Because I Could Not Stop For Death | Lockwood & Co.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

— 𝖆 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖉

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀 few times in Eden's life where she had been struck entirely speechless. Standing in the room that had held so much mystery for her for so long, with Anthony bearing what was likely a deeply penetrated wound, she couldn't conjure much of a voice. Only to ask whether the room, engulfed in psychic energy that beat against her skull, had belonged to his parents.

But it was his sister.

Even in the dim lighting of the room, Eden could tell it was a fairly normal one. A twin-sized bed was sat in the center of the room, a headboard pressed against the wall. The bedframe was white, with a floral bedspread laid across it neatly. There was an armoire, two dressers, as well as dozens of boxes and tea chests stacked along the walls. Vases and jars, all filled with dried lavender, were scattered around. But that wasn't the most interesting thing about the room. That came in the form of a silvery, bright radiance that shone about the room emanating from over the bed. It was hard to make out at first, but as Eden tuned into her Sight, she could see it clearly.

A death-glow.

It burned and pulsed brightly in her eyes, the outline of a person—tall and shimmering without a source of light to make it so. That must have been the psychic residue that had flared over her as she entered the room.

"My sister," Anthony repeated. "This is her room. As you can probably see, it's where she died." He glanced just behind George's shoulder, at the door they'd just walked in. "Think I'll close the door now, if you don't mind."

As he did, the room was engulfed in darkness, the only light from the death-glow over the bed and the dull sunlight streaming through the curtains. Eden looked over her shoulder, noting how the backside of the door was covered in a thick piece of iron that latched with the strips on the floor as the door closed.

George was silent as well, the two of them standing there, dumbfounded as the energy of the room swirled around them like wind.

"Her name was Jessica," Anthony informed them as he moved further into the room, toward the bed. "She was six years older than me. And fifteen when it happened to her—right here."

Eden swallowed harshly at the easiness in his tone. She wondered if he had practiced this, rehearsed it somehow so that it wouldn't be so difficult. It had to be, though, even if he had done such a thing. Standing in the room that belonged to his sister, who had died years before, all the while knowing that both she and George could tune into their Talents—and Eden to her Ability—to feel the entire event.

Anthony was beside the bed now, and he reached for the top of the bedspread with his good arm, steering clear of the death-glow that shimmered above him. As he pulled it down, Eden's eyes fell to what was beneath it. It was as if someone had taken a large cigarette and tried to put it out in the center of the bed—a large hole resided where a body should lay peacefully and sleep. Eden shook her head as she realized the burn wasn't any ordinary one; it was an ectoplasm burn.