Silence for the Dead (28 page)

I closed my eyes. Inhaled air that was suddenly frigid. “He's here somewhere,” I said.

“Mikael,” she replied. “I feel him. It's Mikael.”

The hair stood up on my arms, but it was easier now. Anna had known him, loved him.
Sweet Mikael.
He had deserved nothing that had happened to him after all. I opened my eyes again. “We have to go forward, Anna. They need our help. Mikael needs our help.”

She hesitated, then nodded. But she didn't let me go.

The west wing was now utterly decayed, like a tomb centuries old. “I'm not certain where we are,” I confessed. “I came here once before, with Jack. We found all of your old belongings.”

“In Papa's gallery,” she replied. “It's just to the right. I thought all of our belongings must be there. But it's locked, so I couldn't go in.”

We came to the door and I tried the handle. It was locked. I patted my pockets, and then I remembered. The key to this door was on the orderlies' key ring—the one I had given to Creeton. “I don't have the key,” I told her. “Only the orderlies have them. We have to keep going.”

“Kitty,” Anna whispered, “I don't hear anyone.”

“Neither do I.” It worried me. What if everyone was hiding? Or dead?

The back of my neck prickled with cold, and then it was gone. My skin felt warm and humid again, clammy with damp from the rain and from my own fear.

Where did ghosts go when they left?

And then, from below us, I heard shouts. Two voices. Three.

I turned back to Anna. “Where is the nearest staircase?”

“This way,” she said, and she disappeared around a corridor without me. I followed, taking as much care as I could not to step on a nail or a mouse or a patch of rotten floor. I kept Anna's figure in sight and only looked forward.

We had just reached the stairwell—the door was rotten, warped in its frame, and it took both of us to pry it open—when we heard a single gunshot. “The Luger,” I said, pushing past her, running down the rotten stairs that bowed and groaned under my weight. I'd spent enough time on servants' stairs to last me a lifetime. I came out the door at the other end and ran in the direction where I thought I'd heard the sound. Shouts came from before me, and another somewhere to my right, voices echoing off the strange corridors. One of them was Jack's.

I turned toward it, but another sound was closer to me, to my left. It was a groan of pain. I'd lost Anna now, but there was nothing I could do about it. I followed the sound and found Roger lying half inside a closet, his legs out in the corridor, his right arm and torso slicked with blood.

“He shot me,” he said without preamble as I knelt beside him. “He's got the Luger. Shot me in the shoulder when I grabbed him. I think it's broken. Good God, it hurts like the goddamned devil—”

So Creeton had found his Luger, then. “I don't know what to do,” I said to Roger. “I don't know what to do.”

“Give me a strip of something and we'll tie it off. Who the hell is that?”

Anna had appeared over my shoulder. “Do you have something?” I cried at her. “A cloth of some kind. Something!”

She stared at me helplessly. I grabbed the hem of my apron and ripped a strip from it, my arms straining as the thick fabric nearly refused to give way. I handed it to Anna. “Follow his instructions,” I told her, “and tie it off. I'm going to find the others.”

“In the ballroom,” Roger said. “To the left.”

And then I was gone, racing down the corridor toward the big, grand double doors that had once led to the ballroom.

I
had seen the ballroom from outside that day I'd sat on the lawn with Archie, what felt like years ago. From inside, it dwarfed both the common room and the dining room in size, and probably could have held both of them easily. The floor was marble, the walls accented in gold leaf that carried across the ceiling. Electric lights were installed in the walls, as well as sconces for lamps. It had been a beautiful room once.

Now the gold paint was peeling, the plaster was crumbling with damp, and the floor was slick with leaves and rain. The high windows were crusted with dirt, and the light they let in was murky. I saw a lone figure on the floor, on his knees, his head down.

At first I didn't recognize him. And then I stopped short, just as I approached him, and stared at him in shock.

It was Creeton.

He looked up at me. The anger, the violence were gone from him, and the look he gave me was almost pleading, though he did not speak. He was bloodied on one shoulder, the blood running down his arm. He wasn't holding a gun. We stared at each other for a long moment, in that huge, rotting room, as the rain fell outside and leaked through the ceiling.

