Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

Still frowning, Winston faced her. He was given a momentary start when he saw that she was now more diaphanous than solid. Her face was pale gray mist, while her eyes were opaque and now eerily blue. "Sorry," he said lamely. "Wha' abou' this darkness in me?"

  "Are you aware o' it?"

  "Can't say as I am," he replied, and was a bit unnerved that the words came out sounding supercilious.

  "I sensed it before Roan brought you into the house. I didn’t say anythin’ because it wasn’t ma place. But for two nights now, Mr. Connery, everyone—no' me, o' course—has shared yer nightmares. Last night, even the lass. I spent maist o' the night flittin’ from bedroom to bedroom, listenin’ and watchin’ them all go through the same tossin’ and turnin’, the same moanin’ and groanin’ as you. Yesterday and this morn, ma lads were sullen and listless—as I sensed you were before I knocked at yer door."

  "I'm no' sure I understand."

  She sighed deeply. The sound rippled the air around him. "This itherworld condition o' mine has given me a few abilities, and one is seein’ people's auras. Yers is verra dark. As black as a moonless night. The ithers are unknowingly reactin’ to this, Mr. Connery. This darkness in you is tryin’ to influence them."

  Winston tried not to appear skeptical, but wouldn't he know if he possessed such an aura—especially such a vile aura?

  She faded such that he could barely make out her features.

  "Mr. Connery, tis good you came to Baird House, but you're no' an ordinary mon. You must control yer inner demons. Don’t loose them on the unsuspectin’."

  "Wha' abou' the Phantom? Wha' can you tell me abou' him?"

  "Phantom?"

  "He's here. After Laura. I sensed him when I went ou' after the girl, last night."

  "There is no one here but us, Mr. Connery."

  "No, he is here. Ou’side somewhere. I think the girl may be one o' his victims. Has she said anything?"

  "She's mute, far as I can tell. And there's no' a scratch or a bruise on her. However she came to be ou' on the gazebo, I don’t know, but I've seen no indication she was hurt by anyone."

  Winston adamantly shook his head. "Look, I've been tracking this killer for four years. Dammit, he was supposedly killed some months ago, but I sensed him on the property last night!"

  She was nothing but a mist now, shimmering in the gentle drafts. "There is no killer here, Winston," she said kindly, sympathetically. "You carry him in yer soul and, for wha’ever reason I can’t fathom, you can’t let go o' him. It’s you who is troubled. This...Phantom...is your mind tryin’ to find the mon who is Winston Connery."

  "That's no' possible."

  "No? Do you sense him now?"

  Winston gulped past the sudden dryness in his throat. "So you're saying this is merely ma warped imagination at work?"

  "No' warped," she said, and he heard a hint of laughter in her now wispy voice. "You came here to find yerself, didn’t you?"

  He weakly nodded.

  "Aye, Master Winston, and you will. Given time. We'll talk when I return. The grayness is too hard to resist now, and I'm so verra tired. Think o' wha' I've said."

  The last word softly echoed on seconds after Winston was aware that Agnes Ingliss had completely passed over into another world—the 'grayness' she'd called it. He stood very still for a time longer, mulling over her words and questioning the denial fermenting inside his brain. Given a choice, he would rather the Phantom were actually dead and his own mental wellness in question, than the killer on the loose and testing Winston's ability to end his reign of terror.

  But still, he was sure he'd sensed the man on the property last night.

  Shards of pain throbbed at his temples. Without knowing why, he glanced out the window and saw the peacock again animated, its tail fanned and its gaze riveted on the window behind which Winston stood.

  Dashing from the room, Winston ran to the first floor landing, out the doors, and into the brisk morning air. His socked feet instantly felt the bite of the cold as he trampled through snow until he reached the fountain on the north side of the house. A crusted layer of ice topped the snow, and the crunches his awkward, plodding steps made, seemed inordinately loud. He kept his gaze on the snowman, even when he sank into a thigh-high drift about three yards from his destination. Grunting, his teeth loudly clacking in uncontrollable chattering, he struggled out of the partially frozen hillock and reached the snowman. All the while, the peacock remained perfectly still, its tail retracted, its back to him.

