Her eyes go wide. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, Ascot’s father arrived in it the other day,” I give her a sideways grin. “And we’re taking it for our flight back.”
Her hand goes over her heart. “Oh my god,” she stares at me in disbelief. “How exciting! I really like Ascot,” she cocks a brow, “and girl, he is fine.”
“Mm, hum, I totally agree,” I giggle. “He’s pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I think this is everything,” Ascot whispers, looking up at me from the trunk of his car.
I nod and glance down, the tiny trunk light illuminating two shovels, two flashlights, some rope and a couple pair of black gloves. “Jesus, we look like we’re about to rob a seven-eleven,” I frown up at him, both of us wearing black jeans, black hoodies and even black sneakers.
“We can’t take any chances,” he gently closes the trunk. “Are you ready?”
“No,” I shake my head and walk over to the passenger side door.
As we climb in the car I pause and glance up at the night sky. It’s much darker than usual, a few stars barely flickering in the blackness. Could it be an omen or some kind of warning? Is this just a huge mistake? Should we stop before something horrible happens?
Slightly unnerved as I slip into my seat, Ascot must have noticed and takes out his phone, and his thumbs begin to type. The screen pops up and he gives me a small smile. “There’s no moon out tonight, nothing to worry about.”
Apparently, it’s the time of month when the moon is closest to the sun. Even better, since the last thing we need is someone watching us dig up a fresh grave. Needless to say, I’m still nervous even though Ascot and I went over the process many times. He reassured me that it wouldn’t take long, even suggested I stay in the car. Of course, I said no, leaving me alone with my thoughts sounded much worse. Besides, both of us working together meant the job would go way faster and that was what I wanted. Get in and get out.
Eight silent minutes later we arrive.
The road leading up to the cemetery is a mix of gravel and large pieces of broken cement, neglected and unkempt as the tires slowly crackle over the rock. The headlights glow ahead in the vast darkness, leading us down the path as it begins to wind slightly to the left and then to the right. I feel Ascot’s hand take mine and squeeze, the warmth of his skin comforting against my cool fingers.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispers, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I give him a nod he doesn’t see, still looking ahead as the entrance gate comes into view. Chained and open on one side, an old, metal sign above reads, “Smithfield Cemetery,” as we slowly pass through.
“He shouldn’t be too hard to find, Ascot says. According to the map, this is a fairly small graveyard,” he squints and clicks on the brights, lighting up headstone after broken headstone.
“Jesus,” I whisper, “he’s buried here? This place looks like it’s been abandoned for decades.”
“He didn’t have life insurance. It’s probably the only place around that Tammy could afford.”
“Well it’s creepy as hell.”
Ascot releases my hand, turns off the engine and opens his door. “C’mon,” he glances over to me, “let’s get this over with.”
I frown with a nod as he pops the trunk and gets out. I make my way to him at the tailgate and he lifts the trunk all the way. A dim flash of light is just enough to see inside as he reaches in, handing me a pair of gloves.
“Go ahead, put these on,” he instructs, slipping on his own pair before reaching back in. “Here,” he gives me a flashlight, “keep your eyes peeled, he can’t be too far,” he grabs the two shovels and a flashlight of his own.
It’s too dark for Ascot to see that I’m already trembling, walking at his side through the tall grass and weeds. Headstones and old family markers are either broken or crumbling to pieces as I try to inconspicuously wave my flashlight left and right. Ascot steps away and I turn, watching his light scan the perimeter when he abruptly stops and I suck in a breath. I dash over to him and touch his back, looking ahead to a large mound of newly piled dirt.
“There’s no headstone yet but,” his foot pushes away the dirt from a small plaque that reads, ‘K. Kramer.’
“Bingo,” he whispers to me over his shoulder.
***
Half an hour later, the mound is reduced to several piles of scattered soil and finally Ascot pauses to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Hang on,” he whispers, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans. He takes out a small, cylinder vial, emitting a slight red glow as he holds it between two fingers. “Just a few drops should do it,” he pulls off the rubber lid. “But we need to give it time to work,” his hand stretches out, tilting the vial over the grave.
I watch from a few feet away, the liquid somehow becoming brighter as it hits the night air and spills over Kevin’s tomb. “How long will it take again?” I ask, staring down as Medusa’s blood disappears into the ground.
“Only a few minutes,” Ascot whispers, moving closer to me. “I didn’t want to tell you this but…” he trails off.
My eyes shift to his. “Holy shit, Ascot, what?”
“We have to wait for him.”
“What?” I whisper shout.
His lips twist. “We can’t just leave the grave looking like someone exhumed a dead body.”
I swallow hard. “You saw how badly this place looks; nobody ever comes here.”
“It’s too risky,” he shakes his head. “Besides, I need to be here when he wakes up.”
My hands start to shake. “Why?”
“Because Kevin will be disoriented and because,” he runs a hand through his hair. “He may not be the same.”
My eyes go wide. “Wait, I thought we already discussed this, what the hell are you talking about?”
His lips go tight. “There’s a possibility he could come back without a soul.”
“What the,” I swallow again, “why the hell didn’t you discuss this with me before?”
“You were frightened enough,” he clears his throat. “But, I need your gift to tell me if he’s human or a monster.”
“Oh my, God, Ascot,” I turn to walk away but he takes my arm.
“Forgive me,” he whispers, “If I could have done this in good conscience without you, believe me, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“So, you really did need me,” I whisper, confused. “Why did you make me to believe you didn’t?”
“Because I…shit,” he shakes his head. “Because I knew you felt partially responsible,” he admits, remorse shadowing his features. “Which you shouldn’t,” he quickly says, letting out a breath. “But I also knew you wouldn’t let me do any of this without your help.”
I suck in a breath. “You know me better than I thought.”
“I’m not proud of misleading you, Elise.”