I was so excited to find such an appropriate image to use as my e-Book cover art that I totally spaced on giving attribution. The error has been corrected on the actual e-book, and you can click on the image in this post to embiggen and see who took it. In my defense, I was stunned by the fact that I almost couldn't have commissioned a more fitting cover photo. And it was the first one that turned up in my search, even!

After some feedback that it's hard to read or print the story on this site, I went ahead and converted the whole shebang into a PDF e-book and published it on Scribd.com. The e-book version costs $3.00, and once you pay you can access the entire story to read on the site or download a printable PDF copy. There's no Creative Commons box to check under the copyright options, but the CC license still applies. And of course, if $3.00 is too rich for your blood, you can still read it here, totally free of charge. Just use the labels in the sidebar to navigate between chapters.

Click here to get This Old Haunt on Scribd!

This is it, folks - the final episode. Thanks to all of you who stuck with it till the end. Now that you've had a chance to read it all, I would love to read your thoughts on it, so don't be shy about commenting.

Keep reading for a refresher on last episode, or jump straight to the finale.


Previously...

Chapter 22: Ron shows up at her own funeral to meet Chris, but finds it too disturbing. She decides to wander the cemetery until it's over, and is met by the ghost of Clara, who beckons her to follow. She does, and when she takes the girl's hand, she has a vision of a jealous Sarah murdering Clara to take the red ball she'd been given for her birthday. The vision continues to show Joe's reaction when he finds Clara's body, and makes it clear that Joe knew Sarah killed his daughter.

Chapter 23: Ron pays another visit to the third floor, where she finds Joe in his burned form. She holds him, and has another vision of his and Sarah's final moments. Sarah hid when it was time for her family to go to town, so Joe agreed to keep an eye on her. He found her in Clara's room, playing with her things, and he snapped. He chased her to the end of the hall, where he accidentally knocked her down the stairs and killed her. Distraught, he buried her in the basement, then hung himself in the kitchen, accidentally kicking over a kerosene lamp in his death throes and igniting the fire that destroyed the original house. Back in the present, when he's able to speak again, he tells Ron that he buried the original ball with Clara. Ron now realizes that the ball is the key to defeating Sarah.


And now...





Chapter 24





"Are you sure about this?" asked Chris.

"As sure as I've been about anything since I died."

"Which would be, not very."

I tore my eyes away from Clara's grave to look over at her. "I'm pretty sure."


We stood side by side at the grave's edge, watching Gus dig. It was a clear night, with stars visible through the trees overhead. We had a lot of company in the form of other ghosts wandering about, most likely doing their best to fend off boredom. Chris held a flashlight for Gus, but the moon was bright enough that he didn't really need it. I was oblivious to things like hot or cold, but judging by Chris's leather jacket and the way she hunched her shoulders, I guess it must have been a bit nippy. Save for the grunts and labored breathing coming from Gus, it was a quiet night in the cemetery.


"It feels wrong," Chris said. "Digging up a little girl's grave... you know, grave desecration can bring about some pretty hefty consequences."


Clara appeared on the other side of her grave, just for an instant. She looked at me and smiled, then vanished. "Don't worry," I told Chris. "We're doing the right thing here."


"I hope you're right. 'Cause if I get haunted by anybody else I'm going to sick the exorcist I hire on YOUR ass."


"Why are you so cranky?"


She turned to stare at me. "You're kidding, right? It's an ungodly hour of the morning, it's cold, we are now officially grave robbers, and I've barely gotten any sleep since you died."


"Here." I nudged the thermos that sat on the ground between us in her direction. "Have some more coffee."


She glared at me, but she helped herself to a cup all the same.


Gus looked to be about three feet down by now. He stopped digging and leaned on his shovel. "You know," he managed between all his panting, "I didn't sign on for this. How come I have to do all the digging?"


"Cause Ron's a ghost and I'm the boss and I'm paying you double time for this," said Chris. She blew on her coffee. "Besides, you need a lookout."


"Can't Ron be the lookout while you help dig?"


"Tell him to shut up and dig or I'll tell you what he did to my body at the wake."


Sipping her coffee, Chris almost did a spit take. "What the hell did you do to my sister at the wake?"


Gus's eyes widened. His face was already red from exertion, so it was hard to tell if he blushed. "Nothing," he said, and got back to work.


Chris looked at me, and I shrugged. "Gus loves me."


"Since when?"


"Hell if I know. It was news to me, too."


She just shook her head and went back to sipping her coffee. We settled into a comfortable silence for a while. Then out of nowhere she said, "So if this works, what will happen to you?"


"I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it."


"You probably should. Your novel's done except for the clean-up, and I can hire an editor for that. I read it, by the way. It's really good."


"Really? Thanks."


"Your agent thinks so, too. She's sure this will get you on the best seller list."


"Well, that figures," I grumped.


"Anyway, that's done, and your relationship with Dad is as resolved as it's ever likely to get. You don't have any more unfinished business. The only thing keeping you here is Sarah."


"Oh. Y'know, that didn't even occur to me." Now that I thought about it, she was probably right. Once Sarah was out of the way, it would most likely be time to move on. I'm sure Max couldn't wait. And Joe... well, Joe had been tortured long enough. The prospect scared me, though. I didn't know what we'd be moving on to.


"If that happens," said Chris, "I'll miss you."


"I know. But you'll be okay."


"Eventually, maybe." She sighed, then looked over at me. "Say hi to Mom for me."


"I will if I see her."


We both got quiet again. I realized that this could be our last opportunity to say anything to each other. It was too much pressure. I wanted to leave her with some piece of profound wisdom, or at least a useful bit of advice. I supposed I could apologize for all the times I was mean to her growing up, but that stuff didn't really matter now. There were probably a million things I could or should say. But I couldn't think of a single damn one.


I figured she was probably thinking the same thing.


So neither of us said anything. But it was a peaceful silence, not awkward or uncomfortable. The kind of silence that can only exist between two people who love the hell out of each other and don't need to say so.


Eventually, Gus went from a torso and a head sticking up out of the hole in the ground to just a head. "I think I hit something," he said. I leaned over to peer into the grave while he scraped dirt off of the casket. "Aw, man," he said once he'd uncovered it. "I don't want to be here anymore." He climbed up out of the grave. I couldn't really blame him. The casket had been made of pine, and it had rotted and cracked under the weight of all the dirt. Clara's tiny corpse, or what was left of it, could be seen, her skull grinning up at us through the slats.


Chris sighed, handed Gus her coffee, and jumped down into the grave. "Look for a red ball," I said, "about the size of a croquet ball."


"I know." Her face twisted into a grimace, she bent to grab hold of the rotted wood. It came away pretty easily. She had most of the lid torn up when she called, "I see it!" She retrieved it and held it up for us to see. "It's not very red anymore, though."


"That doesn't matter. I just need you to get it to the house for me."


She handed the ball to Gus and let him pull her out of the grave. "You guys go on," he said. "I'll stay here and fill this in."


Chris looked him up and down. "How come you're so eager to do backbreaking labor all of a sudden?"


"Look, I may be so sore I can't move for a week," he said, tossing a shovel full of dirt back into the grave, "but at least I know I won't be stuck haunting that house with Ron by morning. Don't worry. I can take the bus home."


She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're going to get on the bus outside a cemetery, covered in dirt and carrying a shovel?"


"Have you seen most of the people who ride the bus? I'll fit right in."


"Fraidy cat," I muttered.


Chris rolled her eyes. "Let's go," she said, heading off in the direction of her car.


"Hang on," I said. "I'll meet you there. I better get back and give the guys the lowdown."


"Oh. Okay." She looked a little disappointed.


I sighed. "Look, I don't want you coming inside that house again. When you get there, just open the door and toss the ball in, then get the hell away."


She rolled the ball back and forth between her hands. "Sure," she said. "Fine. So I guess this is it."


Damn. "Yeah, I guess it is."


She rapidly blinked her eyes, and tried surreptitiously to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "You were kind of a jerk sometimes." Her voice wavered a little.


"Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. But you were kind of a twerp sometimes."


She smiled, and sniffed. "Yeah. I'm not really sorry about that." Then she got serious. "You were a good sister, Ronnie. You were my best friend."


"Hey, what's with all the past tense? I'm not gone yet."


Sniffling, she looked down at the ball and nodded. "Yeah, well... have a good afterlife, okay?"


"I'm not really sure how much say I get in that."


"Are you scared?" she asked.


"Kind of. A lot."


She nodded again.


"My kid sister's safe, though," I said. "And she turned out pretty awesome. So I think I can deal with whatever's next."


She smiled again. She just looked at me for a minute. Then she said, simply, "Bye, sis."


"Bye," I said, and returned to the house.







Chapter 25




"So that's the plan," I said. "What do you guys think? Are you in?"


Joe, Max and I sat around the kitchen table. As I outlined my hair-brained scheme, they both sat with forlorn, zoned-out looks on their faces, their thoughts apparently elsewhere. I wasn't sure if they'd even heard any of what I said.


I guess at least Max did, because after a moment he nodded. "It sounds doomed to failure, and will probably get all of us eaten."


"Yeah," I sighed. "There is that chance. But what other choice do we have?"


"None that I can see. Besides," he added, a bitter tinge to his voice, "my soul seems a pittance compared to what I've already lost to that devil."


I nodded in understanding, then turned to Joe. "What about you?"


He sat with his chair leaning back on its hind legs, with one arm folded across his stomach and propping up the other by its elbow. His hand covered his mouth, and his eyes still looked raw as he stared off into space.


"Joe?" I asked. "You still with us?" He didn't move at first, but after a moment he blinked, lowered his hand, and nodded. I blew a sigh of relief. I couldn't do this without him. "You both understand everything I told you?"

This time they both nodded, Max gravely, Joe wearily. They were both so over this. We all were. I couldn't even being to imagine having been stuck here as long as they had, but even I was ready to do or die.

"Chris should be here soon," I said. "Once we have everything we need, we'll make our move."

No sooner had I spoken than we heard the slam of a car door outside. I got up and went out to the parlor, and the others followed. The front door swung open to reveal the usual murky mist of nothingness. Then a faded red ball fell out of the mist. It bounced on the hardwood floor a couple of times before rolling toward us. I stooped to catch it, then stood and tossed it to Joe, who caught it despite his surprise.

