Shadows Falling: The Lost #2 (13 page)

“
You’re going to give yourself a headache. Leave the poor things alone, and let them eat their supper. What do you want to eat?”

“
Whatever.” I dismiss my options with a wave of my hand. He’s right though; I can feel my head begin to ache a bit from my awkward position. I am about to give it up and finally concentrate on Sam and food when they both stand and push their chairs into the table. “They’re leaving. Oh my, they’re so beautiful. They’re coming over here!” I begin to squeak again, frantically this time. “They’re coming over here! Sam! What do I do?” I want to slide under the table and disappear.

“
Don’t ask me,” Sam has lit another cigarette and looks at me, amused. “Hello, ladies.”

It takes all my will power to keep my knees from turning to jelly and sliding down my chair, into a puddle on the floor. I smile, weakly.

“Hello, yourself, handsome,” Miss Pickford says, in a voice smooth as honey. Her bias cut gown shimmers like a mermaid’s tale. It is cream colored and has nary a crease as it hugs her small hips and clings to every curve. Long strands of pearls dangle over her breasts, and when she turns a little to wave farewell someone across the room, I get a peek at the back of the gown: a deep V that ends at the small of her back, with a cheekily placed bow. She isn’t as tall as I would have thought, given her larger than life impression in the pictures, even in her high heels. I can’t help noticing her glamorous cosmetics: liner that wings up at the edge, and lashes that can’t possibly be God’s gift. Her shade of lipstick looks like mine, which gives me some small comfort. It’d be a larger comfort had I been wearing any tonight.

“
And hello to your little dame.” Miss Pickford winks at me. “I thought you might like an autographed photograph? I saw you recognize us.”

I swallow very loudly.
“Thank you, Miss Pickford!” I manage not to squeal this time. Instead, I sound like a bleating goat. Too loud, stammering, and full of longing. “Thank you so much. I
,
I just loved you in Coquette. It’s my favorite picture! Well, after La Boheme!” I hastily turn to Lillian Gish to shower my awkward praises on her next. She smokes a cigarette from a long-handled, decorated holder as I bleat on. “The whole orphanage got to watch that one! We had a benefactor who paid for us all to go. It was lovely.”

Lillian is dressed in the same type of gown as her friend, only in a deep jewel
-tone blue color. She shimmers like peacock feathers, and her heels are silver, and her necklaces are diamonds instead of pearls. Her hair is dark and exquisite, curled just so.

“
That is sweet. Who shall I write it to then? Hold this, handsome?” Miss Gish hands her cigarette holder to Sam, with a smile. Was she flirting?

“
Umm.” why do I feel as though I’ve lost my own name? “Lizzie, Miss. Thank you, Miss. So much, Miss!”

“
Perhaps the orphanage would like a stack of these. Do you think, Mary?”

“
We could arrange that,” Miss Pickford muses, as she signs her photograph with a flourish and hands it to me. “And you’re very beautiful, Lizzie. Have you thought of going into the movies?”

I gape. Like a flounder, my jaw hangs slack. Am I drooling? I snap out of it.
Was there room in pictures for a drooling lobster?

“
No, Miss. I’m a nurse.”

“
Well, keep it in mind. You have a very unforgettable look about you. Come along, Lil. We don’t want to keep the boys waiting. Goodnight, handsome. Goodnight, Lizzie.”

They are gone, in a cloud of perfume and glamour, before I have enough wits about me to respond. I stare after them in shock, my photos clutched to my chest.

“Hallelujah, they left. Now we can order! I kept looking at all that beauty, and all I could think of was steak, steak, steak.” Sam beckons for the waiter, who had been hanging back patiently.

“
You’re cracked. How can you even think to eat at a time like this?” I feel dreamy.

“
You’re cracked. When would be a better time? I’m ordering for you since you look like you’ve severed all ties with reality. Two steaks, medium rare—”

“
Well-done,” I interrupt, still in my dreamy, sing song voice.

