Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  As he stood at the sink, fading fast, Jon knew he needed to sleep. Who knew how many days or weeks they would be snowed in? The snow was around fourteen inches now, and it wasn’t letting up. They had a patient upstairs who was going to need help under difficult circumstances, made even more complicated if he was not alert and able to function properly. Two hours, he told himself. Then I’ll go in and get the equipment.

  He climbed the stairs, stopping at the door of his parents’ old bedroom. Finn still lay wrapped around Ana, but his eyes were closed now and he was snoring softly. Jon added another blanket on top of them, checked her breathing and vitals once more, and then let them sleep. Finn would want Jon to wake him up, but they both needed rest.

  Jon closed all the doors, and placed his slippers at the side of his bed. Before succumbing to his exhaustion, he reflected how much life was about to change for all of them.

  * * *

  18- NICOLAS

  Ana had called every night since arriving in Maine. Even if the conversation was limited to, “Hi and goodnight,” she still called. One evening she had lost track of time and called him at past one… but she had still called. And now it had been several days since Nicolas last heard from her. He knew something had gone wrong.

  On exactly the fourth day since Nicolas had heard from her, Oz stopped by unexpectedly.

  Oz was by himself, which Nicolas found odd, given how rarely he left Adrienne alone. Oz was perpetually terrified of Adrienne having a breakdown of some kind, which might result in her running away again. Adrienne had not been the same since losing her memory years ago, and Nicolas’ gut told him she never would be. But while Nicolas accepted the change, he wondered what Oz would have done differently if there weren’t two children in the equation. Probably nothing, he thought. Old boy loves to feed his tireless hero complex.

  Nicolas cared for his half-sister, but he respected Oz for having the patience and love to deal with her utterly broken spirit, because he could not.

  “And to what do we owe this extraordinary pleasure?” Nicolas asked with an exaggerated bow.

  “Do I need a reason to stop by?” Oz ignored him, brushing past with a distracted look.

  “You usually have plenty of reasons to stay away.”

  Oz turned back toward him, shocking Nicolas into a sudden realization of how long it had been since they’d seen each other. His friend’s shiny black hair was somehow duller. His brilliant green eyes looked more like the fading shade of aging moss. Oz’s skin was drained of color and life, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in some time. Nicolas opened his mouth to say something, then decided not to.

  “What do you have for liquor around here?” Oz had walked into the large kitchen, and Nicolas heard him flipping through the cupboards.

  “You know that’s not where I keep it. I mean, it’s not like we’ve been sneaking liquor since we were thirteen or anything,” he chided Oz, and led him out into the study. Nicolas opened the sliding doors to a large oak bar built into the wall. “Where is your brain, Ozzy? Did you leave it at home with your balls?”

  But Oz didn’t react to the teasing as he normally would. He took the drink Nicolas held out to him, quaffed it down, then handed it back for a refill. Nicolas stared at him in astonishment, then made him a second.

  “How is Ana?” Oz asked, in an especially offhand way.

  Nicolas cocked his head. “Are we making small talk? How’s your mother, then?”

  “Quite well,” Oz responded, clearly missing Nicolas’ sarcasm. “So Ana’s faring well in Maine?”

  “‘Faring’ better than you I hope.” Nicolas continued to watch his friend closely: the odd, wild look in his eyes, the complete disengagement from his words, the way he kept flinching and brushing his hair from his eyes... hair that was not even in his eyes.

  “Hah,” Oz choked out, lacking emotion. “I’m fine. Thought we could have some guy time.”

  “‘Guy time?’ Really, Oz? What the fuck?” Nicolas was not interested in hearing about the complexities of Oz Sullivan’s mind, but he was utterly bewildered at his bizarre behavior. “I doubt we’ll be doing anything, with you on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown.”

  But Oz was hardly listening, instead stirring his drink with a finger, seemingly fascinated with the swirling ice cubes.