“Where is it?” I said to him.

“What?”

“The gun. Your Luger.”

He shook his head.

“I mean it,” I said. “It's over, Creeton. Give me the gun.”

“I was supposed to kill him,” Creeton said. “That was the assignment. But I couldn't even do that. I failed. And now . . . now he's gone from my mind. He left me alone at last.”

“What are you talking about?” I said. “You didn't fail. You just shot Roger.”

But he shook his head again. “I'm sorry, Nurse Weekes. But it isn't over, not yet. I never got my Luger. He always had it. You told me he had it, but I didn't believe you.”

My stomach sunk, hard. “If you're saying Jack Yates just shot Roger, then I'm calling you a liar.”

“Not Yates,” said Creeton. “Mabry. He's the one who took the gun from the safe. He's the sacrifice. And he never even needed me. He's gone to do it himself.”

Mabry. Mabry, who had seemed so ill, who had stared at the slip of cloth that held the combination to the safe with such fascination. And then I remembered that Roger had never said a name.
He shot me.
“You're saying—”

“He doesn't have to take just one of us,” Creeton said. “That's his power. He can be inside all of us. In our dreams, in our waking nightmares. In this whole house. He can be in more than one mind at the same time.”

I looked to the other end of the ballroom, where a large set of double doors opened onto a corridor. The corridor to the library, where men might retreat from a crowded party to smoke or play cards.

“Yes,” Creeton said. “He's gone that way.”

“You should have stopped him,” I said, accusing.

But Creeton shrugged. “I'm finished now,” was all he said. “I'm free.”

It was hard to run. I felt as if I'd been awake for years, as if I'd never rest again. But I left Creeton behind and I ran to the double doors, and down the corridor to the isolation room.

Nothing in there had changed: not the narrow bed, the cracked nightstand, the mildewed walls. Mikael's message was still on the wall, staring down at me accusingly. At the other end of the room, the door to the outside had been opened. Jack stood silhouetted there, looking out into the rain.

“Jack,” I whispered, not wanting to surprise him.

He did not turn his head. Behind the doorframe, he lifted a hand briefly in acknowledgment. I approached him and looked over his shoulder.

Captain Mabry stood in the grass in front of the isolation room, swaying in the rain.

He had his back to us. He carried a handgun, his arm down at his side. It was a slender, alien-looking thing I had never seen before. The Luger. Mabry's body leaned slightly to one side, and then to the other, as if he was not entirely in control, but otherwise he did not move. Rain sluiced unnoticed down his body, soaked his clothes. He was not looking at anything that I could see.

I looked at Jack. His profile was hard, his gaze unwavering. It was the same as on the day I'd stood in the clearing with Creeton. Too slow an approach, and it would all be over. The gun was lowered, but Mabry's hand was confident on the grip. It would take only a second.

“Andrew,” Jack said, gently. I had never heard anyone use Mabry's first name before. “You shot your bullet.”

“There were two,” Mabry replied, not turning. The rain carried part of his voice away. “There's a second one in the chamber. You know that, Jack.”

“Don't do this,” said Jack. “This isn't you.”

For a second Mabry paused, and then his shoulders sagged. “Don't worry. It will be a relief. It will.”

I opened my mouth, took in a breath, but Jack's hand touched my arm.
Wait.
He pointed a finger to the ceiling, turned it in a circle. He meant someone was circling around to the other side of the clearing, probably Paulus. I nodded.

“Andrew,” Jack said. “Just listen to me.”

“I can't,” Mabry said. “I can only hear
him.
Can't you? You can't help me, Jack. No one can. It's over.”

Do you think you can help me?
Creeton had said to me.
With your caring? With your concern? You can't help any of us.

Mabry raised his head, as if he heard something. And from the gloom Mikael appeared. He was shirtless, his naked torso impervious to the rain. He was walking slowly, the way he had been when I had last seen him in the stairwell, pulling one foot forward at a time. He was looking at Mabry, coming toward him, the cold coming off him so powerfully I could feel it from where I stood.

