The Wailing Woman

24. The Girl with the Green Scarf

Fucking hell. I needed to control this magic—learn to control myself. I needed to be better. Although I've never been able to improve myself, I have to force it out of me somehow or in some way. I needed to talk to Dilara as soon as I got home.

Arabella's voice made the hairs on my arm stand up. "He said you were a listener to the dead but you're more than that, right? What are you?"

I massaged the temples of my forehead. I understood her curiosity but she didn't need to know about my issue. But she was half-right, I was here to listen to the dead, to her, and if she had unfinished business with the living I would settle it. I looked away from the scattered glass when I saw a tall table near the door with two neat stacks of napkins and white cards. They even provided a bowl of peppermint candy.

I walked towards it picking up one of the white cards. It was a memorial card. It read: In loving memory of Arabella Bates. July 17, 2003-November 26, 2022. Underneath it was a printed picture of Arabella, she was smiling but it looked forced. Below her picture was a cursive written prayer that ended with, forever in our hearts.

"How did you die?" She was so young.

She answered. "I had a weak heart and it finally gave out." I wanted to ask if it hurt less now but given she asked Grimm for help, she was still hurting. But she wanted it to stop.

Her voice weakened. "Come outside and I'll tell you why my heart stopped beating."

I held Arabella's memorial card in my hand and walked as the heels of my boots crushed the littering pieces of the broken mirrors. I pulled the door open abandoning my wrecking and prepared myself for another if Arabella wished for one.

Low lights dimmed the hallway and the cold rush became apparent. Whether it came from Arabella or from the funeral itself, it was unsure. Tall vintage wooden drawers were placed against the walls with black long vases filled with white flowers. Lilies, orchids, roses, and chrysanthemums plagued the dark corners and stood out among the black coats.

Besides the wafting smell of fresh flowers, there were grief-stricken tears and coffee dancing in the air. As all funerals usually did.

"You see that girl over there with blond hair, she is holding a green scarf." My eyes roamed until I spotted the girl Arabella was talking about. She was standing next to a tall wooden table while holding a green scarf in her right hand. She kept turning her head, left right, left right.

Arabella spoke. "That's my best friend, Vanessa. Well, at least she was my best friend." I frowned but as I watched Vanessa turn her head, I noticed how long her eyes would linger when she turned her head to the left. I followed her gaze and saw a boy with chestnut hair but couldn't see his full face as he hung his head low.

"That's my boyfriend, Owen." Arabella corrected herself. "I mean, he was my boyfriend. But they're the reason why I'm dead. My best friend of seven years and my boyfriend of three years were seeing each other behind my back. All while I was sick. They were both at my side, telling me I was going to get better but my health was getting worse. But I remained hopeful because I truly believed them—Vanessa and Owen, made me dream of a future where my heart could beat excitedly and not hurt." And as she said that, Vanessa stole a glance from Owen.

I looked over to Owen as he lifted his head only to look over to Vanessa.

Arabella continued. "The night I died was when I saw them together. I wasn't feeling well but I wanted to walk. I was only able to make it to the door because once I peeked out the window I saw them kissing and I—" 

The betrayal killed her.

"If she told me she liked him, I would have never looked at him. I always knew I was going to die young so boyfriends were never on my mind. I didn't want to leave someone in pain. But Owen was sweet and persistent. Vanessa encouraged me to take a chance, she said everyone should experience what love feels like." Her voice wavered at the end.