The Time Witch - Part 10

LINKS: The Beginning, Last Part (#9), Time Witch page

Recap: After a steamy goodbye with Samuel, Evangeline returns to present day to find his ghost waiting for her—and the ghost is not happy.

Short on time? Scan the story and just read the Bold parts to get the gist of the story. Then come back later and read the whole thing!

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“Is it my fault?” 

Evangeline asked the library but only felt emptiness. She’d just returned from Samuel’s time and discovered his ghost waiting. The bitter apparition hadn’t said much but got his point across. Painfully.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing the fault had to be hers. Whatever she’d started in the past must have backfired. She touched a finger to her lower lip, remembering how he’d traced it so tenderly. Even if it had all gone wrong, she’d find a way to make it right. Find a way to restore his trust. His faith. His love? 

One kiss, and I think it means something. Evangeline sighed, feeling too young and foolish to understand anything. If she’d suddenly woke up in a hospital with a head injury, perhaps then it would make sense. Instead, the ghost’s pain stung her in the most personal way.

We had a connection, and I ruined it. Could she face him again? The 1910 Samuel. Good Samuel. “I’ll make it right,” she told the room, unsure how. She listened for a response.

Silence.

A hollowness hit her. It came partly because she was talking to a ghost, and she still needed to wrap her head around that one, but also because she really liked Samuel, and he was dead… or worse.

Moonlight streamed through the library’s upper windows. No hummingbirds. It was one positive.

An image of Samuel flashed in her mind—the one full of life with a friendly grin and a sensuous touch. He’d been a good listener, but could she ever tell him that he was an angry ghost haunting the library? Perhaps trapped? It was the only word that seemed to fit. She cringed. The ghost was not the man she’d met. So different. Full of pain, confusion, rage. The blistering emotions he’d attacked with had burned through her veins. She couldn’t help but think they were an accusation.

“I’m doing my best,” she told the library.

Instinct prickled under her skin. She knew of only one way to get answers. Well, two ways. The first was a little research and asking around Baxter Creek. Someone had to know the town’s history. Maybe it held a clue. The other way had to do with digging into her own past. She’d been putting it off for six years, but that had been a mistake.

It’s time to look at my broken pieces, she sighed.

Retreating to her favorite nook, Evangeline glanced out the window. The street was empty; the town had gone to bed. She sank down to the floor, sitting below the window. She couldn’t comfort herself in her favorite chair or any part of the library. Not even the books soothed her soul. 

Hugging her knees to her chest, she let out a sob. I’m not going to cry, she told herself. I just need five minutes to whine.

 Laying her cheek on her knee, she tried to make herself as small as possible. If she stayed as still as possible, she might fade from notice, vanish from sight. She’d seriously tried to turn invisible when she was sixteen. Of course, that had been silly, and she had no idea why it seemed possible.

But her childhood was unique. Full of make-believe and wonder, it also had a dark side that culminated in one gloomy night. The memory caused a shiver. She’d spent years hiding from that night. Hiding… 

Evangeline had hidden in her room, trying to escape her parents’ raised voices. Their words took on a life of their own. The anger in them sparked actual words to appear in the air. They floated around young Evangeline. Alive. Insistent. She’d told herself it wasn’t real. Her brain was trying to cope; she’d shut out the visions. The world didn’t work in magical ways. It had to be a dream. A nightmare, or so she’d told herself at the time.

Now, she wasn’t so sure. Mother once said, “Words have consequences.”

On that long ago night, young Evangeline tried to block out the words, but they’d persisted. They hung in the air. She refused to read them, shutting her eyes against the sight. It didn’t help. They echoed mysteriously within her body. Spoken in a hushed, distraught voice. She’d grabbed pillows for each ear and hummed to herself, trying to drown it out.

Nothing helped, not on that cursed night. Only time had soothed the girl, allowing her to lock the words safely away. 

I need to remember now, she thought, concentrating. Sifting through the emotions, she winched at a pang of regret and the hope for a different outcome… 

“None of that matters,” she whispered. “Something connects me from then to now. What did the words say?”

With a couple of deep breaths, she mentally opened the vault that locked it all away. The words floated back to life. They twinkled a pale blue, growing stronger and deeper in color. Hovering just out of reach, the words hung in the stillness. Lit from within, they read: Trust love, fear noodles.

“Fear noodles?” Evangeline laughed. “That’s the memory I locked away?”

The blue words slowly fade from sight, departing in a scattering of silver dust.

“Show off,” she grumbled. “What am I missing?”

The Danner Bookcase, only an arm’s length to her left—just behind her favorite chair—spun. Creaking at the speed. It needed oil.

