Driving to her house was a mistake that I instantly regretted.
But damn, seeing her again was like being given a gift.
I filed away the mental picture of her for later, and vowed to keep my shit together. I was here to work, not reminisce about an old flame, and especially not to reignite that fire.
Some sparks were meant to go out.
Maybe eventually this one would, too.
Until then, I’d focus more on work and a whole lot less on Rose Marie Davenport.
Chapter 17
CHERRY
Blinding light pierced the comfortable darkness I’d been swimming in.
Before now, time didn’t exist. Pain didn’t exist. All that I knew and all that I was, was this warm black sea I’d been floating in. I’d become a part of it.
Everything that I loved was gone.
As far as I knew, that blackness was all I had left. Until the light broke through, ripping me out of comfort and lifting me to the surface from the depths I’d resigned myself to.
Deep, throbbing pain pulsed through my body, shooting straight to my brain. Blinking, my eyes sticky and wet, as I tried to focus on the cold, grey eyes staring back at me.
I’d seen them before.
Somewhere just as dark as the abyss I’d just risen from. My brain couldn’t remember, but my body seemed to. Panic rose in my throat, but my scream died in my mouth. Could he see the fear in my eyes?
The incessant beeping that had echoed in the room quickened and the pain throbbing through me seemed to heat up, scorching my veins with a white-hot flame.
Paralyzed — with fear, by my broken body, by this brand new pain — I was helpless.
The eyes faded away, but the man’s figure stayed, working around me, muttering to himself, the room dark and the world around us quiet, creating a profound and intrusive intimacy.
My life in his hands, I lay before him. My flesh an offering, my life an invitation, a temptation.
“It was never supposed to go this far,” his voice, a familiar refrain. I’d heard the words before. I’d heard the voice before. Somewhere even darker than this.
Somewhere much more evil.
I wanted to speak. Offer forgiveness for flesh, negotiate silence for life.
But silence was all I had now.
I stared back at him, the truth reflected in his eyes.
Would he kill me now?
“Why did you make me do this?” He implored, his eyes searching mine now.
I wanted to apologize. Beg for mercy.
I wanted to tell him I forgave him.
If he would just let me go back to the darkness…
And then, he was gone. Fading away into the air like a spirit that never really left, lingering in my mind, drifting into the darkest corners of my mind as I dove back into the blackness, the light fading away into the distance, the pain dissolving into the abyss, the embrace of the warm dark sea surrounding me like a long-lost bliss…
Chapter 18
SLADE
Five shots in, and the chick just wouldn’t stop staring.
The living room at the Kehoe House was half-full, mostly with couples snuggled up in dark corners, their candlelit faces nothing more than dim flashes of smiles here and there. A small, informal bar was set up in the corner, with a bartender standing behind it to attend to the guests. A young woman played the harp in the corner, the music streaming through the air like a velvet ribbon.
The only other woman that was alone wasn’t really a woman at all.
Well, I mean it was obvious at some point in her life, she was all-woman. Those curves alone must have taken down dozens of the strongest of men. But it was her tits, on full display, pushed up by some ancient contraption that was no-doubt torturous, that captured my attention.
Along with those eyes, of course. Darker than night, they were endless pools of secrets.
They wouldn’t quit. In fact, the last two shots I’d done with the sole intention of drinking those eyes away.
But there she still was.
Larger than life, literally.
She must have been at least twelve feet tall, if not more, I deduced. Her long red hair cascaded around her shoulders in thick, luscious waves that I wanted to bury my face in, right before I buried it in those tits, of course.
Her eyes were not only staring, I was pretty sure they were also following me. I’d gone to the men’s room earlier, a small wash closet under the stairs, and I could have sworn they trailed me the whole way.
“Another shot, please,” I requested, hoping one last drink would chase her away.
The guy behind the bar was young, much younger than me. But hell, I felt like one of the old guys more and more each day. Now that I had Diana and Jeremiah, life had settled down a lot for me and time kept ticking away.
No more chasing tail. No more drinking every single night just because there wasn’t anything else to do when I wasn’t working. Damn, Diana had a honey-do list a mile long for me. If I didn’t love them both so much, I’d feel like a chump. But I’d grown out of that mindset, too, it seemed. Now, I realized that I had it wrong all along, thinking life was only about partying and raising hell, and punching and getting punched, as much as I could.
Well, don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed the sound of the smack of flesh against flesh — in all its forms — but my life was more about loving my family now, and I knew my mindset was right where it was supposed to be.
That’s why I was so unnerved by the feelings I was having because this chick was staring at me.
“What’s up with her?” I asked the bartender, as he sat the shot glass down in front of me.
He didn’t even look up over his shoulder at her to see what I was talking about. He already knew. He sighed, shaking her head.
“That’s Zelda.”
“She’s beautiful,” I replied, staring up at her in awe.
“I guess,” he shrugged. “Not my type.”
