Chapter six:
Susannah and I walked back home. Well, back to Susannah's house really. It had
never been my home, even when I was alive, just a place to stay. But I was drawn
to the spot, as it was where I had died. As I couldn't move on, this was were I
had stayed. It seemed appropriate.
As we walked, I pushed the bike. Susannah was injured, after all. True, it was
only a cut on her hand, but it was deep. And I would have pushed the bike even
if she wasn't injured. She was, after all, a lady. Why should she push it, when
I was there? Although I doubt she would have let me. I turned my thoughts to
Heather. Nombre de Dios, I had never encountered a soul like hers before. Well,
there was Maria...But Heather was the one who had almost killed Susannah.
Susannah, who had done nothing but try to help her. I wondered if this was the
way all ghosts treated her. This made me worry. How long had she had to do this?
How long had she had to mediate ghosts, look after them, help them move on? She
was still a child in many ways. I figured her to be around sixteen. Around
Heathers age. Why did Heather want to kill Susannah? I did not think she did,
she was just angry. Angry over a boy, I had learned. She killed herself because
he did not return her affections. It made me think of something I had heard
before, something said by a man named William Congreve.
"Heav'n has no rage like love to hatred turn'd, nor hell a fury like a woman
scorned."
Surprisingly, she turned to me and asked if I was speaking from experience. I
smiled a little at that. I had never fallen in love, never met a girl I would
have liked to marry. I had died to young. She then told me that sometimes the
woman scorned had every right to be mad sometimes. I started. Was she speaking
from experience? I voiced this to her. She seemed to find the idea ludicrous for
some reason. As if the idea of anyone liking her was amusing. How could it be
so? She was beautiful, intelligent and passionate. Surely she had had many a
suitor? Although she was only sixteen, if I had guessed correctly. Still...
We talked a little of Heather. Then Susannah, not very tactfully, asked me how I
had died. This got me thinking. Should I tell her? If I did, then maybe she
would know what was keeping me back. Maybe then she would proceed to get rid of
me. But I trusted her. I would tell her some of it, at least. I told her how
something had happened when I was staying here...but then I realized the time.
It was a long story and a slightly disturbing one, too. I said this to her, and
she seemed saddened. Was she really that anxious to know what had happened to
me? Why did she care? I smiled at her protests, and steered her up the front
porch. She asked if I would tell her some other time. She made me promise.
"I promise. Goodnight, Querida." And I meant it. I would tell her. Just not now.
I dematerialized as soon as she was safely inside.
