Christabel

by Karin Kallmaker

  Christa was shaking all over, and she seemed unable to make her eyes look anywhere except Goranson.

  “What on earth do you think I’m going to do with you at this hour?”

  “Anything I want, darling Dina. First, you’re going to take a little ride with my darling wife and me. The limo is waiting downstairs.”

  He gestured at Christa, and she rose shakily, refastening her collar. “You’ve done well.” He held out his hand and Christa took it. “You see,” he said to Dina, “she is completely mine. If you want her to be healthy, you will cooperate.”

  Dina felt the pressure of his malice. “Let me say good night to George,” she said, with great resignation. She was afraid, and she let some of it show.

  “Of course. You wouldn’t want your boss to know you were in the process of seducing the woman married to a client, now would you? We will finish our business this evening,” he said smugly.

  Dina pondered how long it would take to bash his head in with one of George’s heavy bookends. A waste of thought, but picturing him dead on the floor helped her conquer some of her fury.

  She did not know what he wanted her to do, but she was ready to do whatever it took to put an end to his cruelty. But not with a blunt object. “And I’ll just get my purse.”

  Chapter 16

  When food and water came it was after dark, but even then the dim light of a sputtering torch blinded Rahdonee. She knew who brought it; his presence had the stink of pestilence.

  Through her watering eyes she saw where the opening was and that it was more than double her height. He lowered a bucket.

  “Empty it now or I’ll pull it back up and you can just get hungrier.”

  Defiance over food and water would be foolish. She found a bowl of some sort of steaming grain and a flask of water. Both containers were leather and impossible to make into weapons to turn on him—or herself.

  “May I keep the bucket for my...waste?”

  He was silent, then barked, “Untie it then.”

  A kindness, but no doubt his reasons had more to do with cleaning up after she left this place than wanting her to find any comfort. She untied the rope and found the bucket heavier than she had thought. If she threw it, she might hit him. But it would not get her out of this hole.

  He thrust the torch into the opening, and she fell back, blinded again.

  “Her mother has died unexpectedly. Took her own life.”

  She knew immediately of whom he spoke, and her heart ached for Christabel and for her mother.

  “At least that’s what the doctor says. She knows differently.”

  Her vision was clearing, and she found herself in the same unrelenting darkness as he lowered the door over the opening. “She understands that you will also die if she does not please me.”

  “No,” she breathed, unprepared for the degree of the preacher’s ruthless evil.

  “Your life is my wedding gift to her, but we won’t be inviting you to the ceremony. You understand, I’m sure. I’d almost want you there for the wedding night, to see how she enjoys her new life with me. Lie in this hole, witch, and think of it.”

  The door dropped into place, and she heard a bolt being shot.

  For a long while she could not bring herself to eat. Layered on the terror and suffering of the people brought to the island to be bought and sold was the image of his leering face. The walls echoed with Christabel’s crying.

  Bitsy Albright held her hand, though her touch was of no comfort. “We’ll pin up one of mother’s dresses for you,” she was saying. “You’re too big for mine, and besides it wouldn’t be right for you to wear mine when I haven’t worn it yet.” She sighed. “Tom is going to have ever so much money when his father dies, but I wish he was as handsome as the Reverend.”

  Christabel didn’t respond. She would not speak.

  “You’re so lucky. You certainly couldn’t marry into a noble family, but a prince of the Church is the next best thing. Mother says that’s not what preachers want, to be princes of the Church and all, but I think of him that way. He is so strong, and so handsome.”

  Christabel opened her eyes and fixed her horrified gaze on Bitsy. Bitsy’s color was high.

  “Now don’t be jealous,” Bitsy said in a whisper. “It was the best penance I’ve ever done. I told him about meeting that witch in the woods with you and he said I’d get infected, too, and he knew a way to make sure she was no longer witching me. It’s not in the least wicked because he’s a man of God, but he says mother and father wouldn’t understand because they don’t want to believe there’s something so wicked walking among us. You are going to be so lucky. I’m sure Tom is not even half the man the Reverend is.” She laughed, blushing more furiously.

  Christabel turned her head to the wall and willed herself to silence. He described himself and told poor Bitsy he was talking about Rahdonee. She wanted to hate Bitsy but couldn’t.

  “Has she said anything?”

  Bitsy jumped and let go of Christabel’s hand. “No, ma. She’s not crying as much, though.”

  “You’ve been good for her, I’m sure. I’ll sit with her for a while.”

  Like Bitsy, Goody Albright talked of nothing but the wedding. “It’s such a shame it has to be so simple, but given your circumstances, well, you can’t celebrate as a bride should. He’s so good to take you in. Did you know he caught that witch? But he says she can be cured and that God would find it merciful.”

  Christabel chanted “Rahdonee” in her mind to shut out the room, the future, everything. She willed herself to feel the sunlight on her skin, to hear the Sacred Tree dancing with the Wind God. Rahdonee’s beautiful hair was a curtain around them, and the sunlight through the leaves tinted her skin the green of new corn.

  How happy she had been in Rahdonee’s arms, in her world. She would stay there now.