"This is real," he said, his eyes wide as he spoke for the first time since I'd gotten back. "It's Clara's." He gave me a questioning look.

"I know you'll keep it safe until we need it." I hadn't exactly told him about the ball. I probably should have, but I didn't really know how to break it to him that we dug up his little girl's grave. The question in his eyes gradually gave way to trust, if not complete understanding. He nodded.

"Whenever you're both ready," I told them.

Max closed his eyes. Joe studied the ball, rolling it back and forth in his hands, tracing the spots where paint had flaked off with his finger. Then he looked up at me, and nodded.

"Max?" I asked.

He opened his eyes. "We'd better go now," he said.

I turned toward the stairs. I took a deep breath, then started up them, with Joe and Maxwell close behind. Before I made it three steps, Joe caught my hand. I looked back at him.

"Love you," he said.

I smiled. "Love you too." I squeezed his hand, then let it go and continued my climb, still smiling.

He'd just made my job so much easier.

I'm not sure exactly when I figured it out, or at least came up with the theory that we were going with. Sometime between saying goodbye to Chris and laying out my plan for the boys I'd had an epiphany.

Love. I know it sounds corny, but what else is strong enough to trump pure rage? Love was what had made each of us stronger and more real. It had given us the power to grasp objects, to hold each other... anger might have done that for me at first, but it was falling for Joe that had let me leave this house at will. It wasn't as easy a solution as it sounds. Rage and hate were a heck of a lot easier to muster up on short notice.

But once you have love, it sure is a bitch to get rid of.

Sarah didn't know love. I could manage a tiny bit of compassion for her--after all, it wasn't her fault she was born broken. But even in life, she was hollow and selfish, caring about nothing but her own desires. Add in all that rage, and she became a powder keg of hateful, malevolent energy.

Love was the one emotion too sophisticated for even a normal child to completely grasp or feel in its totality. It was the one feeling that grew deeper and stronger as we got older, wiser, and better able to understand it.

We had love in spades. Max had love for his family. They might be lost to him, but they still drove him and gave him power. Joe had his undying love for his child, and his new love for me. I had Chris, and the memory of our mother, and I had Joe. I had my desire to put an end to his suffering.

And we all three had the love for one another that comes with being comrades in arms.

Sarah's anger might have been dynamite. But our love was a nuclear bomb.

Okay, like I said: corny. But effective. Or so I hoped.

I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs. Sarah's ball flew at my head. I caught it, and it disintegrated in my hand, breaking down into non-cohesive bits of energy. That was another thing I'd figured out. If that wasn't the real ball, then it had to be a phantom construct, a part of Sarah. If I could shield myself from it, then I should be able to shield myself from her. Talk about a confidence boost.

Sarah's mouth opened in surprise, but if she was afraid, she hid it well beneath her anger. As Joe and Max came up and stood beside me, she ran at us, transforming as she came.

We clasped hands, like in some twisted game of Red Rover. I closed my eyes and thought of Chris; how I took care of her after mom died; holding her and stroking her hair while she cried; walking her through her first crush, and her first heartbreak, the pride I felt when she graduated high school, and then college. I thought of her being strong enough to go on without me.

I thought of Lilly. Not even being locked in that basement again and again could break her spirit. Not even dying could steal her joy of living. I'd managed to become a sister to her, too, in the short time we knew each other. As long as we remembered her, and loved her, she would never be completely gone.

I thought of Joe. Of his kisses and caresses, of how I wouldn't have survived death without him. I thought of his sense of humor and his dry wit and his occasional propensity toward jackassery. I could feel his love envelop me, and knew he must feel the same thing.

It all happened so fast. All of these thoughts flashed through my mind, and I opened my heart and poured out all of the feeling that they inspired. Our clasped hands grew warm, and I felt a hot surge of energy and power at the same time something foreign rushed through me.

I opened my eyes as the last of the dark energy passed through them. I turned to see scattered particles draw together and take their little girl shape. Sarah gaped at us in shock, her eyes wide with fear. "How--how did you..."

"Now," I said, holding my hand out for the ball.

Joe placed it in my hand. I rolled it toward Sarah, and her eyes grew even larger and more frantic as she backed away so it didn't touch her feet. "Where did you get that?"

"You wanted the ball," I said. "You wanted it badly enough to kill for it. Now you can have it."

She stared at each of us in turn, her little freckled face full of mistrust. We clasped hands in case she tried to attack us again. But her prize was too tempting to ignore. Keeping a wary eye on me, she bent to pick up the ball.

As soon as she touched it, a mist rose from it. Sarah jerked her hand back as if it had burned her. She backed up a few steps, but watched in curious wonder as the mist formed itself into a little blonde girl.

"Clara!" Joe tried to reach for her, but I held him back.

"Wait," I told him. He strained against me, but I managed to hold him. "Just wait. This is her fight now."

He looked at me, his face full of helplessness, but he stopped struggling. "Did you know this would happen?"

"Not exactly," I admitted. I had no idea what the ball was for. I only knew Clara wanted me to bring it here. That she would take it from there was just a lucky guess.

The two little girls just stood there, facing each other. Sarah's face was a mask of pure hatred, while Clara's was perfectly serene. Clara raised a hand and moved toward Sarah, but she jumped back. "Stay away from me!" she screeched.

I finally got it. "So what's scarier than a pissed off eight year old psychopath?" I asked. Joe didn't take his eyes off his daughter, or say anything. I answered myself anyway. "A righteously pissed off six year old's sense of justice."

"Leave me alone!" Sarah screamed. Clara bent to pick up the ball. She held it for a moment, glanced back at Joe, and smiled.

"Baby," he gasped, slumping in my arms a little more.

Then she plunged the ball into Sarah's chest.

That was unexpected.

Sarah threw back her head and screamed. As she did, a column of black smoke shot up out of her mouth, followed by a fountain of light. The smoke dissipated under the light's assault, and little tendrils of light and energy trailed off toward us and past us. One flew past my head and I turned to watch it, and gasped. They were forming into people. Soon the hall was full of ghosts. Most of them were strangers to me, but some I recognized from pictures in the attic. I saw Ed among them.

Another spirit shot past me and took the form of Lilly. Beside me Maxwell let out a cry and ran to embrace her. Ruth soon joined them.

The light overpowered Sarah. It burned her from the inside out, and within seconds she dissipated just as her ball had done. Clara's ball dropped to the ground.

It was over.

Joe broke out of my arms and rushed to Clara, dropping to his knees pulling her into his arms. "Papa!" she squealed, and threw her tiny arms around his neck.

"Sweetness," he sighed, finally smiling again as he rocked her back and forth. He pushed her back to look at her, then, laughing tearfully, pulled her close again.

Meanwhile, I stood there crying my eyes out. This hit me like a Hallmark commercial and a sappy love song and a particularly powerful episode of a Joss Whedon show all packaged together and topped with a PMS bow.

Clara pulled back and put her chubby little hands on each side of Joe's face. Solemnly, she said, "We can go now, Papa." As she said this, the ceiling above us seemed to open up as more light poured in. This was so awesome.

Joe stopped smiling. He looked like a kicked puppy, which was not what I expected. When he smiled again, his eyes were full of tears. "I know, baby." He brushed hair out of her face and took it in his hands. "You go on."

"What about you?"

"I'm gonna be okay. Don't you worry about your pa." He was really crying now, and I could tell it wasn't for joy. He kissed her forehead and then pushed her away. "You go on now. Mind your daddy."

Lilly came forward and took Clara by the hand. "What about you, Joe?"

"Yeah," I said. "What about you?"

He was still looking at Clara, but he reached out to take my hand. "I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

He finally tore his eyes off his daughter to look up at me. He looked like a man who was about to lose everything in the whole wide world that he cared about, again. It ripped my heart out. "Sarah wasn't what was keeping me here," he said, then his mouth twisted into another bitter smile. "Got only myself to thank for that. I put myself here, and now I'm stuck here. There's no leaving for me till Judgment Day."

"But--" I sputtered. "But--that's--that's a complete rip-off!"

Around us, the others started vanishing, rising up into the light. I looked back and saw a look of pure joy on Ed's face as he was taken up, presumably to finally be reunited with his wife.

"You go with Clara," he said, letting go of my hand.

I snatched his hand back. "The hell with that!"

Finally, all that was left besides us were the Bairds and Clara.

"Ron," Lilly called, reaching a hand out to me, "come on. You might never get another chance."

"It's time to go," Joe told me. He looked over at Clara, and his face crumpled. He struggled to compose himself and looked back at me. "We both gotta let go now."

I looked over at Lilly and her family. They all looked so peaceful. Wherever they were going, it couldn't be bad. I looked back at Joe. "So how long do you think it is till Judgment Day?"

"Too long for you to be thinking what you're thinking," he said, standing up. "Don't be a fool, Ron. Get over there where you belong!"

I bristled and said, "You know I don't like being told what to do."

"Damn it, woman! There are no second chances here, don't you get that?"

I looked back at Lilly, and at Clara, who was looking up toward the sky, her face the picture of serenity. I almost envied them.

But what kind of afterlife would it be without Joe?

"I get it," I said. I pushed my way into his arms and wrapped myself around him to hang on. "We only get this one chance." I looked into his eyes. They were filled with relief and gratitude as much as anger.

He shook his head. "I can't ask you to do this."

"You're not," I said, and kissed him. I felt his arms tighten around me as his mouth responded to mine. It was tender and brief. There would be plenty of time for passion later.

He looked back at his daughter. We held each other and watched as the others moved on, then the light went away and the only thing above us was the ceiling once again.

Once she was gone, Joe collapsed. He dropped to his knees and I went down with him, holding him brand new grief mixed with the old and did its best to tear him apart.

How could I have left this man alone?

We stayed like that long after he finally stopped crying. After I don't know how long, he lifted his head to look at me. "Thank you," he whispered. He closed his eyes and repeated, "Thank you."

"I couldn't have done anything else," I told him, stroking his hair back from his face and wiping his damp cheeks. I smiled. "So I guess we're gonna be stuck with each other for a while. Think you can handle that?"

