“Not exactly. It’s just getting harder. It’s been hanging over my head for over a week, but every time I start, I freeze.”
“Have you thought about writing a letter to them that says everything you haven’t said?” As Felipe opened his mouth, Mr. Allen held up a hand. “I didn’t say you had to send it. It’s something we have the veterans at the Grand Army of the Republic do when what they can’t or couldn’t say weighs on them. You wouldn’t believe how many people need to write letters to ghosts or to people they haven’t spokento in twenty years.”
“If they never see it, then what’s the point?” Felipe asked, hating the defensive edge in his voice.
“It’s less about the person you’re writing to and more about you. Remember when I mentioned how men let their feelings fester until it poisons them? This is something that helps combat that. You write a letter to someone who wronged you or someone you wronged or a man you couldn’t save during a battle, and somehow, even if that person never sees those words, they’re out of you. And that’s all that matters.”
At Felipe’s dubious look, Mr. Allen hauled himself to his feet with a grunt. He plunked the bottle of whiskey in front of Felipe before grabbing a pen and paper from the drawer near the back door.
“Give it half an hour. If it doesn’t help or you can’t think of anything to say by the time I start preparing dinner, I won’t bother you about it again. How’s that sound?”
Felipe swallowed hard and stared at the blank page. He wanted to shove it away and laugh it off as somethinghedidn’t need, but the words he longed to say had been lodged in his heart like bullet fragments for over a week with no signs of going away. His hand tightened on the cool glass, but he didn’t meet Mr. Allen’s eyes. There were so many things he wanted to tell his parents that they would never understand even if he was brave enough to say them.
“What do you do with it after?”
“Keep it, burn it, send it. It’s up to you. You want to give it a try?”
When Felipe hesitantly nodded, Mr. Allen’s face broke into a gentle smile. Patting his shoulder, he left him to his note.
***
Felipe slipped out of the inn feeling drained and a little tipsy yet lighter than he had been since the letter from his parents arrived. AfterMr. Allen left, Felipe had managed to write a letter to his parents telling them all the things they had missed because their view of what was right was so narrow that it didn’t leave room for anyone, including him. He came clean about who he really was and told them how wonderful his life with Oliver, Teresa, Louisa, and Agatha was in a way that would make anyone but them envious. He wrote about how angry it made him that they were missing out on all the people he cherished most because they chose to be judgmental and cruel time and time again. The people Felipe kept in his life were loving, kind, and accepting. They were everything his parents weren’t, and they loved him for who he truly was, not the man they expected him to be.
Standing in the sunlight, Felipe shut his eyes and drank in the cool, clean air. The further he got into the letter, the more Felipe realized how different his life had become in the nine months since he died. There had been stretches in his life where he felt truly present in his skin, but they were few and far between. Most of it had been spent running or doing things for other people, anything to keep moving. If he was constantly in motion, then he didn’t have time to think about all the things that hurt. When he and Louisa first came to New York, he threw himself into becoming the best investigator he could be, and after Teresa was born, he did everything he could to be a good father. There were times he ran from Teresa for fear he would hurt her the way his parents had hurt him, but Agatha and Louisa had coaxed him back home like a stray cat until that fear finally quieted. Over the years, the knife that had once turned pain into clarity had been replaced by being the best father and investigator he could possibly be. As long as he was going above and beyond, no one thought to look for the glaring cracks.
Felipe’s lips curled into a sad smile as he crossed the yard and eyed the orange and red leaves on the non-Dysterwood trees. Somehow, dying had irrevocably broken that part of him. If he tried to run from Oliver, he would snap the tether, so now, it was talk or die. In the past, he might have jokingly chosen death, but not anymore, not after experiencing it. It helped that Oliver could feel his emotions on theother end of the tether. There was no point in hiding his feelings when he trusted Oliver would understand and take care of him. Mr. Allen was right; Oliver had made him soft. For the first time in his life, hehadto put his life in someone else’s hands, and every day, Oliver proved he could trust him with his heart and body. Oliver didn’t see his growing needs as an inconvenience or a burden. Hell, he went out of his way to make things better for him and forced him to listen to his body. There was always time for a nap or food or to check-in on each other when Oliver was around. For the first time in his life, Felipe felt like he lived fully in his own skin more often than not, and it had taken dying to do it. He still wasn’t sure if he was grateful or mad at himself for letting it go on for so long.
Outside the stable door, Felipe reached for Oliver’s end of the tether. A jumble of emotions hummed across it, but if Felipe focused, he could parse out an underlying sadness overlaid with longing and spangles of interest. It didn’t feel like shopping anxiety or anything dangerous, so Felipe let it go. Whatever it was, was occupying Oliver enough that Felipe could risk taking a look at the dead investigators. It might have been the whiskey talking, but he distinctly remembered Oliver saying to stay inside, and the corpses were technically indoors. Pushing open the stable door, Felipe nearly retched at the smell coming from the two dead investigators. Even though they had been long dead the day before, the smell had gotten exponentially worse.
