Episode Nine – Ghosts of Driftwood

Episode Nine

GHOSTS OF DRIFTWOOD

Driftwood has been my home since 1816, when we fled Boston in search of peace and normalcy. All we found was more death and destruction. It’s a dot on the map with fewer people now than when Albert and I first moved there. Our home, an old stone farmhouse that was new when we moved in, sits high on a ridge—a barn that used to shelter our carriage horses and a milk cow, and a spring house make up most of what we owned. That, and the roughly 100 acres it sits on.

     Albert is laid to rest here.

     On a clear night, I could reach the farm in about two and a half hours. I hadn’t been back in six years, and as Sterling bumped along the long, winding gravel driveway, I remembered why.

     I closed my eyes—and the memory of Albert and our life together flooded in like a surge of icy water from a dam. Our first day there had been so promising; the overcast sky kept the snow away long enough for us to unhitch the horses and settle them into the barn. We worked quickly in the fading light, not wanting to expose the horses to the weather or to the large predators we had seen on our way up the mountain.

     His unruly hair was windswept and wild when we finally settled inside, and the fire he had built lit up his face like a cherub. We had only a few scraps of bread to nourish us, but love kept us going through the night.

     I shook my head physically, not wanting to remember, as I pushed the thoughts away and opened my eyes to the darkness surrounding me.

     Patience leaned forward, smiling up at the lit driveway and warm lights erupting from the surrounding forest.

     “Looks like we’re expected,” Sterling said.

     “I called ahead. I employ a local family, who keep the place running smoothly and always have it visitor-ready in no time. I pay them well, and they mind their own business,” I said.

     “Do they know about the whole vampire thing?” Patience asked.

     “Maybe, but I think they have me pegged as an eccentric millionaire, which I suppose is true enough.”

     Patience leaned back, holding her bag to her chest as we arrived at the front door.

     “I wonder just how many other eccentric millionaires are actually vampires in disguise?” she said.

     “Probably more than you think,” I said, sliding out of the passenger side and pulling my overnight bag full of blood with me. I handed it to Patience.

     “Can you take this in and put it in the fridge—the door’s open.” I headed down the walk, away from the house.

     “Where are you headed?” Sterling asked, his voice gruff and full of authority, but it was lost on me.

     “Relax,” I said. “I need to see someone first. Just go inside.” I looked at them and then added, “And leave her alone. She’s off limits.”

     Patience beamed in the lamplight.

     “I’m off limits,” she said, then bounded up the steps and into the house.

     I could feel him watching me as I disappeared around the side of the house, my strides long and deliberate, with a fleeting glance back at the slow-moving lights that had followed us from the city. I vanished into the woods.

     I smelled the roses before I saw them. They were always white, always a dozen, and always fresh whenever I was in residence.

     Fields had been reclaimed by the forest years ago, and I let it all go except here, in my small clearing maintained by the Peterson family. I kissed my fingers and touched the coldness of the grave marker before sitting down on the stone bench just opposite.

     “I’ve missed you,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie.

     I sat quietly for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night. In the city, I can’t smell anything; there, memories struggle to come through. But here, the scent of the earth fills my senses, and I wonder if it makes me feel more or less human.

     “I’ve missed you, too,” Albert said.

     He stood there, hair a tangle of curls, suspenders hanging at his sides as if undressing for the day, sizing me up as he always did when I’d been away too long.

     “What’s wrong? You seem troubled,” he said. His voice was gentle and washed over me in waves, distant at first but growing stronger.

     “Alard Plamondon is dead. A man named Sterling Pool has come to bring me in to talk to The Collective. I have a dying girl with me named Patience Stevens that I’m trying my damnedest to keep alive, and I’m pretty sure we were followed here by someone either working for Sterling or someone else determined to see me dead.” I smiled up at him. “How about you?”

     He ran his fingers through his wild hair, and my heart ached.

     “Maybe my being dead wouldn’t be so bad,” I added.

     “Your death wouldn’t keep your friend alive, nor would it guarantee our being together. The spirit world is all flux and confusion. Things are better how they are now,” he said. He watched me for a moment. “What else?”

     “Camilla Thornton is alive—in a way. She wrote to me—that was their wildcard to guarantee my cooperation. She reminded me of our school days together,” I said.

     Confusion spread across Albert’s face.

     “But you and she never…”

     “I know,” I said. “But enough about that for now. How have you been?”

     “I scared the hell out of the Peterson’s kid the other day. I’m getting pretty good at this haunting thing,” Albert said.

     I couldn’t help but laugh at the pure joy on his face.

     “You must be bored out of your mind. Just don’t get too carried away, I need these people to take care of the place. If you go and scare them too much, no amount of money will keep them coming back.”

     Albert pointed behind me, but I had already heard her stumble along the dirt path, her cellphone illuminating the way.

     “Yes, Patience?” I asked.

     “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

     “Just checking in with my late husband, Albert,” I said.

     “Oh, that’s nice,” Patience said. She stood beside me and looked around the woods that stretched out around us like fortress walls. “Tell him I said hi.”

     “What did you need?”

     “It’s that Sterling guy, he’s creeping me out. He sits there and stares at me like I’m on the menu or something. You did say I was off limits, and I know he heard you, but I can’t help but think that the second your back is turned, I’ll be the main course or something equally horrible.”

     “She’s not wrong,” Albert said.

     “I know,” I said, as I stood up from the bench and stretched. I could feel each vertebra in my spine pop back into place.

     “You know he plans on eating me!” Patience shouted. “Why would you leave me alone with him then?”

     Albert chuckled.

     “No, that’s not what I meant,” I shook my head. “Never mind, I’m coming. Did you find the food? There should be fried chicken and all the trimmings for tonight, and there should be plenty of candy, Jolly Ranchers, and Swedish Fish.”

     “Swedish Fish? You like those? They always get stuck in my teeth,” Patience said, making a face.

     “Tell me about it,” I said. “But I just can’t help myself.”