Nevermore: A Novel of Love, Loss, & Edgar Allan Poe Read Online Free

not as the men and women that they had been.   Sometimes it was difficult.   She felt Anita watching, and waiting.   The girl seemed to understand instinctively, that Lenore needed to concentrate, and how important it was.   On the other hand, perhaps she was merely gathering her courage before speaking.
    The woman's face that Lenore was working with was not difficult.   The tree held her, but it did not grip her.   Lenore removed a branch carefully with the gum eraser.   As she removed one bit of the image, she recreated the details beneath.   In her mind, she held a clear image of the woman as she'd been – as she'd lived. She brushed the twigs and leaves carefully from the lines of the dark hair and filled in the highlights, carefully traced the dark strands across the bisecting wooden cage that held them.   It was quick work, but very intense, and when she finished – when she applied the final line beneath the woman's lovely, dark eyes, she heard a gasp behind her.
    Instinctively, she pulled the pencil away from the paper, afraid that she might mar the work she’d completed.   She turned, and saw that Anita was staring at a point about a foot above the paper.   Her eyes were wide, and her mouth wider – she looked as if she might be on the verge of screaming.   Lenore's heart quickened.   Was it possible?
    “Anita!” she said.   “What is it?   What’s wrong?”
    “I saw…” the girl shook her head and stepped back.   “I saw her…leave.”
    Lenore stared.   In all the years she’d worked the images, perfected her art – in all the time she’d labored to set them free, no other had ever seen.   Many had examined and praised her art – the finished pieces hung in some very famous homes across the country, and even in Europe.   Others had been able to see what she saw in the trees and stones, mountains and even – at times – water and clouds.   Until this moment, though, no one that she'd encountered had ever seen the spirits themselves.
    For Lenore, it was a silver, luminescent thread.   When she released them, when the final bond with the paper and the image was severed, the end attached to the paper frayed.   It split and snapped with tiny pops of light and energy.   It unraveled slowly at first, then faster and faster, until suddenly – it broke free.   That instant was so fleeting, so quick in its passing, that she often wondered if she imagined the whole thing.   She’d been called crazy more than once.   Particularly when she was younger, before she’d learned to keep the visions to herself, and only present her art to the outside world.
    “What did you see?” she asked.   She rose, stepped closer to Anita and reached out to offer support.
    "I…I'm not sure," Anita said.   "It was…like smoke, but not exactly.   Silver.   I saw silver, tied to your paper.   It unraveled and the colors…oh the colors.   It was like a rainbow.   Like nothing I've ever seen."
    "She is free now," Lenore said.
    She led Anita to the other chair, across from her.
    "I need to do the same for the others.   As I work, I need you to talk to me.   Watch, if you will – I have never shared this with another – but talk to me.   Tell me the stories you know of this man – this bad one – that you fear.   Tell me what it is you know, and I will show you my art, whether it's a gift or a curse you can decide for yourself.   Know that when I set him free, the word freedom is a relative one.   He is trapped here in this world – in this existence – but he is no longer part of it.   He should have passed on to the light, or to the dark, but he should not be here.   He is trapped.   When I release him, whatever fate he originally earned will be his.   He will not be free to harm you, or any other.   If it is proper, he will be judged."
    Anita stared at the picture.   The Indian woman's features were bold and bright.   Her eyes gleamed.   The likeness was so real, so