Only the Quiet Read online

  “Aisling and Cillian aren’t alone and they’re descended from freaks,” she continued. It was often difficult to understand her thanks to the slurring. “I wonder why they got so lucky.”

  “It’s probably because they’re not drinking away their lives in the bar every night,” Braden noted.

  “I am not drinking away my life.” As if to prove it, she drained her glass. “I am having a great time now that my mother is gone. In fact ... I’m having an awesome time. I can’t remember when I ever had a better time.”

  I shifted my eyes to Braden, surprised.

  He slowly nodded. “I was sorry to hear about your mother, Angelina,” he offered, almost sounding sincere. “I didn’t know her well — mostly because she threatened to spray me with a hose whenever she saw me running around the neighborhood as a kid — but it’s still sad when a parent dies.”

  “She sprayed all you guys. She thought you were dirty ... and she hated your mother. Your mother came back from the dead.” Her gaze sharpened. “How did you manage that?”

  “We didn’t manage that, and that wasn’t our mother.” Braden was firm as he glanced around the bar to make sure nobody was listening. Thankfully, nobody cared how drunk Angelina was or what weird tales she spewed. “You can’t dwell on this stuff, Angelina. It’s wrecking you ... and you don’t have far to fall before rock bottom because you’re already the lowest of the low.”

  I elbowed him. Hard.

  “What?” He rubbed his side. “You can’t give me grief about this. She’s been horrible her entire life. I’m not going to suddenly pretend I like her simply because her mother died. Besides, her mother was a terrible person.”

  “My mother was a terrible person,” Angelina agreed, turning whimsical. “She spoiled me rotten. She got off on pitting me against Aisling. She always wanted to win the competition, though I was never sure what the competition was. I just knew I had to beat Aisling.”

  “Which you never did,” Braden muttered.

  “Oh, there’s still time.” Angelina tried to take a drink from the glass and frowned when she realized it was empty. “I need another.”

  “I think you should stop,” Braden argued, collecting the glass. “You’ve had more than enough for tonight.”

  “You’re a spoilsport.” She made a face. “I still want another.”

  “Maybe after you finish telling us about your great-grandfather,” I suggested. “We’re dying to hear about him.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Angelina shot back. “He left his family because he didn’t want to be a father. He ran off with some floozy — I think her name was Irene Wagner or something. I swear that’s what my grandmother said, because she blamed Irene Wagner for most of her woes — and he never looked back.”

  “You must know something about him,” Braden pressed. “Even if you didn’t meet him, every family has stories that are passed down. What have you heard about your great-grandfather?”

  “Just that he was a nut. He thought there was a way for him to live forever. Apparently he was obsessed with dying. He wouldn’t even cross the road unless there were no vehicles in sight. I mean ... like, none. He thought for sure he was going to die a horrible death. He even hired someone to taste his food at some point so he wasn’t poisoned.”

  “He sounds paranoid,” Braden mused, sliding his eyes to me. “I don’t know that matters either way, but I’m guessing he was delusional.”

  “Oh, he was totally delusional,” Angelina agreed. “He said that there was a gate that separated this world from the next and that he was going to find a way to cross over and back because he was convinced that was the way to fool death ... as if death was a person.”

  She fell silent for a moment and then turned to Braden. “Your family is kind of like death, isn’t it?” Suddenly, she sounded clearer than she had when she sat down. “You’re kind of like walking grim reapers. If he was right about that, maybe he was right about the gate.”

  “There is no gate,” Braden lied. “I’m more interested in why your great-grandfather thought he could fight death. Was he ever diagnosed with anything?”

  “No. He was a hypochondriac, but everyone in my family is. I heard he went to the doctor once a month for a battery of tests to make sure it would be caught early if he was sick.”

  That was interesting. “What did he die of?” I asked. “If he was determined to stave off death, it must’ve come as a shock when he finally lost the war. What claimed him?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He was long gone by the time he died. No one kept in contact with him because he was afraid the government was going to tap his phone and send a deadly disease through it.”

  “He definitely sounds paranoid,” Braden commented.

  “Which means we need to figure out where he went after he abandoned his family,” I said. “Whatever he did in the time after that plays into what’s happening now.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I don’t know ... but I’m sure. He was terrified of death, which means he wanted to control it. Something is controlling those ghosts. I think we’re definitely onto something.”

  “Okay. I guess that means we need to track down more information on Carroll. There must be records somewhere.”

  “Yeah. I ... .” I forgot what I was going to say when Angelina slouched in the booth and rested her head on Braden’s shoulder. She was truly drunk, and the picture she painted was beyond sad. She was clearly a woman mired in difficulty and having trouble finding her way out of the sadness that plagued her.

  “At least tell me Aisling’s baby is ugly,” Angelina whispered. “I’m betting she looks like a freaky monster or something.”

  “Lily is the prettiest baby ever,” Braden snapped, his temper coming out to play. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at his protective uncle act. No matter how tough he pretended to be, he resembled a marshmallow when it came to his family.

