by L C Kincaide
Carrie was sitting down, supremely confident and playing like an angel when it happened. The camera zoomed in, focusing on the piano, the surrounding stage gone from the frame. Carrie jumped away from it, and it sounded like the piano wires were snapping one after another. The picture became fuzzy, and leaning back, Emma saw it wasn’t an issue with the focus, and only part of the image looked blurred. Emma blinked; it wasn’t a problem with her eyes either, and she watched fascinated as the coiling amorphous quality of the foggy patch assumed a vertical form. It was drifting around the piano and appeared to bend toward it. Emma jerked in the chair when the wing-like lid crashed down.
“Damn!”
She took a taxi not trusting herself to drive.
“Judging by your appearance, you didn’t sleep a wink either.” Elinor remarked when Emma arrived.
A late riser, she was just having breakfast of toast and tea, though she was coiffed, pencilled and dressed for the day.
“How did you sleep?” Emma chewed on a dry toast to relieve the burning in her stomach.
“Not very well.” She sipped her tea. “This entire episode with Robert…”
“Yeah.”
Esther entered the room. “Telephone call for you, ma’am.”
Elinor nearly dropped her cup.
~*~
As soon as Theo stepped into the room to see his son, Grace pulled Chloe aside.
“What happened?”
Chloe blinked worried blue eyes at her. “I don’t know. We were driving home, it was sunny, but the sun wasn’t shining in his eyes. Then he was driving erratically, pulling onto the shoulder as if he’d been blinded. If the guardrail hadn’t been there, we would have driven straight into a ravine and when the guardrail ended, we went off the road and crashed into a tree, then the car overturned. I thought we were about to be killed.” She finished breathlessly, her face a shade paler than when she began her recollection.
“And you weren’t hurt.”
Chloe shook her head. “I didn’t tell my parents yet, otherwise they’d come down and the circus would start.”
“I can imagine.” Grace had met them.
“Has Robert said anything to you about what he thinks happened to him?”
“No. Just that he needs to talk to you, but not in front of your dad.”
“When he comes out, take him down to the lounge on some pretext.”
She nodded, her brow creased with worry.
Grace touched her arm as close to a tender gesture as she could make with her soon to be sister-in-law. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
“Thanks.”
They waited in the purple club chairs until Theo emerged, and Chloe took hold of his arm and led him away suddenly desperate for a soft drink.
Robert lay back against the pillows in his raised bed, pale with a bruising lump on his forehead.
“You look a bit worse for wear.”
“I’m glad to be looking like anything, to be honest.”
“Chloe told me about the accident, as the way she saw it.”
“My version is a little different, I’m afraid to say.”
“Different how?” She perched on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”
“We were driving along chatting, and suddenly, I couldn’t see ahead as if we were swallowed in a fog.”
“You drove through a bank of fog?”
“No. That’s just it. The sun was shining. There was no trace of fog anywhere, yet all of a sudden, we were in the thick of it, at least I was. I couldn’t see if the road was straight or curved. I’m only glad there was so little traffic.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“And be put away? They’d do a complete neurological exam on me looking for evidence of an aneurysm or brain tumors!”
“Has anything like this happened before?”
He shook his head and winced. He didn’t want to consider it, much less say it out loud, but it had been preying on his mind since he regained consciousness, and a few seconds before the crash.
“I can’t help thinking if this is what happened to George.”
Grace walked over to the window, a tightness forming in her chest.
How absurd a situation this was. Here she was discussing unexplainable events, which both she and Robert were convinced had only one explanation, while below people strolled casually along the Thames.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” She said. “There’s something else too.” She returned to his bedside. “Yesterday, I fell off the catwalk during the show. I wasn’t hurt, pride mostly. I was sure the girl behind me gave me a good shove, I felt someone pushing me on my back, but when I saw the tape, no one was there. It looked like I just pitched off on my own. God! There’s a video of that already on the Internet!”
He watched her gravely. Of the generation who had been taking part in the Weekend ritual, he was the eldest and most weary of it.
“Do you think it’s still happening?”
Grace shrugged. “I haven’t heard of anyone else being in… what would one call this — a predicament?”
“Several expressions come to mind.” He laughed and winced again.
“I’m glad to see your sense of humor hasn’t abandoned you.” She smiled. “If anything happens, I’m sure we’ll hear about it. At this time of the year, we’re always a bit on edge. Thank God, we don’t have to go anywhere.”
“I couldn’t at any rate. They insist on keeping me for a few days.”
“How’s the food?”
“Dreadful.”
“At least you have a fab view.” She grinned. “Thank heaven you’re all right.” She squeezed his hand. “It could have been so much worse.”
A sound turned her head toward the door. Their father was standing in the doorway, clutching his cellphone.
“Frances Ruskin just called.”
