Monarchs

by Rainey, Stephen

  "We'll find out."

  After only a few more steps, David was dragging her, and she no longer felt any pain in her feet and legs. Just numbness, and in the blossoming light she could see her feet leaving a trail of reddish-black, liquid worms that seeped quickly into the mud. Then, to her horror, David was sweeping her up in his arms, and she shook her head and whispered, "No, don't," but he was beyond hearing her.

  Because now, behind them, the beating sounds had turned to a heavy pounding. Still distant, but the thing was on foot and on their trail.

  If one of the Surbers remained alive and were pursuing them, she might not feel such deep, nauseating dread; one of them had offered her a taste of death, and it had not frightened her. Even in the Monarch's clutches, while the thing remained under Martha's dominance, her spirit had somehow endured. But now, almost certainly beyond the old woman's control, the beast offered only the promise of eternal torment, and the idea of that huge, pitchfork hand closing over her again sent her mind in panicked retreat to some dark corner so far away that her mouth could not voice her horror.

  David began to run, his feet kicking up clumps of soggy earth, his hold on her still firm and assured, and she could see his eyes, desperate but determined. When she craned her head around, her heart nearly burst with relief, for in an area where the trees were thin, she could see pale, amber sunlight glinting on metal. After the initial rush of joy, however, she realized that their reprieve would be temporary, at best. She had already witnessed the disdain the Monarch held for such human devices, and if the thing were truly intent on taking them, the car offered no sanctuary.

  The next thing she knew, David was dumping her unceremoniously into the passenger seat of his BMW, and she could see blood dripping from her soles as she drew her feet inside. Her body again felt pain, and she wondered if it was in anticipation of the rending talons that were about to descend upon them. He made sure she was securely inside, then slammed the door and hustled around to the driver's side, thrusting the key into the ignition before he was even behind the wheel. She wanted to tell him that all of this was for nothing, and in seconds, they would surely be dead, but her nerves and synapses had all disconnected, leaving her without voice. Even now, something akin to the acceptance she had experienced when Ray had strangled her was beginning to settle in, but beneath it, debilitating dread still seethed.

  The engine roared, David spun the steering wheel, and the car bolted like an uncaged lion, the acceleration forcing her back in her seat like a blow from a huge fist. She saw trees rushing at the windshield at dizzying speed, but the sight failed to arouse either fear or relief; death from an impact at this speed would be quick and blissful. As the car slid around a curve, throwing up a fine, dark spray, she managed to lean around the seat and peer through the rear glass, now coated in slime.

  Beyond the dark mosaic of branches and vines, she could see a pale shape standing like an immense marble sculpture, its misshapen head tilted so it could watch their retreat, one deep, glaring eyehole briefly visible to her.

  David glanced back, realized their pursuer had halted, and eased off the accelerator a tad. His relief spread to her like a warm ocean wave, and only after her chest felt ready to burst did she realize she had been holding her breath. She released it and began to breathe more or less normally. A few seconds later, a brilliant beam of sunlight burst through the windshield.

  The BMW burst like a charging bull out of the woods onto Owen Swamp Road, swerving perilously back and forth until David let off the gas and regained control of the bucking steering wheel. He slowed to a safe cruising speed, wiped his face with a sweaty, grimy hand, and drew himself up in his seat, his sardonic demeanor restoring itself almost as if his panic had been nothing more than a gaudy show.

  He gave her a sidelong glance and with a little shake of his head, as if to expel any lingering fear, he said, "Well, if nothing else, I think it's safe to say the old bitch is awake."

  Chapter 21

  Her senses were too far gone for their arrival back at the Blackburn house to register as more than a vague impression of having reached a familiar place, if not actual safety. She felt as numb and dead as if her body had been drained of blood, and even when, as David helped her from the car, she glanced up and saw a dark silhouette watching her from the upstairs rear window, she felt nothing. When he took her in his arms to carry her through the back door to her suite, she had no voice left for protesting, even if she had desired it. With extreme gentleness, he laid her on her bed and then gave her a brief, heartfelt kiss on the lips.