  “Well, that sucks.” Angelina got to shaky feet. “I think I’m going to have another drink. We’ll toast Aisling’s not-ugly baby. How does that sound?”

  “I think you should call it a night,” I said gently. “You’re going to regret it if you keep drinking.”

  “Oh, you have no idea the regrets I have. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “WELL, HERE WE ARE AGAIN.”

  Angelina’s drunken appearance was enough to have Braden switch to iced tea during dinner so he was sober enough to drive me home and it was unnecessary for one of Cormack’s drivers to handle the situation. That meant another awkward encounter as he walked me from the parking lot to the boathouse. I was desperate to avoid it.

  “Listen, you don’t have to walk me all the way up,” I insisted. “The building is safe. I mean ... totally safe.”

  “Except for the ghosts who might come calling.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s nothing you can do about them,” I reminded him. “We’re not sure where they’re coming from and we’re not sure how to destroy them. Heck, we’re not sure if we want to destroy them at all. I mean ... it’s not their fault they’re ghosts. At least I don’t think it is. I don’t know all of them personally, of course, but I get the feeling that this was something thrust upon them rather than something they chose.”

  Braden slowed his pace and stared at me. “Wow. That was a mouthful, huh?”

  I smoothed the front of my shirt, which was really Aisling’s shirt that I’d borrowed. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.

  “You blather on and on when you’re nervous,” Braden noted. “I find it rather adorable. I don’t want you to be nervous around me, though. That I don’t like.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “No? It seems to me you are.”

  “Yes, well ... .” I desperately needed to change the subject. “What do you think about what Angelina said?”

  “I think the baby is adorable and I’m going to break my father’s ru
le about hitting girls if she says otherwise again.”

  I viciously pinched his flank. “Not that. You need to stop letting things like that get to you. She’s a sad woman mourning the death of her mother and questioning her place in the world. She has nothing of her own. You should feel sorry for her, not hate her for the stupid things she says.”

  “Do you know the horrible things she did to Aisling and Jerry when they were kids? Heck, she still does horrible things to them.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” I refused to back down. “The thing is, you’re not asking the important question. Why did she do those things? You heard her. Her mother pitted her against Aisling her entire life. Angelina only followed along because she wanted her mother’s approval.”

  “She was still a jerk.”

  “I get that, but she’s spiraling now. She’ll kill herself at this rate if she doesn’t get it together.”

  “Maybe the world would be better off without her.”

  Disappointment reared up and grabbed me by the throat. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t.”

  “If you’re asking if I want her dead, I don’t. I won’t miss her when she’s gone, though. She tortured my sister.”

  I let loose a long sigh. “Braden, I’m too tired to have this discussion right now. We were up late playing the shark game ... and then there were ghosts at the spa. I really need some sleep. Can we table this discussion until tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” He didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll bring you lunch and we’ll pick it up then.”

  I wanted to argue with him, but weariness was quickly overtaking me. “Fine. We’ll talk at lunch.”

  “Great.” He took me by surprise when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll save you from the awkward walk to your door because I don’t want you begging me to kiss you tonight,” he whispered. “You’re too tired for that.”

  My strength rushed back with a vengeance. “I totally want to punch you.”

  He chuckled as he moved to his car. “You can do that at lunch tomorrow, too.”

  I didn’t watch him drive away. It was a point of pride to keep myself from staring. Instead, I pointed myself straight for the building and headed inside. I locked the door, being careful to set the security system before climbing the stairs. When I reached my room, the lights were off, but I saw a soft glow through the window. Briefly wondering if there were outdoor water lights I didn’t know about, I moved to the window.

  Standing on top of the water and spread out so they covered a huge expanse were at least twenty ghosts. They perched on top of the rippling water, all staring at the building, and they raised their hands toward me.

  This time I realized they weren’t beckoning for me to join them. They were begging me for help. Somehow they were trapped, and it was my job to help them ... if I could.

  Sixteen

  The ghosts never moved. I watched them for an hour, my fingers poised over my phone should I need to call for help. They didn’t encroach on my territory, so I finally retired, leaving them to haunt the water ... and my dreams.

  Ever since I was little, my dreams served as a portal of sorts. I asked my grandfather about them when I was in middle school. He said they weren’t prophetic when I asked. In fact, I came home from seventh grade in a tizzy because the night before I’d dreamt that Hildie Brant had lost her ability to talk, and the next day we heard she had laryngitis and would be out of school for at least a week. I thought I caused it ... or perhaps somehow figured out it was going to happen before the fact.

  My grandfather disabused me of that notion quickly. He explained that dreams were very real, and only those capable of dreamwalking could boast prophetic dreams. That didn’t mean there was no meaning to my dreams, he stressed. It simply meant that I wasn’t powerful enough to curse my schoolmates while slumbering.

  I was disappointed, but I grew to understand why that was a good thing. Tonight was a different story. My dreams this night were convoluted ... and full of faces I was starting to grow familiar with.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked Lauren when I woke in my dreams. I was on the island, near the conservatory, and she seemed to be entranced with something near the building only she could see.