~*~
“Mum! What is it?” Emma jumped to her feet as Elinor let go of the phone. It bounced on the carpet.
“That was Frances Ruskin. They’ve been in an accident too! Dear God, what is happening?”
Emma picked up the phone and sat beside her mother. “It can’t be the curse, can it?”
Elinor stared ahead with glassy eyes. “No. It is done. I’m sure of it. I saw for myself, there is no mistake.”
“Then what is it?”
Elinor shook her head slowly from side to side. “I just don’t know. First Robert, then Frances and Godfrey. Who’s next?”
Emma debated whether she ought to mention Carrie, but decided not to. It wouldn’t help, but it was only a question of time…
They both twitched with nerves when the door closed in the hall, then Matthew entered, Rachel close behind him. He kissed his mother on the cheek, noting her pallor. For that matter, his sister didn’t look much better.
Rachel was unusually subdued, which made Emma uneasy.
“Looks like you both heard the news about Robert and Grace.” He said.
Emma’s eyes darted to his.
“What is this about Grace?” Elinor spoke newly alarmed. “Was she involved in an accident too?”
“I spoke with Robert, and he told me what happened. Then he told me about Grace.”
“What happened to her?” Emma counted the casualties — five so far, three more to go; her mother, Theo Langstone and John. Maybe even herself, but it was the prospect of them being hurt that sickened her.
“She fell off the stage during a fashion show.”
“Oh dear God!” Elinor clapped a hand over her mouth.
“She wasn’t seriously injured, only some bruises.”
Then her mother said what Emma was secretly dreading.
“For now.”
The two words hung ominously in the air. What was she implying? Were they warnings? Against what?
“Why are we being stalked like this?” Elinor wondered aloud.
Matthew slumped beside his wife. “Rachel, tell mom what you and Emma did.”
Alarmed, Elinor’s eyes shifted back and forth between Emma and Rachel. “I don’t understand. What is this about?”
“It’s my fault.” Emma said ignoring Rachel’s silent protests. “I’ve been having nightmares since we came back home a year ago.”
“Nightmares? But you never said anything about having nightmares!” Elinor accused her. “You really should have. At least your erratic behavior would have made some sense to me!”
“Well, I didn’t. I felt responsible for what happened to Ivy. Nobody else seemed to give a damn!” She jumped to her feet and stalked to the window. “I still haven’t come to terms with it.”
“But you really should. That is how it was meant to be, always, and the whole point of returning year after year until she found you. Why can’t you finally see that?” Elinor insisted on her way of understanding the situation, as always.
“Why?” Emma turned to face her. “Because she’s come to me time after time letting me know how miserable and angry she is. That’s why!”
“That is nothing more than your misplaced guilty conscience. It doesn’t begin to explain the accidents befalling us.”
Matthew prodded Rachel.
“It was my idea to see a psychic. I thought it would help Emma if she could reach her friend. Talk to her.”
“You did what?” Elinor was aghast. “That was a very foolish thing to do!”
“Foolish or not, it’s done now, and Ivy is royally pissed off with me, just like in the dreams.”
“How do you know this?”
“She said so.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The psychic we went to see is a medium. She channels those who have passed.”
“I see. So what happened to make you think she is, as you so eloquently put it, royally pissed off?”
“She was shouting at me.”
Rachel nodded her head in support.
“All right, so this medium was shouting. Anyone can do that.”
“She said the same words I’ve been hearing in my nightmares, release me.”
“Oh, yes! She spoke those exact words over and over again. Then the light bulb exploded!”
“When did this event transpire?”
“Earlier this week. Wednesday.”
Elinor touched a hand to her forehead then brought it to her heart. She gazed at the younger generation assembled in her elegant living room. Matthew with Rachel beside him looking guilty and wringing her hands were the only two exempt from what was happening. Then she thought of poor Robert laid up in the hospital, and Grace, each just narrowly escaping a terrible fate. Never mind the Ruskins. It was but a matter of time before young Caroline and John, and poor Theo, who must have been frantic fearing he was about to lose his surviving children, were similarly affected. And Emma and herself, of course.
Thus far, they’ve received warnings, but next time? And who was behind it? That was the most perplexing thing of all. That, and how to end it. She knew what needed to be done before. Mason Everdon had told her himself. But he was not responsible for this. Something else had been unleashed upon them.
“Oh, Emma. What have you done?” She said mournfully.
“It’s coming from there, isn’t it?” Emma said. “We’re all at risk.” She turned to her brother. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Matt is safe.” Rachel tried to reassure Emma, who appeared to be devastated. “He’s a Stuart.”
Emma didn’t see her point. “So am I, and I’m caught up in it, same as mum.”
Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat and gave his mother an odd look. A silent conversation passed between them.
“Matthew is my son in every way but one.”
Emma’s gaze shifted from one to the other. Matthew looked away, and Emma waited.
