by Marcus Brown
“Tammy, please.” Tabitha said.
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it? Well may the Goddess forgive us all for our part in this mess.”
She stormed off up the staircase.
“Tammy, come back,” Talia begged.
Tamara stopped on the balustrade and turned to look down on her sisters. “And while I think on, do something about those mirrors. Jeremiah travelled by them and I’m sure mother will take advantage of them too.”
“There are a million and one ways she could get in here, but…” Talia said.
“In fact,” Tamara said, stopping her short. “I’ll sort them myself.” She raised her hands slowly into the air and screamed, “SHATTER.”
Tabitha and Talia quickly bowed their heads, covered their ears and crouched down.
The sounds of shattering glass echoed around the manor.
The hallway floor was covered with shards of glass.
The expensive crystal chandelier that hung from the hallway ceiling had shattered into thousands of pieces, covering the marble floor. The debris from the chandelier twinkled in amongst the glass.
Tabitha and Talia raised their heads and looked at the devastation before them.
Tamara blinked and vanished.
“Tammy…” Talia said.
“Don’t,” Tabitha said. “Leave her be. She’ll calm down.”
“This isn’t like her at all.”
“She has a point, don’t you think?” Tabitha asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Depends what part you’re talking about,” Talia replied.
Chapter Thirty-four
The following day, Tabitha was up at the crack of dawn.
She was sitting at the breakfast bar sipping a strong cup of coffee when Talia flounced in.
“How am I going to do my hair with no mirror?”
Tabitha glared at her. “Don’t even go there, not after last night.”
“Well, Tammy needs to get over her little tantrum. I’m not having her dictate to me.”
“Just go easy on her for a bit, will you? She’s been through a lot, you both have.”
“You know, I never said it yesterday, but I know how hard it was to let mother go, but you did the right thing. He tortured that poor man in there, and I truly believed we were next.”
“By the Goddess, Tony Marshall. I forgot about him.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Jeremiah took him away once he’d died and the rats had finished with him. I’m sure whatever’s left will turn up at some point.”
“This is a nightmare,” Tabitha said.
“Forget that for a moment, what am I gonna do about my hair?”
“Here, let me fix it, then shut up,” She waved her hands and Talia’s long locks magically transformed into an Afro.”
Talia reached up to touch her hair and gasped. “Really, Tabitha. How childish.”
Tabitha chuckled and lifted her mobile phone and snapped a picture.
“Don’t you dare,” Talia warned,
“Too late,” Tabitha replied as seconds later Tamara blinked into the kitchen laughing.
“That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” Tamara said, her eyes glued to the screen on her phone.
“You two really are witches.” Talia’s face was rigid with fury. “Fix it, right now, Tabitha.”
“Oh, okay, spoil sport.” Tabitha clicked her fingers and a mirror floated in from the hallway. “There you go, Princess,” Tabitha joked.
“You fixed the mirrors. Oh, joy,” she said, smiling.
“Yes, and I’ve made sure they can’t be used for anything but reflecting your perfect features back at you.”
Tamara blew a raspberry as Talia stared at her own reflection.
With a snap of her fingers, Talia’s long blonde locks returned and she looked as glamorous as always.
“I think I preferred the Afro,” Tabitha joshed.
“Piss off, both of you.” She stormed out of the kitchen as Tamara dissolved into fits of giggles.
“And how are you this morning?” Tabitha asked.
“Better, but if you’re holding out for an apology, you’ll be waiting a long time.”
“I don’t expect, or deserve one, Tammy, but you need to understand I was torn in half and didn’t know what to do for the best.”
Tabitha’s phone vibrated on the breakfast bar.
She picked it up. “Trey, it’s early. What’s wrong?”
“What is it?” Tamara whispered.
Tabitha shushed her sister and listened to what Trey had to tell her.
“Okay, I’ll see you there in an hour. Just give me some time to get ready and have a coffee.”
She put the phone down on the table.
“Tally,” she called, as her sister reappeared in the kitchen.
“Hey,” Talia said, obviously surprised to be stood back in the kitchen. “What’s the big idea?”
“We’ve got a major problem,” Tabitha declared.
“What is it?” Tamara asked. “Is it mother?”
“A body was taken to the morgue a couple of days ago and Trey just got the fingerprint results back.”
“And,” Tamara and Talia said.
“It’s Jeremiah Blackwell.”
“How?” Tamara asked. “We burned him.”
“I don’t know how, but his body is in the morgue. Trey said his body was badly burned, but they were able to get partial prints.”
“Then, how does Trey know it’s Jeremiah?” Talia asked.
“Because we lifted his fingerprints from Miriam Donaldson’s the night they found her body. My team knows her accomplice was male because of DNA they found in the house, and from the sperm sample they collected from Miriam’s anal passage.”
“Oh, gross,” Talia said.
Tamara nodded her agreement.
“Once they get the DNA results back, they’ll tie up with what we already have, and there you have it, Miriam’s accomplice has been caught.”