“
Don’t listen to her; she doesn’t know what she wants. Butter beans, a whole mess of ‘em. A couple of potatoes, drowned in cheddar and onions. Do you have some of that brown bread? A big plate of that, please. Coffee. Apple pie. Off with you, young man, and step lively! I don’t want to faint from hunger in your fine establishment, but I may, so for the love of God, be nimble!”

The waiter scampers off. Literally, he scampers. I marvel at his sprightliness before finally shaking myself out of my icon induced stupor.

“That was wonderful! Really. The best night of my life.”

“
We must get you out more,” Sam teases. “You haven’t even tried the steak yet. It will erase all memories of movie stars right out of your head.”

“
I doubt it. I won’t even taste it. I’m just… shell shocked. They were just lovely, weren’t they?”

“
I suppose so. If you go in for glamour and jewels and minks and all that jazz.”

“
Oh, you don’t?” I laugh. “What do you go in for?”

“
Braids and lipstick.” He winks. “Every time.”

17

The meal is nearly wonderful enough to erase my memory of my star sightings, but not quite. I imagine every line of Lillian’s gorgeous gown as I tear into my steak with reckless abandon. The entire potato in, my stomach finally stops growling, and I can come up for air.  I savor my beans, one by one, and resolve to find the answers to my questions. That is, after all, the whole point of tonight; movie stars and brown bread aside.

“
Why doesn’t she speak of you? Rose, I mean. You said you know her well?” I am very interested in my question, but I pretend nonchalance as I experiment with how many beans can be stabbed on one fork.

“
Quite. And I haven’t read the diary, so I don’t know.”

“
A long time you’ve known her? Her whole life?” Nine beans, but they’re terribly squished. I feel bad for ruining their perfect, buttery roundness.

“
No, not that long. It only feels like it. Are you going to finish your pie?”

“
Yes. What do you make of what she thinks she did to her family? Is she telling the truth, do you think?”

“
Which part?” Sam inquires, dryly. “The part with Mommy Dearest, or Father Goose, or Big Sister?”

“
Any and all of it. Well, let’s start with the mother.” I drum my fingertips on my lips as I rest my chin on my hand. Elbows on the table would never have happened at the orphanage, I remember out of nowhere. “Do you really think she killed her? Her own mother? She said herself she was very confused that day. She thought she saw Mr. Rochester or some such literary character. Maybe the whole thing was in her head?”

Sam pushes his plate away and leans back in the chair, regarding me.
“What do you think?” He turns the table on my inquisition smoothly.

“
Oh, no, I asked you first.”

“
I asked you second.”

I scowl.
“Someone has to be mature here.”

“
Not it.”

“
Fine. I’ll go first. I think she invents wild things in her head and imagination to keep herself occupied in the hospital. We already know she comes up with some pretty crazy scenarios, so we can judge from that; we can’t believe everything she says.”

“
So, you’ll just disbelieve all the frightening things? Is that it? Not face them. I see.” He looks—disappointed in me.

“
Don’t be condescending. I’m simply giving you my version of things. But fine, all right, let’s say she really did kill her mother that night. How’d she get there? How’d she get out of Bedlam?”

“
How’d she get out this last time? Doesn’t seem to be a problem, does it?”

“
Why do you keep answering questions with questions? It’s terribly annoying.”

“
Is it?”

I throw a piece of bread at him.
“You’re impossible.”

Sam smiles and raises his eyebrows.
“Not impossible. Quite possible and highly likely.”

I roll my eyes and dig into my pie. It
’s melt in your mouth good, with cinnamon and brown sugar. We don’t get food like this at Bedlam. I’m so full; I feel I could burst.

“
You’re really no help to me at all.” I grumble. “Lord, this pie is heavenly.”

“
I’m sure He had a hand in it, at least with the crust. How does the diary say she keeps getting out of the hospital?”

I swallow, and wonder how he
’ll react to the response I’m about to give him. “Well, she
says
she—” I don’t know whether to lower my voice, laugh a little, sound skeptical, or simply come out with it. I choose the latter. “She says she can time travel.” There I said it. I had been worried it would sound silly, and now I know it does.

