The Forsaken
Echoes from the Past
Book 4
by Irina Shapiro
Copyright
© 2018 by Irina Shapiro
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the author.
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people (except those who are actual historical figures) are purely coincidental.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Notes
An Excerpt from The Unseen (Echoes from the Past Book 5)
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Prologue
She wasn’t frightened at first. The twitches in her belly seemed insignificant, like the rumbling of distant thunder, and the shortness of breath and nausea had been her constant companions for several weeks. It wasn’t until that first sharp pain that she began to worry, wondering if something might be truly wrong. She tried to sit up, desperate to pull apart the bed hangings and allow some light into the dim confines of the bed, but another pain sliced through her, forcing her back down and pinning her to the mattress. She rolled onto her side and brought her knees up to her chest, praying for the pain to stop, but it didn’t. Waves of nausea and dizziness rolled over her as the spasms in her womb intensified, no longer rumbles of thunder, but sharp, jagged bolts of lightning. Her extremities began to numb, as her vision blurred and her hearing faded out. She tried to call for help, but her cry was like the whimper of a newborn kitten.
“Dear God, please, no,” she prayed as hot, sticky blood began to flow between her legs, her womb mercilessly forcing the baby out. Somewhere deep inside she’d known that this could never be. She owed God a debt and He’d come to collect, with interest. He wouldn’t allow a sinner like her to taste such joy. God was vengeful, and He was cruel, and in her time of need He had forsaken her.
She began to tremble violently as her breath came in short gasps, no longer seeing the darkness of her curtained world. What she saw were the faces of those she’d loved, floating before her like wispy clouds before the moon.
As she lay in a pool of her own blood, and life drained from her battered body, she had one final thought:
I’ve been murdered.
Chapter 1
July 2014
London, England
The morning had been beautiful, with abundant sunshine streaming through the uncurtained window, but by the afternoon, the sun had disappeared, giving way to ominous clouds and steady rain. Quinn came awake slowly, her mind returning from that other realm with difficulty. She listened intently, but heard nothing from the other room. Gabe and Emma must have gone out while she was sleeping.
Quinn burrowed deeper under the covers. There was no reason to get up—not yet. She still felt tired since the brief kip wasn’t enough to make up for weeks of sleepless nights. She’d returned from New Orleans over two months ago, but still the nightmares persisted, the horror of those hours she’d spent locked in a tomb replaying in her mind with terrifying clarity. Once Quinn woke from the nightmares, shaking, sweating, and gasping for air, she could never go back to sleep, and wound up spending the wee hours of the morning watching television or reading—anything to get her mind off the images preying on her mind.
She felt safe here, in the London flat, but it wouldn’t be theirs for much longer. As soon as Gabe found a job in Northumberland, they’d list the flat with an estate agent. The plan was to move to Berwick-upon-Tweed by the end of the summer, so that Emma could start school in their new neighborhood. Quinn had always assumed they would make their home in London once they were married, but life had its own plan, as usual. Gabe’s father had passed away in May, leaving his elderly wife alone in the rambling mansion that had been in Gabe’s family for generations. Phoebe Russell needed help managing the estate, but more than that, she needed company, or she would follow her husband sooner rather than later. Doing the church flowers and hosting book club meetings simply wasn’t enough to keep her going in the face of grief and loneliness.
Quinn didn’t relish the idea of moving to Berwick, but she could hardly refuse, especially since she genuinely liked Phoebe and wanted to help, and had accepted Gabe’s decision with good grace. Her work commitments were finished for the moment. Quinn had submitted all her research files and footage to Rhys Morgan, but the third episode of Echoes from the Past had yet to be filmed. She was free to rest until Rhys presented her with the next mystery, and he was still on the hunt for a storyline that made for compelling television. The series had originally been contracted for three episodes, but the BBC had already commissioned a second series, confident that the program would be a success.
Quinn had yet to sign the new contract. She’d been dead set against agreeing to another series, but after what had happened in New Orleans, she was no longer sure she meant to refuse the offer. The truth was often painful, but it had to be told, especially since those whose lives had been affected were no longer in the position to tell their own stories. Quinn’s ancestor, Madeline Besson, from whom Quinn had inherited her psychic gift, now rested in St. Louis No. 1 cemetery in New Orleans, interred next to her parents, Charles and Corinne Besson. Madeline had been erased from history by those who didn’t want her true heritage to be revealed, but Quinn had been able to give Madeline a voice once more, and to add her name to the Besson family tree, but not without nearly paying a terrible price.
