Chapter 4: I'm Not Crazy “Sit, sit. I’m sure you’re wary, but I’m not here to shrink your head. I’m just as troubled by the situation as you are, though I suspect that your troubled by much more.” Finn gestured at the sofa in front of me, but I hesitated, “Bianca also made some soothing chamomile and lavender tea to calm your nerves. She said your blood pressure was elevated as was your pulse and that’s a long while for it to stay that way. By your actions today viewing Robert’s body coupled with your strange behavior after visiting their house yesterday and your supposed sleep-walking—I’d say you are suffering from some sort of traumatic stress response.”
Finn was leaned back in his chair with his fingers steepled and pressed against his lips as he looked to me for a response. “I’m not going to entertain any sort of conversation with you if you are going to do that,” I gestured at his posture, “I’m not a patient of yours; I’m your employee. I will talk to you about what has me so on edge, but you have to listen carefully and understand something about me.” I waited patiently for him to reply, still standing at the edge of the sofa. If he insisted on treating me like some patient, I was going to walk right out of that parlour and up to my room, keeping my hallucinations to myself which is probably where they should have stayed. “Alright. Let’s talk like two regular adults, two friends. Except one of those friends has a doctorate in psychology, but that is neither here nor there.” Finn made a sarcastic joke and I felt my eyebrow twitch as I fought back a laugh. “Alright then,” I finally sat down on the sofa and tried to get comfortable, “I’m going to start by saying this: I am well aware that I have a mental illness and I am also aware of my symptoms and when I am experiencing them. With that being said, I experienced a hallucination while we were at the Dugan’s house yesterday and it triggered a series of other hallucinations, now both visual and auditory.” I explained as succinctly as I could. “Oh!” The word seemed very surprised as it left Finn’s mouth. He tried to take the exclamation back, but the damage had been done, however he tried to coax me onward, “Well, what was the hallucination you experienced at the Dugan’s?” “When you forced me to position poor Robert and the family insisted that his eyes were open for the photo, and then you suggested that I draw them on… After I snapped at you, when I turned around, his eyes were open. They were milky, cloudy with cataracts, but it was only like that for a moment. And when we left, I swore I saw the boy sitting up in his casket even though they had just laid him flat in it.” I gave the basic details, but not too much. “Seeing the boy’s eyes open would make sense since the mother wanted them open. Obviously, we couldn’t do that for her and your illness translated it into his eyes being open. The clouding eyes, although frightening, are normal for a deceased body. I assume you know that.” Finn tried to comfort me and explain the hallucination from a psychological perspective, but there was a bit more to it that I hadn’t talked to anyone about. “Sure, but Robert was blind. Did you know that?” I asked Finn. My assumption is that he didn’t. “Blind? I wasn’t informed that he was blind. It wasn’t from birth, was it?” Finn was surprised, just like I thought he’d be. “No. He blinded himself with lye when no one was looking; he was seven. Did I hallucinate the cloudy eyes because I know that’s what the eyes do after death, or did I see the blind eyes of a child who deliberately inflicted it on himself? I took it as just a hallucination, but then I had another one last night. I didn’t sleep walk, I hallucinated Robert in your chair. I hallucinated him disappearing and reappearing as some sort of terrifying spiny legged creature that I couldn’t quite see. It reduced me to tears before Bianca found me. And then today...something told me to remove the sheet. A voice I never heard before told me to take the sheet off his face so that the boy could find justice and then there lay Robert. Robert! He was supposed to be buried yesterday evening, correct? What was he doing in your anatomy lab having been picked up off the streets, tattered and covered in mud? These hallucinations—Robert—what is happening to me?” I tried not to break down too much, holding my own even though I felt my stability cracking. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be known as the mental woman, but I had failed miserably. “Have you had auditory hallucinations before?” Finn didn’t leap from his chair and wrap me in a straight jacket like I thought he would, instead he calmly asked me a question. “I have, but it has been years. That was mostly when I was younger, but I sort of learned to tune them out.” I divulged, being as honest as I could. “And what did those voices used to say?” Finn sounded like he was shrinking my head, but I think it was actually curiosity. “It varied. Sometimes they asked me for help, sometimes they would just talk about—family. Who’s, I don’t know. Mine? Maybe...others were—others were violent. They said terrifying things.” I confessed. It felt strangely good to get it all out, but I soon wish I could take it all back again. “Did they tell you to do things? To hurt people? Hurt yourself?” Finn looked slightly alarmed, but I quickly moved to placate him. “No, never. I mean sometimes they asked for things, but never told me to do anything violent myself. The voices haunted me for years, but eventually they went away. If I ignored them hard enough, they stopped.” I explained to him. “And what about the hallucinations? Did they start before or after? Or did they occur simultaneously?” Finn scooted to the edge of his chair so as to get closer to me. “Sometimes simultaneous. Sometimes they were so bad that I would see and hear things during a single hallucination. I was so young, though. Eventually, I got so wrapped up in surviving that they all but stopped. I got on my feet, more or less, and found a home with Mrs. Moss. I still had to find a job and the only places that didn’t care about how ratty I looked or that I was female were the morgues, crematoriums, and cemeteries, but they paid me and that’s all that mattered. I was comfortable and when I became comfortable, they started again. The frequency was sporadic and I never new when they would happen. It became unbearable and so I resigned—they went away after that. But you can’t live without money and so I had to find a job again which meant the hallucinations came back once I had the means to take care of myself. I couldn’t understand why being somewhat comfortable and actually surviving caused them to reappear with intensity, but what was I going to do? It began to drive me mad because the hallucinations took on the form of the dead that I handled which made them all the more frightening. That’s when I started to sell them to the highest bidder.” I paused, swallowing hard. Just the thought made my stomach turn. “But why? Didn’t you say that you believed that being comfortable, monetarily at least, caused the hallucinations to become more frequent?” I noticed that Finn now had a journal in his hands and was scribbling furiously on a page as I spoke; he was definitely analyzing me as if I were one of his patients. The next little bit that I would admit would probably clinch me as an actual patient… “Because they told me to.” Finn looked up from the journal and blinked at me several times, “They told you to?” “Yes. They told me that they didn’t want to be burned to ash or buried in a Potter’s Field; they wanted to mean something in death, even if they couldn’t in life. They told me that people, important people, were always scouring the streets for abandoned bodies to use for science. They—the hallucinations even told me who to go to, who needed the cadavers for teaching tools.” I explained a bit further. Finn had a pained expression on his face as he tried to process what I just said. He kept looking at me and then down at the page, his strokes becoming much slower as he made sure to write down every word that I had just said to him. After several moments of silence, he finally spoke. “Who were they, Willa? What institution were they with?” “Anonymous men from unknown institutions. The hallucinations just told me where to find them; where they looked for bodies. It almost got me shot once...you should never sneak up on a man breaking the law.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The at was completely out of the bag now. “I see.” Finn responded, writing down more about my illness. “Those are never words a mental patient wants to hear, Dr. Sharpe. Those words usually indicate that you think we’re crazy. I may be to an extent, but I’m telling you what I experienced. I’m not trying to convince you of anything absurd and I can’t explain how my own hallucinations knew where to find people who would purchase bodies from me. Maybe somewhere inside me, I know. Maybe there is some trauma that I have repressed involving these men and these shady transactions that are coming out in my hallucinations, I don’t know. I don’t know.” I felt helpless. I didn’t really understand my illness, but I knew what I experienced...at least I thought I did. “I actually believe you, Willa. Especially after what you just said. You are aware of your illness, you are aware of your hallucinations, of the psychology behind it. Most mental patients aren’t like that. Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. Crazy people believe their hallucinations and delusions as if they are reality, yet you seem to be well aware when you are having hallucinations, regardless of the type. So, either you are a complete sociopath who is extremely good at lying and making up stories, or you aren’t crazy, Willa.” The words that came from Finn’s mouth caused my breath to catch. What was he saying? “I—I don’t understand. If I’m—if I’m not mentally ill, then explain the hallucinations, the voices. What are they?” I leaned forward on the sofa, eager for an answer. “I don’t know. You’re an anomaly. In all my years of practicing psychology, I have never seen anyone like you. You’re aware, logical, fairly emotionally stable. That isn’t something you see in patients diagnosed with dementia praecox and I’m starting to think that you were misdiagnosed.” Finn had his mouth drawn to the side as he studied me. I suddenly felt panicked, “And how would you diagnose me, if—if at all?” Finn furrowed his brow, but didn’t say anything. He looked down at the journal for a moment and then up at me. “I’m unsure right now. For the time being, we will keep the diagnosis of dementia praecox.” Finn wrote down a few more things and then closed the journal, setting it aside. He poured himself a drink and then offered me one. I took it gingerly before finally just asking what I wanted to know. “Are you going to tell the police that I’m mentally fit? They’ll lock me back up and my sentence will be—harsh to say the least.” I pleaded without actually pleading. He had no reason to lie for me and every right to report his findings to the police. “I didn’t say you were mentally fit, Willa. Something is still going on, I just don’t know what. If you don’t mind, since you aren’t officially a patient of mine, I would like to discuss this with Bianca. She is extremely intelligent and was once labeled mentally ill herself for just being who she is; she may be able to help.” Finn tapped his chin before taking a sip of his bourbon. “I don’t mind. I sort of already told her about what I was seeing and she didn’t seem to think I was crazy—necessarily.” I really wasn’t sure what she thought. “Good, then she is a few steps ahead. I’m going to go talk with her and you just enjoy your bourbon.” Finn stood up, glass in hand, and left me alone in the parlour. It was quiet, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. It was peaceful coupled with the bourbon in my belly and I soon felt myself drifting to sleep… Willa! Wake up! The sound of my name roused me from my nap and I sat up straight on the sofa, still alone. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but I felt extremely groggy. “Hello?” I croaked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Willa, over here. Come to the garden. I heard the voice call me, but in my sleepy state I couldn’t make out who it was. Maybe it was Bianca, calling me outside to discuss things with Finn. It was a beautiful fall day and such a shame to spend it inside, especially before it got too cold. I got up shakily, rubbed my face, and made my way down the back hall towards the french doors that led into the garden. I didn’t see anyone as I opened the doors and wondered how she had gotten outside so quickly without making a sound. Willa, over here by the tree. I heard her call to me from behind a giant oak dripping in Spanish moss. Something in my gut told me not to leave the stone of the patio as I looked out on the ancient tree. Willa, come here. I need to speak with you. The voice called out again and I felt my heart drop. I was hallucinating. “No thank you. I’m going to stay right here because if I follow your voice, I will find nothing. Maybe not nothing, maybe I’ll see something, but it won’t be real. None of this is real! It’s all in my head!” I screamed, getting angry at the fabrications of my mind. I then realized that I had heard birds and the sound of the wind rustling the dying leaves of the trees that circled the house, but now there was nothing. My surroundings were completely devoid of sound. Had I gone deaf? I closed my eyes, wondering if maybe this was part of my hallucination. I took a few deep breaths and opened my eyes… WILLA! A woman’s face, pale and contorted was inches from mine as she screamed my name, the silence shattering around me as I screamed and stumbled back, tripping over a planter as I tumbled to the ground. The natural sounds around me returned and there was no sign of the woman as I sat up, clutching my ankle. I must had twisted it when I fell and I could see where it was already starting to swell a bit. “Willa? Willa!” My name was being called again, but this time I recognized the voice as Finn. He came bursting through the French doors with Bianca at his heels, both looking frightened. “I’m fine. Can you just help me up?” I extended the leg with the injured ankle as Finn came over and helped me up from the patio. “What on earth happened?” Bianca’s hand was too her mouth as she looked at me with the most worried expression. “Another hallucination. I thought you were calling me out here but I soon realized that it wasn’t real, but these hallucinations are so damn determined to convince me that they are.” I wanted to close my eyes and try to focus, but I was afraid to after what I just saw. “What do you mean?” Finn held me up in front of him, his brow knit. He looked alarmed and a glance at Bianca proved the same. “I tell it that it isn’t real. I invalidate the hallucination and they used to go away, but they have become stubborn. I told it that I knew it wasn’t real, that it was just a hallucination and then all the sound around me disappeared.” I looked up at the sky, swirling grey with an impending storm, “I closed my eyes to center myself, to make it stop, and when I opened them there was a woman in my face, screaming my name. That’s how this happened.” I lifted the leg of my trousers to expose my swollen ankle. “Hm. I need to write this down, but I just received a call from a Mr. Rhoades whose wife passed away tragically this morning. He wants photos with her before she is interned, but I’m not sure you are in any condition to go.” Finn held me upright and I tried not to wince as I put a bit of pressure on that ankle. “No, I’ll go. I just need some ice from the ice box and I’ll be right as rain.” I pushed away from Finn and limped past Bianca to the back door. “She sure is determined.” I heard Bianca whisper as I put my hand on the door handle. “I know. I’m intrigued and concerned at the same time.” I heard Finn return in