He reached up to brush my bangs out of my eyes, then he caressed my cheek. Then he kissed me, pouring all of the passion into it that had been absent from the last kiss.

After a blissful eternity he let me up for air. "Think you can handle that?" he asked.

"Guh," was about all I could manage.

He smiled, and stood up. He held his hand out, and I took it and let him pull me to my feet. Hand in hand, we strolled through the house, for the first time not having to worry about getting ambushed by Sarah. Day was breaking outside, and sunlight poured in through the windows--another first. We heard a little dog yipping out on the front porch, and went outside to find Buster there, wagging his tail and barking excitedly at a car in the driveway. For a moment we just held each other and basked in the glow of the first sunrise Joe had experienced in almost a hundred years.

"Told you it was impossible to destroy souls," he said.

I poked him in the ribs. "Don't start."

Chris got out of the car and came toward us. "Did it work?"

"I thought I told you not to come back here?"

"Right, like I wasn't going to check up to make sure everything went okay."

I should have been irritated at her stubbornness, but all I could do was smile. "It worked."

"Then why are you still here?"

With my arm still around Joe's waist, I gave him a squeeze. "Turns out I still had plenty of reasons to stick around after all."

Chris looked in his direction, and a look of lusty appreciation came over her face. "So I see."

Joe blinked. "She--" he pointed, then looked at my sister. "You can see me?"

Grinning, she nodded. "He's hot."

"I know!" I almost squealed, hugging him again.

Joe let out a bashful little laugh and pried my arms away. "Thanks," he said. "I think I'm gonna let you gals catch up. I still need to recover." Calling for Buster to follow, he went back inside.

We both watched him go. "Aw," said Chris, "we embarrassed him. That's so cute! I'm starting to get why you're so into this guy."

I realized I was beaming. Wow. I was happy. I was dead and stuck in limbo, but I was happy.

"Color me selfish," said Chris, "but I'm glad you're still here."

I looked around. It was a gorgeous morning, and I was free to enjoy it. Joe and I both were. Haunting wasn't so bad without all the mind games and hellish torture. Maybe I wouldn't feel this way ten or twenty or a hundred years from now, but just then, I could think of worse places to be.

I looked at my sister and smiled. "So am I."




THE END

We're winding down, folks. Only one more episode to go after this one.

Read the last episode synopsis, or jump straight to the new episode.

Previously...

Chapter 19: Back at the house, Ron tries to take advantage of their new intimacy to get Joe to tell her more about himself, complaining that he knows her innermost secrets and she hardly knows anything about him, other than that he was once a husband and father. He breaks down and tells her that he was a handyman on the property, and he and his little girl both lived there, then insists that that's all there is to know.

Chapter 20: Chris holds an Irish wake for Ron, which she attends out of morbid curiosity. She actually enjoys herself until she bumps into her dad, whose display of grief is underwhelming. Ron retreats to Chris's bedroom, where Chris tells her everything she's managed to dig up about Joe: That he worked as a handyman for Sarah's family; that his daughter had been brutally murdered; that official records say that he died in a house fire that was most likely started by Clara's killer, who also abducted Sarah; but local gossip said that Joe himself started the fire to kill Sarah, because he held her responsible for Clara's death. Stricken by the idea that Joe would do such a thing to a child, even a bad seed like Sarah, Ron doesn't know what to think. But she knows their freedom hinges on getting the truth out of Joe.

Chapter 21: Run runs into Lilly. It's a little awkward--she can tell that Lilly knows about her and Joe, and Ron feels guilty about moving in on Lilly's crush. But she's in a hurry to talk to Joe and brushes Lilly off, promising that they'll talk later.

Ron confronts Joe with the info she got from Chris. They fight, and as he finally breaks down and tries to tell her everything, all hell breaks loose. Sarah pulls Joe away from Chris and sends him to re-enact his own death, and then, in her demonic form, goes after the Bairds. Ron intervenes, but is unable to save Lilly or Ruth from being devoured.

And now...





Chapter 22




Chris found me in the morning, curled up all fetus-like on her living room floor. "Ron?" she asked, kneeling beside me. "What happened?"

I told her. She listened, her expression growing more and more horrified as I explained what Sarah had done.

"Max is wrong," she said when I finished. "It's not your fault. You said that Sarah was picking them all off long before you got there. She would've gotten around to them eventually anyway."

I wiped my nose, wondering idly if ectoplasm was really just ghost snot, and shook my head. "I was supposed to stop her before she got to them. Oh, God." I closed my eyes. "Lilly..."

"I know she was your friend," said Ron, her voice gentle. "But you shouldn't blame yourself. If anyone, blame Sarah. And Joe."

I shook my head. "No. I'm the one who got Joe to talk. If he'd stayed quiet--"

"She would've found another excuse." Ron sighed as the mantle clock chimed. "I have to get ready. They want the family there early. I promise, after the funeral we'll sit down and figure this out. Okay?"

I nodded. She turned on her computer so I could write while she had breakfast and got dressed. I didn't feel like it, but once I started, the words flowed freely, taking my mind to places that were much easier to bear. Before I knew it, she was back to shut it down. "Time to go," she said. "Do you know where?"

"Next to Mom, right?"

She nodded.

"I'll see you there."

It was a nice day for a funeral. Sunshine bathed the cemetery. Come summer, the trees would form a thick canopy that shaded the area where they were laying me to rest, but this early in the spring, the little green buds forming on the branches did little to block it. Inappropriately cheerful daffodil and tulip beds were in full bloom, and the chatter of birdsong made for incongruous background music for the somber gathering at my graveside. This service brought a smaller turnout than the wake did, and I was sure the lack of an open bar had nothing at all to do with that. I didn't mind, though. I knew the people who showed up today were the ones who had genuinely cared. Except Dad. Guilt was most likely the only reason he was there.

It was a peaceful place. I had always enjoyed my time here, whenever I used to visit Mom. It wasn't a bad place to be laid to rest. If only rest were in the cards.

I kept my distance from the service. It was just too weird. The wake had been one thing, but this, seeing myself get buried...it was so final. From where I stood, I could hear just fine as the Anglican minister read scripture and said nice things about me that were only partially true. My grandmother carried on with loud wailing while Grandpa and Aunt Judy did their best to comfort her. Dad stood with his arm around Chris, and I was glad that at least he was there for her. Gus also wiped a few tears from behind his sunglasses. My agent was there, appropriately sad-faced, or at least trying to be as she shifted from foot to foot to keep her stiletto heels from sinking into the soft ground.

Once the hymns started, I couldn't take it anymore, and went to explore the cemetery. If there was any chance I'd end up haunting this place, I figured I might as well get to know the layout. I was pretty familiar with the section around my plot already, so I made my way toward the back, where the older graves were. It looked like I wasn't the only ghost in that cemetery. It was hard at first to discern them from the visiting loved ones, but you could tell on account of everyone else being oblivious to them. Some of them even smiled and waved at me. Apparently friendly ghosts were more than just an old Fleischer cartoon, even outside the house.

I followed a trail that meandered all the way back to the oldest part of the cemetery. Actually, the graves themselves weren't that old; just the bodies they held and the headstones that went with them. They had been transplanted in the seventies to make way for a new shopping center. Ain't that just the way? Sorry, dead folk. We'd love to let you rest in peace, but you're resting in the way of our progress.

But it was pretty there, and peaceful, so I doubted any of the trasplantees complained much. A sweet little pond covered with water lillies lay nearby, surrounded by giant oak trees. I was about to wander off the path to read some of the old grave markers when I noticed a little girl down by the pond. There was something odd about her. Her white cotton dress didn't belong in this era, for one thing. The fact that she seemed to be beckoning me to follow her also seemed pretty unusual.

She didn't say anything. She just stood there, waving insistently for me to come over to her. It took a moment for me to realize that I knew her, and a moment after that to get over the shock of seeing her out of context.

"Hi there, cutie," I said as I approached. She didn't answer. Illogically, I understood that I didn't need to speak, either, even though there was no reason I could think of that she should have any idea who I was, let alone what I wanted. But she held her hand out to me and waited, clearly expecting something. I looked back the way I had come, and could see my funeral still carrying on in the distance. There was no hurry to get back.

I took her hand, and was transported.

To where, I didn't know at first. I was in what looked like a barnyard, with a big red barn full of horses and chickens strutting around all over the yard. Turning around to take it all in, I spotted a three story Victorian farmhouse, and understood where I was. I had a rough idea of when, too.

Two little girls ran past me into the barn. The first couldn't have been more than six, with blond curls, wearing a white cotton dress. I looked down to where she'd been holding my hand seconds before, but she was gone. This new version laughed and screamed and carried a red ball. Behind her came a slightly older girl in red pigtails and overalls. "Give me the ball!" Sarah Collier shouted as she chased Clara Bentley into the barn.

"No, it's mine!" said Clara. "My daddy gave it to me!"

"Didn't your daddy teach you to share?" asked Sarah.

"You already played with it, Sarah! You've been playing with it all day, now it's my turn!"

"I don't care. I want it. Give it to me!" Sarah reached out and pinched Clara hard on the arm, rousing a shrill scream of pain.

"I'm telling!" Clara shouted, clutching her ball and running toward the house. A few yards from the barn she lost her footing on a pile of chicken feed and fell, losing her grip on the ball in the process. It rolled several feet away.

"Oh no, my new dress!" she wailed. "Daddy's gonna be so mad!" She seemed to forget all about the ball as she became intent on brushing dirt and mud off of her little white dress. So intent that she didn't hear Sarah approaching from behind, didn't see the axe she held.

"No!" I screamed. It was a reflex, my mouth opening and sound coming out before my mind could even comprehend what it was seeing. But even if they were able to hear me it would have been too late. The axe was already in motion. Clara never saw it coming. One blow to the head, and she was down. My hand flew to my mouth. "Oh my God."

I watched in stunned disbelief, helpless to intervene, as Sarah threw the axe away. Her face was a creepy mask of smug satisfaction as she stepped over Clara's tiny, bloody body and went to pick up the ball. Smiling, she dusted it off. Then she frowned and wiped at a spot of blood splatter on her cheek. She bent to wipe her hand in the dirt, then went skipping off toward the back of the barn, singing a nursery rhyme to herself as she went.

