The Awakening Evil (7 page)

She pressed her cheek against his. He felt terribly cold. She held him so close that her tears rolled down his cheeks, instead of her own. They turned to ice when they touched his skin.

His lips moved.

He was trying to speak.

She pressed her ear to his mouth. “What? What is it, Thomas?” she exclaimed.

What was he trying to say?

Then she heard his voice. Only a whisper. More like a breeze than spoken words.

“You … are … in … terrible … danger!” he breathed.

H
is words chilled her.

“Danger from what?” Jane cried.

Thomas's body began to fade in her arms. In moments she was holding nothing but air.

She must have screamed, for her nurses ran into the room.

“What are you doing out of bed?” cried the heavy one.

“And opening the windows?” shrieked the thin one. “Oh, she is trying to do herself in, this one is. So we'll be blamed!”

The nurses lifted her back into bed. Jane's teeth chattered violently.

She was in danger. Thomas had said so. And she believed him.

But from whom? From what?

Don't fall asleep, she ordered herself. You must stay alert. You must be ready to fight.

But she was so tired, so weak. Her eyes drifted closed.

When she woke, bright sunlight poured through the windows of her bedroom.

She felt even worse. She no longer had the strength to turn over in bed.

Dr. Pierce forced some medicine down her throat and she fell asleep again.

When she opened her eyes, it was dark. Though the windows were firmly shut, the room felt as frigid as the night Thomas had come to warn her. Rain drummed against the windowpanes.

The bony branches of the cherry tree tap-tap-tapped against the side of the house. The sound sent a shiver through Jane.

“Jason?” she murmured hopefully.

No answer.

She was all alone.

Her body trembled horribly. She wrapped her thin arms around her knees, trying to stop shaking.

I have to get out of bed, she told herself. I am losing my mind lying here in this room day after day.

She swung her legs out of the bed. The cool air stung her flesh. She shook even harder.

But she forced herself to keep going.

She gasped when her bare feet touched the cold
floor. Her legs felt as thin and weak as toothpicks. She was amazed that they could support her.

Jane moved slowly across the room toward her desk. Her breath came in ragged pants.

Made it! She grabbed hold of the side of the desk and eased herself into the chair. Then she lowered her head against the desktop, exhausted.

After a moment, she felt better. She lifted her head and looked at herself in the mirror.

Her heart raced. She had no face!

Then, with a laugh, she realized what had happened. The servants had taken down the mirror, leaving a dusty square on the wall where the mirror had once hung.

They must not want me to see myself, she realized. I must look awful.

She laughed harder. Her laughter sounded strange in her ears. How long has it been since I laughed at anything? she wondered.

On her desk lay her calendar. It was open to February 13.

That was the day. The horrible day that—

“Oh, Thomas,” she murmured. No tears came. All cried out, she thought. But her grief had not lessened. It felt like a large rock jammed inside her throat.

What day is it today? she thought. How many days had gone by since Thomas died?

There was no way to know.

She turned and scanned the room. On the chair where Jason often sat lay a newspaper.

The chair seemed far away, though it was only about ten feet. Jane pushed herself up and started toward it. This trip turned out to be much easier than the first. She was gaining confidence.

She picked up the paper and saw today's date.

March 13.

The one-month anniversary of Thomas's death.

How selfish of her to lie in bed! She felt so ashamed, so angry at herself.

Well there was only one thing to do. She would have to visit his grave and pay her respects.

Not just for his anniversary. She had left in the middle of his funeral. She had to finish her own private ceremony.

Getting dressed took a long time. Her fingers shook, and she grew short of breath.

Jane felt burning hot, but she forced herself to dress warmly. She slipped into her thick red cloak and tied on her bonnet as tightly as she could.

She felt so strange opening the door to her room. It had been so long.

She saw no one in the hall. She felt as if she were floating as she descended the long staircase.

Don't do this, Jane, she told herself when she reached the back door. This is madness. This is death. Thomas would not want you to do this, Jane. Go back to bed.

You are in terrible danger.

Thomas's words floated back to her. They
sounded faint, as if they had traveled a great distance.

But she didn't listen. She wanted to visit the cemetery, visit his grave. For Thomas's sake. Whether he would have wanted her to or not.

She opened the door. Cold wind whipped her cloak around her. Needles of rain jabbed her face.

She stepped outside, and slowly climbed down the porch steps. She slipped on the wet grass and almost fell.

But she regained her balance and staggered forward.

By the time she was halfway along the trail to the cemetery, she was soaked through.

But the cold was almost refreshing in a way. It felt good against her hot skin.

Clouds covered the moon, and it was almost impossible for Jane to see. She stretched her hands out in front of her to feel for tree branches.

And then the rain began to let up. The dark clouds parted overhead, and the moonlight shone down on the narrow path. It was as if Thomas were in heaven and trying to guide her way with the moon's silver beams.