almost a whisper as I opened the door and made my way to the kitchen. I was determined; determined to fight these hallucinations and figure out what was wrong with my brain...because it was really starting to scare me. It scared me because if they wouldn’t listen to me, that meant I was losing control. And if I was losing control, that means that I was slowly starting to spiral into madness, no matter what Finn said. How long before it completely took me over and the illness won? (*) This body was in the city, so we took the car again, driving into the richer area where a tall antebellum stood, a man already on the front steps waiting for us. He looked tired, but there was something about the expression on his face that didn’t exactly indicate mourning. Finn parked the car close to the curb and gently helped me out and up the stairs as he carried most of the photography equipment. “Mr. Rhoades. I’m sorry that we have to meet under these circumstances, but I promise that you will be left with a wonderful memory of your time with your wife.” Finn was extremely kind as he extended his hand for Mr. Rhoades to shake. The man solemnly shook the doctor’s hand and just nodded, ushering with his free hand towards the front door. We followed him inside in silence as we walked down a lavishly decorated main hallway and into a sprawling room with rich tapestries, thick drapery, and expensive furniture. The curtains were drawn and it was dark as we entered and Mr. Rhoades closed the door behind us. “A little warning, Mr. Sharpe. My wife was—ill for the better part of five years. She did some terrible things to herself and her appearance may be—alarming.” Mr. Rhoades spoke slowly and somewhat strangely. “I’ve seen my fair share of the deceased, Mr. Rhoades, as has my assistant. I think we will be fine.” Finn nodded at him as he set down equipment. Yes, I had seen more than my fair share of the dead, but lately it was becoming more and more difficult to view them… Mr. Rhoades floated over to the curtains at the back of the room and threw them open wide. Even though it was overcast outside, the muted light was bright and washed the room in an eerie grey hue. A woman lay before us in a coffin made of rough wood with flowers surrounding her body. It was propped up in a standing position, but the woman was strapped at the breast and knees with decorative silk cloth. Over the woman’s eyes was a shroud and her hands were were placed casually with one hanging at her hip while the other gripped the elbow above. “This is my sweet Adeline. Who knew that such a tragedy would take her from this world. Why? Why...” Mr. Rhoades bemoaned quietly, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. It was then that I noticed the vast age difference in the two spouses. Even though I couldn’t see the upper part of her face, I could see the skin of her hands and the lower part of her face and neck. Her skin showed the signs of age, soft and supple now that the blood had stopped coursing underneath it. Her husband, however, didn’t seem much younger than me; there had to be at least thirty years between them. “I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Rhoades. Are you wanting to leave her face shrouded for the photos?” Finn looked visibly uncomfortable and the nervousness was starting to radiate off of him. “No. She would want to stay covered, but I couldn’t bare looking at a photo of us where I couldn’t see her beautiful face.” Large crocodile tears hung in the corner of Mr. Rhoades’ eyes; there was something disingenuous about them. He sucked back his tears and stepped over to his wife, gently pulling the delicate shroud from her face. I swallowed a gasp as her face was revealed, disfigured and horrifying to view. Finn stifled a cough, which I assumed was more of a wretch, and took a deep breath as he positioned the camera. I tried not to gawk, but the appearance of the woman was nothing like I expected. To start with, her ears were completely missing and the way they had styled her hair didn’t hide the fact. I couldn’t see what it looked like from my angle, only that they weren’t there. One glassy eye stared forward at Finn while the other was closed. The skin around the eye that was open looked like clay and makeup had been heavily applied, but you could still see the bruising around the socket despite it. It was now obvious to me that the open eye was a prosthetic. “We did what we could with her face. I still don’t know how it happened the way it did, just throwing herself off the balcony, but she must have really leapt because she landed on the wrought iron fence. Somehow one of the pointed tips of the fence pierced her under the jaw, sending it straight through her eye-socket and into her brain. The doctor said it was instantaneous with the force of it, but it cracked her cheekbone and jaw in half, as well as ejecting the eyeball itself. We tried to piece her back together as best we could.” Mr. Rhoades divulged far too much information as he caressed the hand of his deceased wife. “They did a lovely job.” I blurted, not sure what else to do or say. “I believe so. Let’s get these pictures taken, shall we?” Mr. Rhoades stood up straight next to his beloved and put on a very plastic half-smile. I took my position next to Finn to help with the setup and turned my head away from the flash as soon as Finn cued me to. The room lit up for a moment and I really got a good look at the dead woman’s face. I felt myself begin to swoon as if I was having deja vu from the anatomy lab earlier. The woman laying upright in the coffin was the face I had seen only an hour before, except my hallucination had both eyes. Hallucination...was that what it really was? My mind had a million questions but my body just wouldn’t cooperate. I felt myself sinking and called out to Finn so that he could catch the flashlamp before I fell to the ground. Luckily, I didn’t lose complete consciousness and passed the blame onto my wounded ankle, saying that I had lost my balance. Finn helped me up, but Mr. Rhoades never budged. “Are you alright? We’re probably going to have to take the photo again just to be sure.” Fin helped me stand and reached out to steady my while he dipped his head under the cloth again as we readied to take another photo. “And three, two, one.” This time I closed my eyes as I set off the flash and Finn took the picture. I didn’t want to see her face light up again and I fought the image that was already seared on the inside of my eyelids. “Alright, I think we’ve got it that time. If you have a darkened room where I can develop these I can get you a copy and if you need more, I can have them duplicated for you.” Finn spoke as he gently led me over to a chair to sit down. “You can do it right in here; I’ll just close the curtains and leave you to it.” Mr. Rhoades sounded suddenly cheerful as he wrenched the curtains closed, breezed past Finn, and exited the room. “Do you find him as strange as I do?” I finally spoke into the darkness. “Something is definitely off about him. He was awfully forthright with how she died, but didn’t even bother to mention anything about her ears.” Finn lit a lamp and hunted around the room for a flat surface. He found a desk completely devoid of anything and set down the lamp before covering it with a red lens to change the light. “Finn,” I was mulling the thought over in my head, but I just had to tell him, “Mrs. Rhoades was my hallucination.” “What?” Finn turned around mid-work to gawk at me in the red light. “The face I saw was hers, except she had both eyes. I don’t remember about the ears because her hair was down, but that’s her. I couldn’t tell until the flash went off the first time.” I now got up from the chair and crossed the room to Finn. I didn’t want there to be any space between us and the dead woman. “Willa,” Finn started, but I cut him off with a gesture of my hand. “No, I’m not just replacing what I saw with this woman’s face to explain the trauma or whatever you might suggest. I know what I saw and that was her.” I pointed into the darkened room in the direction of the deceased. “We’ll talk about it when we get home, Willa. Let me just finish this and we can leave.” Finn surprised me with his words, but I chose to shut up and wait. Soon, he was finished, had given Mr. Rhoades a copy of the photo, and we had packed the car and were headed back to Finn’s home to talk about what I had seen. “I’m getting Bianca in here for this one. Tell her what you told me.” Finn had left me in the parlour and returned moments later with Bianca by his side, looking curious. I regaled to her about my earlier hallucination, like I had done with Finn, and then dove into the story about our most recent photoshoot and how the woman I had hallucinated had been the same woman we took photos of. “Now you both have heard what I have to say. What is your diagnosis?” I was agitated as I stood before them, arms crossed over my chest defensively. “Sit, Willa.” Finn waved his hand at the sofa and I obeyed. Bianca took a seat beside me and Finn took up his usual spot, although he scooted his chair closer to the sofa. “Have you experienced these hallucinations your whole life?” Finn asked. “From what I was told, my mother noticed me acting strangely when I was very young, before I could talk. Then when I learned to speak, I apparently described to her what I heard and saw. She was a very religious woman and was convinced that I was of the Devil and chose to put me in an orphanage. So, I would say it has probably been going on my whole life.” I felt bitter having to say this and that bitterness never went away. “Studies have show that people with your diagnosed condition don’t generally start manifesting symptoms until after puberty.” Finn came back with a fact I wasn’t aware of. “It’s just a story I was told by the lady at the orphanage. They weren’t the kindest and there is a possibility that she was just a heartless wench.” For some reason I defended my illness. “Maybe so, but the pattern you told me about, how your hallucinations subsided when you were struggling, but when you were working and taking care of yourself, they would come back. What if it had nothing to do with your lack of prosperity or not, but with where you were working.” Finn pointed something out that I didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean? At the crematorium? And the graveyards? Why would that make me hallucinate more? The atmosphere?” I was trying to figure it out. “The atmosphere part is sort of correct. Think about it, Willa. The random apparitions of people, the things they said to you, how the dead told you to sell their bodies for science. It all seems strange and unusual, but I think I see a pattern, especially after Robert and Mrs. Rhoades. I don’t think you have dementia praecox, I think you are a medium.” Finn’s words caused me to snort as I my jaw dropped in amazement at his words. “Wait, I’m the crazy one? A medium? You mean I—you mean to tell me that I—that I am not hallucinating, but actually seeing ghosts?” I blinked a few times to make sure that I wasn’t hallucinating all of this. “I believe so. You are far too aware of your illness, you use logic frequently, and your hallucinations coincide with being around the dead, or where they had passed. Seeing Mrs. Rhoades as an apparition before we even arrived at her house, clinched it for me. I would even bet to see that your vision of her probably coincided with the call I received from her husband.” Finn went on to elaborate and provide reasoning for his theory, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “So, you’re saying that my hallucinations are real? The things that terrify me, aren’t actually in my head, but tangible? Though, I guess I never actually committed a crime with the bodies since I was given permission by the...bodies.” I paused for a second and pinched the bridge of my nose. This was absurd and the fact that an actual medical doctor was suggesting the idea made it even more so. “I know this is a lot to take in and I don’t expect you to believe me immediately. You need time to process everything logically, like I’ve seen you do. Experiment with it if you need to, read about it, talk with other psychics. I can help you however you need.” Finn sounded understanding, but I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the whole conversation, especially coming from an actual doctor. Maybe this was one of the grandest hallucinations I had ever had… “You know other psychics? Like they are just wandering the streets of New Orleans with an actual third eye?” I was surprised that he would know one psychic, let alone multiple. “Have you never really wandered the streets of this city, Willa? Were you so isolated in your life that you never got to experience supernatural side of New Orleans? Bianca for example, is a psychic.” Finn pointed at the woman and she smiled at me as I turned to look at her. “I’m an empath and a clairsentient, but I am also a practicing witch.” Bianca kept up her smile even though the expression on my face changed. “And you, Finn. Are you psychic?” I had to know if the house was just full of us now. “Hardly. I may have developed sensitivities to things over the years from my interaction with the community, but I’m no psychic. I am, however, a man of alternative science, which means alternative psychology and I think they is far more to the brain than most give it credit for. This work is done secretly, though; my colleagues at the university and elsewhere in the field don’t know. I’d be the laughing stock and probably lose my job, which at this point sounds like a good idea.” Finn rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. “I grew up in an orphanage, Finn. Till I was eighteen. Then I was on the streets, but it was on the fringe of the city, the darker areas that people try not to think about. I experienced opium dens, a few brothels, the grave robbers and body snatchers, the criminals that hide in the dark. I didn’t get to see the magick of the city, how prevalent the paranormal was, even though I read about it. I guess I’ve always been aware even if I didn’t know it. I will accept that you think I am a medium and not a mental patient, but what does that mean for the apparitions I have seen since starting work with you? The circumstances surrounding Robert’s death, finding his body the way we did, visions of him, and then Mrs. Rhoades! How odd that we would get two photography call involving strange deaths?” I just dove right into acceptance of my supposed abilities and started asking questions. “I’m actually very curious about that myself; Bianca and I both are. I think I may make a visit to the Dugan’s tomorrow to ask a few questions and comfort the family if you want to come.” Finn invited me along and I felt myself get warm. “And what about Mrs. Rhoades?” I wanted to know about her story too. “Bianca is going to handle that. She has connections in the richer part of the city and can get us some information. We will focus on the Dugan’s and Robert. Something about both of them just isn’t sitting right with me and they are clearly reaching out to you, so something is definitely wrong.” Finn sounded more like a paranormal detective than a doctor of anatomy and psychology, but it made me feel more valid in what I was experiencing because an actual doctor was on my side. That had never happened before… “Alright. Um, I’m going to go take a while to accept that all of what you just said to me is real and try to figure out how to—to--you know what, you both have a nice evening.” I smiled plasticly at the two of them as I sat up from the sofa and immediately exited the parlour. I was sputtering out, the pressure of everything squeezing every last bit of energy from me. Everything felt wrong, everything felt off. All my life I had lived with something one way only to find out that it was all false. I had to straighten out my mind so that I could choose what to do next. But a small piece of me already knew that I was too far into this to back out now.
