by Nathan Roden
Robert’s jaw hung slack. His hand fell away from Holly and down to his side. The vision disappeared. He turned his head and looked at Oliver and Holly.
They were both shaking their heads slowly while pressing a finger to their lips.
Robert gulped.
“I need to ask another favor.”
“Whatever we can do to help,” Oliver said.
“I’ve talked Emily into remaining here,” Robert whispered. “I can’t have her involved with the search. And—”
Robert blinked away tears. His voice quivered.
“I’ve given them no kind of life, Olly! I’ve pursued my career and the needs of the army—and where has that left us? We have no one at home. No one! No family. No friends.”
“Surely you have friends—”
“Ha! We tried. Believe me, we tried. But how do you have friends, when you have nothing to talk about? Our lives are off-the-record.”
“Emily is welcome in our home for as long as you need,” Oliver said.
Robert nodded.
Holly tapped on Quentin’s office door. Quentin looked up from his desk.
“I need to speak to you, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said.
“Certainly,” Quentin said. “If your aunt and uncle need accommodations, I could take care of—”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Holly said.
Holly recounted most of the story.
“You’re leaving tonight?” Quentin said.
“Yes,” Holly said.
“But what about—?”
Quentin was going to ask about their plans to drive to St. Louis the next night, but that seemed a bit trivial at the moment. He wasn’t sure that Holly would want to go anyway.
“I understand, Holly,” Quentin said. “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all. Even if you just want to talk.”
Holly smiled.
“I will, Mr. Lynchburg. You are a very good friend.”
“Not as good as you, it would seem.”
“This is my family,” Holly said.
“Friends, family—when it comes to the people we love, the line gets blurred, doesn’t it?” Quentin said.
Holly walked around Quentin’s desk. She hugged him and kissed his cheek.
“It certainly does. Goodbye, Mr. Lynchburg.”
“You’re going to call me Quentin, one day.”
“Perhaps, I will, Q.”
“I’ll see you soon, Holly.”
Holly left the room. Quentin looked at his phone. He felt like he should let Wylie know about Holly’s plans, but this was opening night of the tour. This was not the time or place to pass along this kind of news.
What would I say, anyway? Quentin thought. Your girlfriend knows you lied to her and she’s leaving the continent—have a nice day?
Quentin looked down at his desk; at the financial plan that his accountant had given him two days ago. He had no desire to look at it anymore. In fact, he had no desire to do anything complicated or important. So, he did what he always did when he felt that way.
He went outside to feed the birds.
Twenty-Nine
Adrian Crane
Wellmore Village, Scotland
Adrian Crane awoke and was shocked at what he felt. Rather, he was shocked at what he did not feel.
The pain that had been a part of his life since that fateful day in his office was now no more than a dull ache. It was his third day at home, after visiting an exclusive and secret clinic. The clinic was nestled in a remote and highly-guarded secret location at the foot of the Alps. He had gone under anesthesia in a spotless room, awaiting medical treatment by the most sought-out and gifted professionals on the planet.
After four hours attention by gifted hands and a state-of-the-art laser, Crane was headed for recovery.
He had many questions about the procedure, none of which were answered. He drew his own conclusions.
The service he had just received was available only to a select few—those of immense wealth, or power, or both.
Or school systems with administrators who wished to hold onto their careers long enough to retire.
Crane dressed and called for a taxi to take him to the train station.
Later that afternoon, he stopped his rental car in front of the Castle Wellmore. Young people, in groups and pairs, parked and strolled up the hill toward the castle entrance.
Crane reached for the door handle. He jumped. Two boys passed by his window. One of them bent over and lowered his head to look in at him. The boy bared his pointed teeth. He was made up and dressed like a vampire.
What sort of place is this? Crane thought. Halloween in February?
Crane left his car and walked up the hill. He was unable to purchase a ticket for a tour of the castle—the next three tours were sold out. A man standing nearby watched Crane turned away. The man wore the same t-shirt as a group of ten others, announcing that they were a part of the same group of tourists. Crane had seen their bus parked down the hill.
“Tell you what, Mate,” the man said. “I’ll sell you my ticket if you like. I’ve been inside of six castles in the last three days, and I can’t imagine this one is much different.”
The man winked at Crane.
“Besides,” he said. “With all these young birds flitting around outside here in their little short pants, I’d just as soon stay here and watch them, if ya know what I mean!”
“Of course,” Crane smiled. “Thank you.”
“I should make you wear this awful shirt, as well,” the man laughed.
Crane followed at the back of the tour group. He stepped through the front doors and put his hand against the cool stone wall. He felt….like he had come home.
Inside the great room, the young woman introduced herself and gave an overview of the castle. Crane inched his way toward a roped-off doorway. He looked inside. That room was the kitchen. At the back of the kitchen was a huge wood and iron door.
