by B. T. Lord
There was an added component to their relationship that Emmy found touching. Whether it started when they were young Emmy couldn’t be sure, but Lydia was very protective of her shy friend, who always blushed a deep shade of crimson whenever she was asked for an opinion at the meetings. It was then that Lydia would swoop in and help her friend out, deflecting the attention that she knew Beth hated onto herself.
She’d met the two young women at the monthly meetings, and was immediately drawn to them. Maybe it was because they were close in age and the youngest in a group of strong, opinionated older women. They shared many of the same interests, so much so that they’d begun meeting at Lydia’s every Friday night for pot luck dinner and a showing of their favorite horror movies.
“You’re upset,” Lydia stated categorically as soon as she saw Emmy’s face.
Emmy had long ago become accustomed to Lydia’s uncanny ability to zero in on how a person was feeling, even if no words were spoken. Rather than deny the obvious, she nodded.
“Climb in. We were on our way to Zee’s to grab some lunch. We can all eat together.”
Although Emmy was technically on duty and should be at her desk, for once she didn’t care. She really was upset and cold, and just wanted to sit with someone who could understand what she was feeling, without going into detail.
The lunch crowd was starting to build when they walked into Zee’s. Emmy and Beth sat at a table near the roaring fireplace while Lydia went up to the bar to order some sandwiches. Five minutes later, they were sipping hot cocoa, the heat from the fire finally melting the cold from Emmy’s limbs.
Lydia waited a few moments before fixing her large grey eyes on Emmy.
“Is it what happened to Marcy?” she asked, while Beth absently curled a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
Emmy looked down at the hot cocoa and uttered a long, deep sigh.
“Sort of. I mean, who would have ever thought she’d take a rifle and do what she did? Like, I know she was a bit flaky--”
“Certifiable was more like it,” Lydia remarked.
“Yeah. Still…”
Lydia reached over and placed her hand over Emmy’s. “That’s really not what’s bothering you though, is it?”
Emmy hesitated before uttering another long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it, Lydia. Rick is – I don’t know. It was stupid to try. It’s never going to work.”
Lydia sat back. “You just don’t have enough trust. Everything’s possible, Em. You just need to have faith.”
Beth nodded sagely.
They bagged the remains of the apple pie and after making sure the back door was still locked, Cammie and Rick scoured the entire house from top to bottom, but the mug was gone. Nor could they find another entrance that would have been used to get inside Marcy’s house. By the end of the search, they were both coughing so badly from the dust and mold, they practically ran out of the house. They stood on the porch and took in deep lungfuls of cold, clean air.
“That calls for hazardous pay,” Rick croaked. “Next time I go in there, I’m renting a HazMat suit.”
Cammie didn’t answer. Instead, she went to the four houses in the cul-de-sac and asked if they’d seen anyone enter the house since that morning. Many of the neighbors admitted the house had been surrounded by curiosity seekers, but no one took any notice if someone actually found a way inside.
She and Rick sat in her Explorer with the heat on full blast. She absently tapped her lip with her fingertip, deep in thought.
“You think someone stole the mug as a souvenir or something?” Rick asked.
“Obviously someone must have gotten inside to grab it. It’s always possible Marcy gave somebody a key to her house. She was an elderly woman living alone. Even being anti-social, she still may have had enough sense to give someone a key in case something happened to her. I’ll have to call Jerry and see if he knows the answer to that.”
“How do you know only the mug was taken? There’s so much shit in that place, you could have a hundred people take stuff and it wouldn’t even make a dent.”
“True. Still…” Cammie took out her cellphone and dialed. A moment later, Doc answered.
“Are you ordering a toxicology report on Marcy?” she asked.
“Of course I am. What do you think I am? Some kind of amateur?” He abruptly hung up.
Rick turned in his seat and stared at Cammie. “You thinking someone put something in her tea? That’s why the mug is missing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was severe depression that made her go nuts. Or maybe she was helped. At least we’ll be able to rule out that possibility if the report comes back negative.”
Rick stared out the Explorer’s window. “Until that happens, I’m sticking to my mold theory. You can’t mess with mold. No sir. That stuff is beyond toxic!”
As much as she loathed talking to him again, Cammie had no choice but to call Jerry again and ask about the key. He knew nothing about it. As Cammie hung up the phone, she decided to put this case aside until the toxicology reports came in, although she was beginning to suspect they might come back negative. She’d pretty much made up her mind that it was severe depression that caused Marcy to finally snap. She knew only too well how much depression could wreak havoc with a person’s life.
It had, after all, killed her mother.
CHAPTER FIVE
The lone chair in the middle of the circle somehow looked obscene. None of the women wanted to admit how hard they’d once tried not to get stuck sitting next to that chair. They’d do everything in their power to arrive early so they could sit as far away from that chair as possible. But now that the chair was empty, and would remain empty, it made them sad. And regretful. And yes, even though they would never say it, relieved.
It was a few nights after the incident with Marcy. Emmy sat opposite the empty chair and although she tried not to look, her eyes were continually drawn to it. Were they really going to leave it there? As some kind of weird memorial? Hopefully wherever Marcy was, she’d appreciate the gesture.
