by Alice Ayden
Natalie performed her teary, wide eyed stare. “I’m so sorry. If there’d been another way, but I thought he’d—”
Mags lukewarmly patted her. “Oh, it’s alright. These things happen.”
Cora cringed. Mags acted as if someone had accidentally stepped on a prized Zinnia leaf in her driveway.
Mags reached for a compact and checked her reflection. “At least it’s done. If you only knew the number of times I had to pay off some misguided girl’s family who threatened to report...” Mags stopped when she realized Detective Weever stood right beside her. “Anyway, it’s in the past.” She smoothed out her dress as if brushing all the negative feelings of her son away.
“Miss Austen?” The nurse handed Cora some papers. “These are your discharge instructions. And a new prescription for the pain.” She held each one up for Cora to acknowledge. “The x-rays didn’t show any other breaks. The doctor said it was a sprain, to keep it wrapped, and contact your regular doctor in the morning to check the stitches.”
“That’s it?” Mags suddenly became Cora’s best friend. “How can you be sure? Shouldn’t the doctor tell her this himself?”
“No need. You’re good to go.” The nurse held the papers as Cora signed. Satisfied with her duties accomplished, the nurse took the papers and disappeared down the hall.
“Well, like I said, you live.” Mags glanced at Cora entirely unimpressed.
Cora stopped herself from apologizing for being so rude as to survive the assault. How thoughtless. Cora lacked the energy for sarcastic wit, and she’d seen enough violence. “I just want to go home.”
“Well, doesn’t she at least get a wheelchair?” Mags waited for assistance that would never come. “Those hospital TV programs always show patients being wheeled out by handsome scruffy men. Anybody?”
“I can walk.” Cora just wanted out.
Detective Weever led the way, caught the elevator as the doors were about to close, and held them open. In the elevator only inches from Natalie, Cora told herself not to look in her direction. In her mind, Cora saw the images of the smiling photos of the unsuspecting missing women. For a brief second, Cora glanced at Natalie. In the same moment, Natalie smiled an innocent grin. Cora’s bones recoiled.
The floors ticked by. Three...two...one. Cora waited forever. She fidgeted. She didn’t want to be that close to Natalie. She thought she’d jump out of her skin. She wanted to scream or pace or spit. Finally, the elevator doors opened excruciatingly slow as if snagged on something. Cora plunged out.
In the lobby, Lillia waited with Detective Maines. She rushed to Cora’s side. “What did the doctors say?”
Mags surveyed the waiting room. “Your family did not accompany you this time? Just as well I guess. I’m sure they have their own lives to lead in between your hospital visits.”
“The rest of the family is dealing with your mess,” Lillia sharply said.
Mags ignored Lillia and leaned close to Cora. “I am friends with an excellent plastic surgeon. You should dedicate yourself to keeping your looks since you have little else.”
Detective Maines rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “Miss Austen, if we have further questions, we’ll contact you at Ausmor.”
“And Miss Wells will be there as well?” Detective Weever asked.
Knowing Natalie would be there whether invited or not, Cora relented. “Natalie will stay at Ausmor.”
Weever watched Natalie, Lillia, Cora, and Mags leave. “Mags is quite the dedicated asshole.”
Maines nodded. “Been written up in all the journals. So...” He turned to face Weever. “We have our Cora.” He said referencing the carvings on the bodies. He tried to say her name nonchalantly without risking too much suspicion from Weever. “Our secondary prick, Johnston, is dead.”
“No tears, Maines.”
Maines laughed. “I think it’s time to look a little deeper into Natalie, don’t you?”
Weever nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
Chapter 39: Evidence
Mrs. Kiness helped Cora upstairs to her room but stopped at the threshold. “It is not wise to remain in this room.” She held tight to her rosary.
The stench confronted Cora. “What is that?”
Mrs. Kiness pointed to the rug soaked through with Johnston’s blood.
Cora shook her head. “Not that. It’s more like stale cologne and onion soup?”
“Oh, the nice boys from the morgue.”
