The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe Read online

  "Yeah." Shane stood in awe as well. It was a pretty amazing sight. To see a structure you'd known about all your life going up by your hand was a pretty intense experience. He could probably get used to it.

  "Guess we should go before the fire department gets here," Preston said with nervousness in his voice.

  "If anyone even calls it in." Shane hoped they at least had a fighting chance of getting away before the authorities got there.

  "They'll call. That fire'll be seen for miles in a few minutes. Let's go." He slapped Shane on the shoulder and started running toward the woods.

  Shane stood and watched the fire a few more seconds. "Goodbye and good riddance." He fixed the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and turned to run after Preston.

  The sound was so faint behind him he thought he was imagining it at first. Hearing it a second time, Shane stopped to listen again.

  "Come on!" Preston yelled from the big tree a few yards away.

  The sound again. Shrill.

  "Do you hear that?" Shane yelled back.

  "What?"

  "Listen!"

  Shane shined his light on Preston to see if he had any reaction or if he was totally losing his mind. "I don't hear—"

  The noise cut him off. It was faint, but definitely there. A high-pitched something. "A scream?" Shane asked. Surely, he heard it too.

  "Can't be. No one's here!" Preston yelled back, but Shane saw it all over his face. Preston had heard it too and he was scared.

  "Did you check the building?" The screams kept coming, louder. A young girl by the sound of it.

  "No, I didn't check the building! It's abandoned."

  Shane shouted an expletive at Preston. "A homeless person, Preston. A homeless person could have been in there. They could have been… squatting or something!" Shane ran back toward the church and heard Preston's footsteps on the ground behind him.

  Flames licked the top of the roof, threatening to push through at any second. The closer Shane got to the church, the louder the screams became. "There's someone in there!"

  "There can't be. There can't be." Preston kept saying behind him.

  They stopped as close as they could. Shane felt the heat of the blaze on his face and he put his hand up to shield his eyes.

  "It's an animal or something. It has to be." Preston shined the light on the building.

  "It's not an animal. It's a person, Preston. Someone's in there." Shane's hand shook, and he tried to get closer to the flames.

  Preston grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him back. "Are you kidding? You can't go in there. It's an animal, Shane."

  "What if it's not!"

  The loudest scream yet erupted in front of them and Preston let Shane's shirt go. "Tell me that's not a person!"

  Preston didn't move, didn't do anything but shine his light on the basement door. "It's coming from in there," he said barely above a whisper.

  Shane's heart sank. The basement. "There's a girl in the basement."

  "The only person in the basement is Lizzie Monroe," Preston said, making Shane's blood run cold.

  The screams echoed through the woods until Shane couldn't take it anymore. He ran toward the fire and stopped when he got at the basement door. Looking back, he saw Preston just standing there. Preston locked eyes with him, mouthed I'm sorry, and ran out toward the woods leaving Shane to deal with the girl in the basement.

  The girl screamed again. A guttural, primal scream he'd never heard before and never wanted to hear again.

  Shane knew what he had to do, and he wasn't happy about it. Steeling his nerves, he ran down the basement stairs and kicked the door open. Flames lapped the wooden floor beams above his head, causing them to creak. He didn't have time to worry about how creepy the underground room was. He knew he had to get whoever it was out and get out quick. "Hello!" he yelled as he shined the flashlight around.

  The heat was nearly unbearable. "Hello! Are you down here? Answer me. We have to go!"

  He couldn't see anyone. Shining it again, he still saw no one. No one was in the basement with him.

  "Help me! Please!" the girl screamed again. This time he could locate it… behind the rock wall.

  "No… no… no… no-no-no-no! I'm not here to rescue a ghost."

  He turned to run back out of the basement as fast as he could. Behind him, a huge crash made him jump and automatically turn around to see what it was. The wall on the far side of the basement had given way due to the structural damage above. Something large had partially slid out. The screaming increased and now it was accompanied by pounding.

  Torn, he turned to run out of the basement, but the girl's raspy almost other-worldly voice wouldn't let him. "Let me out! Please let me out! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! God, please help me! I can't take it anymore!"

