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Jessica was sitting on a bench at the top of the cliff known as Widow’s Peak (commonly called Widow’s Leap in an attempt at macabre humor), that looked out over Cabot Cove. It was often windy and cool, even on a hot summer day, but Jessica liked to come up here to think. And to visit Josephine Lattimer, the young woman whose death had given the peak it’s name a couple hundred years ago.
Before Jessica could think too much about the outline for her new book, or about Josephine, two men appeared. She hadn’t heard them pull into the small parking area, but with the wind it was likely that she wouldn’t have. Jessica gave them a polite nod when they noticed her, then turned back to her ruminations.
Jessica didn’t consider herself to be a nosy person, but she couldn’t help glancing over at the two men mid-thought. Instead of enjoying the view, they stood with their shoulders together, head bent over something held in one of their hands. Jessica didn’t expect them to stay long – even couples who brought a romantic picnic lunch with them were often driven off by the wind before they could set it up, much less finish it – so she settled in to wait. Without the distraction she would be able to get back to her thoughts.
The two men, who seemed to be having a difference of opinion over whatever they were looking at separated, but instead of leaving, they approached her. Jessica should be annoyed because she had to get working on her new book, but she found herself intrigued.
“Good afternoon,” Jessica said.
“Afternoon,” the shorter of the two said. “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam. Do you live around here?”
“I do,” Jessica said. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes,” Sam said, taking over the conversation. “Can you tell us anything about this place?”
Jessica suddenly understood. She glanced at the item that Dean held; it didn’t look familiar, but still she knew what it was. “Ghost hunters, are you?”
Dean shrugged. “Something like that. You get a lot of them around here?”
“Surprisingly, no. I mean, we’re a little off the beaten track, but the story is interesting and the location gorgeous. It would make a great backdrop for a television show.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” Sam said, even though neither man had taken the time to enjoy the view, even after they’d stopped looking at the . . . Jessica took a closer look. “Is that an EMF meter?”
“Yeah!” Dean said proudly. “Have you seen one before?”
“Only on tv. Is that a Walkman?”
“Built it myself,” Dean said, holding it out so she could see it, but not relinquishing it.
“Impressive. What is it you want to know? I’m sure you’ve read the tale of Josephine Lattimer, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah, but locals, like yourself,” Sam said, “can sometimes know more than what we can find online.”
“Well,” Jessica said, “there really isn’t more to the story itself. Josephine was informed that her husband, Charles Lattimer, had died at sea. Distraught, she ran off. In the morning her body was found at the base of the cliff and it was presumed that she threw herself over in her grief.”
Jessica paused, then said, “But I think she was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Sam and Dean both said.
“That would certainly piss her off,” Dean muttered.
“Why do you think she was murdered?” Sam said.
“Because of the rest of the story. Charles Lattimer turned up two days later with a passenger, a woman, presumably they were the only two survivors of the shipwreck. After a brief period of mourning, very brief,” Jessica added, “Charles married the woman, Charlotte. She became his third wife.”
“That sounds like a tragedy, not murder,” Dean said.
“Perhaps you’re correct,” Jessica said. “It’s possible I’ve given this too much thought. I once considered using a similar incident in one of my books.”
“You’re an author?”
“Yes,” Jessica said. “Of murder mysteries. But don’t feel embarrassed that you didn’t recognize me; I was a high school English teacher longer than I’ve been a writer.”
“Wait, wait,” Sam said.
“She’s obviously not Stephen King,” Dean said.
Sam shot a glare at Dean, then snapped his fingers. “Jessica Fletcher!”
Jessica laughed. “Yes.”
“Wow. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “Can we get back to the explanation for why you think it was murder?”
“Because it wasn’t the first time.”
“What do you mean?” Sam said.
“Charles’s first wife, Lillian, died in childbirth.”
“Didn’t that happen pretty often back then?” Sam said.
“It happens much too often even now,” Jessica said, “but Lillian’s child wasn’t due for months. An ‘accidental’ fall down the stairs brought the baby early. Neither Lillian nor the baby survived.”
“That’s all you’ve got?” Dean said.
“An accidental fall down some stairs, a fall from a cliff . . . It all seems a bit too coincidental, doesn’t it? And much too convenient. Charles didn’t wait long after Lillian’s death before marrying Josephine, just as he didn’t wait long after Josephine’s death . . .”
“To marry Charlotte,” Sam finished.
“Indeed.”
“That’s all very sad,” Dean said, “but what about the deaths that have occurred here since Josephine’s death?”
Jessica raised an eyebrow because Dean didn’t sound like it was all very sad, but she went with the change of subject. “There have been three, I believe. What about them?”
“All men,” Sam said.
“Correct.” Jessica still didn’t know what they were getting at.
“Is it possible that Josephine’s ghost induced them to jump to their deaths?”
“You think that Josephine’s ghost was getting revenge on these men? For what? The men that killed her died many years ago. And it’s not as if many other men haven’t visited this site and left unscathed.”
“Maybe there was something about these three men in particular that set her off,” Sam said.
