A Feast Of Souls: A Dark Paranormal Romance

Chapter 30: The Lunatic's Lullaby

'Nay, from what I can see, I don't think Shelton is much to blame, Miss,' Daniel says. 'I think it is how you treat yourself and how others have treated you that has led you here.'

Lizzie's eyes widen a touch, moisture shining at the corners. 'Do you know, I never believed in the Sin-Eater's curse? Such silly, pointless superstition. I can see why Lillian loves you. You have a kindness about you. A light, I think. How strange to see light in a dark priest such as yourself.'

I slap my palm against the table, and she flinches. 'Stop it! Stop this, Lizzie. Do you think we came here for idle conversation?' I place her letter of confession on the table, opening it and pointing at the words she wrote. The words that say she is to blame for Mama's death. 'This is why we are here. Now, either you speak it to my face and explain yourself or we leave you to Shelton.'

She tilts her head, studying me with affection. 'Oh, Lily. Ever straightforward and to-the-point as always. Even as a child you were the same. I had to dream for us both. You were always so scared to.'

Lizzie had possessed so many dreams. So many plans that would lift her to the stars and out of a place like Church Stretton. So many times, as children, I had listened, curling a lock of her hair around my finger as she had talked and talked about her plans to be a writer. How she would submit stories to publications. Stories about brave, daring women. Stories that would give a voice to women who had none. Stories they would talk about from London to New York.

'And what of your dreams now, Lizzie?'

'No dreams,' she says, her eyes clouding over. 'No dreams. Just nightmares. Just them.'

'What comes to you at night, Elizabeth?' Daniel presses, gently, but I see the quiet intensity in way he looks at her. 'What do you see?'

'Him.' She sniffs, then laughs with coldness. 'Him, him, always him. It is as if I have never known nights without him. Strange that last night was different though. You would think that he would be here, in a place like this. Even the walls scream at Shelton. It would be fitting, would it not? So many tortured souls, Mr. Carver. They should employ you here, you would be a wealthy man. The sins of the mad are rich-pickings, I think. Still, who would pay you coin to save these people, sir? No one here cares for them alive, who would care about their souls when dead?'

'I would care,' Daniel replies. 'Madness does not necessarily equate to wickedness. Madness need not come from evil deeds. Sometimes that madness is done to us.'

'Is it?' Lizzie replies, a lonely tear tumbling down her ashen cheek. 'Or do we invite it in? Willingly?'

'It depends on the nightmare.' Daniel shrugs. 'The mind is a complex beast, Miss Darby. Who amongst us has the strength to control it completely? There are times when the horrors we witness, the horrors that are done to us, are so truly terrible, that we cannot help but let the madness in. We may even welcome it.'

'You think there be comfort in madness?'

'Aye, sometimes. I think the mind will do whatever it can to not face the truth of the nightmare. If madness be its sanctuary, so be it.' He pauses. 'Do you think you have willingly welcomed madness?'

Lizzie stares at a point just beyond Daniel's shoulder, blinking slowly. 'I have welcomed too many things I had no business welcoming. I have always believed I deserved more than what life told me I was allowed. My mother always said it would be my undoing.' With an abruptness that surprises me, for I thought her lost in her own thoughts, Lizzie's gaze fixes upon me. 'I wish I could go back, Lily. To when dreams were a possibility. Before the nightmares came.'

'Who came to you at night, Lizzie? What was your nightmare?' I ask.

Lizzie smiles then, a half-smile painted on trembling, swollen lips. 'He was so changed, Lily. So different to the man I had known before. Kinder. Gentler.' Her face turns wistful. 'He even apologised for his previous behaviour. He said his actions had been inappropriate. I had thought him a bit of a scoundrel just like his father, do you remember?'