image of the old woman stared directly at Darcy, then crooked a finger before turning and walking around the side of the house. She slipped down below ground level a few times as she went but stayed mostly on her feet. Although, there was more than once she forgot to take a step, just moving ahead in the direction of the back yard.
"Wait!" Darcy called out, then stifled a hand over her mouth. Checking down the road, she didn't see Brianna. The trees were already hiding her from view. Relieved that she wouldn't have to explain who she was talking to, Darcy ran to keep up with Vivica's ghost as it disappeared around the corner.
The backyard was a big, open expanse of thick grass that obviously hadn't been cut before the snows set in this past winter. A back door to the house sat facing the yard, closed at the top of a wooden set of porch stairs. Darcy knew from being inside that it led into the living room. Pieces of paper and dead leaves were caught in the long grass, fluttering gently in a breeze.
Wispy tendrils of fog hung thickly across the top of the lawn. Darcy felt them coil around the legs of her jeans, a slithering weight like living things. Self-consciously she shook her feet, making the fog stir and scatter, parting from around her.
It wasn't surprising to her that Vivica Chartrand's house was being enveloped by this eerie fog now. It always spread out through the town when evil things were happening.
Darcy looked around for Vivica, but she had disappeared again, leaving no clue as to why she would have wanted Darcy to come back here. There was nothing out here except a garden patch that had weeded over, sticks poking up out of the ground with dirty pieces of string hanging from them. An old tire hung from the branch of a heavy tree near the end of the yard. Years ago it had been some child's swing.
Richard's swing, probably. Vivica's son would have spent many happy hours playing out here when he was younger. Now, he would always attach the sad memory of his mother's death to this place.
The Widow Chartrand's ghost suddenly materialized in front of Darcy's face, screaming angrily, trying so hard to be heard through the veil that separated life and death that Darcy was knocked a few steps backward by a force that was neither physical nor tangible.
She put her hands up in front of her face to protect herself. Not that she thought Vivica Chartrand could hurt her, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd been wrong about that.
Silence rang in her ears. The absence of the ghostly wail was so sudden that Darcy's head spun and she blinked her eyes in surprise. Vivica was gone again.
Kicking her feet at the mists some more, she decided it was time to go. "Thanks for leading me to nothing," she said to the air around her, not even sure if Vivica was still around. "Thanks for leading me to a yard full of weeds and dead leaves and old newspapers and…"
She trailed off. The ground fog parting at her feet showed her something she had missed before. A rag. A piece of cloth.
As she picked it up she saw it had d ark reddish brown stains on it.
Chap ter Ten
Darcy returned home to find that Jon had left already. No doubt he had a lot of things to take care of at the police station. His sister was still there, and the paperwork for her arrest still needed to be completed.
Hopefully Darcy could piece this together before Aimee got sent too far down the criminal justice system.
The silence in the house wasn't comforting like it usually was. It felt empty, now that she and Jon had argued last night. Now that she'd found out about all the secrets he'd been keeping. The ones about his family really didn't bother her, she supposed. It made no difference to her at all who his father was. It didn't mean Jon was now a different person just because Darcy suddenly knew about his dad being in prison. He was still the man she loved.
The secret that hurt her was the
"Wait!" Darcy called out, then stifled a hand over her mouth. Checking down the road, she didn't see Brianna. The trees were already hiding her from view. Relieved that she wouldn't have to explain who she was talking to, Darcy ran to keep up with Vivica's ghost as it disappeared around the corner.
The backyard was a big, open expanse of thick grass that obviously hadn't been cut before the snows set in this past winter. A back door to the house sat facing the yard, closed at the top of a wooden set of porch stairs. Darcy knew from being inside that it led into the living room. Pieces of paper and dead leaves were caught in the long grass, fluttering gently in a breeze.
Wispy tendrils of fog hung thickly across the top of the lawn. Darcy felt them coil around the legs of her jeans, a slithering weight like living things. Self-consciously she shook her feet, making the fog stir and scatter, parting from around her.
It wasn't surprising to her that Vivica Chartrand's house was being enveloped by this eerie fog now. It always spread out through the town when evil things were happening.
Darcy looked around for Vivica, but she had disappeared again, leaving no clue as to why she would have wanted Darcy to come back here. There was nothing out here except a garden patch that had weeded over, sticks poking up out of the ground with dirty pieces of string hanging from them. An old tire hung from the branch of a heavy tree near the end of the yard. Years ago it had been some child's swing.
Richard's swing, probably. Vivica's son would have spent many happy hours playing out here when he was younger. Now, he would always attach the sad memory of his mother's death to this place.
The Widow Chartrand's ghost suddenly materialized in front of Darcy's face, screaming angrily, trying so hard to be heard through the veil that separated life and death that Darcy was knocked a few steps backward by a force that was neither physical nor tangible.
She put her hands up in front of her face to protect herself. Not that she thought Vivica Chartrand could hurt her, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd been wrong about that.
Silence rang in her ears. The absence of the ghostly wail was so sudden that Darcy's head spun and she blinked her eyes in surprise. Vivica was gone again.
Kicking her feet at the mists some more, she decided it was time to go. "Thanks for leading me to nothing," she said to the air around her, not even sure if Vivica was still around. "Thanks for leading me to a yard full of weeds and dead leaves and old newspapers and…"
She trailed off. The ground fog parting at her feet showed her something she had missed before. A rag. A piece of cloth.
As she picked it up she saw it had d ark reddish brown stains on it.
Chap ter Ten
Darcy returned home to find that Jon had left already. No doubt he had a lot of things to take care of at the police station. His sister was still there, and the paperwork for her arrest still needed to be completed.
Hopefully Darcy could piece this together before Aimee got sent too far down the criminal justice system.
The silence in the house wasn't comforting like it usually was. It felt empty, now that she and Jon had argued last night. Now that she'd found out about all the secrets he'd been keeping. The ones about his family really didn't bother her, she supposed. It made no difference to her at all who his father was. It didn't mean Jon was now a different person just because Darcy suddenly knew about his dad being in prison. He was still the man she loved.
The secret that hurt her was the
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