  He vanished immediately, and though consciousness came and went several times within a matter of seconds, she finally realized Arlene was in the room with her. The older woman had started a bath running and was standing at the edge of her bed, pouring a dark liquid into a metal basin. Her kind, wistful eyes shifted to Courtney's.

  "Those are ugly wounds," she said in a soft voice. "I'm going to clean them for you. It's going to hurt, but you'll be better for it."

  She felt herself nod, and when Arlene dipped a clean washcloth into the basin, squeezed it thoroughly, and touched it to her abdomen, Courtney thought another blade had sliced into her flesh. Her body jerked reflexively and her lungs unleashed their contents in a powerful explosion. The pain lasted only a short time, though, and as Arlene gently bathed the cuts and then blotted them with a dry cloth, she felt a sense of profound relief. When the older woman's fingers touched one of the wounds and came away with no blood on them, Courtney felt no pain at all.

  "I'll be right back, honey."

  She heard the bathwater stop running and then a sloshing sound as Arlene tested it with her hand. The pleasant sound of humming drifted from the other room, the melody bringing to mind a tune that her grandmother used to hum when she busied herself about the house — back in the days of childhood, when life was beautiful and exciting and the human beings she knew were not monstrous things that intended only to use and violate her. For a moment, she felt more content than she had in uncountable years.

  "I'm going to do your feet now," came Arlene's voice. "I'm afraid it's going to hurt again."

  This time, when the cloth touched her sensitive soles, the bolt of agony was even worse. The stabbing pain went all the way to her bones, causing her to cry out as her legs went into spasms and her back arched violently. Tears spilled from her eyes, and her fingers gripped and tugged the bedsheets until they tore. However, when the worst passed and the sting began to dull, the sensation of healing spread through her entire body, transforming her exhaustion and hurt to tranquil drowsiness. Arlene very tenderly patted the wounds, and again, she felt only the velvet touch of her caretaker's fingers. The terrible throbbing and burning was gone.

  "Let me help you up," Arlene said, coming around the bed and leaning over her with eyes full of compassion. "We'll get you into the bath, and then you can sleep."

  Courtney nodded, confident that, at least for the time being, she was safe. She sat up slowly, gauging the sensations in her body, hardly able to believe her pain had subsided so completely. She gave Arlene a wan but grateful smile.

  "Think it's working," she managed to whisper.

  Arlene smiled back. "Old family secret. Now, you just take my arm and we'll go slow. Okay?"

  With Arlene's assistance, she made it to her feet and crept toward the bathroom, holding onto the housekeeper's arm to keep from stumbling. She still felt weak and a little dizzy, but she managed to step into the tub full of steaming water and settle into a sitting position without collapsing. She leaned back onto a comfortable, inflatable pillow, and luxuriated in the caress of the hot, sudsy water, her mind still so overwhelmed that nothing yet seemed quite real.

  Arlene knelt beside the tub and produced another clean washcloth. "Just relax now," she said, "and I'll bathe you real good."

  "Don't have to do that."

  "It would be best," Arlene said, her voice edged with authority. "It will make you better."

  Sh
e had no energy to argue, and, after the way Arlene had treated her injuries, she trusted that the older woman had only her best interests at heart. So, she nodded, closed her eyes, and laid her head back on the pillow, too weak and weary to feel an ounce of shame as Arlene's hands began to scrub and massage her body from top to bottom.

  "Where is Jan?" she asked, after a few minutes.

  "In her room. She's in a sorry state too — sorrier than you, even — but I expect she'll be all right."

  She opened her eyes and watched Arlene work the washcloth up and down her legs, dissolving the casing of mud. Around her, the water had begun to turn black.

  "Such a mess you are," Arlene said in a little singsong voice. "What a horrid time you must have had."

  "How can you be Martha's friend?" she asked, staring at Arlene's impassive features.

  Arlene's large, dark eyes turned to hers. "What makes you think I'm her friend?"

