Walter de Ville's Advocate

Chapter Thirteen

I woke up again just before dawn while Evie was sleeping peacefully, having lifted her leg up onto mine in the middle of the night – well, the middle of the time we both spent together in her bed.

With how late she fell asleep, and the sleeping aid in her tea, I expected her to be out for a little while longer, but I was still careful as I shifted out from under her; smiling when she made a cute noise that was a cross between a groan and a giggle. I snuck out to procure a card with my crest as a letterhead, and wrote her a quick note about breakfast at 9 o'clock in the – newly decorated – art studio.

Now back in my rooms, I washed up for the day, putting on a more casual outfit than even the first day we met. It was the same cambric shirt in white, but I donned my least-dressy slacks, and a pair of worn shoes. The outfit gave an air of relaxation and felt earthen to me, like that of an artist, but it had nothing on the clothes she owned. Before I could think about seeing to our meal, or rather hers, that lilting voice hummed itself into existence.

"You seem exhausted," Emmaline whispered. "With your stamina, I must say I'm quite surprised to see you in this state."

"Fuck off," I said, dropping any sort of decorum. Emmaline was dead, and there were never any others around, so why should propriety take precedence?

"No," she replied simply. "Why woul—," she began.

"Look me in the eyes, Emmaline," I said, stepping towards her ghostly form, my eyes flashing. "Fuck. Off."

I resumed getting dressed, donning a few delicate necklaces that I had acquired over the years but hardly utilized. When I ran my fingers through my nearly-dry hair, I heard that confounded song again.

"Must you torment me? If you have something to say, then get on with it. I have a wedding to prepare for, you know?"

Emmaline stopped humming. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Well, my long-lost dear, you do not get any say . . . about anything." I casted my hand around me, "As you seem to have forgotten, you chose to leave this world. So do us all a favor – do me a favor – and just leave."

Emmaline scoffed. "You think I wanted to die? That being stuck here with unfinished business while you continue to maim, torture, and kill is my idea of peace?"

Now it was my turn for derision, "Is it not your decision to stay here, haunting your former abode? Even if you cannot find peace, surely there is a whole world at your disposal?" When she didn't respond to that, I added, "Where are you when I don't see you?"

Her brow furrowed. "I—I can't say."

"Can't say, or won't?"

"I—I really don't know which," she pursed her lips. Emmaline thought for a moment and then straightened her shoulders. "All I do know is that it is time for you to go."

Those words stirred something up in me. Before the idea fully formed, I was pointing at her accusingly. "It was you! You tampered with my dreams last night."

Although I feared I would forget much of it by morning, it had been so vivid, so lifelike that it must've been permanently burned into my mind. So much about my life as a human had been lost to me – lost to the ages. I was surprised to find any sort of familiarity in the details, though the painful memories seemed to once again suck me into a deep abyss.

"I possess no such ability," she said in an unsure tone. And as dawn was in full swing outside my window, something else dawned on me.

"Do you even know what you are? I mean, you know that you are dead," I whispered, feeling oddly offensive for saying such.