Crane felt dizzy. He was temporarily unable to focus. His eyes were drawn to the door. Whatever stood behind it was affecting him like a powerful drug.
“Hey, Mate,” a young man clapped Crane on his shoulder. “You’re not gonna black out on us are you?”
The young tour guide, Abigail, stopped speaking.
“I’m sorry? Is there a problem?”
Crane blushed.
“No, no. No problem. Does the tour enter this room?”
“Yes, Sir,” Abigail said. “At the conclusion of the tour. The root cellar is the oldest part of the castle.”
“Is there a dungeon?” Crane asked.
There were oohs and ahhs throughout the group.
“Yeah! A dungeon!” one of the boys yelled.
“Dungeons! And dragons!” another yelled.
“Bring it on!” several of the other young people yelled and pumped their fists in the air.
The other tour guide, Lori spoke.
“There is a dungeon beneath the castle, but it is off-limits due to decades of water seepage, and possibly more rats than you might wish to deal with.”
“Boo!” cried many of the boys. More cries of disappointment followed.
An hour later, Abigail opened the cellar door. She and Lori stood on the steps beneath the entrance to the root cellar, just above the warning banner that crossed the stairs. The tour wound its way through the door and in and out of the root cellar. Adrian Crane was the last one through. He leaned against the stone wall and felt a wave of bliss and power rush through him.
That was when he noticed the change—the change that had taken place in his body.
His arm and shoulder were completely free of pain.
Crane could swear that he heard voices swirling in the air around him.
Deliciously, evil voices.
The sun was low in the sky when Crane exited the castle. The man who had sold him his ticket gave him a thumbs-up from his seat on a bench, where he watched four young co-eds playing with a Frisbee.
“Did you enjoy the show?” the man asked. “I‘m certainly enjoying mine!”
“Quite an interesting bit of history,” Crane said. “Yet probably much like a hundred others, as you said.”
“The rest of my group are as slow as Christmas. I’m ready to get to our hotel and have myself a pint or two.”
“Perhaps you could recommend lodging in the area,” Crane said.
The man shrugged.
“I wouldn’t know what to tell ya, Mate. I just get off where the bus stops. I hear that one of the Inns in the Village burned down last night—at least it wasn’t ours! Nasty business. Killed three people.”
“You don’t say?” Crane said. “Well, thank you again.”
“Sure thing, Mate,” the man said. “You’re welcome to follow the bus into the village. I’d be happy to buy you a pint.”
“I might just do that,” Crane lied. He walked down the hill to his car. He sat in it for a moment and stared up the hill.
What is the strange power in this place? he thought. And what wonders lie beneath the ground? He lowered his eyes and stared into the trees that surrounded the property.
He felt an electric sensation flow through his body.
And what other presence tickles the hairs on the back of my neck? he thought.
Crane fought the temptation to leave his car and walk into the trees to look around. There was something there. Something that drew him, but felt….dangerous.
He was far from home, and no one had reason to know him here, but Crane did not want to be remembered—by anyone. There were still a lot of young people about. Young people with sharp eyes and inquisitive minds.
Crane squinted into the trees. A shiver ran through him.
He started the car and drove into the village.
Tara Jamison breathed a little easier as she watched Adrian Crane drive away. She could not believe her eyes.
How could that awful man have found her? And why would he come here—to Wellmore Castle? To this place where her cousin had been employed—a psychopath’s castle full of demons!
Tara was furious with herself.
I should have fled the Inn instead of burning it to the ground, she thought—but she had been afraid, and angry. Now, she dared not attempt to rent another room. The police could very well be looking for her. She was also running out of money and the nights would be cold and miserable without shelter.
Tara knew that it was dangerous for her to return this close to the castle Wellmore, but she was desperate. She hid beneath the trees where she could see the car that she recognized.
Abigail’s car.
Abigail was the last to leave. She got into her car and closed the door. She jumped when she saw someone appear at her window.
“Hi,” Tara said.
“Emily. You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” Tara said. “I just happened by and saw you get into your car.”
Abigail looked up the road.
“This is an unlikely place to ‘happen by’. Did Mr. Wellmore help you locate your friend?”
“No. He remembers her, of course, but he didn’t know where she might be.”
“That’s too bad,” Abigail said. “Maybe your parent’s will have better luck. Your father could ask around the university.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your father,” Abigail said. “He’s going to work at the university, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Tara said. “That’s right.”
“Look, Emily. I’m going to have to get going. I have a class in the morning and plenty of studying to do tonight. It’s also my night to bring home dinner.”
“Oh,” Tara said.
Abigail looked around.
“Did you walk here?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a fairly long walk from the village.”
“I enjoy walking,” Tara said.
“Well, it will be dark soon. Could I drop you somewhere?”
“That would be great,” Tara said. “Thank you.”
