The Last to See Me (The Last Ghost #1) - M Dressler Page 0,99

the ruined hands with their hungry knuckles bared. Reaching out toward little Ellen.

No. I reach too, answering. Not her!

Pratt raises his fist. He doesn’t see Ellen, terrified, struggling to get away, leaning over the balcony’s edge. His eyes, selfish, hunt only for Alice. The prize he wants. And now I’m angry at last. He can’t see Ellen climbing over the ledge, crying, trying to escape. I have to let him see my white charge and shape and my stretching howling jaw, and I’ve only an instant to scream and point—Ellen!—before Alice unmoors the balcony and Ellen is falling. I can’t see her with the terrible red light from his hand shooting between us. Alice screams like an animal wounded and swings toward me where I fly above the roof, to face our darkness together, our loss.

But true darkness—I look into her rotting eyes—true darkness can’t save us, Alice. No, nor bitterness for what might have been, for the love that would never return or satisfy us, buried somewhere in the east. I know it in my heart now, and I knew it then, my heels tangled in the netting, my body going down, down, my eyes still flickering toward the stars and the hope of the sky, reaching and trying to fight for it, feeling the pain ebbing from my leg. Feeling the fish already nibbling around me, while I still felt life and light in me as I choked and drowned and my arms went loose over my head and my hair swung away from me. I thought of how my mother’s brush had stroked it, with absent love. Me, Emma Rose, still able to feel and see, even then, and even then not wanting to turn into the depths below me, no, not even then letting the bleakness claim me. Even then still not dead. Still thinking, when my lungs had no more life left to feed me, Oh, but I have to live past this, somehow, because this isn’t just, it isn’t fair, when all I ever did was strive and love and look for my future. This is not justice, I thought, and kept my eyes open as the sea waved me back and forth, dragging me down to the bottom.

And this is not justice, I think now, as Ellen smashes through the dome of glass below and Pratt, falling, reaches foolishly after her, too late, as if he could cradle her before she’s hurt. This is not justice, I think as I see them both lying there—Ellen, eyes wide open and fixed, a piece of glass piercing her throat, Pratt curled at her side, his bandaged hand pulled tightly into his stomach, like a child, breathing heavily. This is not justice, I think, and let my anger spread far, and I throw my arms wide to show Alice how strong a tide my will can be as she creeps, half blasted, arm over arm toward me, black ooze gurgling out of her side.

And now—look at that—that strong-willed Pratt. He’s twitching. He’s still moving. He’s rolled onto his back, lifting his broken arm, and even now, I see, he still hopes to kill us both, with one shot. He still can’t see what blind part he plays in the blind business of this world.

What is it you want to kill, Mr. Pratt? Are we anything more than our hurt, our love? Why not let our pain, and our joys, too, haunt the earth forever? Why should I be sorry for having lived and risked and tried?

Pratt braces his right arm with his left and a shadow—pain, confusion—crosses his face. I think he’s seen me with my arms thrown out to stop Alice, seen what kind of will I have, how good I was, how much I still have, or could have done, if I’d had a chance. But what was it he said in Agnes Fanoli’s rose garden across the cove? That if a ghost believed and had will enough, she didn’t have to die. That if she could only believe with all her heart and soul she wasn’t dead, she might even walk the earth again, almost like the living do—if only I believed with my whole heart. That I didn’t die—as Alice crawls toward me and Pratt opens his fist.

That I didn’t die—but grabbed onto that sharp black rock, crusted with pain for me though it was, I grabbed onto it that night and I held to it with all my hope and spirit and held and held while the waves surged away, carrying the net and the jagged broken glass along with them. That I scrambled up high, my legs wet and free, and clung all that starry night long, till my hands were sore and my body bloodied but still fending off the ocean, and my lungs still pumping and full of air, and in this way I didn’t die, no, I didn’t, but believed and lived long enough to see the first fisherman come out at dawn—and here is his skiff, even now—and here is the light of the morning sun washing over me, and here now is the long beam of light, this brilliant light from a cold hunter’s hand that flings the last Lambry in this village into a thousand tiny pieces.

And here is me, passing my will, my heart, my faith, into the future, into her—as the bright red light flashes once more. Here I am, standing up now in a clean little business suit and turning my bobbed hair toward the cove, and the speeding fisherman’s skiff, and waving to him, and saying:

You think I’m a stranger to you, but I’m not. Don’t you recognize me? Rejoice.

I’m not finished. Lifting her hand, my hand, to the sun.

I lasted.

Epilogue

From: G. H. Knightley

To: Charles Dane

Subject: Case Number: 392857

Dear Sir,

I will do my best to answer your questions but understand there is only so much I am able to relay to you now while your employee is unavailable for further questioning. It is my understanding Philip Pratt’s condition has been upgraded from critical to serious. You will need to reach his doctors at Fort Kane for updates. I advise that you do so immediately, as well as his licensing board.

Regarding the condition of the property: the damage is to the interior as well as exterior portions of the house. You will need to discuss with the current owners any arrangements for allowances or halt of sale. At the moment, however, the property is being assessed to determine if it is a crime scene. It can’t be entered.

Post-human remains have been removed from the property. Your employee, as well as subsequent testing, was able to confirm for us that that these belong to Alice Marie Lambry, late occupant of the property. The whereabouts of the property’s representative, Ellen Lambry DeWight, or of her remains, are unknown. I’m afraid I can’t assist you in that regard. It is however my understanding that your employee, from his hospital bed, has listed her as deceased and asked for an alert to be issued statewide.

I would like to offer an opinion as to whether you should continue to consider your purchase of the estate in question. My understanding from your communication is that you may no longer wish to be a resident of our community. That is unfortunate. We pride ourselves on the serenity, beauty, and rich history of our region. Recent events are not taken as the norm here. We do not anticipate further disturbances, and we will continue to provide our visitors and residents with both the protection and the recreation that have always been the hallmarks of our unique and spectacular peninsula.

In future communications regarding this incident, please refer to the case number provided.

Sincerely,