“Lucille!” Mira cried. With no time to waste, she proceeded to check for a pulse. Having witnessed gruesome scenes during her internship, she knew that even some of the most badly injured people who appeared that death had certainly come for them, bounced right back. She hoped and inwardly prayed it was not too late for Lucille. However, on her knees and attempting to find a pulse on her neck, she realized her finger had entered a wet, open space. She knew right away that Lucille’s neck had been cut. Checking her wrist, and having no idea why she hadn’t checked it first, provided confirmation that the woman she met only a few weeks earlier, had passed on.
“This is horrible!” Mira exclaimed. “What on earth happened here? Bryant!” She called, exiting the bathroom and walking along the hallway again. Her heart raced and everything inside of her urged her to flee the house right that second and call the police. Yet, against her own will, she turned the door handle of the bedroom on the left and looked inside. It was there, in that room, that she found Bryant. He was lying in bed, fully clothed, with white sneakers on. His right arm dangled outside of the bed and drops of blood settled on the carpet directly beneath. Mira hurried over to him and felt for a pulse. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping — but he wasn’t. It was clear to her that his life ended not long after he had slit his wrist. Evidence of dried blood was on his hand.
Mira was overwhelmed with emotion as she walked out of the room. Cautiously pushing the door of the bedroom to her right open, she was not surprised to still see the portal. But this time, there were no more shadow figures sliding in and out. And she knew there was no need for them to be there anymore since their mission had been accomplished. They were ultimately successful in persuading Bryant to murder the wife he loved and then to kill himself.
Mira exited the house, shutting the door quietly behind her as tears streamed down her face. If only Bryant had listened to me and left the house! She sadly thought. But at the same time, she sort of understood the battle that must have been raging within his own mind.
Seated outside in her car, she picked up her cell and dialed the police. “I’m calling to report two deaths in the residence of Bryant and Lucille Sylvester on 25 North Pinewood Drive…”
After making the call, she opened the book to the page where she’d jotted down the directions for Latina Cosgrove’s house. “Can’t wait for the police!” she muttered. “Someway, somehow I must get to the bottom of this before it’s too late!” She reversed out of the driveway and headed up the street, punching in Latina’s number as she drove.
Only moments after Mira left the Sylvesters’ residence, their little house that they invested their entire life’s savings into disintegrated on the spot, ultimately disappearing into thin air — cars and all. All that was left was vacant land with lots of bushes and a few fruit trees.
13
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Latina Cosgrove’s colonial-style home was situated in the heart of the suburbs. It was set on a half-acre of land which stretched far beyond the four walls of the tan-colored home. Bronze rails encircled the structure and a matching security gate was at the front.
Mira parked in the yard and made her way to the doorbell at the end of the walkway.
“I’ll buzz you in,” she heard a female’s voice moments later. Then a mechanism in the gate clicked and she watched it open slightly. Stepping onto the veranda, she continued to the front door which opened the instant she arrived.
“Doctor Cullen, please come inside,” the woman said at the door. She had long, shiny black hair, sea blue eyes and was in her late forties. The glittery black pants and blouse outfit on her tall, slender body produced multi-colored dancing lights each time the fabric moved. She was the perfect portrait of affluence, and inside the house was no different.
Mira was greeted by expensive European furniture throughout the living room. The tufted sofa was her favorite, although she knew it wasn’t the most comfortable style there was. The ceiling stood rather high, and was similar in shape to that of a prominent cathedral. That part of the house reminded her a little of Cornelius’ house after the senator and his family had nicely renovated it.
Something else about Latina Cosgrove’s home stood out: All around the main room were fancy, little mahogany tables with three lit candles on each one. There were ten tables in total and thirty candles in that rather large space.
Latina led the way to the couch where they both sat down.
“What can I do for you, Doctor Cullen? You sounded rather worried when you phoned me.” Latina crossed her legs.
“Miss Cosgrove…”
“Please call me Latina.”
“I happened to pass by your house — the one in Newport…”
“Yes?”
“Well, I was reviewing some historical facts concerning your house. I just have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no! Not at all. What would you like to know?” Latina replied.
“At what point did you acquire the house in Newport?”
“Didn’t you research that? It’s clearly in the public records. My grandfather, John, was the original owner in the late 1800s and I inherited the house from my father, upon his passing.”
“So, you were related to Stephen Anthers then?”
“Yes, he was my cousin. Unfortunately, I never got to meet him since, of course, I wasn’t born yet, but I understand he was beloved by my family. My grandfather allowed him to move to Newport and live in the house rent-free.”
“He moved there along with his girlfriend, Matilda.”
Latina leaned forward. She had a glare in her eyes. “Let’s cut to the chase, Doctor Cullen. You didn’t pay me this visit to chat about the history of our family’s house in Newport or about any urban legend talk surrounding it in that pitiful town.”
Mira was intrigued by her insight. “Miss Cosgrove…”
“Again, please call me, Latina.”
