"Do any more research?" Jenny asks one night the following week. She's brought over Chinese food and a bottle of wine, demanding her sister take a break and entertain her.
"A little. I've mostly been peeling wallpaper," Abbie answers. "It's grueling."
"'I was looking for a project,'" Jenny repeats her sister's words in a mocking sing-song. "Well, you found one, Baby Doll."
Abbie laughs. "Shut up," she says, throwing a fortune cookie at her sister. "Anyway, I do want to go to the library… at some point. Pass me the dumplings."
Jenny hands the container Abbie, then says, "Well, maybe I can help there. I found this book yesterday."
"Book?" Abbie asks, watching as her sister gets up and goes to her bag.
She pulls out a large hardcover book with a bookmark sticking out of it. "Historic Homes of New York State," she declares, brandishing the tome and running her hand across the title like she is a model on The Price is Right. "There's a whole chapter on this place."
"Ooo, gimme," Abbie says, reaching for it. "Thanks," she adds, smiling at her sister. "Did you read any of it?"
"No. Thought I'd let you have first crack," Jenny answers.
"Where did you find this? It looks kind of old," Abbie says, opening it to the bookmark.
"Were do I find most of the items I procure?" Jenny evasively replies.
"Ah. That famous 'Here and There' place you so love," Abbie says, briefly looking up to raise a knowing eyebrow at her sister. They have an agreement: Abbie turns a blind eye to some of her younger sister's activities, and Jenny doesn't do anything that could result in words like felony or incarceration.
Jenny snorts, then sighs. "See, this is why I didn't give you the book as soon as I walked in. I've lost you now."
"Sorry," Abbie apologizes. "I was just flipping through and saw the words 'Underground Railroad'. Kinda drew my attention."
"Underground Railroad? Really?" Jenny moves over to sit close beside Abbie, who smiles and points.
"It says there was a hidden room beneath the carriage house that was used to hide slaves on their way to Canada," Abbie says. "It's gone now, though. I guess the carriage house didn't so much fall over as collapse into itself."
"Oh, so the hidden room is now full of the structure that was above it?"
"So it seems," Abbie answers, frowning. "Still pretty cool though."
"Yeah." The sisters stare at the book, at the grainy old photos, imagining what it must have been like then and saying a silent prayer of thanks that they live in this time. "We should find where it was and mark it somehow," Jenny says after a few minutes. "Plant a tree. Put a bench there. Something."
"I love that idea," Abbie says, smiling. "We should be able to tell from this picture," she adds, tapping a photo in the book. "We'll do it some weekend. It's getting too dark now."
"And mosquito-y," Jenny agrees, glancing at the window, then the clock. "Oh, shit, is it that late already? I told Joe I would stop by," she says, standing.
"Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Abbie asks, giving her sister a knowing smile.
"You're just jealous because I'm getting some," Jenny counters, sashaying with an exaggerated hip swing as she walks to the door.
"Yes, that's exactly it," Abbie deadpans. "Have fun," she adds. "And behave yourself!" she calls as Jenny is half out of the door.
Jenny stops and turns. "Well, which is it? I can't do both," she says.
xXx
Abbie put the leftovers away, then decided she was done peeling wallpaper for the night and retired to the upstairs bathroom for a bubble bath. She takes her new book with her to read while she soaks.
The bathroom isn't finished, but she did take the time to give it a thorough cleaning, so much so that it still smells slightly of bleach a week later. She can live with ugly, but not dirty.
As she reads, she makes comments aloud, not realizing she is doing so.
"It wasn't even built by slaves. Nice."
"Whoa, it almost burned down once?"
"George Washington was a frequent guest… I thought every place Washington so much as took a crap at was preserved as an historic site."
"Wait, someone died here?"
This last revelation causes her to sit upright, hot water sloshing, bubbles running down her skin. She's heard the footsteps every night except the one where she stayed up far too late and fell asleep as soon as she hit her pillow. The next morning she reasoned she would have heard them if she didn't have Beyoncé playing rather loudly while she was working. They always happen between 10:30 and 11, and that night, she was up well past midnight.
She reads some more, wanting to know more about the person who died, but the book only said he was a soldier in the Revolutionary War who was mortally wounded in battle and died in one of the upstairs bedrooms.
Maybe that's who is walking in the hallways.
Strangely, she finds she isn't bothered by the notion that her house might be haunted by this soldier. He hasn't done anything except carefully and quietly walk down the hallway. He's a polite ghost.
Maybe that's who I keep seeing in my dreams. The thin man with the blue eyes.
"That's stupid," Abbie chides herself, settling back into the tub. Her eyes are getting tired, so she marks her page and sets the book aside. The dreams are a point of interest though. She only remembered his eyes after the first night, but she's been gradually seeing more and more of him. She knows it's a man, even though the only facial feature she has been able to truly see are his eyes. Judging from his silhouette, he's tall, but most people are tall compared to the 5'1" Abigail Mills. He's also rail thin, but carries himself gracefully, with a regal bearing.
And his posture is perfect. Like a soldier.
She gets out of the tub when she finds herself dozing off, and feels oddly pleased to note that she makes it into bed by 10:35. She doesn't want the ghost to see her in the tub.
xXx
Why am I awake?
Abbie blinks and sits up, listening. She feels a curiously cold, despite the fact that she was covered, and runs her hand over her strangely chilled skin.
