The Wedding of Rachel Blaine Read online

  And there's Robert, at the far end, standing with the registrar and the best man, waiting for me.

  With each step here, I faced a thousand possibilities. Keep going. Run. Ask for more time. Scream. Sob. Beg for help. So many more. Somehow I've made it this far, however, and suddenly I realize that all I have to do now is keep going.

  All I have to do now is believe.

  I don't know how, but I manage to keep walking. Uncle John is next to me, his arm linked with mine, and he helps me to maintain a steady pace. As I look at the faces that are watching me from both sides of the aisle, I can't help wondering exactly how much they know. They certainly realize that something strange happened this morning, since the ceremony is much later than planned and has also been moved here into the hall. But do they know that I had a complete breakdown? Can they see the fear in my eyes?

  Looking ahead, I realize that we're halfway along the aisle now. Robert is watching me, with a nervous expression, and I don't blame him. It's a miracle that he didn't turn and run at some point over the past twenty-four hours, and I still can't quite believe that he's standing right there and waiting for me. Is he some kind of saint? I keep telling myself that I imagined all those things that happened last night, and deep down I guess I know that it was all in my head. I just wish I could forget the memory of John telling me all those awful things.

  But there'll be time for that later.

  I can do this.

  I imagined everything last night. It felt so real, but it was all in my head. I glance around, watching for anything that might seem out of place, but so far the hallucinations seem to be staying away.

  Now, as I reach the front of the aisle and turn to face Roberts, I tell myself yet again that I have to be brave. Robert's a wonderful, handsome, successful man, and I'm insanely lucky to have him. I love him so much, and he wouldn't be here now if he didn't love me in return. I've put him through agony over the past few hours – with all my hallucinations and wild claims – but here he is, and here I am, and it's finally time for my wedding to begin.

  “You look stunning,” he whispers with a half-smile, as the music continues. “You're okay, right? We don't have to do this today, not if it's making things bad for you. We can wait and -”

  “No, I want to do it today,” I reply, struggling to hold back tears. I look down at the back-up dress that Mum provided for me, and I feel a shudder as I turn to Robert again. “I love you,” I continue. “I'm so sorry about earlier. Now I just want to get on with the rest of our lives together.”

  Suddenly the music stops, and I feel my chest tighten.

  I turn and look out across the crowd, and I see so many smiling faces staring back at me. Some of them are in tears, while some of them look a little nervous, but I tell myself that they're all here to witness the happiest day of my life. And somehow I manage to force a smile, hoping to show them that everything's fine.

  And then, between one heartbeat and the next, I see her.

  The woman from yesterday, the strange woman who I chased through the hotel, is standing at the back of the hall. She's staring straight at me with that same blank expression, and I can feel her gaze burning into my soul. I try to turn away, but for a moment I can only stare back at her as a cold shiver runs through my chest. She looks so utterly haunted, as if she's consumed by sadness. I want to shout out, to ask who she is and what she's doing here, but then I realize that Robert just said something and I turn back to see that he's watching me.

  “Rachel?” he whispers. “Are you sure you're okay?”

  I nod.

  “Because if you -”

  “I want to do this,” I whisper. “I love you so much.”

  The registrar starts talking, introducing the ceremony. Taking a deep breath, I try to listen to her words, but in truth I can't help noticing that I can still see the strange woman out of the corner of my eye. I know that it would be a mistake to look at her, that I'd only be feeding my sickness, so I try to focus instead on Robert. I feel a little nauseous, but that'll pass in time and I have to stay strong.

  I can do this.

  Everything will be fine once the wedding is over.

  As the registrar continues to speak, I feel a slight itch on my left wrist. At first, I tell myself that I'll just leave it alone and wait for it to fade, but after a few seconds the itch has become much more intense. I very slowly reach over and scratch, but as I do so I feel something moving on my wrist. I know I can't look, but it's as if something is crawling slowly onto my hand and finally – while maintaining a smile – I allow myself to briefly glance down.

  I flinch as soon as I see a small cockroach crawling toward the base of my thumb.

  Immediately looking back at Robert, I manage to keep smiling as I try to discreetly brush the bug away. I think I managed to hide that action, and I quickly remind myself that there are no bugs anywhere near me. I imagined something similar last night, when I placed Grandma's dress on the bed, but I refuse to start hallucinating more of those awful things. Even as I make that resolution, however, I realize I can feel some more tiny legs scratching and wriggling beneath the fabric of the dress, this time moving slowly from my left armpit and down toward the breast.

  At least I know this time that it's not real.

  This time, I'm certain that it's all in my head.

  The legs are digging into my skin, but I refuse to acknowledge this fantasy. The registrar is sure taking a long time with this speech, but I'm sure we'll get onto the next stage of the ceremony soon. For now, I somehow manage to maintain a smile even as I feel more and more bugs crawling beneath my dress. Some of them seem small and slow, while others are long and thin and fast. I remember seeing centipedes last night, wriggling out from beneath the fabric of Grandma's gorgeous dress. Now I can feel more centipedes, this time writhing against my body and occasionally scurrying out onto my bare shoulders.

  But if that were the case, someone else would have noticed.

