Page 69 of The Instruments of Darkness

“This,” I said, “may be why you struggle to maintain a social circle.”

She laughed spontaneously. It was a lovely, bright sound. The action transformed her face and lit up her eyes, the best and liveliest part of her.

“Too much information?”

“You need to save something for the second date.”

The laughter faded slowly, leaving her puzzled by its unfamiliarity.

“I hope you see loved ones,” she said, “and that you gain consolation from them. I’ve never been able to see those to whom I was close. I tried reaching out to my mother after she died because I missed her so, but she was gone. I like to think it was because her death was peaceful and natural. There was little pain to her passing, and no rage. The dead are not meant to vacillate. If they do, it’s only because of anger and hurt. In my experience, there are no happy ghosts.”

“Do you still see them?”

“Oh yes, but I choose not to engage, for the most part.”

I tried to recall an odder recent conversation, and failed.

“I was told,” I said, “that you might have some information about the Clark case.”

“I think I know where Henry Clark can be found.”

“Alive?”

“Is that meant to be a trick? Because I doubt even his own parents believe he’s still alive, not with all the blood, though I’m sure they’re hoping.”

“I was hoping, too,” I said.

I meant it, and she saw that it was so.

“I’m sorry, but Henry Clark is dead. Whatever is left of him lies in the vicinity of the town of Gretton.”

“How do you know?”

“I hear him crying.”

“Why? Do you live near Gretton?”

It sounded sarcastic, which wasn’t my intention.

“Are you trying to alienate me, Mr. Parker? If so, you’re doing a better job than most.”

“I don’t know how these things work.”

“These ‘things’? Perhaps I’ve misjudged you in more ways than one. Whatever that black mass inside you is concealing, it’s not a surfeit of common sense, or good manners.”

She began gathering her things. I raised a conciliatory hand.

“I think you’re hearing an insult where none was meant,” I said. “I know it must have taken a great deal to bring you here, and it could be that you were primed for rejection. You may not like some of my questions, but I’m asking them only because I don’t know the answers.”

She wasn’t used to compromise. Those who live alone rarely are—I could speak from experience—but I saw that she was still inclined to depart.

“My daughter,” I said.

“What?”

“You asked about the ones I see. I see my dead daughter.” I lowered my hand. It suddenly felt very heavy. “Among others.”

CHAPTER XLIII