The Hallowed

by Lani Lenore

  “You do know what will happen if you continue to cause this sort of trouble,” he cautioned her, cooling slightly from his outburst. Feeling that he was finished with her, he began to move past, but stopped near her ear to add one final thought. “I won't ignore any more mistakes. Keep that aligned with your other thoughts.”

  Celia had been compliant with Adam’s wishes, going quietly back to her room after dinner as Margot escorted her, but once she was inside—and once she had blocked the door with the heavy bureau—she could do nothing to settle her fluttering stomach. Her degree of restlessness had not even allowed her to change for bed. She paced back and forth in front of the hearth from the window to the door, periodically thinking that she heard someone trying to turn the door handle, but each time she moved her attention toward it, she saw no activity.

  My imagination is running away with me, she scolded herself. But what is Adam up to?

  Not for the first time, Celia carried herself toward the hole in the wall, peering through it, but all was quiet on the other side. Still, Adam had not returned. He'd not told her of any intentions, and though she tried to have faith in him, she was ill at ease, and there was nothing for it.

  What is he doing? What's his plan? Why does he leave me alone and hide things from me? Doesn't he trust me?

  Images of different parts of the house poured across her fluidly as she wondered where he might have been, and the likeness of the chapel became stuck in her mind. The doors had been difficult to open, so it was possible that the place wasn’t commonly frequented—yet the floor and the windows did not show years of neglect. How was that so? What about the faceless statue? Someone was waiting for a face to chisel into that stone? She didn’t know. And those sacraments… It was unlike any religion that her mind recognized. Could those odd beliefs have anything to do with why she was here? She continued to cycle through these thoughts as she paced, until eventually they began to fade, and she felt very alone. She put her arms around herself, holding silently to hear a knock on her door—from anyone—just so that she could hear the voice of another soul.

  I don't want to be alone.

  The rain spattered against the window, and her feet took her to the door once again. Celia put her hands to the bureau, pressing her weight into it as she made a new decision. She had to be free. Disregarding all consequences—and Adam’s wishes—she needed to get out into the open house. She needed to find Adam.

  She pushed against the heavy furniture, and she’d only moved it the slightest distance when she heard the whisper coming from the cracks around the door.

  “Celia, are you there?”

  She stopped, freezing in her motion to be as still as a frightened animal. She took her hands from the bureau and became silent, replaying the words in her mind. Her first guess and hope was that it was Adam at her door, but the tone made her unsure. The whisper wavered with uncertainty, and she could not believe that it was Adam, even though she wished to. If not though, who was it that beckoned at her door? She did not have the chance to ask before she heard the voice again.

  “Please—it’s me, Maynard. I need you to open the door.”

  Maynard? Celia was surprised by that knowledge. The young LaCroix had hardly said anything to her that wasn’t cryptic, and she couldn’t help thinking of the conversation she’d overheard between him and his brother, Irving. Maynard was accused of having feelings for her, and he had not denied it. Perhaps the thought should have eased her mind, but it made her increasingly anxious. She did not return his affections, and didn’t like the thought of an awkward situation.

  But he cares about me and so he won’t hurt me. He’s someone. I don’t want to be alone.

  “Celia, you don’t have time to delay,” Maynard’s muffled voice pleaded.

  “I—” she started, but was unsure of how to finish. Her hand had reached out toward the chest of drawers, but she jerked it back as if her own limb had tried to betray her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  Her voice was choked with helplessness. She was of two minds, but her promise to Adam prevailed.

  “You must!” he said, his tone growing with agitation. “Someone is coming who aims to do you harm. You must open the door for me so that I can help you.”

  Someone was coming? And to hurt her? What was she to do with all this?

  “Please, Celia; you must trust me.”

  Trust me. That also reminded her of Adam. He’d said the same thing to her. Where was he? Hadn’t he said he would come for her soon? What was he doing that he could not tell her about? She continued to stand there, and she could not respond.

  “Celia, I want to help you, but you must listen to me, please. The others will hurt you, but I would never hurt you. Please…”

  Celia felt that she was on the verge of tears. She wanted to trust him, even if she shouldn’t, simply because there was no one else. Logic told her that she definitely shouldn’t trust any member of this family, but her eyes were blurring with desperate waters, and she did not see her own hands as they gripped the bureau to pull it away from the door.

  I do want help. I need someone to help me.

  The effort was great on her part, but soon the door was free. She went to the bed and took the bunch of keys from beneath her pillow where she had hidden them. Floating in a sea of self-pity where the waters were over her head, she did not give another thought to opening the door. With a twist of her wrist, the room was opened, and there stood Maynard LaCroix. He looked stricken and poorly assembled, as a man who had an overloaded mind. His blue eyes were wild, his face pale.

  “I can’t stand by and let them hurt you,” he said, and gripped her arm straightaway. His grasp was harsh, and she didn’t believe he knew that he was causing her pain. To ease her own discomfort, she allowed him to pull her out into the hall. She didn’t intend to go far, but she did notice that Maynard seemed to be dressed for the road in boots and an overcoat.

