Germaine looked at the clothes she had set upon her bed. A small smile appeared on her lips as she nodded her head with a feminine sense of satisfying approval. As she was about to start packing, the telephone rang. Now what? She felt irritated about the constant ringing of the phone.
Couldn't they leave her alone?
"Hello?" she said as she picked up the receiver--it better not be them again.
"GERMAINE! It's Adrian!" Finally, she thought as she rolled her eyes.
"Adrian--now what's going on? You were very abrupt about something about someone running and--"
"Maine listen to me! You won't believe what's just happened to me."
* * *
"Well, I must say, that's odd," Azzy said as he approached Lucinda Cain and Lebanon from behind, having heard Lebanon's declaration of the grave's longevity, or lack thereof. He knelt by the grave and touched the fresh dirt.
"I'd say someone's been doing some digging..." He turned to look at the other two.
"Anyone die recently?"
He noticed then that their faces were pale. Very, very pale. He glanced back at the gravestone, and read the inscription. Somehow, seeing their faces and reading that gravestone made the whole situation seem graver, though he had no idea why. He stood up quickly and backed away, wiping the dirt off his hand on his coat.
"Um, don't mean to add more confusion to an already considerably confusing incident, but..." He pointed to the gravestone, and then looked at Lucinda, raising one eyebrow questioningly and, to a certain extent, comically. "Any relation to the Abel who scribbled on my wall?"
* * *
At the mere mention of the name "Abel," Lucinda gasped and began to cry. She began to slowly back away from the two men.
"I'm innocent! I tell you I'm innocent!" With a cry of despair, she collapsed on the path and, with her fist, began to pound the cobblestones in a desperate release of fury.
"What have I done? Oh God, what is this? Punishment?!? I didn't do it! And you know that I didn't--you and I both know WHO did it! Yes! I'll get them! I swear that I'll get them!"
With that, both Azzy and Lebanon stared at each other, at the unknown grave, and finally at Lucinda as she ran like a person being hunted down the path. She disappeared within the veil of rain and fog.
* * *
Waverly laughed into her cellphone. "Of course, Mom." Her brown hair was lassoed into a carefree ponytail. She wore a simple blue t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She had taken off her tennis shoes about twenty minutes ago.
"I'll call you tomorrow at around 2, your time? Works?" Waverly asked. After receiving a positive answer from her mother, Waverly said goodbye and hung up.
She leaned back on the pillows on her bed and looked at the ceiling. A gold chandelier hung among the clouds painted on the ceiling. Lucinda had picked this room specially for Waverly, on account that it was cheery and light.
The reflection of red in the chandelier caught her attention. She looked around the room, trying to spot the source. There, on here dresser, was a full bouquet of scarlet red roses and one pure white one. Tilting her head and arching her brow, she slid off the bed and walked toward the dresser. A enveloped card sat next to the bouquet.
Waverly picked up the card and opened it. Inside, was a white card. On it was typed, "Meet me on the stairs of St. Marks tonight when the clock strikes 9:23."
With a narrowed gaze, Waverly flipped over the card to find it blank. Odd... Setting the card down, she picked up the bouquet. Looking through the flowers, she found no other clue as to who sent them, or even when they arrived. Waverly knew for a fact that the flowers weren't there when she woke up this morning.
Waverly picked up the card again, twisting it in her hands and debating on whether or not to follow the directions on it.
She set it down with a decision. I'll go.
As she started to put her tennis shoes on, she was startled with a hard and urgent knock on the door.
With only one shoe on, she stepped toward the door and pulled it open. One of the guests...Ishod was standing outside, wet and breathing hard.
* * *
As one looked upon the quaint village of St. Barthelemy, one would think that it was peaceful. But as soon as you approached St. Mark's, the sudden shrill scream of terror pierces the air and the notion of peace. The scream went out suddenly.
It had come from the cemetery.