The Immortal Bind

by Traci Harding

  Sara burst into tears at the thought of surrendering to the chair again — the experiences were progressively more addictive and more violent with each gut-wrenching episode — surely her fascination with this unknown man was not healthy? Yet she longed to see him again, and if she didn’t get back in that chair she never would.

  ‘But what is the point?’ She boggled at the inconvenience of having her entire life thrown into the chaos that had sent her to an early demise many times already. ‘If it’s all true . . . there’s no escaping the demon. I’d have to run somewhere remote. And where is Jacques, Luke, Edwin now?’ Would another round in the chair finally reveal this?

  After a good howl, Sara had a sane moment. ‘I need help.’

  There was only one place she would find it.

  * * *

  It was some ungodly hour just after sunrise when Sara exited the elevator on the top floor of the high-rise, high security, apartment building where Willie based himself. It was such a relief to see her favourite person in the world awaiting her in his open doorway, dressed in a flamboyant black and gold shave coat that was rather Eastern Imperial chic.

  It was little wonder to her now that they had been BFFs from first sight, for she recognised Willie as the one-time pirate slave who had spared her from his captain’s evil designs. Karma would certainly explain why Robert detested Willie’s company — she’d assumed Robert was quietly homophobic or racist, but perhaps his resentment of her friend ran deeper still? And now she came to think about it, how could she even consider marrying a man who she suspected held such prejudices? She couldn’t even ask herself what the hell she’d been thinking as she really had no idea.

  There were two penthouse apartments on this floor and Willie secretly owned both of them, and the pool terrace above. From the elevator a marble foyer led into a long white hall that ran between the apartments. Skylights looked up through the lap pool above, and sunlight traced watery light patterns all down the corridor. The front doors to each apartment sat opposite one another halfway down the corridor, at the end of which was a long window that looked out over the harbour. One apartment was Willie’s known address and the other was occupied by his bodyguard, Tyrell, who took his job very seriously, as he was also Willie’s current squeeze.

  Tyrell waved as he crossed the hall to his own apartment. He was by no means a hulk of a man but he was well trained in martial arts and very tech savvy. He was as conservative as Willie was outrageous — this served them both well as no one had guessed they were lovers.

  ‘I’m sorry to wake you so early,’ Sara returned the wave, ‘but I have an awful feeling I’m running short on time.’

  ‘Well, time is the one thing I do have,’ Willie was chirpy. ‘I’m taking a few days off to see how my new brand ambassador manages without me.’ His cheeriness waned as she reached him.

  ‘Sara, my darling, why so upset?’

  She obviously looked a fright, despite the fact that she was not blubbering at this moment in time. ‘I either have a huge problem, or I’m completely insane.’

  ‘Oh dear . . . sounds like someone needs tea.’ He took her arm to accompany her inside.

  * * *

  For the next several hours Sara sat on a lounge by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city and harbour, purging herself of all her adventures of the last week, and drinking numerous cups of tea. Willie was completely intrigued by her tale and had his computer on his lap checking facts as she spoke. He didn’t interrupt her account, except to mention that many of her names and dates checked out.

  ‘This all just gets freakier by the second.’

  The smell of incense, the soft ambient music, and candles burning about the place, made for a tranquil atmosphere in which to outline her woes. Willie didn’t judge her insane claims once.

  ‘Oh Willie, it feels good to finally unload all this on someone . . . who won’t have me committed, that is. I’m actually starting to feel like myself again. I’ve been asleep at the wheel and I just woke up! Hopefully in time to prevent myself driving right off a cliff.’

  ‘It’s a relief for me too.’ Willie forced a smile, appearing a little guilty. ‘Here’s the thing . . . Lizzie and I don’t entirely trust Robert—’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Sara joked.

  ‘I had Tyrell do a little digging on him for us.’

  ‘Come again?’ Sara’s mouth was gaping open; she didn’t know whether to be offended or thankful.

  ‘Now, don’t lose your shit at us, because we’re watching out for you—’ He held up a finger in warning, but Sara gently gripped hold of it and lowered it.