  “Do you know a way out of here?” she tried to ask, dismayed that he continued to pull her along and alarmed by the pace he had taken. Perhaps it had been poor judgment to trust him, and now she was being forced to leave the room where she’d promised that she would stay.

  Maynard did not respond to her. He pressed forward resolutely, and Celia thought of how all the members of this household saw it fit to drag her around as if she were a doll that could not feel pain or confusion. The youngest LaCroix guided her to the stairs that led down from the third floor. Where was he aiming to take her?

  “Maynard…” she attempted.

  He stopped then, and she crashed into him. He turned and grabbed her shoulder, to steady her as well as keep her from fleeing. Celia balanced on her own feet in enough time to see him reach into his inner pocket.

  “I’m sorry, Celia, but I need you to be quiet,” he informed her, and her eyes widened when he produced a pistol from his coat. She could see how he might have need of it, but not with her. Why was he showing her this? She looked to his eyes, which were serious, if not half-crazed, and she knew she could not disobey him.

  Feeling tears coming on again, Celia nodded silently to him—her new captor—and he forced her to follow him down the stairs without any more words from his mouth.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Though his promise had been not to hurt her, Celia was apprehensive about where Maynard was taking her as he pulled her down the stairs. His grip on her wrist was harsh, reminding her of Luci’s wrenching grasp. Maynard insisted that she continue forward, and he was not showing leniency. All the while, she searched her mind for any way to reason with him, but the pistol in his hand did not make her task easier. Its presence made her uncomfortable.

  “Maynard, do you think, perhaps, you might tell me where we’re going?”

  “I’m getting you out of here while there’s time,” he obliged her after moments of silence. Was that true? He was helping her escape? She supposed she should’ve been grateful, but she could not forget that there was something missing.


  “That’s really wonderful of you, but we should be taking Adam with us.”

  “No!” Maynard said with the deep frustration of a lunatic. “The point is to get you away from him. You’ll thank me when you know the truth.”

  “Then what is the truth?”

  She wished that the truth was all she really wanted. Fortunately, he was offering her what she desired—an escape—but she wasn’t sure it should happen this way.

  “The truth is sensitive—very sensitive,” he said, calming. “I’ll tell you when we’re away from here. You’ll accept it better then.”

  After descending to the main floor of the house without being interrupted, Maynard pulled her directly to the front entrance. No one was standing in their way. Celia was so shocked when he took the key from his pocket and began to unlock it that she could not even think of trying to flee from him. This was it. She was going to get out. All she had needed was the right friend.

  But…

  Celia did not have time to resist. The young man pushed open the door just enough for them to get through, and he dragged her out into the rain. The cold drops fell softly, but were enough to bring her back to her senses. What was Maynard thinking? Had he planned at all? Could they possibly get down the mountain on foot with the weather as it was? That idea seemed far-fetched. She had to stand up for herself—talk some sense into him. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her. She would have to put that to the test.

  He pulled her along the wet road, toward the many trees that would cause them to be lost. Finding her courage, she dug in her heels and began to oppose his force.

  “Maynard,” she protested firmly, “we have to stop.”

  Her action took him off guard, but he did not seem willing to let her win. He continued to tug on her arm, holding the pistol out, but not pointing it at her.

  “Don’t you understand? They’ll catch us if we linger!”

  “I’m not going any further with you until you tell me the truth.”

  She twisted her wrist until it was free from his hand, but she did not run. Celia was not surprised to see him raise the gun upward, pointing it at her, but she resolved to be firm.

  “You will do as I say,” he warned, but she believed his threats to be empty toward her. She looked into his eyes with a meaningful expression, testing him. His gaze was unyielding—but then his blue eyes softened. With a melancholic sigh, Maynard lowered the gun.

  “I only wanted to protect you, Celia,” he said quietly, as if he would be scolded for it.

  “What is it that you are protecting me from?”

  “From the first moment, I lamented your fate,” he went on, not hearing her. “I watched over you. I visited your room in the night, because I wanted to see you—I wanted to remember the exact shape of you, yes—but I wanted to be sure that you were safe from him.”

  Celia nearly gasped at that confession. It had been Maynard who had come into her room in the night, watching her through the dark, touching her… She shook her head. Now that she knew the truth, she felt guilty to have thought it was Baltus, but she couldn’t dwell on that for long. There was another question that needed to be asked.

  “Safe from whom? Adam? Irving?” Maynard had spoken poorly of both of them in her presence.

  “Safe from everyone else! No one cares about you, Celia. Not like I do. And the one you call Adam,” he snarled with disgust. “I saw the two of you together through the hole in the wall. I saw the lust in his eyes. He only wants one thing from you. I told you to stay away from him, but you wouldn’t listen. You should have listened!”

  Celia felt defiant, not thinking of what was the wisest thing for her to say to this obsessed young man.

  “Adam loves me,” she declared. There it was; it was out. She had burst the protective bubble, and she silently repented of it when she saw the fury in Maynard’s eyes. The way the wind whipped his hair around made him look like a wild devil.