He gave the stable a minute to air out before holding his breath and throwing the tarp off the taller man’s corpse. Insects scurried across the dead man’s skin and ate into his wounds, but what caught Felipe’s attention were the clumps of moss clinging to the dead man’s beard. He would bet good money the investigators had been submerged in the bog Oliver had seen in the Dysterwood. Gwen had explained that bogs could be acidic enough to preserve bodies, and his theory was that the Lady had lured them into the Dysterwood and put them underwater until she needed them. It would explain why they stank so badly and why decomposition was rapidly setting in even though the stable wasn’t particularly warm. Even if Oliver autopsiedthem, there was probably no way to tell whether they had drowned or died by some supernatural cause, not that it particularly mattered at this point. Felipe thought about searching their pockets, but he only had one working arm and wasn’t willing to risk it getting ripped off should they wake again.
As he inspected the shorter man’s corpse, Felipe grimaced at the damage he and Gwen had done to him. He was not looking forward to explaining how that happened in their report to the head inspector and the New Jersey Branch. It was easy to forget the body belonged to someone people loved, but Felipe hoped Oliver or some unlucky undertaker could tidy them up before their families saw them. Felipe was about to throw the tarp over the dead men when his attention snagged on the hole where the shorter man’s eye had once been.
The woods or the creature within it was getting better at necromancy with each attempt, and that didn’t bode well for them. The skeletons and the bodies at the edge of the cemetery had been necromancy of opportunity or even an accident as the Dysterwood overtook the graves. The first hadn’t gotten far, but the Lady obviously learned fresh corpses worked better than the very dead. The newer dead had had their own vendettas that the creature might not have been able to control, but Ridder had been different. While they hadn’t noticed it at first, Felipe was certain Ridder’s reanimation had been a learning experience. Oliver had sensed that parasitic magic in Ridder’s corpse first, and it matched the two dead investigators. All three had gotten waterlogged and were infested with insects. Felipe frowned thoughtfully. The dead investigators had been seen going into the Dysterwood, so it stood to reason Sheriff Ridder had done the same. Will mentioned Ridder had become suspicious of the Jarngrens after his wife’s funeral. Had he suspected he buried an empty coffin and had gone to investigate in the Dysterwood or had the Stills realized they were in trouble and shoved him in before he could bring up charges? Either way, the Lady must have realized it was far easier to manipulate those who died in the Dysterwood than those outside of it. Raising his gaze to the towering pines on the far side of the yard, Feliperemembered the voice calling to him with a shudder. Had the Lady lured the other investigators too?
Footsteps crunching through the fallen leaves broke Felipe from his thoughts. He quickly replaced the tarps over the bodies and poked his head outside to find Lucien Stills walking toward the house. He clamped the bowler to his hair as he eyed the tree-covered road warily. Felipe debated ducking into the stables and shutting himself in with the corpses until the other man left, but as if sensing his thoughts, Lucien spotted him.
“Ah! Inspector Galvan, just the person I was hoping to see.”
Felipe pulled the stable door shut behind him and met the auburn-haired man near the porch. If he noticed Felipe stunk like corpse, he was polite enough to not let it show. “How may I help you, Mr. Stills?”
“Several people have reported that they thought they heard gunshots last night, quite a few of them. We didn’t hear anything on our end of town, but I was wondering if you heard them or knew anything about them.”
For a moment, Felipe debated lying to him, but he feared Mr. Allen might get in trouble if someone noticed the corpses. Best to keep it brief and simple. “There was another rising last night.”
“Good lord.” Lucien blanched. “I’ll have to alert their families. Who was it this time? Do you know? I hope it wasn’t another Ekland. They’re already making so much trouble for Father as it is.”
“It was the investigators from the New Jersey Paranormal Society.”
Lucien let out a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens. My apologies, that was cruel of me. I promise I’m not happy that they rose or died in the first place, but I’m grateful it isn’t more of our people. Father won’t care about the investigators rising as long as they didn’t hurt anyone. They didn’t, did they?” Lucien’s pale green eyes widened as if he suddenly noticed the sling cradling Felipe’s left arm and his lack of jacket. “Oh.”
“I took the brunt of it. No one else was hurt.”
“Good, good, and they’ve been dealt with? You’re sure they aren’tgoing to,” he said, making a vague rising gesture.
“No, we think they’re thoroughly dead. Their bodies are in the stable if you’d like to see for yourself.”
“No, thank you, I’ll take your word for it. I would prefer to remember those investigators as they were when they were alive,” Lucien replied tightly. “If possible, let’s keep thisincidentquiet, Inspector Galvan. The last thing the town needs right now is more reasons to panic.”