Evangeline’s eyes opened wide, and she watched the bookcase tilt a bit, doing full 360s all by itself. Or perhaps a ghostly hand? She couldn’t see one, guessing it was the work of the resident, disgruntled ghost.

The bookcase suddenly stopped where she’d put the red leather limerick book. It waited there like an offering. Evangeline could see the tintype photograph peeking out of the book’s top.

The tintype. The man… Evangeline never wanted to see that face again, but it wasn’t up to her. How had the man taken over Lenora’s features? Did the uppity lady even know? The questions would have to wait. She reached for the book and opened it to the marked page.

Scanning the text, she read the limericks. They meant nothing to her. She shut the book, set it on the floor, and studied the photograph, unable to notice anything but her image in the vintage shot. 

A jaw-aching yawn made Evangeline stretch, bone-tired. She blinked, trying to focus on the photograph, but her eyes felt scratchy. They watered, and she blinked quickly. The tears helped bring the man into focus. The ugly look in his eyes and the arrogant tilt of his head spoke volumes. No wonder the female’s expression screamed: “You’re a snake!”

It would take time before she could refer to the pictured woman as herself. Still, she felt confident the nasty man was Adas Abernathy. His long hair was slicked back and tucked behind each ear, and his eyes were hooded with a bushy mustache that hid his lips. It curled slightly upwards at the edges. 

“What kind of mustache is that?” she wondered out loud.

Pale blue lettering instantly appeared in the air before her, claiming: The Imperial mustache dates back to European royalty.

Evangeline sat back on the floor, shocked. “What the—” she looked around, stunned by the words that answered her question. They were like the ones from that night. That awful, awful night. They glowed a soft blue, slowly vanishing after she read them.

“Is this now a thing?” she whispered, but the hushed library offered no explanation.

Deciding it had to be some kind of warning, she set the photograph on top of the limerick book. Enough was enough; she had just enough energy to crawl into the leather chair and crash. Only sleep would help.

“Samuel? We’ll circle back in the morning, okay?” Evangeline yawned again. “The living need at least four hours of sleep.”

The silence in the library felt judgy. Her heart ached. “What? What do you want?”

The locket.

The ghostly hiss proved he was still there; she shouldn’t forget it. It stung that he only communicated on his terms.

Evangeline instantly reached for her neck, but the locket was not there. Her eyes, however, found it. The locket was in the tintype photograph, around her doppelgänger’s neck. She picked up the tintype again and brought it closer to the light. Right there, hiding in plain sight, was a locket. It glinted in the shot, making her wonder why she hadn’t noticed it.

“Mother’s locket,” she said. The words echoed around her.

The locket was the only thing remaining from that life—the one with her parents. Once she turned twenty-one, she deposited a house full of belongings into a storage unit and left her guardian behind—a distant aunt who appeared relieved to see her go.

The locket had been a sentimental indulgence. She’d worn it for several months, then zipped it into a hidden pocket in her purse. Energized, she sprang up and found her purse in the cafe part of the library. She brought it back to the favored chair.

The shadows stretched out to meet her, but the lamp offered enough light to inspect the locket. It appeared to be gold but didn’t have the luster of rich metal. She knew it was brass. A delicate etching looped around the casing, and a ridge marked the edge. A tiny spot dipped lower, and Evangeline inserted an index finger’s nail to pop open the two halves.

The hinge moved easily, exposing the two sides of an inner chamber. On the left was a photo of her mother, Adele Hazelwood Moss, and facing it to the right was one of her father, Corbin Moss. She guessed it had been taken in 2003, a year or so after her birth.

“Mom? Dad?” She asked the library or the ghost, unsure who she was talking to anymore. More than one source seemed to be responding. Could it be her parents?

She jumped up, unable to. “I never went to a funeral,” she told the library. “I wasn’t given the option.”

Slowly spinning around, Evangeline pointed a finger at the air. “Were you witches? Is that how this is connected? What the hell have you done?”

You’re the witch.

Bad Samuel’s critical voice taunted me.

“I’m not a witch!” Evangeline punctuated the statement by throwing the locket across the room. 

It crashed into the hardwood floor and broke. The halves spun away from each other, coming to rest a foot apart. The image of Adele moved as if she was trapped inside the photograph. A hand raised, and the other half of the locket inched slightly closer. The picture of Corbin also moved. He silently sighed, sadness clutching at his face. He tried to see the other half of the locket, but they were too far apart.

Across the room, Evangeline witnessed none of the magical exchange. She turned off the floor lamp and flopped into the leather chair. “No more tonight!” she ordered the library.

The photographs of her parents stilled. Frozen again, reaching for each other. The magic gone. Silence descended, along with Evangeline’s soft sobs.

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