At the cemetery, she quickly found Thomas's grave. The headstone was shiny white and free of moss.

All at once she realized why she had come here.

Jane began to sob.

She had not come to pay her respects.

She had hoped that Thomas would be here. Alive. That he would be able to speak to her, to hold her in his strong arms.

He was here. But buried six feet under in the cold, wet ground.

She sank to her knees before his grave.

“Thomas,” she murmured. “I know there were times I mistrusted you. Times I had horrible thoughts about you. But on that last day, the last day you spent on earth, I swear I loved you!”

She felt a rush of cold wind caress her cheek. She wished it were Thomas touching her.

Jane rested her head against his cold, wet headstone. She kissed the rock's smooth surface, trying to imagine she was kissing her husband's lips.

She closed her eyes.

She had to accept the truth.

Thomas was gone. Thomas was dead.

The dream she had had the other night had been just that—a dream.

“Good-bye, Thomas,” she said at last.

She struggled to her feet. But as she stood, she noticed a large, dark hole in the ground to her left.

She peered at it. It had a familiar shape.

It was a hole dug for a coffin.

Someone was going to be buried.

And that meant—

Another member of the Fear family had died.

But who?

A new headstone had been set into the ground.
She moved closer, careful not to fall into the open grave.

She had to press her face close to the stone to read the words.

She traced the letters with her fingers.

SARAH FEAR.

H
er heart seemed to stop.

Jane shrank away from the stone so suddenly she almost fell into the freshly dug grave.

Why, they were so sure she was going to die they had already dug a grave for her!

They had marked the dates. 1877-1899. 1899. That was this year.

Couldn't they have waited? What was the terrible rush? Jane stood up, feeling the anger flow through her.

Well, she would surprise them. She would get well. There would be no funeral. Not so soon, anyway.

Jane backed away from the headstone.

SARAH FEAR.

That wasn't her name anyway. Her name was Jane.

All around her, headstones with the name
FEAR
poked up from the dark, wet ground.

Like scattered teeth.

Waiting to snatch her up and toss her into that dark hole.

“No!” she shouted.

Ever since she came to Shadyside she had been surrounded. Surrounded by the rumors about the family. Stories about curses, the dark arts, and evil.

And now she was surrounded by these headstones.

“You won't get me!” Jane screamed. “Do you hear me?”

She started to run. Her head pounded. Red dots exploded in front of her eyes. She felt sick and dizzy. But she kept running.

Bony roots seemed to rise up out of the ground to trip her. Wet leaves slapped at her face like the hands of corpses.

She fell. The air flew out of her lungs with a
whoosh.
She writhed in agony, unable to take a breath.

She was so sickly, so weak, so wet, so cold.

She would never make it back to the house, she suddenly realized.

It had been such madness to venture out into the cold, rainy night when she was already so ill.

They would find her in the morning. Lying dead in the woods.

Or maybe it would take longer. Weeks, months, before they found her.

Birds and worms and other creatures would find her first. Pick away her flesh till she was a skeleton after all.

Then they could have their funeral.

No!

Somehow Jane forced herself back to her feet and stumbled onward in the darkness.

She staggered out of the woods, and started across the wet lawn that led to the back of the house.

She threw open the back door and half fell into the dark hallway.

Strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders. “What are you doing?” a stern voice demanded. “Are you insane?”

Jason. That's who it was. Jason Hardy. Her servant. Or was he her stepbrother? She was too sick and worn out to remember which.

And then he was carrying her. Carrying her in his arms. She was floating. Up the steps.

“Do you know how I have been praying for you to recover?” Jason growled. “And this is what you do?”

“I had to visit Thomas,” she murmured. “Anniversary.”

He looked furious. His stiff mustache twitched the way it did whenever he was really upset.

It used to be only Sarah Burns who could make him this angry.

But I
am
Sarah Burns, she thought. A wild burst of laughter escaped her lips.

No, I'm Jane. Jane Fear.

Clara, the young maid, appeared at the top of the stairs. She followed them into Jane's bedroom.

“I'm afraid you've lost your senses for sure, ma'am,” the maid muttered, as she helped Jane out of her wet clothes. “Going out on a night like this in your condition. If you didn't have pneumonia before this—”

Yes, Clara was right. What could Jane have been thinking? Silly, silly Jane.

Wait. You are Jane, she reminded herself.

Clara helped her into bed and tucked the blankets around her.

Then Jason came back in the room. “I assume you will stay here until morning,” he barked.

She nodded, too exhausted to speak.

Her eyes closed.

It seemed only seconds later that she woke up again.

But she could feel sunlight shining on her closed eyelids. She could hear birds chirping.

Hours and hours must have passed, Jane realized.

She felt as if she had not moved, or dreamt, since they had put her back in her bed.

She opened her eyes. And realized she felt completely well!

What a strange feeling. She hadn't felt well in so long, she almost didn't recognize the sensation.