Stella Maris (The Legendary Rosaries)

by Marita A. Hansen

  “Where’s Sister Cecile?” I asked, taking a quick step backwards, fear racing through me.

  “She’s sleeping,” he answered.

  “Does she know you’re here?” I replied, edging closer to the front door.

  He remained perfectly still, unconcerned with my slow retreat. He was well over six-foot, with a muscular body that women no doubt loved. But all I saw was danger, the man capable of doing horrific things if what Sister Cecile said was true.

  “I’m not here for Cecile,” he said. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”

  I stopped a few feet from the front door, distrustful, but still curious to hear what he had to say. “How did you know I’d be here? And why would you want my help? I’ve only seen you once.” Outside of my dreams.

  “I knew you would go to Cecile,” he said, not answering my other question.

  “You shouldn’t be here, she doesn’t like you. She’s afraid of you. And how can she let you in if she’s sleeping? Did you break in?”

  Reprebus bowed his head, genuine sorrow permeating his expression. “I’m truly sorry that my daughter is scared of me. Cecile—”

  “Whoa!” I cut him off. “You’re seriously saying that an eighty-something woman is your daughter?”

  He nodded. “Things aren’t always what they appear. Don’t take everything at face value or you’ll come to harm.”

  My eyes widened. “Are you threatening me?!”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to harm you. But I don’t have a say anymore, other than within these brief pockets of time you’ve given me. Your presence is making him weaker, allowing me to fight against my imprisonment.”

  “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  “I’m saying to not trust what you see.”

  He pulled out a red rosary from under his dark, button-down shirt. It was the same rosary from my dreams, similar to Christopher’s, yet with a more jagged ruby. The red stone was considerably larger than the other beads on the chain, a fiery beacon above a gold cross.

  “Did your rosary react to mine?” he asked.

  I shook my head, stunned that something from my dreams was real.

  “That is how you can tell if someone won’t harm you. It will always react to danger. If you feel it vibrate, it’s warning you, but when you feel it in your veins, you’re in danger. Trust in the beads, not in what you see.” He indicated to his face. “Because this is all a ruse. I’m not who you think I am—”

  “I know nothing about you, other than you’re Christopher’s grandfather and that Sister Cecile thinks you murdered her mum.”

  He held out his hands. “These hands have caused great tragedy, but it’s not me you need to be afraid of. It’s my cousin. Because of him, I need you to use the full force of your rosary on me.”

  “The full force? What do I look like? Luke Skywalker? Stop talking in riddles and speak like a normal person.”

  “That’s the thing, I’m not a normal person. I’m not even human. Like you. We’re Merges, or in human terms, angels. I’m just a fallen one, tainted by evil. But my cousin is far worse, and if you want to live, you have to stop him from doing to you what he did to me.”

  “I don’t even know this man.”

  “You do; you saw him in your dream and the passe.”

  “How does everyone know about my dreams?!” I yelled, not knowing what a passe was, nor caring, because I was ready to flip my damn lid.

  “Other Merges can enter fellow Merges’ dreams as well as pass through time to different eras. They will use the pearls on their rosary to achieve this. They’re like keys, unlocking doors to both thought and time, which is why you should always be aware that you may be watched.” Suddenly he clutched his chest, looking like he was going to have a heart attack.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, not willing to go near him like I’d done with Sister Cecile.

  “Michael’s coming. I have to leave before he arrives, or he’ll kill you.”

  He ran at me, causing me to scream and raise my fists, readying to defend myself. He shoved me aside and shot out of the door, leaving me blinking in surprise. I turned to the door, the man gone as though he’d never even been here. Spooked out of my ever-loving mind, I slammed the door shut and locked it, then ran for Sister Cecile’s bedroom, finding the nun lying in bed, looking dead.

  Terrified that Reprebus had killed her, I shook her. Her eyes shot open. Startled cloudy blue eyes stared back at me.

  “Ca-Catherine?” she said, pushing up. She was wearing a white nightie, her short grey hair free from her habit. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Reprebus was in the house. I was scared he’d killed you.”

  Her eyes widened. “He was here?” Sweeping the covers aside, she pushed out of bed and shuffled out of her room.

  I followed her. “He left, ran off like a ghost was chasing him. He said that he had to leave before his cousin came, so I locked the door after him.”

  Sister Cecile turned to me. “Which cousin?”

  “Michael.”

  She didn’t reply straight away, what I’d said appearing to have stunned her. “But he’s dead,” she finally said, appearing disturbed.

  “Reprebus didn’t appear to think so.”

  “Michael’s still dead. He died in a school fire last century.”

  My eyebrows winged up, my dream coming to mind. “How could it be last century? I saw him in a dream with Reprebus. They were the same age.”

  Sister Cecile shook her head. “Michael was a year older than my father. He was seventeen when he died.”

  I scrubbed a hand down my face, the weird just getting weirder. “You’re doing my head in, Sister.”

  She gave my arm a squeeze. “I realise this is all very odd to you, but you must understand that we’re not human. Age and appearance aren’t necessarily related for Merges. Power and appearance is.”

