The Lebrus Stone (6 page)

It was as I crouched to touch his tomb that something flashed in the attic window of the manor. Long fair hair pressed against the small fractured glass, a hand with it, as if wanting to push through and reach out and grasp the air.

I didn't know why, but I waved. The hand slipped away into the darkness, leaving a shiver running up my legs as I tried to disengage myself from the image still playing in my mind: the fan of golden hair and the fragile press of a female hand that was accessible to me if I could have reached it.

It had really happened, and I didn't know what it could mean and who had been watching me. I was getting seriously spooked. None of the Lockes had fair hair. According to Zella, nobody else visited the attic.

Could there really be a ghost at the manor? I shook my head for even thinking it, but my hands wouldn't stop trembling.

"Seen a ghost?" A jovial voice made me yelp.

"I-I'm not sure," I stuttered, unable to tear my gaze away from the window properly to look at who was standing next to me.

Could the person in the window be the female who had been screaming at me to leave last night?

I had been doing well forgetting it, brushing it off as imagined.

"Male or a female?" the girl asked.

I reluctantly turned my head and observed a girl about my age. I also tried to catch another glimpse of fair hair in the attic. I had to see it again to believe in the impossible.

"F-Female," I stuttered again, my eyes watering and seeing everything in double.

"Blonde?"

I decided it was time I paid her more attention. I must have been coming across as rude.

She was short, with amber hair that glimmered red in the sunlight. Her brilliant blue eyes shone as she smiled and revealed small, square teeth. A bag of groceries sat by her feet.

"How did you know?" I asked.

She lifted her shoulders. "That's the color."

"Color of what?"

"Arrious' hair."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled; her pretty, heart-shaped face turned slightly pink.

"Who's Arrious?"

"Love of Vander Asholme." She said it like the whole world knew about their story and I had been living under a sea-bedded rock. "Mother of his child."

"What happened?"

"She leaped off a cliff. Ain't nobody sure why. Nobody found her, either."

"Is that why Vander killed himself?" My voice sounded far away, a whisper in the sultry air.

"He'd gone killed himself for a reason." She sighed, emitting sympathy for the doomed lovers. "We just dunno what. I see her ghost sometimes," she added with a frenzied smile. "When I pass by to visit the chapel; don't no-one believe me, though."

I didn't know what to say. I just watched her watch me. Smile when I didn't.

"Did you just see her?" she asked, her fingers perhaps crossed.

"I...don't think so, and ghosts," I coughed. "Ghosts don't exist," I said, hopefully sounding fearless.

"Maybe they do now," she said with a smirk. "You've gone seen her. I wouldn't be surprised if she paid you more of a visit now that you're staying at the old manor n all."

My knees actually knocked.

"Name's Jess, by the way. Jess Javison. And you are?"

"Crystalla Valdez, but you can call me Crystal."

"Why I thought you looked Greek!"

"It's Spanish. My surname is Hispanic."
My fake and real surname are Hispanic
, I wanted to add. I chose not to confuse her with the details.

"Oh," she mouthed. "Then you look kinda...Latin American." She giggled.

I didn't bother to explain the difference. And if I didn't recall what had just happened and concentrated on just Jess, it almost felt like I was on a normal family holiday, with no strange happenings, or erratic aunts and complicated second cousins.

"So, how long you staying here, Miss Valdez?" she asked, putting on a bad Spanish accent.

I laughed. I was starting to like her. "I'm just here for a few weeks then I'll be heading on home."

"Where to?"

As if she didn't know, I thought.
News must have spread like wild fire in a place this. I chose to play along.

"Utah."

She scrunched up her nose, a lot like Zella did when I didn't meet her superior standards.

"Kinda dry there, ain't it?"

"No, the driest parts are the in East. We've a lot more vegetation and growth in the Southwest."

"Hmm, sounds perky. So, how you finding the Lockes?" Her eyebrows furrowed. The question, I noted, lingered with an arid interest.

"They're okay." A vague answer was better than the truth.

"Kooks, huh?" she asked, still serious. "Real nice then distant?"

I shrugged.

"S'okay. I know they can be confusing."

"You do?"

"Sure. I grew up with the Lockes. Even stayed at the manor a few times as a child."

"You were friends with the likes of Gal?"

She laughed and sat on a tomb. "He was human once, you know."