I went to kneel beside Clara. "Why are you showing me this?" I asked.

Before I could get any kind of answer, I heard Joe's voice coming from the house. "Clara!" he called. "Come on, Junebug, it's time to go to church!" He was coming this way. "Clara!" he called again. "You better not be dirtying up your pretty new dress! Mrs. Collier ain't like to make you another one any time soon!" He got closer, and his steps faltered as he spotted her lying on the ground. "Clara?" He broke into a run. "Clara!" He ran so fast his hat flew off. He reached the barnyard and skidded to a halt beside her. "Clara?" he said, and the look on his face as he took in the reality of her blood soaked dress and lifeless body almost killed me all over again. "No," he said, his voice a whimper. "No, no no no no." He dropped to his knees and turned her over, gathering her limp form into his arms and holding her close. "Clara? Baby girl?" He smoothed her hair back from her face. "Come on, sweetness, wake up for daddy." He shook her and shouted, "Wake up!" Realizing it was useless, he clutched her to him and started sobbing into her hair. God, I wanted to put my arms around him. I didn't know how much more of this I could take.

Others came running from the house, an older couple and a pair of teenage boys. They all came up short at the sight of Joe with Clara. "Oh, sweet Jesus Lord," said the woman, presumably Mrs. Collier, as her hands both flew to her mouth. Mr. Collier and the boys all stood dumbfounded for a moment before he sprang into action barked out orders. "Daniel, go get the sherrif. Jacob, find your sister." Both boys were too stunned to move until he shouted, "Go!" They snapped out of it and ran to do as they were told.

Mrs. Collier had closed her eyes, and her lips moved in a murmured prayer. Her husband slowly approached Joe and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Joe. Let's get her back to the house."

Just then Sarah came running up. "Mama," she cried, "what's wrong?" She had stripped off her bloody overalls, and her hair and underclothes were soaking wet. She still held the ball.

Her mother grabbed her by the shoulders. "Sarah, what happened to you, girl?"

"Clara's ball went in the pond and I had to go in after it. I'm sorry, Mama, I know it's church day."

"Never mind. Did you see anyone in the yard? Anyone at all?"

She looked back and forth between both her parents and said, "I heard Clara scream and... and I saw a man by the barn and I hid."

"Why didn't you come tell us?" asked her mother.

"I was scared, mama!" She started to cry. It looked for all the world genuine.

"Sarah," her mother said, shaking her, "you don't ever do that again! You come tell us if you see any strangers in the yard!"

"I'm sorry, Mama! I'm sorry!" She clung to her mother's skirt. She seemed like a normal kid then. Hell, she seemed so sincere that even I almost believed her. Sniffling, she looked over at Joe. "What's wrong with Clara?"

"Never mind that just now," said her mother. "Let's get back inside."

"Wait," said Joe. He looked up at Sarah, and his gaze fixated on the ball. "Where did you get that?"

She clutched the ball tighter and moved in closer to her mother, who put a protective arm around her shoulders. "I told you. It was in the pond."

"That's Clara's ball. Did you take it from her?"

"Joe," said Mr. Collier, "what's this about?"

"Did you?" Joe demaded.

"I told you, it went in the pond! I was going to give it back to her!" She started crying again.

"Joe, you're distraught," said Mr. Collier. "Now let's get your girl inside." He helped Joe get to his feet with Clara still in his arms. Mrs. Collier ushered Sarah toward the house. As Joe followed, his steely, angry glare fixed on Sarah, and I got the feeling that he knew. I didn't know how, but he wasn't fooled by her act.

The vision faded, and I found myself back in the cemetery. Clara let go of my hand and just stood there, looking up at me.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry," I told her as I wiped my useless ghost tears. I remembered everything I had learned about Joe the night before, and tried to piece it all together. "Is that what you wanted to show me? Why your daddy killed Sarah?" I still didn't want to believe it was true, but he certainly had a good motive. Clara didn't answer. "Can you talk, sweetie?"

Apparently she couldn't. Either that or she just didn't want to. Instead, she turned and skipped away from me. I stood there and watched her go, until she stopped and looked back at me. I got the impression I was supposed to follow.

She led me on a meandering path, through and around faded and moss-covered grave markers, all the way to the back of the cemetery. Finally, she stopped at a grave marked by a mourning angel, turned to look at me once more, then disappeared.

I went to the grave and knelt to read the head stone, but I already knew what it would tell me. This was Clara's grave. Why did she want me to know where she was buried? Was I supposed to go back and tell Joe? What good would this information do him?

What good did it do any of us?

I decided to talk it over with Chris before I did anything else. I went back to my own grave site, where my casket had already been lowered into the ground and the mourners were beginning to disperse. I spotted Chris talking to Dad. I caught her eye and waved, and she hugged Dad goodbye and followed me to a private spot away from prying ears. "Something happened to me just now," I said as soon as she was close enough to hear. "I had some kind of vision." She waited quietly while I described everything I'd seen.

"Oh, Ron," she said once I finished. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. What do you think it all means?"

"I don't know. Maybe she just wanted you to know Joe's motivations. Or maybe she wanted you to know about Sarah?"

"I'm already well aware that Sarah's a bad seed. I pretty much figured that out when she killed me."

"True." Chris rubbed the back of her neck as she gave the matter some more thought. "What if there's something in her grave that could help you defeat Sarah?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Maybe Clara herself?"

"How? Wouldn't she need to be there first? How would we make that happen?"

Chris shrugged. "Short of digging up her bones and moving them there, I don't know."

"Ew."

"Yeah, I know. Let's try to think of something that doesn't involve grave robbing."

"No kidding," I said. "Besides, Sarah's so strong, and Clara's just a sweet little kid. I don't know what she could do to help us."

"Don't underestimate the power of child spirits."

"Why not?"

"Haven't you ever noticed how much more powerful the ghosts of children always are? Sarah's not really exceptional in that regard."

I guess I hadn't noticed, but I would take her word for it. "Why do you think that is?"

"Well, it's just a theory, but think about it. Children are little vessels of pure, unchecked emotion. You said yourself that strong emotion gives you your abilities. Think how much more a child could do, without years of socialization and practice keeping its emotions in check. Especially a kid who has plenty of reason to be full of rage."

"Like Sarah. If she was murdered.... But I still don't buy that theory."

"I know. But if you can put aside your personal feelings for a minute, it makes sense. It also explains why Lilly can do things that the others can't. It doesn't get much more emotional than a sixteen year old girl. I guess that doesn't really explain how you got to be so strong, though."

It did if you took into account that I was in the throes of new love. I didn't tell her that, though. Instead I just shruged and said, "Guess I just never really grew up."

Chris smirked. "Sounds about right."

Letting that remark slide, I said, "Okay, I need to ask a favor."

"Of course. What else have I done since you contacted me?"

"Hey, that hurts. Would you prefer a silent grave for a sister?"

Chris sighed. "I'm not complaining. What do you need?"

"Keepn working on this. Try to figure out the best way to get Clara to that house, short of a physical transfer."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

I frowned, really not looking forward to the task before me and having no idea how to do it without tipping Sarah off and incurring more of her wrath. "I'm going to get the truth from Joe."




Chapter 23




I knew what I had to do. I was less clear on the how, but I trusted that it would come to me. I needed to get Joe somewhere safe, where he could talk to me without any interference from Sarah. But first I had to find him. I searched the house high and low, but all I found was Max Baird crying in the basement, with Buster lying sympathetically at his feet. There was no sign of Joe, or of Sarah. Which meant that she was probably still busy punishing him.

Whether it was part of his punishment, or the safe place he went to recover, I wasn't sure; but I knew Joe would go to the third floor eventually, if he wasn't there already. The times I'd been there, it was because Joe had wanted me there. He'd wanted to tell me from the beginning, I understood that now. He just couldn't, because of Sarah. So he'd tried to show me, and I was too damn dense to catch on.

In the attic, I sat down on the settee and considered my options. They were pretty limited. I could either wait, and hope that Joe would extend another invitation to the third floor, or that he would show up back in the existing house in one piece. Or I could try to go to him on my own.

You might have noticed by now that waiting isn't really my style.

I closed my eyes and focused on Joe, putting aside all of the doubts I had about him and just letting myself feel the love that had grown between us. My heart was full of it, and I felt like I could do anything. Man, Chris was right. If my guarded adult heart could feel so deeply and give me so much power, then I shuddered to think how much power a child's uninhibited heart could muster. I visualized the third floor, pictured myself sitting on Clara's bed. I focused on that image, solidified it in my mind, and felt myself shimmer.

I opened my eyes. Her room looked the same as the last time I saw it; doll next to me on the bed, ball in the chair, not much else going on. I retrieved the ball, sat back down, and waited.

All of the pieces were starting to fit together. There was just one more piece needed to complete the puzzle. I knew it had to be done, even though I really didn't like the picture that was beginning to emerge.

It didn't take long for him to show up.

I was playing catch with myself, tossing the ball in the air and catching it, trying not to think too much, when I saw him appear in the doorway. I stood up, replaced the ball in the chair, and went to him, all of my fear replaced with familiarity, and a deep sadness. With lidless eyes, Joe watched me with a mix of wariness and wonder as I approached, and his gaze seemed to penetrate me, to reach in and grab me by the soul and hold on for dear life. His unblemished, steel-gray eyes that I knew so well by now.

I raised a hand to his face, but I didn't touch him. "Does it hurt?" I asked. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. I felt tears streaming down my face as I asked, "Why didn't you tell me, Joe?" He broke off his his gaze. "I saw Clara," I said. That got him to look back at me. "She showed me what Sarah did to her. I know this was her room. This is a safe place, isn't it? We can talk here?" His eyes roved the room and settled on the ball. He nodded. "I know this hurts," I told him, "but I need to know what happened after that. You did something to Sarah, didn't you?"

He looked away again, and nodded. I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. "Oh, God," I whispered.

His shoulders shook, and a moan escaped from deep inside of him. He dropped to his knees, and when he landed, he was no longer burned. He was just Joe, and he was sobbing.