  Nicolas, never fond of mysterious behavior, was not sure what to make of any of this. It was unnerving to see his friend minutes from going off the deep end.

  He leaned over toward Oz and waved his hands obnoxiously in his face. Oz looked up and met his eyes with the same glazed look he had since he arrived. “Sorry, what?”

  “You know it would have been quicker to drink at home, instead of driving almost an hour out here, right?”

  Oz set his glass down. When he looked at Nicolas this time, Oz appeared slightly less dazed, though it seemed to take great effort. “I’m sorry. I just... things have been kinda stressful at home lately. I needed to get away.”

  “Stressful,” Nicolas repeated, eyeing him skeptically. He was waiting for him to do something desperate, like jump out the window. “Well, marriage and brats would be the end of any man, but how is this different from normal?”

  “It isn’t... I mean... it’s... I don’t know...” Oz stood up suddenly, bumping the table so that his drink sloshed over the sides of the glass. “I should go.”

  Nicolas shook his head in disbelief, smacking his cheeks. “You just got here! Ozzy! ARE YOU ON DRUGS?”

  But Oz was already on his way to the door, and if Nicolas knew anything about his brooding friend, it was the impossibility of getting him to speak when he was in one his darker moods.

  “Sorry again,” Oz called, pulling the door behind him. He stopped briefly, and then said, “Tell Ana...”

  “Tell her what?” Nicolas snapped.

  “Nothing,” Oz changed his mind. “Nothing. We will... I promise we will get together soon. Sorry for dropping in on you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Nicolas waved distractedly, feeling like he had been hit by a small hurricane.

  Nicolas was genuinely perplexed at Oz’s behavior. He had always known that Oz was a brooder, and often accused him of being as moody as a woman, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing him act like this.

  It had been so unexpected and bizarre that it was enough to distract him from his thoughts about Ana. Even when Oz asked about Ana—multiple times—which was weird enough on its own.

  Finally, Nicolas shrugged it off, deciding if Oz wanted to talk, he would. Figuring out how to contact Ana was a more pressing concern.

  He did not want to call her father. Augustus was a busy man, and if Nicolas bothered him with this, and then nothing was amiss, Augustus would be highly annoyed. On the other hand, if something was wrong, and it was something Ana did not want her father involved in, then Nicolas would feel her wrath.

  There were no other Deschanels on the island, but there was that overseer. Whitman. He only knew the name because it was written on a piece of paper, folded inside his family Bible—a book he really should give to Adrienne, the more he thought of it, since she was the only Deschanel bothering to further the family line—listed as Emergency contact for Ana, in her handwriting. She would not have a cell phone out there, and with no one other than an overseer who didn’t even know her, she felt safer if Nicolas had the information. Under the number she had written: Peace out, sucka!

  He put down his cognac, and picked up the phone in the study. Putting the receiver down again, he walked over and closed the double doors as an afterthought. He lived alone if you didn’t count the four people on staff, and he preferred this conversation be private.

  Nicolas lifted the receiver again and dialed.

  * * *

  19- AUGUSTUS

  Incompetence. Why did it feel as if Augustus Deschanel was constantly surrounded by it? People who did not understand the value of quality, going the extra mile, taking the requisite time to ensure delivery was in-line with ex
pectations. His expectations. An old boss, in another life, told him once the only way to ever be really successful was to hire five hundred versions of yourself. But then, you would never change, never innovate. Augustus embraced innovation, but not at the cost of doing things right.

  The next best thing to hiring yourself? Hiring your progeny. Years before Ana was born, when the business was a single magazine, he had visions of grandeur. He pictured building a conglomeration of magazines, an empire founded on the highest quality publications, built leveraging the creative acumen of the best and brightest minds. Proudly, he envisioned his three, or four, children beside him. At first teaching them as children about the business, then slowly folding them in, with internships in high school, and jobs after college. They would work their way up until they knew the corporation’s ins and outs as he did. But Catherine had died and Augustus’ current wife, Barbara, could not have children. His dream stopped with Ana.