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Chapter 3: Anatomy 101 I woke up the next morning, unsure of where I was exactly, but I was sure that it wasn’t back at the home, for the furnishings were far too nice. No, I was at the residence of Mister--Doctor--Finneas Sharpe which was where I was currently residing. It all was coming back to me, including the events of last night in the parlour. I shook the vision from my mind and got up slowly, taking the opportunity to shower and change into the only other clean thing I had at the moment that was appropriate for a work setting; I was sure there would be more of that today. The skirt wasn’t as nice as the one I had worn yesterday, but it would have to do until I got past my probation period of the job and started getting paid, then I could get something nicer, something more professional.
I was half asleep still, even after the cold shower, as I came into the kitchen to find a pot of hot coffee on the counter and a few cups set out. I got some cream from the ice box and found the sugar just fine before I made myself a cup and drank it very light before having a second cup without cream. I was just finishing my second when Bianca entered the kitchen followed by Fin. They were carrying on a conversation about something in a heated manner till they saw me sitting at the table with my coffee. “Mood morning, Willa. How did you sleep?” Fin asked, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “Well enough.” I smiled as warmly as I could, nursing my second cup of coffee. “Bianca said you were seep-walking last night. Is that a common thing for you?” Fin questioned me as he made himself a cup. “Mmm, it happens from time to time.” I lied, glancing subtly at Bianca. “Do we need to put in any precautions? Though it seems you don’t seem to have any trouble traversing the stairs in that state.” Fin was mostly thinking out loud at this point. He was trying to help, but he was treating me like a patient instead of—well, besides an employee, I guess that’s what I was to him. “No, I’ll be fine as soon as I adjust. I’m in a new place so my sleep is disturbed.” I wasn’t lying, but it had nothing to do with what happened last night. “Alright, but I will make sure that an eye is kept on you.” Fin pointed at me as he grabbed a pastry off a plate that Bianca produced; I hadn’t realized she was carrying a pastry box. “Mmhmm.” I nodded, finishing my cup of coffee before I rinsed it out in the sink and put it on the rack to dry. “I have some paperwork I need to finish up and then I am going to come back and talk to you about work today. Help yourself to some pastries; they arrived fresh this morning from the bakery down the street. I took photos of their deceased mother a few weeks ago and they were so pleased, they just keep sending them on over.” Fin rambled a bit more before he took a muffin and and strode out the door. “You told him?” I rounded on Bianca, not pleased at all. “Was I not supposed to? I figured he should know if you’re sleep-walking, for safety reasons at the least.” Bianca didn’t understand why I was upset and that was because she didn’t now the truth. “Bianca, I wasn’t sleep-walking; I was having a hallucination.” I sighed, getting my freshly rinsed cup for more coffee. “Oh. Ooooh. I’m so sorry; I didn’t know.” I could see that Bianca felt bad. “I know you didn’t and I’m sorry I snapped.” I wanted to talk to her about it more, but I was reluctant, “It was just a bad one and I wasn’t sure where I was when I came out of it.” “What—what did you see?” Bianca asked curiously, coming to stand closely next to me. “That boy we photographed yesterday. He was sitting in Fin’s chair and he tried to attack me. Then—I thought he was gone, but he transformed into a—a spider? I never really got to see it.” I confessed, ashamed for my defect. “Robert? Why is he affecting you so badly? You never saw children in your prior line of work?” Bianca asked, bringing the box of pastries over as she sat down next to me. “I did, but it was different somehow. I never really handled them; my former employers handled the young ones, worried about my mental health, I suppose. I had to hold this boy, Bianca. I had to position him and make him look alive. Fin was so mean about it...so rude and insensitive. And now all of a sudden is seems so—kind? Why the turn-around?” Now I was just talking to myself rhetorically. “Fin is—eccentric. He doesn’t always thing before he speaks or he does think, and speaks in ways that he doesn’t realize are horrible for the sake of testing or research. After you told him your story he softened up because he had a better understanding. He reacts before he knows the whole picture sometimes; he did it with me before he knew my story even though he wanted to help. I’m not going to excuse his behavior and what he chooses to say, but deep down he really means well.” Bianca patted my shoulder just as Fin came back in the kitchen, a grim look on his face. “What’s wrong, Finneas? You look distraught.” Bianca spoke with a concerned tone. “I just received a phone call and they need me down at the university morgue. Some cadavers came in that I have to do autopsies on before we use them for classes. We’ve been low on cadavers so this is high up on my unintended list of priorities. I had to postpone two portraiture sessions today, so I want to get this done as quickly and thoroughly as possible so I can get back to the other.” Fin rambled on, grabbing a few donuts, one in his mouth and the other in the free hand that wasn’t holding his coat. He paused and looked at me as if he was expecting something. “Um, this is part of your job technically, I suppose. Are you feeling up to it though? After your sleep-walking escapades?” Fin arched a brow at me. “I should be fine. Though, must I wear a skirt to look professional for this? I don’t think it appropriate nor comfortable for such a job.” I hoped he would let me wear my trousers instead because I was terribly uncomfortable in the scratchy wool skirt. “I suppose. Go get changed so we’re not too late. I’ll meet you out in the car.” Fin pointed towards the front hall. “The car?” I asked curiously. “Yes. In the city, I take the care. The carriage is for longer distances. Hurry up, now.” Fin fanned his hands at me before he disappeared down the hall. “Alright then. You staying here? Of course you’re staying here, what am I talking about?” I turned to Bianca, unintentionally stalling. “I stay and tend to the house, you go out with Finneas and dissect bodies. Are you going to be alright with that? After the hallucinations from yesterday?” Bianca was visibly concerned about me. “I’ll be alright. Maybe it’s better that I see something else, another body, that might push him from my mind.” I took a pastry from the box and stuffed it in my mouth before I left Bianca in the kitchen and rushed to my room to change from the woolen skirt into my tweed trousers that I had pilfered from the lost and found at the halfway house. I strapped on my boots and tried not to stumble down the stairs as I breezed out the front door where a car was waiting, Fin at the helm. “You know how to drive this thing?” I was unsure about the vehicle. “As well as one can. The thing is still in its infancy, but the university gave it to me to putter around town so I figured I’d give it a try.” Finn patted the seat next to him. He looked comical at the helm of a machine that was rattling and shaking as it sputtered in place, Finn’s hand on a long lever that somehow made the thing go. “Fine. But I haven’t a will so if we die in a fiery crash, I want Bianca to have my things.” I held my breath as I got in the car and tried not to grimace as my nerves rattled right along with the vehicle. “I’ll make sure she gets it. Of course, if I’m did too, we’d both be in quite the predicament.” Finn chuckled as the car took of at a rickety pace down the road. (*) “And in here is where we do dissections, perfect for viewing by my colleagues and medical students.” Finn took me inside the observation room on our short tour of the university anatomy laboratory. It was empty, save for a wooden table that was stained with dark spots that I presumed to be old blood from previous cadavers. “And how does the university acquire their cadavers? You seemed so critical of my past dealings so I assume that you obtain your bodies completely by legal means.” I asked curiously as I walked around the laboratory, looking up at the rows of bench seats where observers would sit with pen and pad taking notes during dissection. “There are a few ways. We check in with the city coroner for unclaimed bodies and Does who will be cremated otherwise. Occasionally we get the same from hospitals, but that is usually few and far between because a nameless body doesn’t usually end up in a place where care is provided at a price. Mostly, we get the bodies as donations. As odd as it may seem, there are a lot of bachelors, spinsters, and the like who donate their bodies to science since they have no one to be buried aside. Every so often we get—younger cadavers from the orphanage too and from families who can’t afford to bury their loved ones, but want them to do something good in the afterlife.” Finn explained as he donned a white coat and rubber gloves that he pulled up to his elbows. “That’s a very good way to go about it. All legal, all morally sound.” I nodded as I came over to watch him prepare for dissection. “Grab that apron over there and those gloves. They are probably going to be a bit big on you, but they are better than blood and bodily fluids on your hands.” Finn went to a worn wooden cabinet and took out a tray that he laid on top of a wooden table with wheels. He set his doctor’s bag on top and started extracting tools, going back to the cabinet a few times for a bonesaw or larger took that didn’t fit in his bag. “So, are we doing a live dissection today?” I wondered how nerve-racked I would be. “No, just a demonstration cadaver or two. We’re going to dissect one body, remove the organs, and prep them for class. Tomorrow we can teach them about the organs, dissect the organs, and have them practice with opening a body, identifying, and removing organs.” Finn crossed the room and opened up an iron door before wheeling out a gurney with a rather short cadaver under the sheet that covered their body. “Where did you just pull that from?” I had never seen such a thing; bodies didn’t keep all that long without embalming and cadavers were hardly found very fresh to begin with. “The cooler. It’s something I designed to keep the bodies fresh and slow decay. We stock it daily with large blocks of ice and the whole inside is insulated. It is sort of expensive, but we waste far less bodies.” Finn explained as he wheeled the body up to the wooden table and waited patiently, “Are you going to let me do all the work, or are you going to help?” “Uh, oh...I’m sorry. It’s just been a while since I’ve seen a body, aside from yesterday, and I’m just re-adapting, I suppose.” I took a deep breath as I came over to what appeared to be the feet of the cadaver, “They look small.” I remarked, wondering if there was another child underneath. “There is a possibility that it is a child. I wasn’t informed prior; just told that I had two waiting for me in the cooler.” Finn peaked under the shroud and his face dropped; it had to be a child. “Well, never mind if it is a child or not, we have work to do.” I was going to push through this, especially in hopes that it would rid me of the nightmare that was Robert. “Alright then. I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but here at the university we like to keep the cadavers anonymous for the students. Us teachers have seen the faces of plenty, but it is easier if they don’t humanize them since we will be elbow deep in their cavities.” Finn gripped the shoulders of the cadaver and I reached for the feet. Even though I had gloves on, I could feel the coldness of the flesh in my hands as I lifted the body and set it on the table. “Let us begin then. I mostly need you to take notes and pass me tools, maybe an extra eye. There’s a journal over there and a fountain pen.” Finn pointed to his bag and I retrieved the items, opening up to a blank page as Finn began to roll the sheet up from t he body just to the chin. The body was male and based on the lack of hair and the height, he was per-pubescent. I could feel myself grow hot, but shook it off as I put the pen to paper and waited for Finn to dictate. “The cadaver is a white male, around eight to eleven years old. Rigor seems to have passed days ago and based on the coloration of the skin the boy has been deceased for over a week.” Finn started and I began to scribble. I wondered how the poor child had died, but those sort of thoughts would get me in trouble and I pushed them from my mind as I waited for Finn to make the first incision. He grabbed a scalpel from the tray next to him and prepared to make the first cut. I made sure to get close so I could see what he was doing and take more accurate notes. He was just getting ready to press the scalpel to the skin when I noticed something funny about the body. “Wait, do you see that?” I pointed at the child’s neck. “The skin looks discolored.” He commented, squinting his eyes. “It looks like bruising.” I hesitantly reached out and took the sheet between my fingers, peeling it back just far enough to see the entirety of the boy’s neck. There was deep crimson and purple bruising all across his neck from what could be seen. The pattern was spotted in places, imprints left behind by... “Finn, those are fingerprints. This boy was strangled to death.” I took a step back from the body and pulled my hand up to my face. “No, that can’t be right.” Finn looked confused as he shook his head. “Clearly, it is!” I raised my voice a bit, gesturing at the obvious strangulation marks on the child’s throat. “But that’s murder. We don’t get homicide cadavers; those go to the city morgue for investigation. There has to be another explanation.” Finn wouldn’t believe it even though the evidence was right in front of him. “Then we need to call the police because clearly we received a cadaver that doesn’t belong to us.” I thought that much was obvious. “I need to talk to Albert first. There has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this mix up and I would rather notify him so we can rectify the situation without any undo stress to the university.” Finn looked uncomfortable as he left the observation room, leaving me alone with the murdered boy. “I’m so sorry.” I whispered to the boy, setting the journal down on the tray, “I know you can’t say anything, but I’m going to make sure that you get to the right place so they can find out what happened to you.” I had this sudden urge to peel the sheet back to look at the boy’s face, but the sound of Finn and another man talking stopped me and I abruptly stepped back from the body. “Something isn’t right, Albert. If it hadn’t been for