“
Well, that would explain it.”

“
You’re not surprised?” I certainly am.

“
I told you. I’ve known Rose for a long time.” Calmly, Sam butters the bread I had tossed at him.

“
Actually, you said it hadn’t been a long time,” I argue, crossly. I’m too full, and I push my last few bites of pie away. “Make up your mind.”

“
That’s just it. A ‘long time’ is rather relative, don’t you think?”

“
No. No, I don’t. I may be willing to believe she murdered her mother and terrorized her sister, but I’m certainly not going to entertain any thoughts of time traveling. I’m sorry. I’m just too practical for that kind of nonsense.” And I’m disappointed in him if he isn’t.

“
You think it’s merely a symptomatic side effect of—” Sam looks uncomfortable, and I realize he is not meeting my eyes; rather, he is staring at my shoulder somewhere, or maybe my forehead, but not my eyes. “Of her condition?”

“
Her condition? All right, we’ll call it that if you like.” I can think of other names: madness being at the forefront. “Her
condition
is not unlike most others at the hospital really.”

“
They all think they can time travel?” This is said wryly. “I had no idea it was such a common
condition.
Can I finish your pie?”

“
No, and all right, already! Here. Naturally, they don’t all think they can time travel, but we once had an old woman who thought she was the Queen of Persia, and we all had to bow to her whenever she came in a room. And then there was the man who thought rats were living in his clothes. That was an interesting case. Constantly undressing himself. Not good!”

Sam chuckles around his mouthful of apples.
“I can imagine.”

“
Yes, well, no you can’t. Did I mention he was nearly four hundred pounds? Yes, imagine that.”

“
I’d rather not! Your point being what?”

“
My point being this: everyone in Bedlam has delusions; otherwise they’d be nice, quiet members of society and not locked up, right?”

“
You could use better locks. What?” He feigns innocence. “That should be your next point, is all I’m saying.”

I glare at him.
“Look. If it’s our fault Rose is missing, then I’m sorry. But I’m hardly the security team, am I? I’m the one helping you, so don’t continually get your jabs in with me. Take it up with Miss Helmes.”

“
Hell, no! That woman scares me. And like I said, Rose will turn up. I’m only teasing you about the locks.” Sam reaches over and squeezes my hand, reassuredly. I pretend his touch doesn’t make me glow inside.

“
Well, it isn’t funny! I’m worried about her. I feel like I know her somehow, because of the diary. She’s in my head.” I run my fingers through my hair until they snarl on what’s left of my braids. I pull out the bands and a stray pin, and comb through the mess with my fingers. “And I have to say, it’s not always the nicest feeling to have her there.”

“
I know.” Sam lights up yet another cigarette, and leans back in his chair. He’s watching me comb through my tangles, and it feels an intimate sort of inappropriate thing to be doing at dinner. I put my hands down. “Believe me, I know the feeling. Look!”

I turn, and watch a striking woman in a deep, red gown, positively dripping with accessories, take the nearby stage. As she steps up to the large, silver microphone, several men whistle. Other than those whistles, a hush falls over the crowded restaurant. A five piece band is near her, all the men dressed in perfectly pressed, white suits and black ties. The tips of their shoes even put Sam
’s to shame, they shine so well. The band leader waves his arm, and they start to play a lively tune. I watch the beautiful lady sway and wait for her cue. Her hand cups the microphone like she would cup a lover’s face, and she looks completely at home on the stage. Once she begins to sing, she sounds like an angel.

“
She reminds me of Sonnet.” I smile.

“
What? Damn!” Sam jumps up and wipes at his trousers, where he evidently has just deposited his coffee.

“
Are you burnt?” I should pay more attention to his dilemma, but I don’t want to take my eyes off the performer. Besides, I’m not going to lend a hand to his lap anyway.

“
No, I’m fine.” Sam sits back down, gingerly. “I didn’t want children anyway. What did you say earlier?”

“
She reminds me of Sonnet. Rose’s sister? Singing up on stage, that’s all. I mean, I don’t know what Sonnet looks like, but I picture her like this.”

