He turns to me, his face contorting between anger and concern—as if he’s somehow fighting with himself.
“Do not trouble yourself searching for validation. Your father is too far gone,” Abigail says, turning to me. Her face is full concern, but the light surrounding her illuminates her hair, making it look as though she’s underwater with the way her hair flies around her.
“I don’t understand—” I begin.
Abigail raises a hand to me. “There will be a time to explain all. Now is not this time.”
She no sooner says the words before my dad flies at her. However, whatever binding she put him under holds, enclosing him in a cylindrical space and preventing him from getting to her. Abigail doesn’t even blink, she stands her ground, tipping her chin in defiance of him.
“This cage won’t hold me. I’ve grown powerful. Far more powerful than even you,” he says, writhing against the invisible wall. His fists pound the edges, rippling the air the way as stone ripples the water.
The room quakes, rattling the new window and dropping a picture frame from the wall. It crashes to the floor, shattering the glass in tiny shards across the carpet. A fleeting moment of concern flashes through Abigail’s face.
“Autumn, we should leave. Get somewhere safe,” Wade mutters, trying to pull me from the bed.
I shake my head, fighting off his groping hands. “No, I can’t. I need to—”
Abigail throws her shoulders back, widening her stance. Then, she raises her right arm out in front of her body. “I think you shall find this to be a fallacy you cling to.” She turns her gaze to me momentarily. When we lock eyes, she frowns apologetically.
Then, in a swift movement, she turns back to my father and closes her fist.
Dad’s arms tighten in on himself, as if bound by some sort of invisible rope. He writhes against the energy, fighting for all he’s worth. “Impossible,” he spits. “What are you doing to me?”
“Something I should have done long ago,” she says, cutting him off. Her arm remains out in front of her, and she turns back to me. “This is not how you should have learned of the truth. I am grievously sorry, Autumn. Truly, I am. His spirit must be contained, and then I will be back. There is much to discuss so he can be laid to rest.”
“No—” Dad screeches, flailing against his invisible restraints. However, he’s no match for whatever Abigail has done to him.
I cover my mouth, holding back another scream at his tormented cries.
Then, with a final glance, my direction and true sorrow hidden in the depths of her features, Abigail inhales a deep breath and closes her eyes. Before I can even blink, they both vanish, leaving a gaping wound in the center of my heart and soul.
Chapter 18
Stages of Grief
I crumble into a ball on the bed, unable to stay upright anymore. Pulling my pillow in close, I bury my face into its soft fabric. The subtle scent of fabric softener lingers from the last time James must have washed the bedding. I focus on it, rather than anything I’ve witnessed in the past twenty-four hours. I can’t. I won’t.
None of it can be real. Because if it is…
Wade positions himself right beside me and drapes a strong arm over my shoulder. He doesn’t try to console me with words anymore. Instead, he just stays next to me, smoothing out my hair and kissing the top of my shoulder.
Every part of me is numb—even the places Wade tries to revive with his kisses.
For a while, my mind goes completely blank, devoid of any and all thoughts, as I stare out into the darkness of the bedroom. Not even the moon dares enter the space anymore. It’s moved on through the night sky, illuminating the courtyard instead. I stare at the edges of the trees and the way the moonlight makes them look like they’re glowing.
As soon as the thought of her name appears in my mind, it opens the floodgates waiting to release their deluge. Where is Abigail now? Shouldn’t she have come back? Explained herself to me? She promised me more answers.
Fear grips me in the middle of my stomach and I’m suddenly not so sure I want her to come back. If she does, it means…
My dad’s dead.
The thought doesn’t make sense, no matter how many times it pops into my mind.
How can he be dead? What happened? When did it happen?
Abigail told him she was doing something she should have done long ago…
My eyes widen as a new terrifying thought emerges.
If he’s…dead…how long has it been?
Dad’s mysterious “trips” and time away from the manor start to make more sense when put in this new light. All of his interactions have been to me directly or through messages. Until tonight, he was never in the same room with Wade. I never even got to introduce the two of them.
I swallow hard, unable to shake this horrible ring of truth.
Oh my god, if my dad’s dead…if he’s been dead—how did I not know?
You’re a postmortem medium, Autumn. You see dead people.
My heart constricts and my face crumples.
Stupid voice inside my head. What does she know?
But it’s true. Ghosts look as real to me as any other person. Who knows just how many ghosts I’ve seen and interacted with, thinking they were alive. It’s no wonder I didn’t believe in them. Hell, until Abigail walked through my dad’s bedroom door, I didn’t even truly believe she was one—regardless of her dated clothing and hairstyle.
Wade continues to stroke my hair or my arm, refusing to let sleep consume him. We have that in common. Nighttime slowly changes into the inklings of morning as we both lie there, staring out the window. My mind, as much as I try to ignore it, continues to spiral into dissent as it does its own thing—trying to fathom how any of this could be happening.
The memory of following Abigail into Dad’s bedroom sweeps past