  Ana did have skills that suited the family business, but they were on the other end of the spectrum. While she understood business, Ana had an artist’s heart. So had he, once upon a time, but it was that love of the craft which made him want this career to begin with. He hoped she might see the connection and embrace it the way he had, but so far her involvement felt more obligatory than passionate. He would never force her. Augustus’ ability as a Deschanel was the power of persuasion, and he had used it ruthlessly, and without remorse, countless times. But he had never, and would never, use it on his daughter.

  He didn’t really understand Ana. It was a terrible thing for a father to admit. She had a brilliant mind. She tested at a genius IQ level as a child and graduated high school at sixteen; had won awards and national recognition for her writing and school projects; full scholarship to Tulane. But she had the dark mind of an artist. He should know, he had seen plenty of them come through the doors looking for freelance work. Her mind was never at rest. Her darkness shone through strongest when she was lost in her thoughts and unaware of herself.

  He thought it might be genetic, if that was a trait which could even be passed genetically. Augustus’ own sister Evangeline had been the same. Evangeline was part of a team who earned a spot on the Nobel prize shortlist for physics. The entire family was talented, but there were the few dark horses as well, like Ana and Evangeline, who operated on a completely different plane. Augustus could only theorize on their motives and abilities, because he couldn’t understand them.

  Ana once said it felt like there was more than one of her, and that the two parts were always in conflict. Augustus had sent her to counseling after that. The first counselor diagnosed her with Asperger’s, and the second said she most certainly did not have anything actually wrong with her, per se, but that children with higher IQ’s sometimes had more challenges adapting to social situations. Neither diagnosis was useful in the end, because Ana’s trouble was not with social situations at all. She never had problems making friends, having been involved in sports and clubs, and even a sorority in college. Her trouble was with herself.

  It had been his idea to send her to Maine, when she said she needed to leave for a while. While Ana was generally restless, before she decided to leave she had grown exceedingly agitated and even more withdrawn than usual. When he broached the idea, she simply smiled and said thanks. What she would get out of it, he could hardly guess. He’d come to a point where he stopped hoping for her to be something he desired, and instead wished for her personal happiness.

  Their conversations had not changed much over thirty years.

  “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  “Good.”

  “Anything new going on?”

  “Not really.”

  He made her call him every week from Maine. Would have preferred more often, but he knew she hated small talk, and he was consumed by things at the office anyway. Even as a child, she had only engaged in conversation when there was a point. She could never understand the value in “bullshitting about the weather.” Another sign business management was not in her future.

  Augustus checked the clock: 9:50. Barbara was only patient until ten or so and then the calls would start. He couldn’t fault her. He did work incredibly long hours, seeming to disregard her needs. Ana hadn’t called yet, and probably wouldn’t at this hour. She was supposed to call several days ago, but hadn’t. He presumed she had lost track of time, so he called her instead, but she didn’t pick up. He was disappointed, even knowing Ana thought talking on the phone was the worst torture. He hoped that she would put her misgivings aside for their weekly ritual because she loved him.

  Sometimes he considered her difficulties a misunderstanding, and then moments like these, he thought she was simply a brat.

  As if on cue, Barbara called. His secretary went home hours ago, so he answered it himself. “Turkey sounds lovely,” he said, shutting down his computer as his wife told him with hopeful excitement about how she had first brined, and then injected sauces into the bird, continuing to describe the rest of her evening with the same detail. She had taken to making dinner later now, since the last time he came home before eight was when Ana was still living at home.

  “On my way home now, dear,” Augustus said, as he slipped his arms through his trench coat. He would have to try Ana again tomorrow.

  * * *

  20- NICOLAS

  Worthless overseer. What do we even pay him for? Nicolas wondered.

  He had called Whitman, who was decidedly useless. “The roads are closed,” he said. “And most of the phone lines have been unreliable.”

