Dearly Beloved: Grave Reminder Series, #3

Dearly Beloved

Grave Reminders Series

Rachael Rawlings

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Untitled

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also By

I would like to dedicate this book to my best friend, Angela State Higdon. We grew up in Crestwood, Kentucky together, and our friendship has lasted through marriages, babies, teenagers, and all the rest!

Love you, girl!

Chapter 1

Iwoke in the dark . It wasn’t the friendly dark of the city dotted with orange tinted lights hung over city streets. It was the cool dark of the country when even the fat moon, hung like a giant Christmas ornament, seems unwelcoming. Ahh, and it felt so real. I could feel the grass beneath my bare feet, the sweep of my nightgown against my thighs as I walked slowly between the trees. I could even smell the wet earth scent of the air after a rain.

The flutter of a bird in one of the trees sheltering the path made an explosive burst of sound. I jumped, wondering then why this wouldn’t wake me up. These were really the clearest dreams that I had ever experienced, and in their clarity, I felt trapped.

I stopped walking for a moment and looked around. The trees were growing thinner, and the snake of blacktop that lead in front of me was familiar. Of course it was. Just the heat of the pavement beneath my bare feet, heat left from the autumn sunlight, made my stomach roll. This was the road. This was the place. Although I had visited it only two other times, both times without the knowledge or approval of my parents, I knew the very spot where my brother’s blood had stained the pavement. Where his life had been snuffed out like a too bright flame. Here.

I fell to my knees, barely aware now of the sounds. It was a dying place, a place so steeped in sorrow that it took my breath away. I wasn’t crying. It was too painful for that. I held my hand over my chest, trying to breathe.

The searing white of headlights appeared suddenly around a curve. The sweep of illumination caught me in the face, and my eyes closed. Perhaps I would be hit. Perhaps I too would die here one the road. Like Daniel.

But no, because this was a dream, and you didn’t die in dreams, I continued to feel the ache of reality around me. The light remained, but dimmed, and I heard the vehicle stop. I climbed to my feet, the pale gown dropping around my ankles. The engine cut off abruptly, and the door swung open with an audible click, the lights on the interior coming on, revealing the figure of a single man, big and bulky in a jacket and knit cap.

I backed away from the road, fearful despite knowing that I was dreaming. It wasn’t real, and yet it felt so very dangerous.

Hey. Wait a minute. The voice was deep, the twang of Kentucky flavoring his words.

I slipped further back into the trees, away from the light. My sleeping heart was pounding, my sleeping breath coming in fits, wheezing from my lungs.

No, don’t go. Look, I just want to help. I saw him reach in a pocket, his face in darkness. Before I could bolt, I saw that he held a phone, the screen illuminated. We can call someone. Your family? They can come get you. It’s too cold to be out here. And it’s too dark. I might not have seen you, and you could get hit on this road. He was moving slowly and speaking in what I could only assume was a reassuring tone.

I was panting now. I shook my head, feeling my long hair catch on branches as though the trees were reaching out to snatch at the strands. I didn’t make a sound, just glanced back, moving away, away from the light, away from the faceless man.

Wait. You can use the phone. I’ll throw it to you. I won’t even get any closer. His words had sped up. He stepped forward, the phone’s lit screen still visible as he pulled his hand back. But was he throwing it, or doing something else?

Wake up, wake up, I was begging my mind. My heart was so loud now that I could barely hear his word. Wake up, please wake up, breath panting, backing into the dark. Wake up, wake up, wake up, Savannah, wake up!

I sat up with a jolt in my bed. My chest hurt, my hand clenched in a tight fist over my heart. I was alone. Thank God, I was alone. And home. I deliberately slowed my breathing, frightened that I might just scare myself into a breakdown. I kicked the covers off, looking at the pure white of my gown. Just a dream, no dirt on my feet, or grass stains on my nightgown. I frowned. My knees felt a little sore and when I pulled up the hem to look at them, they looked red in the dim light. Psychosomatic pain in my knees from kneeling at the roadside? Great, just what I needed.