my apprentice, I may not have seen the ligature marks, but the boy was surely strangled by someone’s hands and we can’t do a dissection on him.” Finn was adamant as his voice rose, his finger pointing in my direction. “Lower your voice, Finneas. The cadaver is in the right place; no need to get the police involved.” Albert replied in an almost whisper, but my hearing was better than most. “What are you meaning, Albert? This is clearly a homicide and needs to be investigated as such. The boy doesn’t belong here.” Finn tried to keep his voice low, but he was easier to hear than his colleague. “Possibly, yes. It could possibly be a homicide, but he is a John Doe. We found the body on the street, alone, no one to claim him so we are utilizing him for science and for anatomy. I’m going to be honest with you Finneas, we aren’t getting cadaver donations like we used to, but we need them so we have to find other ways to obtain them.” Albert replied and I drew a sharp breath; Finn was not going to be happy. “You just scooped this boy up off the street? Did you even try to find his parents? What if he is missing? There are so many factors that you didn’t take into consideration, Albert! This is wildly irresponsible.” Finn was angry and there was no toning down the volume of his voice now. “Listen, Finneas, sometimes you have to get your hands a little dirty in the name of science. This is one such incident and besides—he isn’t the first that we acquired in this manner nor the first that you have dissected that we picked up off the streets or got from private acquisition. It’s the time we are living in right now; the murdered and the desolate need to feel important too.” Albert was adamant that what they were doing was a necessary evil. Fin started to bark at him as my hearing zoned out and I focused on the boy again. Two grown men were arguing about what was going to be done with his body, what was ethically sound or what was necessary in the moment despite the morality at play, but there was nothing left in the boy. Even though I spoke to him as if he were sitting in the room with me, I knew that if there was such a thing as a soul, it wasn’t going to hang around its body, at least not for long. Just take a look. One little peek. You know you want to see the face underneath the sheet. Voices. It had been a while since I had heard them like this. Things had taken the form of hallucinations and night terrors mostly at this point, so the voices were almost comforting. “I’m not so sure I want to see.” I whispered. Of course you do. You want to humanize the boy because you feel sorry for him. But can you really empathize with someone you can’t see? Can you really relate? There were times, Willa, times when you were almost in the same position as the boy. You want justice for him, right? If you see his face, if that face is known, maybe the police can identify him and he can get justice. Don’t you want justice for this poor little boy, Willa? This voice was surprisingly wise and helpful, unlike the other voices I encountered over the years. There was a strange silky smooth quality to this voice as it echoed in my head. A voice that was prompting me to get justice for the boy laying dead in front of me, the boy with bruises on his neck where someone squeezed the life out of his innocent body. “Just a peek.” I spoke so softly that I almost couldn’t hear myself. Just a quick peek. See his face. Let the others know what he looks like. Find who did this. The voice urged me and I stupidly obeyed. My hand was trembling as I reached for the sheet, cool and slick under my fingers. I took a few good breaths as I readied myself to see the face of this murdered boy as if I hadn’t seen hundreds of dead faces before. But this one scared me. “It’s alright, Willa. It’s just another face on a body that has no soul. Remember? Honor their memory, but don’t mourn for the body because the essence is gone.” I mumbled to myself as I peeled the sheet back fully to reveal the face of the boy. I lost several minutes of my life. I remember screaming, not just one long wail or anything but hysterical uncontrollable screaming that dissolved into terrified sobbing. When I came to, I was up against the observation wall with Finn and Albert both by my side. I must have passed out, but I was still shaking from the shock of it all. The shock of seeing the face under the sheet. “Willa? Can you hear me?” Finn’s voice brought me back to reality as I regained consciousness. The room seemed blurry, but I attributed that to my fainting. “Yes, I’m fine.” I pushed myself up the wall into a sitting position and my eyes immediately fell on the dissection table where the body still lay, partially uncovered. I couldn’t see the face from where I sat, but that didn’t matter; I had seen it enough already. “What happened? You just started screaming and we rushed over to you, but you had backed into the wall and immediately passed out.” Finn reached out to touch me, but I shrunk away. “Didn’t you see him?” I asked fearfully. But then it hit me...what if what I had seen was just another hallucination and I had made a complete and total fool out of myself. “See who, Willa?” Finn furrowed his brow as he questioned me. I could have just said the name, but instead I vaulted up from the floor, marched over to the table, ripped the sheet from the body and promptly growled. “Robert.” “Wait, what?” Finn looked taken aback as he got up from the floor and came over to the table, standing close next to me. He looked down at the body, at their face. I hadn’t hallucinated; I had actually seen what I saw. “I don’t understand. We took his photos and then they prepared him for the funeral, for burial. Why is he sitting here on my dissection table?” Finn whirled around to stare icily at Albert. “What are you looking at me for?” Albert asked with an offended tone. “Where exactly did you find the boy, Albert? Because this boy isn’t a John Doe, his name is Robert Dugan. I took photographs of him yesterday before his family prepared him for burial. What the hell are you doing with him here?” Finn raged, coming really close to Albert. “Finneas, calm yourself! I didn’t lie to you; he was found in an alley, dirty and cold. His clothing was torn and covered in mud, his skin completely dirt covered. He looked like he had been sleeping on the streets for some time and there was no adult to be found so we just—we just,” “Took him?” Finn cut into Albert’s explanation, “We have to report this immediately, Albert. IT would be morally and ethically wrong, not to mention illegal for us to not report this. I’m going to leave that up to you since you are the head of the department and—and if you refuse to do so, I will do it myself and I don’t know if you want me trying to explain this to the police.” Albert blinked a few times, but stayed silent. I was now a witness to all of this, technically the one to discover the cause of all the kerfuffle, and the paranoid part of me started rifling through terrifying scenarios in my head. If this man was willing to pick a deceased stray child off the streets without any qualms about where he had come from, was he possibly not capable of something more sinister? “Fine. I will call the police. Say that the cadaver was donated from the county and we just happened to overlook the strangulation marks on his neck.” Albert’s face was toad-like as he held his mouth in an unusual way while he spoke to Finn. “I’m sure that throw off any suspicion that you plucked this child from the streets without doing any of the footwork to make sure that he was indeed a Doe. Sure, go ahead with that story.” Finn’s sarcasm was grating as he tore his lab coat off and began packing his doctor’s bag. “Where are you going, Finneas?” Albert’s demeanor immediately changed to panic. “Nowhere, at least not until after I talk with the police. When that is finished, I will be taking myself elsewhere for employment.” Finn paused in his packing to glare at his superior before resuming his task. “Did you just resign?” Albert looked at him quizzically. “I think I did. I can’t work for someone like you. Someone who would just kidnap a child so the university had a body to dissect. Without even thoroughly checking the body! You didn’t care who he was or where he came from, only what he could get you. More bodies for the lab means larger classes which means more living bodies that give the university money and you a bonus. Did I get that right?” Finn had gotten very mouthy and all before a call was even made to the police. It was really starting to make me nervous and for some reason, I backed closer to Robert. You may have to act quickly. What if Albert tries to do something rash? Finn seems to slowly be making his blood boil and when you corner an animal...let’s just say there are plenty of things in this room that one could use as a weapon. The voice was back. This time it was telling me that I might possibly need to defend myself, but I wasn’t sure if it was suggesting that I grab a weapon, or how easy it would be for Albert to grab one if he snapped. I knew these hallucinations, the voices, they were all in my head. If they were in my head, then they were just a weird inner voice, distorted and unrecognizable that had taken on a persona of its own. I was smart enough to know that. So, I prepared myself. “Bravo, Dr. Sharpe! You’ve figured us out! Of course money is always the bottom line; that’s how you keep things running.You’re right, we shouldn’t be doing this, but if we don’t then the lab shuts down and if the lab shuts down, then the whole department will and we will no longer be able to offer any sort of courses that involve cadavers, which are pretty much required in all fields of study here at the school so I don’t know what you want me to say.” Albert wasn’t going to admit he was wrong...because he didn’t think he really was. “That we should have done it the right way? You know that the county does the sweeps looking for unclaimed dead and then they check them thoroughly before we get our share. That’s what you should have done.” Finn had finished packing and was now standing tall in defiance. “Except they aren’t doing that, Finneas. They claim that they are and that there just aren’t that many bodies out there which I think is hogwash because—just look at what this city has become. Poverty is rampant, the streets are filthy, prostitutes line the alleys. There are plenty of dead, but I don’t know why we aren’t getting any of them. So, we went and found our own. Go call the police, tell them what you found, tell them about what we did, but you will never work anywhere in this city as a doctor again. I can assure you that.” Albert squared his eyes on Finn who scoffed, nodded, and gave a sloppy two finger salute to the forehead before he turned with bag in hand and took me by the elbow. “You really going to call the cops?” I asked Finn quietly. “You bet I am.” (*) Finn contacted the police and explained the situation to them. He did leave out the part about Albert basically being a body snatcher and said he was a little foggy on the details but was surprised to receive a cadaver like that. The police arrived at the university after quite the wait, interviewed Finn, interviewed Albert, and then interviewed me. My story was pretty much identical to Finn’s, our recognition and familiarity with Robert noted. Finn informed them that we had been contracted by the Dugan’s to photograph Robert and the family after he passed and that they were preparing for the funeral as we were packing up to leave after taking the photos. May not have been the best idea. I don’t think Finn thought about how that might make us look in the situation and I hoped that Albert didn’t catch on and try to have Finn take the fall for something he didn’t do to save the university from collapse. “Alright, Dr. Sharpe. Thank you for identifying the boy; we will contact his family and gently let them know about the situation. We will have to question them though, since the markings on the boy’s body clearly indicate murder and they made no report or attempt to contact the police about it that we know of.” The officer finished taking his notes but paused, “Did you not notice anything strange on the body while you were photographing it?” “No, sir. I never really got close to the body.” Finn admitted. But I stupidly piped up, “I did. I positioned Robert for the photos, but he was dressed nicely, with a high ruffled collar. I didn’t notice anything suspicious.” “We’ll have to keep him for evidence for the time being,” The police officer leaned over the body one more time to get a good look at the ligature before he turned back to me with a snap of the fingers, “Now I know who you are! I knew I recognized your face, but I couldn’t quite pin it...you’re mental woman, the one who helped that private mortuary sell bodies illegally. I was at your trial.” He was smiling like he had seen a celebrity. I just smiled meekly and nodded my head. “I think we are done here, officer. Miss Noxx has had a very eventful day and I think I need to get her home. If you will excuse us; I’m sure you can handle everything else here.” Finn cut in, coming to guide me towards the door as I tried to yank my apron from my body. “I’ll be in contact, Dr. Sharpe.” The officer hollered as Finn got me into the hallway and walked briskly towards the exit. “Finn, why are walking so fast?” I could barely keep up as I clutched to my jumper. “Something about this whole thing isn’t right, plus I didn’t like how that officer referred to you. I need to think about this—all of this.” Finn pushed me through the door to the university and steered me towards the car. “Someone murdered that boy, Finn. And the family did nothing about it. What have we gotten ourselves caught in the middle of?” I hadn’t been prepared for any of this and the severity wasn’t lost on me. Finn paused before he started the car, “Yes. And my employer is nicking dead bodies off the streets without verifying them. Two separate issues, but both deeply troubling none the less.” And he was right. Two separate issues...but they were somehow linked. The chances of the university finding Albert’s body in a city alley were nearly impossible, especially because he had been buried, and based on the description of his state of dress—it seemed like he had crawled out of his own grave. I swallowed hard at the thought and tried not to think about it. I was sure that Finn would have a million and one questions for me when we returned to his home and I needed to prepare myself mentally to answer all of those. My hallucinations were going to come to light and I was going to have to confess to what I was seeing, even if the doctor thought me absolutely mad. I had to be honest about my illness because I didn’t want to be known as “that mental woman” any longer. Mental Miss Noxx “How was your first day, Miss Noxx?” Mrs. Moss greeted me at the front of the halfway house after I left Mr. Sharpe’s side and arrived “home”.