  Roan had called the bird Braussaw, and had said he'd had the bird stuffed after accidentally driving over it. But Winston had seen this bird move not once but twice!

  Could it be another bird?

  He angrily snatched the stiff, feathered carcass from the snowman's head and held it out with trembling hands. Indeed, the bird was stuffed. He stared into its lifeless eyes and wanted to scream. But of course he didn't. That would have been too human a reaction from Winston Ian Connery, which would have convinced him he was truly insane.

  In a fit of uncharacteristic anger, he dropped the peacock and repeatedly stepped on and kicked it. Sawdust spilled onto the ground, a washed out yellowish color against the pristine whiteness of the snow. Winston stomped and kicked, stomped and kicked, adrenaline heating him and warding off the bite of the freezing temperature.

  Something moved in the left side of his peripheral vision. He glimpsed but a black shape against the snow, an elongated silhouette spread across the ground. With a guttural cry, he lunged atop the shape. He pummeled it with his fists, thrashed and kneed semi-solidity. Snow and slivers of ice flew up around his movements only to soundlessly settle back on the ground or on him. A voice in the back of his mind told him he was in the throes of rage, but he denied this. To be enraged, one had to feel deeply or strongly about someone or something.

  He thrashed and cursed the Phantom until it suddenly occurred to him he was fighting his own shadow. The insight struck him sourly in the pit of his stomach and threatened to heave the contents into his throat. But then the lunacy of fighting himself struck home. He flipped onto his back and released a roar of laughter. It weakened him as seconds ticked by.

  His shadow!

  Oh God, his shadow!

  Or was it?

  He sobered and listened to the stark quiet and stillness surrounding him.

  Agnes had warned him of his inner demons.

  Something beckoned him to peer up at his bedroom windows. There, in the right one, he clearly saw the girl watching him. Her palms were pressed to the glass, and her expression told him she had witnessed enough to question his sanity.

  Mortified, Winston got to his feet and testily brushed off some of the snow and ice clinging to him. He realized his feet were achingly cold, as were various other parts of his anatomy. He was loath to go back inside the house. Loath to face her.

  Casting the de-innarded bird a remorseful glance, he trudged back to the front of the house and forced himself to enter. To his further chagrin, Kevin was sitting on the third from the bottom step of the staircase. He watched Winston with wry amusement, his blue eyes seeming far too shrewd for a boy who had recently turned eight.

  "I'd get my butt kicked if I went out dressed like that," he grumbled.

  Winston managed a strained grin. "I'm just a kid at heart."

  "Did you just insult me?"

  The boy's earnest question left Winston at a loss for words. Shaking his head, he patted the boy on the shoulder then ascended the staircase to the second floor.

  Damn, he was cold. Wet and cold and wishing he could melt into the floor and not have to face the girl.

  Not only was she there to silently greet him, but so was the rolling warmth of a blazing fireplace. There hadn't even been a glowing ember when he'd gone outside....

  Avoiding meeting her gaze, he crouched in front of the embracing heat and rubbed his hands together. He could feel her watching his every move and it unnerved him. Rivulets of water wormed down his brow from his sodden
hair. He wanted to wipe away the wetness, but he realized his fingers were now tightly entwined.

  Cramping in the calves of his legs prompted him to sit on the floor, cross-legged. He tried to wiggle his toes, but the cold-induced pain in his feet only brought a grimace to his ashen face.

  A heavy quilt fell upon his back and shoulders. He drew it tightly about him while the stranger came around and stood to his right. Her bare feet were inches from his kneecap. They and her ankles were all that were visible beneath the light blue, floral print flannel nightgown she wore, and the strands of dark hair hanging just below the hemline. Her feet were small and slender, the ankles seeming almost too fragile. His gaze crept upward, slowly and reluctantly because he dreaded seeing what her expression was now. He paused at her concealed waistline and tried to scan her thoughts. A blank wall. Frowning, he tried again, pushing outward with his will to penetrate her shield. Again, he was denied access to her mind.

