by Lola Swain
I stood from the ground and placed Andy in Céline’s lap. Brandt and Nellie were thrown in the back of separate squad cars and one of the officers bent down and tried to figure out what was wrong with Mr. Conway. I ran toward the rose garden screaming for James, but when I went through the gates, only Adelaide was inside.
“Where is he?” I said and leaned against the altar.
“Sit down, Sophia,” she said.
“No! Where is James?”
“He’s gone,” Adelaide said.
“What do you mean?” I said and climbed up on her base and pressed my face against her chest. “Where did he go?”
“You know where he went,” Adelaide said. “He broke the Law.”
I slid down her body and fell to my knees at her base.
“Please,” I said and rested my forehead against her icy stone, “get him back. It’s my fault.”
“I cannot,” she said. “It has been decreed.”
“Tell me where he is so I can see him,” I said. “I just want to touch his face, just one more second.”
“I’m sorry,” Adelaide said, “but it’s too late.”
“But he did it for me! It was the right thing to do!”
“It is against the Law.”
“Fuck the Law and fuck you!”
“I am so sorry, Sophia.”
“He said he would never leave,” I said.
I closed my eyes and wished to be turned to stone at Adelaide’s feet.
“He had to leave. He had to give you what you wanted.”
“I only ever wanted him.”
“If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.”
Oscar Wilde
If you are able to find a human who admits they were at the Battleroy Hotel on February 14, 1968, more than likely, they’ll just tell you that their trip was as uneventful as any other.
Those who saw what happened would never admit that they witnessed two bodies being dragged through the snow by something that was clearly not there. And certainly, none will admit to seeing the explosion and the resulting flames of the spontaneous combustion that occurred by the woods. Even among each other, they won’t speak of the claw marks that appeared on the bodies that were dragged as if their flesh split apart like a watermelon hit with a mallet.
And you certainly won’t hear a peep from Mr. Conway who was institutionalized on February 15th and officially retired as manager of the Battleroy. The sixth Mr. Conway soon took over.
What you will learn is that on March 20, 1968, Brandt Therrault and his mistress Nellie Daniels were convicted of the murder of Sophia Pearson-Therrault, after a police officer discovered a confession for the murder written on a sheet of Battleroy Hotel stationary. But not even Brandt and Nellie, nor the police officers present, will be able to tell you what happened to them. The terror they experienced frightened their memories of that night away forever.
Brandt Therrault and Nellie Daniels remain imprisoned for my murder and are sicker today then the day they were brought in. Not long on life, really. Not long on life at all.
Bobby Allen was freed from the Bridgewater Prison for the Criminally Insane. However, in a blunder common for that institution, Bobby Allen was not released until the warden at Bridgewater figured out he was still holding a boy on the suspicion of a murder that two other people were already convicted of.
They really fucked Bobby Allen up in Bridgewater. The constant interrogations and electroshock turned a bright, wonderful boy who had dreams of going to Harvard into a mannequin. His family tried to stuff him full of happiness just as the guards at Bridgewater tried to stuff him full of gruel when they shoved a filthy tube, lubed up with bicycle chain grease, up his nose and into his stomach when he refused to eat.
Bobby Allen walked into the lobby of the Battleroy on January 12, 1969, holding a .38. He went after Mr. Conway to exact his revenge for a life ruined. And when he was told that Mr. Conway was long gone, Bobby Allen ended his pain in the lobby with a bullet to his brain. Bobby tells me to this day that he thought the dogs he heard as he walked into the hotel were hallucinations.
May Gaspar refused to glance in my direction for nearly sixteen years after Anthony died. Then, one day she came into the rose garden and sat on top of the altar next to me. She told me about a magnificent dream she had about Tony. He told her to forgive me because he never blamed me for his death. May said that when Tony released her, she realized that what she wanted in this life was love, so she set off to find it. May Gaspar and Judah Roderick were brought together by their quirks and remain in love to this day.
Patrick and Céline’s relationship became quite tenuous for many years. Shortly after the incident, Céline realized that she wanted to accept love. But Patrick, used to Céline’s wild and adventurous spirit, resisted the notion of such a commitment and he left Céline for Mary McDonald, who surprised everyone by dumping Perry Alden.
