"Dear God, Father!” she cried out to the river. “What happened? Why?"
The river had nothing to say. She listened to the breeze, the birds and the noises of the approaching evening. None of them had any answers for her and she was alone—so alone. She had never felt so isolated in her life. What had she done? Why couldn't she remember all of what had happened? All she could see were flashes—small snatches of sounds, color and a gun firing. Blood! So much blood and it was on these demon hands that had once been hers. They were covered in her father's blood and he—he was dead.
She had tried to make him stop bleeding, to coax him into speaking to her, but all he did was stare past her with that fixed, glazed look in his eyes; his beautiful, lifeless blue eyes. These demon hands—she saw them holding that gun, saw them fire it at her beloved father. But these were not her hands; they belonged to someone else. She loved him too much to have allowed her own hands to do such a thing. Yet these hands had wiped the gun, replaced it in her father's hand. That was so wrong, almost as wrong as the shooting itself.
They would say he had killed himself and that was wrong! These demon hands killed him. What she couldn't reconcile was how these murderous hands had become attached to her wrists. What evil sorcery was this that could replace her hands with these hideous monster hands? She should tell everyone she had killed her father, because it was the hands at the ends of her very own arms which were to blame, but that wasn't true, was it? She wasn't the one who killed him, but these hands pulled the trigger.
She wanted to cut them off and throw them in the river, put them as far from her as she possibly could. But she knew even if she could manage it, nothing would change. Her father would still be dead; she would still see his face and the look in his eyes. She would still remember these hands until the day she died; remember how they had grabbed the gun from her father and shot him. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. She wanted to throw herself off the ledge into the river, but she couldn't move, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted her father back, but she knew nothing would bring him back now. She wanted to run away, but there was no escaping these hands.
She heard the sound of low laughter behind her, turned to face a dark, shrouded figure. It was a woman; Missy had seen her before, but now she couldn't remember just where or when. Her eyes were dark, evil, penetrating as she stood there cackling at Missy's grief.
"What do you want from me?” Missy asked.
"You know what I want, Melissa; you know you do. We have talked about this before. Have you forgotten so soon?” the woman asked.
"Who are you and why do you want me?"
Again the cackling laughter. It echoed in Missy's head, only got louder when she tried to cover her ears.
"Leave me alone!” Missy screamed.
"Melissa, we did this for you. Why are you so ungrateful?” the woman asked.
"You did nothing for me! What you did, you did for yourself and no one else!” Missy spat at the woman.
A slow, treacherous smile spread across the woman's face. “See?” she said, “You do know who I am and what I want. Admit it, my pretty little lass."
Missy lowered her head to stare again at her hands. “You killed my father,” she whispered gravely.
"Not true, you know,” the woman said. “We killed him; you and I together."
"No!” Missy shuddered as she shouted. “I did nothing. You did it all; you and the other monsters with you."
The woman neared Missy, cupped her chin in a cold, vice-like hand and drew the girl's face closer to her own. “You have a selective memory, little one. ‘Twas you who struck the bargain, remember? You wanted to know all about my world, my magic. You and your father both did. But he tried to back out of the pact. You see what happened to him. You want the same fate to befall you?” she asked in a lowered tone, her dusky eyes flashing at the girl.
Missy tried to pull away from the woman, but found herself locked in place by a force stronger than she could fight.
"Think about it, little one. Do you want the headaches, the sleepless nights and the delusions? Will you persist in fighting me as he did, or will you give me what I want?"
"You want to kill me? Do it now!” Missy dared. “I will not quietly submit to your control of my body, or my life. You already took my father from me."
The woman narrowed her eyes, grabbed Missy's arm, forced the girl to stand toe-to-toe with her. “There are others you care about, Melissa. Do you want me to take them as well?"
"You can't do anything to me that will hurt more than what you have already done,” Missy said softly as tears flowed down her cheeks.