Cora cringed as she stepped inside and stepped over the blood. She hesitated at the armoire and touched the carvings Natalie threw her against only a few hours before. Her back ached from the pressure.
Mrs. Kiness could not force herself to look away from the blood. “We should convert this room to storage immediately.” So excited, Mrs. Kiness almost stepped over the threshold before jumping back. “We will convert the downstairs storage to your bedroom.”
Cora flashed her a look. “The storage room? The one Bitty uses?”
Mrs. Kiness frowned. “No, that will not do. Your aunt would throw yet another fit.”
Cora noticed something shiny to the side of the armoire. She stooped to pick up her mother’s locket Natalie had thrown.
“What is that, dear?”
Cora quickly shoved it into her pocket. “I dropped my necklace. Where is Natalie?”
“Miss Wells will be staying in the Old Wing. Evan arranged everything.”
“Is he alright?” Cora didn’t want Evan close to Natalie. She didn’t want anyone she loved at risk.
“He is presently occupied with the police and making arrangements for the cleanup. Oh!”
Cora had to settle her stomach.
“Sorry, dear. I have it. Evan will move to his office since he sometimes spends his time in town.”
“Why doesn’t he live at Ausmor full time?”
Mrs. Kiness threw up her hands. “I do not know. I am sure he explained the reason in detail, but I am afraid when your cousin speaks my mind tends to take a stroll in the tulip gardens. So, it is settled. This room will be storage. You will take Evan’s old room.” Mrs. Kiness smiled at her accomplishment.
“And have you asked Evan?”
Mrs. Kiness grunted at the absurd question. “There is but no need.”
Cora smiled. Always the first to admit being “in service” to the Austen and Morgan families, Mrs. Kiness did not hesitate to acknowledge her authority.
“That was not as bad as expected.” Mrs. Kiness prided herself on being able to solve problems within minutes of their origination. “Are you quite finished?”
Cora noticed Darcie’s missing pillows. She looked to Mrs. Kiness.
“Miss Darcie Austen’s temporary residence is with Lillia.”
Cora hesitated to peek under her bed. “Even all her collections?”
“I can assure you that every shovel, glove, label, and leaf has been properly inventoried. And it would be wise to vacate this room at once. Death lingers still.” Mrs. Kiness tightened the grip on her rosary as she worriedly surveyed the room. “Everything will be moved tomorrow. Your room downstairs will look exactly as this one. Plus your new room has the private courtyard which Miss Darcie already admires. I find her sitting there most afternoons.”
Cora nodded. “It has a view of the birdbath.”
“Ah.”
“Okay.” Cora quickly walked around Johnston’s blood and turned to the room she’d lived in all her life. “But the balcony with the view of the old oak…”
“Not enough inducement to live within the death room.”
Cora hugged Mrs. Kiness. “Thank you. Thanks for everything.”
Mrs. Kiness understood all. “You are welcome, dear. I am so blessed you are alright.”
Cora nodded, but she wondered if she’d ever be ‘alright’ again.
“And where will you be staying tonight, dear?” Mrs. Kiness waited to ensure Cora's compliance.
“The guest room beside yours?”
“Excellent choice. I hav
e already moved your things from the bathroom, changed the sheets, arranged for fresh flowers and relocated your laptop, books, notepads, and alien mobile.”
Cora quickly looked up at the empty ceiling. “So lonely without the alien.”
****
Cora opened her eyes and looked at the clock. 9:30. She was surprised she’d slept at all. It took her a few moments to realize she was in the guest room. She grabbed some tennis shoes and pounced out of the room, out the side door, and down the walkway. Her legs marched along until she stood close to the cellar. The police allowed Ausmor to cover it with dark green tarps and bricks so tourists wouldn’t find it. Even though more than a few had tried.
Cora slipped through the Old Wing’s side door which opened to the staff’s dining and lounging area. No one lurked. The long dining table had already been cleared.