  Wouldn't they?

  Robert, for example, would say something if there were actual bugs crawling up the side of my neck and onto my face.

  So it's not really happening.

  I just have to maintain this smile, even as I feel another cockroach making its way onto my left cheek. If I surrender – if I give in to this madness and start swatting the bugs away – I'll lose everything. I just have to hold out for a few more minutes, and then the stress of the wedding will be over.

  I'll be free.

  Finally, the registrar asks Robert if he'd like to read the vows he's prepared. He takes a piece of paper from his pocket and opens it nervously. As I wait for him to start speaking, however, I suddenly spot something moving in front of my left eye, and I realize with a growing sense of horror that I can feel a cockroach crawling up and across my face. I can't react, I can't even blink, but Robert is starting to read his vows and at the same time I swear I can see and feel the cockroach crawling straight over my left eye.

  For a moment, I can't help but blink as I feel the little legs touching my eyeball.

  I flinch, very slightly, but I think I just about manage to look normal as the cockroach crawls onto my forehead and then starts pushing its way through my hair. I can already feel scores more of these bugs all over my body. Some are on my bare skin, but most are inside the dress as they wriggle and writhe on their way to freedom. They're everywhere: I can feel them in my armpits, in the small of my back, under my breasts, on my belly, on my waist, down around my crotch and my inner thighs, even crawling down my legs. I feel as if I'm covered in hundreds and hundreds of these tiny things, with more and more making their way onto my face, but I keep telling myself that I can't react.

  They're not real.

  I have to push through.

  And then the groans begin. Or is it sobbing?

  Someone or something is letting out a low, sustained cry. I think the sound is coming from over my shoulder, and it's already loud enough to start drowning out Robert's words. As more and
more bugs crawl over my body, I focus on John and try to hear what he's saying, but now it's as if there's someone right behind me, wailing with grief and sorrow and rage.

  I want to look.

  I want to see what kind of face could produce such a terrible sound.

  Is it the strange woman? Is it the dead bride? Or is it someone else entirely, some new nightmare that has risen up from Hell?

  Suddenly I realize that Robert has finished his vows.

  It takes a moment, but then I remember that it's my turn. I smile as I reach into a concealed pocket in the side of my dress, and I slip out the vows that I wrote several days ago. My hands are trembling, and I swear I feel more insects inside the pocket. As I raise the vows and unfold the piece of paper, I see a small bug crittering across the sheet, but I brush it aside without making a fuss. After all, the creature isn't even real.

  “My darling Robert,” I start to read, somehow managing to make my voice not sound too traumatized, even as the wailing sound continues behind me, “I have thought... long and hard about how to express my love for you on our special day.”

  Suddenly I hear a scream, somewhere else in the room. A terrible, soul-destroying scream of pure horror. I flinch, but I don't look, and I remain focused on the words in front of me.

  I begin to read again, while ignoring the sound of someone sobbing wildly. I say each word carefully and clearly, just as I practiced all those times at home in front of the mirror.

  “A fresh bargain is struck,” a voice whispers suddenly in my ear, almost causing me to stop reading. “Tonight, he'll get what he wants.”

  I don't fumble a single word. Somehow I manage to keep going, and now I'm almost halfway through the vows. I even manage to keep reading as – slowly – I feel a hand reach up and touch my bare shoulder, and as a bony fingertip begins to scratch through my skin.

  “And I,” the voice continues, grating in the air just over my shoulder, “shall get what I want. What I have waited for, for so many, many years. He made mistakes last night, but now he's delivered. And a deal is a deal.”

  Ignoring the voice, which isn't real anyway, I finally get to the end of my vows. I look over at Robert, half-expecting that he's suddenly recognized all these terrible things around me, but he's simply smiling at me. I slip the piece of paper away, and then I allow myself a brief glance at the guests.

  Everyone out there is smiling too, and some of them even seem to be in tears. Mum, on the front row, gives me a thumbs-up, and I manage to smile back at her, but then I spot a figure sitting right next to her and I feel my heart miss a beat as I recognize the gray, partially-rotten face.

  Dad.

  He's staring at me with a somber, solemn expression. He looks so desperately sad, as if he's witnessing the most horrific ceremony in the world, as if he at least sees everything that I think I'm feeling.

  I want to call out to him, to beg him for help, but at the last moment I remind myself that even he isn't real. He's been dead for a while now, and – as Mum keeps saying – he'd be so happy for me today.

  This is just another hallucination.

  “Rachel?”

  Turning, I see that the registrar is waiting for something, and then I look at Robert and see that he's holding one of the wedding rings.

  Did the registrar just announce that it's time for us to exchange the rings? She said something; I guess it must be that.

  And so we begin the final part of the ceremony.

  I try to focus on everything the registrar is saying, even as I stare at the ring and see that it looks utterly old and rusted. It wasn't like that just a few days ago, yet now it has the appearance of something that was recently dug up after centuries underground.

  No.

  No, that's not what it looks like.

  That's what I see, but it's not reality.