Abigail drove slowly.
“Where can I drop you off?” she asked.
“Anywhere in the village is fine,” Tara said. “I don’t want you to go out of your way.”
Abigail pulled over and stopped.
“Listen, Emily. You seem to be a good kid and everything. Have you run away from home?”
Tara said nothing and stared out of the windshield.
“I’m not going to turn you in,” Abigail said. “Maybe you had a good reason. Your parents aren’t anywhere around, are they?”
Tara shook her head.
“The girl you’re looking for; is she someone in your family?” Abigail asked.
Tara nodded.
“Maybe we could talk to Mr. Wellmore again—”
“No!”
“What’s wrong, Emily?” Abigail said. “Wait. That’s not your real name, is it?”
Tara shook her head.
“You’re frightening me, whoever-you-are. I can’t help you if you won’t—”
“Tara. My name is Tara.”
“All right, Tara. What happened at the castle? I know that Mr. Wellmore is a little creepy, but—,”
“He is evil,” Tara said. “And there is a greater evil beneath the castle.”
“What do you mean—e-evil?” Abigail whispered. “Did he touch you—?”
“No. I mean the purest evil. The ultimate evil.”
Abigail began to cry.
“I…I can’t help you, Tara! What do you want from me?”
“I need a place to stay—just for a little while,” Tara said. “I cannot check into an Inn or hotel—some people may be looking for me.”
“I can’t…” Abigail sobbed. “Please, just go! I won’t say a word to anyone.”
“I need your help, Abigail. You’ll be in no danger—I promise.”
“No,” Abigail shook her head vigorously. “Please, just go. I can’t help you!”
Abigail reached for her ignition key. She screamed. The key burned her hand. Tara lifted her fingers, and the keys flew from the ignition into her fist.
Abigail stopped crying and stared wide-eyed at Tara. Tara pointed out her window at a large tree. Abigail stared.
There was a loud crack! The tree trunk snapped at just above ground level, and the tree fell.
Abigail screamed again.
“I promise you,” Tara said. “You will be in no danger.”
Thirty
Wylie Westerhouse
St. Louis, Missouri
There was a timer on the wall that counted down the minutes to showtime. A stagehand led Nate out of the room first. He would be the first one onstage—right after the lights went out. Nate starts a bass-drum-heavy beat that he plays while the rest of the band walks on.
Me?
A riser lifts me up to stage-floor level—directly in front of the drums.
I stood on the lift beneath the stage between two stage technicians. The small area was brightly lit so that I wasn’t blinded when I came out. There was no detail that hadn’t been thought through, as far as I could tell.
I jumped when I heard Nate hit the bass drum. The techs laughed at me.
“Hey, give me a break,” I said. “This is all brand new to me.”
“Don’t worry,” one of them said. “I heard your sound check. You guys are tight. Besides, this is Saint Loo, Baby. Skyler’s people. You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” the other tech said. “Hometown! Skyler’s people. You’ll be fine. Just don’t screw up.”
They both laughed. One of them punched my shoulder.
“I hate you guys,” I smirked.
“Go get ‘em, Killer,” one of them said.
The drums rolled in my head. I heard the announcer begin my introduction. I heard Bo’s bass line kick in. I made a last-second adjustment to my headset microphone.
Oh.
My.
God.
Our opening song is up-tempo and guaranteed to start
the show at a hundred miles an hour. Everyone was in their spot, including the two girl background singers.
The intro went great, and the first verse did, too—just like we had rehearsed. At the start of the chorus I started at one side of the stage and made my way across; slapping hands. The security staff knew that that was coming and they moved into formation—or whatever you call it.
They were allowing a limited number of fans close access, but only for the opening song. It was mostly girls.
Everything went according to plan until I reached the end of the stage. Two guys stood behind their girlfriends. I guess they didn’t care too much for the girls’ reactions. They made obscene gestures over the tops of their girlfriends’ heads.
Well, I wouldn’t be going over to that side of the stage anymore.
The opener ended and the roar was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I sure hoped that some of it was for us, and not just Skyler’s fans being polite.
Nate counted off the launch into our second song, when a squeal of feedback came through the sound system. It lasted for a few seconds, after which my headset refused to work. A frantic tech ran out with another one and we traded them out.
Oh, well. Stuff happens, they say in polite circles.
That breakdown messed with my head a little. There were some boos and catcalls during the few seconds of silence while the techs attended to the technical issue. Halfway through the next song, I was tense. I felt like I was moving through deep sand. I stood in the middle of the stage, concentrating on where my next move was supposed to be. Bo stepped in front of me. I don’t know where he was supposed to be, but I knew that facing me with his back to the audience was not the right place.
Bo crossed his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and made a goofy face. I turned and looked at Nate, who watched the whole thing while laughing his butt off.