Mabry pivoted on his heels and faced Mikael. “What do you want?” he cried. “For God's sake, what do you want?”

Mikael stopped, held out one hand.

A sob came from Mabry's throat. “I can't help you. I can't. I can't even help myself.”

I heard an intake of breath, and I turned to see Anna standing beside me. She was looking at Mikael, and her expression was cracked to pieces with grief and love for the brother she had suffered with, the brother she had been unable to save. In one hand, she held a rifle.

“Mikael,” she whispered.

Jack turned his head, took her in, his thinking clear in his handsome blue eyes. I wondered whether he recognized her from the time we'd seen her in the clearing.

“Anna Gersbach,” I said softly.

He nodded, as if the reappearance of Anna were just another piece of information. His silent gaze went to her rifle.

Anna held the rifle out to him. “Take it.” She looked at me. “It was in my father's rifle cabinet. In the gallery with our other things. The orderly had the key.” She turned back to Jack. “It's me my father wants. It's me who can end this. It always has been.”

He took the rifle from her with sure hands and nodded.

She stepped to the doorway, looked back at him. “If he doesn't shoot me, promise you'll do it,” she said. “Promise me.”

He didn't hesitate. “I promise.”

Anna stepped out into the rain, her arms at her sides, her hands open. “Papa!” she cried.

Mabry turned.

Next to me, Jack cocked the rifle as quietly as he could, but the sound was still loud, even through the muffling of the rain.

Anna had moved out into the clearing, toward Mabry, who was staring at her, dazed. “Anna,” he said.

“Don't take him, Papa,” she said. “Take me.”

“He's one of the weak,” said Mabry.

She moved closer to him. Mikael still stood, one hand outstretched, as if he did not see her.

“I don't have a clear shot,” Jack whispered to me.

“Don't shoot her,” I said through the lump in my throat. “Not yet.”

“He isn't weak,” Anna said to Mabry, her voice shaking now. Rain had soaked her braid, her bedraggled dress. “I am. I always have been. Shoot me, and then you can go. I'm the last one left, aren't I? The last one to bear the shame?”

Mabry's hand raised the gun slowly, unsteadily, aiming it at her. Blood had begun to trickle sluggishly from his nose. “Anna,” he said.

And then it all happened at once. Paulus Vries appeared at the other side of the clearing; he shouted. Mabry jumped. Mikael moved, his eerie form sliding toward his sister. And Jack raised the rifle, sighted it, and fired.

Two shots went off; the noise was deafening. Mabry's leg buckled and he fell. At the same time, his finger squeezed the trigger and he shot at Anna Gersbach with the last bullet in the Luger.

Anna screamed and fell. Jack ran forward into the rain, rifle still at the ready, and Paulus came from the other direction. I followed, my boots squelching in the mud.

Mabry was moaning, his leg drawn up to his chest. “Hold him down!” Paulus shouted, pinning his arms. Mabry had already dropped the gun and lay bleeding into the wet grass, unresisting. I swung a leg over him, straddled him. His spectacles had fallen off, and when he looked up at me, I was reminded of the first day I met him, when he had lain bleeding in my lap. From the look in his eyes, I knew he remembered it, too, and I knew I was looking at the real Andrew Mabry, the kind, gentle captain with the Roman nose and the family he adored and the old-fashioned sense of honor.

I pulled one of the needles from the pocket of my skirt and grabbed his arm. “Sorry,” I said, and I stuck him as quickly as I could.

When he fell slack, I turned to Jack, who had dropped the rifle in the grass and had knelt beside Anna. She pulled herself up, wiping water from her face. She had no blood on her at all.

“She wasn't hit,” Jack said to me.

“It was Mikael,” Anna said to my incredulous expression. She wiped water from her face again, and I realized there were tears mixed in with the rain. “He pushed me. I felt him. Kitty, he's gone.” Her breath hitched. “Saving me freed him. He's gone.”

