In the Angel's Keeping
A Killian Kendall Expanded Universe Short Story
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 4
Several hours later, the ME had laid out an almost complete — if very small — skeleton on a piece of tarpaulin next to the shallow hole. Of those gathered around, only the medical examiner, Kane, and Adam were really surprised by the pitiful find. I’d had to turn away after they found the tiny skull. It was partially crushed, and I couldn’t bear to look at it.
The coroner took a few minutes to examine the bones while Judy kept poking in the dirt. Suddenly she jumped to her feet with an exclamation of surprise, cupping something in her hands.
“More bones?” Kane asked in horror. His color had just started returning. He’d looked a bit green during the excavation.
“No!” Judy definitely sounded excited.
We all crowded close to see a dirt-encrusted brooch in her palm. Even as dirty as it was, I recognized it immediately. I’d seen it before — on the portrait I’d found in the storage room.
“Amalie’s brooch,” I said in a soft voice.
“Well, that cinches it,” Steve agreed with deep satisfaction.
“Cinches what? Who’s Amalie?” Dr. Jones asked in confusion.
“She was the wife of the man who built this house back in the 1850s,” Steve explained. “We think the baby was hers. We found her portrait upstairs, and she’s wearing the same brooch in the painting. That would seem to confirm our suspicions.”
Dr. Jones shook his head. “I must say, this has been one of the most bizarre chapters of my career. I don’t know how you found out about the baby or why you thought to dig down here in this exact spot — and I’m not sure I want to know — but it’s obvious these bones have been in the ground for a long time.” He gathered up the remains in the tarp and stood up, tucking the heart-wrenchingly small bundle under his arm.
“This isn't official,” he continued. “I’ll have to run some lab tests to confirm my gut feelings, but I think it’s safe to say this isn’t a matter for the police. If you still want to re-inter the remains on your own, I should be able to release them back to you on Monday, barring any suspicious findings. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to salvage something of my evening.”
Steve jumped to his feet. “Of course! Thank you for coming out, Dr. Jones.” He brushed the dirt from his palms so he could shake the ME’s outstretched hand.
Once Dr. Jones left, we all stood around looking at each other with the same unspoken question written on our faces: Now what?
“Well," Adam said, looking a little shaken. "I don't know about you guys but I think I could use a drink."
“I’d like a whiskey on the rocks, please,” Kane muttered.
“Make mine a double,” I agreed.
Everyone chuckled nervously while avoiding looking in the direction of the shallow grave.
“Maybe we should all head back to our house. I think we all need to decompress a bit,” Steve suggested.
We all filed upstairs, with Steve staying behind long enough to turn off the lights.
We caravanned back to the beach house, where we all gathered on the back deck. Adam produced a large pitcher of lemonade, and generous shots of vodka were added to everyone's but mine and Kane's.
Adam sighed heavily as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad this is all behind us and we will finally put Amalie to rest.”
“Hopefully,” Judy added warningly.
The others laughed off her caveat, and the conversation turned to plans for the reburial, but I found myself distracted by the idea that Amalie’s haunting days might not end with the discovery and reburial of her child. I’d hoped I would be done with ghosts, or that particular ghost, anyway. The idea that we might not have heard the last of her disturbed me more than I’d like to admit.
I shook off those unsettling thought and tried my best to rejoin the conversation, which had moved on to more mundane topics. Eventually, Judy said she should probably get home to check on Jake. Micah sighed and said he should probably get going as well.
I walked him to his car, mostly as an excuse to have a few seconds alone with him to properly say goodnight.
“Well, Mr. Gerber, still want to date a guy who talks to dead people?” I asked as he wrapped his arms around me for a tight hug.
He squeezed me back. “You already know the answer to that. I have to admit, though, while I never doubted that anything you guys saw was real, it was still quite a shock when Judy and Steve found those first bones. It just made it seem...I don't know, more real somehow.”
I laid my head on his shoulder. “It was all too real for me even before that.”
“Yeah, but you’d actually seen Amalie. I only heard the baby crying and the doors slam shut. Which, I mean, is plenty, don't get me wrong, but it’s not the same as coming face to face with a ghost. I kind of wish I knew what it was like to see her myself.”
