Dead Weight :chapter eleven:

Dead Weight
Chapter eleven
All in the Family

Whipstaff manor was always a grand and unusual sight, but Gretchen couldn't help but fall in love with it all over again as it was covered in snow. As much as she hated the cold, it was worth braving just to see how beautiful the house was in the early morning of November, the snow falling around it. She wore several thick layers to combat the temperature, and the Trio had wasted no time in teasing her about looking like a chubby penguin. Determined not to waste the day with sitting indoors, she started walking around the other side of the house, not really going in a particular direction. Her footsteps made satisfying crunch noises in the snow, and somewhere in the trees she heard a bird's song. She marveled at how gorgeous it was, barely paying attention to where she was going, so it was to nobody's surprise but her own when she tripped over something very hard and fell to her knees, spared any pain by the two pairs of pants she wore.
"What's that?" she asked, looking closer at what had brought her down. A broken headstone stood there, defiantly, and she touched it lightly, curious. "Who are you?" she brushed the caked-on dirt from the front, jumping to the side when she realized that she had been on top of the grave. The headstone was for a very familiar name, a Jeremiah Thomas McFadden. "Oh, wow!" she whispered, looking around to see two small rows of graves surrounding JT's. Victoria was buried beside him, and on her left was a smaller grave, a child's grave. "Casper's grave…" She stood and walked around to the other row, the first name gripping her heart with sadness. "Rowena… You poor woman," she said, brushing the top of the grave with her fingertips. The last two graves were much older and weathered; the names were almost impossible to read, but she managed to make out what they said after a few minutes of squinting. "Farley and Shanna McFadden… hang on, I recognize those names…" she sat beside the graveyard, thinking back. "Oh! You're Casper's grandparents," she said, bowing her head. She sat there silently for a little while, eyes closed, paying her respects to the departed McFaddens. Her eyes fluttered open again, and she looked over her shoulder, through the last few trees. The sun reflected off the sea and she turned to watch the waves dancing, her mind distant. The sun passed over her head, and she jumped at the sound of her watch beeping to announce that it was noon. She stood, wincing at a sudden pain in her stomach. "I'll come back sometimes," she assured herself, heading back towards the house. The house was strangely quiet, and as she walked upstairs, it was apparent that the Trio were not at home. She wondered why they hadn't told her they were leaving, but then again, it wasn't really any of her business if they chose to leave. "I need to draw something," she said, shuddering. She removed her outer layers of clothing, wiping the snow from her hair and wriggling out of her three pairs of socks. She popped her earbuds into her ears and started to sketch, filling several pages with small drawings of her surroundings. She got back to thinking about the McFaddens, and everything that had happened to them, spacing out a bit. Her stomach protested quite loudly, and she snapped back to reality, almost guiltily. "Guess I should make some lunch," she muttered, half-glancing at her sketches. "When did I draw this?" she wondered aloud, staring at the picture. It was a drawing of the four McFadden brothers, grinning at one another, and she was suddenly hit with the reality of everything she'd been researching. "These were their lives… They lived, they loved… and they don't remember any of it. They've forgotten their family, their friends… everything…" She stood and held her hand over her mouth, her hunger once again forgotten with the sudden miserable understanding. She grabbed her keys from the desk and hurriedly scribbled a note, just in case the Trio should come looking for her, then left the house and drove out to town, stopping only to grab a burger on her way to the docks. Once she arrived, she went straight for the haunted boathouse, ignoring the few sailors that tried to speak to her. Portia appeared almost instantly, her inherent smile fading when she saw the expression on the human girl's face.
"Gretchen? What's the matter, dear?" she asked, concerned. Gretchen sighed and shook her head, overturning a still-intact bucket and sitting on it. "You seem terribly distressed. What's on your mind?" Portia placed a hand on her shoulder, comforting her and encouraging her to speak.
"Why do ghosts have to forget?" she asked, trying to successfully put into words why she felt so miserable.
"I suppose…" Portia said, after a moment's though. "I suppose it's because after one dies, most things from one's life are no longer important. Sometimes, after a person dies, they can become an entirely different person. Many traits remain, but time and experience will change a person drastically. It's unfortunate." Gretchen looked up at the ghostly woman.
"Why do you remember everything?" she asked. Portia smiled a bit sheepishly.
"I'm a very stubborn woman, I must admit," she confessed. "Far too stubborn to forget."
"What do you mean?" Gretchen asked, relaxing a bit.
"I have never left this spot since my death. I refuse to leave until my Christopher returns to me. My heart has never once wavered; I have never once doubted his return. Thus I remember everything."