  He found himself staring into her eyes and he gasped. Her expression wasn't one of ridicule or pity, or even fear that he had indeed lost his marbles. She was...curious. Curious about him and what had brought about his romp in the snow. He didn't glean the information from her thoughts, but rather sensed her mood. She was calm. Not the least afraid of him, as she would be had she been assaulted by the likes of the Phantom. His heart skipped a beat at the thought that Agnes could have been right. That the Phantom was dead, and it was his own projections contaminating his psyche.

  Gracefully, like the petals of a flower unfurling to the rays of the sun, the stranger lowered herself to a sitting position, partially facing him. She, too, sat cross-legged, her delicate hands resting atop her knees. He'd never met a woman whose hair nearly touched the floor, or whose eyes were a brighter blue than the bluest sky. The silken strands framed a heart-shaped face that bore an innocence he'd never before encountered, not even in a child. He couldn't think of an adjective that fittingly described her. Lovely fell short. Beautiful seemed somehow harsh. His thoughts raced through a list until a word glared across his mindscreen.

  Enchanting.

  Yes, she was enchanting.

  "Hello."

  He thought he glimpsed a ghost of a smile in her eyes, but he wasn't sure. Perhaps he was merely being hopeful.

  Sighing, he snuggled deeper into the quilt. "Thank you."

  Could she hear what he was saying? He decided to cast a bit of bait to test her reaction.

  "Ou' there...in the snow...I was forced to battle a monster. It insulted ma mother and, being a mon o' principle, I was left no choice but to defend her honor."

  Nothing. She didn't smile or blink. Just stared at him.

  "Do you have a name?"

  Nothing.

  "How abou' if I call you Tinkerbell? Helen O’ Troy? Lassie? Tweety Bird?"

  Deliah.

  The name didn't come from her thoughts, but it came to him nonetheless.

  "Deliah? Is tha’ your name?"

  She remained silent and still, content to watch him.

  "Deliah," he repeated and smiled. "It suits you."

  He stiffened when she unexpectedly took one corner of the quilt and dabbed at the wetness on his brow. When she settled back, she questioningly arched an eyebrow at him.

  "Why am I nervous?" he asked, pretending to know her thoughts. "Well-ah, I'm no'. No' really. All right, I am. You have me as timid as a schoolboy plundering through puberty. Why is tha', Deliah?"

  Silence stretched between them for what seemed a long time. Winston was aware of his own shallow breathing. He felt oddly at peace, as if he were in the comforting embrace of sleep. A deep sleep without nightmares, only nurturing escape from the cruel reality of his existence. He wondered what it would be like to hold her dry form in his arms and run his chin across her hair.

  His eyelids grew heavy and he sighed contentedly.

  He thought about the garden in the other dimension, and the woman who claimed to be the house. A sleepy smile formed on his lips, and he felt himself floating away from the fire in the hearth, floating through the air and coming to rest upon the decadent softness of the mattress. He imagined himself snuggling up to a warm and shapely form, spooning himself against softness graced with subtle scents of flower gardens.

  Winston drifted deeper and deeper into healing sleep, unaware that Deliah had led him to the bed and now lay on her side in front of him, his damp arms wrapped possessively about her.

  She stared off into space with a look of pure contentment on her face, her eyes mirroring a spring garden which then only existed in her mind.

  Moments slipped by. Diaphanous flowers and birds and butterflies materialized. A floral scented breeze, warmed by a psychically-projected springtime sun, passed throughout the room, causing the heavy drapes to gently flutter and sway.

  When at last she closed her eyes, the room had been completely transformed into a sanctuary of peace and beauty and security. No one could intrude. Nothing could disturb them until he was ready to awaken.

  Unknowingly, Winston slept wrapped around his one salvation.

  * * *

  Kevin gave another fierce tug of the navy blue sweater and finally pulled it free of Kahl's grip. He scowled at his five-year-old brother, daring the redheaded Kahl to defy his wishes again. While his two older brothers silently challenged each other's role as leader of this latest "plan", Alby was content to lean against the doorjamb and observe.

  This was the fifth meeting amongst the brothers, concerning the plan. As before, they were in Kevin’s room, sitting in front of the open closet, their collected devices hidden within the shadows. Kahl had originally thought up the plan, which concerned what he considered to be the lack of security measures. He'd impressed his older brother with the term and his idea of how to better their odds of defeating the chances of another boogeyman man from ever getting into the house again. However, being the oldest and confident that he alone was adult-wise enough to organize the scheme, Kevin was quick to take over.