  "Screw it!" he yelled, shining his flashlight over in the direction of the voice. With the flames popping around his head, he got close enough to see it was a coffin that had slid out of the wall.

  Above the hole had a plaque with Elizabeth Ann Monroe etched in it. He couldn't dwell on it. If he was going to die in here, so be it, he supposed. He couldn't leave a screaming girl. It wasn't Lizzie. It couldn't be, but someone had put someone down there to let her die, and he couldn't let that happen.

  "Can you hear me?" he asked the box, hoping it wasn't a crazy thing to do.

  "Yes! Oh Goodness, yes!"

  Shane's heart sank. "It's not Lizzie… It's not Lizzie." He kept telling himself over and over again.

  A loud boom sounded above him and he knew the roof was giving way. He didn't have a lot of time. Against every bit of his better judgment, Shane found a sharp wooden stick and put it under the lid of the box… casket would have been a better description.

  If he believed in prayer, he would have said one. As it was, he just wanted to get the girl and get out before he got stuck in church forever.

  The lid popped and he tossed it aside. He shined the light on her and his breath caught.

  The girl inside started coughing and hacking.

  The girl wearing a very old, dingy white wedding-type dress from what he could tell.

  The girl who didn't look a day older than he did.

  The girl who could not have been Lizzie Monroe.

  "Thank you! Thank you." She coughed and her voice was raspy. The smoke was getting to her too.

  "Can you walk?" Whoever this girl was needed to get out and she needed help. Someone had put her there and he needed to get her out before they both died.

  "Nothing works. I can't move. It's been too long," the girl said. Her blue eyes widened when she looked over his shoulder. "Fire! There's a fire!"

  "It's okay. I'm going to get you out." Shane put the flashlight in his mouth and reached down to scoop the girl up. He took her left arm and flung it over his shoulder and then picked her up. Her dress — fuller than he imagined — clung to the box and he had to force it out.

  As fast as he could, Shane ran to the basement steps. The fire roared in his ears and the girl's body in his arms shook.

  He reached the steps and took them two at a time before he made it into the fresh air and ran farther away from the building. When he got to the big tree at the end of the lot, he laid her down and stared at the church. It crumbled under the weight of the corrupted beams.

  "Guess that wasn't the greatest idea ever," he mumbled to himself though ragged breaths. He took the flashlight and shined it on the girl. She was shaking, and rightfully so. She'd just been kidnapped and thrown in a wall by some madman to die. But who would do that?

  Exhausted, he fell back on the ground and watched the roaring inferno. Hopefully, the cops wouldn't care that he set a fire. He'd saved the girl. It had to even out. Balance the scales as it were. "Are you okay?" Stupid question, but oh well.

  "Thank you. Thanks. Thank you," she said over and over. She looked up at him and fear replaced gratitude. "Are you the devil?" she whispered.

  Shane did a double take. "The wh
o? The devil? Why would you think I was the devil?"

  "Because I was in Hell. It was dark, then it got hot… then there was hellfire. That means you're the devil. Is this Hell too?"

  "Not technically." What was wrong with this girl? "I heard screaming."

  "I screamed forever and no one ever heard me so I stopped for a long while. Then it got hot… it got…" she started drifting off and Shane couldn't have that.

  "Hey." He patted her gently on the cheek. The strangely perfect cheek for someone who had been stuffed in a wall. Her dark hair was nasty. The dingy white dress she wore had tattered in places. If it had a good scrubbing, it would probably look almost new. "Don't stop talking. Who put you there? You couldn't have been in there too long or you would have suffocated by now."

  A different thought overcame him. What if whoever put her in there was still around, waiting and watching? He, well, they could both be in very big trouble.

  She didn't say anything, just moaned under him. Great.

  He grabbed her hand to soothe her. Her hands were dirty and her nails looked rough and worn to the quick with little splinters under the nail beds. On the ring finger of her left hand sat an oval ring with some sort of vine engraving on it. It looked old, antique-ish. "Hey, calm down, okay? I know you've been through a lot, but passing out on me won't help. What's your name?" Shane ran his fingers over hers and down her wrists.

