“He won’t get out of my room!” yelled Ally as a chubby toddler chased behind her with a messy face.
“Cory! No!” yelled Roger as his face turned a shade of vibrant red.
Cory, who is Misty-Lee’s son, has a major case of the terrible two’s. Roger was beginning to wonder if it was really the child’s personality as opposed to just a phase. Cory chased behind Ally with a black magic marker, threatening to draw all over her brand new jeans.
“Misty! Can you control your son?!” yelled Roger across the dinner table.
With a huff, Misty got up from the table and picked up the precocious toddler. She took the magic marker from his hand as he screamed in protest. Without a word, Misty-Lee put him in his highchair as he kicked and slammed on the tray in anger.
“Cute kid,” Angie said to Roger facetiously. Roger shook his head in annoyance.
Suddenly, the front door swung open again and a teenage girl wearing at least five pounds of makeup and a too-short black dress walked into the living room cursing loudly into her cell phone.
Roger yelled, “Who let Trixie out of the house looking like that?!”
Roger was infuriated, and rightly-so, that his daughter Trixie continued to ignore his rules about wearing age-appropriate clothing.
“What, Rog? It’s the style,” insisted Gwen.
“What style?! She looks like a prostitute!”
Gwen turned around quickly and gave her husband a stern glare.
“Shush! You’ll hurt her feelings!”
“Good! No daughter of mine-“Roger started but was cut off by another of Cory’s temper tantrums.
I need a vacation away from my family, thought Roger.
“So Angela,” said Gwen as she dished spaghetti out of a steaming pot onto a plate that sat in front of her. “Tell us what your plans are.”
Angie looked at her mother and sighed. She had no idea what her next move would be. While she would love nothing more than to loaf around and wallow in her misery for a while, she decided that it went against everything she stood for.
“I suppose I will be looking for work. I’ll start in the morning. I’ll check over in Danville and Sunbury. I’ll need a ride though.”
Roger nodded in approval.
“Smart girl. Keep busy and get right back up on the horse.”
“Take the station wagon. Nobody’s using it tomorrow,” suggested Gwen.
“Alright. I will.”
“And tomorrow night, we’re having Trixie’s graduation party here at the house.”
Angie shook her head in understanding.
“And everyone and their grandmother is coming,” mentioned Roger.
“Dad!” Trixie complained, “I only graduate high school once. Go big or go home. Right?”
“I am home,” said Roger gruffly as he casted a perturbed look towards Trixie.
“Oh, Rog… Lighten up,” begged Gwen as she plopped a spoonful of spaghetti on his plate.
***
After dinner, Roger and Gwen showed Angie up to her old bedroom. They climbed to the third floor that led to two empty bedrooms. Angie recognized them immediately. The first bedroom had a sign on the door that read, “Tiffany’s Room – Keep Out!” Angie eyed the door precariously as they continued to make their way down the hallway towards the other bedroom. Roger pushed open the door to the front bedroom. Angie’s name tag was still hanging from the door. As the old door creaked open, Angie was horrified to see that it still looked the same and relatively untouched. The only things that were missing from the room were the items Angie took with her when she left twenty years ago.
“We didn’t have the heart to touch it,” Roger explained.
“It was a very difficult time for us. We just left the third floor alone. No one comes up here,” lamented Gwen as a memory came to the forefront of her mind.
The third floor was a tomb. The memories of their two lost daughters; one who lay six feet under, and the other who fled cross-country. Angie’s stomach curled into tight knots just thinking about it. Another thought occurred to her. Not all haunted houses are the same. While Morrow Manor fits the bill, the modern O’Mara house had more secrets than the whole of Elkhart combined.
Angie laid her suitcase on the bright purple bed spread that had faded dramatically since she last saw it. She plopped down on the bed as the bedsprings groaned under the weight of her body. Roger closed the door. Of course they would want to talk to her. Gwen would want to lecture her for being gone for so long. Gwen sat on the bed next to Angie and grabbed her left hand. Angie could feel her dinner rising in her throat.
“So, I know that Courtney and Misty-Lee told you about your cousin,” said Gwen calmly, trying to broach the subject as painlessly as possible.
“They did,” replied Angie wearily. She did not want to discuss it. She was still trying to process the news, but knowing Gwen, she would push the issue.
“I want to make sure that you are okay. I know that you were close with him when you were younger.”
Angie laughed darkly, “I was petrified of him.”
“Yes, but you also seemed to be intrigued by him, too.”
“Mother, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Angie said with a bite. She had tried to block it all out.
“Gwen…” warned Roger from the doorway with a piercing glare.
“Just hold on, Roger…” snapped Gwen. She continued,
“The reason I bring him up is because when I was going through his estate, I found something that was addressed to you.”
Angie looked alarmed and surprised.
“To me?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yes. It is a cardboard box that is addressed directly to your address to Seattle. It was never shipped though. I wasn’t sure what was inside of it, so I didn’t want to send it myself. It is over there on the desk.”