Emmy’s eyes widened as a horrified thought occurred to her. Was it possible that Marcy could continue to suck them dry from beyond the grave? She’d been so good at it in life. Maybe they were here, not so much to remember Marcy, but to make sure she didn’t rise from her grave and attack all that made their little group happy.
Lydia and Beth slid into the chairs on either side of her.
“Um, what exactly are we going to do tonight?” Emmy forced herself to ask.
“We’re honoring Marcy,” Lydia explained. “With candles, chanting, the whole bit.”
“That’s why the chair is there?”
Lydia nodded. “They’re going to put a white candle on it. Then some evergreens, salt and a sachet of sweet smelling herbs.”
The three looked at each other, then broke out into giggles.
“I know, I know,” Lydia hiccupped between giggles. “They should have given Marcy the sweet smelling herbs while she was alive. Would have saved us from having to breathe out of our mouths if we got unlucky to sit next to her.”
A voice came from the small kitchen. “Can someone help me serve the tea?”
Lydia jumped up, and in two strides was in the kitchen. She soon returned, holding a tray of delicate teacups, filled with the most delicious aromatic tea Emmy had yet to savor. As she passed them around to the other ladies, Emmy took a whiff. This was one of her most favorite parts of the evening. She never knew what kind of tea was going to be served. It depended on the inspiration of the day since the teas were all homemade. Emmy was still learning her herbs, but she thought she could detect the sweet aroma of lemongrass, rosehips and something else she couldn’t quite put a finger on. She took a sip and then she knew. It was a pinch of cinnamon.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. I know it’s short notice, but I thought it would be beneficial to honor our friend Marcy.”
Emmy nodded as she took another sip. Hopefully this was the last
time they’d have to do this kind of honoring. Hopefully nothing more dreadful was going to happen. She’d had enough with Marcy’s death to last a lifetime.
“The tea is particularly good tonight,” she murmured to her friends.
She turned her attention back to the center of the circle. The ceremony was about to begin.
The evening hadn’t been as bad as Emmy had feared it would be. In fact, the honoring of Marcy had actually been uplifting. They’d shared stories and laughed about her grouchy personality. In a strange, unexpected way, it brought each of the group a little closer to the woman who, in her own way, had made each of their lives a living hell.
Driving down the silent, snow packed roads, Emmy thought about the evening. Sitting there with the ladies, recounting stories of Marcy’s insults, she’d realized how poignant it was that Marcy’s entire life could be summed up in less than an hour. And during that time, there was not one nice thing anyone could find to say about her.
What will it be like when I die? Will people be able to sum up my life in less than an hour? Will that time be filled with stories about how nice I was? How much I liked to help people? What kind of impact will my life have had on others?
One thing was certain. She didn’t want her life to have the same impact as Marcy’s.
The road she was on skirted the denser forest that surrounded Twin Ponds. With only her headlights to illuminate the road, her mind continued to ponder the philosophy of her life. And what part, if any, love would play in it.
She sighed. At this rate, it didn’t look as though it would play any part at all. None of the guys her own age gave her the time of day, especially now that she worked at the Sheriff’s Department. It was as though they were terrified she’d tell her boss they’d been drinking too much, or speeding along the back roads, or racing on their snowmobiles. Not that she ever would. She had a strict policy that she shared nothing about her job with anyone and vice versa. But they didn’t know that. And truth be told, she found them all pretty immature anyway. There was only one guy she was really interested in, but hoping he’d realize what a catch she could be was the same as hoping she’d end up marrying a prince from some foreign country.
Ain’t ever going to happen.
She unconsciously slipped her hand into her coat pocket, gently wrapping her fingers around the baggie.
Impulsively, she pulled over and stepped out into the frigid night air. Taking the baggie out of her pocket, she opened it and shook out the contents onto the snow covered road. She then ground them with the heel of her boot into the hard packed snow. Feeling better, she got back into her car and continued her drive home.
The next few weeks saw a concentrated effort on Cammie’s part to both shed the weight she’d gained eating Doc’s gourmet meals, and build up her stamina.
As part of her plan to try to get her life back into some kind of normalcy, she convinced Doc to let her go back to work part-time, with the promise she wouldn’t overdo it. So far, she’d been careful to adhere to that promise. Cantankerous by nature, lately she’d noticed Doc’s moods darker than usual.
Although she considered him a dear friend, there was still so much about Doc she didn’t know. And he’d made it perfectly clear that if he ever decided to share details about his life, it would be solely on his terms. He took offense at even the most innocuous of questions. All Cammie knew for sure was that, despite graduating top of his class at Harvard and John Hopkins, he had a contentious relationship with his family because of his sexual orientation. He’d married four times in an effort to please them before realizing that no matter what he did, his father in particular, would never be satisfied.
Living under the same roof as Doc for the past three months and observing him closely, there were moments when she wondered if what she saw was an invention, an illusion of who Doc wanted to be, rather than who he really was. Yet why he’d want to be an irascible, bad tempered human being with an acid tongue was beyond her. Though, she had to admit, it kept people at arm’s length. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look that Doc had obviously been very hurt in the past.
