CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Loudly the bell in the old tower rings,
Bidding us list to the warning it brings,
Sailor take care, sailor take care,
Danger is near thee, beware, beware,
Many brave hearts are asleep in the deep,
Many brave hearts are asleep in the deep.
Somewhere inside the miserable bubbling brew of anger and betrayal and sheer hurt was the thinnest flavor of relief. Lydia was safe. Aunt Wylie was safe. Burlie doubted her aunt even knew. She hoped not anyway. Her parents, however, and honestly, and very quickly, could go straight to hell.
"Sorry!" she shouted to the stars as she aimlessly wandered Bathatch's grounds. Golden leaves crunched under her feet. "I'm just so sorry I'm not healing fast enough. Really, I apologize. This is so painful for you, I know. I'm just sooo sorry you lost your daughter."
She stumbled through a patch of white tobacco flowers. "Because I haven't lost a goddamned thing," she spat at them.
Great. Great joke. Great time, everyone. Thanks. A white scrollwork bench under a white trellis entwined with white jasmine appeared out of the dark. It was surrounded by white rose bushes and a dozen other glossy-leaved shrubs Burlie couldn't identify. She paused. Could it be she'd stumbled onto Bathatch's night garden? Yes. All these flowers in October? Yes, again, this was North Carolina. Then again, it wasn't. In this place the Hanging Gardens of Babylon was a possibility.
It was all so inviting and pretty, glowing in the moonlight.
Burlie turned her back on all of it and struck out for the dark under the trees.
"Wait," a man shouted.
It was Fisk.
Of course it was.
"No," Burlie turned away again. "Not you."
There was a rush of cool wind and the leaves whirled. He was standing directly in front of her, the foul, miserable, bullying witch. She stopped. He was breathing heavily as if he'd been running a race. He looked at her for a long moment before he spoke. "So," he said. "So. So, you weren't crying prettily in the rain over your Edgar Allan Poe?"
"No," Burlie said again. She closed her eyes, remembering. "I thought it would be much more fun if I jumped."
Fisk cocked his head at her. "You jumped?"
"From St. Barnabas's bell tower."
He actually flinched with surprise. "You jumped? You actually jumped, both feet in the air." He made a downward arc with his hand. "You tried to kill yourself?"
"That's how we all figured out I had a little problem." A scarlet leaf landed in her dark hair. She pulled it out and let the wind take it on its journey.
Fisk was staring at her. He said, "All right, and you survived how?"
"A Smith caught me."
"Who?"
"None of your business, detective, that's who. And if you think I won't succeed next time, please, keep on bothering me." Burlie started walking again but she knew it was hopeless. He'd just pop up again, beat her down with his power, and pull her home. Or worse. Why even try? Why even try to get well? What was the point of life anyway?
She remembered a squad of new Smiths jogging along towards Bathatch with the Sarge goosing them along. Sarge. He hadn't done her any favors when he yanked her back to safety that miserable summer night. Even her parents were bored with her now. Oh, just end it. It wasn't as if she had a future anyway. Not anymore.
Just end it and go someplace better. "Give my regards to Broadway," she whispered.
And Fisk was in front of her again.
Burlie stopped. He looked at her as if expecting something. Burlie looked into his blue eye, then his green eye, and waited for whatever garbage he had to throw. That business with the pitchfork had been perpetrated by someone who cared.
"I'm sorry," he finally said.
She waited for the But.
She waited some more.
And it never came.
Nothing else did either.
There was just two people standing quietly in the middle of a dream garden.
Until the silence got to Burlie. "You're sorry?" she said and cursed herself for breaking first.
Fisk reached out. Burlie pulled back...
"ARROOOO!" The Wolfman crashed out of a stand of pale peonies and charged them, snarling. Fisk shouted in horror and shot off a fireball. The ground shook as poor, cursed Larry Talbot hit the mossy path. He leapt up again, batting at the sparks in his fur. Burning hair made a stink. Burlie coughed.
Extinguished, the Wolfman spun and crouched low. He looked like much more than a big man in a hairy mask. He smelled like a rank dog. The moon reflected in his eyes. Fisk jumped between him and Burlie.
"You really don't have to, remember?" Burlie said, raining on a chivalrous moment.
Fisk shook his head and raised his hand again. It began to glow. "That thing's too much."
"Too much? You should've seen Leroy the Lake Snake. And the headless cowboy of Plum Tree."
"Bugger me," Fisk said in awe, the flowers around him shining even more brightly.
"Bugger you? You're not the one that had to deal with them."
"I'm so sorry."
"Shut up."
