by Nathan Roden
Sebastian scowled at the major withdrawal from one month ago.
Expenses for his mother’s funeral.
Sebastian leaned back, holding the ledger in his lap. He took a deep breath. He took particular pride in his ability to act independently of his emotions.
This is merely a challenge, he thought. An opportunity for growth.
He was not destitute. Not yet.
Sebastian fought back his anger at the money he had spent to keep Cyrus Findlay and Scottie Rose in hiding. He hated the sight of them, but he knew that the time would come that he would need help. What he wanted to do was shackle the two men beneath a drafty bridge. Sebastian was confident that the pair of imbeciles were terrified of him.
He would visit the University campus to recruit a new “tour guide”. Sebastian relaxed a little. He stretched and took deep breaths.
He would cut the food expenditure in half—by trading two McFaddens for one.
The parents, for the daughter.
Sebastian closed the ledger. He leaned forward, and his face fell into his hands. He sat up straight. He had to decide what to do about Findlay and Rose.
Sebastian was convinced that forces worked against him because he was a believer. He first came to believe that there was a supernatural element to the Wellmore name by listening to his father’s stories. Alistair Wellmore hinted at a strange and wonderful power that lurked within the walls of the ancient family castle. Sebastian knew these stories to be true like he knew his own name.
One night, when Sebastian was thirteen, he joined his father in the library. A storm raged outside and lightning played across the windows. Alistair Wellmore was into his second glass of brandy and seated in front of a crackling fire. Sebastian picked up a full brandy bottle from the liquor cabinet and put it next to his father’s glass. Sebastian sat at his father’s feet and questioned him about ghost stories from the history of the family castle. Alistair Wellmore downplayed such tales at first, but as the brandy loosened his defenses, he recalled stories of mysterious events from over the years. If Alistair let his glass stay empty for too long, Sebastian stood and filled it. His father never seemed to notice.
Alistair began to slur his words. Sebastian moved closer.
Alistair told new stories—stories that Sebastian had never heard before. At first, Sebastian wondered if his father had lost touch with reality—maybe he was speaking of things that he had read in books or seen in movies. Perhaps the alcohol prevented Alistair from knowing the difference.
The stories revolved around the same place—a place that had always been off-limits to Sebastian. A place that he was not even allowed to mention.
The dungeon.
Alistair fought his way to his feet. He grumbled incoherently about the need to relieve himself. Sebastian jumped up to help, but Alistair would have none of that. He pushed Sebastian’s hand away.
Sebastian waited for his father to return, but from inside the library, he heard a door open and then a loud crash.
Sebastian ran into the hallway and arrived at the same time as his mother. Alistair had stumbled into a hall table. The table, a lamp, a vase of fresh flowers, and Alistair lay on the floor.
Maggie Wellmore screamed her husband’s name and ran to his side. She raised his head off of the floor. Alistair’s eyes opened. He smiled up at his wife.
“I believe our son has found his true calling, Maggie,” he said.
“What are you talking about, you crazy, drunk man?” Maggie said, laughing with relief.
Alistair closed his eyes.
“The world’s most sneaky and efficient bartender,” he said.
There were no more stories that night. Alistair went to bed.
Hours later, Sebastian sneaked into his parents’ room. His father’s snoring covered the sound of his footsteps. Sebastian took his father’s keys and left the room. He tied his trainers tight and opened the cellar door. He shined a flashlight down the steps and walked down the eight steps that led to the first basement level. This was as far as he had ever been allowed to descend, and then only with one of his parents present. He swallowed hard as he pointed the flashlight into the depths.
He had to contend with the threat of the rats and the spiders, as well as the horrific things his father had spoken only hours ago. But Sebastian’s fear was not as strong as his curiosity, and the feeling that his true destiny was wrapped up in whatever supernatural element existed within the castle walls.
Sebastian almost screamed the first time that two mice ran between his feet. Two steps later he saw a solitary rat, but it jumped down the stairs and away from the light. At the bottom of the stairs, the hallway turned to the right. Six meters farther, he came to the main door of the dungeon. There was little doubt which key on his father’s keyring belonged to this door. The design was ancient.
The hinges of the door sounded the way he guessed that they would sound—like those in a classic horror movie. He used the flashlight to clear away cobwebs. He stepped inside. His heart stood still when his light shone on the pair of shackles hanging from the nearest wall. He heard something from the other side of the room. He swung the light around.
A chain attached to the top of a table was now swinging back and forth at the side of the table. He moved the light again. He relaxed. Another rat.
Sebastian heard a muted scream. And then another. From different parts of the room. The screams echoed and then faded away.
Were they real? Or was he imagining them? Sebastian thought.
He heard whispers—an indistinguishable mix of voices that seemed to come from every corner of the room at once.
The voices stopped.
A single voice boomed from the center of the room.
“YOU ARE MINE!”
Sebastian heard the words as clearly as if they had come from inside his own head. He was so shocked that he swayed on his feet and thought that he was going to pass out. That feeling left him suddenly as if some unseen force had ripped it away.