  Rahdonee, she pleaded in her mind. Be safe, get away. Be safe. She could bear anything if she knew Rahdonee was alive.

  The tendril of thought that caressed her mind was like water to her parched soul.

  My love, do not cry for me.

  Where are you?

  That is not important. But Christabel gathered images of darkness, and her mind brushed against Rahdonee’s growing despair. My love, it is not important.

  I won’t let him kill you.

  You must not give in. Fight him. What happens to me isn’t important. The Great Mother will give me her mercy. Do not give—

  “Has she spoken?”

  Christabel gasped and cowered from his gaze.

  “No, Reverend,” Goody Albright answered. “She was smiling a moment or two ago.”

  His grimace made Christabel think he knew why. He knew everything. She flattened herself against the wall behind the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin.

  “It’s as you said,” Goody Albright went on. “She is frightened of your goodness. The evil taint that took her parents would take her, too.”

  “I cannot allow that,” he said. “Christabel, you can be saved, if only you can ask for it.”

  Rahdonee was lying in darkness, in an evil place, slowly starving. She believed she was going to die, and Christabel knew she had the power to change that. She could make one good thing come of the evil this man had brought to her life. Was it such a high price to pay? She could run away, after, and find Rahdonee and her people.

  She swallowed hard, then coughed. She stuttered at first, then managed to say clearly, “I beg of you, save me by making me your wife.” She stared into his eyes, wanting to tell him that she had not forgotten his promise to spare Rahdonee.

  For a moment his eyes glowed red, and she felt the horrible invasion of his will. Even after he left, his tiny smile of victory was burned in her mind.

  The air was heavy with the scent of impending rain, and humid with the sweat of summer heat trapped by the clouds. Dina ducked her head into the limo and wondered, for an irrelevant moment, if she should have brought an umbrella.

  W
hat would wet feet matter if she could manage to break this weird hold that Goranson had on Christa? She’d walk naked through a hundred storms if that was what it took.

  Christa didn’t look at Dina during the short ride to Fifty-fifth Street, while Goranson didn’t look anywhere else. Dina wasted energy hiding her desire to squirm. Was it just force of personality, or something more? If she hadn’t seen how lightning fast the change in Christa was, she might have thought it was drugs, but it was as if he could effortlessly turn a light off inside Christa. Dina had no idea how to turn it back on.

  “Why here?” Dina already knew, but she was curious what Goranson would say.

  “I waited for years for this building to come on the market. It has a special nostalgia for me.” He stopped briefly at the large table that held the architect’s model, taking a slender book from a drawer. “Let’s go downstairs, shall we?”

  Christa didn’t move. She shook all over for a moment, then said clearly, “No.”

  “Move,” he ordered.

  Christa whispered, “No.”

  His response was immediate and unexpected—Dina staggered from his unchecked backhand. Stars danced in her vision. While she gasped and tried to snap out of the shock, he seized Christa and spun her so one hand clamped on her throat and the other bent an arm so sharply Dina expected to hear it pop. She wanted to attack him but this conflict wouldn’t be won that way. She realized, only then, that she wasn’t prepared to kill him, but watching him twist Christa’s arm she was starting to comprehend how people are driven to kill. The side of her face throbbed—she’d never been struck before in her life, but if he thought that would make her afraid of him, he was wrong.

  “Neither of you understands the stakes. I don’t care which of you I hurt, I just know that it doesn’t matter. You’ll cooperate because if you don’t I’ll hurt the other one.”

  Christa sobbed, “I’ll go, I’ll go.”

  Dina wasn’t prepared for the wrenching she felt at Christa’s distress. Damn it, she wasn’t afraid of him for her own sake, but for Christa’s. He’d deftly separated them and now played their pain against each other.

  She heard herself say, “All right, all right, let go of her. You win,” from far away. She’d been a fool thinking he wasn’t dangerous, thinking this was just an elaborate mind game. For the first time in her life she wanted a gun. What had she been thinking, delivering them both so willingly into his control?

  He let go of Christa by pushing her toward the door. She caught herself on the jamb at the top of the first set of stairs, then made her way down them, still sobbing. Goranson sketched a parody of a gentlemanly after-you gesture, and Dina preceded him down the stairs.

  As she navigated the steps, she cursed herself for being a fool, for telling Christa not to sacrifice herself when, at the first sign of Christa’s tears, she had caved just as quickly.

  As they crossed the first basement toward the second flight of stairs, Dina found herself dipping her fingertips stealthily into her purse. She crushed the packets of takeout salt in her hand. Christa went first down the stairs, but when Goranson gestured that she should go second, Dina drew back. They scuffled briefly at the top of the landing, giving Dina just enough time to scatter the salt behind both of them and across the doorway.

  He shoved her into the wall and then down the stairs. She caught herself before she fell all the way, but lost one shoe in the process. Just as well, she thought. She was not going to be at the mercy of high heels. She picked up the fallen shoe at the bottom of the stairs, and started to limp across the room. She removed the other shoe, clutching them both to her chest as if she was sorry she wasn’t wearing them.

  Christa was supporting herself against the wall near where the roots were curling through. Her teeth chattered. “I’m going to be sick, Leo.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “What is it you want from me?” Dina lifted her chin. “The stock price is set, there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s no more money from the investors.”