“It's horrible. I hope it never happens to me again.”
He pulled back and gave me a lingering kiss. “Well, hopefully Amalie will be put to rest with the baby.”
“Hopefully.”
He gave me one last kiss, and then we broke apart.
I watched him drive off before heading back inside to get ready for bed. I was completely drained, but no matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn’t come. I lay there listening to Kane’s steady breathing, silently wishing — for once — that Seth would show up. I had so many questions. But, of course, there’s never a dead guy around when you actually need one.
As predicted, the baby's remains were returned to Steve within a few days. Dr. Jones confirmed the bones were from the mid-nineteenth century. The baby, a boy, was likely only a couple of months old.
Steve quickly made arrangements to re-inter the tiny skeleton that weekend. We made a very somber assemblage when we gathered on Saturday evening. The six of us — Adam, Steve, Kane, Micah, Judy, and me — gathered in a semicircle around a small, open grave next to Amalie’s plot.
Steve had hired a crew to come in and clear the copse of the thick undergrowth. Without the vines and brush, it was much less intimidating. The sky, on the other hand, was appropriately threatening. Although the forecast hadn’t called for rain, the clouds were dark and dramatic. The freshly revealed and exquisitely carved angel statue stood over us, as if blessing the occasion.
A tiny, simple casket was already in the grave. A headstone would be installed in a few weeks. Since we didn’t know what name Amalie had given her child, all the marker would say was, “Here lies the son of Amalie Marnien – Died 1858.”
Steve cleared his throat and began. “I’m no writer, but I, uh, prepared a few words.” He took a deep breath and unfolded a piece of paper.
“Life is a precious gift, given to each of us,” he read. “What we do with that gift is a choice we all make. But until we’re old enough to make those choices for ourselves, our parents hold that responsibility. They are our caretakers, our stewards.
“The life we’re honoring today ended far too soon. I can only imagine the pain his mother must have felt — pain that, I believe, only another parent who has lost a child could truly understand.”
Adam sniffled quietly beside me. When I reached over and slipped my hand into his, he gave mine a grateful squeeze.
Steve continued. “While many of us may not be able to fully comprehend that kind of loss, perhaps we can understand the deep sorrow that comes when something precious is taken from us before we’re ready. And maybe we can take some small comfort in knowing this innocent child is remembered now.
“There’s no question he was loved — fiercely, and even beyond the grave. His mother’s spirit remained with him here for almost one hundred and seventy-five years, refusing to let him be forgotten.”
He paused briefly before going on. “While searching for something that felt right for a moment like this, I came across a poem titled At Last by Helen Hunt Jackson. She wrote it around the same time this child lived and died. And standing here beside this angel statue, it strikes me as more fitting than I could have imagined. Mrs. Jackson wrote:
"All lost things are in the angels’ keeping, Love;
"No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love.
“This baby may have left too soon, but he is not dead, only in the arms of the angels. May he rest in peace.”
In the silence, I heard Judy whisper, “And his mother, too.”
With the burial complete, our focus returned to the grand opening, which was only a week away. Everyone was relieved when Amalie didn't make herself known during the final preparations. We began to cautiously believe she really had been laid to rest with her baby.
Finally, the night of the grand opening party arrived.
The house looked incredible, aglow with lights in every window. All of the furniture was in place, art hung on the walls, and Adam had arranged fresh flowers in each room. Steve had laid out hor d'oeuvres in the ballroom, along with two old-fashioned punch bowls filled with fruity concoctions, one with rum and one without. Classical music played from speakers hidden behind potted palms.
Guests began arriving a little before seven. Adam and Steve were leading small tours giving the history of the house, while Kane and I were in charge of making sure the hor d'oeuvre trays and punch bowls stayed filled.
I saw many familiar faces, but there were quite a few people I didn't recognize as well — locals and curious looky-loos, I supposed. Steve had done a great job of marketing the opening.