Only one emotion remained with him.…anger.
Sebastian walked to the door and fingered the dungeon key.
He looked out into the room without raising the flashlight.
“Now is not the time,” he said fearlessly into the darkness.
“But I do NOT belong to you. On the day that I can see you for who you are—I will know who I am, and
“You will belong to ME.”
Sebastian did not return to the dungeon for many years—as long as his father was alive.
The morning after his encounter in the dungeon, Alistair questioned Sebastian repeatedly about the previous evening, as if he had no memory of that night at all. Sebastian was evasive and said little.
Later that day, Alistair Wellmore emptied out every liquor bottle in the house. He never touched another drop.
Sebastian carried his dungeon secrets for the remainder of his childhood. He was a loner and felt no need or desire to form friendships. He seemed to be perfect fodder for school bullies, but bullies wanted nothing to do with Sebastian Wellmore.
Over Sebastian’s childhood years, he grew impatient with his parents, who seemed content to live simple lives while their family’s wealth grew smaller and smaller. Sebastian was consumed by thoughts of the power that he knew dwelt within the castle walls.
How was it possible that it was his destiny to cater to those who paid a pittance to walk the halls of his ancient family home—while he watched his family’s name and fortune turn to dust?
To Sebastian Wellmore, this thought was absurd.
Alistair Wellmore took ill while still a young man. He died. The Wellmore family’s bank accounts began to erode even more, as Maggie Wellmore was forced to pay for the maintenance and upkeep that her husband had always done himself. The naive widow and her helpless child were easy prey for a wave of crooked handymen.
Maggie Wellmore mourned her husband and reached out in an attempt to become closer to her only child, but Sebastian grew more distant
than ever. He sought no affection: no companionship, and no comfort. Sebastian withdrew further into his personal darkness.
And so it was, until the night that he heard the story of Cyrus Findlay and Scottie Rose.
Days later, when Sebastian took hold of Oliver McFadden’s arm and saw into the realm of spirits, he knew that his destiny was at hand.
Sebastian’s initial thought was to find out all that Cyrus and Scottie knew and then eliminate them. He did not want them to convince anyone else of what they had seen. It took Sebastian little time to discover that the men were drunks— freeloaders who were always in search of drinking companions, especially companions that were buying.
Still, Sebastian rationalized that the men might be tenacious and convincing enough with their story to lead someone to investigate further. Whatever supernatural power existed at the Castle McIntyre could end up in someone else’s hands. Sebastian Wellmore had not waited half of his life to see that power go to anyone other than him. He decided that it was worth the cost to share the men’s secret, shuttle them away, and make use of them when the time was right.
Thousands of pounds later, and having gained nothing from his hostages, it had taken all of three days for Findlay and Rose to discharge a pistol inside of a hotel room. The fake identifications, that cost Sebastian a small fortune, were not only worthless but were in danger of triggering a police investigation.
Sebastian pulled a cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. This was the phone that he purchased only to communicate with Cyrus Findlay. He entered the number.
Eighteen
Sebastian Wellmore
Outside of Wellmore Village, Scotland
“Hello?” Cyrus said.
“The old mill,” Sebastian said. “Meet me there at eleven o’clock tonight. The service area side, next to the river.”
“Got it,” Cyrus said. “You mean both of us, right?”
“I would suggest that you not let your friend out of your sight as long as we have—an arrangement,” Sebastian said. “Do not force me to conclude that I should do without you both.”
“Got it,” Cyrus said again. “We’ll be there.”
Sebastian ended the call and closed his eyes. He stood and walked to his car to make yet another trip to the bank to make another withdrawal that he could not afford.
His mood improved slightly when his car came into view. It was beginning to age but was still an impressive example of German manufacturing. He felt that the car told the world that he was a man who deserved luxury—a man worthy of the best that the world could provide. The car was always clean and polished. As far as Sebastian Wellmore was concerned, the car was an extension of him.
He climbed in and closed the door. He breathed in the scent of freshly conditioned leather. He put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened. Sebastian’s heart raced. He turned the key off. He turned it again, and the engine turned over and roared to life, just as it had for years.
Sebastian came to an abrupt stop behind the service area of the abandoned mill at fifteen minutes to eleven. The area was dimly lit. The warning reflectors that had once protected the old wooden guard rail around the service lot had been destroyed by time, the wind, and vandals. Beyond the guard rail was a sheer drop into the river of more than six meters.
The mill’s property had been for sale for some time, with no takers. Nearby residents made occasional complaints about vagrants, the lack of adequate lighting, and the dangerous likelihood of someone crashing through the guardrail and into the river. The property’s caretakers argued that no one but a blind-drunk could make that mistake, but they sent someone out to replace light bulbs when they got enough phone calls.
On the night of Sebastian’s meeting, only one bulb worked in the area that overlooked the service docks, and that bulb was flickering.
