The Visitor(35)
The heavy oaks provided a welcome respite from the heat of the street and I took my time reacquainting myself with the centuries-old headstones and ironwork. Some of the secluded corners reminded me of Rosehill Cemetery, especially this time of day with the heady scent of flowers hanging on humid air. Now and then I could hear a strand of organ music from inside the church, normally a perfect accompaniment to meditation and reflection, but my mind was much too chaotic to settle. Today, nirvana was not to be found among the primroses.
As I strolled along the shady trails, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Shaw’s speculation regarding my birth and my destiny. Death walker. Midwife to the dead. No matter the term, I didn’t want to consider the possibility that I might have such a calling. What a nightmarish thing to even contemplate.
And yet had I not tried to find some rhyme or reason for the ghosts in my life? Some higher purpose for this terrible gift that could justify the loneliness and isolation of my existence?
“Set aside the grimness of the terminology and imagery and allow yourself to explore the possibilities,” Dr. Shaw had advised. “Remember what I said about your grandmother’s calling. This is not so different.”
But it was different, and all I could picture was a dark-shrouded skeleton ferrying the dead across the River Styx.
“A death walker might best be described as a conductor of souls. A shepherd of the dead, if you will. According to shamanism, someone born with this gift has an inner light that guides the lost to them. A spiritual magnet that attracts the lingering life force released into the universe when someone passes. Perhaps that’s why you’ve always felt so at home in cemeteries and why you’ve chosen to spend so much of your life in and around them. Graveyards aren’t just repositories of decaying flesh and bone, but of the unbound energy of death. All you need do is open yourself up to this force.”
“But what if I don’t want anything to do with that kind of power?” I’d asked. “What if all I want is to be left alone to lead a normal life?”
“A true calling should never be ignored, my dear. It invites disruption and makes for an unsettled life.”
Easy to say if one hadn’t an inkling of the parasitic nature of ghosts or the evil that lay in wait on the other side. Guiding the dead through the veil might well be a noble endeavor, but it would require someone with far greater courage than I.
A couple of tourists had stopped on the path and they spoke in hushed, excited tones as they pointed to a grave. I thought at first they might have spotted a small animal scurrying through the underbrush, but then I detected a low drone that grew louder as I approached. When I passed them on the path, I heard one say to the other, “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
I glanced in the direction where their gazes were pinned. A swarm of honeybees had gathered on one of the headstones, covering the surface so thoroughly that on first glance the monument appeared to be moving. It was a very disconcerting illusion, and I stood there awestruck until I realized the incessant buzzing reminded me a little too much of the drone of ghost voices in my head. I nodded to the pair and hurried away.
I walked on, deeper and deeper into the green coolness of the cemetery. Where one path crossed another, I saw a shadow on the pavers as someone came up behind me. Ever cautious, I glanced over my shoulder.
A young man had stopped a few feet away to gaze down at a headstone. He stood in deep shade and I could see only his profile, but I recognized his slight form and the silvery-gold curls falling down over his forehead.
My first instinct was to confront Micah Durant and demand to know why he had followed me to the cemetery, but suddenly I was seized by the strangest sensation. It was as if I had the power to peer past his angelic facade all the way down into his soul, and the blackness of his essence shocked me.
He turned then, a half smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he started toward me. Neither of us spoke even when he drew even with me on the path. I opened my mouth, to say what I wasn’t quite certain, but he put a finger to his lips to silence me as his other hand moved to the side of my neck.
A scream rose to my throat. I thought surely he meant to assault me, but when he drew his hand away, I saw that a honeybee clung to one of his knuckles. Bringing the insect to eye level, he examined it closely as he rotated his hand. Incredibly, the bee shifted so that man and insect remained face-to-face. They stayed that way for the longest time before the honeybee finally flew away.
And then Micah Durant turned without having uttered a word and strode down the walkway toward the King Street gate.
Twenty-One
“They say everyone has a double,” Devlin said a little while later as he peered through the viewer.
I’d arrived home to find him once again waiting on my front steps. He was a welcome sight after that odd encounter at the churchyard. And as always, he smelled divine. I resisted the urge to press my nose to his neck while he studied the stereogram.
After a few moments of scrutiny, he glanced up. “Is she a relative?”
“I don’t know. She’s almost certainly the woman named Rose that Nelda Toombs mentioned yesterday at Oak Grove. Nelda said we bore an uncanny resemblance and she seemed convinced that Rose and I were somehow connected. But what I’d really like to know is how that card ended up in my cellar.”
From past experiences, I knew that searching for a practical answer in my impractical world was often a futile endeavor. Better just to accept that some things could never be explained. But that didn’t stop me from longing for a rational explanation of recent events. If anyone could uncover the logic in any situation it was Devlin. His disdain for the supernatural wouldn’t allow him to consider the alternative. So I let him unwittingly play the role of devil’s advocate, hoping that he could open my mind to other less disturbing possibilities.