Quinn still experienced a stab of pain every time she
allowed her thoughts to stray to Brett, the half-brother who’d fooled her so thoroughly into liking and trusting him. Brett was now serving a ten-year sentence in a Louisiana prison for the attempted murder of Dr. Quinn Allenby and her unborn child. Mercifully, Brett had accepted a plea bargain, making it unnecessary for Quinn to return to New Orleans to testify at his trial. Brett hadn’t taken the deal to spare her, but to get a reduced sentence for himself, but Quinn was grateful nonetheless since she wished she could erase those few days from memory and going over them in court would have been incredibly painful.
She was also hesitant to see Seth again. Her biological father was irrevocably broken, as was his ex-wife Kathy. Their grief had brought them together, but no amount of emotional support could make up for what Brett had done to his pregnant sister in his desperation to bury the truth he couldn’t bear to come to light. The Bessons were descended from a slave woman from Trinidad whose granddaughter had unwittingly married her white half-brother and produced Madeline, the beautiful girl with a psychic gift passed along from her mother’s people.
Quinn exhaled loudly in irritation. She didn’t want to think about Brett again. It was enough that he haunted her dreams; she wouldn’t allow him to dominate her waking hours as well. She had her baby to think about. The high blood pressure, swelling of her extremities, and severe headaches that had plagued her in Louisiana had not improved upon returning home. If anything, they’d become worse. Quinn experienced shortness of breath, blurred vision, nausea and fatigue almost daily. She had been diagnosed with moderate to severe preeclampsia and had been prescribed blood pressure medication and advised plenty of rest. Quinn’s obstetrician had strictly forbidden any physical activity, such as packing for their move, and stress was to be avoided as much as possible.
“Cup of tea?” Gabe asked, as he carefully opened the bedroom door. He held a steaming mug in his hand and set it carefully on the bedside table before giving Quinn a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“Where’s Emma?” Quinn asked. “It’s so quiet; I thought you two had gone out.”
“She fell asleep on the sofa,” Gabe replied. “We went to the park for an hour and then stopped by Bombay Palace to get a takeaway for dinner.”
“Did you get me something totally bland and utterly tasteless?” Quinn joked.
“Of course. You know you’re not allowed anything spicy or salty.”
“Thank you. You’re always looking out for me,” Quinn said with a smile. She would love a curry, but she’d have to wait until after the baby was born to indulge. If she had it now, she’d have heartburn for hours and curse that damn curry the whole night, only to wake up to swollen ankles and a blinding headache. A nice, bland supper was just what the doctor ordered.
Quinn patted the space next to her, inviting Gabe to sit down. He got comfortable and rested his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. He looked tired and tense.
“Gabe, what’s troubling you? And please, don’t say ‘nothing.’ You’ve been short-tempered and withdrawn for days.”
Gabe sighed. He seemed reluctant to talk, which wasn’t like him. Normally, he was the one who wanted to talk things out and outline all possible solutions, but for the past few weeks he’d shied away from any serious conversations, changing the topic the moment anything stressful came up. He didn’t want to distress her, she knew that, but whatever was on his mind wasn’t going away and needed to be brought out into the open.
“Gabe, what’s wrong?” Quinn asked again, determined to get an answer this time.
“Everything,” Gabe replied, startling her with his vehemence.
“Surely not everything.”
“No, not everything,” he conceded with a guilty smile. “I just don’t deal well with lack of control, is all.”
“What is it you feel you can’t control?” Quinn asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer.
“Quinn, we are due to move up north before the start of the fall term. That’s less than two months from now. Truth is, every time I imagine myself back at the family home I suddenly feel as if I’m being buried alive. Sorry, I shouldn’t have used that comparison, not after what you’ve been through.”
Quinn reached over and took his hand in hers. “No, that’s exactly the comparison you should have used, because now I’m in a unique position to understand what you’re going through. Now, tell me why you feel so strongly about moving back.”
“Quinn, I hate that house. I couldn’t wait to leave for uni. I never went back, except to visit my parents. My life is in London, and has been for thirty years. And your life is here as well. I worry about you and the baby and I need to know that we have access to the best medical care England has to offer, and that’s here, in London. And I worry about Emma as well. She’s just beginning to settle into her new life. She’s been happier these past few months, calmer. She’s had fewer nightmares and has mentioned Jenna less often. She’ll never fully recover from the death of her mother, but she’s finally getting to a place where she can live with her loss. Uprooting her again might have repercussions. And then there’s the financial cost of this move,” Gabe added.