I knelt in front of him and reached out to stroke his hair, but stopped short of touching him. "What did you do to her, Joe?"

He shook his head. "I didn't mean to," he managed between choked sobs.

"You need to tell me," I coaxed him. I hated this so much. I didn't want to put him through this. And I really didn't want to hear what he had to say. I didn't want to know this stuff about him. But I had to. We both did. I knew in my gut that this was the key to freeing us. "Tell me, Joe." I pushed past my revulsion over what he'd done and took hold of both his hands.

Then I was in a cemetery. Not the one I'd been in earlier that day, but the one that had eventually become a strip mall parking lot. The gray sky and light drizzle of rain formed a stark contrast to the conditions of my own funeral, and was more appropriate to the the shell-shocked appearance of the people gathered around an unbelievably tiny casket. I could hear the drone of the minister's prayer, and as I approached the little group I recognized Joe. He stood at the foot of the casket with his head bowed, his newsboy cap pulled low over his eyes. His shoulders shook as he cried silently over his little girl's grave. I moved to stand next to him. He had no idea I was there; this version of Joe didn't even know who I was, but still I hoped I could somehow lend him some small amount of comfort just by being close. Maybe it was my own comfort I was really seeking.

From where I stood I could see his face. His eyes were raw and red, and snot dripped from his nose. As I watched him, his gaze shifted away from the coffin, and his jaw hardened. I followed his gaze to Sarah. She stood between her parents, holding Clara's ball. As her mother sobbed, Sarah played with the ball, a cold smile on her face. I looked back at Joe, at the hatred that filled his eyes, and I knew that he knew what Sarah had done.

"What did you do to her, Joe?" I whispered, and the scene changed.

Back on the farm, I stood on the house's front porch. Sarah's father and brothers were piled into what I would guess was a Model T -- it's not like I really knew cars -- with her mother standing outside the passenger side calling for Sarah. Joe walked into the front yard, carrying a tool box. Mrs. Collier saw him and went up to him. "Joe, have you seen Sarah?"

"Can't say as I have, least not this morning."

Mrs. Collier cast an anxious glance back at her husband, who waited in the car with their two boys. "That girl. I swear, when I get ahold of her..."

"Let's go, Martha," Mr. Collier hollered from the car. "We don't have time for her nonsense. I'm sure she's all right. Joe can look after her."

"How can you be so ready to leave not knowing where she is? And after what happened to Clara?" She glanced at Joe, who's back and shoulders had gone stiff. "I'm sorry, Joe."

He nodded. Then he gave her a smile that looked totally forced and said, "I'm sure she's fine. You know how she likes to hide. I'll keep an eye out for her. You and Mr. Collier go on about your business."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not a bit," he said.

She reached out and squeezed his arm. "Thank you, Joe. Please, don't work too hard. Herbert told you to take all the time you need."

"I appreciate that, ma'am, but working's what gets me through."

She smiled, and he tipped his hat at her as she went to the car. "When you see Sarah," she said, climbing in, "tell her she's to stay in her room until we come home."

"Will do," he said, still smiling. He stood there and watched them as they drove away. Once they were out of sight, his smile faded and his shoulders sagged. He turned to look at the house.

I stood back as he came toward the porch, then followed him inside. He went to the kitchen, set his toolbox on the counter, and washed his hands in the sink. He stood there a while, just watching the water run out of the tap. Then he broke down in a sobbing heap. He slid to the floor and sat there crying his heart out for several minutes.

Oh, Joe.

Once he cried himself out, he just sat there, staring up at the dangling light fixture. Then he abruptly got up, shut off the water, and went to his toolbox. After rummaging through it for a minute he pulled out a length of rope. He grabbed it in the middle and gave it a tug as if testing its strength. Then he went to the light fixture, reached up to grab hold, and hung from it.

Oh, God, Joe. No.

Apparently satisfied that it would hold his weight, he dragged a kitchen chair and centered it beneath the light. His face was completely devoid of expression the entire time.

"Please, Joe," I cried, "don't do this." I knew that whatever I was about to witness had already been done a long time ago; but that didn't mean I had to like it.

He stepped up on the chair and knotted the rope. He slung one end over the light fixture and tied it there. He tested his wait on it. Then, after taking a deep breath, he raised the looped end to slip over his head.

A thump came from upstairs. Joe paused what he was doing (thank God) and glanced up at the ceiling. Reluctantly, he stepped down and left the rope hanging there while he went to investigate the noise. I followed him up the stairs, sticking close as he checked the bedrooms. Another thump came from the floor above us. Joe went to a door and pulled it open, revealing a familiar set of stairs. I followed him up into Clara's room.

Sarah was there, sitting on the bed and playing with the doll. She looked up at Joe. "Get out of my room," she snapped.

He looked like he was about to explode, but somehow kept his voice calm. "This is Clara's room, Sarah."

She leveled a cool gaze at him and said, "Not anymore. It's all mine now."

I could almost hear the moment he snapped, like a rubber band. He rushed forward and grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her, hard. "Do you think I don't know?" he screamed. "Do you think I don't know you killed her?"

Sarah screamed. "Stop it! You're hurting me! Ma!"

"You're ma's not here!" He flung her off of the bed. She landed on the floor just inside the doorway. She got up and shouted, "My pa's gonna kill you if you touch me again! I hope he does! I hope you die like Clara!"

"You killed her!" Joe was screaming. "You killed my baby girl, just like you killed those kittens! What kind of monster are you?"

Sarah screamed again, and Joe backhanded her. Hard. Something cracked, and she flopped like the rag doll she coveted down the flight of stairs.

I stood there with my hands over my mouth, my eyes as wide as they could go, the taste of bile filling my throat. Sarah might have been a little monster. But she was still a kid. Next to Clara's murder, that was the single most horrible thing I'd ever seen.

What made it more horrible was the thought that kept going through the back of my mind: she had it coming.

I closed my eyes. "Oh, God," I said. I waited for the vision to end, now that I knew how she died.

But it wasn't over. "Oh, God," Joe echoed. I opened my eyes to see him standing in the doorway, staring down at Sarah's limp, lifeless body. He looked at his hands. "Oh, God. Jesus. I didn't mean to... oh, Jesus." He twisted his fingers in his hair and pulled. He looked completely out of his mind. Then he seemed to come to his senses a little, enough to hurry down the stairs and kneel next to Sarah. He grabbed her by the shoulders, gently this time, and shook her. Her head lolled unnaturally, her dead eyes staring at nothing. Joe slumped to the floor beside her and rubbed his face in his hands. He was crying again.

Then, suddenly, he took a deep breath through his nose and picked Sarah up. I went behind him as he carried her downstairs, wondering what more this vision had to show me. He led me to the cellar. Awkwardly, he got the door open, then took her down into the dark. Once there he set her down and lit a kerosene lantern. Then he got a shovel from the corner and started to dig.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It had been an accident. He was a distraught father, no jury would convict him. Why hide the body? I couldn't believe he was the type of guy to try and get away with this. It didn't make sense. But then I realized as he dug furiously, his eyes wild as the dirt flew, that he and Sense were no longer even mild acquaintences, let alone friends. He had truly snapped.

I watched in horror as he buried Sarah's little body in a shallow basement grave. Everything made so much sense now. Ruth's axe-murdering of Maxwell, Lilly getting left in the cellar to die, my own death... it all added up to a twisted reenactment of everything that had happened here.

Once she was buried, Joe replaced the shovel, grabbed the lantern and headed back up to the kitchen. It had grown dark outside while we were down there, and Joe set the lantern on the kitchen table and climbed back up in the chair. There was no hesitation this time as he slipped the noose over his neck, not even a glimmer of fear or regret as he kicked the chair out from under him.

I wanted to bury my face in my hands, but I forced myself to watch as he hung there. It wasn't quick. His body convulsed and twitched. The motion caused him to swing back and forth, and he kicked over the lantern. Kerosene spilled out onto the table cloth, and in a moment the whole table was on fire. Joe's pant leg caught fire, and I heard a gurgling sound come from his throat as flames engulfed him.

I covered my face and screamed.

Someone grabbed hold of my wrists. "Ron! Ron, it's all right!" Joe's voice called. I opened my eyes and saw him sitting on the floor in front of me. Tears still ran down his face as his eyes pleaded for understanding.

But I couldn't give him any. Not just then. I yanked my wrists out of his hands and got up. He sat there with slumped shoulders, looking defeated and exhausted.

I backed away from him and closed my eyes again. I might not have a real stomach anymore, but that didn't keep me from feeling sick. Part of me was screaming to go put my arms around him and hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. But I couldn't. I just... couldn't. Not yet. I needed time to process what I'd seen. I needed to calm down and think. I knew now how Sarah died, and why she was on such a rampage, but I still didn't know what to do with that information.

I looked around the room again, and my eyes landed on the ball. I realized that it hadn't been there in the vision. Sarah had it at the funeral, but it was nowhere to be seen when she was in Clara's room. "What happened to the ball, Joe?"

He didn't answer me. I forced myself to look at him. He had that lost look on his face as he stared at nothing. "I've lived through this so many times," he said. "So many... but I can take it." He looked up at me. "I deserve it. I know that. And I know I don't deserve you. But I can't take losing you. Not now. Not after...." He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away.

I wanted to give him the assurance he wanted to hear, but I couldn't bring myself to. So I asked him again: "Where's the ball, Joe? This one's a phantom. So is the one Sarah's always playing with. The real ball--Clara's ball--what happened to it?"

He shook his head. "Sarah had it at the funeral. She stood there over my baby girl's grave, playing with the toy that she murdered her to get--" His face twisted in pain and rage, and I realized something. I was looking for a way to kill Sarah. He had done it in the heat of the moment, but I was methodically seeking out a way to destroy her. I had no place to be casting stones.

"I should have told about the kittens," he said.

That was out of nowhere. "Kittens?"

"One of the barn cats had a litter. Four of 'em, one for each of the children. They got to go by age picking them out, the boys first, then Sarah. Clara got the one that was left, a little fluffy gray one, but when Sara saw how much Clara loved it, she wanted to trade. Clara didn't want to, and Mr. Collier told Sara she had to live with her decision."