“Wasn’t what I expected, but then again I don’t know what I expected.” I replied, noticing that she had my carpet bag in her hand. “Such is life.” She returned, her expression one of anxious anticipation. “Why do you have my bag?” I figured I’d ask before I entered the home. “Because someone is coming to get you, Willa. The judge decided that it wasn’t enough for you to stay out of trouble on your own, but you need to be kept. They wanted to send you to the jail or an asylum, but Dr. Sharpe vouched for you and said he’d take you in and make sure you stay out of trouble.” Mrs. Moss explained. “So, he knows now. I made it a point to keep that part quiet.” I spoke through gritted teeth as I took my bag from Mrs. Moss. “I don’ t know how much he knows, Willa. But the police came looking for you and I told them you were at work; that’s when they told me. I’m sorry.” I could tell that Mrs. Moss felt terrible, but there was nothing she could do. “What am I supposed to do? Walk back? He never mentioned anything about this to me. And why didn’t you?” I didn’t know when this could have happened. “It happened while you were at work, love. I’m sorry if I’m not being clear, but they spoke to Dr. Sharpe this morning, maybe after you left for work? I’m sorry I don’t have any more information for you.” Mrs. Moss handed me my bag as I stood there confused. Why hadn’t he mentioned it to me before I took a cab back home? It would have saved me so much trouble, but I felt like Sharpe enjoyed giving me a hard time. “It’s alright, Mrs. Moss. I’ll start walking because it will take me a bit to get back to Mr. Sharpe’s. And—and you keep calling him doctor?” I just realized that she had been using a different prefix for his name that I never used. “Oh, he’s sending for you, I think. A man came round not long before you got here and said that a carriage would pull up for you around eight.” Mrs. Moss held her hands in front of her with a pained smile on her face as I pulled my pocket watch from my tattered waistcoat to see that it was only a few minutes till. There was complete silence between the two of us until the carriage pulled up and she bid me goodbye, giving me a kiss on the cheek with a tear in her eye. I had been living at the halfway house for most of my life and now here I was being sent away to a man’s house that others called Doctor without knowing what lie ahead. I didn’t know the whole story, but it seemed like others knew plenty about mine. (*) “This is your stop, miss. Dr. Sharpe said to knock and you’d be let in.” The carriage pulled up to a large home oddly set in a bad part of the city. The lanterns were lit in front of the brick building as I climbed out, walked up the stairs, and then knocked on the door. The carriage pulled away before anyone answered and I felt completely exposed to the foreign surroundings, holding the only possessions I had in one hand as I leaned all of my weight into the door, hoping that I could just phase through it. I went to knock again when the door opened and I stumbled forward, rough hands catching me by the shoulders as they kept me from falling. “You’re late.” Mr. Sharpe took his hands from my shoulders and scooted me out of the way so he could shut the door behind me. “I’m—I’m late? I didn’t know I was supposed to be going anywhere but the home. Somehow you managed to forget to tell me that the judge changed his mind about letting me continue to live there and instead handed me over to you as if I were property.” I immediately started in on Sharpe, angry that he had known all day about my fate and yet told me nothing. I was also angry at the way he was treating me, but now I assumed it was because he knew about my past and what I had done. “Are you really going to scold me, Willa? Because if it wasn’t for me, you’d be in an asylum because of your crimes.” Mr. Sharpe took my bag from my hand and set in on the narrow stairs that led to the second floor. “I take it you know everything, then? Well, it isn’t true. Not completely—” I decided to tell him my side and see how long he kept me around. I dared him to revoke his care of me because I didn’t need anyone keeping me out of trouble. “I know that some very bad men convinced you to help them harvest bodies where you worked for a private mortuary. That wasn’t your fault; you’re touched.” Sharpe tapped his temple and my anger boiled over. “Yes, yes I am touched. I’m a bit mad, a bit off kilter, but I’m not stupid. I knew what I was doing. I sold bodies to what you would call grave robbers. There was no turning a blind eye while they raided graves, I sold them whole bodies for science. Was it wrong? Technically, yes, but I wasn’t letting them steal precious family heirlooms or giving them someone’s mother or dead child, I was selling them the bodies of people off the streets, people with no names or homes and no one to claim them. They would just be burned and forgotten. At least the way I did it, they could accomplish something good in their life and I could make a little extra money to put food in my belly and new shoes on my feet. You heard what that woman said about me today; I’m dirty and she’s right. The system failed me and others like me so I made a little profit off of what they do nothing about and now I’ve been completely displaced. What was the judge’s reasoning for revoking my home stay?” I asked furiously. I was ready to go back to the asylum or jail if need be, though they would probably place me in the asylum indefinitely after I pummeled Mr. Sharpe within an inch of his life. “He thought that maybe you needed some rehabilitation on top of a new job that specifically helps others who are grieving. I’m a doctor, so I obliged.” He smiled at me. Now I was even more confused. “You’re a doctor and a photographer?” I was surprised he would do something so far removed from his occupation. “I am many things, Willa. I am a doctor of biology, anatomy, and psychology. I’ve been city coroner for the past six years and I have seen some horrible deaths and done hundreds of autopsies. I saw people in agony over the loss of a loved one and how they talked about not having anything to remember them by. I was just picking up photography so I could take photos of the bodies I dissected and transferred that over to the post-mortem portraiture for families and loved ones. That is why you were placed with me and that is why I have taken you into my home.” Mr. Sharpe gestured for me to follow him into his parlour as he spoke. “I still don’t quite understand why you took me away from my home.” I sat down on the edge of the sofa in anticipation. “Because your file interested me and I wanted to see what made you tick; you were intriguing to me. Orphaned at a young age, left behind by a prostitute mother on the streets. Raised on those streets and in sweat shops till you found the halfway house and the sweet Mrs. Moss took you in. I was allowed to read the documentation from your various stays in lunatic asylums and hospitals. They diagnosed you with dementia praecox but since you weren’t deemed violent or dangerous, they couldn’t hold you. But you always went back to Mrs. Moss so they always knew where you were. They knew about your job at St. John’s Mortuary, unaffiliated with any church or institution, but they didn’t report to anyone that a mentally ill person was employed at a place that worked with the dead. I find that very neglectful on their part.” Mr. Sharpe went on to sum up my file as he poured himself a snifter of bourbon. “I’m impressed on how thorough your research was on me. But my employers knew of my condition; they didn’t care. They needed the help and I had the credentials.” I held my anger back at his insensitive words and stood my ground. “Credentials? Credentials in what? Grave robbing?” He scoffed at me as he drank his bourbon. I scoffed back, slowly standing from the sofa, “Excuse me, Doctor Sharpe, but apparently you didn’t do your research as thoroughly as you thought. I have had various jobs over the years, all with similar occupations involving the deceased. I worked in three mortuaries or mortuary type settings, I helped with body pick-up and drop off for the city coroner when the murder rate rose a few years ago, and I also worked as grave-digger and caretaker of two private cemeteries. Despite my illness, I worked to try and take care of myself as best I could. I did the work that a lot of people don’t want to do.” I defended myself. “Like sell bodies?” Sharpe glared at me. “For science, you—you asshole! They were the bodies of those who would have ended up in pauper’s graves after their organs were harvested for what...science. Don’t be so haughty about my past transgressions as if you have none. I did what I did to survive, not to support a habit or gamble my life away—to survive. I’m grateful you have taken me in, I suppose, but I don’t have to take this abuse from you. I can go back to the asylum...at least there I get consistent meals and a room of my own.” I was shaking by the time I finished, but I felt good knowing that I had defended myself, no matter what stupid crime I had committed. Mr. Sharpe was staring at me. He blinked a few times, but never moved; his hand still holding the empty snifter. Finally he opened his mouth and spoke, “For someone with dementia praecox, you’re very consistent in your truth. That’s very interesting.” Sharpe poured himself another glass and began to pace in thought. “Did you goad me for your own amusement? Or is it psychological research or something of the sort? I don’t appreciate being a guinea pig without my knowledge, Mr. Sharpe.” I was getting agitated now. “It was a little bit of both, but mostly I was curious. You don’t behave exactly like your records paint you and it has me intrigued. Next time I try to pick your brain, I’ll let you know first.” He held his glass up to me before he took a gulp, “And will you please stop calling me Mr. Sharpe.” Oh, now I was going to be scolded for not referring to him as doctor like I should… “And what should I call you then?” I couldn’t wait for the inevitable response. “Finneas. I feel like maybe we can be friends and friends shouldn’t be so formal.” His response surprised me, but I knew what he was doing. He had come closer to me as if to prove that he was no threat. “Right, friends. Alright, Finneas, since we are on a first name basis and I have heard you call me by mine several times, you may continue to call me Willa. I’m so glad we’ve gotten past the formalities of employer and employee and I would very much like it if you would quit with the misogyny and comments about my mental state or we’re not going to get along very well as friends and you will get nowhere with your research.” I smiled sweetly at him as I stepped forward, took his drink from his hand, and swallowed the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. I definitely made a point because he said nothing as I set down his glass and started to walk out of the parlour. Eventually he found his voice and called for a woman named Bianca to take my bag and escort me to my room. She appeared shortly, tall and thin with raven dark curls pulled back with a fancy barrette. I didn’t know what role she played in this house, but she looked well-off and had such a charming face with a genuine smile that told me she was treated well. “Your bag has already been taken to your room, but I can escort you there now.” She spoke with a rich deep voice as she gracefully gestured towards the staircase behind her. “Bianca will take care of you, Miss Noxx. I hope you have a nice rest of your evening.” Sharpe nodded at me and I chalked that up to a win. I didn’t say anything as he exited the parlor and across to the dining room where he disappeared around a corner. “Right this way, Miss Noxx.” Bianca smiled at me as she directed me towards the stairs. “You can call me Willa. Mr. Sharpe can continue to call me Miss Noxx till the end of time because I won’t be friends or even pretend to be friends with someone like that.” I growled, mostly venting to myself as we climbed the staircase to the second floor. “Well, Willa, Dr.. Sharpe isn’t all that bad. He’s a little harsh and doesn’t really show his emotions well, but overall he means well. