Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Arthur Vance
The ride to my apartment was silent.
Cole insisted on driving himself, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Evelyn sat in the back, her eyes closed as if she were praying.
I sat in the passenger seat of the black SUV, still wearing Cole's jacket.
It was too big for me, but it felt like a fortress.
"How long has he been sick?" Cole asked abruptly.
"The memory loss started two years ago," I said.
"He has good days and bad days."
"On the bad days, he talks about the 'fire' and the 'woman in the white dress'."
Cole's jaw tightened so hard I thought it might crack.
"My mother died in a fire," he said.
"Everyone thought it was an accident. An electrical short in the nursery."
"But Arthur knew. He was the one who pulled me out of the smoke."
"And then he vanished."
We reached the crumbling tenement building where I lived.
It was a world away from the Mercer mansion.
There was no marble here. Only cracked linoleum and the smell of stale rain.
Cole didn't blink as we walked up the four flights of stairs.
He didn't care about the peeling wallpaper or the flickering lights.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The apartment was small, filled with the scent of lavender and old paper.
My father was sitting by the window, a blanket over his knees.
He looked frail, his hair a shock of white against the dim light.
"Lily?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Is that you, little bird?"
"It's me, Dad," I said, rushing to his side.
He looked past me and saw the man standing in the doorway.
For a moment, the fog in his eyes cleared.
He stood up, the blanket falling to the floor.
His posture changed. The gardener was gone.
In his place stood a man who had once been a soldier.
"Cole?" my father whispered. "Little Cole?"
Cole stepped into the room, his eyes brimming with emotion.
"Arthur."
My father reached out a trembling hand and touched Cole's shoulder.
"You look just like your father. But you have her eyes."
Then he looked at me, and then at the key around my neck.
"The time has come, hasn't it?" he asked.
"The vultures are circling," Cole replied.
My father sighed, a sound of immense exhaustion.
"I did what I could, Cole. I took the key and the girl."
"I promised her I would keep her safe from the fire."
"But the fire is back, isn't it?"
Cole nodded. "Sloane Whitmore saw the key. Her family will know."
My father turned back to his old chest at the foot of the bed.
He pulled out a small, velvet-lined box that was hidden under the floorboards.
"I couldn't tell you the truth, Lily," he said to me.
"Because the truth is a death sentence."
"You aren't just a maid's daughter."
"You are the girl who was supposed to die in that nursery with Cole."
"You are the reason the Mercers still have a soul."
He handed the velvet box to Cole.
"Open it. You have the key now."
Cole took the brass key from my neck, his fingers brushing my skin.
He inserted it into the lock on the box.
Click.
The sound was small, but it felt like a gunshot.
Inside were not jewels or money.
Inside were a set of photographs and a ledger.
Cole picked up the top photo.
It was a picture of two women laughing in a garden.
One was Cole's mother.
The other was my mother.
May you like
And they were wearing identical brass keys.
***