The Wolfman growled and stalked closer. Burlie, despite herself, wished she were back in the cell.
The shrubs rattled and laughter skipped into the air. A girl was singing. "I'm a blushing bud of innocence, boys declare I'm just immense! Before my song I do conclude, I'm not too bad and none too good! Ta ra ra BOOM de ay!"
The beast whined and scrambled away, hopping like an ape over a hedge and disappearing into the night.
As he went Burlie's outright rage and fear followed. She was weak. She was tired. She was all funned out.
"Ta ra ra BOOM de ay! Ta ra ra BOOM de ay! Ta ra ra BOOM de ay! Ta ra ra...!"
"Violet! Stop singing that stupid song. We're trying to hunt here."
A small group of young men and women, the people of Burlie's time would call them teenagers, appeared. There were two nymphs in flowing gossamer gowns, Violet Allhope, a prince wearing satin, and several Romans in bed sheet togas with crowns of maple leaves. They couldn't find a laurel? They were all armed with ropes and a fishing net. "Hey, there," one of the Romans waved to Burlie and Fisk.
"Hail, Caesar," Burlie answered, striking her fist over her heart. Fisk almost startled.
"Hail!" the gang answered, laughing. "Ya'll haven't seen Fuzzy go through here?" the prince asked. Burlie kindly pointed in a different direction than the one the Wolfman had taken. "Thank you. Happy Halloween!"
"Happy Halloween," Burlie said and they all moved off.
"Kissy, kissy, kissy!" Violet called back.
Her friends groused at her and then they were gone.
"They missed the mob. They'll be disappointed when they hear." The mask fell off Burlie's face with a thump and her shoulders drooped again. Fisk was staring. Let him. "Not a rotting zombie or a serial killer costume anywhere either, y'notice," she said, quietly. "I like these people. I love this place." She looked over his shoulder at the pretty bench again. "I'm going to go sit down," she said, firmly, as if deciding to overthrow the President.
Fisk stepped out of her way. She made the weary journey back through the glistening shrubs. She smelled the jasmine before she reached it and gratefully sat, dead in the middle of the bench.
Fisk had to remain standing but he either let it pass or didn't notice. He stared up at the shining, full, beautiful moon. Burlie realized he was in awe. What, he was just noticing this place now?
"You're a performer," he suddenly said.
"No."
"Yes. I think... I think you had a little fun," he almost smiled.
Burlie stared at him. Was that a joke? "When I wasn't worried about a witch attacking my family again, yeah, I had all kinds of fun."
His pleasant expression drained away as Fisk closed his eyes and silently mouthed one, two, three... Finally he asked, "Again?"
"There's a lot you weren't told. You were played, beginning to end
," Burlie said.
Score. His shoulders tensed with genuine irritation. He waited a beat to calm down again. And then he asked, "What happened?" There was no trace of the demanding investigator in his tone this time.
Not that that made any difference. Burlie waved his curiosity away. "You can read about it in the Sodality records. It's all very sad." She was sick of talking to him so she stood up again. "Let's go."
"Go where?"
"Home." Burlie prompted. "You're taking me back, right? Or do I click my heels together three times?"
He looked at her as if she'd suggested a murder/suicide pact. Slowly he shook his head. No? Didn't he know he was supposed to inspire the heroine to have some sort of epiphany at this point? Pump her full of courage to go on? Apparently not. "Come on," she said. She walked to him and he stared down at her. "Let's go."
"Burlington," he said and he sounded so patient. "Listen. They meant well?"
Burlie fought down a desperate need to punch him in the throat. "I'm not interested," she said.
He forged on, naturally. "And your mother was wrong. Ignore her stopwatch, you have nothing but time." Burlie sighed. Fisk persisted. "It's impossible to believe at this end of the tunnel that you'll ever come out the other side. But you will. Better than you ever went in. " He dragged his hands through his hair and his eyes focused on the stars, as if he were remembering something. He looked at her again. "You have to trust me on this. You will mend."
"See, that's the problem," Burlie said. "I won't." She leaned forward so he could catch every word. "The witch that attacked us zapped my throat to stop me from calling for help. She burned my vocal cords. I might be able to get back a speaking voice but..." She drew in a deep breath. "Listen to this."
She walked a few steps away, turned, straightened, and for the first time in too long, began to sing. Truly sing. Sing the way she used to.
One word, a name actually, drawn out long and clear, up the scales and down again, playfully, beautifully, and perfect as a fine-cut diamond, filled the night.
The name, inexplicably, was "Mabel."
She took another deep breath, "Poor wandering one. If such poor love as mine can help thee find true peace of mind, why, take it, it is thine!" She sang as easily as bouncing a ball. The echoes shimmered in the air.