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know where I would be right now.” Bianca confessed, turning over her shoulder to speak with me as we got to the top of the stairs. “What do you mean?” Now my curiosity was piqued as we walked down the hall and up another flight of stairs. “He found me on the streets, selling my body for money to keep myself alive. I got kicked out of my home when I was seventeen for—for getting caught wearing my mother’s dress and pearls.” Bianca forced a smile that had pain behind it. I didn’t understand why wearing her mother’s dress would warrant such severe punishment, but then it started to dawn on me...a mother might not want to find her son wearing her dress. “Oh, Bianca.” My heart broke for her. “That’s when they still called me Clark, when I was still their son. It’s awful how quickly the people you thought loved you can change when they discover you aren’t who they wanted you to be.” Bianca instantly opened up to me and I felt myself identifying with her in a way; we both were different from what people thought was normal. “I understand to an extent. Never knew my father and don’t remember my mother. Never really had much of a formal education and I was branded a mental case so I have become a sort of pariah. I thought I was doing just fine until today.” I felt like I could open up to her like she did me—mostly because I needed someone who was used to being viewed as mentally unwell to try and dissect what I experienced today. I just didn’t really know how to approach it. “What happened today, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bianca took the initiate as we arrived at the top of the third floor and she directed me down the hall to a room at the end. “I didn’t know what sort of job I was hired on to do with him, what his hobbies were. I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies, but they were usually in various states of decay; they were dehumanized for me, nothing more than flesh and organs. I know it sounds morbid, but they were very obviously dead and I never spent much time with the more living looking ones—but what I saw today was unnerving. I thought the boy was just sleeping, but he was..he wasn’t sleeping. And I swear, I swear I saw him open his eyes; his brother swears too! But then I thought I saw him sitting up in his little coffin and...I know it as just a hallucination, but it felt so real.” I had opened the door to my room and found my bag sitting atop the bed. Bianca hesitantly followed me in as we conversed. “Has this happened to you before? Hallucinations like this?” She asked. “Yes, all the time. It’s a large part of why they diagnosed me with dementia praecox but—but I’ve never had anyone else experience a hallucination with me. And then I come home to no home and now I’m here. It’s been a bit too much for me today.” I opened my bag and took out my favorite jumper, an over-sized pea-soup green abomination that Mrs. Moss made me when I turned sixteen. It was my comfort; my sanity in my insanity. “Then maybe it wasn’t a hallucination. Maybe you really saw what you saw.” Bianca scooted closer to the bed and leaned against it. “And if I did, then what did I see? A ghost? Because what I saw wasn’t possible otherwise unless it was a hallucination.” I was still doubtful about what really happened. “A ghost would seem likely, I suppose.” Bianca agreed with my absurd suggestion. “Sure...a ghost. A ghost seems most likely.” I grimaced with a shrug. A ghost was the last thing I wanted. Sleep, that’s what I needed the most. “You look tired; I’ll let you get some rest. If you need anything, my room is just across the hall.” Bianca left with a smile, clicking the door shut softly behind her. “All of this is so unreal. Maybe, maybe this is all a hallucination. Today didn’t happen. It was all in my head.” I spoke out loud, yawing a few times in between. I wrapped myself in my sweater and curled up on top of the bedspread, turning the flame down on the kerosene lamp before I buried my face in the feather-filled pillows. I would probably wake up in the morning and find myself at home with Mrs. Moss who had been given temporary care of me while my mental state leveled back out. None of this happened. None of this was real. (*) I woke up screaming, or at least I was screaming while I was in my nightmare. What woke me was more of a honking sound as I cried out into the dark, flailing myself into consciousness as I toppled off the bed. I sat up panting, clambering for my sweater as I wrapped it around me and tried to calm down. I kept seeing those eyes, those smooth grey, unseeing eyes. They were staring at me while Robert smiled in my face, his small cold hands wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t shake the image from my mind, no matter how hard I tried. Water, maybe water would be good at for me, even though I read somewhere that it was good to drink right when you woke up for dream recollection—and I definitely didn’t want to recall this dream. “Maybe some fresh air instead.” I spoke quietly to myself as I silently left my room and padded down two flights of stairs to the main floor. There were candles and lanterns still lit here even though the house was quiet. I searched around on tip toes for a door to a back porch because I didn’t want to stand outside the front door at this time of night. I finally discovered a door that looked like it may have led to the outside, but when I opened it I found a study instead, and a passed out Sharpe in his desk chair, a bottle of almost empty bourbon in one hand. “How professional.” I whispered to myself. “I’m off the clock.” Sharpe muttered, lifting his head from the desk. “You’re right; my apologies.” I started to bow out of the room when he stopped me. “What are you doing awake at this hour?” He sat up and looked at me through squinted eyes. “I—I had a nightmare. Thought maybe I would get some fresh air and was looking for another door that led out back, but I found you instead.” I took a few steps back outside the door to his study. “Down the hall there. It’s in the kitchen.” Sharpe got up from his desk and set the bottle down on top before he went over to a basin in the corner and soaked a cloth to rub down his face. “Thank you, Mr. Sharpe.” I tried to be polite after my outburst earlier. “Seriously, call me Finneas. Even if you don’t want to be my friend, I’d rather you not call me Mr. Sharpe; makes my feel old.” He smoothed his hair back with damp hands. “What if I call you Fin instead?” I pushed my luck, wrapping my sweater tighter around myself. “I haven’t been called that since first year of medical school. I suppose that’ll do.” He gave me an impish grin. “Alright then. But I still want to be addressed as Miss Noxx.” I winked cheekily at him as I turned around and walked down the hall to the kitchen. I found the door to the backyard and opened it to find a garden full of early autumn herbs and the golden hue of the coming fall on the trees. The air was fresh and it felt good in my lungs as I inhaled the slight crispness of the cool breeze that blew around me. The nightmare slowly faded from my mind as I let the excess energy from the dream drain from my body and into the greenery around me. When I finally felt like I was centered again, I went back inside to find darkened halls with only the slightest sliver of light from the moon outside that fell through the windows. Everything was still, quiet. Fin must have gone to bed and left me with no light so I had to find my way back to the stairs and up two flights to my bedroom in the dark. “So inconsiderate.” I muttered as I picked my way down the hall and felt across walls till my eyes adjusted and I could make out furniture and hanging pictures. I didn’t know the house well, so I would just have to continue feeling my away across the wall until I found the banister to the stairs. Before I got to the bottom of them a glow emanating from the parlour caught my attention. There was a fire in the fireplace, a high backed chair propped up in front of it. I figured that Fin had probably come in here to finish off his bourbon and had fallen asleep in his chair. Even though I was still unhappy with him, I figured that I should check on him and make sure that he didn’t drown on his drink in his sleep. I crept quietly into the room and over to the chair, careful not to trip on anything and startle him awake. Instead, I decided to quietly whisper his name to alert him to my presence before I chose to wake him any other way; he would thank me in the morning when he didn’t have a crick in his neck. But he never responded to me, never stirred or made a noise. I took that as him being a deep sleeper and I knew I would have to put myself in front of him to physically wake him. “Mr. Shar—er, Fin.” I stepped around the chair. What met my eyes caused a scream to catch in my throat. Robert was sitting propped up in the chair like I had positioned him earlier in the day, his eyes wide and colorless as they focused on me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream...all I could do was stare and try not to panic. I found my breath and took a few good inhales and exhales before I firmly spoke. “You aren’t real. You’re just a hallucination of a poor, defenseless child.” Poor and defenseless, most likely, but eerie none the less. The hallucination didn’t disappear, though. It continued in front of me, Robert’s blank stare boring a hole into me like a life-like ventriloquist dummy. His small hands were crossed in his lap like I left them, but I swore I saw his pinky twitch. “Go away, Robert. You aren’t really here! You’re dead and this,” I rose my voice slightly, waving my hand at what was surely a vacant chair, “This is all in my stupid head!” The pinky definitely moved this time. “Why won’t you go away. If you won’t go away, then I will.” I was tired of my own hallucination ignoring me and went to march off when I felt something brush my skirt, snagging the fibers. I thought maybe a loose upholstery staple… Robert’s fingers were closed around my skirt, his body laid haphazardly over the chair like every bone in his body was broken, his neck twisted around so that he could stare up at me with those milky eyes. This time a scream was able to escape my lips as I yanked my skirt from his fingers and stumbled backwards, falling onto the cushions of the sofa. I scrambled to get up, trying to focus my attention on the chair, but Robert wasn’t in it anymore. I had undoubtedly woken the house and possibly make a fool of myself when someone would find me scared out of my wits end by something I conjured with my own mind. “Breathe, Willa. You fool.” I scolded myself as I planted my feet on the ground and pulled myself off the cushions, but movement in the corner of my eye caused my head to snap towards the door as something scuttled by on six legs, two pairs of eyes reflecting back at me in the firelight. It was then that I began to get hysterical, tears welling hotly in my eyes as I backed towards the door to the parlour after it had passed by and crossed the far wall. I could hear whatever had scuttled by now climbing up the front of the chair and I would soon be faced with it because I was sure it wasn’t going to let me go that easily. I had completely lost control of my brain and for a split-second I wondered if I had even woken up at all from my initial rest because it all seemed like a nightmare at this point. “Keep moving, keep moving. This isn’t real, Willa. It’s all in your head. It’s in your damn head.” I continued to nag myself quietly as I willed my legs to keep backing up until I got to the staircase and could run up the two flights of stairs to my room. But it was moving again, throwing long, jointed appendages around the back of the chair. Just the sight of the skeletal spider legs made my head swim and I knew that if I didn’t get away, Fin or Bianca might find me dead of fright. I took a few more steps backwards, my breath coming in wheezing inhales as the legs gripped the cushion of the chair in front of me tightly, causing deep indentions in the fabric as it lifted its body to come over the top of the chair-- “Willa.” I screamed again, but this time I was able to stop myself before it woke the whole neighborhood. I instantly broke down, clutching my middle with one hand as I held the other over my mouth and sobbed. “Willa? What are you doing down here? What happened?” It was Bianca, the look of fear shining in her eyes. “I—I don’t want to talk about it now. Can you just help me to my room, please?” I tried not to beg, but you could hear the helplessness in my voice. I forced myself to look over my shoulder at the chair, but there was nothing there. Nothing in it, nothing around it, nothing at all. There was also no fire in the fireplace, but the chair was in the same position. “Alright, come on now.” Bianca put her slender arm around my shoulder and held me close to her as she led me back up the stairs and to my bedroom. I was still crying when we got to the door, but I tried my hardest not to get out of control until I was in my room with the door locked. “Are you going to be ok in here alone? I don’t want to leave you by yourself.” Bianca opened the door for me and I stepped over the threshold. “I’ll be fine. I think maybe I was sleep-walking...it’s been a while.” I lied, not wanting to explain anything to anyone right then. “If you say so. I’ll be just across the hall if you need anything.” Bianca gave me a half-smile before she took the few steps across the hall and went back in her room. I was finally able to go in my own, shut the door behind me, and start sobbing uncontrollably all over again. What I had seen had quite possibly been one of the worst hallucinations I had ever had and even though I was aware of what was going on, I couldn’t make it go away and that frightened me. Was my brain slowly deteriorating because of my illness? Would it get to a point where I just existed inside a hallucination of my own device with no way to escape? I tried not to focus on these foolish ideas and instead changed out of my skirt, waistcoat, and blouse to put on wool trousers and a chemise. My jumper was the finishing touch at putting me at ease just enough to lay down on the bed with my face towards the door. I made sure that my oil lantern had plenty of oil to burn through the rest of the night because there was no way I wanted to be left in the dark. Chapter 1: "Robert" The sky was gray and cloudy, as it generally was this time of year. My new employer said that the weather suited the mood of the day and where we were headed; I would have agreed with him had I known where we were headed. I had only just been hired, and Mr. Sharpe seemed simultaneously reluctant and displeased to even take me on as an employee. But he was desperate, that much was apparent from his behavior, so he hired me and probably against his better judgment.
