Hidden

(XLI.)

Jess flashed her a brief smile before turning around and walking down the porch steps. Immediately, the bad aura and tightness on her chest she'd been feeling were lifted off. That woman really gave her the creeps.

On her way home, Jess suddenly realised that that must be one of "them". If Ophelia was like her, she was also marked for death. And her neighbour was probably the one sent to kill her.

Either way, she suddenly had this need, this feeling to protect this unknown woman. They'd already killed Phillip Bryce. They were ready to kill more.

She turned her bike around and returned in the same direction to Ophelia's house. Instead of heading to her house, she searched for the cemetery.

She got down from her bike immediately she arrived at the cemetery's gate. At that moment, the skies parted. Rain fell in light showers. Jess opened her umbrella and put it over her head. Then, she pushed the large gate open.

Seeing rows and rows of gravestones gave her the chills—not the weather. Since her dad's memorial a year after his death, she hadn't been in a cemetery. It was one of her "danger zones".

As if to act as a reminder, something flitted past.

She sighed. Great. Perfect way to ruin her plans. She tried to ignore the apparition hovering about, and went further into the graveyard.

She didn't miss the numerous bodily figures here and there. Loud whispers floated into her ears at different pitches. There was crying; there was laughter. Some said nothing but stared.

But she noticed one figure which didn't seem like a paranormal form of virtual reality. It was a person. She hurried on ahead with a fixed mind, even when a ghost touched her arm. She ignored the humming energy on her skin. It was always best to ignore them. Paying attention to these things could cause bigger problems.

The person was standing in front of a gravestone, holding up an umbrella. To her surprise, it wasn't a woman as she suspected—it was Doudall.

He turned abruptly when he felt her presence behind him and started to walk away. She stopped in front of the gravestone he'd been looking at.

"It's okay, Doudall. I know."

He stopped. "How?"

She hesitated. "I know what it's like to lose a loved one and not be able to talk about it." She paused. "I've noticed. I see it in your eyes, sometimes."

"You've seen too much," he said quietly.

She waited, then heard his footsteps approach till they stopped beside her.

They both looked down at the stone: Andrew McCarthy Ton. Beloved brother and son.

"What was he like?"

The sudden question broke the heavy silence. Doudall clenched his free fist tightly, it trembled a little. His mouth opened, closed.

"That's not nice, girl. You just made him uncomfortable."

Jess ignored the ghost whispering in her left ear and focused on the boy on her right side. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

"Nice. Cool. Friendly..." He paused, took a deep breath. "He was always there for me when I needed him the most. I don't how, but it was like he knew when I was in trouble. Fought bullies for me back in middle school."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "It's just too painful, thinking, remembering, how he was on that stretcher. Lying cold. Broken, helpless. Blood all over."

She reached out her fingers and held his fist. It loosened. She intertwined their fingers, rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand.

"I tried calling him back that night. He didn't answer. He never answered. The last thing he said to me was, 'don't be stupid'. Since then, I try not to be." He sighed again and hung his head this time. "If I had the power then, I'd have foreseen his death and stopped it."