“Latina, a man by the name of Bryant Sylvester who lives — lived here in Mizpah indicated that he’d purchased his house from you. The house looks exactly like the one you also own in Newport.”
“What’s strange about that?”
“Nothing, really. Except that ever since moving into your house, Mister Sylvester and his wife have been having a lot of experiences that appeared to be of a paranormal nature.”
“Really?”
“Really. They’re now both dead.”
Latina sat back on the couch. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t understand what that has to do with me though.”
“When last have you been to Newport?” Mira asked.
“Must’ve been ages now. I don’t go there,” she said.
“You don’t? But you own a house there.”
“And I aptly maintain that house from here. Didn’t my grounds caretaker, Lou, tell you that when you were there?”
Mira wasn’t sure what information Latina could provide, but she knew there must be something useful.
“Look, I know why you’re here and I know who you are,” Latina said. “You, having psychic abilities, sense that there’s something off about the houses I own. What puzzles you is the power the house in Newport seems to hold — the ability to recreate or clone itself from one location to the other.”
“What are you talking about?” Mira was clearly baffled by that statement.
Latina got up and started to slowly pace the floor. She released a heavy sigh. “I don’t have two houses, Doctor Cullen. I own just one, besides this one I’m standing in, of course. The house in Newport is what I own.”
“So, you’re not the owner of the one here in Mizpah where the Sylvesters lived?”
“In a way, but what you don’t understand is the house you saw in Newport and the one here in Mizpah is the same house — not just the same architectural design — it’s the exact same house.”
She walked over to a framed photograph on the wall. “You see, this fine young man was my cousin, Stephen. H
e had a heart of gold. He moved away from here to get his girlfriend, whom he loved with his life, to safety because people in this town were beginning to think she was a witch. You know how the history books say it was back in those days. He took her to Newport with him where they lived in my grandfather’s house, the one you saw, for a few years. They became a part of the community, made friends, then were ultimately betrayed. Stephen was killed while at work and his loving bride-to-be, Matilda, was hanged in the forest.”
“Yes, I know the story.”
“Do you know she put a curse on that town too?” Latina glanced at her.
“I do.”
“Well, I decided to exact my own brand of justice — not just against the people in Newport, but those here in Mizpah as well.”
“What do you mean?” Mira sat up straight.
“I’m no psychic like you and I don’t have telekinetic abilities like Matilda did, but I have a religion where justice reigns and the supernatural becomes readily available to me to enforce such justice.”
“You’re into Black Magic,” Mira said, evenly.
“The house in Newport, as I indicated, is cloned in various locations one at a time. It exists, apart from the main source in Newport, long enough for the inhabitants to be terrorized and ultimately die an untimely death, then the house disappears from sight and re-appears nice and neat, and void of anything belonging to the former residents, in a new location. For instance, if you return to 25 North Pinewood Drive, you’ll no longer see the house the Sylvesters lived in. It’s completely gone. The residents also disappear along with it — they become one with the main source.”
Mira was stunned.
“The cloned house is now at another location here in Mizpah, ready and willing to be occupied.” There was a shrewd smile across Latina’s face as she announced it. “The new owners will find a deed in the public registry tracing it to me, as required by law, regardless of the location it’s in. Don’t ask me how it works, it just works! I sign off on the sale, they think they’ve become the new owners and on and on it goes. Initially, the whole thing started in Newport before any cloning came in to play. No one who lived in that house since Stephen and Matilda occupied that space has survived. Their souls were swallowed up into the bowels of the house, although their bodies were always discovered. Then, I realized the residents of Mizpah needed to pay for practically running my cousin and his girlfriend out of town.”
“They didn’t run them out of town,” Mira interjected.
“By applying the pressure, I’d say they did! If they never had to leave because of the religious hypocrites in this town, Stephen and Matilda could’ve stayed right here. They could’ve gotten married, had babies - had a future. All of that was stripped away from them because they knew they had to flee. And when they fled, their lives were snuffed out of them.” Her natural blue eyes were now black with rage.
“How long will you allow this to go on, Latina? How long will you allow innocent people to suffer for something that happened so long ago and can’t be undone?”
Latina walked over to her. “How long, you ask? Here’s your answer: until I die. I’m the one who’s going to give my family and Matilda justice, Latina Cosgrove style! There’s nothing you can say or do to dissuade me from that and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Mira stood up and looked her in the eyes. “I see it doesn’t bother you to have innocent blood on your hands. Matilda would’ve never wanted it this way. The curse she put on Newport didn’t last forever, although it did a long time. She never cursed Mizpah — the town she and Stephen were from. How could you?”
Mira turned to leave, then in the doorway appeared a tall, bright light and inside that light Matilda’s spirit emerged. With profound sadness in her eyes, she looked at Latina and Mira knew Latina could see her too.
“It’s time for peace,” Matilda said. “Justice has long been served.”