I didn’t think anyone sobbed as much as me until I sat with Céline for years as she cried over the loss of Patrick. She followed him around the hotel and begged him to return to her, threatening to throw Mary McDonald over the property line if he did not. And then one day she got, as she said, a case of the fuck-its and was simply done with Patrick Lucien and his cruel ways. And it was then, as it happens, that Patrick Lucien realized the mistake that he made in leaving Céline and spent nearly twenty-eight years winning her back.
As in real battle, there were not any winners as a result of my best laid plan gone awry, only casualties. We all lost the joy that we gained by being part of the plan.
At the time, we freaks who seemed as out of whack in life as we were in death, belonged to one another. There is a purer joy when you are part of a community like ours, but as any other, it can become fragile. While we will always look exactly the same as we did on the day we died, our ideals and values and desires will advance as if we have the ability to age.
As for those damn memories, well, they refuse to fade.
And me? Well, the first few years I tried in vain to kill myself several times. I jumped off the roof, weighted myself down with rocks and walked into the sea, I even stuck my head into the oven. And at the end of each incident, one of the others came along, dusted me off and sent me on my way. The wolves posted themselves at the property line so I couldn’t jump over. Andy Larabee tried to guilt me into sticking around because he said I was the closest thing he had to a mother. That worked.
I began a long period of waiting and wondering.
I fantasized for many years that James did in fact return to his life, that Hades and Thanatos took mercy on him and sent him back to a world that he missed more than he would ever admit. I read all the papers hoping to see a picture of his handsome face at some gallery opening or gala. But all I had left were the pictures I saw when I closed my eyes.
I refused to take another lover, because there was no one else I wanted to occupy the space beside me. That space was always only ever meant for James.
I entered a decade of arrested development, some called it a deranged optimism, where I spoke to him every day. I closed my eyes and had long conversations with James as if he was right in front of me. I even snapped at the others when they interrupted my discussions with him. Even Adelaide was extra nice to me because she thought I really flipped my wig.
What great hell the years without James truly were.
And then, thirty years later, as I sat on the cliff over the lake during a particularly sorrowful meditation, he walked up to me as if he never left and said—
“Hello, butterfly.”
I pretended not to notice the lash and claw marks that covered his body and told the story of the terrible torture he endured. I asked him not about the limp he now walks with, nor the hoarseness of his voice. He is still as handsome as he was on June 23, 1967.
“I knew you would come back to me,” I said and threw my arms around his neck.
“I had to come back. You still owe me that second secret.”
And back James remains.
“And so they played some of the world’s loveliest piano music - the exiled homesick girl, the humiliated, tired old man. Not properly. Better than that.”
Eva Ibbotson
The End
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About The Author
Ava Ayers spends her days sunning on the shore of Sanremo and her nights fighting crime and changing the footwear choices of those with a propensity for pairing socks and Birkenstocks…or nothing like that. Mostly she likes entertaining her readers with epic tales of lust, love and intrigue involving strong men and even stronger women—something very near and dear to her heart. She is the best-selling author of Immoral Beloved, an erotic romance fantasy novel and the newly released novel The Inquisitor’s Song.
If you would like to receive information on new releases, promotional codes for free or discounted books or to chat with Ava Ayers, drop her a line at [email protected]. You can catch up with Ava Ayers by visiting her blog at avaayers.blogspot.com.
Parawhormal Activity
By Lola Swain
For Elissa who threw a line into the well and pulled her up. And to Zoey for the inspiration.
She loved him before she knew him and that love undid her.
Zoe Nicolas saw the world through the rose-colored heart she wore on her sleeve. A beautiful and beguiling girl, Zoe’s beauty was only surpassed by her desperation for connection. Her obsession with belonging to him.
When she met Dr. Allen Connor, Zoe finally found the man she would be connected to for eternity.
But that came later.