Moira stared at Missy a long moment, formed a vindictive scowl. “You have no idea what all I can do to you, lass, or to the others. If you insist on fighting me, I will never cease to torment you until you become totally mine,” she told Missy.
Missy gave her a defiant glower, narrowed her own eyes. “I will fight you with all the strength I have. It may not be much, but I refuse to honor a covenant you tricked me and my father into in the first place. You are a thief and a liar, and you will kill me in the end anyway, regardless of what I do or don't do,” Missy said.
Moira shook her head. “Too bad. You have chosen your fate, then, Melissa. You will be mine from now on and in the end, I will take you to serve me, just as I have the others before you,” she said. Moira held Missy's face between her hands, stared into the girl's very soul. She would have satisfaction over this strumpet of a child. Gradually, she tightened her grip on Missy's face until Missy began to writhe in pain.
"You see? I have powers you have only begun to comprehend, little one. From this day forth, you will never know what is true and what is imagined. Poor baby, they will think your mind simply snapped like a twig because of your father's unfortunate suicide when you tell them of watching Tarrh McCann murder your father. But you see, little one, we do not exist here and we cannot be found, except in your own tiny, deranged mind. No one will believe you because you can never hope to prove your story."
Missy was losing consciousness against the pressure Moira exerted on her head. The pain was unbearable and she was forced to suffer in mute agony. Moira had paralyzed her tongue; she couldn't even scream. She found herself totally helpless as image after dim image flashed through her head. She saw this man—Ptarmigan. His was the only image she could hold onto as Moira crushed her brain against the confines of her skull. She saw the dark woman's face change until she was looking at a man, tall and angry, his eyes burning into her memory. This was the one who killed her father, she thought; this was the monster, Ptarmigan. Her vision faded into a black cloud as she lost consciousness.
"Enough!” the man shouted.
"Go away! This does not concern you!” Moira shouted in reply.
Tarrh slackened the hold Moira had on the girl, allowed Missy to slip out of his hands, though he guided her limp form gently onto the white bench before he let her go. “You have done enough,” he said, seemingly speaking to himself.
"How dare you interfere with me!” Moira hissed.
"How dare you take such liberties with this poor child,” he hooted in reply.
"She is mine, Tarrh. You cannot change that. She will be mine for always, just as her father is,” Moira hooted.
Tarrh knew he was helpless to undo the binding Moira had worked. At least he could delay the girl's impending death at Moira's unsympathetic hands. The child would never be the same bright, lively beautiful creature she had been, but Moira would have to wait to claim her prize. It was over for now. He had subjugated his evil counterparts once more. Each time it grew harder and took longer than the time before to bring Moira under his control, for in actuality, they were all controlled by another, more ancient menace. The one, the dark avenging phantom from the past, was becoming stronger while Tarrh's own potency seemed to ebb more all the time. Was there no end to this travesty? Would that he had never taken her into his life to begin with; the story would have been a vas
tly different one. When would it be over?
* * * *
Liz's eyes snapped open as she bolted upright in the tub, splashed water over the sides onto the floor, the vision slowly fading from her mind. So that is how it is, she thought—Tarrh and Moira constantly at war with one another, ever the one striving for control over the other. Had Tarrh realized how it would be when he bound Moira and Sean to share his fate in his black pit? Missy's predicament became painfully clear to Liz now. Moira had worked the same binding on Missy and Leonard that Tarrh had worked on her and Sean. Leonard and Missy's souls were at Moira's bidding. Who—or what—was the dark, avenging phantom from the past?
This realization was almost beyond what Liz could accept. She had never believed a person's soul could be commanded by any mortal, much less the ghost of a mortal, sorcery or no. The fate of a person's soul was a divine decision, wasn't it? How, then, no matter how much power Moira wielded, could she ensnare Missy and Leonard—and others? To whom had she been referring when she spoke of others? Was David Spencer one of them? If he was, it would explain many things about his twisted, perverse nature.