Angie glanced over at her old desk. Sitting on top was a medium sized shipping box. Somehow, Angie thought she knew what was going to be inside of it. The thought alone sent her mind reeling.
“Thank you. I’ll open it later.”
Roger looked at his daughter with a speculative glance, as if he had something he wanted to say, but the moment passed and Roger held in whatever it was that he needed to say.
“We’ll let you get unpacked,” said Roger as he motioned for Gwen to follow him.
As Angie sat alone in her bedroom, the lure of the box became too much for her to bear. Slowly, she approached the box, like a predator sneaking up on its prey. Gently, she lifted the box as she stared at Bernard Kendricks’ neat scrawl on the shipping label. How did he know where she lived? The shipping label indicated that he had intended to ship the package to Angie on October 7, 1997.
Didn’t Courtney say that was around the time he died?
Angie sat on the bed with the package on her lap for quite some time. She tried to build up the courage to open it. Angie took in deep breaths, exhaling laboriously. Finally, she plucked up the nerve to tear at the tape that secured the box shut. She dug her nail under the clear packing tape and ripped the adhesive straight off the surface of the box. Angie moved her hands quickly in fear that she would lose what little courage she had. She opened the box flaps only to find that there was yet another box inside. This time she was looking at a handsome black gift box. She lifted the box out of the shipping package and noted how heavy it was. A feeling of dread weighed on Angie as she allowed the shipping box to fall to the floor. She held the black box in her left palm and gently lifted its lid with her right hand. Inside, there was a sheet of dark red tissue paper that concealed what lay within.
With just two fingers, Angie lifted the delicate tissue paper and found what she knew she would. The box that she found buried at the base of the Bone Tree all those years ago. Angie gulped as she took the heavy, ornate box out of its holder. Her finger rested on its release, determining whether or not she should even open it. Finally, she plucked up the courage, and its contents caused her to drop the bo
x to the floor with a bang.
Inside the box lay a photograph of Angie and Tiffany with a note that read, “You’re next.”
Chapter 4
July 25, 1974
27 Caribou Road,
Elkhart, PA
9:42 P.M.
“No Gwen, absolutely not!” yelled Roger O’Mara red-faced and furious at his wife Gwen from across the living room. Gwen sat the black rotary phone down gently on its cradle as she gave her husband a looking of warning.
“Roger, he has nowhere else to go.”
“I don’t care. I don’t trust him…”
“But I’m not sure why…”
“You’re not?! Just look at him… He always looks like he’s
up to something.”
Gwen sighed in disgust.
“Roger, you’re being stubborn. Aunt Dorothy said Bernard and Ernie have been at each other’s throats. She’s desperate.”
Roger looked at his young wife as a serious look crossed his face. He felt bad for Dorothy Kendricks. She was Gwen’s aunt and a lovely person. It’s just too bad that her son was so damn creepy.
“I have my reasons for not trusting him, and we have a house full of little girls…”
“He’s their cousin.”
“Look, Gwen… I have my reasons. I will allow him to stay in the basement just this once… But he has to be gone by the morning.”
“Thanks, Rog… I’ll call and let Aunt Dorothy know.”
***
“It sounds like someone just came in the front door,” remarked Misty-Lee who was supposed to be in bed asleep. Instead she was sitting on Tiffany’s bed pulling her sister’s strawberry blonde hair into a French braid.
“It’s late. Who would be showing up at this hour?” asked Tiffany who sat perfectly still atop her mattress as her sister braided her hair.
“Can you two go to sleep!” yelled Angie from the next bed over. “Shut the light off!”
“You’re never going to get a boyfriend with an attitude like that,” remarked Tiffany snootily.
Suddenly the sound of raised voices came from the living room. Misty-Lee noticed that it sounded as if her father was scolding someone.
“Let’s go see who it is…” said Tiffany as Misty-Lee fastened her French braid with a barrette.
Misty-Lee followed her sister out into the hallway as their nightgowns swayed at their feet. The sisters stood at the stair banister while they listened to the conversation below.
Roger spoke in a stern voice, “You are to be gone by dawn. Do not wander through the house, either. You are here to sleep. Am I clear?”
Bernard Kendricks replied in a cool voice, “Like crystal.”
“Good. Now follow Gwen down to the basement. There is a bed down there.”
Misty-Lee’s eyes went wide as she looked at her sister.
“Was that Bernard?!” Misty-Lee quipped with fear visible in her eyes.
“Why is he here?!” exclaimed Tiffany. “Have they lost their minds?!”
The sound of an adult climbing the steps startled the girls who stood perfectly still in the dark of the hallway.
“Girls…” Roger called from the top of the steps. “You are supposed to be in bed.”
“Daddy, who was that?” Tiffany asked curiously.
Roger sighed loudly.
“That was Bernard. He is staying in the basement for tonight only.”
“Why?”
“He has nowhere else to go.”
