((Warning - contains imagery some may find disturbing.))

December passed into January and January into February. Winter passed slowly, holding on as long as it could, like the icicles that hung from the roof of the old house. When April finally came, it brought with it a welcome relief from the cold, the snow replaced by spring rain. The grounds of the old house were still brown and drab and dreary, waiting for May sunshine to bring them to life. Captain Nichols had done as he'd promised, watching over Kit as much as he could, though his appearances were still as unpredictable as the spring weather. He had asked her to stay away from the summer house, for whatever reason, reluctant to explain why, even when she'd asked. It was on a rare sunny afternoon in April when she was alone that she found out the reason for his request. It was April 14th, to be exact, the date of his birth and of his death.

Over the months since Christmas, Kit had grown used to explaining to friends that she was engaged, but that her fiance was a secret. They were accustomed to her being a little mysterious, allowing her to have her secret so long as they could tease her about it, and since she knew she was almost constantly in the presence of her fiance, whether she could see him or not, she didn't mind. As the winter began to wane, warmer weather pushing itself to the fore, she had taken to working longer hours, taking advantage of the natural light, both commissions and that secretive present she was working on. But today she just couldn't settle to work.

The house felt oppressive, somehow, pressing in on her with a heavy pall of sadness and anger, a sense of absolute desperation, and no matter how much she wished for him, Randal didn't appear to explain to her what had happened. As morning slipped to afternoon, she couldn't stand it any longer, laying down her tools and stepping out into the wide gardens, breathing a soft sigh of relief as the sense of misery faded from her mind.

She couldn't have known the reason for the oppressive feeling inside the house, though if she gave it some thought, she might have figured it out. April 14th was an important day in the life of Randal Nichols, as it was both the day of his birth and his death, as she might soon remember. The summer house wasn't far from the main house, only a short walk through the gardens along a stone-paved path. It was called the summer house for a reason, as it had mostly been used during the summer months to get away from the oppressive heat in the main house and enjoy the fragrant breeze that wafted inside from the garden. Unfortunately, it hadn't been used in many years and had fallen into a state of disrepair, hardly the gem it had once been in its glory nearly a century ago.

If one tried hard enough, one could almost imagine what the house had looked like then, surrounded by flower beds and green lawns, butterflies flitting to and fro, birds singing happily in the trees. Even now, all those years later, it wasn't hard to imagine what it could be like again. Today, though, it was a quiet spring day, the sun shining overhead, the gardens waiting to come back to life, almost like the master of the house himself.

Arms tucked about herself, Kit wandered down from the back porch over the lawn. She'd been told not to visit the summer house at all, though been given no reason for it, and for some reason, today she was feeling very tempted to disobey the only order Randal had ever given her. She tried to distract herself, measuring once again the space between the three trees that had grown together until they twisted into a complex knot almost seven feet above the grass, but still found herself standing in front of the summer house eventually, looking up at its dilapidated frame with a faint frown.

Perhaps it wasn't so much the house that drew her, but the event that had taken place there nearly a century ago. Despite the sunny day, the house seemed an almost ominous presence in the otherwise pleasant surroundings. It wasn't that it was evil, exactly, but there was a darkness about it, a sense of tragedy and deep sorrow. It was almost spell-binding in its intensity, and the closer she came, the more intriguing the house seemed, especially when it became obvious that she wasn't alone. There was movement inside the small house, though it was hard to tell from the garden who was there or what they were doing.

Her frown deepened as she caught a glimpse of movement, glancing back toward the house as though to make sure that Randal wasn't watching her. She didn't mean to deliberately disobey him, but ....if there was someone in the summer house, she should investigate, A squatter was no laughing matter, after all. At least, that was the excuse she gave herself as she stepped up over the tangle of neglected roses and onto the steps that rose to the level of the summer house, peering through the broken glass of the door uncertainly.

There was no sign of Randal anywhere and no one there to stop her, despite his previous warning. The closer she got, the more she could see. There was definitely someone inside the house, someone moving around, as if they were pacing the floor, though no footsteps could be heard, no sound at all.

Careful not to make too much noise, just in case there really was an intruder here, Kit eased the stiff door open, peering in with a faint frown. "Hello?" she called quietly, her gaze sweeping the neglected furniture, the creeping vines that had worked their way in through cracks and broken windows. It must have been a beautiful place before it was forgotten.

Whoever was there made no reply, as if they couldn't hear her or perhaps didn't care. The only sound that came to her was a small, muffled sound that was hard to place but that sounded strangely like sobbing. She'd heard that same sound once before, back at the main house, though it was hard to pinpoint just who she was hearing.

She shivered as those quiet sobs reached her ears, remembering her fright the last time she had heard that voice in pain. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms about herself, daring to step into the summer house proper, for once facing up to what she couldn't see. Sapphire and pearl shimmered on her left hand - she was confident that Randal wouldn't let anything bad happen to her.

Though it was a small house, the sound seemed to be coming from somewhere deeper inside. A sitting room perhaps or even a bedroom. The figure she'd seen moving around inside from the window was no longer visible from the door, but the sound never changed, only growing more desperate, more lamentable.

"Hello?" Chancing her arm a little, she edged further inside, passing through the first room in search of the origin of that voice. "Is-is there someone here?" Belatedly, she remembered she'd left her cell phone in her workshop, glancing around for something she might be able to hit an intruder with if she needed to.