Liz slowly stood, opened the drain to the tub and wrapped her towel around her. Benjamin had succeeded in returning this spirit conglomerate to the pit after he had inadvertently let it out—but how long had it been between the time he had opened the pit and the time he had resealed it? Perhaps he had opened it when he was quite young, giving it time to work its worst against him and David. It found a worthy opponent in Benjamin, but David had been easy to control. Had it somehow retained control over David even from the pit because it had manipulated him so completely while it was free? Yes, that was how it had been; Liz could see it all now, all except for the one who was seemingly in control of them all.
Interesting Benjamin had failed to mention the manipulation of his brother. He didn't know—he knew so much about Moira and the others, but he didn't know the spirit was the one directing David's bizarre demands and actions. Moira, or the other one, had used David to get to Benjamin because Benjamin's own protection was too strong against her evil magic—but he had no defense against his strange, warped half-brother. Ben actually cared for David and therefore was vulnerable to the things David did and said. Ben knew David would kill him; he allowed himself to be killed in order to take his secrets to the grave with him, rather than give David whatever it was he and ultimately Moira, or the other one, wanted.
Things were crystallizing for Liz now. The only question she still couldn't answer was what Moira was up to. Moira was malicious and vindictive, but there seemed to be a deeper driving force behind all that, one that had compelled her to wreak havoc on everyone who had anything to do with the portal. Was it all for control of the portal—and if it had been, what could she hope to gain now by controlling it? As a spirit with all the power she had, she could travel to any time and any place already without any of the restrictions the material body posed. So what could it be that drove her to possess the portal and all those who had anything to do with it?
She still wanted Benjamin, for one thing, wanted to prove herself stronger than Ben and Tarrh combined. But that alone couldn't be reason enough to continue in her war against the inhabitants of this house—or could it? Perhaps Liz just wasn't deranged enough to understand Moira's motives. What else could there be? Was the other spirit orchestrating everything, and if so, why?
Then a thought struck Liz; Moira was looking for a living body she could control—in which she could once again be mistress of the mansion. She wanted the adventure owning the portal could afford her as a human. But there was still something else, wasn't there? She wanted someone who was willing to let her trade places with them so she could be someone different than she had ever been. She wanted to taste again the joys of the physical body, the chance to live a different way this time. She wanted to be something she had never been—something she could never hope to be—a normal human being with no powers. Liz dwelt on the thought for a minute, wondered if such a thing could even be possible. But it didn't matter whether it was possible or not, did it? What Moira wanted with all her being was the issue and that goal, realistic or not, was what drove her. Reality was, after all, in the mind of the believer.
Liz wondered what it would be like to have been a woman such as Moira—beautiful, dark, powerfully magical. Liz had always believed black magic was evil and would destroy the one who wielded it. Perhaps that was what Moira had discovered as well, but she had no choice—the magic was part of her legacy, a fate she was doomed to live out, no matter if she wanted only to be a normal mortal—it wasn't part of the cards she had been handed to play to be normal. Moira had to be a sorceress of the black arts, had been groomed for it all her life, but no amount of magic could give her the simple things she longed to possess. True love and a happy home had been denied her, made her bitter, spiteful. What did the portal have to do with that? Liz didn't know enough about the portal yet, but she did know there was more to this story than she could guess at this point. There was more than even Benjamin knew. She would have to wait for the rest to be revealed to her.
She hadn't the time to contemplate all the ramifications right now. It was six o'clock; she had guests downstairs waiting for her; time to shake all these thoughts out of her mind and to get ready. There would be plenty of time later to cogitate on the mysteries of Tarrh, Sean, the hauntingly beautiful, enigmatic Moira—and the other being of which Liz knew nothing, save it was mingled with the others, or was it? What kind of power did it wield? What did it want? Why was it here?
Chapter 28
Liz entered the hall and was on her way down the stairs when she suddenly felt she needed to check on Kim. She quickly covered the length of the hallway between the front bedroom and Kim's bedroom on the east end of the house. Liz tapped on Kim's door, but received no reply, so she opened it to find Kim staring out the bay window.