“I can hear you huffing out of boredom over there. I know how you women are; have to be constantly stimulated and busy to stay out of trouble and not fall into hysterics.” Mr. Sharpe sneered and I bit my tongue. I was in the position I was in because of my mouth...and I was lucky. “Just a little tired, sir; I didn’t sleep well last night.” I stifled a yawn, turning my face towards the window in the carriage. “That’s very irresponsible of you, Miss Noxx. What if you had been late? I would have left with you.” Mr. Sharpe lashed back, picking at me for no reason other than his own amusement as a man. “But I wasn’t late. I may not have slept well, but I arrived on time like one does with a job.” I snapped, forgetting my manners. “Bite your tongue, young lady. We’re here anyway. Get my bags and carry them inside.” Mr. Sharpe instructed as the carriage came to a halt and he was out the door before I had a chance to say yes, sir. I hoisted the bags over my shoulder before I stumbled out of the carriage and practically dragged myself and his equipment to the front door. He rapped thrice and after a moment of silence, the door opened up. The man on the other side looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, his eyes ringed in black, the whites bloodshot and red as if he had been crying. I instantly felt uncomfortable and hung back a few steps from Mr. Sharpe. “Mr. Dugan?” Sharpe asked, taking off his top hat to gesture towards the man standing in the doorway. “Yessir. You must be Mr. Sharpe. Please, do come in.” Mr. Dugan opened the door wide and swung his arm out jerkily as we entered his house. “My wife is finishing getting herself and the boys ready. She should be with us shortly.” Mr. Dugan spoke hollowly as he led us down a hallway, past the parlor, and into a living area. The furniture here was nice, a bit worn, but nice none the less. There seemed to be added seating that wasn’t there normally, and an extra table laid out near one side. In the corner was an old arm chair, a little boy about the age of nine sitting in it, asleep. I thought it odd that the boy was asleep since it was well past breakfast and he was dressed so nicely in little velvet breaches, a bow tie, and his hair slicked back from his face. By the looks of his skin, he may might have been a little ill, and that would explain the late morning nap. Mr. Dugan stood to the side of the chair, shifting his footing as Mr. Sharpe set down his bags and began pulling out equipment: a wooden tripod, a small table, a few other strange devices, and at last something that I had only ever seen in shop windows and was reserved for those with money; it was a camera. Oh, he’s a photographer. Must be doing a family photo. I thought to myself as I waited for instruction. A woman entered the room then, behind her two boys and one adult male. The last boy looked a bit old to be the woman’s, but the other three fit the age. None of them smiled except for a turned corner of the mouth and a slight nod as they came to stand by their father and husband. Mr. Sharpe had finished setting up the camera and was waving his hand at the family to get in position. They made their way around the chair, mother and father directly behind, while the three sons gathered around their brother seated asleep in the chair. “Just a little to the left, Mrs. Dugan. Yes, that’s it. Now we just need to get little Robert situated and we can begin.” Mr. Sharpe spoke to the family. Little Robert mush have been the sleepy little ginger boy in the chair. But non of the family members moved. Mrs. Dugan’s face completely drained of color and Mr. Dugan placed a strong arm around her waist; she looked as if she was going to faint. “My wife isn’t doing well today, Mr. Sharpe.” Mr. Dugan choked, pulling her closer to him. “I understand. Miss Noxx, will you please assist the family.” Sharpe turned to me and I stared at him in confusion. I understood that the mother was going through some sort of ordeal, but I didn’t know why it prevented her from waking her child to get him ready for their family picture that they probably paid a pretty penny for. Mr. Sharpe cast me a scathing look that said I better do my job as he instructed and I tried not to sigh loudly as I walked over to the boy to wake him up and get him still and settled for the picture; I knew that much about photography. “Robert.” I whispered softly as I reached out my hand to gently rouse him. His mother burst into tears at the sound of his name and, startled, I looked up at her with questioning eyes. I was thoroughly confused now and was only trying to do my job, but I had somehow made this woman upset even more than she already was and I didn’t even know why. “Willa, why are you talking to the boy? He—he can’t respond to you; the dead don’t talk.” Sharpe scolded me. It was then that it all clicked. The boy wasn’t asleep; he was deceased. “Oh, I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” I stood up for a moment, taking a deep breath as I realized I was looking down at a dead little boy dressed in his Sunday best propped up in his father’s armchair...I was disturbed. “You didn’t...know?” Mrs. Dugan’s face was an unreadable mixture of emotions and I feared that I would cause her hysteria. “No, ma’am. I just took the job, but I didn’t know what it entailed.” I was still in disbelief as I talked to the mother, but I never took my eyes off of her son. “Ignore her, Mrs. Dugan. She’s not all too bright and apparently didn’t read the fine print of her work contract. Now, Miss Noxx, please stage the boy for me; it shouldn’t be that hard.” Mr. Sharpe stood by his camera, narrowing his eyes angrily at me. “Yes, sir.” I didn’t argue as I smiled meekly at his parents and knelt back down in front of him. I could see the signs of death on him now that I was closer. His lips were a pale blue and his eyes had started to sink a little, but makeup had been applied to his face and from farther away, you would never know. Robert was ice cold to the touch, his skin waxy and doll like under my fingers as I carefully lifted him from the corner of the arm on the chair and sat him upright. He was still just stiff enough that his head stayed in place when I rested him against the back of the chair and didn’t loll forward like I feared it would. I wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but I figured gently laying them in his lap would look angelic and I crossed his ankles for the proper good boy effect. I stood up and surveyed my work; for it being my first time ever posing a corpse, I had done rather well. “Ah, good job, Miss Noxx. The boy looks absolutely angelic.” Mr. Sharpe complimented me; I was surprised. Before I could nod in thanks, the mother blurted, “I want his eyes open. I don’t want to look at this portrait and be reminded of my son’s death, but his life.” She began to sob. Sounds of crying soon came from the other two younger sons while the eldest tried to hold it together for them. I crossed the room over to Mr. Sharpe and whispered, “Can we do that?” “Not really. The best we can do is draw them on. From this distance, it won’t be noticeable in the picture.” Mr. Sharpe whispered back, “There’s an ink pen in the front pocket of my leather bag; you can use that.” “I can use—you want me to do it?” I wasn’t prepared to draw realistic eye-balls on a dead boy. Mr. Sharpe narrowed his eyes at me again, “It’s your job, Willa.” “Sure, it’s my job.” I responded. I went over to his bag and found the pen after a moment of searching. I expected Mr. Sharpe to explain to the parents what I was doing, but apparently he was going to let me do that too. “Mrs. Dugan, it isn’t possible to open the eyes once they have closed after death and keep them open where they look natural. I will—I will have to draw them on if you want them to appear open.” I swallowed hard after the last few words, the fountain pen feeling bulky in my hand. “You—you could never do them justice.” Mrs. Dugan began to cry, her reddened eyes welling as she dabbed at them with a handkerchief. I tried to think of something to say, my eyes carefully scanning the room. I caught sight of a painting near the fireplace, a very realistic painting of young Robert and his icy blue eyes. They were so light that they were almost inhuman looking; I understood what his mother was saying now. “His eyes are beautiful.” I smiled sympathetically and she nodded at me. “Thank you.” “We can add color to the portrait after it is developed; a new technique that I learned from a Frenchman.” Mr. Sharpe cut the mood and received an agreeing look from Mr. Dugan. “I’ll start drawing then.” I faked a smile for Mrs. Dugan’s benefit and knelt down in front of her son again. I had to try and find a way to lean over him without being disrespectful. I chose to stand back up so I could look down at him, locking my knees against the front of the chair to keep me steady. I had never done makeup like this before, not in this manner. This whole thing shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was, but for some reason the whole situation was rattling to me. Nevertheless, I placed my left hand on the side of his face and gently pulled the skin taught so I had a smoother surface to work with. His lids had become tacky due to the powdered face and high humidity of the room and I worried his drawn on eyes would—run. I took a deep breath and began with light gentle strokes as I outlined the shape of the eye exposed in the socket, glancing at the painting every so often for reference. Then came the pupils and the gleam in the eye that the boy should have had, even though it wasn’t there in the painting. The painted eyes of it, the artistically realistic eyes, were...hollow. There was no emotion in them despite there being a spaniel puppy in his lap. I tried the best I could. I was almost finished with the second eye, getting close to the boys face to make sure that I didn’t mess up. A chill ran up my spine as I re-positioned my hand on his face, a sensation that sent the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I chalked it up to being in close proximity to a dead boy that I thought was alive when I first saw him—but the sensation was peculiar. “Are you almost finished?” Mr. Sharpe asked impatiently and I turned to cluck at him, “I am trying to make his eyes look as realistic as possible; that’s what Mrs. Dugan wants and I am going to give it to her.” I showed him up a bit and was sure I would hear about it later, but he didn’t need to boss me around like some child. I turned around with a quiet huff to finish my work… And the boy’s eyes were wide open, their shocking color masked by the milkiness of cataracts. I screamed, there was no avoiding that. It startled me bad enough that I lost my balanced as I backed up and toppled over a brocade ottoman. I was somehow graceful enough to not crash down into Mr. Sharpe’s camera and I rolled out of the way, losing the fountain pen under the sofa. Mrs. Dugan was now fully into hysterics, her sobs more like loud wails as she struggled to get a breath in between. Her husband had pulled her away from the chair as the brothers followed to comfort her, only the eldest stayed behind, staring at me as I stood up and straightened my skirts. I didn’t want to look at Robert...but I had to. His eyes were closed. Had I imagined it? Had someone gone back and closed them while I was trying to pick myself up off the rug. “Willa, what in the hell is wrong with you?” Sharpe hissed at me as he yanked me back by my collar. “His eyes were open, Mr. Sharpe. When I turned around they were open.” I pointed at the boy. “They aren’t open now.” Sharpe looked at me like I was crazy. “Then someone closed them!” I exclaimed. “No. No one closed them. You screamed, flailed about like a demon-possessed woman and then fell over the ottoman. You set off Mrs. Dugan and now here we are.” Sharpe scolded me again. “No, they were open.” I finally felt bold enough to walk over to Robert and look him in the face. His eyes were closed, that much I could see, but the ink of the drawn on eyes I had been working on had yet to dry and were now smudged and blurry, just like it would be if someone had opened their eyes before the ink was dry. They had been open, but how? And why were they closed again now? I felt Sharpe walk up behind me, “Shoddy work, Miss Noxx. I’ll get you a cloth so you can start over. Now, can we please get through this without any more ridiculous theatrics? You’re going to ruin my reputation.” He taped me on the back of the head just hard enough to make me scowl just out of sight. “Yes, sir.” I spoke through gritted teeth. Mr. Sharpe retired to the kitchen while I got back down to the floor to find the fountain