what you looked like, that's not a problem, but a photo would be good. Still, it's my fault, isn't it? I should have taken care of the few photos I once had.”
Reaching down, he placed a hand against the grass.
“I don't know when I'll get another chance to come,” he told her. “I figure I'll head off tomorrow, back to London. That's where I live now, I'm married to a woman named Sarah. We have two children, Katie and Scott, and we live a pretty good life. Things were tough for a while back there, but I really turned it around. More by luck than judgment, but I sort of bounced off various possibilities until I reached a decent place.”
He paused, before checking over his shoulder to make sure that no-one was around to see him talking to himself. He knew he was being a little weird, but he didn't care.
“I don't blame you anymore,” he continued, looking back down at the grave. “For leaving me alone with her, I mean. I know there was nothing else you could have done, everything just became too much for you and it's not like Dad was any help. I just wish...”
His voice trailed off for a moment as he remembered that moment, years ago, when he'd heard his mother's agonized screams. His grandmother had been trying to help her, but even as a child he'd understood that it was too late. No-one could be in so much pain and survive, and sure enough the screams had stopped long before the ambulance showed up. Later, he'd overheard snatches of conversation about what had really happened, and his grandmother had been brutally honest.
“You know bleach?” she'd said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “The stuff we use to clean? Well, your mother drank some, and it burned her up from the inside out.”
He remembered seeing the body being carried out of the old house, and then he remembered his grandmother packing his things and hurrying him out the door, heading to her place on Everley Street.
“Gran was the only one who'd take me in after you were gone,” he continued, “so it was natural that I stayed with her. I guess I was angry for a while, but...” He paused again. “I know she was difficult when you were alive, but your death really made her worse. She got so bitter and angry, it was really hard living with her. I'd like to think that even if she hadn't died, I'd have left eventually, but the truth is, I was completely dependent. I'd probably still be there now, living under her thumb and...”
He paused, worrying that he was sounding a little pathetic. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone and brought up a photo of Sarah and the children. He knew it was crazy to get so sentimental, and a little mawkish too, but he couldn't help himself. Turning the phone toward the gravestone, he allowed himself a faint smile.
“Mum, meet Sarah, Scott and Katie. You guys, meet my mother.”
He took a deep breath.
“I should get back to them. It's crazy of me to hang around this place, reliving everything that happened twenty years ago. I should be focusing on my life as it is now, not the way it used to be.” He took a look at the photo of his family, before slipping the phone away. “I'm going to stop feeling so sorry for myself. I have a great life, really, and it's been mostly due to sheer fluke, but hell, I can't do anything about that. Bad things have happened, but they're outweighed by the good. I see that now. I can't let myself get dragged back into this place. I have to leave the house behind. She's not there, and even if she was...”
Getting to his feet, he began to button his coat as he felt a chill wind blowing across the cemetery.
“Alright,” he muttered, “one more afternoon and one more night in that house and then I'm out of here for good.”
Chapter Eight
Twenty years ago
“John!”
Opening his eyes suddenly, he stared up at the dark ceiling. It was his second night alone in the house and he'd finally managed to get some sleep, mainly due to exhaustion from his previous
Reaching down, he placed a hand against the grass.
“I don't know when I'll get another chance to come,” he told her. “I figure I'll head off tomorrow, back to London. That's where I live now, I'm married to a woman named Sarah. We have two children, Katie and Scott, and we live a pretty good life. Things were tough for a while back there, but I really turned it around. More by luck than judgment, but I sort of bounced off various possibilities until I reached a decent place.”
He paused, before checking over his shoulder to make sure that no-one was around to see him talking to himself. He knew he was being a little weird, but he didn't care.
“I don't blame you anymore,” he continued, looking back down at the grave. “For leaving me alone with her, I mean. I know there was nothing else you could have done, everything just became too much for you and it's not like Dad was any help. I just wish...”
His voice trailed off for a moment as he remembered that moment, years ago, when he'd heard his mother's agonized screams. His grandmother had been trying to help her, but even as a child he'd understood that it was too late. No-one could be in so much pain and survive, and sure enough the screams had stopped long before the ambulance showed up. Later, he'd overheard snatches of conversation about what had really happened, and his grandmother had been brutally honest.
“You know bleach?” she'd said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “The stuff we use to clean? Well, your mother drank some, and it burned her up from the inside out.”
He remembered seeing the body being carried out of the old house, and then he remembered his grandmother packing his things and hurrying him out the door, heading to her place on Everley Street.
“Gran was the only one who'd take me in after you were gone,” he continued, “so it was natural that I stayed with her. I guess I was angry for a while, but...” He paused again. “I know she was difficult when you were alive, but your death really made her worse. She got so bitter and angry, it was really hard living with her. I'd like to think that even if she hadn't died, I'd have left eventually, but the truth is, I was completely dependent. I'd probably still be there now, living under her thumb and...”
He paused, worrying that he was sounding a little pathetic. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone and brought up a photo of Sarah and the children. He knew it was crazy to get so sentimental, and a little mawkish too, but he couldn't help himself. Turning the phone toward the gravestone, he allowed himself a faint smile.
“Mum, meet Sarah, Scott and Katie. You guys, meet my mother.”
He took a deep breath.
“I should get back to them. It's crazy of me to hang around this place, reliving everything that happened twenty years ago. I should be focusing on my life as it is now, not the way it used to be.” He took a look at the photo of his family, before slipping the phone away. “I'm going to stop feeling so sorry for myself. I have a great life, really, and it's been mostly due to sheer fluke, but hell, I can't do anything about that. Bad things have happened, but they're outweighed by the good. I see that now. I can't let myself get dragged back into this place. I have to leave the house behind. She's not there, and even if she was...”
Getting to his feet, he began to button his coat as he felt a chill wind blowing across the cemetery.
“Alright,” he muttered, “one more afternoon and one more night in that house and then I'm out of here for good.”
Chapter Eight
Twenty years ago
“John!”
Opening his eyes suddenly, he stared up at the dark ceiling. It was his second night alone in the house and he'd finally managed to get some sleep, mainly due to exhaustion from his previous
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