Page 13 of One Last Breath

She walks out of the apartment then. She won’t be back for another three days. During that time, I am worried sick, enough that I am actually dialing nine-one-one when she walks through the door of our apartment, as cheerful and breezy as though she hadn’t just disappeared for half a week. When I confront her about her behavior, she brushes it off and refuses to talk about it.

Three months later, she’s gone for good.

I stare at the remnants of another life, this one belonging to a woman I don’t know, and realize that I’m doing this, all of this, for Annie. Her disappearance has fueled this need in me to find closure, to find answers when others are content to sweep things under the rug.

Bullshit, Annie’s voice counters in my head. You’re doing this for yourself.

My lower lip trembles for a long moment. Then I take a deep breath and continue looking through the suitcase.

I nearly give up on finding anything useful when my hands close over a paper in one of the pockets. I pull them out of the suitcase and find that I’m holding a handwritten letter. The paper is yellowed but only slightly. It is years old but not decades. I’m not sure why this is important to me.

When I unfold the letter, the signature at the bottom jumps out at me right away.

It’s from Elizabeth.

My eyes widen, and I release a sound that’s almost embarrassingly gleeful. I am reminded of Clara’s look of triumph, and heat climbs to my cheeks.

But I’m not like Clara. I don’t want gossip for gossip’s sake. I only want to know that those who deserve justice receive it.

I read the letter. The handwriting is elegant and flowing, but the words written are confusing. In the letter, Elizabeth says that she is trying hard to appease them, but they still won't talk to her. They won't answer any of her questions, and she still doesn't know where they are.

She doesn't say who she's trying to appease, what she's looking for, or what questions they won't answer. She doesn't address the letter to anyone, and when I examine the other side, there's no name to indicate who it might be meant for.

I look through the suitcase and chest again but find nothing else of interest. This letter is the only thing that indicates the presence of any sort of mystery.

But that mystery didn’t leave with Lila. Elizabeth was pleading with someone in her garden the other day. She was begging them to tell her where they were. I have no idea who she thought she was talking with or what she was looking for, but I know that this letter refers to the same individuals and the same items.

This mystery revolves around Elizabeth.

I place the letter back into the top pocket of the suitcase, then replace all of her other belongings. It occurs to me for the first time to wonder why Lila Benson left without her clothes and lesson books. Perhaps the lesson books aren't important since they were created for Annabelle and Christopher, but the clothing? None of it is particularly expensive, but people don't just leave their clothing behind for no reason.

Could she have had no choice but to leave them behind?

Could she have left them behind against their will?

I think back to Nathaniel's statement about ghosts. I wonder if Lila Benson's Ghost haunts this estate.

A loud rapping noise startles me. I gasp and jump to my feet. I’m grateful for my petite stature because otherwise I would surely have bumped my head on the coat rack otherwise.

There’s another rapping noise, and I realize that someone is knocking on my bedroom door. “One moment!” I call.

I push the chest and the suitcase back into the closet and close the closet door. After checking myself quickly in the bathroom mirror, I run back to the door and answer it.

It’s Annabelle. She gives me a slightly exasperated smile and says, “We’d be pleased if you joined us for dinner.”

“Oh. Of course.” I remember to smile, then say, “Let me change into something more appropriate, and I’ll be right down.”

She nods with slightly exaggerated politeness and says, “Take your time. Knowing mother, the soup will be cold by the time she graces us with her presence anyway.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I only smile. That seems to be enough for Annabelle. She leaves without another word.

I close the door to my bedroom and try to calm the pounding in my heart. I feel a powerful urge to simply forget what I’ve read and go back to believing that there are no mysteries on this estate, none that require my attention anyway.

But the pull to find answers is stronger than my anxiety.

What is Elizabeth looking for? Who was she talking to in her garden the other day? Why did Lila Benson have a letter from her, and why did she leave in such a hurry that she forgot a suitcase full of clothing for which she never returned?

I change for dinner and head downstairs, sure of only one thing: before I leave this estate, I will have answers to all of those questions.

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