"So because your feelings are so strong, and your will is so strong, you remember?" Portia smiled brightly, confirming Gretchen's hypothesis. "So if a ghost really wanted to remember, he'd have to really want it?"
"Hmm, possibly. I don't think your Trio are ready to do that yet, however," she replied. "Especially Cale." Gretchen nodded, hugging her knees and listening to the waves lap at the docks.
"I've been looking up the history of Whipstaff and who the Trio were, and it's a sad story," she said, at length. Portia nodded sadly. "I've learned so much about them, and their family, and it just kind of dawned on me today that they don't remember any of it. They had lives, they fell in love, they laughed and cried and now its all forgotten. It's just… depressing. If I became a ghost, would that happen to me?" Gretchen looked back up at the ghost woman, anguished. "Will I forget everything? My family, my friends? The Trio?"
"I'd say that it depends on how strongly you want to remember, if you become a ghost. The McFadden brothers didn't want to remember, because their lives were filled with so much loss and bad memories. I wanted to remember, for Christopher. I had hardship and loss in my life, yes, but my desire to see my fiancé was stronger than my desire to forget the bad things." She patted the human girl's shoulder again, giving her a small smile. "Don't worry, dear. When the brothers are ready, they will remember. Memories never vanish, they simply fade. All they need is time and a few reminders." Gretchen smiled back, starting to feel a little better.
"Hey, Portia… Can I tell you something? I need you to promise not to tell anyone else…"
Back at the manor, Fatso was making dinner, and his brothers were seated at the table, three law books and a few pages of notes in front of them.
"Dis stuff is so boring," Stretch complained. Stinkie ignored him, leafing through one of the books, determined to find what he needed. "Why don't we just let da fleshies figure out who owns da house?"
"You don't have to help if you don't want to," Stinkie said, still reading. Fatso and Stretch exchanged glances, concerned.
"What's gotten into you, Stinkie?" Fatso asked, stirring something in a large pot.
"T'ink about it," Stinkie said, looking up from his work at last. "If it turns out dat someone else owns da house, den da Doc and his kid will have to leave. Yeah, it's pretty annoying havin' em around, but if dey never come back? Who are we supposed ta dangle out windows and talk to about what's buggin' us and take out for drinks? Who are we gonna tease and whose parties are we gonna crash?" Fatso's eyes widened as he thought about what his brother was saying.
"Hey, you got a point. What if whoever owns the house decides they wanna tear it down or take everything out? What about our stuff?" Stretch grunted.
"We're da Ghostly Trio, remember? If someone tries to take da house without our permission, den we'll tear em apart! I guess ya do gotta point wit' da Doc leavin doh, he's kinda fun to have around," Stretch admitted, shrugging. He pulled one of the books to him and started scanning the table of contents. Gretchen found them this way when she returned, an hour later, feeling somewhat better after her talk with Portia.
"Hey guys, what're you up to?" she asked, stammering a bit. She still couldn't stop feeling sad about their lack of memory, but she tried not to let it show. Fatso pointed to his pot, which was now letting off copious amounts of steam.
"I made spaghetti," he said, looking up from his law book. She breathed in the tantalizing scent and fixed herself a plate, joining the Trio at the table.
"What's all this?" she asked, after watching them read for a few moments.
"We're lookin' up how ta find out who really owns da mansion," Stinkie said, and she nodded. "I got da idea after ya started lookin' it up."
"I'm glad I'm not the only one wanting to know," she said, then turned her attention back to her food. Once she was done, she stood to leave, and Stretch shoved Fatso's arm, gesturing to her.
"Hey, uh, Gretchen? Me and Stretch need ta talk to you," he said, rubbing the back of his head. Gretchen looked surprised but nodded, heading for her room. "We'll be back in a bit, Stinkie," he said, and was met with an absent wave of his brother's hand. Stretch and Fatso joined the human in her room, starting to get nervous.
"I'm gonna assume this is about you wanting to know what I know," she said, and the brothers nodded. "One moment then," she said, digging under her bed and reappearing with an old box. "First off, I have to apologize for how I even found out," she said, brushing a few dust bunnies off of the lid. "I found this in your room, in a hidden compartment under the overhang of Stinkie's bed."
"Why were ya snoopin' in our room?" Stretch demanded, crossing his arms.
"I was looking for my iPod, and this was right after the whole… storm… thing," she said, shivering and sitting on the edge of her bed. "Do you want to look in it or what?" Stretch and Fatso sat on either side of her, not quite looking at her.
"Can you… uh… show us what's in it?" Fatso asked, and she nodded. She opened it and pulled out the small stack of pictures, as well as the letter.