  “Don’t you guys have snowplows and shit?” Nicolas was incredulous. Shouldn’t they be used to this stuff by now?

  Heavy sigh. Clearly thinks I’m a complete idiot, Nicolas thought. “Aye, Mr. Deschanel. We do have snowplows, but ya have to understand that when God decides he is goin’ to play his games, man’s machines can only do s’much.”

  “Master of the metaphors I see, but I fail to understand how your island can completely shut down in a storm, when storms are pretty much the only thing you have up there, no?”

  Another sigh, possibly annoyance this time. “No’sir, ya forgot moose, and Stephen King.”

  Nicolas smiled. Oh, he has jokes now. “Look. You may think I am being difficult but I haven’t spoken with my cousin in a week. It is unlike her. She isn’t answering her phone when I call, and—”

  “Her phone is prolly down,” Alex interjected.

  “Yes, or she isn’t answering because something is wrong.” When Alex didn’t respond, he added, “Isn’t there someone who can check on her? Surely you have emergency vehicles?”

  “We do, but only fer emergencies.”

  Nicolas was growing angry, but tried to keep his voice level. As unhelpful as he was, Alex was also the only person Nicolas had contact with on the island, and who might be able to help him figure this out. “Would a missing person in a storm not be an emergency, Mr. Whitman?”

  “We dunno know that she’s missing. It’s not uncommon a’tall for people to go dark when the big storms hit. We only have s’much equipment to clear the roads, and the island doesn’t have the power and phone resources that the cities do. We can sometimes be without power, or phones, for weeks. Heck, we even had a winter where we were dark almost the entire season. People here are used to this, and they have expensive generators, and solid planning, and we get through it.”

  “But Ana is not used to this. This is her first Maine winter… well, hell, it’s her first difficult winter. All we ever get is a drop in humidity here. She has no idea what she is doing,” Nicolas reminded him.

  “I went over there barely a week ago and helped her winter-proof the house. I showed her how t’use the generator, and where the food storage went. With all due respect, I went out of m’way to make sure she did know what she was doing ‘fore the storm hit.” Alex sounded more proud than defensive.

  When Nicolas said nothing, Alex offered, “Maybe I could try to call the neighbors
. There’s only a couple’a houses out on the bend where she lives. The St. Andrews boys are good folks, so if they’re not snowed in I could ask them t’check on her.”

  Nicolas brightened a bit. Now they were getting somewhere. “Perfect. But if her phone lines are down, won’t theirs be too? And for that matter, shouldn’t yours be?”

  “I live on the other side of the island. They usually go down in sections. But yea, if hers are down, theirs will be too. Though, if they answer—”

  “Then we know it’s not her phone line,” Nicolas finished, realizing the implications of Alex making this phone call. What would he do if something was wrong with her? Hopefully one of the boys could go check on her, but what if they couldn’t? He was getting ahead of himself, and was never at his best when his mind spun this way. Nicolas felt that same helplessness he did when his sister went missing, and he did not like the feeling at all. Stop over-thinking this, you idiot. You’re acting like Oz.

  “Can you call now?” Nicolas pressed.

  “Absolutely. And I will call ya right back.”

  “Please do.”

  * * *

  21- ALEX

  Alex cradled the phone and released a long, exhausted breath. He did not like liars, but lying was exactly what he was going to need to do. And do it well. He was taught never to tell untruths, like all kids that were well-raised, but even his mother recognized there were times when a lie was not only better, but safer, than the truth. She had died believing it.

  Though several days had passed, his nerves hadn’t recovered from overhearing Ana and Finn’s conversation. While his mind searched for the right thing to do next, as the storm worsened, his options became smaller in number. He was far from giving up, however. The call from Ana’s cousin only quickened his desire for resolution. If Ana wasn’t communicating with her family, either, then Alex knew he had no time to waste. He only hoped he was not too late.