by Dale Mayer
A voice in his head spoke. Irene. “I know. I know,” he said. “I think I can make it work.”
He could feel the nervousness and fear sliding through him again. Something he had to watch out for. He shouldn’t have touched Irene. But he’d needed that for his own soul. She’d been perfect for him. He had heard the rumors about her and her baby. It hadn’t taken long to befriend her husband, to hear his side of the story and to realize he was conflicted about staying with his young wife.
That she’d killed her son, then made it look like an accident? … After that discovery, it had been an easy decision. The Supplier could only take those lives he could justify. She’d fit his need perfectly.
Chapter 11
“Oh, my God,” Phoenix whispered as she stood outside Manru’s home, taking several deep breaths. “How was any of this possible? I came here to throw a letter into a fire.” She shook her head, watching the flames in the distance. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
“You need to explain what ways you’ve tried to destroy that letter.”
She pulled her hand out of her pocket, along with the letter. She held it out for him to see; then she tried to rip it up. But it wouldn’t rip. She pressed it to the corner of her mouth and tried to bite off a piece, but she couldn’t tear it. “I’ve stuck it in the oven to burn it to a crisp. I’ve tried to light it on fire with matches, but the fire goes out. I’ve taken scissors to it, and it won’t cut. You don’t understand. It was one of my father’s pieces that he hung on to all the time. He said it was special and had been in his family since forever, and it has my name written on it. The writing has long since worn off.” She held it up for him to see. “But it used to say Phoenix. And that’s when he used to get violent, hitting me, slapping me, eventually burning me, because he could find no other way to assuage the pain within him.”
“What kind of pain?”
“I think the pain of realizing he wouldn’t be the Chosen One. He would be replaced. And at a young age. He never believed he was long for this world. He couldn’t handle it. And yet I was special. He used to say it—half the time in a mocking tone and half the time in a way to make you know he hated you. And, when that happened, I knew it would get bad. It was always terrible, but, when he got into that mood, it was beyond terrible. He used to get everybody else to help. He would get them to torture me at the same time, and they just wouldn’t stop.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t kill you,” he said quietly.
“Twice,” she said. “Twice they went that far, and twice I came back from the brink.”
“And I bet you didn’t want to,” he said, eyeing her carefully.
She smiled up at him. “The trouble is,” she said, “I wondered if it was me who wanted to come back or me who wanted to die. Each time, it’s like I heard a voice that told me that I couldn’t. It wasn’t time. It seemed like an angel’s voice. Someone out there watching over me. At least I wanted to believe that. Except, if I didn’t die, I was doomed to lie there and suffer so much pain. It used to make my father so angry. He beat me to the point where I lost consciousness for days,” she said. “They thought I had died. They didn’t give me food or water. They were just waiting for it to happen. But, instead of getting weaker, I got stronger. After that, he realized he couldn’t kill me. That I wouldn’t die, no matter what he did. So he upped the torture to make me suffer as much as he could on a day-to-day basis.”
“He died too young,” Rowan said, his voice harsh. “He died too easy.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Well, I’d agree with you. He took several bullets to the chest, and it was such a relief to know he couldn’t get up again. I worried he could. I worried that, like me, he would get up and walk again, but he never did.”
“That you know of,” he said cautiously.
She stared at him, her eyes getting wider. “Okay, that’s not a thought I want to think about,” she said slowly.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But you have to admit, it’s something you must consider.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to. Isn’t it time to meet your friend?”
“What if that letter can’t be destroyed in the Burning Fires? Then what?”
“I don’t know what then. As long as it separates from me, I’ll be okay to let the Burning Fires be the new caretakers of this letter.”
“May I hold it?” he asked.
She smiled. “Yes, but you won’t like it.”
Surprised, he reached out a hand, and she placed the letter in it. Instantly he cried out, and she nodded. “It’s like an electrical shock to anybody else.”
He stared at his hand, then the letter and said, “That’s not paper. It’s like plastic. And the shock you get when touching the letter? This is more energy crap, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know about crap,” she said, “but it’s definitely freaky energy, yes. I don’t know anybody with an ability to help us deal with this. And that’s one of my biggest concerns.”
“Right,” he said. “I don’t know anybody either.”
“What about your grandmother?” Phoenix asked. “Would she know anybody?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “So few people can do this kind of work.”
“Well,” she said, “I guess it doesn’t matter then. I’ll face whatever my future is. And hope I live through it.”