"Hey, what's up?” Liz asked, crossing the floor to Kim's side.
Kim shrugged, continued to stare out the window. “I don't know; I was just about to head back downstairs when I was overshadowed by a feeling of total sadness,” Kim said.
"Sadness?” Liz parroted. “That's not like you. What do you think it is?"
"I don't know,” Kim said, turning to face Liz with tears in her eyes. “Maybe I, like you, am too tired from last night, but I feel almost like something terrible just happened and I don't know what it was."
Liz gave Kim a hug, brushed the tears out of her friend's eyes. “We've both been under a lot of stress in the last few weeks. After tonight, we can take a few days to rest up. I had a few insights while I was relaxing in the bath while ago. I wish I could tell you all about it now, but I will get the chance later. Maybe you are feeling empathic with Missy,” Liz suggested.
"Missy? What about her?” Kim asked.
"Well, Missy did shoot her father, but she was being controlled by Moira, or whomever the other spirit involved in all this is, for starters,” Liz said. “Then Moira bound Missy to be subject to her, the same way Tarrh bound Moira to the pit with him."
"Are you telling me Missy is still under Moira's control?” Kim asked.
Liz nodded. “Along with several others. I haven't figured it all out yet, but the conglomerate spirit apparently claimed Leonard—and David Spencer as well,” she said.
"What?” Kim asked. “Benjamin didn't say anything about it controlling Spencer."
"Benjamin didn't know,” said Liz. “He had banished the spirits back into the pit, so I guess it never occurred to him to think that entity might be responsible for David's strange appetite for the macabre."
Kim stared at Liz a moment before replying. “Are you saying the entity, whatever that means, was responsible for everything Spencer made Benjamin do? Don't you think that may be a little far-fetched?” she asked.
"I can't explain it all to you now,” Liz began, “but what if Ben unknowingly opened the pit when he was very young? Somehow Ben was always totally protected a
gainst the attacks thrown at him. I think it may have had something to do with his being descended from Melody. Remember what Ben said about Melody knowing magic and outliving Moira and Sean?"
"Yes, but—” Kim began.
"Maybe she worked some kind of protection over all her descendants so Moira could inflict no harm on them—but Spencer, maybe, wasn't really Ben's half-brother and so there was no protection for him.” Liz said, her eyes growing wide at the revelation she had just uncovered. “The entity used Spencer to get at Ben in a way it never could,” Liz speculated.
"What was it trying to gain?” Kim asked.
Liz sighed heavily. “I have some theories on parts of it—but I haven't figured it all out yet,” she said. “Come on; we had better get down there and start acting like hostesses; our guests will begin arriving shortly."
"Yeah, you're right. Thanks. I do feel better now. Looks like we may be in for a heck of a storm, though,” Kim said.
"Storm? Really?"
"Well, look at those clouds; what do you think?"
Liz looked out the window, nodded. “Looks as if you may be right,” she agreed. “Oh well, what would Halloween in a haunted house be without a real thunderstorm? Hope we have laid in enough candles in case the electricity goes out."
Kim giggled, poked Liz. “Come on; we'd better get down there. By the way, John's mystery guest is Sondra—his daughter."
"His—his daughter?” Liz stammered, then smiled widely. “Oh, his daughter! Isn't that nice?"
Kim shook her head, grinned. “Um-hum—nice,” she agreed. “I thought that would make you happy."
Liz wrinkled her nose, rolled her eyes. “I—well, okay! It makes me happy,” she admitted.
"Aha! I thought so,” Kim said. “Come on, let's party. Are Spooky and Ghost ready?"
"Ooh, I forgot all about them. Spooky, kitty, kitty? Ghost, here boy! Time to put your costumes on!” Liz called as Kim prepared the costumes, which consisted of a small black satin cape for Ghost and a tiny magic wand suspended from a glittery collar for Spooky.
McCann's Manor Page 30