The giant, wooden mail organizer by the door sat empty of both mail and messages. The staff bedrooms were all opened. None of the staff lounged on the chairs or sofas. No one played video games or watched movies. Although lounging in sight of Mrs. Kiness with work to be done proved a dangerously punishable sin. At the far end in the closed off kitchen, chatter and clinking dishes told Cora the kitchen staff busied themselves with cleanup.
Cora pounced up the stairs to the second floor. An exact replica of the New Wing, the Old Wing’s second story lacked the warmth, furniture, and pictures to make it inviting. There were plans on a bridal salon and spa, but nothing had been finalized.
Cora walked down the hall and opened the door to the original house. A few voices filtered from the first floor. Cora fled up the Grand Staircase careful to let the banister guide her. On the third floor landing, she hesitated at the spot where she struggled with Johnston. Louder voices floated up, and Cora quickly ran until she stood outside the third room on the third floor. Cora went inside and closed the door.
“Okay, I can do this.” She held back the tears intent on spilling. She tried to picture the mirror. “It was a floor style mirror. What are those things called with the hinges you can swing the glass around?” She shook her head not being able to remember the term. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not redecorating.”
Cora gazed over the antique bed she’d rested on and the tiny rocking chair she’d hid behind. “I was six. I ran upstairs for hide and seek. Someone locked the door.” Cora frowned. “Could it have been Natalie? Even then?” Cora thought back at her childhood with Natalie and wondered if she’d seen the signs or knew about it before a new trauma led her to forget.
“Who else would it have been?” Cora stopped. I can worry about that later. “I heard something and hid behind the chair. My mother found me. She was bleeding. She smiled at me. She wrapped me in the blanket.” Cora hesitated but continued. “I fell backwards. She stabbed herself. I couldn’t move.”
Cora opened her eyes and walked to the spot where six year old Cora fell. “She wanted to kill me. She needed to take me with her.” Cora saw everything clearly. “She wanted to kill me then kill herself. I stopped struggling. I stopped breathing. That’s when she finally let go. She thought I was dead.”
Cora waited for the room to spin. She waited for the blurs to take over. “My mother tried to kill me. I choked on her blood.” Cora paced the room. “It’s a trauma. It’s the trauma. It’s the key to everything.”
She didn’t know what to do. She was remembering more, but if she told anyone about Natalie…she worried about what she would do to those still missing. “Who am I kidding?” She wouldn’t have kept them alive. Cora’s stomach ached. Could she take that chance? She held tight to her mother’s necklace. “Tell me what to do, mom. I’ll do anything.” Ideas didn’t occur; plans weren’t revealed.
Without a whisper of energy, Cora jumped back when a red journal slid under the door. She waited for the door to fling open. When that didn’t happen, she leaned over and picked up the slim, red book. The journal chilled Cora like she’d touched a weathered ice cube. Even before Cora opened the journal, she knew it belonged to Natalie. She opened the pages and started reading.
Poor Cora. Given your limited world view, you lack the vocabulary or mindset to understand. I know they will attempt to attribute every missing female in their late teens or early twenties from Virginia, but credit cannot be wrangled. I need you to understand, Cora. Females are not my preferred type, as criminologists spout. Blue and green eyed men with a burgeoning self confidence and a lowered awareness of danger fascinate. Physically, Evan would have fulfilled, but his lack of interest in me dampened my enthusiasm.
You remember Oliver, don’t you? My poor pathetic baby brother. He was my first. That’s why I like to use his name. There was another Oliver as well. He was such a delicious handyman whose eyes reflected what I wanted him to see; he thought of me an innocent easily swayed by a handsome face, but his fragility consumed me. Perhaps he tired of his plight and welcomed death’s relief.
I did not venture into anything untoward, as Mrs. Kiness would say, with the victims. It is, as the officials will state, not part of my psychology. Plenty of evidence exists, but blame Johnston’s fumbling psychosis for their degradations.
Without their sacrifice, you would have been destroyed years ago. You can be put away high on a shelf until needed. All roads lead to Cora. But I must proceed. Let me start with Marie.