Forget it, I said aloud, relieved to hear my voice. I slid out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom. In the mirror, the girl staring out at me looked like a ghost from the best horror film. My skin looked gray, and in the wavering light, my hair looked white instead of blond. It fell in tangles down my shoulders. I swept it up in a ponytail and pushed it back, away from my face. Dark circles were under my eyes and my lips looked chalky. Red eyes, shiny with unshed tears stared back at me. I grabbed a washcloth and ran it under water until it was hot. I held it to my face for as long as I could tolerate it and then pulled it away. My formerly pale complexion was now blotchy pink. Maybe better, I wasn’t sure. I put the cloth back on the side of the sink and turned out the light. I would have gone downstairs to huddle in the kitchen, maybe drink a glass of water, or better yet, something hot. But I wouldn’t now. If my parents found me up, there would be questions. And with the questions would be another visit to the psychologist whose job it was to rid me of these dreams, this grief, this guilt.

I returned to my bed and slid under the covers, sitting up against the headboard my knees pulled to my chest. I wouldn’t have to be up early in the morning. I could sleep in late, and my mom wouldn’t say a word. Then when I was up, I would eat whatever breakfast I could choke down and then sit at the table with my mom to do my schoolwork. I had always thought that I would hate being homeschooled, but when you were trying to run from the world, it suddenly seemed like a wonderful idea.

I put my head back and closed my eyes. It certainly wasn’t the worst nightmare I had had, but usually the clear ones were all similar. I was by myself. I was in the woods. I was often there, at the roadside, looking both ways across the pavement searching for something, someone who would never come. Usually those dreams were so brief.

The last time I had encountered anyone in one of my realistic dreams was months ago. In that one I had been in the center of a graveyard, surrounded by a storm and talking to, well, to be truthful, I had been screaming at my brother’s new girlfriend, Thea. In that dream, like this one, I had felt so present in the environment. I could feel the wind huffing at my back, could feel the sting of the sticks and leaves lifted from the earth in the tidal wave of air all around me. And the cemetery, in the cool blue light of the night, had looked so crystal clear to me. Even Thea’s pale face, her curls whipped around her head in a crazy dance, was as detailed as a film played in high definition. However, I couldn’t recall how it ended. Not really. I wished that I could. I knew that I had dreamed of seeing my lost brother, of Daniel, feeling the stiff fabric of his jacket and looking into the depths of his eyes. I knew he had spoken to me, but I could remember little else.

I gave up on trying to sleep and flipped the blankets back, standing and wandering over to my desk. I unplugged the cell phone and took it back to bed with me. Briefly I thought of the man in my dream, offering me his phone, asking me to call someone. And that was weird. Who would have thought that the scary dream guy would be offering his phone for an emergency contact? Crazy.

I frowned and switched on the phone. In the artificial light of the screen I opened a note taking app and began writing out my dream. I wanted to catch it before it was lost. I wanted to catch it before I was lost, or rather had lost my mind entirely.

I was late up the next day, but took extra care as I readied to go downstairs. My mother would be watching me with eagle eyes, just waiting to see that tiny crack in my composure. I frowned and added a little more blush to my cheeks. After I brushed my hair out I let it fall naturally down my back. With a final glance to make sure nothing was out of order, I jogged downstairs. My breakfast was laid out on the table with a note from my mother explaining that she had run to the grocery. I sighed. That was a relief. I had always been close with my parents, but the closeness was wearing thin. Before the accident my mother had been involved in her work, as well as a member of several charity groups and a Bunco club. Post-accident, all of our lives had changed. My mom had tried to go back to work, but when I started falling apart, she had left the job she loved to stay home with me and take over my education in the hopes that I would be able to return to school later in the year and graduate with my class. My father had begun to work longer hours, and my brother Thomas, the surviving brother, had left for college.

Without the twins, the house felt incredibly empty. I had gone from being the younger sister to two active guys with a large social circle and tons of friends, to an only child of overstressed parents.

The dreams had started just after the accident. The dreams at first were just minutes of time, so real, and so memorable. It had taken only one such episode to realize that my mind was visiting the place where my brother had died. At the time, Thomas had been in the hospital in a coma, and I had made it day by day, covering my fear and my grief just to be strong for my parents. I wouldn’t tell them of my own agony. I powered on, trying to help bolster them as we set about the horrible process of burying one twin while the other lay unresponsive in the hospital. Now I could barely remember those days, and I honestly hoped it would stay that way. I didn’t want those scenes to play back in my mind ever again.