"Good god, Gilbert and Sullivan," Fisk said.
Burlie slowly nodded but she didn't stop. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest and pointed a toe in the finest music hall tradition. "Take heart, fair days will shine. Take any heart..." Gasp. "Take mine!" Mine stretched into a long, perfect high C. It wasn't shrill, it wasn't piercing. It was sheer, moving beauty and then she cut it off as if it had been guillotined.
Fisk's mouth was open. Burlie wanted to laugh but she didn't have a single laugh in her. Her last song. She couldn't even feel smug. Her very last song and she sang it to him? At least she got a last song, no matter who she gifted it to.
Fisk finally came back on line, "That was amazing. You can sing."
"No, I can't," she corrected him. "I can barely talk. Remember?"
He slumped where he stood.
"I was twelve," Burlie went on, "When I became the go-to musical heroine of Savannah. They called me the new Charlotte Church. The new Deanna Durbin. Big star. I played Mabel in 'The Pirates of Penzance.' I anchored show choir at school. I sang at the Governor's inauguration. Grandma McLauren clipped out all the reviews."
"I was..." She compulsively walked even further from him. "I was going to make an album. I was going to save McLauren Landscaping from going under like every other business in the world. And then head off to conquer Broadway!" She almost flared her cloak. She didn't. It hung on her shoulders as limp as a dead snake. "These days I'm lucky if I can get to sleep. I'm so happy if I can get at least three hours. And Grandma says I'd better learn a skill. She wants me to be a nurse."
"Oh, no."
Burlie wanted to shut up. But she couldn't. The hurt rushed out into the light and she couldn't stop it. "Daddy's so glad I won't be going to New York now. It's dangerous in the big city. And Mama! Mama said I probably wouldn't have made it on Broadway anyway. Which, really, thanks a lot, Ma. Oh, and everything happens for the best. It is what it is. It wasn't meant to be. When God closes a door he opens a window. Y'know?"
"No, I don't know." He sounded bitter.
He was bitter? "Thank you!" Burlie shouted back. "Thank you and I'd like to thank my parents for the good time! For reminding me of everything I've lost!"
She sank back onto the bench and dropped her head in her hands.
'Lil Liza Jane' came warbling out of the evening and Sheriff Piggsbee slowly appeared from the shadows, whistling. He took his time walking up to Burlie. He touched the brim of his hat to Fisk. Fisk looked away. "I, ah, guess it's that time, eh?" Piggsbee said to Burlie.
Time to leave. Time to wrap the 'ol boat anchor around her neck again. Burlie nodded.
"Thought I'd see you off."
Burlie slowly looked up at him as a tiny hopeful thought appeared. "Do I have to leave?" she asked him.
He flicked a hand at her knee and she moved over to give him room. He sat with a groan, out of habit. "Yes," he said, straightening his tie. "You don't have to go home but you can't stay here, as they say."
Burlie refocused on her black toenails.
"Maxima wanted to come along and bid you a fond farewell, too, but she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. I left her behind," Piggsbee went on.
Burlie made a rude noise. Maxima she would not miss.
"The Frankenstein boys also wanted to say goodbye but once they got started they'd never stop, y'know."
"I know." Burlie remembered the doctor comforting her in the jail cell. Comfort that turned interesting. "Heh."
"Anzo and Ada and Martha and all the folks from Plum Tree send their love. And many thanks to both of you for all the excitement. That little fly speck won't ever be the same with 'ol Dobbin galloping around."
"I can..." Fisk began.
"No, you can't," Piggsbee said and there was steel there that would have sent Thorson's cop-voice away with its tail between its legs. Fisk went silent but Piggsbee wasn't through with him. "Scat." He waved his hand and Fisk vanished. Burlie exclaimed with surprise. Piggsbee was smug. "There we go," he said. "See how he likes it."
"Thank you."
"Sure. Y'gotta watch out for that one, I think. I dunno if you noticed but he's a little high handed."
"Ohhh, yes, I noticed," Burlie said.
"One more thing." Piggsbee reached into his jacket pocket. "The Bliss brothers wanted you to have this." He held out his hand and something glinted. "Careful now, it's still on a hook."
Burlie took the shiny fishing lure. It was a silver chain-link worm for catching large-mouth bass. Her Uncle Venedict had a rusty antique just like it. This one gave out the tiniest, shimmering noise. Tears came to her eyes again. These weren't born of misery, though. Randy and Ruddy, storming the castle with boat paddles. "I'd love to hear Ruddy and the Monster get into an argument," she said.