"I know," he assured her with a faint smile, as frustrated as she was that he could no longer touch her. "Six months, Kit. We only have to wait six more months," he reminded her, turning to look over his shoulder as if to make sure that ghostly replay of his death was truly finished. "I'm sorry you had to witness that," he told her sadly.

She sniffed, wiping her face dry finally. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you," she told him softly, regret touching her expression. "I didn't mean to, I just ..." She sighed, brushing her hair back out of her face in a glimmering sparkle of gold and sapphire. "I couldn't stop myself from watching. I never meant to intrude, Randal, really I didn't."

"I only wanted to spare you from witnessing that. It wasn't exactly my finest hour." Not to mention it had been downright gruesome and bloody. He'd watched it himself time and again over the last 94 years. "I was a coward, I suppose," he told her, turning away from her to look on the place of his death, though there was no sign of it now. No blood, no body, no revolver - nothing but dust and cobwebs, peeling wallpaper and old musty furniture. "Katharine came here once, drawn to it as you were, I suppose."

"There's nothing cowardly about it," she said quietly, finding the strength to pull herself up onto her feet from somewhere previously undiscovered in herself. "Everyone says it's the coward's way out, but what do they know" They don't know what happens in the moments between raising the gun and pulling the trigger. Going into the unknown is one of the bravest things anyone can do." She wasn't defending his decision, exactly; she just wanted him to see that it wasn't so terrible an act as he seemed to believe it to be.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he mused aloud, his back turned to her, now that he could no longer touch her, a little lost in the memory of the past that kept repeating itself on a loop, like a bad horror film, every 14th of April since 1919 when he lost all hope and the will to live. "If I'd lived, there's no telling what might have happened. I'd still have died, but I'd never have met your grandmother or you. Who knows what might have happened then?"

Oh, she knew what would have happened. "I would have been very lonely," she said softly, her arms tight about her waist as she watched his back, feeling like an intruder, unwelcome in a place that had seen so much. "I, um ....I'm going back to the house," she told him, feeling a growing anxiety to get away from the awful memories he was no doubt following in his own mind.

"It won't happen again," he told her quietly, his back still turned. He could have gone into detail and explained what had driven him to it, but he wasn't sure it was necessary, except perhaps to confess and purge the demons from his soul. "I promise you, Kit. I will never do such a thing again," he said as he turned slowly to face her, a solemn look on his face.

She'd managed to back up just a single step before he spoke again, her eyes wide as she looked up at him. "I wouldn't last a day without you," she told him, meaning it with all her heart. "I hope you never feel anything like that again."

"Never, so long as you are here," he promised, taking that single step toward her, even though he could no longer touch her. "Good Christ, I'm not sure I can wait another six months. Have I not been waiting long enough?" he asked, ghostly eyes watery with unshed tears. "I love you so much. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, but I promise....I swear to you, I will never do that again."

"It's only a few months," she murmured, wishing she could give him something more than just her heartfelt declaration of her feelings to trust in, some open and honest sign that he need never be concerned again. "We're through the worst now, aren't we?"

He dabbed his fingers at his own eyes, as useless as it was. His tears were no more substantial than the rest of him. "Dear God, I hope so," he replied with a frown. "Kit, if I asked, would you do something for me" You might think it a ghastly request."

"I'd do anything for you, Randal," she was quick to promise him, shaking her head at the thought of saying no. "Anything at all. All you have to do is ask." Admittedly, she hadn't managed to keep herself out of the summer house at his request, but he seemed to understand that it had not been entirely of her own volition.

He seemed reluctant, loath even to utter that request, wondering what she'd think of him if he did, and yet, it was important to him, if only for the sake of his soul. "I should like someone to visit my grave. I know it's a morbid request, but..." He shrugged his shoulders. "I have no family. There's no one left. If you could just say a prayer for my soul and....and make sure my place of rest has not been disturbed, I would be ever so grateful."

She blushed, the sadness in her expression softening as a small smile flickered onto her face. "Love ....where did you think it was I was going every Sunday?" she asked him gently. "I don't go to mass. I've been visiting the graveyard, your grave. It was a condition in Nana's will, to look after your place of rest."

One brow arched at that little revelation. He had always assumed she was going to church and was obviously surprised to learn she had been visiting his grave all along. "Oh, I did not know," he said softly, touched by the knowledge that her grandmother had thought so much of him that she'd added a stipulation to her will, for his sake. His expression softened, deeply touched by the gesture. He must have meant more to her than he'd realized.

"You were her best friend for a long time," she murmured, wondering how he could not have known how much his companionship meant to her grandmother. "Why wouldn't she do that for you? Why wouldn't I do it, for her and for you?"

"I don't know," he murmured thoughtfully. "I never thought to ask before," he explained, looking to the window where the sun was shining brightly on the grounds that, like him, were trying desperately to return to life. "The flowers will be in bloom soon. The garden is lovely this time of year. Do you remember it?"

"I remember the apple trees," she said quietly, watching him turn toward the window. "All the blossom blowing around, and the roses coming up over the summer. It was always so bright and colourful, but with so much room to play in. Even after I broke the swing."

He laughed, remembering the day she'd broke the swing. He'd watched her even then, though he'd been unable to do anything but watch. "You were such a happy child," he said. At least, when she was here. "Katherine loved you very much. You were the light of her life. I'm not sure what came between her and your mother, but you were very dear to her."