She stopped laughing and stared at a wilting daffodil.

"So what happened?"

She blinked and came back to the present. "Let's just say he grew up and grew an even bigger head."

I laughed.

"Well, I'm no dead ringer for a cheerleading squad."

"How about Cray?" I asked, wanting to change the subject. Admittedly, I wanted to learn more about him. I wanted to find out if he was different.

"We were never that close," she said. "But we talk. He don't go pretendin' I'm dead anyhow."

No matter how much Cray aggravated me, I was glad to hear he wasn't as arrogant as Gal. My dislike for him, however, only grew.

"Gal should be grateful a girl like you gave him the time of day," I said.

Jess blushed, running her hands along her ponytail. She clearly had feelings for Gal that ran deeper than friendship. She must have been traumatized in more ways than she could admit.

"Forget him. The guy seems a jerk." I peered around to make sure he wasn't somewhere listening. "You can do a lot better." I smiled when I was sure he wasn't.

Jess flushed an even deeper scarlet. I bit my lip for saying too much and making her uncomfortable.

"Sorry," I offered.

"It's okay." She wouldn't look at me. "I better go," she said, getting up from the tomb and brushing the back of her creased dress. "I only stepped out for milk." She picked up her bag of groceries. "I live over by the bay area up on Tennant Hill, by the way. You could ask Zella to bring you by sometime."

"I will, and maybe you could come by the manor."

She hesitantly replied with, "See you around, Crystal."

"Bye, Jess. Thanks for the chat."

She disappeared through the trees as I dreaded the moment I would be alone, with just my mind racing with all kinds of irrational and far-fetched thoughts, even if I was seeing proof I had every right to be concerned.

But I had no
real
reason to run away or chase after ghost stories. I couldn't let myself to get sucked into the myth. I sure wasn't going to back down from my fear of change. I was more resilient than that. Having thicker skin than most helped. Every now and again, though, it let me down, and allowed a negative aspect of my past to filter through.

Sal had been a good friend. She knew what to say and came to the conclusion that people who missed out on what most took for granted, gained the biggest rewards. But being engaged to a moron like, Daniel, sure had a way of brainwashing even the smartest ones into neglecting their friends.

The memory of our time together wasn't worth the heartache. I had to keep myself busy or else sink into a bad mood all day.

Standing at the edge of a cliff, I peered down at the crashing waves. The wind blew fiercely. I almost lost my balance. But I didn't care.

"Don't," yelled a voice I instantly recognized, a voice I needed to hear. "Don't do this!"

"I have no choice!"

"I need you to stay with me!"

"I have to end this!"

"I can't let you!"

"Why, Cray? Should I be afraid of you?"

I turned to face him. He cautiously held out his hand. "No. You have to trust me."

It didn't take much convincing. I would have followed him anywhere. I knew that, I knew I was just testing his feelings for me. I reached out to take his hand, but he began to erode. He yelled something, but I couldn't hear it; not a single sound escaped his lips.

The ground separated between my feet and I screamed and fell through a crack. Grabbing hold of the edge, I struggled to keep myself in place. Cray soon appeared and took my hand to lift me up. I smiled, relieved, but he let go and watched me descend into a bubbling black river.

I woke with a gasp and ran to the bathroom to vomit in the sink, collapsed onto the cold tiles, yearning to be held and rocked back to sleep. I thought about my dream and how Cray had watched me plunge to what seemed like my death. He looked so happy and sad in the same instance. I found it hard to believe he could so heartless and potentially harmful in real life. Somewhere behind his hardened exterior, I sensed there was a heart as lonely and broken as mine.

Somehow I'd managed to get to sleep after what I'd seen and learned today. But ever since I got back from the cemetery, I felt watched. I even wondered if the cold draft was a sign the manor really was haunted
.

Could Arrious be roaming the halls at night in search of Vander?

I'd read cold drafts were a sign of wandering spirits. I'd read some of them lingered on the Earth plane if they had something unfinished.

What could Arrious want? Why couldn't she just be with Vander and rest in peace?

I shook my head. I was getting carried away again. The manor wasn't haunted. It was most likely Zella in the attic today, wearing a blonde wig she'd found among the Locke's belongings.

I wasn't going to ask and risk them finding out I had issues long before I arrived. And maybe my anxiety at being in a new place was making me imagine what I wanted. Maybe I was searching for an excuse to leave. Yet it still didn't explain why only
I
felt the draft.

