by Mark Tufo
Peter stared at Isabel. “How can I? I only did it for the first time tonight!”
“Yes, but you did well, Peter. “It must be tonight. Did you notice any . . . interruption in Vickar’s conversation while you were there, Peter? Did you notice anything that may have indicated he felt your presence?”
Peter nodded. “He hesitated mid-sentence a few times, as though something nudged him. Or alarmed him, but just mildly. Did you notice that, Glenn?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. He’s usually very focused, but tonight he was a bit choppy. I wouldn’t have even thought anything about it, but now that I know this stuff, yeah.”
“Do you think he knew I was there?” Peter asked.
“Not conclusively,” Isabel said. “But each feeling he gets is tied to something, and he’ll know that. It will needle at him until he reaches his own conclusion, and it may either be right or wrong. We can’t take the chance, I’m afraid. Tonight, you two.”
“So now, then. How will Peter know where – I mean when – I am?” asked Allyson.
“Some of the photos have dates written on the back,” said Isabel. “I know, because I wrote them.”
She removed the bag and laid many photos out in front of her, picking each one up that featured Ellen Carver, and flipping them over.
“So they don’t have to have Chris in them, do they? Not if he’s coming with me as Peter.”
“That is correct.”
“Will Peter be able to communicate with me?”
“Only if we use the hypnosis method to send you back. That way you will be Ellen, but with the awareness of Allyson. In this capacity, you may be able to discover what we need.”
“And what do we need, Isabel?” Peter asked.
“We need something of his flesh. Hair. Skin flakes. Fingernail clippings.”
“And how can we bring it back? We’re not going as flesh, but as spirits, right?”
Isabel looked at Peter. “You know how.”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t – wait. You mean the way Galen transported the trunk?” He was incredulous.
“Exactly. You may be spirit, but you can see your body, can’t you? Even though you can’t be seen?”
Peter’s eyes fell to his hands. He turned them over as though they didn’t belong to him. Maybe they don’t, he thought. “Yes. I could, come to think of it.”
“You go with Ellen, and when she finds what we’re seeking, you will put it in your pocket.”
“You’re not naked, are you?” asked Glenn, smiling for the first time since he arrived.
“Funny. No, I saw the clothes I’m wearing now.”
“Then it will work. You will say this before returning.”
She opened the book toward the back and read:
These things collected from all of my pasts
shall remain with me until the last.
Peter repeated the spell out loud. Then again.
“That’s it? What if I forget it?”
“You will not,” Isabel said. “You must prepare to go now.”
Isabel chose a photograph that she remembered orchestrating herself. She turned it so the others could see it.
“Mother’s photographer had been shooting some pictures of her relaxing at home for an article that was being released about her upcoming film. Ellen had known about it and wanted to see what a photo shoot was like.”
Isabel smiled at the memory. “When it was over, I asked if they would take one of Mother and Ellen together that I could have. Something elegant. Mother indulged me, insisting the photographer shoot it and mail it directly to me with my name on the envelope.”
In the photograph, Lilly stood with Ellen on the stairway, their hands draped gently over the banister, both with glowing smiles.
“Almost right after this photograph was taken, Ferguson Carver’s driver arrived to take Ellen home.”
“June 9th, 1942. That is the date you will need to concentrate on. It was, if I remember correctly, near 5:00 in the evening, just before she was picked up.”
Isabel placed the photograph on the table in front of Allyson. Peter sat beside her, also staring at the photograph, but concentrating hard on the date and the spell he would need to cast before returning. He shifted in his seat. This was more than he had expected tonight.
Hell, he didn’t know what to expect anymore. He leaned over and kissed Allyson on the lips, then put his cheek to hers. “I love you, Ally.”
She looked at him. “I’ve loved you forever, Peter.”
And she looked at the picture.
Isabel began with the words she had said before to relax the traveler’s mind; her voice once again took on a low, melodic tone, and it seemed the words were not important. The light in Allyson’s eyes began to fade, and it was as though a cloak had been drawn over them.
Peter looked one last time at her, then again at the photograph. He closed his eyes, said a short prayer – which was very unlike him – and departed for the past.
*****
Suddenly, Peter stood in Lillian Morris’ living room, and watched the two beautiful women on the stairs. Isabel sat on the bottom step looking up at them with love in her eyes.
Ellen Carver was beautiful; but, he thought, of course she is. The same beautiful soul that resides inside Ally is in there.
Ally’s in there! He’d almost forgotten!
“Allyson. Can you hear me? It’s Peter.”
“Yes,” came the reply. “Don’t distract me.”
Peter’s spirit smiled. She was better at this than he was. He longed to be close to her, as he always did with Ally. When they were done, the doorbell rang. Isabel ran to open it.
“I’m here to retrieve Miss Carver,” the driver said. He was a tall, thin man with a sharp grey uniform complete with a brimmed cap. “She is due home by 6:00.”