T
he sun was just breaking over the horizon, and the day was going to be warm. The rain had stopped as night fell, the hem of my skirt sodden as I walked.

Portis House receded behind me. A single, rutted road led from the front door, over the low hills and through the huddle of trees, and eventually to the bridge to the mainland. I could have followed the road, but each pothole and rut was now a puddle deep with rainwater, and the grass actually seemed the drier path. I had never been this way, except for the day I'd arrived here in the hired car. I swung my arms and inhaled the fresh summer air, thinking of that girl I'd been as if she were someone else.

I turned a final curve and stopped, staring. I'd come here in the fog, and nothing had prepared me for how beautiful it was. This was the low part of land, opposite the high, rocky cliffs, the part of land that tilted down into the sea. Long grasses waved on the slope in the early-morning breeze; they finished in a brief, rugged strip of rocks, dark sand, and driftwood before the land vanished into the ocean. The water was choppy, a dark, dangerous blue, with a froth of whitecaps appearing and disappearing, some of the surface slick with fronds of seaweed. Built over this was the bridge, narrow and wooden, launching off over the unsettled water toward the smudged line of the mainland.

Beneath the bridge, the uneasy ocean slapped the wood hard, as if resentful that the storm was over and the bridge had remained standing. The bridge surface was slick with debris and drying water. But it was passable.

I stood watching the water, the bridge, the birds wheeling overhead. I tried to make out details on the mainland, but couldn't. I turned and looked behind me, where the cool stone of Portis House appeared through the trees. The line of windows above the portico, which I knew was the nursery, was just visible. I imagined I could see the abandoned statue of Mary through the waving branches, but the truth was, of course, that she was hidden from here.

I took another breath of salty air, heavy with oncoming heat, and turned back down the path. There was work to be done.

•   •   •

W
e now had two injured men, on top of our five sick with influenza. Once we'd moved Roger and Captain Mabry, and Nina had awoken, groggy and rather angry, all of us had set to work. We'd brought three more mattresses to the common room, including one for Douglas West to use when he wasn't in his chair. Roger would need surgery, but we had no means to perform it. We disinfected and bound their wounds as best we could, stanching bleeding and changing dressings. Jack's bullet had taken Mabry through the meat of his calf, a neat flesh wound that hadn't even broken bone. Roger's shoulder wound was more serious, and I worried he would never have full use of his arm again.

Roger had been the first to see that Mabry, with Creeton's gun in his hand, intended not to defend himself but to kill himself. He'd actually tried to stop “the stupid bastard,” as he put it. Mabry had shot him; Creeton had witnessed it. Then Mabry had continued on out into the rain. Roger suffered so much pain his first night that, after conferring with the others, I'd finally given him one of Jack's pills to ease him into sleep until help could arrive.

Creeton himself sat subdued. He had come into the common room voluntarily, as we'd been busy with the injured, and now sat quiet and cross-legged on his mattress. Jack had bound his hands as a precaution, though Creeton had not struggled. Creeton would not look at Nina or me.

I came up the circular drive, passed the statue of Mary, and walked up the steps to the portico and through the front door. The main hall was empty now. I passed the little sitting room where I'd met my brother, the dining room where I'd first been so terrified and where I'd sat on the floor with a bleeding Captain Mabry in my lap. I poked my head into the common room and found everything calm; the patients were either asleep or dozing. Nina and Anna weren't there, but Douglas sat comfortably in his chair. “Vries cooked some food,” he said to me without preamble. “They've gone down to eat it.”

I took a pitcher of water, gave a few sips to the men who asked for it. “All right. I'll go. I just checked and the bridge is clear. We should get help now.”

“That's good news,” he said.

“D'you want me to bring you some breakfast?”

“Anna said she would. But thank you.”

I made myself turn, look down at Creeton, who was now sleeping. He was lying on his back, his mouth open a little as he dozed. His tied hands rested limply on his stomach. “Did he speak?” I asked Douglas.

“Yes. Didn't say much.”

“Was he—?”

“No. I don't think so. He wasn't like before.”