I nodded. "I don't think I need to hear the rest of this story."

He went on anyway, as if I hadn't said anything. "I found them that night, or what was left of them." He looked as sick as I felt. "I told myself it was a coyote that got 'em, but I knew. I knew she did it and I didn't say anything. I didn't want to upset her folks."

I sighed. Child or not, Sarah was a monster. She always had been. Squatting before Joe, I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at me in surprise, then gratitude as his hand covered mine and held tight. "Did you take the ball from her?" I asked him.

He nodded. "I gave it back to Clara." He wiped his nose and said, "I buried her with it."

I closed my eyes and kissed him on the forehead, then rested my brow against his. "Thank you, Joe." He broke down again. I sat on the floor and he leaned into my arms, and I held him until we both stopped crying.

Read the last episode synopsis, or jump straight to the new episode.

Previously...

Chapter 17: Ron practices focusing her energy and trying to reach beyond the barrier Sarah constructed around them. In her anger, Sarah takes it out on the others, but leaves Ron alone. Ron suspects she's beginning to make Sarah nervous, but she ceases her efforts in order to protect the other ghosts. Ron retreats to the attic to rest, and finds herself invited to the Third Floor again. She goes, and sees the burned man, and realizes that he's not trying to hurt her, but attempting to communicate with her. She also sees a vision that leads her to realize that the room once belonged to another little girl--and so did Sarah's prized ball.

Ron finds herself back in the attic, where Joe is waiting for her. He surprises her by being able to open a box of Ed's family photos, and says he's been practicing ever since he tackled her. Ron says that the necessary strong emotion is hard to manufacture on demand, but that she manages by thinking about her father. Joe tells her he does it by thinking about her. Taken aback, Ron asks if she really makes him that angry, and he clarifies: he thinks about KISSING her. And then he does. It's amazing, and as they make out, they both grow more solid. Ron realizes she's never been so strong, and she pushes him away, explaining that she has to try to get to her sister NOW, while she still feels this way. Reluctantly, Joe lets her go and walks her to the door. He doesn't want to lose her, but he understands that she has to go. After promising to come back, or if she can't to never stop trying until he and the others are free, she steps outside and into the night.

Chapter 18: After taking a few moments to enjoy being outside again, Ron transports herself to Chris's apartment, where she wakes her sleeping sister for a tearful reunion. Chris tells Ron everything she learned about Sarah so far, namely that a child matching her description went missing a few years before the Baird house was built. As they talk, Ron brings up Joe's mysterious past, and Chris insists on digging into it, despite her protests. Ron then asksun Chris to help her complete her unfinished novel before she crosses over to wherever she's headed after they defeat Sarah. Tired and strung out on sleeping pills, Chris agrees, and goes back to bed, leaving her laptop turned on so Ron can write.


And now...

Chapter 19




I found Joe in the attic, leafing through a magazine he'd discovered. An old Cosmo, from somewhere in the 1970s judging by the cover. "Did you know that there are thirteen ways to pleasure your man?" he asked without putting it down. "Can't say as I knew that. 'Course, things being what they are I'd be happy with just the one." He closed the magazine and looked up at me. "You came back."

"Yup." I joined him on the settee. "I can tell you missed me."

He glanced down at the magazine and tossed it aside. "Needed something to keep my mind occupied so's I didn't lose it with worry." He leaned in a little and said, confidentially, "I'm glad you're back."

I smiled. "So am I." Boy howdy, I was. I'd only been gone a couple of hours, but it felt great to see him again. I moved in to close the gap between us.

He welcomed me into his arms. "Think I can get used to all this touching."

"Mmm. Me too. Although," I considered, "it's not like I've really had time to get used to the not touching. And this isn't exactly touching. It's... sparking. I guess."

"Believe me, when you haven't been touched in ninety years, it's close enough." An electric tingle shot through every part of whatever I was made of as he kissed me. I had to admit, it wasn't like the real thing. It wasn't better or worse, just... different. It definitely beat an eternity of being cut off from feeling anything.

His kiss grew hungrier, and his hands kept pace with his mouth. So did mine. I began to realize how long it had been since I'd made out with anyone, living or dead. My dating life hadn't exactly been stellar when I was alive. As his hand brushed my breast, I pressed harder against him, moaning into his mouth.

Abruptly, he let go of me and jumped to his feet."I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't... I'm taking advantage. It ain't proper."

"It-- what? Proper? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you like that, as if you were my wife. It's disrespectful. I shouldn't take those kinds of liberties."

Confused and frustrated that he was no longer touching me, I stared blankly at him as his words sunk in. "Uh... you do know that the world has changed a little since you died, right? I mean, I don't know how much you've been able to keep up--"

"I've seen enough to know it hasn't all been for the better."

"Well, I can't really argue with that. But I can't complain about the part where it's okay to kiss the one you love. And then some."

"Still. I should have at least asked first."

"Joe, really, it's okay." I reached for his hand and pulled him back to the couch. "This is me telling you it's fine to take liberties. I'm all about liberty." I took his hand and placed it on my hip, then I leaned into him, snaking my arms around his neck as I kissed him. His lips greeted mine just as eagerly as before. His hand slid up my back and held me tighter, and we were about to settle in to a really fantastic makeout session when I remembered that Chris had insisted on investigating him. A pang of guilt got me to pull back.

Joe blinked at me. "Okay, I'm confused."

"Sorry. It's just... I talked to my sister."

"Oh, right." He sat up straighter. "I meant to ask you how that went, but I got sidetracked."

I smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

He returned my smile, reaching out to touch my hair. "So, how'd it go?"

"It... went. She already has a good lead on Sarah, and she's going to keep digging. We figure maybe if we can learn how she died, that'll give us some insight into how to stop her."

Joe pulled his hand back. "You really think it's a good idea to mess around in Sarah's past?"

I shrugged. "I don't see that we have much choice."

"Right." He shifted his position until he faced forward, his hands in his lap. "Guess not." His brow furrowed, a clear sign of deep thought.

I hesitated, but then reached out and took his hand. "Joe, there's something else. Please don't be mad."

He looked at our hands, then at me. "Don't give me a reason to be, and I won't."

Well, this was going to go just great. I needed to be straight with him, though, if whatever this was between us was going to have a real chance. For however much time we would both be stuck here, anyway. I took a deep breath and forged ahead. "Chris is going to investigate you."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"It was her idea. I didn't put her up to it. She's a research geek, you know. This house is her hobby, and she's never heard of you, and she won't be happy until she knows everything there is to know about this place." I was babbling, spewing out all of my excuses before he could get angry enough to stop listening. "She just finds it all interesting, is all. It's not a big deal."

Shaking his head, he pulled his hand free and stood up. "Did you ask her not to?"

I leaned back and looked up at him. I couldn't get a good read on what he was thinking. He kept his face neutral. Carefully so. "I did, actually, not that it made a difference." He bowed his head and turned his back to me. With a sigh, I stood up and, tentatively, put my hand on his back. "Joe, if there's anything you want to tell me, something you'd rather I hear from you instead of her..."

He shrugged me off. "Already told you. Got nothin' to tell."

"Okay."

He looked back at me. "Really?"

I shook my head. "No, not really. Why can't you talk to me, Joe?"

"I can talk to you just fine."

I laughed. It came out more bitter than I meant it to. "Fine. You have the ability. Why don't you want to, then? Do you know how much that hurts?"

He turned back to me. "I don't mean to hurt you."

"Then don't! I'm not asking for your deepest, darkest secrets. Just give me something. I don't need to know how you died, but I want to know how you lived. Who are you, Joe? What kind of man were you in life? What's your favorite color? What kind of music did you like? What did you do for a living? What did you do for fun?"

"What difference does any of that make now?"

"Because it made you who you are! And I want to know how you got to be this awesome guy I fell in love with! So sue me!" Whoa, did I just say love? He stared at me, and I stared back, refusing to take it back. Not that I wanted to. God help me, that really was how I felt.

For a long, agonizing moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he screwed up his face and hung his head. "No, you were right. I can't." I could hear a struggle in his voice. "I..." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was a farmhand," he said at last, lifting his gaze to meet mine. "Used to be a farm here, before all these houses got built. I already told you about my daughter. We lived here, and I worked night and day to earn our keep. That's it. That was my life. Nothing else to it. Happy now?"

I frowned, folding my arms. There had to be more to it to justify all his evasiveness, but I decided not to push it just now. "Was that so hard?"

He shrugged. "Guess not. But it's... it's hard for me to talk about, is all."

I nodded. "I get that. I'm sorry I pushed."

"Nah, you were right. You deserve to know something about me. It's not that I don't want you to. It's... I--"

"Shh." I put a finger on his lips. "I know plenty about you. I know you're sweet, and kind, not to mention gorgeous--" that got a shy grin out of him. Adorable! "--and a good friend. And a great kisser." Now I grinned. "And you were a loving husband and father." I reached up to stroke his hair. "You're one in a million, Joe."

He cupped my cheek in his hand. "Look who's talking," he said, and kissed me. Neither of us pulled away that time.






Chapter 20




In deference to our Irish grandmother, Chris held a good old-fashioned Irish wake, complete with booze and an open casket and, if it turned out anything like my mom's wake, a drunken brawl that ended with the police showing up. Good times.

I didn't have any trouble getting to her place for it. After an entire day spent alone with Joe in the attic, it was all I could do not to float right up through the ceiling. Walking out the front door was a piece of cake. The only hard part was tearing myself off of Joe.

I popped into the middle of Chris's living room next to the buffet table, and immediately regretted going to the trouble. The food looked so good. Grandma, Aunt Judy and all of their friends had cooked every kind of casserole known to man, and also fried up at least three chickens. Somebody had brought buffalo wings, and on a separate table, spread around my high school graduation picture,someone had arranged a sushi spread in my honor. Sushi! God, I missed sashimi. Just looking at all the food I'd never taste again made me want to get drunk and burst into tears. Of course, I couldn't do that, either. Well, at least not the getting drunk part.