“We’ll no longer have to pay two mortgages,” Quinn said in an effort to make Gabe feel better.
“No, we won’t, but we’ll have to pay crippling death duties and spend a fortune on repairs. I had an inspector come out to the house last week. The roof needs replacing, there’s dry rot, a large portion of the masonry is crumbling, and don’t even get me started on the plumbing and electricity. Everything is in its original condition. I can hardly expect to address all these issues on a teacher’s salary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard back from several schools up north. They’re happy to have me, but only as an educator, and at a third of what I earn now.”
Quinn studied Gabe’s beloved face. He looked genuinely sad, and, for lack of a better word, evasive.
“What are you not telling me?” she asked.
“I’ve been offered the directorship of the institute,” Gabe replied. “It comes with a hefty pay raise.”
“That job is your dream come true,” Quinn replied, finally understanding what had been eating at Gabe these past few days. He really would be sacrificing a lot to move back home to a place he had no desire to be. “Is there another option?”
Gabe shook his head. “Not that I can think of. My mother would never agree to leave her home. She’s lived there for over fifty years, and I can’t allow her to remain there on her own. It’s too much for her.”
“Gabe, there must be a solution. Surely your mother would understand, especially if you tell her about this opportunity.”
“Yes, she would, which is why I can’t tell her. She’ll urge me to remain in London and do what’s best for me, and I simply can’t take her up on that with a clear conscience.”
“Let me give this some thought,” Quinn promised as Emma called out from the other room. “Emma is awake, and I’m starving.”
“All right,” Gabe agreed, but he still looked dejected.
Chapter 2
Quinn had just taken a forkful of her vegetable korma, which wasn’t half bad, when Gabe’s mobile began to vibrate. The rule was, no phones at the dinner table, but after Gabe glanced at the screen, he took the call, with an apologetic smile to Quinn. “It’s my mother,” he mouthed.
“Put her on speaker, I want to say hello,” Quinn said. Putting Phoebe on speaker would ensure a much shorter conversation.
Gabe pressed the speaker button and Phoebe’s voice flooded the kitchen.
“Hi, Mum. Are you all right?” Gabe asked. Phoebe rarely called in the evening. She called Gabe first thing in the morning when she woke up. She said it was her loneliest time, since every morning, for just a few moments, she forgot that her beloved Graham was gone, and turned to his side of the bed to say good morning. Each morning, she experienced her loss all over again, and needed to hear Gabe’s voice to feel less alone in the wor
ld.
“No, I’m most definitely not all right.”
“Are you ill?” Gabe demanded. “Do you need me to come?”
“I’m not ill, but I do need you to come,” Phoebe replied. She sounded unusually jittery, her voice high and trembling with anxiety.
“Mum, what is it?”
“There’s a body in the kitchen,” Phoebe announced dramatically, as if she were in an Agatha Christie film.
“Whose body?” Gabe asked. “Is it Buster?” Buster was just a puppy, but he was the only other living creature in the house, and he might have had an accident.
“No!” Emma cried. She loved Buster and couldn’t wait to claim him as her own once they moved.
“No, darling, Buster is fine,” Phoebe reassured her. “Son, perhaps you should take me off speaker now. This conversation is not for Emma’s ears.”
“It’s all right, Grandma Phoebe, I’m finished,” Emma said and slid off her chair. “I’ll go to my room.”
Emma ran off, leaving Gabe and Quinn to stare at the phone.
“Mum?” Gabe prompted.
Phoebe took a shuddering breath. “The water in the kitchen sink wouldn’t go down,” she said. “I tried to pour that special liquid down the sink, but it didn’t help. The water kept backing up, and it was brown and muddy.”
“Go on,” Gabe encouraged her. Phoebe had a habit of starting from afar. Very far.
“I called the plumber. Do you remember Peter Reed? Pamela’s boy. You two went to primary school together.”
“Yes, I remember Peter. Did he fix the sink?”
“Well, Peter said there was an obstruction, so he got this long metal rod and tried to push if through,” Phoebe explained.
“Mum, is Peter lying on the kitchen floor as we speak?” Gabe asked.
“No, why would you think such a thing?”
“Because you said there’s a body in the kitchen, and if it’s not Buster, then who else can it be but Peter?” Gabe replied patiently.
“Now you’re just being silly.”
“Am I?”
“Of course. Peter left hours ago.”
The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4) Page 1