  ‘It’s okay, Willie.’ Sara was gracious, which set him at ease. ‘What did you discover?’

  ‘About the man himself . . . strangely, nothing much.’ Willie raised both brows in emphasis. ‘There’s no record of him ever being born, or his parents, siblings, schooling—’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t born here.’ Sara wasn’t surprised.

  ‘Sweetie, I’m trying to tell you that he wasn’t born anywhere.’

  Sara gasped, her eyes must have been boggling out of her head — this was what she’d been avoiding, confirming her story, and as outrageous as it was, the premise was proving more and more likely.

  ‘Still think you’re imagining things?’ Willie raised both brows.

  Sara was lost for words.

  ‘But, about Dr Baxter’s “happy” clients . . . we discovered an interesting trend.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Sara frowned. ‘His clients all rave about him?’

  ‘Yes they do,’ Willie confirmed. ‘He cures them of their nasty habits and phobias, and turns them into self-centred, egotistical arseholes who sing his praises while turning their backs on everything they once held sacred. He calls it self-empowerment — his patients’ families are calling it malpractice.’

  ‘Oh God . . .’ Sara swallowed hard as her dark night of the soul spilled out into the real world. ‘All of them?’

  ‘Enough to warrant investigation,’ he advised. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see someone launch a lawsuit against him before too long.’

  ‘Robert was always so kind to me, and so very different to the evil character I encounter in these flashbacks, past lives, whatever you’d call them? It is difficult to imagine that they could possibly be the same person. If he has a sinister side, I haven’t seen it.’

  ‘Like the master manipulator you describe is really going to allow you to remember his dark side. You could have seen it a thousand times and you wouldn’t remember,’ Willie proffered. ‘Maybe he was waiting for you to be bound to him legally before showing his true colours?’

  The premise made her shudder. ‘I do hate to sound like a useless female, but I have no idea how to handle any of this.’

  ‘Well, calling off the wedding might be a good start?’

  ‘I think that goes without saying.’ The thought of actually telling him made her catch her breath. ‘He’s not due back for a few more days, so I have a little leeway to figure my way out of this.’

  ‘And what about your dream boy? He sounds pretty damn fine to me. I’d be wanting to get on the case of tracking his choice arse down!’

  ‘I have no idea where he is or who he is.’ Sara shrugged, at a loss for a lead, but her chair might still hold some of the answers. ‘Still, I feel a little stronger now that there’s a good chance I’m not crazy . . . although it might be somewhat easier if I were.’

  ‘If you need to hide, I’ll hide you. If you need to flee, I’m coming too.’

  She adored that he always had her back. ‘Willie, you’re a sweetheart, but you have an empire to run and you really don’t want to get involved in this.’ She wanted to add ‘again’ but refrained.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, girl,’ he rejected that statement. ‘If you do not let me help you, we are done!’

  Okay, he was going to take serious offence to being excluded, and his devotion warmed her heart and her
smile. ‘In that case, I should head home and get organised.’ Sara stood to get moving and Willie rose also.

  ‘If you’re not back here by this time tomorrow, I’m sending Tyrell looking for you.’ He kissed both her cheeks, gave her a huge hug, then released her. ‘Until then, keep in touch.’

  Sara nodded to confirm she would.

  * * *

  When Simon arrived in Jon’s studio the next morning, he found him working intently on his new major work — that had become a lot more in-depth since Simon had seen it last.

  Around the unknown woman were depictions of people and events from different eras in time, yet some of the characters seemed to repeat in different guises. The artist had even depicted himself within some of the scenes with the unknown woman, and it appeared there was a romantic connection there — was Jon falling for a ghost?

  Simon also saw himself in a couple of the characters. It was all rather perplexing and his concern for his friend’s mental health was exacerbated.

  ‘It’s coming along well, don’t you think?’ Jon was putting the finishing touches on a large galleon, where a figure hung from the yard arm, a maiden prepared to jump from the rear balcony and a man in the water, surrounded by sharks, was blowing a horn. Close by the ship, in a tiny boat on the water, an old woman and a yogi looked on.