Despite her initial reservations, he actually seemed to enjoy having her around, cooking for her, discussing his latest cases, having her sit with him in the living room while he lounged in his favorite chair, puffing on his pipe, wrapped in his pink silk peignoir and his feet encased in his fuzzy bunny slippers.
Like much in her life lately, she shelved worries of what he’d do once she returned to her cabin.
And that day was fast approaching. Meeting three times a week to play pick-up hockey, Jace knew how to push her enough that she wouldn’t end up collapsing in a heap on the ice, yet still achieve the purpose of getting her back in physical shape.
They’d fallen into an easy routine where nothing personal was discussed. Jace showed up around eight pm, they played for an hour, he went home, and Cammie went to bed. In those moments when she allowed herself to think about him, she couldn’t deny she enjoyed these evenings. He’d always had a knack of knowing just what to say to make her laugh. A part of her knew this wasn’t going to last forever. Sooner or later, the specter of their relationship was going to have to be discussed. Yet for now, she kept her focus on getting better. As long as the white elephant between them kept quiet, she saw no need to shoot it.
On the other side of Twin Ponds, Emmy, Beth and Lydia were seated side by side on the couch in Lydia’s cozy, immaculately kept apartment.
It was Friday night – girls night at Lydia’s. The three friends were all watching a horror movie, the light from the flat screen TV flickering in the darkness. Their eyes were glued to the set as they passed a big bowl of popcorn back and forth between themselves.
It was the story of a group of girls, about the same ages as Emmy, Beth and Lydia who were dabbling in witchcraft. The scene they were watching had the girls reading from a huge, dust covered book in order to conjure up a demon that would do their bidding. Both the girls in the movie, and the girls on the couch jumped in fright at its sudden appearance and hideous features. The creature had a long, white face with huge holes where its eyes should be, and fangs that rivaled those of any lions or tigers. Emmy in particular shuddered.
“That’s crazy,” she exclaimed to cover up her fright. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life.”
“Are you sure?” Lydia asked.
Emmy whipped her head around and looked at Lydia, the colors from the television reflecting on her cheeks and forehead. “What do you mean?”
Lydia picked up the remote and paused the movie. She then turned on the lamp and looked across Beth at Emmy.
“Have you ever heard of a Book of Shadows?”
Emmy nodded. “Of course. It’s where spells are written down.”
Lydia nodded. “Sometimes these books are handed down generation after generation.”
“So?”
“So? Some of those spells can be pretty powerful.”
Emmy rolled her eyes. “Now you’re getting dramatic.”
“I am not!” Lydia exclaimed. “I’ve seen such a book. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to mess with the owner, or the spells it contains.”
Emmy didn’t know if Lydia was kidding or not. She glanced at Beth and a sliver of fear snaked its way down her back. Beth remained silent as usual, but instead of looking at Lydia, she kept her eyes averted, staring down at her hands. As if afraid that if she looked at Emmy, she’d reveal the truth of Lydia’s words.
“So where have you seen this powerful Book of Shadows?” Emmy asked, gathering up all the bravado she could muster.
Lydia opened her mouth, then quickly shut it. She shook her head vehemently from side to side.
“I think it best if we change the subject. I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.”
“Oh come on!’ Emmy laughed. “You can’t do that to me!”
She immediately swallowed her laugh when she saw the unmistakable signs of anxiety on Lydia’s face.
“Look Em, the world isn’t as nice and cozy as you would like it to be. There are forces out there, forces that can hurt and maim and even kill. And I’m not talking about forces from our material world.”
“No,” Beth whispered.
“You believe this nonsense too?” Emmy asked Beth.
Beth nodded, still keeping her eyes averted.
“I’m telling you, Emmy, there’s--”
Lydia was interrupted when Beth shot her hand out and tightly grabbed Lydia’s fingers. Emmy saw Beth was trembling. Lydia took a deep breath and covered Beth’s shaking hand with her own. “You think this movie is all made up in someone’s head. But stuff like that does happen. And I don’t want to get on the wrong side of the person who can make stuff like that happen. So let’s just forget I said anything, and watch the end of the movie.”
Emmy suddenly gasped as a name flashed through her mind. “Wait a minute. You honestly can’t mean –“
Lydia cut her off. “I said drop it!”
With that, Lydia un-paused the movie and turned off the light, sending the room back into darkness.
Emmy tried to concentrate on the movie, but it was no use. Lydia’s words kept repeating themselves over and over in her head. The sliver of fear grew until it threatened to swamp her. Was it possible? Could demons actually exist? Could someone actually call them up using a Book of Shadows?
It was too ludicrous. She liked Lydia, but the woman was either having fun with her, or was one of those who believed in cockamamie theories like wizards and demons, UFOs and Bigfoot.
Nevertheless, on her way home later that night, Emmy raced along in her car as fast as she could. Normally, she obeyed the speed limit, but the nightly shadows seemed more frightening, as if within the darkness lurked creatures just waiting to slip through and drag her into the blackness.