I looked around the room. “Someone's missing.”

“Archie Childress,” Douglas said. “Said he felt well enough to help out. I didn't see a reason to stop him.”

I nodded at him and put the pitcher back. Then I went down the corridor to the stairs.

The kitchen smelled like bacon, and suddenly I was ravenous. Everyone was there, filling their plates. Paulus had done a decent job, it seemed; I'd had no idea he could cook. Archie stood at one of the large sinks, his sleeves rolled up, scrubbing pots and pans. He glanced at me and gave me a quick smile.

There was a strange moment when we all sat down at the small table and looked at one another. We were mismatched, for certain: a mental patient, a false nurse, a real nurse, a South African orderly, a murderess, and Brave Jack Yates, sitting down to breakfast. We were like a shipwrecked crew stranded on an island and not sure what to say to one another.

I looked at Jack. He was still wearing his everyday clothes, shirt, suspenders, and trousers. He looked a bit tired, but not much the worse for wear. He was picking thoughtfully at his breakfast, but when he felt my gaze he looked up at me and returned it. He seemed to be looking me over as I'd just done him. My wrists were sore, as were a few spots where I'd gotten the worst of my struggle with Creeton, but otherwise I was fine. I was exhausted, but the walk had given me a second wind, and I felt the blood pumping in my veins again.

I cleared my throat. “I've checked the bridge,” I said to everyone. “It's clear.”

“Thank God,” said Archie. He did not stutter.

“I've just been on the telephone in Matron's office,” said Jack. “The phone lines seem to be up again. I spoke to the hospital at Newcastle on Tyne. It seems all the patients arrived safely. I told them we've casualty cases, and they're sending ambulances as fast as they can.”

“It will take a few hours,” I said.

“That gives us some time,” Paulus broke in. When we all looked at him, he said. “Well? What are we going to tell everyone?”

He was right. “The truth doesn't sound . . .” I paused, not certain how to word it.

“It sounds mad,” said Archie.

Anna stopped eating and put down her fork.

I pictured it: one of us—any of us—telling the authorities in Newcastle on Tyne that Creeton and Mabry had been possessed by ghosts, and Creeton had tried to kill Mabry in appeasement to the ghost of Nils Gersbach, and Mabry had tried to kill Anna instead, but the ghost of Mikael Gersbach had saved her. “No one would believe me if I said it,” I said. “I'm hardly credible.”

“Neither am I,” offered Archie, gesturing to the prominent lettering on his shirt. “You have the best chance of any of us, Jack.”

“I would, if I hadn't just spent six months in a mental hospital,” said Jack. “That might tell against me. Paulus or Nurse Shouldice, you're probably the most credible witnesses here.”

“God, no,” said Paulus. “I need to work, and this place is finished. Who's going to hire an orderly who believes a story like that?”

“I need my job, too,” said Nina. She was eating steadily, as always; being struck and drugged seemed to have made her hungry. “Here's the best way. We got hit by the flu. We evacuated as many as we could. The stress got to Creeton and he became aggressive. He attacked Kitty and me, and then Mr. West. Mabry and Yates got the gun out of Matron's safe to defend us. Creeton fought with Mabry, who shot Roger by accident. Yates shot Mabry in the leg when he was aiming at Creeton and his rifle went off by mistake.” She put another bite of bacon into her mouth. “I think that works.”

Jack had put his fork down and stared at her. “That's missing quite a few pieces of the story. And I'd never let a rifle go off by accident.”

She glared back at him from behind her spectacles. “You did this time, Patient Sixteen. You most definitely let your rifle go off by mistake. As for the rest of it, no one's going to know that Mabry shot at Anna if we don't tell them.”

“It's not bad,” Paulus said. “I come out of it looking rather good. At least I didn't shoot anyone.”

“What about me?” said Anna. “Where do I come into the story?”

“Just as you did,” Nina replied. “Your mother died and you came back here. You hid in the west wing. When we found you, we took you in until help arrived.”

“Or she was never here at all,” said Paulus.

“What does that mean?” said Archie.