It's quiet; there is no rain or thunderstorm. The wind is calm and there are no animal sounds.
She is just about to lie back down when she hears a noise downstairs.
Those are not my ghost's footsteps. That sounds like the front door.
"Shit," she whispers, reaching into her nightstand for her gun. She also unplugs her phone from its charger and tucks it into what she had heretofore considered a superfluous pocket in her pajama shorts.
When she reaches the stairs, she hears footsteps and a whispered, "Shit."
Definitely not my ghost.
When did I start thinking of him as "my" ghost?
She silently descends, already knowing where the creaky places on the treads are, and when she gets low enough, sees a young man in her parlor. She loudly cocks her gun and he freezes. "Just so you know, I am an FBI agent and the best shot in this division," she says, her voice level as she steps down from the stairs and walks forward.
The thief goggles at her, shocked. Then when he sees how small she is, he rushes her, thinking he can overpower the tiny woman.
She puts him on his back in seconds, and he hits his head on the way down, falling unconscious on her floor. He is skinny and unkempt, with stringy hair and a sallow complexion. A quick check in his pockets turns up a rusty pocket knife and a small zipper bag containing what appears to be crystal meth.
"Damn it," she sighs, setting her gun down and jogging to her kitchen, where she has a set of handcuffs in a drawer. She returns, cuffs him, then calls 911.
"Brooks, they got you on night shift now?" she asks when Andy arrives at her door. "Traded with Morales for a couple weeks," he explains. "So… this dude broke in?"
"Yep. I woke up and caught him creeping around down here," she answers. "I… happened to wake up and heard him."
"Well, that's convenient," Andy comments, making notes.
"She was gonna shoot me," the young man, now conscious and sitting on the floor, says.
"Did anyone ask you?" Andy asks the thief.
"I wasn't going to shoot him," Abbie says, rolling her eyes. Then she looks down at the man on her floor. "I knew I wouldn't need to."
"Bitch."
"You know it," Abbie retorts. "You need anything else?" she asks Andy.
"Nah, I'm good. Someone will probably call you tomorrow though," he answers.
"Yeah, I know the drill," she replies.
"Do you want us to send a car and have someone stick around till morning?" he asks, reaching down to help the thief to his feet.
"No, it's okay. The lock still works," she answers. "And yes, I am having a security system put in. I called two days ago. They're coming Thursday."
"Good. Go get some sleep. Oh, and the house is looking good, by the way," he says.
"Thanks. I'm trying to decide if I should have a housewarming party when it's all done," she ponders aloud.
"You totally should," he urges. "It will be great." The thief is staring at them like he can't believe they are making social plans in the middle of his arrest.
"Probably," she says, tilting her head to the side. "Thanks, Brooks."
"Just doing my job," he replies. "Come on," he says to the thief as the head outside.
"I thought this house was empty, I swear," the man says.
"You didn't see Agent Mills' Jeep outside?" Brooks asks, giving him a look that clearly says Try again. "You're just lucky Annie Oakley here didn't shoot you," he says, turns to wink at Abbie, then ushers the thief into the back of his squad car.
"Who?" the criminal asks.
"Never mind. And don't even get me started on what you were carrying in your pocket…"
Abbie closes the door, locks it, then stands in the parlor, listening to the quiet.
She goes upstairs and stands in the hallway. Waiting. It's after 3 a.m., but she figures if her ghost woke her up to apprehend the crook, he may still be about. Sure enough, the floorboards creak behind her and she turns. "Did you wake me up?" she asks. Another creak, moving closer, but hesitantly. "Thank you," she says.
xXx
Abbie walks in a forest, surrounded by fog. The fog swirls, but everything else is still. Eerily so. Her feet seemingly move of their own accord. She isn't afraid. The forest seems comforting. Familiar.
She hears footsteps behind her. They are a longer stride than hers, but do not seem to be coming any closer. She turns and looks. Nothing.
She keeps walking. She can feel the coolness of the misty fog; smell the slightly sweet, earthy smell of decaying autumn leaves.
The footsteps continue, following closely enough for her to hear, but each time she tries to see the person, there is no one there.
Until.
She reaches a clearing, a circle of grass with four strange trees standing like soldiers on one side. They are white, but when she inspects them, she finds they are not birches, as she would have expected. They are simply white trees.
She turns, her back to the trees, and she sees him across the clearing. Her tall, thin man. His ramrod-straight posture is unmistakable. She steps closer. He doesn't move, but he does not appear any clearer.
Abbie tries to call out to him, but finds herself unable to speak. She takes another step towards him.
There.
He has a beard. His hair is long, and though it is pulled back, there are some loose tendrils hanging around his face, gently blowing in a breeze she cannot feel.
She steps closer and even squints, but his face will not come into focus.
Frustrated, she starts walking faster, but it seems to take forever to cross the clearing.
When she is finally halfway across, he bows to her, then disappears into the fog and trees.
Abbie's eyes fly wide open, and she wakes up drenched in sweat, her heart beating faster.
However, she realizes she isn't frightened or anxious.
She is exhilarated. This is the most she's seen of her mysterious nocturnal visitor. Not only that, he acknowledged her.
"He has to be the soldier who died here," she whispers, glancing at the book.
She needs to learn more about this man.