11
"That's the last of him," Father said as he tossed a few bone fragments into the strong box. He dusted his hands afterward, his mouth curled in distaste.
"It might be a good thing if we missed some pieces," Mother remarked, watching Father close the heavy lid and shift the lock into place. "If he's in different places it will be even harder for him to put himself back together again."
Catherine stood beside her mother quietly. This second trip down into the dark had been a lot less exciting. Anticlimactic, even. The chill of the grave clung to her skin, and the warm air and sunshine wasn't doing anything to ease her discomfort.
The terror that had crept up on her as she'd followed her parents down the stairs to the crypt had taken her by surprise. Why, she'd done this already! In the dark and under duress, and through a grave, no less! Why was she frightened now, in daylight, when she'd already won? Catherine did not know. But she felt like an enormous, ridiculous child under the fear.
The crypt was not that big. It had appeared so much larger in the darkness! She'd stepped in behind her parents, though the metal door that was still stuck halfway. At some point in time the earth must have shifted, bringing the stone floor up to meet the door so that it could no longer open properly. The top of Father's head skimmed the dirt ceiling. Slowly he moved the lantern in a long arc, illuminating the space bit by bit. None of them breathed. Catherine supposed her parents were, like her, keeping their eyes and ears keened for any disturbance.
No disturbance came. The crypt was silent as...well, as a grave. When the lantern swung by Catherine noticed that the tunnel from the churchyard to the crypt had also closed up, leaving no trace. There was her length of metal. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands, feeling as though she were greeting an old friend.
Mother had noticed her movement, and was looking at her questioningly. Catherine held up the metal rod.
"This is what I used," she explained. Her voice sounded croaky and strange. The darkness swallowed it up. Mother laid a hand on Catherine's arm.
"You were thorough, that's for certain," Father said in a low voice. He'd found the scattered remains. Bones and dust were everywhere just beyond the entrance. Catherine's stomach heaved. Oh, it had been a mercy that she'd not been able to see anything last night. Had she really done this? She looked down at the rod in her hands, thought of the skeleton holding Anne against that wall just there, thought of Lydia in a heap on the ground. Her fingers tightened on the rod. Yes, she'd done it. And she'd do it again.
The bones stayed bones all the time that the three of them collected as much as they could carry. There was only lantern light, no otherworldly green glow. They worked in silence, and, when they'd finished, they'd carried the what bones they could find back up the steps and put them in the strong box.
"What now?" Father asked, looking up at Mother from where he crouched on the ground.
"I know a place," Catherine said, struck with an idea. "Here, I'll show you, it's not far."
All three of them carried the strong box into the woods. The air was filled with the birdsong and butterflies of late summer. The trees were in full leaf and the stream hummed along on its way through the wood. Just as Catherine's arms started to get sore, she spied the low stone wall overgrown with blackberry brambles just behind the sawmill.
Together they tugged the brambles away until the well was revealed. Mother nodded, so Father and Catherine pushed the well cap off. Before they could move to help, Mother heaved the strongbox up onto the edge of the stone well by herself. Without ceremony, she shoved it down into the darkness. Far below, they heard a small splash.
After replacing the well cap, they headed for home.
12
Much, much later that night, Victor and Victoria made love furiously, almost desperately. As though to prove they were still alive. Afterward, Victoria almost cried. They'd clung to each other for a very long while, not speaking. Once they'd collected and rearranged themselves for sleep, they held each other close in the warmth of their bed.
"Did you speak with Anne?" Victoria asked at last. She was curled against his side, resting her head on Victor's chest, where she could hear his heart. "Or Lydia?"
Victor shook his head, his chin brushing the top of her head. "No. Only Catherine. Why?"
A bright hot spot of anger lit up in Victoria's chest again. A deep breath cooled it a little. "Catherine didn't see all of what happened. Lydia told me what happened to her and to Anne. There was more to it."
And she proceeded to share with him what Lydia had described. Being dragged into the grave, kicked and shaken and shouted at. What words Lydia had remembered—"I should have killed you then. It's all your fault." And the most chilling, to Victoria's mind: "Perhaps this is even better."
"He had his hands on them," she finished in a hiss. That fire in her breast was raging again. "And it was meant for me. I should have been there instead."
Victor just hugged her close. What could he say? She wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I know. But it didn't happen that way. And it wasn't your fault. They're all right, that's the important thing..."
He trailed off, knowing as well as she did that they were not all right. Not entirely. They would be someday, but not right now.
"I've never told you this," Victoria murmured into the dark. She ran her hand along his chest, cuddling closer. His arm tightened around her. "I never mentioned it to anyone, as we had more important things to worry about...but...Well, he was untoward with me. After you left."
She felt Victor stiffen. "What?" he asked. "What do you mean? Untoward how?"
Embarrassed even though she knew she shouldn't be, even all these years later, she spoke into his shoulder. "After your parents left to look for you, after we'd heard that you'd disappeared with someone, I went up to my room. He was waiting for me in the corridor."
It had been dark. The house was always dark, to save money. Victoria had never bothered with a candle, even. He'd been in the shadows just outside her door. Already upset, she'd nearly leapt out of her skin when he spoke to her.
"What did he do?" Victor prompted. His voice was level but his heartbeat was picking up.
"Not much," she said, her stomach tightening just remembering it. "He told me how sorry he was for my trouble, how terrible it was to be jilted, and if I needed any...comforting, I think was how he put it, I had only to ask. He was too close to me. Much too close. And he was looking at me as though—as if—as if we knew each other. He put his hand on my waist. That was when I told him I was perfectly well and went into my room. And that was all."
Victor's arm had tightened so much around her it was almost uncomfortable. When she shifted, he relaxed a little. He took a breath as if to speak, but Victoria wasn't done.
"The idea that he'd done the same to the girls, or would have done, and that he did shake them—oh, he did that to me as well, shouted in my face-"
She stopped, her heart in her throat and her face hot. Her voice had been rising, she knew. She realized she was clutching Victor's pajamas in one fist. She let go, smoothed out the fabric. Victor put both of his arms around her, and she relaxed bit by bit into his embrace. Her face was buried in his neck when he spoke next.
"I'm sorry," he said. "So sorry. Everything, all of this, is my fault."
"It is not," she told him firmly. She pushed herself up so that she could see him properly. "It is his fault entirely. Not yours, not mine, not even Emily's. His fault alone. What do you suppose his plan was when he arrived? Don't you remember, he was there before we ever knew of Emily. Before anything happened. You and I set none of this motion. He did."
"You know," he said slowly, "I'd never thought of that. It hadn't occurred to me."
"It did to me," Victoria replied darkly, remembering the slimy hand on her waist. That look he'd given her after bringing the town crier into the drawing room. "He was planning harm well before that night in the church."
There was a silence. Victoria eased herself back down, not cuddling any longer, back toward her own side of the bed. Victor was still on his back, staring at the ceiling.
"I'm glad I stepped on his eyeballs down in that crypt," he muttered at last. "They squashed like grapes and I'm glad."
He turned over, pulling the covers close around himself. Victoria rolled onto her back and stared into the darkness. It would be a while before either of them would be able to fall asleep.
13
All was quiet in the woods.
The crows had long since gone to their trees to roost for the night. The day's work at the sawmill had been over for hours, and the machinery was silent. The scent of sawdust hung in the air.
Down deep in the well there was absolute darkness. The cast iron strongbox had stayed intact and locked fast during its fall. Now it was submerged in a few feet of sour water. Double darkness, of locked box and covered well.
Inside, the bone fragments began to rattle.
The End