  There was that name again. “Reprebus said Merges are angels.”

  “Angels or demons, some even mixed.”

  “So am I a Merge or a Maris?” I asked, getting confused, Christopher having called me the latter.

  “Both. A Maris is a type of Merge, ones who—”

  “—are demons?”

  She pulled a face. “Of course not, I was going to say control water. Why would you even think such a thing?”

  “Because Christopher called me a demon. That’s why I’m here. I had a run-in with him yesterday.”

  Her face turned concerned. “Did he hurt you?”

  I shook my head. “He ran off, went all freaky after he saw my rosary. He looked scared of it.”

  A smile pulled at her lips, a triumphant look brightening her cloudy eyes. I’d almost describe it as wicked, the nun definitely not the turn the other cheek type. “Good, hopefully it’ll mean he’ll stay away from you,” she said. “And I’m guessing you believe me now?”

  I reluctantly nodded. “Red eyes, dreams that feel as real as when I’m awake, and a strange humming rosary... I think I’m starting to believe something isn’t right.” Maybe with my mind.

  “What other dreams have you had since you last saw me?”

  I sat down on her couch, having no intention of telling her about the one with Christopher. “Last night I dreamt about a teenage Reprebus and his cousin. Michael apparently killed a priest called Father O’Malley.”

  Sister Cecile’s eyebrows shot up. “Michael killed the father?”

  “Yes, they were arguing over it. Do you know anything about it?”

  She ran a wizened old hand through her short grey hair. “Only from news clippings. I read about the priest’s disappearance when I was delving into my father’s history. It was an unsolved case. No one found him.”

  “Well, Michael killed him for his rosary.”

  “Greed and lust for power can warp many people, but I don’t understand why you’re dreaming about a dead boy.”

  “Me neither. I was hoping you could shed some light on
it.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea. I wasn’t alive when Michael was around. I was born several years later.”

  She went to sit down beside me, looking like she was struggling to lower herself. I reached out to help her. As our hands came in contact, a strong jolt went through me, my muscles seizing up painfully. I gasped at the same time as Sister Cecile.

  She whipped her hand away from mine, her expression horrified. She started shaking her head, saying, “No, no, no...” She placed a hand over her chest, gripping onto it, looking like she was going to have a heart attack, her reaction much stronger than Reprebus’.

  “Shit, not again!” Unwilling to risk it this time, I went for the phone on the side table, my body still hurting from the contact. “I’m ringing for an ambulance,” I said, dialling the emergency number.

  “No, child,” Sister Cecile pushed out, her voice strained. “Put that phone down and stop fussing. Come here. No one can help us, but ourselves.”

  A voice came over the line.

  “Put that down!” she barked, no longer clutching her chest. “It’s not a heart attack.”

  I hesitated for a moment, then hung up and headed back to her. “Then what the hell was it?”

  “It happens when Merges have premonitions. The breath gets knocked out of us. It’s not dangerous, just startling.”

  “What premonition?” I asked, not even bothering to question whether it was real or not, because after the week I’d had, I was ready to consider anything was possible.

  Her expression turned sad. “I saw a battle between you and my father.”

  I laughed, didn’t know why, other than it was the only thing that came out of my mouth. The only thing I could think to do. Because this was madness!

  She scowled at me. “I’m not joking.”

  Wishing she was, I went for the door. What she was saying, what was happening... I couldn’t take it anymore.

  She scrambled to her feet and went around the other side of the coffee table, probably intending on cutting me off. But she was too slow. I was already at the door, just wanting out.

  “Catherine,” she said. “You will win.”

  I turned to her. “How do you know that? Did you see it in your premonition?” I said, layering on the sarcasm, not caring if I was being a bitch.

  She shook her head. “No, but you will win.”

  “Win what?! Because I sure as hell don’t know what I’m fighting over. Or even if any of this is real. Maybe I’ve gone nuts, finally flipped my lid.”

  “You’re not crazy, Catherine. This is very real.”

  “And that makes it any better? God! I’d prefer to be nuts.”

  She placed a hand on my arm, probably intending on it being comforting, but all I felt was trapped.

  I jerked her hand off, not wanting her touching me. Not wanting any of this. “None of this is logical. Why me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s not about logic. It’s about faith.”

  “Do you think I have an ounce of faith left after my sister was burnt to death!” I yelled, my body shaking.

  “Blame the Devil, not God, and the rosary will help. It’ll also protect you.”

  “Humming beads won’t do anything,” I said, pulling them out from under my shirt. “And what you saw may not even be real.”

  “My premonitions are never wrong. The battle will happen.”

  “Yeah, right,” I spat, denial the only way I could cope with this.

  “You came to me, so stop treating this like it’s a joke.”

  “I’m not treating it like a joke!” I prodded my chest. “This is my life you’re talking about. You go and tell me I have to battle some man I don’t even know. Do you even hear yourself? A battle? This is 1989, Sister, not bloody World War Two.”

  “It’ll happen whether you want it to or not, so stop throwing tantrums, because right now I’ve had just about enough, Catherine.”

  “Oh, I do apologise, your holiness.”