“Well, we're the only ones that know she's here, really. She could disappear again and no one would be the wiser.” He turned to her. “Is that what you want to do?”

Anna looked down at her plate. “I don't know.”

“It's going to come out, Anna,” Jack told her softly. “Maisey knows everything, and she can prove it. Whether you're found or not, it will all come out.”

She nodded, did not look up.

“The story is rather hard on Creeton,” Archie admitted, pouring himself some water with a hand that did not shake. “He did do those things, I know, but he wasn't entirely in charge of his own actions. Neither was Mabry.”

“What are you worried about?” Jack asked.

“Well, I assume that we patients will all be reassigned to different hospitals, especially when the scandal breaks. It could go hard on him. He might even face criminal charges.”

“I don't think his family will help him,” I added.

“Still, they won't want a scandal,” said Jack. He sighed. “I don't really know what to do. I'll have to think it over.” He looked at Archie. “Where do you think you'll go?”

Archie shrugged. “Wherever they assign me, I suppose.” He smiled a little. “Maybe I'll go to a hospital where they have a gramophone.”

My mind was turning with an idea. “Has Mabry woken yet?” I asked.

“Only briefly,” said Paulus. “He was still groggy.”

I nodded, the idea still going round in my mind. I'd talk to Mabry when he was awake.

There was nothing to do, then, but wait. We went our separate ways. Anna took West his breakfast, and they sat talking quietly. Nina flung herself on the spare mattress set up for the on-duty nurse and was asleep in minutes. Paulus disappeared to his own devices, probably to sleep as well, and Jack went to his room. Portis House was silent, the air changed. There were still cracks in the walls and the cellar was still flooded, but it didn't seem like a haunted place. It was a big, somnolent house in the summer heat, a rich man's folly purged of its nightmares, dozing as if already abandoned. I climbed the stairs to the nurses' bathroom and turned on the taps in the bathtub. I unbraided my hair, took off my uniform. I sat in the bath for a long time, thinking about things. About ghosts. About endings. About beginnings.

When I got out, I didn't rebraid my hair. I left it loose and clean; it hung to the middle of my back, swaying with my movements in a way I wasn't used to. It was, I realized, rather a nice chestnut color. I'd never really taken the time to look at my hair in daylight. Perhaps, at almost twenty-one, it was time I did.

I found my cotton nightdress and pulled it over my head, even though the warm sun of midmorning was rising in the sky. Then I padded down the stairs in my bare feet. I made no sound. I saw no ghosts.

Jack's room was darkened. He'd drawn the curtains, and as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see he was lying on his bed, on his back on top of the covers. He'd taken off everything but his undershorts, and he had his fingers linked over his flat stomach as he stared at the ceiling. He went very still when he saw me.

I closed the door behind me, and since it wouldn't lock from the inside, I propped the room's only wooden chair against the knob.

We didn't speak for a moment as my heart careened in my chest. I could hear nothing but the blood rushing in my ears.
Courage, Kitty.
I took a step forward, took my nerves in hand. “You said you'd go through hell to see me naked,” I told him. “I think you win.”

In one motion, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. “Come here,” he said softly.

I came closer, fighting shyness, fighting all the fears that had held me back. When I came in range he took my wrists and pulled me in until I stood between his knees. He took my face in his hands and kissed me.

It was everything, that kiss. It was the closeness of him, his skin setting a reaction off mine like sparks, even when we weren't touching. It was the goodness of it, the rightness of it, the fact that I was afraid, and that the fear was right, too. I could be afraid, and I could still do this, still do anything I wanted. It was the fact that he'd come back from that dark, dark place he'd been. It was the fact that both of us had thought ourselves alone in the world, and that we'd both been wrong.

He broke the kiss and bunched his hands in the skirt of my nightgown. “Is there anything under this?” he asked.

“No.”

He groaned gently. “Dear God. Give me a moment.”

“You don't have a moment. Take it off.”

He pulled it up to my waist. “Just your legs are killing me.”

I was laughing now. “Jack, stop it.”