knock at my door to reveal Mr. Sylvan himself, shadows under his eyes and an overall weary expression on his face.
“Mrs. Krause, there’s someone to see you—”
“I’ve no wish to see anyone, Mr. Sylvan.”
I attempted to close my door, but he stepped forward just enough to ensure that I would crush his small foot if I did so. “It is Detective Carmichael. He’s requested an interview with you, and when I told him of the unlikelihood that you would come down, he informed me that he would carry you down himself,