  "I know about your family. And how old Martha is. David said you're the closest thing to a friend she has."

  "That's as maybe," she said with a mirthless chuckle. "All that really means is that she hasn't seen fit to do away with me. She'd have a harder time for herself if she did, and she knows it."

  "How's that?"

  "Oh, I look after her things, her place. There's no one else who would, you know."

  "I guess you told her about me going into her room?"

  "No. I told you I wouldn't, and I didn't. I always keep my word, Courtney."

  "Why do you help her?"

  Arlene's hands ceased moving, and for a long moment, she stared at the wall. "Because I'd rather stay alive."

  "So that's how it is?"

  Arlene nodded.

  "You weren't honest with me about the Monarch. You did know it was real."

  "I still had hopes you'd never need to know the truth. Once you do know…well, Courtney, you're damned."

  She turned her eyes to the ceiling, uncertain how to take Arlene's words. "That's what it feels like," she said, mostly to herself. "Damned."

  "You stay in the bath for a few minutes, and I'll go change your sheets. You need sleep something fierce."

  "What time is it?"

  "Long about seven-thirty."

  She nodded and lay in the black water for several minutes, finding that her consciousness kept drifting toward some dark territory that offered no comfort. When she closed her eyes, she saw Ray Surber's face looming before her and then felt the crushing, iron grip of the monster that had carried her. By rights, she should be quite mad now. Totally insane.

  Arlene returned a few minutes later, helped her to her feet, which, to her surprise, did not protest, and wrapped a clean towel around her shoulders. As she stepped out of the tub, she examined the cuts just below her ribcage. They looked fiery and deep, but they caused her no pain and did not bleed.

  "I'll tape those up for you," Arlene said. "Don't worry, they'll heal fine."

  "Thank you," she said, somewhat relieved to know that Arlene expected her to survive beyond her pending appointment with Martha.

  She allowed Arlene to towel-dry her body and tape some gauze pads over the cuts on her abdomen. Then she shuffled to her bed, now freshly made with clean sheets. She collapsed on top of it, and though her body ached to submit to obliviousness, the horrors that she knew would infiltrate her dreams had sparked a new undercurrent of fear.

  "Here," Arlene said, tugging the sheets out from under her and covering her with them. "Let's get you fixed up. No one will disturb you for as long as you want to sleep." She studied Courtney's pale face for a moment and then nodded in understanding. "Ah, you're frightened, aren't you? Don't worry, honey. Nothing will harm you now."

  "Bad dreams," Courtney said, her voice nearly gone again. "Going to have bad dreams."

  "Well," Arlene said. "Let's do something about that." She went and pulled the old Boston rocker from one corner of the room next to the bed and sat down in it. Closing her eyes, she first began to hum a soft, slow melody, and then she started to sing.

  "Go to sleep, go to sleep, little baby.

  Mother will protect you and keep you from harm.

  Go to sleep, go to sleep, darling girl.

  I'll be with you always; my love is never far."

  The sweet sound was like a warm blanket that smothered her apprehension, and consciousness quickly retreated, this time toward a secure, comforting place, where she knew nothing evil could trespass.

  Just before sleep took her, she sensed Arlene leaning over her, and she heard the woman's voice whisper, "Sleep tight, child. I'll never let her do to you what she did to mine."

  With that, a new darkness materialized and followed her into her dreams, but it was not dark enough to summon back all her terrors.

  When Courtney awoke, long shadows filled her room, and she realized the sun was going down. Full consciousness returned slowly, and it was only when she felt a twinge of pain below her ribcage that the memory of all she had been through came rushing back. Rather to her surprise, disappointment at waking up still in the Blackburn house eclipsed any actual fear. The bedclothes felt warm and comfortable, and, as long as she lay still, pain remained at a tolerable distance. She moved her legs back and forth without undue difficulty and then sat up very slowly, hoping her body would not rebel with a sudden flare of agony. It did not. The cuts in her abdomen made for worst of it, but the dull throbbing seemed merely an annoyance.

