Hemlock Veils

Earlier, Regina had sat with him, her hand on his and her arm around his back, and this, her willingness to comfort, had surprised him. How any of them were at ease with all that had happened—how they’d been so accepting of the revelation of his deepest secret—was a marvel. He’d been the monster, the one they’d always feared; yet here they were. The rest of the town, even Nicole, still waited outside the hospital, all with candles, Arne had said. Henry hadn’t gained the courage to look himself. He couldn’t face them, not yet. He couldn’t face anyone but her.

However, Taggart had come in twenty minutes before, just after Regina had left. He’d been the hardest person for Henry to even think of facing, aside from Brian, who according to Arne was nowhere to be found. When Nicole had gone looking for him, she discovered that even his house had been emptied, as though he’d packed up and left in a hurry. Perhaps this town, and all its magic, was finally too much for him. It gave Henry a slim measure of peace just knowing Brian was no longer here, that he wouldn’t have to control his impulse to kill him for the way he’d tied Elizabeth to the tree.

Even getting past the way Taggart had handcuffed her would be difficult, no matter how much he understood why, or how sorry he was for the loss of Sheppy.

“Mr. Clayton…” Taggart had begun. A sobbing sound came from his throat and he cleared it. “I didn’t know…”

“I know,” Henry said, never looking up at him. He watched Elizabeth’s eyelids instead.

“I just wanted to say that. I’m…so sorry. I was only doing what I thought was best. I didn’t know.”

For some reason Henry’s eyes burned and as they welled, he pressed his lips together. Still, all he could say was, “I know.”

After a long moment of silence, Henry’s eyes traveled to the wet, muddy soles of Taggart’s boots. Those boots left Henry alone again.

He sat alone now, too. How many people still waited outside, praying, as Arne said they were doing? The door opened then and Arne stepped through.

“Did they go home yet?” Henry asked him.

Arne shook his head. “They won’t, not until you come out. They’ll wait forever for you.”

“They’re not waiting for me, Arne. They’re waiting for her.”

“Then come out, talk to them. You’re you again, Henry. You don’t need to hide anymore, and they’re waiting to accept you.”

The simple action of shaking his head took all his energy. “I can’t be me without her.”

“You can. And she’ll still be here when you get back. I’ll even wait here with her.”

“They can manage.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about. It’s you who needs them. They’re a support system. They care, they love Elizabeth. After tonight…we need to pull together.”

“After what they did to her…”

“Henry, they were frightened. They didn’t know what to think.”

Arne was right, but Henry didn’t see the point. He stood anyway, studying Elizabeth before turning away from her for the first time since they’d arrived at the clinic. “You’ll stay with her? You’ll tell me the moment anything changes?”

Arne nodded.

With a sigh, Henry left the exam room and approached the glass doors. He hesitated when pushing them open, every head turning to him. There were so many, more than had been in the mob, and candles burned everywhere—even into the street and in front of the small church across it, since there were too many souls to fit in the clinic’s parking lot. The way every eye watched him, anticipating his words, left him momentarily beyond speech.

“She…isn’t awake yet.” Some shoulders slumped. “But I have hope,” he added, his voice catching on the last word. He shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat, looking to the walkway. A single azalea lay on the cement, pink like the ones Elizabeth had planted last month, but it had been trampled by her supporters’ feet. It wasn’t one of her flowers, he knew, but still it insulted: on the ground, disrespected. “I won’t give up on her,” he finished with hot resolve.

“Nor will we.” It was Anita Thurman, holding a candle in one hand, her other fidgeting with the golden cross around her neck.

Henry nodded, and after a long moment, he cleared his throat again. “I suppose tonight was a shock.” A few chuckles arose, surprisingly. “There are many questions I can’t answer. But I assure you, it’s all behind us.”

“It’s all behind you?” Nicole asked, somewhat reluctantly, and when he met her eyes, he felt sorry for taking her so long ago.

Swallowing, he nodded. “Yes,” he answered in a small voice. “And…I’m sorry.”

Regina neared, touching his arm. Her always round eyes were even rounder—open, free of criticism. “We’re sorry.” Nods and murmurs of assent lifted all around. And the way Henry’s tear ducts leaked was so unexpected he looked down, again clearing his throat. This time he didn’t have the mental energy to hold it back. Before he knew it, Regina’s arms were around him, and his were around her. Then other arms joined, the arms of a community, coming together for him, for Elizabeth. He couldn’t fathom how they could be so supportive after witnessing such impossible things; perhaps Elizabeth wasn’t the only soul who could understand after all. He wasn’t deserving of it, but he absorbed it; because with these arms and these faces, he felt something. He felt home.

When he pulled away from Regina, Eustace patted him on the shoulder, and immediately, at the touch of his hand, Henry thought of Holly Farrell and how distraught Eustace had been when she’d left Hemlock Veils forty-nine years ago. All because of him.

“Eustace…” he began, not knowing what to say.

Eustace smiled beneath his shaggy, coarse beard, making the many wrinkles around his eyes deepen. It said he had forgiven him. “We all love you.”

Henry chuckled for the first time since becoming an un-cursed human again. His old friend, now his new one. It all felt strange, and so liberating. “Thanks, Old Man. For being her friend, for welcoming her here. You were the first.”

“She’s a fighter, Henry. She’s always fought for you. She won’t stop now.”

Chapter 28

Elizabeth sensed Henry’s presence in a way she never had. His determination to hold onto her was strong in this place—this transitive existence. She did still exist somewhere, as though in waiting, but not a single one of her senses graced her. Nothing to hear, nothing to see—not even darkness or light. Without the help of her physical body, she couldn’t feel her surroundings—if indeed her surroundings were in physical form. She had only the warmth and the feelings inside her. So while in death’s waiting room, she allowed herself to revel in her soul’s tether to Henry one last time.

His presence, she realized, was all she sensed here. As though it had become a molten sea, she swam in it and it was inside of her at the same time, flowing through her limbs and in her veins. It was love, a comforting familiar home, and it was him. She was with him and she wasn’t. Somehow he sustained her, and even if she couldn’t feel this warmth—this love, this presence of Henry—the rest of her soul’s existence, she would be okay with that. Because nothing filled her with more rightness than knowing his suffering had ended.

She’d saved him; she felt it. She remembered nothing after their goodbye, his beastly face above and his thoughts shoving frantically into hers, telling her to live. She had fought them away, pushed them from her awareness, because with them filling her, it was impossible to give up.

While recalling this, she felt jerked from death’s waiting room, and knew it was time. The warmth bathing her cooled, and in this corner of her mind that held her captive, she wondered what would follow, what next step of death awaited her. It was the absence of Henry, perhaps, that made her cold. In an instant, he was gone: no warmth, no love, no presence. And before she could gasp from the change, her physical senses returned full force. Her heart beat wildly, franticly, and with a breath forceful enough to push her upright, her eyes ripped open.