Ashes to Ashes

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER I PULL UP THROUGH THE wrought-iron gates. The place is a huge brick mansion from another time, with beautifully manicured gardens. It could be a spa, if not for the bars on the windows.

Reeve passed out cold before we even pulled onto the ferry, and he’s been snoring ever since with Shep in his lap. I park in one of the visitor spots and walk quickly up through the front door.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m here to see my aunt. Her name is Bette Zane.”

“You mean Elizabeth Zane?”

“Um, yes. Sorry.”

I sign in as Mary Zane, and then I’m pointed down a long hallway. It takes all my self-control not to run down there as fast as I can.

As beautiful and tony as this place looked from the outside, the inside looks exactly like a hospital. White walls, beeping machines, sterile.

The hallway ends at a large room with a glass ceiling. It could have been a greenhouse or something back in the day, and it’s filled with sunlight. It’s now a rec room, and patients here are quietly going about their business—a few are watching a television in the corner, one is working on a puzzle, three are playing cards. One lady is just staring off into space like she’s catatonic, but then she catches me looking at her, and she glares.

I see two nurses who are manning a pill cart look at me with suspicion and share a whisper. Probably thinking if I’m here to see someone, why am I just staring around, casing the joint? Shit.

And then, to my right, I see a woman painting at an easel.

A painting of a lighthouse.

It looks exactly like the ones in Mary’s house. Except it’s blurry. Unfocused.

I race over to her side. “Um, excuse me. Elizabeth?” She doesn’t even blink. I lay a hand on her arm. “Bette?”

She turns and looks at me, confused. Not in the Oh! Why, I wasn’t expecting company! way. In the I’m hopped up on so many drugs, I can’t see straight way. Who even knows if she’ll be able to tell me what I need to know.

Her hair is almost entirely gray, and the ends zap out, fried and dead, like she hasn’t gotten a haircut in a long time. Years, I bet. She’s thin, almost sickly-looking. She’s got on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that are two sizes too big. She’s got the same pale complexion as Mary, and the same little nose.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but can I ask you a couple of questions?” That’s all I say because I don’t know whether I should call her Mary or Elizabeth or Big Easy.

She turns back to the canvas and smacks the brush against it.

“I’m hoping you can tell me what happened to your niece.”

A shock of panic bolts through her. Her paintbrush tumbles handle over tip, until it hits the floor with a splat of red. Aunt Bette grabs me and tries desperately to make her eyes focus on mine. “Why? What happened to Mary? Did she hurt someone?”

I shrink back and try to wriggle my arm out of her grip, but she won’t let go. “No. I don’t know.” Panicked, I start looking around for help. What the hell was I thinking coming to a damn mental asylum? They don’t lock people up for nothing!

“She’s here because of that boy. She won’t let him go. She won’t ever let him go.” The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Reeve. “But you’ve seen her too?”

“Yes . . . I . . . We’re friends.”

The next thing I know, Aunt Bette is dragging me out of the room, her bony fingers digging into my skin. “You have to tell them! My sister, she made them think I was crazy! She didn’t believe me that Mary was back from the dead!” She’s making such a ruckus that everyone’s turning to stare.

My knees buckle. “Mary’s really dead?”

But before Aunt Bette can answer me, a voice calls out my name. “Kat! Kat, what the hell? How long are you going to make me wait out there?”

Aunt Bette turns her head. It takes a second for her to drop her hold on me and lunge at Reeve, snarling like a wild animal. Before she can get to him, a bunch of people restrain Aunt Bette. She’s not making any sense. She’s foaming at the mouth. And Reeve, he’s as white as a ghost.

I grab his hand, and together we run down the hallway.

“What the hell was that all about?” He’s still drunk. I can tell.

“Family business,” I pant.

After I drop Reeve off at his house, I walk Shep home then jump into my car and head over to the Jar Island cemetery. It’s dusk, and the groundskeeper will be locking the gates soon, but I make zigzags down the lines of gravestones until I find it. The Zane obelisk.

I crouch down and touch the cold marble slab.

ELIZABETH MARY DONOVAN ZANE

I glance around. Is she here right now, watching me?

I take out my phone, snap a photo of the grave, and send it to Lillia along with a text.

I’ll be outside your house in ten minutes.