“Lilly, it’s been fabulous,” she said, taking Lilly’s hands in hers. She kissed her cheek. “I can’t wait to see the photographs!”
“As soon as they’re done, you shall be first on my list of viewers.”
“Especially MY picture, right, Miss Carver?”
“Now you know you may call me Ellen, don’t you? How many times have I told you?”
“I know,” said Isabel. “I just like the sound of Miss Carver. It sounds so elegant!”
Ellen knelt down and smoothed back Isabel’s hair. She was ten years old now, and in her awkward stage of facial features and teeth, but she was still a lovely young lady, Peter thought.
“Then whatever you want to call me is just dandy,” she said, kissing the girl on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” the child replied, beaming.
“Miss?” the driver said, waving a hand toward the car through the open front door.
Ellen waved a quick goodbye and walked through the door. Peter followed and got in the car door behind her, even as the door closed on what should have been his foot, but wasn’t. Because it wasn’t really there.
“That was strange,” Peter said.
“I noticed it,” said Allyson. “This is easier than I thought.”
“Peter?” said Ellen aloud.
Peter and Allyson were startled at her saying his name.
The driver glanced over his shoulder and said in a terse tone, “My name is Franklin, but I know you’re quite aware of it.”
“Of course,” she said, clearly shaken.
Peter rode in silence the rest of the way to Ferguson Carver’s home.
No. Murdock Vickar’s home. Semantics, he thought. Purely semantics.
*****
Ellen accompanied the driver into the house, and Peter followed. The sensation was strange, being invisible, yet able to see himself, his clothes, his hands. But of course all of this would be odd; he had only done it twice now, this traveling through time.
At least in this life. Of course he’d had lots of practice before, as Galen.
Peter saw Ellen’s father standing
in the foyer as they entered, and he stopped short, even held his breath..
I have nothing to worry about. He can’t see me.
But can he feel me?
Carver’s reaction was a bit unusual. He did not speak to Ellen immediately, rather he looked up at the entry chandelier, then, as though inspecting the air for gnats, he looked all around. Then his eyes returned to his daughter.
“Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes. Please get dressed.”
Peter wasn’t sure what he meant. Ellen had been dressed beautifully, having just posed for a lovely photo with Lilly. But he supposed there was a protocol that he insisted on.
Drifting with Ellen as she went upstairs to get changed, Peter decided to do some searching on his own. Carver had gone into the dining room, so Peter decided he would find Vickar’s bedroom and see if he could get what he had come for.
“Do you hear me, Ally?”
“Yes,” came the clear answer in his head.
This was pretty cool.
“I’m heading for Carver’s bedroom. I’ll see if I can find anything, hair, nail clippings, whatever.”
“Be careful, Peter.”
“You, too. You have to have dinner with the beast.”
“I’m learning how to shield my thoughts from Ellen’s, I think,” she said. “In my mind I put up a wall between us when I speak with you, and it seems to be working . . . I guess I’d say like a charm.”
“Just be careful, like I said, okay?”
“Of course. She’s frightened of him, Peter. So much.”
“If she only knew what she’s supposed to know,” Peter said.
He found a room at the end of the hall with the door closed. He thought himself forward, and in an instant, he was inside the room.
The ceilings were sixteen feet high, at least. The opulence was gaudy in its extremes. Gold leaf paint on the walls, soaring arches. Highly polished brass statues of gargoyles placed all around the room, as though acting as sentries, guarding the warlock from evil.
But they did not see Peter either. At least he didn’t believe so.
He continued walking the room, then saw a connected bathroom. He went in and looked around.
The same polished brass – or gold, he wasn’t sure – accented this room as well. Fixtures, more gargoyles, large and small. Perhaps Carver just liked the evil looks on their faces. Maybe it made him feel at home, Peter thought.
He was surprised to see that he need not open cabinets or drawers. He could look at them and see what lay beyond the wooden drawer and cabinet fronts.
X-ray vision, too, he thought. This is the shit!
But he saw nothing that would help him. No combs or brushes that were not entirely clean. Not a hair to be found.
He scanned the floor. Maybe the cleaning staff had overlooked something.
But it, too, was clean.
Then he heard a scream from downstairs.
“Ally!” he thought. He thought hard, as though it would have more impact. “Are you alright?”
No answer. He pictured the dining room, and he was there in a flash, standing before Carver, who stood over Ellen, who lay on the floor with a vicious red mark on her face.
Ellen had put her hair up, strands of it drifting down to her shoulders. It was secured beautiful silver clasp of some sort. She wore a silver necklace, so highly polished it shone brightly around her neck, reflecting the lights in the room.
Her dress, now bunched up to her knees as she tried to draw away from the brutal, sadistic man she believed was only a man, was long and flowing, an evening gown of some sort. Did he make her dress this way for dinner every evening? As though she were going to the theater?