"Ok, well, you both know that you," she pointed to Stretch," are Lorcan, and you," she pointed to Fatso," are Dillon." She hesitated, then pulled out the first picture, the one of Casper. Fatso gasped, covering his mouth with his hand.
"That's the kid I saw in the greenhouse!" he half-whispered, and she nodded.
"This is Casper, when he was alive," she said, secretly a little pleased that they were interested in their past. She handed it to Stretch, who gazed at it before setting it behind them on the bed. The second picture was the family photo, with Casper and his parents. "This is him and his parents, Victoria and JT Mc-"
"Fadden," the two ghosts finished with her, looking amazed.
"Dat's our brother," Stretch said, touching the picture with his finger gently. "Jeremiah." Gretchen handed him the picture and he stared at it for a very long moment, then handed it to Fatso, who did the same thing before setting it down with the first one. Stretch squeezed an eye shut, his head throbbing with pain. "JT was da oldest of us…"
"It was his idea to build the house," Fatso said, wincing from his sudden headache.
"You guys ok to keep going, or do you want to wait a moment?" Gretchen asked, noticing their pain.
"We need ta know," Stretch insisted, and she turned over the next picture, the one of JT.  "Yep, dat's him," he said, nodding. "He was one of da smartest guys we knew. He was so damn shy doh, I can't remember how him and Victoria ended up married." Gretchen turned over another picture, the one depicting their youngest brother, Cale. "Holy…" Stretch muttered, looking down at it.
"I see what you mean now," Fatso said, peering at his brother's photo. "The same but not the same." When she turned over the next one in the stack, he nearly leaped off the bed in shock. "That's me!" he said, pointing at it. Stretch grinned at him and Fatso took the picture, staring at it with widened eyes. "Dillon McFadden," he whispered. "That's who I was…"
"It's who you still are," Gretchen corrected him. He looked at her, curiously. "You're still that man. You may not be exactly the same as you used to be, but you're still him."
"Didn't know you felt that strongly about it," he said, a little shyly. She turned over the next picture, smiling at Stretch's reaction to it.
"WOAH," he cried out, jumping up and snatching the picture from her. "You were right," he said, staring so intently at the picture she thought it would catch fire. "Lorcan McFadden… I really am Lorcan…" He rejoined the other two on the bed, gripping the picture tightly. Gretchen gave him another moment, then turned over the last one, the one showing the four brothers.
"This is the one that made you go looking for the greenhouse!" Fatso declared, and she grinned at him. "I can't believe we forgot…"
"Dere's no more pictures?" Stretch asked, hopefully. He frowned when she shook her head. "What's dat?" he asked, pointing to the letter.
"It's a letter," she said, handing it to him. She stood up, allowing the two to scoot closer and read it together. She watched them read, fidgeting. What was she supposed to say? What should she do? They finished reading it, and folded it back, their faces clouded with a veritable mixture of emotions.
"I was gonna get married," Stretch said, still gripping his photo. His eyes were twitching, as though he wasn't entirely sure what expression he wanted to make. "I had a fiancée…"
"Her name was Rowena," Gretchen said, quietly. His eyes locked onto hers and she swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to chase away the nervousness she suddenly felt. "She had a heart disease and didn't tell anyone until she was beyond help. She's buried in the family cemetery," she added, remembering. The two brothers stood sharply.
"Family cemetery? Where?" Fatso asked, and Gretchen took a step towards her door.
"Around behind the house," she said. "C'mon, I'll take you there." The three of them left her room, leaving all the pictures on her bed. They avoided the kitchen, where Stinkie still sat, scouring the books for his answer. She led them to the small plot of graves, staying at the edge as they inspected each headstone. Stretch floated before Rowena's grave, his head bowed. Fatso, once he was done reading the names, joined her at the edge.
"Why aren't we buried here?" he whispered, and she shrugged, starting to shiver.
"None of you died here, if my sources are correct," she said, hugging herself. "Cale and Lorcan left around the same time for a slightly more southern state, and you went to Virginia. And uh… all of you died around the same time, strangely enough."
"Oh," he said, sadly. "I wonder where we ARE buried, then."  She put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he gave her a small smile in return.
"Do you remember anything else?" she asked, and he shook his head. "Only what I showed you, huh?" He nodded, and she fell silent, giving him more time to process the memories. The sun began to set, and the temperature dropped sharply, making the human shudder violently. "I'm gonna go back inside," she whispered, and left the two ghosts there among their family. She looked back only once to see Stretch watching her, his face a perfect mask of sorrow. The sight made her chest ache, and she walked more briskly towards the house, slightly bewildered at her own reaction.