  If Jon was exhausted, it didn’t show. He appeared happy as a clam and full of energy.

  ‘Is that me?’ Simon conjured up a smile as he pointed to a figure featured in the same quarter as the tall ship Jon was working on.

  ‘Actually that’s Marquis Alexandre de Brie, Baron de Pornic,’ Jon explained, matter of factly. ‘And the very luscious redhead alongside him is Mademoiselle Marianna Paquet, his lover.’ He played up the intrigue.

  Oddly, Simon felt like he recognised the redhead from somewhere, and she was also pictured more than once. ‘Is that her there also?’ He pointed to the fiery redhead depicted above people burning at the stake.

  ‘It is.’ Jon seemed delighted that Simon had seen the parallel. ‘In a previous incarnation she was the Great Witch of Balwearie.’

  There was a large set of ominous black eyes, alien in appearance, staring down onto the galleon. ‘Who do they belong to?’

  Jon hesitated to answer and forced a smile. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘A villain then?’ Simon assumed.

  ‘Beyond measure,’ Jon confirmed.

  ‘So, this is a story?’ Simon put forward, desperate to rationalise what he was observing.

  ‘Well, every landscape is a story,’ Jon concurred. ‘Much as every portrait is a statement, but yes, exactly.’

  ‘Does it have a conclusion?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Jon motioned to the piece of blank canvas still awaiting attention.

  ‘Where’s it all coming from?’ Simon ventured to see if Jon might confide in him.

  ‘My imagination, where else?’ Jon shrugged and went back to his painting.

  Clearly he wasn’t going to betray his muse, and the fact that the story had no conclusion was a worry. Did he plan to indulge in that supernatural chaos Simon had witnessed last night all over again? From this painting he could only assume Jon had been through the ordeal more than a few times already.

  ‘So what brings you to my door so early in the day?’ Jon startled Simon with the query, and he set his private concerns aside for a moment to pull out the promotional layouts for the advertising.

  ‘I just need your okay to let these go out to the press.’ He handed over the layouts featuring one of Jon’s works and a large black and white portrait photo of Jon’s face, half in shadow. As Jon took them to look them over, Simon anticipated the objection; it would be something along the lines of, ‘this exhibition is about selling my work, not me!’

  ‘Yep, fine.’ Jon handed them back to him.

  Simon was stunned.

  ‘As far as this piece goes’ — Jon went back to work — ‘if you don’t think it’s suitable for the exhibition, we don’t have to exhibit it. It’s not for sale anyway,’ he muttered, without looking up.

  ‘It’s not that . . .’ Simon felt he had to get Jon out of the house in order to get rid of the chair. ‘You need some fresh air. Just go for a walk or something?’

  ‘Funny you should mention that.’ Jon put down his brush. ‘While you get the exhibition organised, I plan on taking a short trip.’

  ‘What?’ Simon was blindsided. ‘Where?’

  ‘India.’

  ‘India! But you’ve never had the slightest interest in India, or travel for that matter. Can’t it wait until after the exhibition?’ Simon was considering the press he wanted Jon to do.

  ‘Look, I know it’s awful timing. But I have a friend in need, I have to go. I’ve already applied for the visa. But I’ll be back before we open, I promise.’

  ‘But promotion—’ Simon felt he must object.

  ‘I can do interviews via email or video-link,’ Jon explained. ‘You can conference with me the same way. But my mind is made up, I have to go.’

  ‘But . . .’ Simon was now doubly desperate to get rid of that chair — this was so unlike Jon, who never wanted to leave the house! ‘Are you prepared for such a trip? Don’t you need to have shots or something?’

  ‘I’m booked to get jabs tomorrow.’ Jon waved off Simon’s fears. ‘I have it all in hand.’

  Tomorrow — Simon could live with that. If it was as he suspected and the chair had a supernatural hold over his friend, his hope was that once the cursed item was destroyed its all-consuming enchantment would be broken.

  * * *

  Sleep eluded Sara; she’d had such a bright future ahead of her, but now it seemed that there was no future at all! Or at least it would be a vastly different life from the one she’d imagined for herself.

