Page 102 of Disturbing the Dead
It takes a while before I can watch the video through. Hell, it takes a while before I can even process what I’m hearing. I see Nan and hear her voice, and the grief washes over me, and not a single word sinks in. But eventually I’m able to watch, and when I can, I focus on her theory for getting me back.
Is it wrong to say I’m disappointed?
I’m struggling with the idea of going back. Struggling with wanting to. For six months, I’ve been saying my life is here.
It’s rational to make plans in case I accidentally go back. But to pursue it as a goal?
I think, in some way, I like not having an actual choice, so I don’t have to make it. On a deeper level, though? When I think of never going back? Of never seeing that world and those people again? I start to panic.
So when Nan says she thinks she knows a way, part of me spirals in panic… and a deeper part leaps in hope. Then I hear her plan.
I want her to give me magic. Do this special thing to go back. I’d even settle for the obvious answer of having someone throttle me until I pass out. Instead, what she says is too close to all the failed things I tried to bring me back to this world.
The entirety of her plan? Go to Gray’s town house.
Return to 12 Robert Street, go inside, and the veil, as she calls it, will thin, and I will be able to step through.
I appreciate that she did this final thing for me. I’m also really glad she told Mom not to give me the video until she was gone, so I never had to tell her it didn’t work.
When I stop the video, Mom comes in.
“I was kind of hoping for something a little more creative,” I say. “Given all the drugs.”
Mom chokes on her laugh and hugs me. “I know.”
“Even if I did think that would work,” I say, “how would I do it? Knock on a stranger’s door and ask to come inside?”
Mom’s quiet. When I look up, she says, “The town house is a vacation rental. A very posh vacation rental. The family renting it leaves tomorrow morning, and there’s an opening.”
My heart leaps with that hope before I cast it aside with a hard shake of my head. “It won’t work, Mom.”
“Probably not, but I’ve reserved it. At the very least, you can show us where you lived for six months and we’ll all have a lovely night in a posh house.” She pats my shoulder. “Now, your father has compiled a list of the newspapers and how best to compose Victorian personal ads.”
I want to say it won’t work. I want to sink into a chair and wallow in my grief over Nan and my disappointment over her “solution” and my guilt over being disappointed.
Instead, I just say, “Thank you,” and kiss Mom’s cheek. She hugs me again and then says, “After the personal-ad lesson, I want you to tell me about this latest case, with the mummy. See whether we can solve it together.”
That night, we do indeed discuss the mummy case. Mom and I hash it out until we see Dad on his cell phone.
“Boring you already?” I say. “I thought you liked detective stories.”
“I’m not sure he actually does,” Mom says, “since he always skips ahead to the end.”
“What?” I squawk. “Seriously, Dad?”
He looks offended. “I go back and finish the book. I only skip forward to check my answer.”
“That’s still cheating.” My gaze goes to the cell phone in his hand. “Wait. Were you trying to skip ahead? See whether the crime was solved?”
“Possibly.”
“Did you find it online?”
“It’s a unique case. Got a fair bit of press at the time.”
“So whodunit?” I say.
“Now who’s skipping ahead?” he says, tucking his phone into his pocket.
