Page 69 of Whispers of Helena
“True.”
“Marcel. Fuck—” realization grips my heart, my breath stops. “Kiran. He died in the fire too.”
She rests a hand on my shoulder as she rises, crossing to pour herself a cup of coffee. The kitchen feels smaller, the air thick with too many answers and not enough time to process them.
“Marcel has walked that land since your grandparents. He was their hand.”
“And Kiran?”
The metal spoon clinks against her cup as she stirs, tapping it against the rim. She crosses back to the chair, placing her hand on my arm. “Yes, Kiran crossed.”
Tears threaten my eyes. It was hard enough to know that Caroline had suffered through the flames, but to think of my boy, my everything, meeting the same fate is too much to bear.
“I assure you, Kiran is alright. His mind was far too young to remember any of it. Usually spirits have to be older to remember how they passed.”
“That’s little consolation. God, Ruth. He was only two.” Grief settles into my very bones, heavy and spiteful. But one question still eats at my thoughts.
“So, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Silas, one thing we’ve always known, one thing we were taught as children, is that it isn’t our place to tell a spirit what it is. It can drive them mad, twist them toward vengeance, keep them tied here longer than they should be. That’s God’s work. The angels’ work. Not ours."
“But what about Helena?” My voice tightens. “Surely you knew what she was. But did you knowwhoshe was?”
Ruth gently blows over her coffee before taking a sip. “I knew she was a spirit the first morning I saw her walk into the diner. Eli figured out the rest first.” She hesitates. “She came here to save you, Silas.”
My fists clench against my thighs. “Everyone keeps saying that. But I don’t need saving. I was fine until she came back.”
“You were far from fine, Silas,” she says quietly. “Tell me,before tonight, how long has it been since you came into town? Hell, since you left that ranch?”
I hesitate. The answer doesn’t come.
“And how many men have you killed in the past four years?”
My gaze snaps to hers. The air shifts.
“Ruth,” I warn, “don’t tread where you don’t know the ground.”
Her stare doesn’t waver. “How many, Silas?”
Silence.
“Six.” The word drops like a stone. “But I had my reasons.”
“I know you did,” she says, calmly. “But with each one, you cut yourself further away. From God. From Caroline.”
“I don’t care about God?—”
“Silas Franklin Hayes!” she snaps, slamming her cup onto the table, the liquid sloshing over the rim. “I will not have you talk like that in my house.”
My jaw clenches so tightly I swear my teeth might crack. Rage coils in my chest, hot and consuming. “He didn’t care about me,” I snarl, the words scraping raw against my throat. “He took her from me. He let that fire happen.”
The fury is too much. I slam my palm against the table, the wood groaning under the force of it. ”Tell me how it happened. Tell me.”
Ruth leans back in her chair, eyes steady but wary. “If I tell you, Silas, you’ll do something you’ll regret.”
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Don’t worry about my regrets, they already run deep. Now tell me how that fire happened.”
She exhales slowly, like she already knows there’s no stopping this. No stopping me. Without another word, she stands and disappears into the living room. The ticking clock on the wall is deafening in her absence. Long, stretching seconds pass before she returns, a worn newspaper clutched in her hands.