  All her cursed lives past were playing through in her mind and her resentment of her stalker intensified — she was not just going to lie down and die to appease this demon’s wretched ego and bloodlust. For the first time since this vendetta started she was armed with knowledge and she was going to use it. No matter what she’d done to earn this wrath, she wasn’t the one breaking cosmic law. There had to be a way to break this cycle, and if the information the chairs had supplied was to be believed, then only one fact was clear — the stone in her chair had to be returned to Somnath in India.

  ‘Surely India is as good a place as any to hide from an immortal demon?’

  It was the most ridiculous statement she’d ever made, and yet the notion made more sense than any other she’d had today. And if there were answers to be found about defeating the curse, surely they would also be found there? Perhaps her chair buddy had reached the same conclusion.

  Sara got up to fetch her laptop to check the wait time on visas to India.

  ‘Ten working days!’ She’d have to jilt Robert at the altar days before then; but she knew Willie would make good on his promise to hide her.

  She recalled the pirate, Lachance, taunting her friend: ‘I think she fancies that you might be able to protect her from me?’ It made her blood boil. History was repeating itself, but Chisomo had saved her then, and at least she knew he was an ally; she could recognise all her true allies now. She may never have met the man from her chair, but she felt she would recognise him in an instant.

  For the first time since she had laid eyes on the chair, Sara committed herself fully to believing in and solving its mystery. In her gut she felt calm and grounded, which to her mind was a very good sign she was on the right track. Before she’d lost her parents and met Robert Sara had always followed her gut feeling and it had never steered her wrong. It seemed to her now that Robert’s influence had caused her to lose touch with her own intuition. The chair’s insight had broken his hold, and she was so grateful. Not Robert, his demon or anyone, was going to hold sway over her sensibilities again.

  When her mobile rang the sound pierced through the quiet stillness of the night and surprised the life out of her.
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  She glanced at the time. ‘It’s two a.m.?’ She grabbed for her phone, thinking it was Liz in London, but to her great horror the notice advised that Robert was the caller.

  ‘Oh God!’ Sara’s bravery abandoned her and she cast the phone aside on the bed, resolving to let it go to voicemail.

  ‘But what if he’s calling to say he’s coming home early? Or is on his way here!’ Her heart was thumping in her chest, and she breathed deeply in the hope of calming herself, but it was no use, she couldn’t bring herself to speak with him. ‘Leave a message,’ she chanted hopefully. The ringing stopped and she breathed a sigh of relief. Even the idea of listening to his voice gave her the creeps now. ‘Don’t be such a chicken.’ She reached for the phone, and he had left a message.

  ‘Where are you at this time of night? I really need to speak with you. I’ve been delayed in Melbourne and, well . . . just call me when you get this message.’

  The message ended and Sara gave her phone the finger. She’d never noticed how obnoxious his manner with her was — she’d just thought him straightforward, but now his controlling nature was obvious. At least he wasn’t going to be landing on her doorstep in the next few hours.

  That thought was so comforting that Sara yawned, feeling that finally sleep might be forthcoming. Laptop closed, phone and bedside lamp switched off, Sara’s room fell into darkness. ‘Ah . . . bed.’ She snuggled in for some serious shut-eye.

  * * *

  While plotting his sabbatical to India in the middle of the night, Jon had been searching for a pen and paper when a business card flipped out into his hand from beneath his hall phone: Selene Love — Antique Jewellery and Watches.

  How synchronous — since he did plan to find himself just such a jeweller. ‘Where did this come from?’ He flipped it over and scribbled in pen was written, ‘Chick in the red dress.’

  Jon held his head and laughed as he recalled her staggering out the front door the night of his birthday. ‘So that was her name?’

  He flicked the card about in his fingers, considering whether Selene might be easier company when sober. Asking her to his house might give entirely the wrong impression. Still, he didn’t dare attempt to remove the stone from its setting before he’d discovered what had happened in ancient India to set these karmic wheels in motion. Understanding the origins of their adversary was imperative if they were to disentangle themselves from him and end this cycle. At least, that was what Jon had garnered from reading up on Hindu beliefs.