“Tell me! Tell me you met that Wickham bastard at Lilly’s tonight!”
“I didn’t!” she cried from the floor, her hands over her face, as though shielding from another blow.
Carver reached down, and as if he had superhuman strength, pulled his daughter off the floor as though she weighed no more than a feather blanket.
Peter was shaking. He wanted to attack Carver, to pummel him with his fists.
He wanted to kill him.
He’d never had a feeling of hatred such as what he felt now. Perhaps because he’d never felt the love for someone as he felt it for Allyson, and in turn, Ellen. They were the same, of course.
His fists, balled, he held himself in check and watched as Ellen now stood in front of her furious father.
Then Carver stopped and looked at the set table. He turned his head and scanned the room as though he’d seen or heard something and strove to find the origin.
He released his grip on Ellen’s shoulders and walked slowly around the dining room, stopping directly in front of Peter.
Peter had an idea. It was risky, but he found he could not resist. He reached out and plucked a hair from Carver’s head. He wasn’t even sure he could, but when it came out by the root, the inch-long hair taken from just above his left ear, Carver slapped his head as though he’d been bitten by a bug.
He whirled around.
Then he looked back at Ellen and stared for what must have been a full minute.
He looked frightened. And confused. But that mixed expression disappeared from his face, and he moved toward his seat at the table.
“Never lie to me, do you understand?”
“Chris wasn’t there, I swear, father.”
“I’ll ask the driver if he noticed anything. He’s dedicated to me, so if you think he’ll favor you deceiving me, you’re mistaken.”
“Oh, my God,” Allyson’s voice came. “Did you just do what I thought you did?”
“I did,” Peter said. “Are you alright?”
“I wasn’t for a moment,” she said, as Ellen took her seat. “But if you have what we need, you need to say those words and we need to go.”
The butler came in and served them their dinner. A large roast was carved, and fresh vegetables, corn and peas, were also on the table, as well as boiled potatoes.
They ate in silence. Peter wished he could save Ellen, but her fate was already written, as were Chris’s, Lilly’s and Joshua’s. They would all die by the Evil One’s hand, and he and his good friends would be the next generation of those meant to chase the warlock down.
“Let’s go,” he said. Then he whispered, afraid somehow of Carver hearing: “These things collected from all of my pasts shall remain with me until the last.”
He slipped the hair that he had unconsciously held in his fingers into the pocket of his jeans.
And he disappeared.
*****
Carver stopped eating. He looked at Ellen and said, “These things collected.”
“What?”
He looked confused. Her father never looked confused, she thought. He either looked angry or smug. But now he looked confused, and . . . even a bit out of sorts.
“What’s wrong, father?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I thought I heard something. But never mind. Eat your dinner then retire for the evening.”
She knew better than to argue. And now that he had mentioned Chris’ name, she realized how much she missed him.
Since the fire, her father had kept close watch on her. Meeting with Chris was too risky, and she was sure she’d never see him again. And yet her mind was drawn to him like destiny almost every moment.
She finished her dinner, asked to be excused, and walked slowly up the curved staircase with the rich, dark wood banister. She walked into her room and fell face down on her bed and cried.
And downstairs, Murdock Vickar sat motionless at the dining table and stared at the carved roast.
These things collected . . .
Something about the words seemed familiar. An incantation, perhaps? Was he simply remembering something from an earlier time? Something he himself had said?
He touched the place above his left ear where he’d felt the sting, the tiny prick, earlier.
It was as though a hair had
been plucked from his head.
That night, Murdock Vickar stood outside the home of his current identity, Ferguson Carver. He gazed through the black night, seeing clearly, and focused on a point in the distance, in the middle of rolling hills, the grass dead from the hot California summer sun.
And as he stared, a spark, then a small flickering flame became visible. The flame grew to the size of a campfire, and then a bonfire. He then looked at the sky and raised his arms.
He waved them, his palms spread.
The wind came up quickly, buffeting the flames, giving them fuel and life. Before long, the entire hillside was ablaze.
And he slowly walked back into the house, knowing it would burn around his home, and destroy hundreds of others, taking the lives of the simple idiots who lived within.
It was a good way to get over the discomfort he’d felt earlier.
It always was.
*****
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Peter sat up from the couch with a jolt. He turned immediately to see Allyson beside him, still seemingly in a trance from the photograph.
“Wait, Peter,” said Isabel. “She’s stirring now. It started just before you came back.”
Seconds later, Allyson opened her eyes. She blinked, and looked at Peter.
“Wow,” she said. “What kind of prick is he?”
“I think he felt us – or me, anyway, Peter said. “When he was bullying you I wanted to kill him.”
“We will.”
Peter looked at her. “Are you planning to tell your father about any of this?”
“I have to. He won’t believe it, but I can convince him, I think. I’ll have to do it without Emma there, so I promise, no theatrics like earlier.”
