Echo(15)

And then there was Declan.

“Are you okay?” Isla questions with concern in her eyes, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Mmm hmm,” is all I can manage around the agonizing block in my throat. After taking a slow sip of my hot tea, a desperate need to find myself takes over, and I do something I haven’t done in a very long time.

I tell the truth.

“I lost someone close to me. I came here to feel closer to him.”

“Oh, dear,” she sighs. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Her aged eyes are filled with sympathy. Through look alone, she speaks in silence, and I can see understanding and a pain of her own.

“I apologize for being too honest. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Nonsense. If a woman my age can’t handle a little honesty . . . well . . . she hasn’t truly lived then.”

“I suppose.” And she’s right. Hell, I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years on this earth. I doubt you could say anything that would shock me at this point. I bet there isn’t a pain that exists that I haven’t felt.

“Will you be staying long . . . ?” she begins and then falters her words. “I’m so sorry, hun. It was late when you arrived and your name is failing me right now.”

It was in that moment, with that elderly lady who seemed to have answers to questions I had yet to discover, where I made a choice. I thought I had nothing left to lose, but that wasn’t fact. You see, somewhere deep inside of me was that five-year-old girl. She held the identity I lost so long ago, and I wanted it back.

“Elizabeth,” I tell her. “And I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be staying.”

“Well, Elizabeth, it’s nice to have you here. I won’t take up any more of your time. If you need anything, please let me know, okay?”

“Thank you.”

I take my tea and head upstairs to my room to unpack and freshen up. After I’m dressed and have settled my belongings in their proper places, I look at myself in the easel mirror that’s set in the corner of the room. Ivory slacks, taupe cashmere sweater, nude pumps. Clothes I acquired while living my con. They scream Nina, but I’m at a loss as to what is Elizabeth. Who is she really? It’s been so long since I’ve been her. I feel like I left her that fated day when my father was arrested. I’ve lived most of my life in a tomb, hiding from the afflictions of this world, until I became Nina.

And now, I’m a hollow illusion—a druxy dressed in gossamer.

I tuck a lock of my wavy red hair behind my ear before grabbing my keys.

With the address to Brunswickhill punched into the car’s navigation, I follow the highlighted route that weaves me through the narrow streets up a winding hill. It doesn’t take long to hit Abbotsford Road, and I know I’m close.

But not to him, only to his ghost.

My eyes sting with unshed tears as I round the bend and see the green sign on the stone gate wall that reads Brunswickhill. I’m locked on the sign as my chin trembles and my soul bleeds from the inside, filling me with the poison I feed from.

It’s real.

This place—the place he wanted to give me—it’s really real.

Pulling the car off the side of the road, I don’t realize how tightly my fingers are wrapped around the steering wheel until I let go and feel the ache. When I step out of the car in front of the wrought iron gate that hides my could-have-been palace, the phantom of death hangs over me.

Loss is consuming.

Emptiness is overwhelming.

Sadness is everlasting.

My feet move on their own—closer. I breathe deeply, praying for the scent of him to fill my lungs that don’t deserve it, but crave it. It’s nothing but sharp ice though. Frigid as my hands grip the cold metal of the gate, tears begin to fall from my already-swollen eyes.

The fissures of my heart begin to rip and shred—burning, stinging, piercing agony erupting. My knuckles whiten as my grip strengthens, and the misery and regret explode in a vile rage. Jerking my hands, shaking the gates, I lose myself in a maniacal outburst. I scream into the bleak clouds, scream so hard it feels like razors slicing through my larynx, and I welcome the pain, pleading for it to cut more deeply.

Slamming the gate back and forth, metal clanging, ice severing my flesh, I sob. I make it hurt coming out. Bitterly cold tears stain my face as my body takes on a life of its own.

I want him back.

How hard do I have to cry to get him back?