  Alby was used to the power play between his brothers. Aunt Laura had once called him her little passivist. Whatever that meant. Probably that he was the quieter of the three, he reasoned. Let his brothers slug and shout at each other. Alby wasn't partial to being sent to his room for a nap. Aunt Laura's term of time-out was not his favorite.

  Besides, Alby had more important things weighing on his mind, like...why wouldn't his toys play with him anymore? The only reason he was even participating in the plan was because Kevin had threatened to pour honey in his hair while he slept. That was right up there with time-out, time for bed, and what are you hiding?. Words worthy of his attention. What are you hiding? told him he looked guilty about something, which always resulted in time-out even if he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

  "We gotta have at least two more," Kevin stated, smugly patting the sweater balled atop his lap. "Then we should have enough."

  Kahl's stormy hazel-eyed glare remained riveted on Kevin’s face. He was always peeved about being the middle boy. Never quite as adult as Kevin, nor as adorable as Alby. "Then you get 'em. I about got caught snatching that one."

  With a shrug of indifference, Kevin said, "Okay. I can get two at one time."

  "Fine, then you do just that. I'm bloody tired of sneaking around, anyway."

  "Fine. I will." Kevin glanced at Alby. He was about to suggest Alby take his turn at nabbing at least one of the adult sweaters, but thought better of it. Alby was so short, it would take him forever to yank one off a hanger. Instead, he issued to the youngest sibling, "You can stand watch."

  Alby's dark eyebrows jutted upward. "Huh?"

  "You gotta do your share," Kahl said.

  "Huh?"

  "One more huh and I'm going to thump you," Kevin threatened, then sighed when Alby's lower lip stuck out in a pout. "Okay, so I won't thump you. You don't want us to get caught, do you?"

  Alby had to think about this for a moment. "Naw."

  Kevin grinned triumphantly. "Okay, so let'
s unravel this sucker."

  "Kev?"

  Kevin’s gaze searched Alby's thoughtful expression.

  "What if we do get caught? Aunt Laura's gonna be awful mad at us."

  Kevin and Kahl exchanged a conspiratorial look before Kevin grinned assuredly at Alby. "Think how happy she's gonna be when we trap us another boogeyman. Alby, you don't want him getting into the house, do you?"

  It wasn't so much that Kevin’s questions frightened Alby, but rather the eerie tone in which his brother had spoken. Alby gulped then lightly bit into his lower lip as he shook his head.

  The last boogeyman had turned out to be a boogeywoman, and she had taken Beth and Lachlan away from them. At least, that's how he perceived the events of last Christmas Eve.

  "Oh, lawd," Kahl groaned, casting Alby a look of disgust. "He's gonna start bawling again."

  "Not," Alby sniffed.

  "What's wrong now?" Kevin asked him.

  "Dunno."

  "You gotta know what's got you sulking like a squished worm!"

  Kahl giggled, but Alby only became more despondent. "I miss Lannie and Beth."

  Kahl immediately grew solemn, but Kevin gave an exasperated roll of his blue eyes. "There ain’t nothing we can do about that, right?"

  His brother nodded in unison with him. "Okay, so don't let it bug you. Hey!" Kevin’s eyes lit up with devilish amusement.

  "How about if I share a secret with you guys? Promise not to tell?"

  "Promise," Kahl said quickly, and crossed his heart.

  It took Alby a moment longer to nod his agreement.

  "Okay." Kevin bent over his folded legs, leaning closer to his brothers. "I saw the naked lady sneak into Winnie's room. I think they're doing the bump."

  Kahl's eyes grew larger, while Alby muttered, "His name is Winston. He's nice."

  "Winnie, Winston, close enough," Kevin said impatiently. "He's a fast worker, huh? She must like him a lot."

  "Deliah."

  "Huh?" Kevin asked.

  "Her name is Deliah." Alby released a watery sigh and straightened away from the door jamb. "Maybe she's not doing the bump. Maybe they're just talking. Ever think of that?"

  Kahl jiggled his head. "How come you know her name? Aunt Aggie told me she hasn't talked."