“
I know who Sonnet is, thank you, and she’s chubby and hairy. Doesn’t look anything like this woman.”

“
Oh, you know her? Of course, you do.” I finally rip my eyes off the Not-Sonnet look-alike. “Do you know how to get in touch with her? Is she in England?”

“
I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Sonnet and Rose are rather estranged, I believe. I highly doubt she’s harboring her sister somewhere.”

“
Well, I haven’t gotten very deeply into their story yet. Maybe tonight, if I don’t slip into a food induced coma first, I can read some more. Is she really hairy and chubby?”

Sam has a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Not really, no. I think you’ll be getting into an interesting part of the story soon. Maybe she’ll finally mention me, eh?”

“
I’m beginning to think you don’t exist,” I respond, pointedly. “Either that, or she’s mad at you and has literally written you out of her life.”

“
Don’t say that,” he looks wounded. “I’m sure I’ll be in there somewhere. When she speaks of a darkly handsome devil, that’s me. She’ll probably use the words rugged… dangerous… desirable…” Words like that. They’ll mostly likely be a lot of swooning and bosom heaving in my general direction.”

I roll my eyes, but can
’t help laughing. He’s so easy to talk to. Just when things get too serious and mysterious, he does me in and makes me laugh. I’ve never been a silly girl, never been one of those ninnies who goes weak in the knees over the opposite gender, but oh, how this particular man/boy threatens to unravel the threads of my carefully knit together life. Falling for him would be beyond silly.

And, yet
…

I
’ve always loved the frightening, thrilling, beautiful feeling of falling.

********************

We argued some more, and frankly, I got bored with him. He was being slow witted, and I didn’t have time to baby him. I knew he’d let my sister out of that house, so I decided to simply let him. Normally, I stay awake during the day: I don’t like traveling without Luke unless it’s necessary. I’m always concerned I’ll forget where I left him, and then it’d be difficult to get back, wouldn’t it? But I was feeling petulant and even took a nap once, alone. Luke was upset when he found out, and after shouting at me a bit, we forgave one another. I couldn’t help but be pleased that maybe he had learned his lesson. He should never have stood up to me, but then again, would I love him so if he ever stopped? We’re either the perfect pair, or doomed for all eternity.

And when you’re Lost, eternity seems even longer than most.

Now that he wasn’t angry, he was my willing partner again. The next time we left, that very night, I was yanked back to Bedlam, per usual. The only thing was, I inadvertently took everyone with me. I hadn’t really counted on that, hadn’t even considered moving everyone, but it was perfect. Simply being so near was enough to pull anyone of the Lost along with me in my traveling. It had never happened before, not with anyone but Luke, who slept next to me, but perhaps my powers were growing? I was delighted. Of course, not at first; first I woke up in the hospital, with only Luke and I didn’t realize how many people I had pulled along with us.

Things were dismal
in dear old London. I was upset at being there, and extremely bewildered, too. My confusion after traveling was getting worse, and it was taking me longer to come back to myself and right my head. I was in quite a mood in Bedlam that day, throwing fits and yelling. They strapped me down to a bed and refused even water after I spit at a doctor. Luke was there, but he knows me better than anyone and he knew not to try to calm me down just yet. I will not be willed to calm down. At least one day passed – or perhaps it was even more – and Luke came and went. When he told me that the others were out there, in London, I could hardly believe my luck. My head was still fuzzy but I remembered enough of them to know I hated them.

Now what? What to do with them, here? I needed a plan.
But as it turned out, necessity is the mother of invention and a brilliant opportunity presented itself. I became sweet as pie long enough for the staff to unstrap me, and in my wandering through the old familiar hallways, I met someone. Though I had not had much in the way of schooling, I knew enough of the Ripper to know him when I saw him. No one else knew who he was or who he was destined to be, naturally, but I think people of a kind come together like magnets, don’t you? The legend was well known – I’d spent just enough time in the nineteenth century to have heard of the fellow. Bedlam is full of strange and wonderful people. They’re all a bit crazy, don’t you know?