  His charming and cruel mouth curved into amusement. “Even now, you don’t understand, do you? This is not about money.”

  The weak light flickered, then flattened, giving Goranson an enormous shadow. Dina was suddenly aware of the nauseating smell from her nightmare, and she heard the chittering of the demon.

  She dropped her purse and shoes and covered her ears as a burst of pressure, like an underwater dive, shot pain through her temples.

  Goranson looked like a bad special effect from a Stephen King movie. His eyes glowed red, and his throat bubbled with a menacing laugh meant to frighten her. It did. When was she going to get that there were worse things than dying?

  “I have not fed this well in three hundred years,” he said. “Both of you at the same time, just as it was then. Absolutely delicious. Your stupidity is almost as delectable as your spirit.”

  He advanced on Dina, and the pain in her head intensified to the point of narrowing her vision until all she saw was his face.

  “She’s so easy to drain, but she’s always available. Like mother, like daughter. But you gave her an extra dash of defiance that was wonderful to take away again. So thank you, darling Dina. That was an unexpected pleasure.”

  He turned from her, leaving her gasping as some of the pain receded. He squatted in front of Christa, who had crumpled to her knees, and opened the small volume he’d taken from the table. “It’s time for you to know all. Your family album, Christabel. Look.”

  What Dina could see of the pictures looked like shot after shot of Christa, but with each page the dresses grew more old-fashioned. The pictures gave way to sketches, each the image of Christa. The last was a sketch of Christa in a simple colonial gown.

  “On the day of our very first wedding,” he said.

  Christa looked at him, dazed.

  He moved his hands so quickly Dina couldn’t follow the motions. A flicker of light, and he had another photograph in his hands. “And this is our next wedding. You’re a beautiful bride. We will have many children. The boys will all be like me, and the girls just like you. Look at the picture.”

  “Don’t do it, Christa.”

  “You shut up!” He gestured casually at her, and Dina put both hands to her choking throat. She fell to her knees, fighting for air.

  Christa glanced back and forth between them. Finally, she cried out, “Stop it, Leo! I’ll do it!”

  Dina could breathe in the next instant. She scrabbled for her purse, managed to get the Ziploc bag open and let the cornmeal scatter from her fingertips as she rose to her feet.

  Christa was looking at the picture, her jaw slack.

  Dina slung the bag as hard as she could, dusting its contents onto Goranson and Christa, then on herself.

  Goranson roared with rage as he lunged at her, but Dina got to the wall first. Without hesitation she plunged up to her elbows in the quivering roots.

  For you...

  Rahdonee woke from the nightmare in a sweat of terror. They were visions too horrifying to contemplate. Christabel standing with the demon preacher in his church, Christabel letting him put the binding ring on her finger.

  Then later, Christabel undressing and slipping white-faced between coarse sheets, repeating what he told her to say, that she was ready, that she wanted him to come to their bed, that she wanted him.

  Sickening, it was foul and wrong and Rahdonee wept in the dark, never having felt so far from the Great Mother, so far from love.

  She ached at Christabel’s relief when he turned her away from him, pressing her face into the pillows. Not to have to look at him—it was easier to pretend it wasn’t happening.

  For you...

  It was no nightmare, and Rahdonee wailed to the Great Mother, unable to bear the burden of Christabel’s sacrifice, and knowing in her heart that it was for nothing.

  “The house is yours to tend now.” He was dressed already.

  Christabel made herself get out of bed, though each moti
on was an agony. Her thighs and arms screamed with pain and her face and jaw felt swollen.

  She made him a breakfast of oats and cream while he watched her every move. He ate in silence and looked at her in such a way that she trembled with fear.

  “I’ve no doubt that no one expects newlyweds to be out and about so early. I’d dally with you for the morning if I didn’t have so much to do today.” He rose. “Come here, my wife.”

  She went, and kissed him when he asked.

  “When will you let her go?” She had been afraid to ask, and she was more afraid still. But for the sake of her sanity, she needed to know how long she had to endure.

  “This evening,” he said. “You’ll see her then.”

  I smoothed the picture of my mother. I’d never seen it before. She hadn’t liked her picture taken.

  Was the next page my mother’s mother? And her mother’s mother?

  One long line of victims. We all had the same empty eyes.

  Dina’s cry of pain made me look up. I wanted desperately to help her, but I was frozen in place. Leo was trying to pull her away from the wall. He had her by the hair, but she wouldn’t let go.

  Then Leo made a grab for one of her arms, which was lost in the roots and the crack in the wall. And then the roots were around Leo’s arm, and he couldn’t get free.

  He screamed.

  I wanted to laugh. Then I felt stinging in my arms, as if the roots that now bound him bound me as well.

  Chapter 17

  When the demon preacher told her she could climb the ladder to freedom, Rahdonee didn’t believe him. But she climbed into the night air because dying under the sky was better than dying in the black hole he’d kept her in. The moonlight and his torch dazzled her eyes.

  The wind nearly knocked her off her feet, then she heard weeping. “Christabel.”

  “I’m sorry,” she managed through her tears.