Speaking of which, I spotted Gus over by my casket, next to which stood an easel holding a blow-up my last author portrait. Gus was practically lying on the casket, crying into his beer and looking like he was about to throw himself on my overly made up corpse. I went to check out what he had to say, which was a mistake that will scar me for the rest of my afterlife. It started out okay. "You're so pretty," he was saying when I popped up beside him, which is something a gal never gets tired of hearing. But it went downhill from there. "And you're smart, and funny... I read all of your novels, even though I never told anybody, because they're, you know, chick lit, but I collected them all and I keep one under my pillow. God. I can't believe you're gone. I had so many chances to tell you how I felt about you, and I was such a coward..."

Whoa there, Gus, Buddy. I had no idea. And thank God for that. I decided to get out of there before I witnessed him getting any creepier with my corpse. I turned to go, and stepped right through my father.

Dad?

Chris didn't tell me he was coming. Maybe she thought I'd take it as a given, what with him being my father and all, but I was genuinely surprised that he'd bothered. It wasn't like he'd shown up to anything when I was living. Not since before Mom's accident, anyway. I stood there a moment, stunned, and then gathered myself together and turned to face him. He patted Gus on the shoulder and steered him toward some Paranormal Institute members, then shoved his hands in his pockets and just stood there, staring at his dead daughter's corpse, his face a mask of unreadability.

I waited for him to say something. I played the whole scene over in my mind before he even had a chance to speak. He would say how much he loved me, how sorry it was he was never there for me, how wrong he was to blame me and put all of that on the shoulders of a ten year old girl. It would be one of those perfect moments that would happen in one of my novels, where he'd pour out everything he could never bring himself to say when I was alive, unaware that I could hear, and then we'd both find a way to forgive each other. But it would be bittersweet, because he'd have to carry on without knowing I'd forgiven him.

But in reality, he just stood there. Chris came over to stand next to him, and he put his arm around her like he'd never put his arm around me. She leaned against him and he squeezed her shoulders.

"She looks like your mother," he said. Then he let go of Chris and walked away.

I watched him go, staring in dumbstruck wonder. That was it? That was our big final moment? God. Even at my own wake, he couldn't resist one more opportunity to rub it in. Unbelievable.

Chris also watched him go. I could tell by the look on her face that she felt as disappointed in him as I did. She knocked back her watered down Michael Collins and turned back to my casket. "God, I'm sorry about that, Ronnie."

I shrugged. "Forget it."

She jumped. With her hand over her heart, she turned to where I stood beside my giant picture. "God! I didn't see you there."

"Sorry."

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I wish you didn't see that. I wish..."

"I said forget it." Seriously, screw that guy. "I'm just surprised he came. I guess that's something."

"It's hardly enough."

She was ready to shower me with sympathy, but I was over it. I was over him. It felt good, deciding I didn't care what my dad thought of me anymore. Great, even. It was a catharsis I'd never been able to achieve when I was living. I looked at Chris's emo face, and at the appropriately sad faces of all of the guests, and had to suppress a sudden urge to giggle. This shindig needed some levity. Concentrating, I reached down, picked up several strands of my own hair, and lifted them into the air. Chris's eyes grew huge. She slapped the lock of hair back down and smoothed it into place. "Stop that! People will see!"

"So? It'll give them something to talk about other than the untimely tragedy of my death." I picked up my dead arm and waved it like a puppet. "Helloooo! I can hear all of you, helloooo! Tell me how smart and young and pretty I was!"

"Stop it!" She took my arm away from me and laid it gently back in place, then looked around to make sure nobody heard or saw anything. "Okay, bedroom. Now."

I popped into her bedroom before she even made it to the hall. I was getting good at this stuff. She came in, shut the door, careful that it didn't make any sound, and flipped on the light. Then she went straight to her computer and fired it up. "I can't believe you actually came."

"Like I could resist coming to my own wake. There are sure a lot of people here. I don't even know half of them."

"Those would be grandma and grandpa's and my friends. This wake is more for our benefit, you know."

Wow, she was right. I was totally a crasher, screwing up her therapeutic attempt at closure. "Yeah," I said. "Maybe I should go."

"No, I didn't mean that. Besides, I need to talk to you." She pulled up the Internet as she took a seat at her desk. "I foud a web site somebody put together about the house. Its amateurish, but somehow they got ahold of a lot of info I've never seen. Of course, I don't know how reliable any of it is. But there's stuff about the Collier family, and a child murder."

"You found out about Sarah's murder?"

Chris shook her head. "Not Sarah. That other little girl. You said she was blonde, right?"

"Right."

For a minute, Chris sat there and chewed her bottom lip. She always did that when she was trying to decide something.

"What is it?" I asked.

"This Joe guy," she said. "How close have you gotten to him?"

I flashed back to the happy discovery that ghost clothing could come off with enough concentration and determination. I caught myself grinning as I said, "Pretty close. Why?"

Chris was quiet for a moment--a much too long moment in which I began to feel my happy new relationship glow fade. Then, before I had to smack her in the head and tell her to spill it, already, she went on, all business like. "The little girl's name was Clara Bentley. She was found brutally murdered just a few days after her sixth birthday."

"Oh, my God." I put a hand to my mouth. That news didn't help my sinking feeling. I didn't want to ask, but I had to. "What does that have to do with Joe?"

Her mouth set in a grim line, she pulled up a web page. "Her father was a handyman for the family who lived on that property prior to the Baird house being built." As she spoke, a scanned image loaded and resolved itself on the screen. It was old, sepia-tinted and mottled with age, torn and creased as if it had been handled a lot over the decades. In it sat a working-class man in his Sunday best, his face solemn, as faces in pictures from that era tended to be. In his lap he held a pre-school age girl with blonde ringlets in a simple white dress. I knew them both.

"Farmhand," I said over the lump that had lodged itself in my throat.

"What?"

"He was a farmhand, not a handyman."

Chris blinked up at me. "Is there a difference?"

I shrugged absently as I leaned in for a closer look at the photo. The little girl--Clara--broke convention by smiling from ear to ear, the kind of infectious little-kid grin that lights up the faces of everybody in the room. I even caught myself smiling automatically in response. I could see barely hidden traces of an amused smirk in the corners of Joe's eyes and mouth, as though it was all he could do to keep a straight face in the presence of his daughter's unabashed glee. "He didn't tell me what happened to her." I reached out at the screen, letting my fingers hover, untouching, just above his face. "Oh, Joe. I'm so sorry." That sick feeling in my stomach was replaced by a sharp ache, and I wanted to blink back to him immediately and do whatever I could to comfort old wounds.

"There's more, Ronnie," Chris said, gently. I didn't remand her for calling me Ronnie. I knew she was trying to soften a blow. I forced myself to straighten up and away from the picture, and waited.

"So, there did used to be a farm house where the Baird's built their house," she said.

"Let me guess: a three-story Victorian."

"Yup. There's your third-floor mystery solved." She scrolled down the screen a little more. "Anyway, Joe and Clara lived there with Joe's employers, in a little suite of rooms on the top floor. The house burned down about a week after Clara's murder, while the Colliers were in town on business with their two sons. On the same day, both Joe and Sarah Collier went missing and were never heard from again. Outside of the Baird house, at any rate."

"Oh my God," I said again, picturing the burned man from my visions. How could I have been so stupid?

"There's more to the story," said Chris. "Do you want to hear it?"

I really didn't. But I swallowed and said, "Yeah. Go ahead."

"They only found one set of remains in the house."

"Joe's," I guessed.

"Yeah. Officially, the fire was labeled a freak accident due to negligence, and Joe was given a posthumus pass on account of being a grieving father. Sarah's disappearance was blamed on Clara's murderer, and neither case was officially closed."

I sighed, hating where this was going. "What about unofficially?"

Chris started to answer, then paused. "Honey, are you sure?"

I nodded. "I have to know."

She looked up at me, her eyes full of sympathy. "After he retired, the sherrif on the case made a few drunken confessions to his replacement. Turns out he was Mrs. Collier's cousin, and he filed the reports according to her wishes after she refused to believe the alternative. That Joe deliberately set the fire in a suicidal fit of masochism after he snapped and killed both girls."

I laughed, bitterly. I was with Mrs. Collier. The alternative wasn't possible. I said so.

Chris sighed. "I'm sorry, Ron, but how well do you know this guy, really? I mean, you haven't even been...," she hesitated and swallowed, as if the word for what I was choked her. Then she continued, "been gone a week yet. You said he doesn't like to talk about himself. You have no clue what he's really like, or what he was capable of before he died."

"No. I know he's a good man. Caring. Decent. The kind of guy you just don't find these days. And he adored his daughter. There was no way he'd harm her."

Chris looked at me, long and hard. "Please tell me you aren't in love with him."

I didn't say anything.

She reached for my hand, stopping just short of grabbing it. "Ron, you have to think clearly on this. It explains his evasiveness. It also explains Sarah's rage."

I shook my head. "It doesn't explain why it's not Clara playing puppets with our souls. When I saw her apparition, she was happy. As happy as the little girl in that picture." I nodded at the screen. "It just doesn't make sense."

She pressed her lips together. "Maybe. Unless he didn't kill Clara. What if her death caused him to snap, and he took it out on Sarah?"

I wished I still had the ability to throw up. Oh, God. Chris was right. That explained everything.

There was a knock on the door, and Aunt Judy popped her head in. "Chrissy? Is everything okay?"

Chris looked from me to her, and forced a smile. "Yeah, fine. I just needed a few minutes."

Aunt Judy smiled, sadly, and nodded. "Take as much time as you need, dear." She shut the door, leaving us alone with the elephant in the room.

"I'm so, so sorry, Ron."

I nodded. I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say.

"At least now we know the key to stopping Sarah. We just have to figure out how to work it."

I swallowed. "I guess that's up to me."

"It doesn't have to be. You don't have to go back there."

"I do. I have to talk to him. I need to hear it from him."

Standing, Chris sighed. She knew it was useless to argue. "Just be careful with this guy, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I lied.

Chris stood up. "I should get back out there. Are, uh, are you coming?"

"No. The novelty's kind of worn off. Mind if I stay here and write a while?" I was way too wrecked to type a single word, but it was a good excuse to buy myself time to figure things out.

"Sure." She pulled up the file that held my novel. "Take as long as you need. This wake won't be over for hours." She started to leave, but paused with her hand on the door. "The service is tomorrow, at one. We're burying you next to Mom."