It wasn't that cold in the bathroom right now, but the same clinging presence from last night began to crowd me, making my skin feel stretched.

I had to get away. I couldn't face seeing who might be Arrious up close.

Staggering to my feet, I ran for the door to my bedroom.

I couldn't go back to bed yet, so I tiptoed down the creaky stairs and slipped into the kitchen to open the refrigerator and pull out a jug of Syd's homemade lemonade. I was pouring myself a glass when I noticed smoke billowing outside the window. It was three in the morning. I hadn't expected anyone else to be awake.

On closer inspection, I could see someone stood in the middle of the garden, throwing scraps of paper from a book into a metal cylinder that was alive with flames. It was difficult to make out who it was. I also failed to see how it was a bad idea to pay the fire starter a visit. I was already in the garden and a few inches away when I realized it was the last person I needed to see right now.

Cray.

Now that I was behind him, and he could perhaps sense me, I stepped closer to see what he was burning. There were words jumbled and scarcely readable as letters, more like shapes and twisted numbers.

On one page, I thought I caught a glimpse of a face similar to mine, elaborately drawn with a dark mass of waves. There was also a crown of symbols with silver vines and golden swirls. A single tear had been drawn on the girl's cheek.

I stepped closer and watched her hair crumple and disappear into a wrinkle of ash. It floated into my eyes; a tear trickled down my own cheek.

"What are you doing here?" he muttered.

Did he know it's me? Did he mean at the house or in the garden?

I had a feeling he meant both.

"I came downstairs for a drink and saw the fire." I shivered from the cool night air and wiped the tear from my cheek.

Cray glanced to the side of him, moving until he was standing opposite me on the other side of the cylinder. The flames hissed with the low howl of the wind as he continued burning the pages from his book without a peek in my direction. From the minimal interactions we'd shared, it was clear he was going to be good at making me feel invisible.

"No one forced you to come here," he said.

Again, it seemed as if he was referring to my actual visit. I kept to the present.

"I came because I wanted to."

Nothing was said in return.

"Are you always so reckless?" he asked after what seemed like a time.

"No."

His eyes met mine. The hood of his jacket overshadowed their color, but I could just about see the intensity of gold from the reflection of light bouncing from the fire. It didn't warm the surrounding shape of his dark, penetrating eyes. They seemed just as driven to dislike me. And the memory of his laughter in my dream after watching me plummet to perhaps my death, made me shudder. But it was just a dream. This Cray was craggy, emotionally detached in a way I could understand since I was often like that, myself, but he wasn't heartless. Not even close. I could tell. It was what I
could
read about him.

I hugged myself, and he looked down at the ring on my finger, the way the small rubies glistened under the moonlight. He then turned away, ending any interest that might have seeped into his mind for a few seconds by mistake.

"What are you burning?" I dared ask.

"Things."

"Such as?"

"My things."

"Which are?"

"Mine to burn."

"Okay," I said, giving up on trying to be civil. "Maybe next time you could try recycling." He turned his head to the side.

Maybe hiding a smirk?

"So, are you always so...enigmatic?" I asked.

Silence.

"Do I irritate you or something?"

Silence.

"Have I offended you?"

Another silence.

"Because if—"

"You should go," he said, not in a mean way. It was more like a soft command.

With another glance my way, he continued to burn the remaining chapters of his book; words untold, but possibly memorized. I left him to it, recalling the tortured look in his eyes that had become imprinted to my memory; mirroring a hidden pain.

~ * ~

By the time I arrived downstairs the next morning, Cray and Gal had left, which meant I could have a relaxing breakfast with Isobel and Zella. But it was as if Cray timed my steps and knew exactly where I was going to be so as to avoid me. I couldn't help but be relieved and annoyed at the same time.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, I insisted on pouring myself a bowl of cereal. Syd was either deep in thought or agitated at Zella's questions about the upcoming Apple Blossom Festival. She still poured me a glass of orange juice even though I had declined twice.

Asking Zella if she'd been in the attic yesterday was on the tip of my tongue. But I figured she would have said something if she'd seen me. Then again, she might have forgotten about it.

I chewed on asking the question, deciding not to throw them a reason to find me odd.

"Did you sleep well, Crystal?" Isobel asked, before spooning oatmeal into her mouth.