“That’s good then, surely?” Tamara said.
“No, it’s not good at all. You gave Jeremiah’s description to the police last night.”
“Only because you told us to,” Talia replied.
“Yes, because Jeremiah isn’t from this time period and can never be traced. The Police will never discover his name. He’ll be a John Doe forever, but now they know he’s dead, they’ll want to know who killed him. Don’t you see?”
“Oh, no,” Tamara said.
“They’ll be looking for a third person.” Tabitha looked worried. “I better get ready and go see Trey. I’ll probably be in the office until late tonight, so be careful, okay.”
“Yeah, I’m going to work, and so is Tammy. We need to get back to some sort of normality.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later. Call me if there’s any problems.” Tabitha blinked out of the kitchen.
Chapter Thirty-five
Trey was standing over the body of Jeremiah Blackwell.
He was stumped about what had caused the fire that burned the stranger on the slab before him.
The victim’s clothes had been tested and there was no sign of flammable liquid.
What was used to start the fire? he wondered.
The elevator door opened and Tabitha stepped out.
He rushed over to greet her, his lips brushing her cheek. “Tabitha, it’s good to see you.” His informality surprised him.
“What have you got for me, Trey?”
“Unidentified male victim I believe is the accomplice of Miriam Donaldson.”
“You’re certain of that?” she asked.
“One hundred percent,” he replied.
“Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“He died from a wound to the throat. Windpipe was pierced, that much is clear, but he was dead when he was set alight. The problem I have is what was used to set him alight?”
“I don’t understand?”
“There was no accelerant used. No trace on his clothes. Nothin
g. So, it begs the question, how was he set alight, and with what?”
“That’s way beyond my understanding. I’m sure you’ll find out eventually.”
“I don’t like it, Tabitha. Something doesn’t add up here -- I can feel it,” Trey said. “What am I missing?” He turned to look at Jeremiah’s body. “Come on, see if you recognise him.”
“Why would I recognise him? He kidnapped my sisters and they didn’t have a clue.”
“He was targeting you, that much is obvious.”
“Why’s it obvious?”
“He took your sisters. Why not you? Maybe he’s somebody you crossed from a case long ago. Just humour me and look at him, please.”
“You know I don’t like seeing this sort of stuff, but if it eases your mind, fine.” She stepped closer to the body.
“Anything?”
“No. He doesn’t look familiar to me at all.”
“Then I’m back to square one.”
“Leave the detective work to us, Dembélé. It’s our job to find out who he was.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry, Tabitha. I was kinda hoping this would be over and done with, but somebody killed this one here so there’s another one on the loose. I’m just waiting for the body count to start rising.”
“I hope not,” she replied. “Are you free to take me for a coffee?”
“Yeah, sure, just give me a minute and I’ll be with you.” He disappeared into another room.
*
Tabitha moved away from the body, not comfortable being in such close proximity to it.
Morgues always made her feel uneasy, so she waited by the elevator, her back to the body.
A few minutes passed and she looked down at her watch, willing Trey to get a move on. She turned around to go and move him along, but stopped dead in her tracks.
Jeremiah’s body was gone from the slab.
Her heart thumped and she felt like it was going to burst from her chest.
She stepped tentatively past the slab, wondering if Trey had somehow moved him. But, surely, she’d have heard him move something as large as a man’s body.
“Trey,” she shouted, “how long are you going to be? I’m parched.” She tiptoed along the floor. “Trey,” she called again, but there was no answer. “If this is some sort of joke, I swear, I’ll arrest you myself and throw you in a cell for the night.”
Tabitha stepped gingerly around the corner. Everything seemed to slow down, and it took a few seconds for her to realise what she was seeing.
Trey was lying on the floor, his head caved in.
Blood was splattered up the walls and running along the pristine white tiled floor and into the drain.
For a moment, she thought of Rigby, then heard a strange gargling like noise and watched in horror as Jeremiah walked slowly around the corner and glowered at her.
He had a surgical mallet in his hand, covered with blood and gore.
The skin and flesh on the left-hand side of his face had been burnt away. His jawbone, cheek and part of his skull were visible and for that small moment in time, Tabitha stood mesmerised by him.
Tabitha backed away from him, and he continued to step closer to her until she hit the wall behind, cornered with no escape.
“Jeremiah, please,” she begged.
“Witch,” he said, as air bubbles escaped from the deep gash in his throat. “I’ll send you to hell.”
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded, quickly bringing her arms up to protect her face and turning away.
Jeremiah lifted his arm high in the air and brought the metal hammer crashing down into the back of her skull.
Tabitha’s blood splashed his face and she slammed to the floor, dead.
To be continued…
The Crockworthy Sisters
~ Part Three ~
The Unholy Trinity
Prologue
Jeremiah Blackwell smiled as he delivered his final sickening blow. His right jawbone and back teeth visible through the holes where skin and flesh once sat.
It gave him undeniable pleasure taking Tabitha Crockworthy’s life.