pen. “I, uh, I couldn’t help but overhear you say that his eyes were open.” I voice above me caused me to bump my head on the underside of the sofa as I finally found he pen. I withdrew to find the eldest son still standing by the chair with his brother. “I thought they were, but I think I’m just seeing things. I didn’t really know what the job description was when I took it so the whole thing has me a little frazzled.” I admitted though I was partially lying. “You’ve never seen a dead body before? Watching you draw his eyes on the way you did, the way you handled him with kid gloves, shows me you have respect for the dead and that you’re not afraid. You’re not a physician; are you a mortician?” He asked curiously. “I’m not sure that is really any of your business. I’m just a photographer’s assistant, young man.” I didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing anything about me, but why was he so curious? “Maybe you’re right, maybe it isn’t my business, but I don’t like being called ‘young man’. I’m an adult, Miss Noxx; twenty-three next February. All I was trying to say in the first place was that I saw his eyes open too. I saw them open before you turned and saw them yourself.” The oldest boy stepped around the chair and got close to me, forcing me to look up at him. He was a decent bit taller than me and even though he was practically ten years younger than me, I was still a little intimidated. “Well, I’m glad that you saw it too. If it wasn’t bad form, I’d ask you to tell my employer that.” I joked with a chuckled just as Mr. Sharpe came back in the room with a wet cloth and a glass jar full of face powder. “Get to work. I think Mr. Dugan has finally calmed his wife down and we have a very slim window before she loses her mind again.” Sharpe slapped the rag in my hand and I set to work cleaning the boys eyelids before applying a fine veil of powder and tried to remember what I had made them look like before, but all I could see in my head was that foggy blank stare. I managed to make it through and watched the boy for a moment as the ink dried before I stepped away and took my position behind Mr. Sharpe. He readied the camera again, positioning it just right so that the whole family fit in the frame. All the while, the eldest boy watched me and not the camera. I guess that Sharpe didn’t notice, because he took the shot while the eldest was still watching me behind him. “Alright then, that’s done. I’m going to develop it here on the spot. If you’d like copies, we can have them printed on heavy parchment from the negative. I just need a dark space to develop the shot.” Mr. Sharpe announced. “The basement is just the spot, Mr. Sharpe. Right this way.” Mr. Dugan stepped out from behind the chair to guide Sharpe to the basement as Mrs. Sharpe gathered the two younger boys and disappeared from the living area. That left just me and increasingly unsettling eldest son alone in the room. “Am I scaring you?” He came around the chair again and right up to me, eyeing me in a strange way that made me feel like prey. “You’re making me uncomfortable.” I tried to busy myself, but couldn’t find anything to do and wasn’t quick enough to come up with a reason to excuse myself. “I’m not meaning to, I just thought that maybe I had found someone who believes in the things that I do, or has at least experience things.” He apologized and I could feel the sincerity in his words, but I didn’t know what he was getting at. “What do you mean?” I didn’t dare make eye contact as I spoke with him. “Spiritualism? You know, the occult? Ghosts, talking boards, mediums?” A sly grin crept across his face. I understood then. He thought that we had both had witnessed a simultaneous spectral event as they called it, but I don’t think he really saw what he thought he saw. What he saw was me having a hallucination and responding in a panic. He had picked up on it somehow and inferred that it had to do with the eyes or...something. “It was a hallucination. I have them all the time.” I willingly admitted; I wasn’t ashamed of it. “A hallucination? You see things that aren’t there?” His face fell as he asked. “See, hear, sometimes smell. I have dementia praecox which is just a fancy way of saying that I’m a nutter and my brain doesn’t work well.” I smiled at him. “You’re mental?” He suddenly looked disgusted. “Mental, mad, nuts, crazy, insane—a lot of names for the same thing.” I continued to smile, know that I was now the one making him uncomfortable. “I swear I saw his eyes open though. And that’s not the only weird thing that has happened with him.” The young man stepped even closer to me. “Alright, before you go telling me your life story, can I at least get your name?” I would feel better at least being able to address him if we were going to have a strange conversation. “Lennon, sorry. You’re Willa? Can I call you Willa?” He asked with a slight smirk. I sighed and rolled my eyes, “I suppose. You sure you want to be talking to a crazy person? Most people think its contagious and stay far away.” I goaded him just a bit more. “I’ve been around you for the better part of an hour and I seem fine. Either that or we both hallucinated because I contracted what you have.” Lennon laughed nervously. “Maybe, but you said that wasn’t the only weird thing that’s happen and we’ve just met. By that logic you’re either fine and really experienced some things or you were mental long before we met.” I tried to get comfortable as I prepared myself for some young bachelors spooky tales of trying to woo me. Not saying I am any man’s first, second, or even third choice, but I’m not to had on the eyes either. “Robert was Elenor’s last. She wanted to have four, but after Rober almost killed her during child birth, her and my father decided that he would be the last. She didn’t care that I even existed in the equation, but she should have been grateful because I helped with Robert when she couldn’t. He was sick for the first four years of his life to the point that he never left the house. He was rail thin, weak, paler than a ghost, and on the verge of death with every breath. My father was surprised he even made it as far as he did, but then he started to get better. It was slow at first, but he started to eat on his own, to talk, to even walk. It was rough, but within a year it was as if Robert had never been sick at all.” Lennon explained, speaking in a hushed tone. “Was he seeing a doctor? What did they say about it?” I was now intrigued by the story he was revealing to me. “We have a family doctor that was there right after he was born and saw him through his years of illness; he was baffled. Called it a miracle and wrote it off.” Lennon shrugged. “That is really strange.” I commented. “That’s not even the strangest part. After about six months of perfect health, I started catching Robert talking to something that wasn’t there. I figured it was innocent, children have imaginary friends, but then Robert started getting into trouble for things that no child his age, or anyone for that matter, should be doing. I don’t want to go into all the details, but—it was like he was putting himself and others in danger. He ended up going blind two years ago because of it; poured lye in his eyes while his mother was having a glass of wine and the house maid did the wash. They fired her and Robert was left with permanent damage to the eyes. It was all just—” Lennon was interrupted as his father entered the room. “Lennon, help me get the coffin in here and move your brother; people will be arriving soon.” Mr. Dugan ordered. “Yes, sir.” Lennon gave me a wistful look as he followed his father from the room and now—now I was alone with Robert. I could hear Mrs. Dugan scolding the two younger boys in the other room, the sound of Lennon and his father out back getting the coffin, the pulsing noise of my blood in my eyes as I stared at Robert. He was still propped up from the photo, eyes closed and hands laid out in his lap. He really looked like a doll in that moment, but the thought didn’t leave me feeling any less uneasy. Had I just been seeing things? I saw the all the time, the doctors told me that my mind was unbound and I couldn’t discern fiction from reality—but Lennon had seen this also. I wasn’t alone this time. My eyes never left Robert as I kept my ears open for my employer, Lennon, someone...anyone. “Knock, knock. Is anyone home?” I heard a voice from the foyer and instinctively moved myself between Robert’s body and the line of sight of anyone else. A woman appeared in the doorway with a tray piled high with tea sandwiches. She was dressed in her mourning clothes so she knew what was going on, but I thought it kind of rude that she just barged in without knocking while the family was unprepared. “And who might you be?” She asked me, setting the tray down on the hall table. She walked into the room, lifted her mourning veil, and placed her hands on her hip in a demanding manner. “Willa Noxx, ma’am. I came with Mr. Sharpe.” I blessed her with my polite voice and waited for her response. “Mr. Sharpe? Is he the butcher that fills in for Willy Chapman?” She asked. Clearly she had no idea what I was talking about. “No, Delilah. Mr. Sharpe is the Momento Mori photographer from the city. He was just finishing up our family portrait.” Mr. Dugan had appeared in the door with Lennon as the two tried to maneuver the fine wooden coffin into the room. “And who is this girl then? She looks—poor.” The woman named Delilah remarked, scrunching up her lips as she turned her nose at me. “Delilah! I don’t care how you choose to speak or talk about people in your own home, but that will not be tolerated here. You may be my wife’s aunt, but this is my house.” Mr. Dugan put his foot down as he set the coffin up on a carved stand. I felt him come up behind me with Lennon as they took Robert from the chair and carefully laid him in the coffin. “Oh, is that my poor baby? Sweet, sweet Robert.” Delilah elbowed past me to the coffin and started to weep—loudly. “And that’s our cue to go to the kitchen for refreshments while you wait for Mr. Sharpe to finish with his photo.” Lennon came up behind me and placed his hand on the small of my back, directing me out of the room, down the hall, and to the kitchen. He poured me a glass of water and the two of us stood silently for a moment as I stared out the open back door. “Robert didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” Lennon finally broke the silence and I almost choked on my water. “No, he was a complete gentleman.” I responded, possibly a little insensitively. “Good.” Lennon returned, finishing his water as he went for a tray of cheeses and exited the kitchen without another word. “Ah, good, you’re in here. I have developed an initial shot, but they want several duplicates which will have to be done back at the shop. Are you ready to go?” Mr. Sharpe appeared in the kitchen doorway and I must have had a dumbfounded look on my face because he followed with, “Are you alright, Miss Noxx?” “Mm? Oh, I’m fine. I just wasn’t prepared for any of this and it’s taken a toll on my mental state, I suppose.” I set down my glass of water and covered my eyes with my hand. Suddenly the room had grown very bright, but I wasn’t sure if I was the only one seeing it. “Alright, let’s get you out to the carriage then. It should be pulling back up right about now.” Mr. Sharpe checked his watch as he guided me out into the hall, not letting me back into the living area. “Straight out the front door and wait. I’ll be out in just a moment.” He directed me down the hall and I nodded. My feet felt like they were being sucked in by wet sand, hard to lift as I plodded down the hall. I passed the open door of the living room and I shouldn’t have looked, but I did. Mr. Dugan was in there with his wife, talking to the rude aunt as the younger boys sat on the sofa talking quietly to themselves. But Lennon was standing next to the coffin where his youngest brother lay, except Robert was sitting straight up in his coffin. Both he and Lennon were staring at me, their eyes burning holes through my body, but I couldn’t take my eyes away. Everyone else in the room was oblivious, but me… Finally the trance broke and my legs worked sprinting my right past the open door to the living room and out the front where the only thing that would be waiting for me was the carriage. My first day at this new job had been jarring at the least and I didn’t even care how much scolding I would probably receive for me behavior...I just wanted to get as far away from this house and Robert as possible. |
E.M. MoonStories from the World Wide Weird Archives
December 2021
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