“I’m not his mother by birth. Matthew was two years old when I met your father and a year later we married. I’ve never considered dear Matthew any less my child than you, Emma, so I never saw the point to distinguish the nature of our relationship.”
Emma was stunned.
“I’m sorry.” Matthew met her bewildered eyes. “I thought you knew.”
“Is there anything else I should know since we are sharing secrets?”
“Honestly, Emma. It isn’t as if everything happens specifically to cause you grief. At any rate, there are more pressing issues to deal with now.”
What have you done? That was the question shredding to tatters what little peace Emma had left. Her mother had made it very plain it was because of her that everyone was in danger from whatever force she had unleashed with her guilt-propelled foolishness. During the time spent in her mother’s living room, it seemed as if every conceivable emotion surged through her one after the next in caustic waves eroding the shoreline. She was convinced that when she got home, her first stop would be the fridge to pull out a bottle and spend the rest of her day crying herself into a drunken stupor and repeating it the day after that.
Strangely, by the time she let herself into her apartment, she was spent, drained, and even more oddly, clearheaded. She nudged the door closed with her foot and went to her bedroom to pack.
SATURDAY
~*~
This was not an outing Emma had ever expected to make again, never mind on her own. Already Saturday, a year ago she was in full dress and showing Ivy around. Now, the tables were turned, and it was Ivy waiting for her. That was all right. If a return to Everdon Manor is what it took to satisfy her angry Spirit and keep the family safe, then it was a small price to pay.
She moved her head from side to side stretching her stiff neck. How many times had she made this trip? On her own, at least a half-dozen. Mum would have already been living there for the past few months. What a situation — when Emma was a little girl, she’d stay home with a nanny so she could still go to school while mum along with dad fulfilled her obligation to the Trust, rather to the ghosts of Everdon Manor. After dad passed away, mum was on her own. By sheer luck, which was bringing Ivy, Emma had escaped her fate, if she could call it luck. She wasn’t feeling lucky at all.
As with every other Everdon Weekend, the sun was shining, but like last year, a storm could suddenly blow in and put an end to the bright day. Her gaze strayed across the stubbled fields and stands of denuded trees on either side of the road, and she considered stopping in the next town or waiting until she reached Fairmont. Maybe she’d let her body decide.
Before leaving yesterday, she pilfered her mother’s set of keys to the manor. Normally, such an invasion of her privacy would have ridden her with guilt, but she was too angry to give rise to such feelings. The shock of yesterday’s revelations regarding Matthew had pushed her over the edge. Just what did Elinor Stuart think of her daughter to withhold the true nature of their sibling relationship? It didn’t change how she felt about him, he will always be her big brother, and he had assumed she already knew. It only made her look like the hapless idiot her mother surely thought she must be.
Of everyone associated with the family, it was she, Emma Stuart, who was the black sheep, outranking even her titled cousin, Lady Grace Langstone, who lived on cigarette smoke and strutted the runways around the world instead of involving herself in charities and teas, which would have been more upper class English appropriate. That and marrying a Duke. Oh, and to think she had actually hoped Robert — Sir Robert would show any interest in her other than to a distant cousin? She must have been dreaming all those years. Of course he had someone in his life why wouldn’t he? They most likely all did, though no o
ne ever mentioned their personal lives when fulfilling their Weekend duty, and once it was over, they happily returned to their regular routines. Now that the obligation was history, those who could finalized their plans did, Robert being the first.
She felt like an idiot remembering her feeble attempts to capture his attention last year, hung over and pathetic as she was. She could only hope it hadn’t been too obvious. It was laughable, all of it, but nobody was laughing now. The family had once again entered crisis mode, and it was she, who would put an end to what she had stirred up.
Since the curse-ending fiasco of the previous year, her mother was no longer resigned to live in the manor as stipulated by the Trust, and hasn’t been there since. The old house was locked up tight against intruders though few adventurers made it their destination. Would it look the same as she had last seen it? Matthew said it looked deserted as if no one had set foot inside in years. The storm had knocked out the power, and Matthew and John never got to starting the generator.
John. He had been so sweet these past few days, kind and supportive of her. If anything bad happened to him, she would bear the brunt of it adding to her already considerable burden of guilt. She stepped on the gas and headed for the last stop along the journey before reaching the manor.
Fairmont shops did not offer a great selection of groceries, but she bought local apples to add to her provisions of canned and boxed goods, and a bottle of wine. The parlor drinks cabinet had always been fully stocked, but her mother went on about nobody maintaining the illusion anymore. Whatever she meant by that, Emma would find out. Passing the familiar stone wall, she turned off the road and jostled along a rutted track toward the bridge. The ancient Stanhope runabout she drove last time was most likely gone too. Already, the manor loomed, as always against a backdrop of the remains of autumn foliage. She had no memory of ever having seen it in any other season.