  He felt something, something not quite right. Toward the base of her hand were raised lines on her wrists. He checked the other and sure enough, another one. Shane's heart sank.

  "My name is Lizzie Monroe," she said before collapsing.

  Chapter Two

  May 1862

  Lizzie stood on a small wooden stool facing the full antique length mirror, one of the few things her family had that belonged to her grandmother. It wasn't her normal reflection. Normally, she wore long sleeved shirts and full skirts, most made by her mother. Mother had tried to teach her, but Lizzie had not been able to get the hang of sewing. An inadequacy for sure. Sewing was a skill Lizzie would have to acquire before her nuptials. Daniel deserved better than a woman who couldn't sew.

  "Ow." Lizzie jumped when the straight pin poked her ankle.

  "Sorry." Mother grimaced from the floor. "But I have to get the hem correct or the dress won't flow right."

  "I can't believe this is my wedding dress." Lizzie admired the white frock in the mirror as she gently rubbed her fingers over the beautiful bodice. Her mother had spent months making it. Lizzie assumed she'd worked so hard on it to keep busy. Daddy fought in the war as well. He on the North side, much to the shame of his church congregation — or so Lizzie overheard. No one talked about such things in front of her. And Daniel, a favorite son of Dixon, fought for the South.

  Lizzie just wanted it all to be over. She wanted Daddy back to walk her down the aisle and Daniel at the end of it. Except now, she wasn't sure if they could even co-exist in the same room. Their allegiances were so different.

  "Are you sure we should even be making this dress?" Lizzie sighed sadly as she felt the fabric gently hugging her midsection. "Daniel might not be home for months, years even. Who knows how long this war will last?"

  Mother pinned the final details of the scalloped lace hem. "There. Pretty as a picture."

  Mother wasn't one to talk about the war. In fact, she changed the subject whenever war talk arose. Lizzie wished they could talk about it together. Both had men away. They could lean on each other. Help each other.

  To Lizzie's surprise, her mother confided in her. The fact that she did today made Lizzie even more anxious. "God knows. I wish it to be over soon as well. I can't take the stress much longer. It is a thousand wonders the two of us made it through winter."

  Her father's congregation was as divided as the country. Some sided with the South. A few others with the North. The Northern sympathizers helped support Lizzie and her mom during the winter. If it weren't for them and the generous gifts from Daniel's family, the two of them would have gone hungry.

  Cold chills slid down Lizzie's arms thinking about it. The sooner Daniel and her father got back, the better. She wasn't sure she could survive another winter without them. Mother sewed for others on occasion and was compensated. It was their only income. Lizzie had tried a few times, but no one in town would hire a girl — except for the saloon. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  While her mother rechecked the hem, Lizzie pulled at the itchy lace high neck of her wedding dress. The lace nearly touched her ears and felt like it was choking her. She missed the freedom of her day clothes.

  Though beautiful, it was not her ideal dress, but she was grateful for her mother's sewing expertise. She had to admit, the long white lace sleeves and full skirt were expertly made. Unlike some girls, she would not be wearing a hoop, much to her happiness. She'd never liked them. Colleen Smith had one under her dress. She took up half the aisle when she walked down it. Not something Lizzie wanted. No money could be spared for one anyway. Mother used old dress skirts to fill out the bottom. No one would see them anyway. The craftsmanship was so well executed, one couldn't tell the difference. Someday, Lizzie hoped to be as good of a seamstress as her mother, though it wasn't looking promising. Daniel and their future children deserved her to be the best wife she could be — though she had to admit she was not entirely sure how to do it.

  Mother stood and pulled Lizzie's wavy brown hair behind her shoulders. She fixed the tops of the sleeves of her dress and fluffed out the skirts a bit. "There." Mother smiled and pushed a falling bit of graying hair behind her ear. Laugh lines wrinkled to the sides of Mother's eyes — a rare sight now. The lines were created before the war when things were happy, simple. Mother had not smiled much since Daddy left. Truth be told, Lizzie hadn't either. She missed her father and Daniel terribly. "You look so pretty, Lizzie."

