“Dead is dead.” Ryan declared with a shrug. “It’s
not mean.”
“Henry, you believe in ghosts?” Claire asked.
“Ghosts, spirits, undead. Whatever you’d like
to dream up. The thing is the dead have to go somewhere. Who are we to say they
aren’t lurking over our shoulders as we read a book? Who can say for certain
they aren’t sitting at the table with us, bringing us a sense of calm or a
feeling of despair, while we drink a cup of coffee? Who’s to say they aren’t
that voice in our head that we sometimes have a discussion with?” Henry saw the
disbelief on their faces. “Maybe they are the ones that take that sock we can
never find, or the silverware. In any case, no, I did not continue the upkeep
of the asylum.”
“Do you know who did?” Claire inquired. “Also,
you say Adelaide had no family. You do know the person who purchased the asylum?
His name is Oliver Blackwood.”
“She had no family. An only child. Both of her
parents were only children and Adelaide never married. I would say, under those
circumstances, it’s certain she had no family.”
“Many have the last name Blackwood.” Ryan
offered.
“But why move here to purchase an asylum that
has been empty for fifty-five years and needs so much repair? I understand coincidences,
but this seems a bit much, even for that.” Claire answered.
“Why did you move here, Claire?” Henry interrupted
Ryan, who was about to speak.
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