Free Joan Smith by Never Let Me Go

planned to terrorize me by leering at windows, to prevent me from learning the truth. The repeated knock had an urgently human sound to it. The door opened, and before I had time to panic, Mollie’s fluting voice called, “Anybody home?” Her footsteps advanced toward the kitchen. “Belle? It’s me. I saw the light and thought you must be—”
    Then her frizzed head appeared at the door and I ran to pitch myself into her arms. She comforted me a moment, then stood back. “Now, what is going on here?” she demanded.
    “He’s here! Vanejul. You did call his spirit up, Mollie, and he’s come to get me. You’ve got to get rid of him.” The words came tumbling out in a rush.
    “So you’ve seen your first ghost,” she said calmly. “Sit down and we’ll have a little chat. Any chance of a cuppa?”
    Eventually I settled down enough to get the tea. The cup clattered as I put it on a saucer. The tea fell uncertainly from the spout, splashing into the saucer, but I was glad to have something to do. When we were seated at the table, Mollie said, “It’s nothing to be afraid of, Belle. Ghosts have no physical power. They can only get inside your head and lure you on to do things you don’t want to do.”
    “He threw that book right off the table,” I said, pointing to where it still lay on the floor.
    "Then he’s using a poltergeist,” she said blandly. “They are a nuisance, but they’re just mischief makers. What’s that pretty little thing?” she asked, taking up Arabella’s locket.
    I told her about my visit to Emily, and the trip to the library. I told her about the spirit leading me to the tobacco shop where I had found the book, and everything else that had happened to me. She listened, unfazed, totally accepting.
    “He’s afraid that I’m going to write Arabella’s story. He wants to prevent me,” I said.
    She sat a moment, puzzling over this. “The world already knows, or believes, the worst of him,” she pointed out.
    “We don’t know that. Maybe he killed other women, too. He might be a mass murderer for all we know.”
    “Not very likely, is it? Surely there would be a record of it if he’d killed off a whole slew of women. Perhaps he’s trying to tell you something, to explain, or justify his actions. There’s no real proof he killed Arabella. They dragged the lake a dozen times, but they never did find her body.”
    “He killed her, all right. There was a witness. Vanejul killed him, too, to try to prevent him from testifying.”
    She shook the trinket lightly in the palm of her hand. “If Vanejul is trying to accomplish something, he’ll be hard to capture.”
    “Are you saying there’s no way to get rid of him?”
    “The only way is to find out what he wants, and do it.”
    I didn’t smirk this time. “Then I’m leaving now. Tonight.”
    “Running away?” she asked, blinking her green eyes in disapproval. “Belle, I expected better of you,” she chided. “This could be an unequaled chance to practice your talent.”
    “I’m going to phone the airport this minute,” I said, and went to the phone. The phone book moved away from me as I reached for it. Mollie looked on in delight. I made another snatch, and it fell to the floor before I touched it. I picked up the receiver. It flew out of my hand.
    “Vanejul wants you to stay,” she said. “Don’t you see what this means, Belle?”
    “It means I’m getting out of here and never having anything to do with the supernatural again, ever.”
    Mollie picked up the telephone receiver and replaced it on the hook. Nothing tried to prevent her.
    “What it could mean,” she said, “is that Vanejul didn’t die in Greece. He died here, at Chêne Bay."
    Ghosts usually return to the spot where they met their untimely end. But no, it can’t be that. His fighting and dying for Greece’s independence is documented. Since his mortal remains were returned to Oldstead, then that could explain his presence. He obviously has