Zoe was blessed with an exquisite beauty that left all the boys she met begging to possess her. And Zoe welcomed their obsession. From the time she was in the sixth grade and had her first boyfriend, Zoe felt that if she did not have the title of girlfriend to some boy, she was nothing. And soon, whichever boy she did manage to hook, realized she had this mindset as well.
They played along for a bit, allowing her the privilege of wearing their letter jacket or having the best view at their rowing matches, but soon these boys realized that there was no way they could fulfill Zoe’s demand to make her whole. They all wondered, before they moved on to greener pastures, how such an amazing looking girl could be so needy. And the faster they ran, the more desperate Zoe became.
Each time she was dumped, Zoe turned to her best friend since the first grade, Vicky Westwood, for advice on how to get the boy back. Vicky had a laid-back ease that made people feel relaxed and open and no one was more relaxed and open around Vicky than her best friend Zoe Nicolas. Vicky tried to counsel Zoe over the years on the ways to keep a man around, but Zoe was so insecure, even Vicky’s sage advice did not do the trick. She begged Vicky to talk to these boys and see if she could somehow convince them to change their minds. And Vicky, as Zoe’s dutiful best friend, was always more than happy to oblige.
While Vicky was a very pretty girl, she was no Zoe. Blond with clear blue eyes and a curvy body, Vicky looked like the typical college coed, but there was nothing overly memorable about her. Zoe, on the other hand, with her moss green eyes, full, bee-stung lips and bouncy hair made you take a second and third glance. At just under 5”9, Zoe had a tight body and full tits that begged to be sucked. But Zoe didn’t yet realize that looks alone don’t keep a man around and Vicky had much more going for her than looks.
Vicky had the ultimate secret.
Zoe always picked the same type of guy : gorgeous, popular and powerful. Vicky liked this type of guy as well and wanted one for her very own. And while Vicky had many men, that type of man was never with Vicky Westwood in public.
In private, however, that type of guy was instantly drawn to Vicky Westwood and Vicky happily serviced them…under the bleachers, in storage closets, in gas station bathrooms. It did make Vicky upset that the powerful, alpha men she and her best friend sought were more than willing to bring Zoe out in the light while they kept her in the dark, but Vicky knew that it was only a matter of time before she had one of her own. At that point, she was content with sloppy seconds. Namely, Zoe’s sloppy seconds.
And now we come to Vicky’s ultimate secret.
Vicky Westwood hated Zoe Nicolas with a passion that only intensified as the years passed.
It started in the sixth grade when Harry Masters, the love of Vicky’s life, dumped Vicky for Zoe. And much to Vicky’s heartbreak, rather than tell Harry to go jump in a lake for dumping her best friend, Zoe accepted Harry’s invitation to become his girlfriend.
That he won the spelling bee only because of Vicky’s coaching meant nothing to Harry Masters. Zoe Nicolas was the most beautiful girl at Boston Academy and as the most handsome boy, it only made sense for Harry to dump the less beautiful friend in favor of the most beautiful friend.
Vicky spent days writing in her diary about how Zoe betrayed her. And she never got over it.
But when sixth grade rolled into seventh and Zoe and Harry who were still the couple of the school, started having problems, Vicky was on hand to counsel Harry into the best course of action.
Vicky approached Harry after football practice and told him she needed to speak to him about Zoe. Harry, filled with hormones and adolescent angst, went with Vicky willingly under the bleachers. Zoe was a cold fish compared to her wild friend and with burgeoning testosterone ruling his life, it took Harry Masters less than thirty-nine seconds to make up his mind to dump Zoe when Vicky offered the more tangible gifts.
After Harry broke Zoe’s heart, Vicky silently reveled in Zoe’s pain. She hugged her and smiled over Zoe’s shoulder, she squealed inside at the sight of Zoe’s eyes…swollen and red-rimmed from sobbing. One day, Vicky failed to tell Zoe to wipe her nose and laughed out loud when she saw some of the football players making fun of Zoe’s snot-crusted face during cheerleading practice.
And that feeling, the feeling of defeating Zoe, grew more addictive as the years wore on.