"God forbid."
Burlie smiled. Yeah, that would be very bad. "I can really take this out with me?"
"Yes."
Burlie hooked the lure onto her cloak and the silver on black was perfect. "Tell them thank you."
"I guess I'm being high-handed, too. Having them all stay away right now."
"No, that's okay. I'd only blow snot all over them."
Piggsbee thought that was funny and the bench vibrated with his silent laugh. Goodbye, Tin Man, Burlie thought. Goodbye, Lion. Goodbye, Scarecrow. I think I'll miss you most of all.
There was a moment of companionable silence. Burlie was deciding it wouldn't be goodbye for very long (providing St. Barnasbas wasn't locked) when Piggsbee interrupted her. "So," he said. "Ninety-two years?"
"Ninety-two."
"Well, time flies when you're havin' fun. We beat the Germans?"
"We did. We had to
beat them again not even twenty years later, though."
"Another war?! God!" He turned his eyes to heaven. "I wonder how the family dealt with it?" He looked at her.
Burlie hated to disappoint him but, "I'm new to Souls. I only know the one Piggsbee."
"There's one? Tell me."
Burlie clamped down on a scream. "Erm. Wally Piggsbee the Third. Or Fourth. My history teacher showed us his family tree but I don't remember it very well." She frantically cast for something positive to say. She reeled in, "He's the music and choir teacher at the high school. I don't take his classes because I have a vocal cord issue. Nodules." She exuded sincerity at the sheriff. "He loves to help people. He's a very nice man."
Piggsbee listened carefully. He smiled at her. "Well, good! Good to hear that."
"Yes."
"If I might interject," Fisk said, stalking out of the trees. "As to family, it might interest you to know, Burlington, that Lydia and Thorson have become great friends." He stopped in front of them and braced his feet. "She even gave him Miss Fabienne's brownie."
"What?" Burlie yelped.
"Who're they?" Piggsbee asked.
"Her neighbor. The baby sister. And Thorson's your colleague," Fisk answered for her. "The dogman."
Burlie explained further. "Lydia's terrified of dogmen. That's amazing."
"Yes, isn't it?" Fisk said.
"Fascinatin'," Piggsbee said and snapped his fingers. Fisk was gone again and Burlie laughed outright.
"What balls. This isn't his place, damn it," Piggsbee said.
"Don't swear," Burlie said in her best Aunt Agnes voice and he clutched his chest in horror.
Then, "Lydia was it?" he said. Burlie smiled and nodded. "I didn't see her."
"I didn't either. I thought Fisk lied to me and left her at home. Or worse. I guess she really was there, in a cage, poor baby." Anger swept through her again. "I hope she thought they were all just playing a game or a trick on me. If she was afraid..."
Piggsbee nodded. "I bet she's waiting to tell you all about it."
Lydia, oh, Lydia, oh, have you seen Lydia? Lydia the Tattooed Lady? Burlie could just bet she was waiting.
She had to go home and have a debriefing with Lydia. And then what? Nine rounds with her parents? Another nine with Wally and a lawyer? St. Barnabas?
She couldn't leave Lydia alone with her idiot parents, could she?
There was a sound of a man politely clearing his throat. The sheriff and Burlie looked up. Fisk was back. He was standing outside the perimeter under a naked birch tree, its white bark a beautiful element in the night garden. He held a piece of it in his hand and, lacking a white flag, was waving it up and down. "May I come in?"
Burlie couldn't detect any sarcasm. She exchanged a look with the sheriff. "I suppose he has to," she said. First he won't let me leave and now he's trying to drag me out, she thought. Make up your mind.
"Do come in, Lord Dingleberry," Piggsbee called out. "Welcome!"
Fisk stepped into the clearing, approached, then stopped a polite ten feet from the bench. "Hello," he said. "I hate to be a bother but there's a little girl out there going on about fancy mules?"
Defeated, Burlie covered her eyes with her hand again.
When she had control of herself, she leaned over and kissed Piggsbee on the cheek. "You have to visit me. It's different but I think you'd like it out there."
He smiled. "I just might."
"Tell everyone they're welcome to come, too. Give the modern Souls something to talk about." How much fun that haunting would be!
Piggsbee just laughed.
Then Burlie slowly stood and faced Fisk. "Okay."
"Burlie," Fisk said, and he seemed truly pained. "I swear I didn't know you were ill."
Good act, Burlie thought. He actually seemed sorry. She said, "Okay," again.
Fisk came closer and held out his hand.
Burlie hesitated a moment and then she took it, her fingers barely pinching the tips of his.
She had to go.
She had much to do.