Sebastian turned off his car and rolled down the windows. The sound of the rushing river and a steady breeze that rustled through some nearby trees were the only sounds to be heard. He closed his eyes. It had been a long day, and it was not over.
A few minutes later, Sebastian heard a faint buzzing sound. The noise grew louder, and he opened his eyes. It was the high-pitched sound of a small motor. Sebastian’s heart raced when he saw a pinpoint of light appear.
Sebastian stepped from his car. He could not believe what he saw—two grown men on a very small—and very loud, motorbike. The motorbike stopped and the little motor coughed itself to death.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” Sebastian asked. “Could you be any more conspicuous?”
“There are no trains running out here, Mr. Wellmore,” Cyrus said. “And we thought that a taxi wouldn’t be a very good idea. I got this little thing cheap at a second-hand shop.”
“You had a car—a rental,” Sebastian said.
“We took it back and dropped it off,” Cyrus said.
Sebastian opened his mouth to object.
“Don’t worry, Boss,” Cyrus said. “We wiped it clean.”
“We haven’t been anywhere anyway,” Scottie said. “Other than the old McIntyre place.”
“What?” Sebastian screamed. “What were you doing there?”
“We didn’t do anything stupid, Boss,” Cyrus said. “It’s just—you see, we ain’t been back there since the night we saw those ghosts. We just wanted to see it while we were sober—to see if anything had changed. ‘Changed’ ain’t even the right word. The whole place is gone.”
“What do you mean, it’s gone?” Sebastian asked. He took a step toward the two men, who took one step backward. Cyrus licked his lips nervously and glanced at Scottie. Scottie was terrified.
“Y-y-you didn’t know?” Cyrus asked. “The whole castle is gone. Vanished.”
“Gone? Gone where?” Sebastian said.
“I don’t—” Cyrus started.
“Must have been the girl’s doin’,” Scottie said. Cyrus nodded.
“The girl?” Sebastian said.
“The McFadden girl,” Cyrus said. “We saw her drive up there in a truck with some bloke. The truck door said ‘McAllen Engineering’. That might be the name of the outfit that she hired to knock that castle down. Maybe it was just full of too many bad memories, you know?”
In a flash, Sebastian grabbed Cyrus by the shirt collar.
“Tell me they didn’t see you,” Sebastian growled into Cyrus’s face.
Cyrus and Scottie shook their heads.
“No, no, no! Boss!” Cyrus said. “They didn’t see us! We didn’t get close. I was using binoculars.”
“That was stupid,” Sebastian said. He let go of Cyrus. “What did you see?”
“The girl is the only one left,” Cyrus said. “With Seth Larrimore dead, and her folks gone—we were just curious about what was bein’ done with the place. Especially since we all know what was in that castle.”
“Where is the gun?” Sebastian said. “Do you have it with you?”
Cyrus and Scottie glanced at each other.
“We don’t have it,” Cyrus said.
“You don’t have it—here,” Sebastian said.
“There was no time, Mr. Wellmore,” Cyrus said. “The gun went off—the bullet flew right by our heads and went through the door. It blew out the windshield of a truck, and then the truck’s alarm went off—”
“That gun belongs to ME, you imbeciles!” Sebastian seethed. He squeezed his hands into white-knuckled fists.
“The gun didn’t stay in the room, Mr. Wellmore,” Scottie said.
“Where is it?” Sebastian said.
Cyrus pulled the pillowcase from his coat. He held it up by its corners.
“We were followed when we left the hotel,” Cyrus said. “As soon as we stopped, we heard them drop the gun. They had the gun inside of this.”
“Who followed you?” Sebastian screamed.
“Maybe they were going to shoot us,” Cyrus said. “But the last we saw of your gun, it was going in the other direction—like it was flo
ating away.”
“Answer my question!” Sebastian screamed.
“It was the ghosts, Mr. Wellmore.”
Sebastian Wellmore paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself. Cyrus and Scottie stayed still and silent while they waited. Sebastian stopped in front of the two men. He reached inside of his coat. Cyrus and Scottie backed up holding up their hands.
“Now, wait, Mr.—” Cyrus said.
Sebastian exhaled in disgust. He took an envelope from the inside of his coat and handed it to Cyrus.
“There is an extremely limited amount of cash,” Sebastian said. “The well is running dry. Inside, you will find a map to two different hostels, approximately thirty kilometers to the west and south. You are not to lodge at the same locations. Tell me that you still have the phone.”
Cyrus snatched the cell phone from his pocket.
“You are not to leave these hostels until I have located the girl, and have decided on the next move to be made,” Sebastian said.
“We can help you find—” Cyrus said quickly.
“You will do nothing of the kind!” Sebastian said between clenched teeth. “We are not in the dark ages. Information can be gathered without idiotic human involvement.”
Sebastian tilted his head. He took a step toward Scottie and sniffed.
“You two, performing intelligence gathering would no doubt involve familiar taverns and familiar drink, followed by loose lips.” Sebastian raised his right hand to Scottie’s cheek. Scottie flinched, raised his shoulders, and whimpered.