  “Catherine,” she growled.

  “Yeah, I’m a real angel,” I said, unable to hold back my snide remark.

  She blew out a frustrated puff of air. “I understand you’re upset, but please rein in your temper. I can only take so much.”

  “You can only take so much?”

  She scowled at me. “I’m a very old woman, Catherine, much older than your grandparents. Would you speak to them in this manner?”

  “Fine, I’m sorry,” I grunted, the old bat having a point. “Just tell me when this battle is supposed to be, so I can make sure I’m in Disneyland at the time.”

  She exhaled loudly. “That’s not funny, Catherine, and I don’t know when it’ll happen, other than you don’t look much different from now. And it’ll be at a park or reserve. There was a large expanse of grass and a lot of trees.”

  “So, all I need to do is stay in the city, that’s if I even choose to believe what you’re saying, because you can’t predict the future.”

  “It’s the same as seeing into the past, just images moving in different directions. My premonitions are as real as your dreams, as real as a passe.”

  There was that word again. Passe. I went to ask her about it, but she continued talking.

  “If anything, they aren’t premonitions, they’re reality. As real as you standing here in front of me.”

  I shook my head, not wanting to hear anymore. I turned to leave, needing to get away from her … from everything, because no one had a right to attack me. I was ordinary, nothing special, and up until I’d gotten the rosary, nothing weird had happened to me, other than...

  My sister had been burnt alive.

  I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Fire. I’d dreamt of fire. With both Michael and Reprebus. And Christopher’s touch had almost seared my flesh.

  I turned back to Sister Cecile, saying one name. “Vesna.”

  Her face saddened, sorrow colouring her expression.

  “She was burnt alive,” I said. “Burnt like you said your mother was.”

  “I don’t think it was my father,” Sister Cecile replied.

  Anger flashed through me, anger so fierce that it almost consumed me. She’d kept this from me, from my family. “You don’t think? Then explain why my sister’s burnt body was found in a park!”

  She jolted, her expression worried.

  I lifted the rosary up. “Did you give her this? Did you tell her all the same things you told me, getting her killed by some lunatic?”

  She shook her head. “No. I never gave Vesna the beads.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I spat. “You did something, because all of this can’t be a coincidence.”

  “I may sometimes withhold the truth, but I would never lie. I never spoke to your sister about any of this.”

  “But she was burnt to death, and now you’re saying I’ll be battling Reprebus in a park? She died in a park, while he supposedly has fire powers—or a bloody flamethrower.”

  “He had no reason to go after Vesna. She didn’t have the rosary.”

  “Maybe he thought she did.”

  “No, he knew I had the rosary, but held back from taking it from me, because I cursed it.”

  “You gave me something that’s cursed?!”

  She shook her head. “No, only for him. I put a spell on it so he would weaken around it. It’s why he left New Zealand. He can’t be around the rosary for long before the beads start damaging his health. I just don’t understand why he came back. He’s been away for decades because of it.”

  “Then who killed my sister?”

  “Probably a Seraph demon. The Seraphim demons can recognise a Merge without a rosary.”

  “Which means this demon is still out there? That’s if demons are even real. Hell, why am I even questioning this?” I yelled, intense anger breaking free, grief too, the thought of this demon burning my sister alive making me want to scream. “I also don’t believe you had nothing to do with Vesna’s death. I
don’t care if you’re a nun, you got her into this somehow. You got my sister killed!”

  She didn’t reply, guilt written across her face clear as day.

  “What did you do?” I hissed.

  “Nothing. I saw her the day she died, said hello to her on the street. Nothing more. I hadn’t seen her for a while and we just passed pleasantries.”

  Not believing her, I yanked off the rosary and threw it at her feet, not caring if I damaged it. If anything, I wished the cursed thing would shatter into a million pieces.

  “You can take your damned rosary back!” I yelled. “And I don’t ever want to see you again.” Shaking, I spun around and opened the door, tears already blurring my vision.

  “Stop, Catherine! Please! You’ll be in even more danger without it.”

  Ignoring her, I ran outside and grabbed my bike, gone before she could say another word.

  Chapter 9

  ~ CHRISTOPHER ~

  Wednesday the 31st of May, 1989

  I put my new Alfa Romeo into gear and followed Catherine down the steep hill. A medium strip filled with bottlebrush trees separated us, shielding me from her view. She continued walking, unaware I was following her. Despite the harsh words I’d said to her the other day, I wanted to know more about her, specifically whether she was one of the mythical Stellas.

  I pulled over to the kerb, allowing another car to pass me, then continued following Catherine. As she neared Camdale Avenue, I planted my foot on the accelerator and took a sharp right, speeding through the stop sign so I could get in front of her before she crossed the road. Appearing startled, she jumped back onto the kerb, her expression quickly changing from disbelief to fear. She went to run. Leaving the engine running, I jumped out of the car and shot in front of her before she could get away, my long legs chewing up the ground faster than she could move.

  She staggered back, holding out her hands in front of her, her expression full of fear. “Stay away from me!” she yelled. “I’ve done nothing to you. Nothing!”