"That'll be nice," I said.

With that, she left. I sat there and let it all sink in.

On the one hand, he might be a tragic victim of circumstance.

On the other hand, he might have murdered a child.

My whole heart wanted to believe that the first thing was true.

So why was it so easy to buy the second?






Chapter 21





I returned to the house by way of the kitchen. It was late--the party had broken up at Chris's place, and I'd waited until all of her guests had left to face the inevitable. To my relief, Joe wasn't there, but all of the Bairds were. My relief was pretty short-lived. As soon as Ruth saw me, she started in.

"You've got some nerve, young lady! Coming and going as you please at all hours of the night, with no care for those of us left behind!"

"Ruth, hush!" said Max. "Ron wouldn't come back if she didn't care. Besides, nothing bad has happened. Maybe Sarah doesn't mind that she can leave."

"Or perhaps she's merely biding her time. You watch, and mark my words. The worst is still to come, all because of this one!" She pointed at me.

"Mama, hush!" said Lilly, which drew a sharp look from Ruth.

"What did you say to me, young lady?"

"Yeah, hi," I interrupted before Ruth could go full-on Mommy Dearest. "Where's Joe?"

"Where you won't find him, if he's as smart as I give him credit for." Ruth was on a roll tonight.

"Mama!" Lilly jumped up from her chair and, ignoring Ruth's sputters of indignation, came over to me. "He's probably still waiting for you in the attic," she said. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Now's not a good time," I said, and started to fade out on her, but then I recognized the look on her face as she started to back away. It was the look of the girl who lost. The one trying desperately to be noble and avoid drama and pretend nothing's wrong while her so-called best friend flounces around holding hands and indulging in gross PDAs with the boy of her dreams. Not that I was doing that with Joe; but I'd seen that look enough times on Chris's face when she was in high school to know it for what it was. I also seemed to recall seeing it in the mirror a time or two. I halted my fade-out, and reached out to her. "Lilly, I'm sorry. I've been meaning to talk to you, too. It's just--"

"It's okay," she blurted. "I'm happy for you. Really. I knew it was never going to be me. I'm glad it's you. Honest." It sounded sweet, and sincere, and very rehearsed, and yet all of the apparent practice didn't keep her voice from breaking on the last word, and my heart a little with it.

"Lilly, you don't have to be okay with it. It's okay if you get mad."

"Of course it is," declared Ruth from her seat at the table. "If not for her loose morals to tempt Joe, he'd have taken notice of what a lovely girl you are by now."

"Ruth, that's enough!" Max hissed as Lilly rolled her eyes.

"He's had seventy years to notice me, Mama."

I ignored their exchange and took Lilly's hand. "I mean it. Don't be nice for my sake."

"I'm not," she insisted, but her voice sounded less convinced than before.

"Oh, sweetie. I promise, we'll have this talk. Just not now, okay? Things are really complicated, and right now I have to talk to Joe." Lillly nodded, and let go of my hand. With a heavy sigh, I faded out of the kitchen--

--and coalesced on the second floor landing. Sarah rolled her ball over to me as I appeared. I closed my eyes. "Not now."

"I didn't say you could leave," Sarah snotted. I opened my eyes and looked at her. It occurred to me that maybe Joe wasn't the one I needed to talk to just yet. Slowly, not taking my eyes off of her, I reached down and picked up her ball. Her eyes bugged out a little as I did, and her nostrils flared. "That's mine. Give it back."

"After you talk to me," I promised. "Sarah, did Joe hurt you? Is that why you're here?"

"Give me back my ball!" she shouted. The house shook with her anger.

"Okay," I said, setting it back on the floor as carefully as I'd picked it up. "Calm down. Sarah, I'm on your side. Whatever was done to you wasn't right. Tell me how to fix it."

"Nobody's on my side," she whined. The house shook harder. "Everybody hates me!"

"That's not true, honey." Somehow I said that with a straight face.

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed. "Did he talk to you? He's not supposed to talk."

"What? No. No, Joe didn't--"

"He lies. He said I was bad, but he's the bad one. Him, and her. Everybody loves her, and they hate me." Some of the wind seemed to go out of her as she said it.

"Sweetie," I ventured, "just tell me--"

"I'm not bad!" she screamed, and fixed her gaze on the ball at my feet. "I just want what's mine." She almost growled that last part, and I shuddered.

"Fine. Take it."

She looked at me without lifting her head, and smiled. "I did." Again, the house shook, more violently than before, and Sarah, or whatever was posing as her, began to morph into something else. I barely had time to think Oh, shit, before strong hands closed on my waist and the second floor shimmered out of view, replaced by the attic.

"Are you out of your ever loving mind?" Joe yelled, spinning me around to face him. "What in Sam Hell were you trying to accomplish, talking to her?"

"The truth," I said, too tired to raise my voice to match his volume. "I talked to Chris. She had a lot of information."

"Did she now?"

"She didn't have a lot of answers, though, and now all I have are questions." I looked past him to the spot where I'd seen the entrance to the third floor. "Questions like, why have you been showing me Clara's room?" He flinched at the sound of her name. "Why didn't you tell me what happened to her? Or what happened to you? Why all the mystery, when you could've just talked to me, Joe?"

"I couldn't," he said through gritted teeth. "I can't! Don't you understand that?"

"No!" I shouted. He looked surprised at the rise in my voice, but not angered. More like he knew he had it coming. Still, I forced myself to calm back down. "I don't understand, Joe. They think--" I swallowed. "The sheriff thought you killed her."

He looked at me like I'd just run over his dog and then backed up and shot it for good measure. "They thought I killed Clara? My own daughter?" His eyes looked slightly wild as he rubbed his face. "Is that what you think?"

I shook my head. I honestly didn't. But... "Sarah, Joe. He thought you killed Sarah." His face darkened, and his hand dropped to his side. "Did you?" I asked. It came out in a whisper.

"I--" he began, then shook his head. "I can't."

"Joe, God! Just be honest with me! I deserve the truth, damn it, and without it Sarah's never going to rest. Or let us rest!"

He ground his teeth again. "I can't! Understand? If I talk about it, then maybe I get some peace, and she can't have that. Oh, no. Joe has to keep his secrets, has to stay alone in his Hell. Don't you think I want--" He stopped as his eyes began to bulge.

"Want what?" I asked. "Joe?" Only when his hands flew to his throat did I understand that he'd been rendered physically incapable of speech. "Joe! What's happening?" I reached to help him, but he flew backwards off of his feet. "Joe!" I screamed as he was dragged out of the attic and through the wall by an invisible hand. I tried to follow, but slammed into a solid wall.

Sarah. Finally, I understood. Joe wasn't allowed to talk about whatever had happened between them. I was going to have to get him out of the house, somehow. Either that, or find a way to make Sarah talk.

Another set of screams came from downstairs. I popped down there, without any interference this time, and followed the sound to the kitchen. I found Ruth and Lilly huddled together, backed up against the kitchen sink. The Sarah-beast stood on the table, snarling and ready to pounce. Max stood between her and his family, waving a kitchen chair at her like a lion tamer and shouting, "Keep away from them!"

I grabbed another chair and copied Max. "Sarah!" I shouted. "I'm the one who pissed you off! Face me!" She hesitated, looking back and forth between me and the Bairds, as though she couldn't make up her mind. "I'm going to end you, brat!" That got her attention. She turned toward me, her back feet clawing the table like a dog issuing a challenge. "Get them out of here, Max."

Still weilding the chair, he shuffled backwards toward his family. Sarah threw back her head and let out a hellish roar. I'd like to say that I stood my ground out of courage and pure stubbornness, but in truth I was frozen with terror. She was going to eat me. She was going to swallow me up and I would never see Joe or Chris again, never see my Mom, never know if there's really a Heaven. Never know the truth about Joe. But the Bairds would be safe, and without me stirring things up, maybe they could all go back to the status quo. I closed my eyes and braced for the end.

Lilly screamed my name, and I opened my eyes. Everything after that happened in slow motion. Sarah had lunged at me. Lilly broke away from her parents and ran toward us, still screaming my name. Somehow, Sarah turned in mid-air and aimed herself at Lilly. Ruth let out an ear shattering wail as she shoved Max away and threw herself at Lilly, grabbing her arm at the same time Sarah's massive jaws closed over Lilly's head. Ruth pulled, but Sarah was stronger, and faster. Before Max could recover, Lilly was gone, and Sarah's maw had moved onto Ruth. I felt, more than heard, myself scream as Max threw the chair at Sarah. It passed through her harmlessly, and Sarah turned and bounded out of the room. Ruth and Lilly were gone.

I gathered my wits and tackled Max before he could go after Sarah. He shouted curses at me that I didn't even know he knew, straining against me as I held him in place. He was strong, his rage and grief and fear allowing him to coalesce into a tangible force, and I couldn't hold him long. I needed Joe. But for all I knew Sarah had already done the same thing to him.

"Max!" I shouted, trying to get him to focus on me. "Listen! You can't help them that way!" He didn't show any signs of hearing me, but gradually, the fight went out of him, until all that was left was the grief. He broke down sobbing on the kitchen floor, calling their names. I knelt next to him and put a hand on his back. "We'll get them," I promised. "If there's a way, we'll get them back."

He looked up at me, seeming to notice me for the first time. "You," he snarled. "My Ruth was right. This is all your doing."

I blinked. "What? No! I tried to--"

"I don't care what you were trying to do! You made her angry, and now my wife and daughter are gone forever! We were fine before you came! You can leave, so why don't you just go? Get out and leave us be!" He shoved at me as he started crying again. I staggered to my feet, not knowing what to do. He was right. I was the one who riled up Sarah. I was the one Lilly tried to protect. It was my fault she was punishing Joe, too. She was punishing all of them, to punish me.

They were better off without me. Thanks to me not even the kitchen was safe anymore. I never should have come back.

I ran. I heard Sarah giggling as I passed the stairs, but I kept running until I was out the front door, and then I was back at my sister's place. She was already in bed. I didn't wake her. I just sunk to my knees in the middle of her living room--the same spot, I realized, where my casket had been during the wake--and cried.