Chapter 2 - Voices from the GraveThe little girl didn't answer right away. She shrank back against the wall, staring at Elise’s ghostly expression as if she were suddenly terrified of saying the wrong thing and triggering another violent outburst.
David moved closer, his hand reaching out to steady Elise's elbow. He could feel her trembling through the thick satin of her sleeve. "Elise, talk to me. What is inside that locket? Show me."
Elise immediately snapped the locket shut with a loud, desperate click. Her hands were vibrating now, and she pressed her closed fist hard against her sternum, right over her heart, as if she were trying to physically contain a monster escaping from her chest.
David watched her face, his brow furrowing deeper. "That didn't look like nothing, Elise. You look like you've seen a ghost. Let me see the photograph."
"No," Elise choked out, her breath catching in her throat like a physical obstruction. "No, it's impossible. It's a trick. It has to be a trick."
Lily wiped both of her eyes with the back of her small, lace-trimmed sleeve. "She told me you'd be angry," the child whispered softly. "She said you'd look just like that."
Elise’s head snapped toward the child. "Who told you? Who said that?"
The girl glanced nervously toward the heavy oak door leading to the main hallway. Outside, the muffled chatter of the wedding guests had suddenly gone quiet. The sudden absence of noise from the reception hall indicated that something was wrong; people were beginning to notice the delay. A few bridesmaids were craning their necks toward the dressing room door, while older guests were already stepping away, sensing an impending disaster.
"She told me not to tell anyone until you opened it," Lily said, her voice small but steady.
Elise took one slow, agonizing step toward the child, her heavy gown rustling loudly against the floorboards. "Lily. Please. Look at my face. Where did you see the woman who gave you this locket?"
The girl's eyes filled with tears again. "At the Greyhound bus station," she swallowed hard, her little fingers twisting the fabric of her flower dress. "Three days ago. I was there with my grandma waiting for my aunt. The lady was sitting on the bench in the corner. She wore a big dark coat and a scarf over her hair. She called me over. She knew my name, and she knew I was going to be your flower girl."
David looked between the child and his bride, his mind racing through a maze of impossible theories. "Elise, what is happening here? Who is this woman?"
Elise didn't turn toward him. Her gaze was completely locked onto the wall, her voice coming out flat, hollowed of all human emotion. "My mother, David. My mother was buried eleven years ago. I watched the casket lower into the ground. I signed the death certificate."
Lily shook her head, thoroughly confused now, like a child who had inadvertently walked into an adult nightmare she didn't possess the vocabulary to understand. "But she knew your name, lady. She knew today was your wedding day at St. Jude’s. She even knew what you'd be wearing. She said you'd be wearing a dress with pearls on the back. And you are."
Nobody in the room moved. The air felt completely static.
Then, Lily reached into the small, decorative pocket of her flower dress. Her small fingers closed around something concealed deep inside. When she pulled her hand out, she was holding a folded square of paper. It was worn white at the creases, soft and frayed, as if it had been opened, read, and refolded dozens of times over a long period.
"She gave me this too," Lily said, holding it out. "And she made me promise to give it to you when no one else was looking."
Elise didn't reach for it. She couldn't. Her hands were still frozen against her chest, holding the locket like a shield.
May you like
But David did. He stepped forward, took the folded paper from the child's hand, and unfolded it with meticulous care. His eyes moved rapidly across the handwritten ink. Then, halfway down the page, his eyes stopped moving. His entire face changed. The skepticism died in his eyes.
"Elise," David’s voice came out strange, raspy, and completely stripped of his usual masculine authority. "This... this is your mother's handwriting. I've seen her old journals in your attic. The elegant cursive, the distinct way she loops her Es... Elise, look at this."
