Ghosts in the Daylight: Chapter 10
A/N: Sorry for being gone lately. Now back to your regular scheduled fanfic!
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 **INTERLUDEI** Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Jamie woke to gray light filtering through his windows. He cursed, the heaviness in his muscles a testament to his lack of sleep. It would be a long day. He dressed quickly, throwing his hair into a tiny knot of the back of his head. God, he really needed a haircut. Looking about as presentable as he could in a T-shirt and jeans, he headed to the sitting room.
Claire was there, sitting primly on the edge of the sofa, eyes distant. He could hear her mind working.
He cleared his throat. “Claire.”
“Oh! Good morning, Jamie. Did you sleep well?”
“Aye,” He lied. “Was yer evening alright?”
“Yes, yes. Just fine.” She was lying too; Jamie could tell. She was true to the core, and her lies stuck out tremendously. But, he didn’t mention it.
Was this what they had resorted to? Pleasant conversation and one syllable answers? They had lived together for months, but after one night of truths and bare souls, they acted like strangers. It was something Jamie couldn’t handle.
“Jamie. Don’t. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine.”
They weren’t, but what could he say?
“Okay, well, I’m going to head out.”
“Weel, I’ve got to pick Ian up.”
“Ian? Your brother-in-law? He’s going with you?” Worry and jealousy clouded her eyes.
“Aye. I didna want to go alone. Dinna fash. I told him I was doing research for my latest novel. He willna ask too many questions about that.”
“Oh, umm. Well, good luck.”
“I’ll try my best, Claire. For ye.” Sincerity dripped from his lips, because despite the awkwardness and hurtful truths from the night before, he still cared for her. Deeply.
A small smile crinkled her eyes. Perhaps she still cared for him as well.
“And, what is this book yer writing about? Dead people?” Ian had agreed to accompany Jamie to the archives on one condition: Jamie bought dinner. It was a small price to pay for an extra set of hands and eyes.
“It’s… historical…. fiction.” That wasn’t a full lie. It was historical. Fiction… not so much.
“Sounds boring.” Ian was never one to mince words. Jamie supposed thats why him and Jenny worked so well together. “But, yer my brother. And I’ll help ye.”
“Wow. Thank ye, Ian. Yer support is overwhelming.”
“Oh, hush. Ye ken I love ye and I’m proud of ye and all that shit. Now, come man. Let’s go research dead people.”
“Jesus, Jame. Are ye sure this woman actually existed?”
Jamie and Ian had been at the archives for nearly three hours, and luck was apparently not on their side.
“Aye. I saw her headstone. I dinna think they give headstones to imaginary people.”
“Ye’d be surprised at what people do…” Ian mumbled under his breath, flipped through laminated pages in a worn binder.
“Just… keep looking. If we dinna find anything in the next hour, we’ll leave.”
Jamie hated the thought of leaving without any information, but he knew a dead end when he saw one.
Alexander Randall… Arthur Randall… Benjamin Randall…
“Oi, Jamie? Was this woman married? Do ye ken?”
That caught his attention. “Yes. That’s what I read.”
Ian slid an article toward him. “Here’s his obituary… He died exactly a year after her.”
Franklin Wolverton Randall
June 24, 1859–May 13, 1898