  She placed her feet on the floor and then rose an inch at a time, until she discovered they could bear her weight more or less normally. She lifted her right foot and examined the sole — and was shocked to find only a few minor scratches and fading bruises. Same for her left foot. Jesus. Whatever the hell Arlene had used on her, it seemed to be working.

  It wasn't natural. Any more than Martha being two centuries old and the Monarch coming from somewhere beyond the boundaries of known time and space was natural. The idea of accepting these premises as reality was enough to send anyone over the edge, she thought. But here she was, living in a veritable house of madness, and if her sanity had fled sometime earlier, she had no way of knowing it.

  She took a few steps toward her dresser mirror and, feeling a little stab of fear at what she might actually see, regarded her naked, shadow-swathed body.

  She looked normal.

  Slightly dark circles under her eyes, hair in disarray, and a vague dark patch under her right breast — bruising from the Monarch's talons, no doubt — but otherwise it looked like the same young woman she always saw in the glass. She shrugged at her reflection, somehow having expected to see something other. Something she would not like.

  But she found she was cold again. That damned, bone-chilling, unnatural cold that had gripped her practically from the moment she had stepped out of Jan's car onto Blackburn property.

  After going to the bathroom, she got into a pair of fresh jeans and a sweater, brushed her hair and teeth, and pulled on a pair of flat sandals, wondering if she would ever be able to feel normal again. Glancing out the window at the dark woods, she found herself shivering with both the odd cold and some anxiety about the rapidly falling night. She had run through a lightless abyss for such a long, harrowing time, and now, having slept through the day, darkness was on its way to overtake her again, all too soon.

  Knowing that the longer she waited, the worse the anticipation would be, she set off down the hall, measuring her pace in case the pain returned, determined not to falter. She could see a light burning in the kitchen, and as she reached the end of the hall, she found David and Jan standing together at the door to the dining room, facing her as if they had known she was coming. David smiled warmly at her, while Jan looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

  "Are you hungry?" David asked.

  "No."

  "Come sit with us anyway. After all you've been through, you need something in you."

  His patronizing tone irritated her, but she nodded and followed him to the table, which was
already set for three. Arlene was placing several steaming bowls on the table from a serving tray, and when she saw Courtney, she offered her a somber smile.

  "Well, good evening. I'm glad you're up and about again."

  "Thank you for helping me."

  "Don't mention it. Least I could do."

  Jan showed no sign of being in pain as she walked toward the table, and Courtney found the lack of any overt sign of the dire abuse she had suffered the previous night almost startling. "Are you all right?" she asked, noting that the dark bruises on her friend's face had faded to barely-defined shadows.

  Jan nodded, her eyes only flickering toward Courtney's. "Arlene took good care of me."

  "Me too."

  "We'll be fine."

  "Yes."

  "Shall we sit down?" David said, gesturing at the chairs. "Let's see what Arlene has made for us tonight."

  Courtney settled into her chair at the ridiculously opulent table and found herself shuddering at the thought that, twenty-four hours earlier, she had been embroiled in the most fantastic nightmare she could ever imagine —excepting her daughter's murder, perhaps. But even that had been a work of purely human evil, and she could still wrap her mind around it. Somehow, all this seemed a charade, a display of pageantry that in reality was leading up to an even more personal, still darker revelation. She wanted to pick up the fine china and hurl it — at both Jan and David — but her more rational impulses prevailed, and she sat like an automaton and waited politely while Arlene began to serve them.

  Fresh spinach salad with grape tomatoes, rare prime rib au jus, stewed white corn, sugar snap peas, mashed potatoes with gravy, and cornbread. A full glass of Cabernet Franc, already poured. But even though she had eaten nothing since early the day before, she could barely choke down more than a few forkfuls. The table, the room, everyone present here, all were dominated by an unseen presence: the ominous, overbearing presence of the old woman hiding in the rooms above. Courtney mostly picked at her food and sipped her wine, and she saw that Jan was doing the same.