He shook his head. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”
“No,” she said. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t change the fact that something, somehow, will change if I can get this letter out of my life.”
“It seems so wrong,” he said.
“I know, and yet it doesn’t give me any answers. And that’s something I can’t live with. I have to find out how to get this letter out of my life and hopefully, with that, will come the end of my father for me.”
“You mean, the end of your father or the end of your father’s torment?”
She smiled. “Interesting dilemma, isn’t it? To think that’s all I have as a choice.”
“And not necessarily a good one,” he acknowledged. “Just the thought of it is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies.”
“How do you think I feel? Especially now that you have mentioned how maybe he isn’t dead.”
“How close to death were you?” he asked. “When they thought you were dead.”
“You can listen to the rumors of those who were there at the time. According to them, I was dead dead. Of course for me, who was living, I didn’t feel dead, but I knew something was very wrong. I was not conscious for a long time, and, when I did wake up, the looks on their faces were terrible. I don’t think they realized that, although he said I was one of the special ones, that it meant I would survive what they had done to me.”
*
It was all so far-fetched for Rowan. But he understood that—from her tone, her words and her face—that she believed it. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe it, but he didn’t want to believe it. It was so far from his concept of reality. Nothing inside him could understand what these people had done to her. He did understand that, as far as she was concerned, something was wrong with her and why. That her body had survived everything they’d done to her, so he could only imagine how they viewed her afterward. Their treatment would be even harsher. She’d be a target for their fear and their hatred. And then she’d survive, so they’d ramp up their efforts all over again. How had she survived? How could anyone have survived?
This letter was something else. He wanted it to be protected. To go into a special archive somewhere. But where? He’d ask his grandmother if she was in any way amiable to helping, but she wasn’t. In truth she’d not been the warmest of grandmothers at any time. She’d been reclusive and irritable as far back as he could remember. His grandfather hadn’t been around much either. Off traveling the world, she’d said anytime Rowan had asked. For all he knew, his grandfather had passed away a decade ago. And, if he had, his grandmother wasn’t telling.
Then Rowan re
membered an article he’d read a few years back. Some psychic in the US had come up against something bizarre. Many had mocked him. His response had been to laugh and to say that, when reality hit you on a personal level, it didn’t matter what other people said because you knew how completely twisted some things in life really were.
Rowan had to admit, right now, reality had hit on a personal level. Could he contact that man and get his advice? Would he help them, or would he just tell Rowan to go away? “I have to go back to the office for a few minutes. If you want to come with me, you can wait in the lobby until it’s time to go. It’ll only be a few minutes.”
She looked at him in surprise. His suggestion had come out of the blue. She smiled and nodded. “Okay, let’s do that. I’d prefer that to meeting up later.”
He nodded and started walking. “The station isn’t here. We take the overpass to the other side of town.”
She winced and said, “Fine. Let’s just get this done.”
He led the way to the car, helped her in. As they turned the corner, heading to the overpass, she sucked in her breath.
“Don’t look,” he said. “Irene is standing guard at that cliff now.”
“Dear God,” she whispered. “Is that for eternity now?”
“We don’t know,” he said. “But, with any luck, we can find a way to help her. If we figure out how this happened, and stop it, she could be released from this prison.”
“I’m not sure about that,” she said. “According to your grandmother, it’s somebody else, somebody evil, doing this.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean he gets to have the final say.”
“What do you think about it being my father?” she asked. “Do you really believe it could be him?”
“I wasn’t there to see how bad your torture was,” he said. “I want to see now how close to death you were decades ago. As a child, your memories will be very different than as an adult. I’m hoping to contact somebody who might help.”
“There are people who could help?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “I can’t guarantee it.”
She laughed. “Of course not. Like your grandmother, they probably have more to say and none of it helpful.”
“She sees a lot,” he said. “If she sees danger around you and because of you, then I believe her. The trick is to make sure we keep you safe.”
“Like we kept Irene safe?” she asked.
He winced. “That’s not fair. If I’d had a chance to do that all over again, obviously we would do some things differently.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. “You’re right.”
“No, it is fair. I’ve been racked with guilt over it myself. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it now.” They drove over the overpass, and he could still see Irene in the rearview mirror, staring after him. He felt fingers sweep down his soul. “I hate that she’s always around, watching us.”
“Can your grandmother find a way to get Irene home?”