“No,” I asked, curious. Usually women with tits like that were always the type of men like him. “Why not?”
“Well, she’s dead, first of all.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure she is,” I agreed. “But still…”
“I’ve just heard too many stories about her, I suppose,” he said. His voice had that slight drawl that I’d heard in many of the people here. “She scares the shit out of me.”
“It’s just a painting, man,” I said.
“Zelda?” he asked, his eyes widening. “Just a painting? Dude, be careful, she’ll hear you say that, and you do not want to catch Zelda’s attention.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “C’mon, man, you don’t have to sell me on the tourist-trap folklore.”
He looked at me with genuine worry. “Like, seriously dude, stop.”
“What is Zelda gonna do to you if you tell me the truth?”
“I am telling you the truth. The question is what is Zelda going to do to you for questioning her?”
“Alright, alright,” I laughed, giving in. “What’s the story? Do I need to look it up on your webpage or something? Rate my ghost experience on yelp or trip advisor?”
“You can laugh all you want, man. You’re the one staying here. You’re the one that will have to deal with the consequences.”
“Jesus, dude. So ominous,” I said, downing the shot and letting my gaze travel back up to Zelda’s black-as-night eyes.
“I see you, mama,” I winked at Zelda, with a small laugh. The candle in front of me flickered and the dude behind the bar jumped, shook his head, and then quickly walked away.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and still, I shook my head and laughed. Was I being brazen in the face of a ghost? Who cared? What was I gonna do, run away like a little boy?
The booze had given me confidence I hadn’t had earlier when I checked in. But now that it was nighttime and the whole place was lit up in soft lighting, the flames of candles flickering and reflecting on the polished woodwork of
the tables and walls and floors, the fire dancing in the fireplace, the vibe was definitely spookier.
With the oversized portrait of the woman towering over the mantle, the warnings from the bartender and Pearl, there was no denying it was good schtick. Those kid’s voices they warned about were probably piped in through the vents or something.
I laughed up at Zelda, shaking my head. I threw a hundred dollar bill down on the counter, and sauntered out of the house. Wandering out onto the street for a smoke, I decided to wander over to the park across the street.
Another man was standing under a big tree, near a beautifully carved marble fountain and he waved over at me.
“Good evening,” he said, tipping his hat my way like he was in a classic movie or something. He was dressed the part, too, with his three-piece pinstripe suit and shiny leather shoes.
“Hey,” I said, lighting up my cigarette.
“You’re staying across the street?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I nodded, taking a big drag and letting it out, the smoke billowing around us and hanging in the heavy hot night air.
“Did you meet Zelda yet?”
I laughed and nodded. “I just saw her portrait.”
“Such a shame, those kids were her life,” he said.
“Kids?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear the story yet?”
“Not really, no,” I replied.
“Zelda originally owned the house. Her husband built it for her, before it was turned into a Bed and Breakfast — but after, well, you know — the deaths.”
He whispered the last two words, drawing them out with a slow drawl, and I was beginning to wonder if he was a part of the shtick, too.
“Tell me more,” I prodded.
He nodded, pausing and staring over at the house before taking a deep breath. “Kids get bored, you know? There’s only so much to do in this town, and back then, there was even less. And they didn’t know. It wasn’t their fault.”
His eyes trailed up, and I followed his gaze to see he was staring up at the chimneys, a small stream of smoke floating out of each of them. The house was beautiful and old and elaborate, with round balconies looking out over the park, and the large brick chimneys flanking both sides of the house.
“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? And to think that such tragedies occurred there.”
I waited for him to continue, but he just stared off into the distance, as if he was reliving whatever he was thinking about. I stared up at the moon, full and hanging heavy over our heads, and the stillness in the air was as peaceful as it was unsteadying for my anxious mind.
“So, what happened?”
He nodded, again, blinking. For a moment I thought he would break out in tears, but he spoke again.
“Zelda had gone to the market for milk, leaving the children alone for a moment. Her husband had died in the war a year prior, leaving her to raise the children alone. But while she was out, she ran into Helen, her childhood friend, and they spoke in the park for a few moments. And then she stopped by the post office to mail a postcard to her sister, Beverly. But of course, it was impossible to get out of the post office without spending at least half an hour catching up with old man Henry. And then, the sunshine seduced her and she spent another bit of time wandering around the cemetery after visiting her husband’s grave. When she finally arrived back home…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, his eyes distant and far-away.
I thought of the woman in the painting, with her dark eyes that had probably been so full of life at one time.
“The kids were playing. They were so precocious.” He shook his head again, his voice was so faint that I could barely hear him now. “I remember once little Robert decided he was going to try to fly off the balcony after reading a book about a bird, and Zelda grabbed him just before he fell. He was a little daredevil, always trying something impossible.”
“You knew them?” I had no idea what year all this happened in, but this guy didn’t look more than middle-aged.
He ignored my question and kept talking.