Tiffany and Misty-Lee stared at their father with confused faces.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
Roger ushered his daughters off to bed, and closed the door quietly behind him. He kissed each of his daughters on the forehead, including Angie. He hovered for a moment by her bedside.
“Here is the key to your room. Keep the door locked tonight.”
Angie looked at her father with a horrified look on her face as she took the key and tucked it under her pillow. She didn’t sleep a wink that night.
Chapter 5
June 16, 2000
Monte’s Café,
Elkhart, PA
Late Afternoon
“Order’s up!” yelled Joe Piedmonte from the kitchen of Monte’s Café as he slammed his hand hard on the bell that sat on the counter. Tristan, who had just finished wiping off an empty table, came rushing up to the front counter to grab the freshly prepared tray of food. She checked the order slip and carried the tray over to Jesse Trafford’s table where he sat alone. For a young man, Tristan noted that Jesse had very dark circles and a forlorn look about him. His greasy blond hair fell to his shoulders, his teeth were stained an unhealthy shade of yellow and his beady eyes gave Jesse the image that he had seen far more terrible things than any of us would ever lay witness to. Life hadn’t been easy on Jesse. He had lost his mother to lung cancer when he was only seven, and he hadn’t had the best of upbringings due to his father being in and out of the penitentiary for various offenses. Tristan didn’t feel too bad for him though, because he hadn’t made the best choices in his twenty-one years of life. It is easy to see why Jesse strayed. The Traffords weren’t known to be model, law-abiding citizens. His father Harry had served seven years for attempted robbery. Coming from that family, it was a miracle that Jesse Trafford wasn’t either dead or locked up.
Jesse came in to Monte’s Café every evening at five for dinner and he always sat alone.
Tristan thought, What a lonely existence that must be.
Although the Trafford’s were a large family, and his father and five brothers were all alive, they were not the kind of family you want to come home to every evening.
As was routine, Tristan brought Jesse his dinner. She placed his order of meatloaf and mashed potatoes on the table in front of him, followed by a tall glass of iced tea. Tristan rested her hand on the table as she made sure Jesse had everything that he needed.
“Can I get you anything else?” asked Tristan courteously.
“No, but thank you, Miss Morrow,” said Jesse with a slight twang to his voice.
“You can call me Tristan, Jesse…” said Tristan in a friendly tone.
“Thank you, Miss-,” Jesse began but he stopped himself.
“Thank you, Tristan.”
Tristan smiled. Jesse Trafford did have manners when he wanted to use them.
“Okay, Jesse… You take care of yourself,” Tristan said nicely.
As Tristan turned to walk away, Jesse grabbed her hand tightly with his rough, calloused fingers and squeezed tight.
Tristan’s stomach jolted. He was making her uncomfortable.
“Jesse, let go of my hand,” said Tristan firmly.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Tristan. I mean no disrespect, but I was wonderin’ if I could ask you a question…” said Jesse in a quick, nervous voice.
Tristan stared at him sharply. Her initial reaction was to tell him no and get the hell off of her, but she was determined to keep her cool.
She replied, this time in a more firm tone, “Yes, but please let go of my hand.”
Jesse reluctantly removed his fingers from Tristan’s hand as he stared at her through deep set eyes.
“That boyfriend of yours…”
He said boyfriend as if it was the name of a particularly disgusting bug or reptile. Tristan pursed her lips. She knew what was coming. Jesse Trafford had never liked Cole for reasons unbeknownst to her, and Cole despised the ground Trafford walked on for the way he treated the waitresses in the restaurant. The only one Jesse seemed to be polite to was Tristan.
“My boyfriend has a name,” Tristan said curtly.
“Yeah, Cole…” said Jesse, as his voice became coarse and rough with attitude.
Tristan stared at him with a wary look on her face.
“Tell him I’m taking you out tomorrow night…” Jesse said coolly as he grabbed Tristan’s hand again.
Here we go again…
“Jesse…” Tristan said softly as she removed her hand from Jesse
’s grasp. “Cole is a good guy whether you admit it or not. And I have no intentions upon seeing anyone else.”
Suddenly, the bell that hung over the front door of Monte’s Café rung loudly, and Cole jogged in from the scorching June heat. He stood at the front register as he sorted through the mail that had arrived earlier that day. After a moment he looked up, and his thoughts turned to rage as he took in the sight of Jesse Trafford with his hand squeezed tightly around Tristan’s wrist. Tristan appeared to be backing away from Jesse as he stared at her. Apparently their conversation had taken a turn for the worst. Jesse appeared to be asking a question, and Tristan was reluctant to answer. Cole had warned Jesse to leave all the waitresses alone – especially Tristan. Cole sighed in disgust as he observed them, trying not to jump to conclusions. He had no problem whatsoever laying Jesse Trafford out, flat on his back, but he knew Tristan could not stand it when men tried to do her fighting for her. Reluctantly, Cole kept his distance… For now.
Stolen Innocents (The Shadow Series Book 2) Page 6