  “Adam doesn’t love you,” he said nastily. “He doesn’t know anything about love! All he can do for you is bring you trouble. If you let him touch you, you will never leave this place. I am the one who loves you. Didn’t you read my letter?”

  Letter? Celia was thrown off her argument by this. There were two, but the one her mind went to was the one she had found beside the bed when she’d woken up. Yes, it had professed love, but she’d thought that Adam had written it.

  “That letter was planted for you to find, but I altered it,” Maynard told her. “I made it true.”

  She thought back to the note, recalling what she could about it. It had started a certain way, and then part of the writing had been smeared off, and there was more below with a different tone—and she remembered thinking that it was done in two sets of handwriting.

  My dear, do not worry. I will protect you. You will not have to be afraid for long, for I will keep you safe.

  The letter was planted, he claimed. What did that mean? What did that mean about Adam?

  “Now, please,” Maynard begged, and Celia realized that they were still standing in the rain. “You must understand that we cannot stay here. They’ll know we are gone soon. They’ll—”

  He stopped, his eyes lifting past her, and before Celia could turn to look at what he had spotted, Maynard had gripped her arm, pulling her forward so that she would be shielded behind him. She watched him raise the pistol, finally able to see what he was aiming at. There was a figure approaching along the road from the house, shrouded in a thick brown coat with a hood which was pulled forward to protect from the rain. His face was only darkness. Celia did not know him, but knew that Maynard’s hand trembled as he held the gun.

  “Stay back,” he warned the hooded figure. The other man did not respond, and neither was he halted. He continued to advance gradually, and Maynard drew back the hammer on his gun.

  “I’m taking her away from here, and no one will stop me, do you hear?”

  If Maynard’s other hand hadn’t been wrapped so tightly around her wrist, Celia might have fled on her own. As it was, she could not be free from the situation. She didn’t know who the man beneath the hood was, but she felt sure of one thing: someone here—now—was going to get hurt.

  “I mean it!” Maynard shouted. “Not even you can stop me!”

  The hooded man continued to approach without words. Maynard took a few steps back, pushing Celia to move along with him. The hood continued toward them without slowing, and as she struggled to discover whether it was Irving or Baltus, a snide smile came over Maynard’s mouth.

  “Why is it that I’m hesitating?” he asked quietly, more to himself than to his enemy. “It’s not as if I care to hurt you.”

  The sound of the gunshot was abrupt and thundering, startling Celia, and she let out a scream, but her fright did not keep her from seeing the bullet rip through the air and hit the hooded man squarely in the chest. The man staggered back, and a dark stain began to spread across his buttoned coat. The blot was visible beneath the shadow of the house, but it did not appear as a striking red. It was black as pitch.

  Maynard lowered his pistol, and she watched, expecting the hood to fall and leak a pool of blood that the rain could not wash away. However, the expected did not occur. The man in the hood did not fall, and in fact, he did not even stop his advance. The bullet had ripped through him and it was as if he didn’t notice.

  What’s this? Celia wondered, and a look of fear overtook Maynard’s face. He raised the pistol again, firing off two shots in succession, and though Celia was sure that both of them hit the hood, he was not stopped. What on God’s earth was he? Could he possibly have been human? The impact of the bullets and the pouring of his blood did not even stagger him.

  “NO,” Maynard yelled angrily. “I won’t let you take her back!”

  He fired the bullets into the hooded man again and again until there was only a dry click resounding against an empty chamber.

  I have to get away, Celia realized. It may have been the only chance to sav
e her own life.

  She twisted her wrist until she was free of Maynard’s weakened grasp, but she did not retreat far. She stumbled backward and slipped on the wet ground, where she fell on her back. The ground did not give way beneath her, and she felt herself bruise. Wincing, she lifted her eyes and saw that the hood was upon them. A long blade protruded from the hood’s sleeve, shooting down from some secret mechanism. A moment later, that blade was pulled back, and excessive force ran it upward through Maynard’s body.

  Celia lost her breath, unable to scream as Maynard’s flesh was pierced through the front and out his back—as the thick blood gushed out in torrents through his mouth and chest. As she watched the man die, only one word passed through her mind.

  Why? Why?

  She had forgotten to pull herself off the ground, had forgotten to move at all. The hooded man withdrew the blade and let Maynard’s convulsing body slide to the ground as if he were nothing but a prime cut of meat. Satisfied, the dark hood was directed toward her. Her thoughts shifted then. All she could think about was protecting herself.

  “P-please don’t hurt me,” she sputtered. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  But he said nothing. As she watched with horrified eyes, she realized that she did not know this man. His face was nothingness beneath the hood, but she knew that he was not one of her ungracious hosts. She stared up at that blank face, and conceived nothing human there.

  He hovered. Rain splattered her face, making her wince. Blood rolled down the blade.

  He will kill me too, she realized. He will butcher me for my disobedience.

  But seconds passed, and she remained alive. The blade did not enter her body. In fact, the hooded man stepped away from her, and though she still feared him, he allowed her a distance in which she felt comfortable enough to stand.