“When Zelda arrived home that day, the children were nowhere in sight. Once she checked the house, she started combing the neighborhood, checking at their friend’s houses, in the parks, in the schoolyard. Soon, the entire neighborhood was looking for them. Zelda was so distraught. She’d been gone a few hours, after only meaning to leave for a few moments, but she never thought anything bad would happen. Several days went by, and the entire town was now looking. The newspapers wrote a story about them, and dared to blame Zelda for their disappearance! It was scandalous, even then.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, my skin breaking out in goosebumps.
“It was, truly. After five days, it was the smell that finally gave us the answers we needed. The children were found trapped in one of the chimneys, after having climbed into the fireplace of one of the rarely-used rooms on the third floor. They died squeezed next to each other in the tiny space, unable to free themselves.”
“Oh, my god, that’s awful,” I said, my stomach turning just thinking about it.
“Zelda was beside herself, of course. She couldn’t understand why she didn’t hear them, or why she didn’t think to look there. But all of us just assumed they’d wandered out of the house and something happened to them outside. We never thought they were still inside the house.”
“But nobody heard them screaming?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But they do now. Some guests hear their voices quite often, coming from high up in the attic.”
“That’s fucking creepy,” I said. “Poor Zelda.”
“Yes, indeed. Poor, poor Zelda.”
“So, what happened to her?”
He looked at me, quite startled. “You don’t know?”
“I didn’t know any of that. So, no.”
He shook his head, staring back at the house again, this time at one of the balconies off one of the rooms upstairs. He raised his arm slowly, pointing at the room.
“She was unconsolable. She’d already lost her husband. After losing her kids, she had nothing left. The night they pulled the children from the chimney, she retreated to her bedroom and went right out to the terrace. She looked up at the moon, said a prayer, and jumped.”
“Oh, shit!” I looked over at the house, thinking about the horrors that had happened there, and regretted ever having walked in. Fucking Riot! Jesus.
He pointed to a spot just under the balcony. “She landed right there. Her skull cracked like a watermelon.”
“My god, man!” I cried.
“After that, her sister sold the place and it went through several different families for a while, but nobody ever stayed too long. It was a funeral home for a while after that. Now, well — now you see it’s a lovely inn with a colored past.”
“Right,” I said, staring over at the place.
“I’m glad there’s life moving through there again. Before everything happened, it was a place of immense joy.”
I nodded, imagining it as he described it — with a lively family taking care of it, growing in it, loving in it. It was a beautiful vision, but there was definitely something quite sad about it now, despite its immense beauty shining as brightly as it must have when it was first built.
Now, I remembered seeing on a plaque near the door that it was built 1892. I started doing the math in my head, and realized quickly there was no way this guy could have been there. I turned back to question him.
“But wait, how did you—?”
I stopped, my jaw dropping open.
He was gone.
My head whipped around as I searched the park looking for him, but he’d disappeared completely.
“What the fuck?” I whispered to myself.
Reluctantly, I stumbled back across the street, the man’s words echoing in my head, the immense amount of tequila I’d consumed coursing through my veins.
All I could do was hope I’d drank enough to get me through
the night alive.
I avoided the room where Zelda’s painting was hanging, slowly making my way up the stairs. I feel asleep with the man’s words repeating over and over.
‘Her skull cracked like a watermelon…’
Chapter 19
DEREK
“Doctor, do you think she’ll wake up soon?”
The night nurse asked a question I didn’t want to answer. If I was lucky, Cherry would never wake up. Her friends and sister had kept vigil by her bed damned near twenty-four seven and I needed to stay close by so I could get in when they left.
I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m covering my tracks, so they wouldn’t know what they were seeing if they spotted me doing what I needed to do anyway. The nurses had been oblivious so far. I just didn’t need anyone asking questions.
Nobody knew why Cherry wasn’t getting better, or waking up — except me.
To be honest, I felt like shit about it.
She was collateral damage and didn’t deserve to die.
But she’d seen way too much. If only she hadn’t been sniffing around…
So many ‘if only’s’ were running through my head these days and I was sick of it.
If only I’d not gotten wrapped up with Beddingham. He’d gotten me when I was young, when I was too fucking stupid to know what I was getting into. Once I was in bed with him, it was too late.
If only I didn’t have easy access to something he and his sick fucking friends wanted.
If only there was a way out…
But the only way out of this problem was to barrel straight through, whether I liked it or not. So, me feeling like shit about what I was doing to Cherry didn’t matter one fucking iota.
As if he could read my mind, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I sighed when I looked at it.
“Hello, Anson.”
“Meet me in an hour. We need to talk.”
“I’m at work. I can’t leave.”
“I don’t give a shit what you’re doing. One hour. The usual spot.”
The phone clicked in my ear and I screamed inside. I hated that old bastard so much. I put the phone back in my pocket and felt it slide against the vial I had hidden there.
SURVIVING SAVANNAH: GODS OF CHAOS MC (BOOK 16) Page 6