  “I live here now,” she responded, her mouth no longer sewn shut. “I used to live over there.” She pointed toward Detroit. “Now I live here.”

  “On the island?”

  “No. Here.” She tapped the side of my head. “I can’t ever escape.”

  That sounded frightening. “I didn’t do this to you,” I offered quickly. “I mean ... this isn’t because of me.”

  “Isn’t it?” She didn’t look convinced. “You’re the keeper of the gate. You say who can cross over. I’m stuck here because of you.”

  Her response frustrated me. “That’s not true.” Arguing with a ghost was a waste of time, but dream logic is often suspect so even though I knew it was a bad idea I continued pressing the issue. “I didn’t do this to you.” I was firm. “Whatever force blew through the building the other day did this to you. It wasn’t me.”

  “If you say so.”

  I folded my arms over my chest, petulant. “I mean ... why would I hurt you? I have no reason to hurt you. I didn’t even know you. Plus, well, kids frighten me most of the time. Especially when there are so many of them. There’s no way I’d want to kill you so that I had to watch them.”

  “Of course. I believe you.” Lauren absently patted my arm. “Oh, look, the king is here.”

  “King?” I made a face and swiveled, frowning when I caught sight of Carroll. He stood next to the pond, regal in crown and cape. I was certain I’d dressed him that way in my subconscious for a reason, but I couldn’t figure out why. “Well, if it isn’t the jackass in chief,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here. I have some questions for you.”

  Outside, Carroll didn’t glow like the other ghosts. He was shiny, almost translucent, but there was no green hue setting him off. He almost looked human ... except for his clothing and the occasional skull I saw peeking through his human suit. “What are you?” The question escaped before I thought better of it.

  “I’m just a man,” he replied, smiling. “That was my problem in life. I was just a man and I wanted to be more.”

  He looked normal again, but I couldn’t forget the brief glimpse of horror I saw seconds before. “No, you’re something else. You might’ve started out as human — or a reaper, which is close to human — but you turned into something else. I saw you in Granger’s mind. You’ve taken up residence there, though I have no idea why.”

  “Perhaps the boy is making me stay.”

  “I seriously doubt that. You crawled into him ... or a part of you.” I thought hard about what I’d seen on the video feed. “Have you been here all this time? I mean, did you die on Belle Isle? Is that where you took your last breath?”

  He made a big show of sucking in oxygen. “I’m still breathing.”

  “No. That’s not possible. You’re dead.”

  “Am I? There are different ways to live. Some say they’re living.” He gestured toward the water. This time, instead of the ghosts, it was wraiths I saw standing on the water. They caused me to jolt, my heart rate to speed. “Are they living?”

  “I guess they think they are,” I replied, swallowing my distaste. “I’m not sure that’s how I view it.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “You live life by the standards you set for yourself. Or, rather, the standards your grandfather set for you. In your head, you assume that you’re living the life you always wanted. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. You are who you are ... and you live how you want to live.

  “They, however, cling to life because they were afraid to let it go,” he continued. “I saw plenty of them during my time as a reaper. I didn’t want to end up like them, but I also didn’t want to die. There is no living if you don’t have a soul, and yet there’s no joy in
dying.”

  “You don’t know,” I countered. “How do you know there’s nothing on the other side? Perhaps there’s joy there. Just because we’re not privy to what goes on beyond the veil doesn’t mean it’s not a happy place.”

  “It’s too much of a gamble.”

  “Is that the reason you were so desperate to stay?” I wanted an honest answer. Yes, inherently I knew that the Carroll in my dreams was a manifestation of my busy brain. That didn’t mean I wasn’t keen for him to break things down for me. “Was it mental illness? Was it a mixture of fear and doubt that drove you to be unbalanced? There has to be something you’re not telling me.”

  “I can’t tell you anything.” His smile was serene. “You must learn for yourself if you truly want answers.”

  “Where? We don’t know where to look. Even your family can’t help us.”

  “Answers are closer than you think. Where does one always go when in need of information?” He waved his hand and the conservatory disappeared. In its place stood the basement, the gate shimmering to my right as he looked to his left. “The answers are here if you take the time to look for them.”

  I was confused as I glanced between the gate and the gaping opening that was an old library, only recently discovered. “Are you talking about books? Is the answer in books?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps the answer is someplace else.” His eyes traveled to the gate. “Either way, you will find the answers you’re looking for if you simply open yourself to new possibilities.”

  I frowned at the gate. “I can’t cross over and get answers. There’s no way back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Actually, I wasn’t. Cormack said early reapers took expeditions to the other side and none came back. These were men with wives and children, families left mourning, so it was assumed they died. I wasn’t sure they simply didn’t choose to stay on the other side. Perhaps it was that glorious.

  Of course, I wanted to believe that for my parents’ benefit. I truly had no idea what was beyond the gate.