After a few lines, Cora dropped the journal. She couldn’t focus on the words innocently stitched together into a violent, jagged quilt. Cora imagined snow and a giant mug of hot cocoa with whipped cream and a thick red straw. She imagined anything that would comfort her. After a few minutes, she picked up the journal and quickly read only a few snippets per page.
After a few hours, she wasn’t human. A finger here. A rib bone there. Stronger than the rest but not arrogant, Marie’s intoxicating confidence tempted. But, even the fiercest confidence erodes after hours of torture with a rusty…
Cora skimmed over the murderous weapon depictions.
Even as her pleas ceased, Marie urged immersion in the world beneath skin. Bones, tissue, cartilage, marrow, organs, blood, intestines, spine. Fascinating. I will give a hint that I am not describing the Marie currently missing from Virginia - the Marie you met. There have been many a Marie. The Marie I just described was a first. I like to choose a new Marie every couple of years for nostalgia.
Do you know the blood flows long after death? The lungs stagnate oxygen. The brain processes the final tasks. In that moment, fear evolves to something beautiful. A chasm between life and death. An acceptance of what is, what was, and what never will be. It is a moment of pure clarity without pretense or illusion - pure, unaltered, raw, and beautiful decay.
But you must be quick to collect those moments, Cora. I pity the incomplete lives who have never plotted or perpetrated the death of another. You cannot truly understand something unless you rip it apart. That made little sense until bits of intestines squished beneath my fingernails.
Cora looked up at the ceiling. Once her stomach didn’t feel the purge, she continued.
The one named Amber - so cute with her actually having amber hair. Her parents really stretched their intellectual muscles. Amber screamed. A lot. I hated her for that, and then I hated Johnston for making her scream more. That man’s appetite disturbed even me. This is what he did...
Cora skipped the Johnston descriptions.
Sally was easier than the others. But without time for the usual studies of anatomy and blood splatters and forensics, she wasn’t as fun. Sally’s perfect blonde hair matched her perfect bland life. Sally cried even after her heart was ripped out.
Cora stopped. She hadn’t been as quick. A few words swirled in her brain. She quickly skipped more pages until Anne’s name caught her attention.
Anne’s dark eyes held secrets. No matter how much I inflicted, she refused to scream. Too pedestrian, I imagine. I respected that. She bled all over though, but I have to admit Johnston’s knife is not the most graceful tool. Anne’s willful arrogance fasci
nated, and she hated Johnston. The look in her eyes when he touched her.
Cora wanted to return to a time when evil couldn’t be casually articulated. Some people might imply demonic attributes to Natalie, but that trivialized her danger. “Human flesh and blood without conscience is more dangerous.”
I assume nagging questions haunt you. But do not try my patience with common ones such as, why. Someone asked me ‘why’ once. Then she never asked another question. Are you willing to finally help them Cora? Will you sacrifice for the others or live with their blood on your hands? You have three hours to forget again. Use your dissociative amnesia and will your memories away. You’ve done it before. If you do, Rachel and Marie will live.
Cora’s heart raced. “She doesn’t know that I can’t forget anymore.” She thought about it. “Maybe she does, and this is just another one of her games.”
Alert anyone of what I am, and their families will never find them. Ever. Imagine what their families are going through. The pain. The fear. And you could have stopped it all long ago…
Chapter 40: Fate
Leaving the journal, Cora hurried to the stairs and down to the second floor. She glanced at the clock then used the second floor connector to get back to the New Wing. She quickly closed the door behind hoping no one would follow. A floor board creaked, and Natalie stepped forward.
“It’s amusing to watch. The old Cora would have reverted back to a simpler time.” Natalie pushed Cora’s head back quickly with her index finger. “Does your head throb?” She grinned. “Your appearance certainly has suffered.”
“Were you ever human?”
Natalie stopped. “Now you’re condescending. Maybe something in my past drives me? An unspeakable trauma that left me shattered?”
“You were never traumatized by anything.”
Natalie laughed. “True.” She surveyed Cora as if waiting for her to lash out. “Clever girl not resorting to a common and rather insulting pejorative label.”