  Suddenly Robert reaches forward, and I raise my right hand and watch as he slides the ring into place. As he does so, I can't help but notice that my hand looks dreadfully thin, as if the skin has pulled back and begun to cling much more keenly to the bones. The hand looks pale, too, almost gray in color, and several of the fingernails seem to be in the process of yellowing and becoming detached.

  Yet the ring slips on perfectly, and the registrar holds out the other for me to take.

  As I pick the ring from the little cushion, another scream fills the room, louder and longer than before. I hold the ring for a moment, and slowly I begin to realize that I can hear a deep, heavy bell tolling somewhere in the distance.

  “Do it,” the scratched voice behind me whispers. “Once you are man and wife, the bargain is complete.”

  “Rachel?” the registrar whispers nervously. “Are you ready?”

  “Of course,” I reply, before reaching out and slipping the ring onto Robert's finger.

  The registrar says something else, but for a few seconds all I can hear is slow, rumbling laughter that seems to be ringing out from the space right behind me. I want to turn and look, but I manage to hold back, even as I feel the bony fingertip slicing down across my shoulder. And then, as the laughter gets louder and as the distant ringing bell tolls one more time and shatters, I hear the registrar pronounce those few simple words that I've been waiting for – waiting and waiting and waiting – for so long.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  I look at Robert, just as he leans toward me. He puts a hand on my waist and sets his cold lips against mine, and then we begin to kiss. As we do so, I feel more and more bugs and worms wriggling from his mouth into mine. I know I can't pull away, so I simply let the deathly kiss continue, even as hundreds of scratchy little legs scrape furiously against my tongue and then tumble down the back of my throat. And by the time Robert pulls away and smiles at me, the mocking laughter has begun to ring out in the room with such intensity that I think my ears might be about to start bleeding.

  Finally, Robert and I turn to the guests and smile, and they all begin to clap as they rise. Despite the sensation of insects still crawling down my throat, and the dead hand on my shoulder, and the shrill laughter behind me, I manage to maintain my smile, even though it feels horribly fake. As I do so, I catch sight of my reflection in a large mirror at the far end of the room, and I see my own pale, horrified face staring back at me. And behind me, even as everyone claps and cheers, even as I force myself to smile, the dead bride appears to be waiting.

  Epilogue

  “I'm so tired,” Robert says as he finally shuts the door to the bridal suite. “What time is it?”

  I glance at the clock next to the bed.

  “Just after midnight,” I tell him, before setting my flowers down. “It's late.”

  “Did you see Marina down there?” he asks, removing his tie as he heads toward the bathroom and switches on the light. “I don't think I've ever seen anyone more drunk. There's no way she's going to remember anything that happened tonight. Which might be just as well. Her contribution to the punch bowl was certainly... unique.”

  “It was,” I murmur, as I stop at the window and peer out at the lawn.

  With the light on in the room, I can only see my own reflection. To my relief, I look reasonably normal, albeit a little tired. There doesn't seem to be anyone or anything standing behind me, however, and the only sound I hear – other than my own breath, and Robert running some water in the sink – is silence.

  No laughter.

  No whispered voices.

  And nothing is wriggling or writhing inside my wedding dress.

  Still, I stare at my reflection for a moment longer, before reaching out and switching off the light. Instantly, my reflection disappears and I'm faced with the sight of the dark, moonlit lawn.

  “Honey?” Robert calls out. “Why did you turn off the light?”

  “I just want to see something,” I reply, as my eyes adjust to the difference, and now I can see not only the lawn but also the jetty in the distance as well, silhouetted against the water of
the lake.

  And there's no-one there.

  I don't know why, but I think I felt deep down that maybe that woman would still be out there. Instead, she's gone, just like all the rest of the terrible things I saw during the ceremony. It was as if a switch got flicked, and all of that horror just vanished in the blink of an eye. Within seconds of Robert and I becoming man and wife, the whole world seemed to go back to normal. So maybe Mum was right after all, maybe it was just the stress of the wedding that brought on a brief relapse of my illness.

  Maybe, now that I've made it through the ceremony, everything will be okay.

  Suddenly there's a knock at the door, and I turn just as Robert emerges from the bathroom.

  “Don't worry,” he says, switching the light back on, “it's not a bunch of late-night drunk well-wishers. Well, I don't think it is, anyway. I ordered us a little surprise.”

  He opens the door, and I'm surprised to see Elena waiting outside, holding a tray with two glasses of champagne. She has a broad grin on her face.

  “Just over there, please,” Robert says, gesturing toward the desk as Elena enters the room and carries the tray over.

  I smile at her, and she returns the smile, but she seems much calmer than usual. I tell myself that she's just being professional, but – as she sets the glasses down – I can't shake the feeling that she's staring at me with a curious expression. And even once she's back over at the door, she seems unable to keep from watching me. She hasn't said a word since she arrived, yet something about her seems very odd. It's not just her expression, either. Her walk, the whole way she holds herself... She seems different.

  “Thank you,” Robert says, and he lingers for a moment at the door, watching her. She looks at him, and there's a brief pause, and then he shuts the door.

  I turn and look at the champagne glasses.

  “Just a last little touch for the evening,” Robert explains, heading over and picking up the glasses, then bringing them over and handing one to me. “Who said a man can't be romantic, huh?”