The Visitor(33)

“Please go on.”

“Tilly found Freya just moments after she’d been murdered. The body was still warm, Tilly said. So she cut me from Freya’s womb and resuscitated me.”

Dr. Shaw looked truly flabbergasted, which said a lot considering the tales he must have heard during his years at the Institute. “I don’t know what to say, Amelia. What an extraordinary story.”

“Oh, there’s more. I’ve barely scratched the surface.” Which was true, but I didn’t know how to proceed. I’d sought Dr. Shaw’s advice often in the past about various abnormal matters, but I’d never told him outright about the ghosts. Discretion had been ingrained in me for far too many years and walking on eggshells had become a habit.

But now I once again experienced that inexplicable urgency to lay bare my secrets. I had so many doubts and worries about my future, so many dark thoughts tumbling around in my head and no one to help me make sense of them. If I could unburden myself to anyone in the world without fear of ridicule, it would be Dr. Shaw, a man who had devoted his life to the study of strange goings-on.

Still, I hesitated. “I’m not sure what any of this has to do with the stereogram, let alone Louvenia Durant and Nelda Toombs.”

“Perhaps nothing,” he said. “But your resemblance to the woman in the window is remarkable, and as you said, there are no true coincidences. There must be a connection. We have to keep searching until we find one.”

I glanced at him doubtfully. “The thought of that frightens me.”

“Why?”

“Unless you know my whole life’s history, you probably wouldn’t understand.”

“You can tell me as much or as little as you like,” he said. “But I’ve always thought it far better to embrace the unknown than to fear it.”

Spoken like a man who’d never had a netherworld creature nesting in his cellar.

“Maybe you’re right.” My voice dropped to a near whisper as my gaze flitted once more to the open door where a small shadow crept across the patio. I felt the tingle of cloves on my tongue, so weak and ephemeral I couldn’t be certain the sensation was even real.

Dr. Shaw followed my gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. For a moment, I thought... Nothing. It was just a shadow,” I said with a shrug. Or a materialization of my fear. Maybe Dr. Shaw was right. Embracing the unknown could take away some of its power.

“You look as though you could use a little fortification,” he said. “Shall I ask Vivienne to bring us some tea? Or something a little stronger perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” Although a cup of chamomile would not have been unwelcome at that moment. “If I seem a little flustered, it’s because I’ve never told this story to anyone. Some of it will sound far-fetched, but I hope you’ll keep an open mind.”

“My dear, do you forget to whom you are speaking? My whole life’s work is based upon the fantastic. Please continue. You have me enraptured already.”

“I hope you still feel that way when I’m finished.”

“So you were cut from Freya’s womb,” he prompted.

I nodded, taking a moment to sort through my thoughts. “When Tilly resuscitated me—pulled me back from the other side, so to speak—she felt a presence...a force. She said it was as if something evil had hold of me on the other side and didn’t want to let go. When she finally brought me back, she felt this terrible rage.”

A snowy brow peaked, but he said nothing.

“Tilly was so terrified she got in touch with Papa, a man she hadn’t spoken to since he’d gone back to his other life seventeen years earlier. He drove up to Asher Falls, buried poor Freya’s body and then he took me away from that place because he and Tilly were worried for my safety.”

“He believed her about this presence?”

“Oh, yes.”

Dr. Shaw leaned back in his chair, observing me intently. “Was Freya’s killer ever caught?”

“Eventually.” I couldn’t help but wonder what my life might have been like if my birth mother hadn’t been murdered. Would I have grown up in the woods with Tilly and Freya, or would my birth father’s family and their terrible legacy have claimed me at an early age? I hated to think of the person I might have become without Mama and Papa’s gentle guidance.

Dr. Shaw still watched me thoughtfully.

“Do you know what a caul birth is?” I asked him.

“Yes, of course. A baby born en caul has the amniotic sac still wholly or partially intact. It’s not very common, but an infant born with a caul is even more rare. In those instances, a thin membrane actually loops around the ears and attaches to the face. But—” he paused “—something tells me you already know the distinction.”

I nodded. “Caul births run in my family.”

Curiosity flickered in his blue eyes. I could almost see the questions churning inside his head. “Do you know if the membrane was preserved?”

I hadn’t expected that question. “I have no idea.” Such a thought had never occurred to me and, truthfully, I was a little repulsed by the notion.

Dr. Shaw chuckled. “I can appreciate your distaste, but it was once customary to save them as protection against witches and demons. Cauls were also highly valued by seamen because they were thought to prevent drowning.” He glanced at one of the bookshelves behind me. “I’m sure I have a copy of David Copperfield around here somewhere. You may remember that passage about his caul being advertised in the newspaper for the low price of fifteen guineas. He was offended that the only taker was an attorney rather than a sailor.” His eyes danced with merriment.