And then the miracle happened. My brother Thomas woke from his coma. Life resumed but in a very different way. There was the coming home party, the visits to the therapists and doctors for my brother, and the odd relationship that developed between him and a girl that he had met just before the accident. As they grew closer and he grew stronger, I felt myself gradually caving in. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t concentrate. I wanted to sleep all the time, but when the dreams came, I became afraid of where they would take me, and I started to reject sleep. With that came the loss of appetite, the weight loss, and eventually, my parents took me to the doctor, fearing that I might need hospitalization to get my mood under control.

We stopped before my issues had become that extreme, but I knew that if my parents felt it was necessary, I would be back to seeing those doctors again. And sometimes I wondered if it wouldn’t have been for the best. If a hospitalization with the isolation and constant therapy wouldn’t have been good for me after all. But then it had all changed last fall. That was when I had the dream with my brother’s girlfriend in the cemetery, that horrible, wonderful dream where I raged at the world, but ended up seeing Daniel.

Now I went to therapy weekly, did my homework, and tried to act like I was getting better. And in some ways I was. But the dreams, well the dreams weren’t letting me move on.

When my mom got home, groceries in hand, I had eaten what I could of my breakfast and finished some of the work she had left out. I had research to do, a paper to finish, and an empty weekend looming.

How is it going so far? my mom asked nodding her head in the direction of my computer and the articles I had pulled up.

Fine, I said keeping my voice light and unconcerned.

Good. Well if you have any questions, I’ll be doing the laundry. I need to get most of it done before tomorrow.

Tomorrow? I was only mildly interested.

Thomas is coming in for the weekend. She turned and looked at me frowning slightly. Don’t you remember?

Oh, sure, I lied, my eyes back to the screen. Thomas hadn’t been home for three weeks, immersed as he was in his studies. And I knew that he had gone home with Thea to her small town in Kentucky. I tried not to feel vaguely jealous of that. Thomas needed Thea. He needed his new life with his new friends, miles away from his family and the grave of his twin brother. It was helping him put the tragedy behind him.

He’ll be in on Friday, and I’m sure he’ll have all of his laundry with him. She tried to sound irritated, but I knew she was pleased. She missed him; she missed them both, both of her sons.

He’s staying til Sunday?

That’s what he said, my mom responded, turning back into the laundry room.

I sighed softly. Thomas coming home should have been a good thing, but he was excessively sensitive sometimes. Of the twins, Thomas had always been the one who was most in tune with how everyone in the house was feeling, what they were thinking. Daniel had been the whirling dervish, bringing fun and trouble in equal doses when he came.

I looked back down at the keyboard and started to work. I wanted to get the paper well under way just in case I would get caught up in some plans for the weekend.

Thomas looked as he usually did, pale blond hair slightly too long, goldish eyes just a little too observant. When my parents announced that they wanted to take us out to eat, I wasn’t surprised. They were trying to be festive and to force me from my room as much as possible. Having Thomas here was an excuse to celebrate and to take me along for the ride. Thomas asked if I would ride with him, an unexpected question, and for the life of me, I couldn't think of an excuse not to. My parents took our riding separately in stride, making me instantly suspicious. It was a set up. I could smell it from a mile away. Apparently my attempts at deceiving my parents hadn't been as successful as I had thought. So they called in Thomas, my gentle sensitive brother who could pry a confession from a saint.

Thomas was ready for me. The radio was on an oldies station that I used to favor in my younger days, and the car was already running.

What's the deal? I asked, climbing in and buckling my seatbelt.

Deal? Thomas asked innocently.

You know what I mean, I replied, turning in the seat and watching his profile as he backed out of the driveway. He glanced my way but didn't comment. Thomas, I know mom and dad have put you up to this. They wanted you to talk to me, and they’ve called you home.

So what do you think they're worried about? he asked, turning the question back on me.

I frowned at his profile, unconsciously crossing my arms over my chest. I think they're overreacting. I've been going to the therapist, I’m taking my meds, I'm not staying out late or going to parties, my voice drifted off at that.