  Pretty might be an overstatement, but she did feel lovely in Mother's creation. She could have done without the high neck, but everything else fit her perfectly. "Not every girl gets a new dress for their wedding," Mother mused proudly. "Some wear their mother's, but I thought it would be nice to give you something for your own."

  Lizzie smiled and kissed her mother on the forehead. No need in telling she knew the exact reason her mother had made a new dress herself. Mother needed something to keep her mind occupied. Everyone in Dixon did.

  "It's beautiful. You outdid yourself."

  "You will be the most beautiful bride Dixon has ever seen. I can't wait for Daniel and your father to come back home to us so we can celebrate."

  "Me too, Mother." Lizzie ran the tips of her fingers over the full skirt. "I can't wait to wear this dress again."

  ****

  "Um… Liz… Lizzie… Can you hear me? Wake up… I guess… If you… can… Okay. This is creepy."

  The first thing she noticed was the smell. Like a strange tobacco smoke. Not as stout as what Daddy smoked, but tobacco smoke nonetheless. She'd never been fond of that smell. Some of her friends snuck their father's tobacco and smoked in the woods behind the livery stable. Not Lizzie.

  Lizzie tried to open her eyes but found the exercise exhausting.

  Where was she?

  And softness. Softness? Under her. Not hard. Not the box. Not the box?

  Lizzie moved her fingers and felt soft fabric under her. Not the box!

  Hot.

  Burning.

  Fire.

  Falling.

  The devil!

  The devil had saved her.

  That could only mean one thing. She was in a new level of Hell. She knew it.

  Her eyes fluttered open then shut automatically from the bright light over her. The darkness spun around her and she wondered if this comfortably deceiving part of Hell was just there to disorient a person. Taunt them before the real pain began.

  "Hold on. Just, uh… calm down, okay?" It was a man's voice, but she didn't automatically recognize it.

  She had to think about this. Really think. W
hat made more sense: that she'd been in Hell for however long, or something else? Was there a chance, even a small one, that the time in the box had been a dream? It had seemed pretty real, but what if? What if it had all been a dream and she was home?

  "Daddy?" she asked weakly. She'd give anything if she was home in her bed.

  "No, I'm sorry. I'm not your father," he answered, breaking her heart. "Mama?" she tried again. The darkness had to be a dream. It couldn't have been real, though it felt very real to her at the time.

  "Definitely not your mother." She heard some humor in his tone. She wasn't sure what to think about it.

  "I want to go home." It came out as a sob. "Please. I'll be good. Just let me go home. I'm sorry."

  She felt feather light fingertips on her forehead. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it came. "I don't think that's possible. How are you alive? Are you alive?" The man asked dumbfounded, confusing Lizzie.

  It couldn't be real, could it? Did she really kill herself? Had she honestly been in hell? "Is this a dream?" It had to be a dream. It was a dream and now it was over.

  Lizzie tried to open her eyes, but the bright light kept her from doing it.

  "If it's a dream, I'm in it too. It would explain a lot. Seeing as you don't have a heartbeat, I'm thinking this is either a very real nightmare or my very own zombie movie. I'm hoping for the nightmare," the male voice said. He seemed as nervous and confused as she was. If only she could open her eyes. It would make things easier if she could see.

  She took a deep breath to calm her prickly nerves and focused on her eyes. Slowly, she forced the lids open. The light still nearly blinded her, but she refused to shut them again. Enough of this. She needed to know where she was.

  Her eyes rolled until she could finally focus them enough to squint through the bright light. From what she could tell, she was in a room. A large glass window was on her right. Under it sat some sort of desk with a few contraptions she hadn't seen before. In front of her was a curio with a gray box on top of it.

  "Are you okay?"

  Her eyes met the owner of the deep voice, and all she could do was stare. If this was the devil, he looked deceptively nice. He had the curliest hair she'd ever seen on a male. A short-sleeved shirt and too short pants. She couldn't keep her eyes off of his bare arms. They were wide, strong. Muscular.