“There certainly was!” Jessica said. Well, it was Jessica’s voice, but it wasn’t Jessica.
Just before the words were spoken, Jessica shivered as a blanket of cold enveloped her. A voice spoke inside her head. “I apologize for taking you over like this, but I have something to say to these two . . . men.”
“Um,” Sam said.
Dean pulled out a bag of salt from inside his jacket.
“I wouldn’t,” Josephine said. “Forcefully ejecting me from this body would only hurt Jessica, and she doesn’t deserve that.”
“She doesn’t deserve being possessed, either,” Dean said.
“It was the only way I could speak to you. I don’t intend to harm her.”
Sam put out a hand to keep Dean from doing anything precipitate. “What did you want to tell us?”
“The men you’re so worried about, I didn’t ‘induce’ their deaths, I possessed them and threw myself off the cliff.”
“And you wonder why we’re worried about Jessica?” Dean said.
“Jessica has nothing to fear from me. Did you happen to learn anything about the men before you came here?” When Dean and Sam remained silent, Josephine continued. “The first man was trying to throw his wife off the cliff. I’d noticed the bruises she bore, but did nothing until he tried to kill her. I couldn’t save the woman by possessing, as you say, her, but I could do so by possessing him. I kept hold of her arm and dragged her back away from the edge, instead of letting her fall.
“And then I realized that if I just released him, he’d continue to hurt her, possibly try to kill her again. And this time he might succeed. So I told her that she was free now, and I jumped over the edge for the first time by my own steam. It felt like flying. I released him before we reached the bottom, because once was enough for that landing.
“You would claim that I killed someone, but I would maintain rather that I saved someone that day.”
“It does sound as if you acted in defense of someone,” Sam said. “In that instance. But what about the other men?”
“Similar circumstances,” Josephine said. “Neither tried to kill their women here, as the first man had, but they were abusive. Verbally and physically. I could see the bruises. And one of them actually slapped his pregnant wife so hard she fell. It reminded me of Lillian.”
“So Charles Lattimer actually killed his first wife?” Sam said.
“Yes. The servants talked about it sometimes; I overheard them one day. I knew my turn would come soon and so when I first heard that Charles was dead I was . . . relieved. Until I realized it was all part of a ruse.”
“So Jessica was right,” Dean said.
“Yes. The men he sent . . . I don’t want to remember that.”
“Understandable,” Sam said.
“Don’t you want to cross over?” Dean said.
“Why would I?”
“There’s nothing for you here,” Dean insisted.
“What more could one ask for than this beautiful view and people to visit?”
Dean and Sam both looked confused.
“She doesn’t seem angry and vengeful,” Sam said to Dean.
“We can’t just leave her here to continue killing people.”
“Only people who deserve it,” Josephine cut in. “And who are you to make that decision? Who do you answer to?”
“She has a point,” Sam said.
“Shut it, Sam.”
“Thank you, Jessica,” Josephine said inside Jessica’s mind as she slid out of her body.
Jessica took a deep breath when she once again had control of her limbs and was no longer relegated to the back of her own mind. She had been breathing normally while Josephine ‘drove’, so to speak, but she still felt the need to make sure she could.
“Look, Josephine,” Dean said.
“She’s gone,” Jessica said.
“Are you alright?” Sam said.
“Yes, I believe I am.” It had been weird, being a passenger inside her own body, but she hadn’t been harmed in any way, as Josephine had promised.
“What are you going to do?” Jessica asked Dean and Sam. “About Josephine.”
“There’s not much we can do if we can’t capture her,” Dean said. “And now that she’s aware of our intentions, she’s not going to make that easy.”
“And maybe she’s right,” Sam said.
“About killing people?”
“That the people she killed were monsters,” Sam said. “Maybe she’s no different from us.”
Dean didn’t look like he wanted to capitulate; they’d come here to banish a ghost and he clearly didn’t like to leave a job undone.
“Why don’t you think about it over pie?” Jessica said. “The diner in town has a large selection of homemade pies.”
“Pie, huh?”
Sam came over to Jessica and extended his hand. “That was brilliant,” he said quietly, then more loudly, “Thank you for your help. Are you sure you’re okay? We could give you a ride.”
“I’m fine, really. And I’ve got my bicycle.”
Dean and Sam left, squabbling all the way to the car. And beyond, Jessica was sure, but that’s as much as she heard.
“Thank you, Josephine, for telling us your story,” Jessica said before she stood, making sure her legs worked before she started walking towards the parking lot.
“Thank you for listening,” Jessica heard whispered on the wind, but she wasn’t sure if it was real or just her imagination.
The next week a story appeared in the Wednesday edition of the Cabot Cove Gazette that told a different story of what had happened to Josephine Lattimer than the one passed down by history. Jessica visited Widow’s Peak and read the story to Josephine, who this time thanked Jessica for telling her story to the world.
“It was my pleasure,” Jessica said, reaching out to touch the faint outline of the hand of the woman sitting next to her on the bench.
The End