And maybe that's exactly what they are worried about. Maybe you haven’t been out with friends, but do you even talk to friends?

I didn’t want to respond. I had friends, of course, and some good friends. But they were busy. As seniors in mostly college prep classes, as I had been, they were immersed in work, studying for exams, writing papers, visiting college campuses, and getting ready for the future. It didn't even include the dances, senior outings, part time jobs, clubs, and all the other extracurricular things that got in the way of keeping track of friends who were no longer there with them, namely me. And I didn't blame them. They were living the life that I had had.

Van, they just want to make sure that they’re not missing anything. You can be so good at covering up, sometimes we don’t find out what’s really going on until it’s gotten out of hand.

He was talking about after our brother died. I had held up, supported our parents, and visited Thomas at the hospital while he was in a coma. I had gone to school, managed good grades, and helped arrange to bury my other brother. By the time Thomas had recovered enough to come home, I had used up every little bit of energy I had. The result had been fantastically bad.

Thomas, what do you want me to say? Am I still upset, yes, and so are you. Do I miss him? Yes. We all do. I’m getting my work done and following all the advice that I’ve gotten from the therapist. Maybe it will take me a little longer! My voice rose and I stopped, biting my lip and looking out the window.

Okay, fair enough, Thomas said. We were pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant. I know you’re doing your best, I just don’t want you to stop talking to us.

It isn’t really a choice, is it? I asked, my voice brittle.

No. He had turned into a parking space and put the car in park. But Van, if anything happens to you, or with you, anything that seems unusual or something you don’t understand, you come to me.

What?

He turned in his seat and looked at me, his eyes intent. Look, I just want you to know that you can come to me, even if you feel like mom and dad won’t understand. If you think something odd is going on, you tell me immediately.

Thomas, I started, but my parents’ car pulled up beside us and my father climbed out, smiling at me through the window. The topic of conversation, whatever the heck it had been, was closed for the time being.

And his strangeness didn’t end there. When I asked him later where Thea was, he immediately told me that she was at school and staying there for the weekend.

She isn’t going home?

No, he said, almost as though he weren’t paying attention to what he was saying. She won’t go home without me.

Why?

Oh, he recovered himself, seeming to hear what he had said. I meant that we were going back to her family’s house next weekend. She had things she needed to do this weekend.

But that wasn’t what he had sounded like when he first spoke. It sounded like she wasn’t going to go home unless he accompanied here there. To protect her? From what? Her parents were nice people, if a little odd. The fact that her house was right next to a graveyard and her father had been the funeral director for the town, while seeming spooky to me, was normal for her. Thea, if anything, had always seemed wonderfully stable and even tempered. Considering her romance with my brother, who was going through a whole lot right now, was so successful. Well that proved to me that she was a good influence on him. Didn’t it? There was nothing about those circumstances that would make me think that she needed to have my brother there for support.

So if it wasn’t her home life, could it have something to do with the funeral I had attended in the spring? I had driven by myself down to Thea’s hometown, just outside of Louisville, Kentucky, to attend a rather bizarre ceremony. A young boy’s remains were found in a well on the cemetery property, later identified as a child who had gone missing decades before. When the boy had first disappeared, it had rocked the little rural community, but that had been a long time ago. But in a small town, even after all of that time, the discovery of the body had caused quite a stir. The town prided itself on its long memory, and the boy had lived in a house just across the street from the same cemetery that his body was found. That seemed to me to be even weirder. I had been in the house where he had lived and knew the people that lived there. My brother’s best friend, Drew, was dating a girl that had moved there with her sister. And there was another sad story. The two girls lived there alone because they had lost their parents to an accident.

My brother’s words came back to me, and I worried about Thea, but with my current mental state, I wasn’t pointing any fingers. Perhaps the whole situation had affected her more than I realized. Maybe she felt like she needed Thomas to be there with her. Or it could just be new love. I made a face at that, and Thomas looked at me oddly.

What? he asked.

Nothing, I said quickly and swung the car door open. We’d better get going. Mom and dad are already inside. I gestured to their car parked across the lot and he nodded. I had avoided any more conversation for