Everything was going great until an ear-piercing shriek broke through the party chatter. I felt my stomach drop as the room fell silent and everyone turned toward the foyer. I pushed my way through the crowd in time to see a blond woman I didn't recognize careening down the stairs, her face pale and her eyes wide with fright.
Steve met her at the bottom, practically catching her in her headlong flight. "Are you okay? What happened?" he asked.
"A woman..." she gasped. "Oh dear God, the woman..."
"What woman?" Steve asked.
A sense of dread washed over me. I had a very bad feeling I knew who the woman was.
"She just appeared. It was so horrible. I was so scared..." the blond woman was babbling, on the edge of hysteria. "She was so angry..."
A man pushed through the crowd and the woman rushed into his arms. "What the hell happened?" the man asked.
"There was a ghost," she sobbed, and the crowd gasped.
Steve looked around the room until his eyes found mine. He looked scared, but I didn't know what to do. I was scared, too.
Luckily, Judy stepped in. "Well, friends, what's a historic mansion without a few ghosts?"
The guests chuckled nervously.
"That's right," Steve said, his bright customer service smile back in place. "Amalie's House is so great, some people never want to leave."
Judy turned to the stricken woman, still clinging to her gentleman friend. "Why don't you come with me. I'm sure after that surprise you could use a stiff drink."
The woman pulled away, nodding vigorously.
"Why don't you join us, Killian," Judy added rather pointedly.
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I don't need a drink," I replied quickly, but Judy gave me a look as she led the couple away. With a heavy sigh, I trailed down the hall after them.
Judy took the woman into the kitchen, where she poured a generous shot of whiskey into a crystal glass and pressed it into the woman's shaking hand.
"I don't think we've met," she said smoothly. "I'm Judy Cassara."
"I'm Phylicia Hopkins, and this is my husband, Trevor."
"It's lovely to meet you, although I'm sorry you had such a scare."
"What happened anyway?" Trevor asked.
Phylicia took a gulp of the bourbon and shuddered. "I... I wandered away from my little tour group," she began. "I just wanted a closer look at one of the rooms. I went in, but then I felt a...a sensation, as if I wasn't alone, almost like there was someone behind me. I spun around but there was no one there. But then, when I turned back around again, there was a woman standing in the middle of the room."
"It was probably just someone else from the tour," her husband said dismissively.
"No!" Phylicia insisted. "It was like one second no one was there and then she just appeared out of thin air."
"People don't just appear, Phylicia," he said.
"No, but ghosts do!"
"There's no such thing—"
"What did she look like?" Judy asked, cutting him off midsentence.
Phylicia shook her head. "I only saw her for a split second before I screamed and ran, but she was wearing a long, old-fashioned black dress. And she looked angry."
Before I could stop myself, I whispered "Damn it," under my breath.
Everyone turned to look at me as if they'd forgotten I was there.
"Is this some sort of prank?" Trevor demanded.
Phylicia's eyes were wide. "You know who it is, don't you?"
I looked to Judy for help, unsure of what to say.
She came to the rescue once more. "I suspect it was Amalie," she said matter-of-factly.
"As in...Amalie's House?" Phylicia said as she grew a shade paler.
"Yes, the wife of the man who built this house."
"Did you know she was still...here?" Trevor asked.
"We thought she'd been laid to rest," she replied. Then her eyes found mine. "Obviously, we were wrong."
It took several more minutes, and a second glass of bourbon, to get Phylicia calmed down. The whiskey helped, but she and Trevor left soon after she polished off her drink.
On their way out, Phylicia spotted the portrait of Amalie over the fireplace and stopped in her tracks. Pointing a shaky finger, she exclaimed, "That's her! That's the woman I saw!"
Trevor quickly escorted her from the building, followed by several other guests who'd been unnerved by her declaration.
Thankfully, the rest of the evening proceeded without a hitch, though I remained tense, waiting for Amalie to make another unplanned appearance. I'm sure Adam, Steve, and Judy were just as nervous.
When the last guest finally left, Adam reeled to face Judy and me. "What the hell happened tonight?"
"Amalie happened," Judy said in a resigned tone.
Steve and Kane rejoined us. Steve looked tired and strained, and Kane just looked scared.