When they were freshmen in college, Zoe was convinced she found the one in Trent Touchstone, star-athlete at Boston College. Trent was an extremely handsome boy. Zoe met him in the library and as soon as their eyes locked, they couldn’t get enough of each other. Trent was finishing his junior year and was on track to attend Harvard Law after graduation. This pleased Zoe very much. A lawyer on her arm would surely make her something. The truth was, for all his looks and his incredible body, Trent Touchstone bored the hell out of Zoe and he was pretty lousy in bed, to boot.
But none of that mattered as much as the potential of Trent Touchstone and how his presence made Zoe feel about herself. Her classes were easier to master because of Trent. She was the envy of all the girls in her dorm because of Trent. She pledged the best sorority at BC and got Vicky in too…all because of Trent. But somewhere into the sophomore year, Zoe felt that familiar pulling away that she came to dread. She decided to try something different the moment she felt Trent’s distance and not wait until he left her to take action.
She became more experimental in bed, even allowing him access to her beautiful, firm ass he begged for since they started fucking, but after the pain subsided, Trent seemed as far away as he was before she allowed him entry. She suggested a ménage-a-tois one night after she fucked him until they were both soaked in sweat, but that only managed to make Trent wonder if Zoe was a lesbian. Zoe once again turned to her best friend and roommate Vicky Westwood for advice. Vicky never lacked male companionship. Zoe felt guilty when she wondered how Vicky always ended up fighting off guys when Zoe only ever managed to get dumped. It was not fair, Zoe thought.
Every time Vicky sensed that one of Zoe’s boyfriends grew weary of keeping up the maintenance on Zoe’s high-maintenance ass, Vicky Westwood was right there to encourage the breakup and prove to the guy that she was the better choice. But for all her powers of persuasion, Vicky was unable to convince Zoe’s boyfriends to take her out in publi
c. No, Vicky Westwood was definitely backseat fodder, but Vicky felt that as long as she had the backseat and Zoe had no seat, that was good enough for her.
Good enough, that is, until Zoe introduced her best friend to Dr. Allen Connor.
Zoe graduated from Boston College with a vanilla business degree and managed to get a job at a boutique advertising agency in downtown Boston. She didn’t have any real responsibility and was nothing more within the organization than a high-paid receptionist, but the agency liked Zoe’s looks and Zoe liked that she could easily pay the rent on she and Vicky’s expensive apartment in Boston’s fashionable south end while Vicky completed nursing school.
Zoe never figured Vicky for a nurse and more than expected her to find a high-paying husband before she found a high-paying job, but Vicky always wanted to marry a doctor and figured this was a good way to accomplish her goal. Besides, her parents sent she and Zoe on an all-expense paid trip to Paris to reward Vicky for going to nursing school who were as surprised as Zoe at their daughter’s career choice.
Vicky was a spoiled brat from birth and her parent’s never imagined their entitled daughter would be even remotely interested in any helping profession, never mind nursing. But Zoe was absolutely correct. From the time Vicky was very young, she dreamed of marrying a doctor. And unlike Zoe who was content to wait around and hope to bump into her dream man at a restaurant or bar, Vicky made things happen. She enrolled in nursing school because she was going to meet and marry a doctor at all costs. And if she had to empty a bed pan or two to make her dream come true, Vicky Westwood was more than willing to do that. Until then, she was quite content to ruin Zoe’s relationships and fuck Zoe’s boyfriends.
And it was during Zoe’s latest breakup with her boss, that Vicky nearly came undone.
That Zoe began seeing her boss was to be expected. Mitchell Rowlett was a powerful, successful older man who always went after and got what he wanted. When Zoe started at the agency, Mitchell thought that Zoe was the sort of woman who would finally make him leave his wife and he went after her like gang busters. Zoe wasn’t in the habit of engaging married men. It wasn’t for the moral reasons that you or I may consider, but because Zoe folded in the face of any competition. And married men were more Vicky’s style and something Zoe did not feel she could pull off. Married men were definitely the back seat/back alley men that Vicky engaged. However, as soon as Zoe met Mitchell, she knew she would be powerless against his very powerful advances and Mitchell saw Zoe as a cute little mouse that the lion in him batted around with his large paws.