Though awestruck and honored by Matilda’s presence, Latina shook her head passionately. “No, Matilda. You’re wrong. There’s much more justice to dish out! You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”
“End it now Latina, for the forces you rely on will turn on you.”
“I never will — not until the day I die,” Latina replied. “I’ve done all this for both of you. My family loved Stephen, but they also loved you and I love you.” Tears were brimming in her eyes.
“It’s time for peace,” Matilda repeated. “We have found it here. It’s now time for you to find it.” After a long pause and intense stare at the woman who sought revenge on her behalf, Matilda soon went away, leaving Latina standing there in tears.
Mira was moved. For Latina, she knew it all started initially out of a twisted sense of love, but then darkness completely took over.
“I can’t believe she came to me. After all this time, she just now appeared to me.”
“I think you should listen to her,” Mira said softly. “She never used her power for evil, other than for defending her own life.”
Mira walked out and closed the door behind her. She knew what she had to do to make sure the disappearing house never again appeared anywhere to wreak havoc on anyone’s life.
Her cell phone rang moments later. It was the police. They did not find anything except vacant land at what she described was 25 North Pinewood Drive.
“I don’t know what to say, officer,” she replied. “I loaned someone my cell and they must’ve played a prank on you. I apologize for that.”
She couldn’t think of any other logical explanation to give them, as she was certain they would not, for a second, believe the truth.
With heightened curiosity, she drove straight over there to see this eerily amazing thing for herself. In short order, she could not deny the truth — the house was no longer there and neither were the bodies. Dreading the real possibility that the house was now located somewhere else to inflict irreversible harm, Mira wasted no time in putting together her plan.
14
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Mira was able to convince Bobby to join her on the drive and they left out around seven o’clock Wednesday night. She dreaded having to return to that place, but now Bobby was with her, so she felt she’d be safe.
As she didn’t want to upset Sara about the trip again, she mentioned nothing to her about Newport. Sara already had to contend with the little sleep she’d been getting and endless nightmares whenever she did happen to doze off at night. Mira wanted to get back as soon as possible, for Rosie’s sake, as this was certainly no mission they could take her on.
She sighed deeply, as she lowered the seat to a horizontal position, then crossed her feet on the dashboard.
“What’s up? Nervous?” Bobby asked, behind the wheel.
“More worried than nervous,” she answered.
“It has to be done, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, just don’t worry about it then. Focus on the bigger picture.”
“You’re right.”
A few hours later, they approached the sign: Welcome To Newport, and instantly, Mira had a sickening feeling. The anxiety she’d felt all along now shot up a thousand notches.
Bobby glanced her way. “Are you all right?”
Her chest was heaving slightly. “Yeah. I guess. Let’s just do this and get out of here as quickly as possible.”
He could see the worry all over her face. It would be the first time she’d ever done anything so drastic and… illegal, but he knew based on what she’s told him that innocent lives depended on their actions that night.
They arrived in town shortly after midnight, just as they’d anticipated. The streets were eerily quiet, but this wasn’t unexpected, considering the time of night.
“It’s this next turn coming up on the right,” Mira said.
Bobby stopped the car a few feet ahead of the turn. “Are you ready?” he asked. He wanted to make sure she was good to go, as once they sprang into action, it ha
d to be quick and there was no turning back.
“As ready as can be.” She removed her feet from the dashboard and raised the seat to an upright position.
Bobby pulled into the long, narrow driveway and parked about midway through. He switched off the engine and they both got out of the car. He went to the trunk and retrieved two five-gallon jerry cans filled with gasoline and Mira grabbed a large box of matches from the glove compartment.
“Be very quiet,” he whispered. “We don’t want to alert the neighbors.”
The house immediately to the left of Stephen and Matilda’s old house was also vacant and there was at least forty feet of free space in between Matilda’s house and the nearest one on the right. Street lamps shared a little light, but not nearly enough to light up the house, since the driveway from the road was roughly fifty feet long.
He carefully, but hastily went over to the house. Mira opened the fence and let him into the back yard. Something near the window, just above her, caused her to look up.
Bobby quickly made his way around the house, splashing gasoline onto the walls and around the foundation. Mira mounted the porch and eased the front door open. Reluctantly, she entered the house. The smell of gasoline was strong and she knew what was about to happen in just a few minutes.
She had to make sure it was really them she’d seen at the window when she went to the fence to let Bobby in. Bryant and Lucille Sylvester were standing across the living room near the eastern window where she’d first spotted them. With faces sulky and drawn, they were holding hands. Lucille looked the worst as blood covered her entirely and Mira could see the deep gash her husband had inflicted to her neck. The long dress she wore reeked of stale blood intermixed with feces and urine. Bryant was not so disheveled, but his hand was still stained with blood from having cut his own wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Mira said to them, feeling somehow like she’d failed them.
The Cornelius Saga Series Box Set 2 Page 12