"I thought she was gone," Steve said.
Judy rubbed her temples. "We all did."
"I thought this was all behind us," Steve continued. "We found the baby and reburied him next to his mother in the cemetery. You said that would allow her to move on, but here she is, still going bump in the night."
"Hey," I said, softly. "None of are thrilled to hear she's back, but it's not Judy's fault."
Judy gave me a weak smile. "I hoped she'd move on after we moved the baby, but it was only a guess, not a guarantee. We assumed that her haunting had something to do with the baby, but...maybe we were wrong. Maybe that was just part of a much bigger picture."
"What do you mean?" Adam asked. "What's the bigger picture?"
"I don't know...yet. That's what we need to find out." Judy locked eyes with me.
"I was afraid you were going to say that," I said with a sigh. "Can't you do it without me? I've had enough ghostbusting to last me a lifetime."
"I'm afraid not. Like it or not, you're involved. You're one of the threads of this tapestry. Amalie has shown in the past, for reasons of her own, that she's drawn to you. I think if we're going to get to the bottom of this, it'll take all of us working together."
I turned to Steve. “You were all excited about having a ghost at first. I thought a friendly ghost was a draw.”
“I was excited at first,” Steve said, “but Amalie isn’t exactly a friendly ghost. You saw how that woman reacted to seeing her. She said Amalie was angry. Just imagine if that happened to a guest when all the rooms were full. If that gets out, no one will want to stay here.”
“Steve has put a lot of money into this project,” Adam spoke up. “If the business fails, he loses everything.”
“Can’t we just have an exorcism?”
“First of all, she’s a ghost, not a demon. And exorcisms? Just a bunch of religious mumbo jumbo. What really matters is that we do something. There’s too much at stake to sit around with our fingers in our ears pretending nothing’s happening.”
She was right, of course, and I was out of arguments. I knew I had to help, which meant I’d have to seek out my old pal Amalie again. I sighed, and my body slowly released some of the tension as I accepted the inevitable.
“What do you want me to do?”
“We’re going to try to contact her.”
“And do what?” Adam asked.
“I want Killian to ask her why she’s still here now the baby is gone. I’m hoping she’ll communicate in some way.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Steve asked.
“She will,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “How are we going to do this? In the cupola again?”
Judy shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Can I just wait down here?” Kane asked plaintively.
“By yourself?” Adam asked.
Kane blanched. “Never mind, I’ll come with you guys.”
When we reached the third floor, I stopped and faced Adam, Kane, and Steve. “Maybe you should wait here.” I suggested, and they nodded. Kane looked relieved.
I turned and faced the door to the cupola. “Here goes nothing.”
“I’ll go first,” Judy said as she started up.
As I followed Judy, the same sense of loss and despair I’d felt the other times washed over me again.
When I reached the top, a small scuffing sound came from behind me. I spun around, thinking someone had followed after all, but there was no one on the stairs, just three anxious faces staring up at me from the hallway.
As I stared back, their features began to blur, slipping out of focus. A strange sensation washed over me — not quite dizziness, but a disorienting feeling, as if I were somehow slipping out of sync with my own body.
“Killian?” Judy’s voice seemed to come from far away.
I started to turn toward her, but the feeling suddenly intensified. It was much more defined than the vague sense of dread I’d had on the staircase.
My vision wavered, and the already dim room seemed to sink further into shadow. The staircase faded until the bottom riser disappeared from view, leaving only the steps directly in front of me faintly lit by a flickering, sickly glow.
My feet felt rooted to the floor, yet a terrible, almost overwhelming fear surged through me. I wanted to flee, to hurl myself down the stairs just to get away, but I couldn’t move. It was as if time itself had frozen around me. Somehow, I knew — deep in my bones — that I wasn’t myself anymore. I was Amalie. And just as surely, I knew I was clutching a small baby to my chest.
There was someone behind me. Something. A presence that filled me with dread. I didn’t need to see it to know I had to escape. That thought had barely formed when I was shoved — hard — from behind. For an instant, I was suspended in the air, weightless. Then I plummeted into the inky darkness of the stairwell.
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