He looked down at Tabitha, lying on the floor, twisted at an unnatural angle, like a marionette who’d had her strings cut.
The smell of the blood excited him – and suddenly he felt ravenous.
With his warped mind in overdrive, he knew what he had to do to deliver the final indignity to the dead witch – he’d consume a part of her.
Quickly scanning the sterile environment, he reached for a scalpel. He would take what he could and leave her mutilated body for her sisters to cry and grieve over.
Inhaling deeply, he caught the scent of Tabitha’s blood and looked forward to tasting her.
Perhaps he would bake himself and Abigail a tasty pie for supper. Yes, he thought, relishing the idea of feeding daughter to mother.
He knelt, deciding what part of her to take first. Perhaps her pretty eyes would be a good place to start.
But, before he was able to lay a finger on her, a sudden whooshing sound assaulted his ears and he felt himself being yanked.
*
Abigail Crockworthy jumped up and down, screeching like a maniac.
“You see, I told you it would work,” she said, triumphant, grinning at Numen, as Jeremiah appeared out of thin air before them.
She looked at his disfigured face, and tingles shimmered down to her special place – he looked more appealing than ever. Something about the burns gave him a darker, more appropriately evil appearance.
“I warn you, Mistress,” Numen said, in human form. “Such dark magic will be your undoing and....”
“Hush,” she interrupted, not desiring another lecture. “The grimoires may be lost to me, for now, but freeing you from your prison has enabled me to tap into powers far greater than I, or my infernal daughters could ever dream of.” Numen stared at her with soulless eyes. “Now, let’s see how well they survive without their gift of immortality.”
Chapter One
Dark red blood splattered the once pristine white tiled walls.
Suddenly, still lying twisted on the floor, covered in blood, Tabitha exhaled.
Please, she thought to herself. Let him be gone.
It was the greatest performance she’d ever given, and it had saved her life. Tabitha knew it was her only chance of survival
Adrenaline pumped through her body, her nerves aflame. She was taking a huge gamble, and carefully opening her left eye a fraction, she wanted to be sure the whoosh she’d heard was Jeremiah disappearing.
Her last hope of survival rested upon it, and opening her eyes fully, and eternally thankful to the Goddess, he was nowhere to be seen.
She struggled to think clearly or make sense of much at all – the pain was almost unbearable and intensifying as the seconds ticked by.
She’d been injured in the course of duty before, but never to this extent, and now with both eyes wide open, she could see the blood splattered around her. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisaged herself part of a gruesome crime scene as this.
Usually, she could sense when her body was fighting to heal itself, yet despite her immortality, she could still be severely wounded. But, something was different this time and she’d felt it from Jeremiah’s first strike.
Her head began to throb in rhythm with her heartbeat and she could feel unconsciousness battling to claim her, but if she allowed that to happen, she might never wake up again.
In a last-ditch attempt to summon help, she feebly reached up, desperate to press the panic button. She was nearly there, but not close enough to actually touch it. Tabitha knew she had to find the strength to move.
She would get help, for Trey at least, even if it was too late for her.
“Trey,” she whispered.
Her vision jumped in and out of focus, but she took a deep breath and pushed herself to her knees, reaching for the button. She wobbled, missing it by millimetres, pressing her hand against the wall to try and steady h
erself. She just wasn’t the giving up type.
She could feel the blood running slowly down her back, yet couldn’t gather her thoughts long enough to perform a simple healing spell.
She looked across at Trey. There was so much blood. His complexion ashen and his lips a pale shade of blue.
It broke her heart to see him lying there, motionless – another casualty of the Crockworthy’s. She wanted to crawl to him, and hold him in her arms, but she didn’t have the strength to move that far. Tabitha screamed in frustration – for the first time in her life, she felt truly helpless. All she was able to do was watch, and hope Trey knew she was close by.
*
Tabitha focused intently on Trey.
She couldn’t tell if he was still breathing, but as hard as she stared, she couldn’t focus enough to see.
By now, blood had pooled underneath him, and she caught the awful metallic scent of it hanging in the air.
She could just make out the gaping wound to the side of his head.
“Just one last spell,” she cried out. “Just one, and I can heal him.” But the magic never came. “Please. Almighty Goddess, if you’re listening, help me. I love him.”
Even hearing herself say the words surprised her. She knew there were feelings there and over time, she’d tried to fight them, force them to the back of her mind, until now. Tabitha hadn’t realised how much she loved Trey, and now, she’d never get the chance to tell him.
She didn’t want him to feel alone when he died.
She knew there was only one way to save him, but nothing would convince her to meddle with time again.
If she and her sisters had left Abigail in 1692 and not selfishly tried to alter their own history, none of these events would have come to pass.
It should have been so simple.
Jump back in time to that terrible day and snatch Abigail a second before Numen cut her throat. But arriving seconds too late, Abigail’s soul had already been claimed by heaven, and what they brought back was only a shadow of the wonderful, kind and caring person their mother once was. Yes, part of her remained, but there was no conscience – only a desire for power.