"I did; thank you, Isobel."

"I hear you met our dear Jessica," she continued.

What?

Had she been spying on me?

"Jess dropped by to see you," Zella explained, biting into an apple.

"When?" I was surprised Jess had thought to visit me so soon, especially when she seemed so reluctant.

"A few minutes ago," Isobel said, tight lipped. "The poor girl lost her grandmother a year ago. Her parents died when she was a child. She lives alone, as you are perhaps aware. The town prefers to keep a close eye on her. We fear she could be losing her mind."

The girl I met seemed all together in my opinion, even if she did claim to see ghosts. It proved I had to keep quiet about what I was experiencing. They didn't seem the kind of family to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.

"She can talk nonsense at times," Isobel clarified. "Claiming to see ghosts when she isn't telling ludicrous tales."

I definitely had to keep it to myself.

"In other words, take what she says with a pinch of salt." Zella giggled.

Great.

I seriously couldn't tell them about my dreams or hallucinations or whatever they were. They judged Jess too much. I was surprised they hadn't heard my screams during the night. Maybe the rest of the rooms were soundproof.

The conversation cut dead and we continued to eat in silence. After breakfast, Zella offered to take me into Old Town. I jumped at the chance, wanting to get away from the chilly and eerie manor. At least the weather in Blacksville was still warm and sunny.

Milton drove us out of the all too quiet country life and became talkative, yet somehow reluctant to look at me. I didn't question it. It's not like I knew him long enough to be sure of what was considered "normal." I was just grateful for his company.

We arrived in town twenty minutes later and Milton promised to be back in a few hours.

All around us, people strolled back and forth between their annual visit to the miniature stores, much like people did back home, only scattered, not walking in large groups.

The streets were lined with rows of vintage boutiques and open market tents serving things like Damson jam and pickled lemon chutney. There was even a gunsmith and colonial wig room.

Within most stores, an old lady discussed her hobbies or domestic problems, and included topics such as Koi fishponds or varicose veins. Subservient couples tended to your every need as if you were the first and last to attend a pilgrimage. I didn't get a chance to say much. Usually, when I browsed, it was without interruptions. Here it perhaps wasn't comprehended. There was probably a law against mindless shopping.

By late afternoon, Zella and I decided to have lunch at the Snow White Grill, and ordered two mini burgers with fries and two diet Cokes. We took a seat at the front bar and watched an overweight chef work his magic on the flame grill.

"Neat place," I said to Zella.

"If you like this, you'll love Pack's frozen custards on the corner of Weems Lane," Zella squealed, disturbing the baby sleeping in a stroller beside the couple at one of the booths. The father shot me a disgruntled look.

"Doubt that," I said crushing Zella's loud enthusiasm. "I hate custard."

The chef placed our plates of junk food on the bar, going as far as cleaning the outside rim with a napkin when we thanked him.

"We'll get you the vanilla cone to taste," Zella said before she took a big bite of her burger.

Minutes later, she was on to dessert: a strawberry and banana truffle, topped with chocolate flakes.

"So, do you like being the only female child?" I asked as she hummed to herself.

"It's okay."

"Is Gal always so moody?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why?"

"He's okay once he's eaten."

I laughed. "I'll try to talk to him after meal times then."

Though, thankfully, I rarely saw him.

"Is...Cray better after eating, too?"

"Why?" She frowned "You're not interested in any of them are you?"

"No," I hurried out. "I'm just asking."

Besides, "interested" wasn't the right word to describe my reactions to Cray. It was more like a self-harming curiosity.

"Good. They're bad for you."

"Why?"

"As far as I know, Cray doesn't date...officially, and Gal...well, Gal is just a goober pea."

I snickered and ate a fry, pretending not to be glued to what she'd said about Cray.

"So why doesn't Cray date? Does he have some type of phobia or something?"

My question sounded intrusive, but it was too late. It was out in the open.

"Yeah, he has girl phobia." Zella giggled.

"Seriously. What's up with that?"

I wasn't into dating, but most guys were different. They had to date. It was like the art of survival. They needed physical intimacy like they needed beer and groin scratching. At least that's what I always thought.

"It's not like Cray can't get a date," Zella rebuked. "I mean, he sure has a fan base. He's just not that interested in a girl for long. Maybe not even someone as pretty as you."