“I don’t know. She has never been terribly powerful in that department. She’s much more about premonitions and precognition. Now my granddad, if he were around, might be of more help, but he went traveling, and we haven’t heard from him in a long time.”
“Is he still alive?”
“My grandmother says so and gets angry anytime I push it. They are both of Gypsy ancestry and hate to be caged or questioned,” he said with a lopsided grin. “And, if he’s gone, not much I can do about it now.”
“Which isn’t terribly helpful, considering how vague she was. Specifics would be helpful at this point.”
“It would,” he agreed. “But, given this work, there never seems to be any of those.”
Chapter 12
Rowan took her back to the office. “If you could stay here, I promise I won’t be long. I’ll try to get in touch with this person. If I can’t, I’ll try later.” He gave her a distant smile and headed across the large room.
As he walked away from her, she understood he had things to do, and she felt bad for adding to his workload, but she needed to do this.
That she could give so little by way of explanation made it that much harder for anyone to believe her.
But it was all true.
She sat in the reception room and stayed as calm and as out of the way as possible. He’d gone to a private office and had closed the door. She wanted to be in that room with him. She didn’t want to lose sight of him at all. In her mind, although irrational, she couldn’t help worrying he’d take off and not keep his word. Yet she knew he was honest, honorable. Still, she’d thrown him a curve ball.
As she watched the busy station go about its day, she could see the energy inside the station was clean and fresh. She wondered at that. She’d never seen a place so lacking in drama and trauma and pain and fear. All emotions she’d have expected to see here.
All emotions she was very good at seeing. Then she’d had a lifetime of observing the world around her—both before her rescue and afterward. She’d had so much to learn. So much to figure out in the real world and all it did was show her how incredibly dysfunctional her childhood had been.
A woman walked toward her. “May I get you something to drink?”
“Oh, water if you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not. Do you want a coffee as well?”
Phoenix shook her head. “No, thank you though. We’ll be leaving soon enough. I’d be afraid I wouldn’t get time to enjoy it.”
The receptionist looked at Rowan’s closed door and then back at her, a smile splitting her face. “When he shuts the door, it’s usually serious.”
Phoenix chuckled. “That’s okay. He’s helping me out.”
The woman nodded and disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later with a bottle of cold water. “Here you go.”
Phoenix accepted it gratefully. “Thank you very much.”
She relaxed as the receptionist returned to her seat behind the counter, leaving Phoenix alone with her thoughts. She’d never had premonitions before. To have had a shared one with Rowan went beyond anything she’d experienced. Then the visit with Manru had been just as upsetting but in a completely different way.
That woman had been freaky.
Her messages—in fact, everything she’d said—had been disturbing. And it was obvious she hadn’t liked anything about Phoenix. She should be used to that, but it still hurt. More so in this case because she really liked Rowan. She had no business having any feelings for him, but they were there nonetheless.
She was only here for another day, then her visit to Iceland was over. She’d go her own way, and he’d go his. With any luck neither of them would have to see anything like Irene’s strange death again. She wondered at this person Rowan was contacting.
Something was there in her mind’s eye, … some tiny thread that confirmed people were out there who could help her and Rowan, only she didn’t know how to contact them.
When she’d been a child, desperate and calling out for help mentally, she had heard a response sometimes. She just hadn’t known in her pain and torment who or what it was. After she’d been rescued, she’d never tried to call out for help again, so she had no clue if that was even possible. Or was it all part of her very traumatized memories?
She took another sip of her bottle, then, seeing a washroom, went to use the facilities. She took a moment to wash her face and to refasten her hair back. Feeling refreshed, she headed to the same spot and sat down again. She didn’t want to clock-watch. But it was hard to sit here and wait.
How much longer would he be?
*
Saying he would contact this person was a lot easier than making it happen. All of Rowan’s information and research kept turning up the same person but no contact number. When Rowan found an article about this Stefan Kronos working with the Seattle Police Department, he looked up the Seattle PD and the person named in the article. With that down, he called him. He realized he’d forgotten to check
the time. But a quick internet search said it was close to ten a.m. for Stefan’s time zone.
“He’s not in right now,” the receptionist said.
“I’m looking to get into contact with Stefan Kronos,” Rowan said, identifying himself from the police force in Iceland.
A moment of silence came on the other end, before she said, “Just a moment.” Rowan was put on hold. A few long moments later a male voice came on and asked, “What’s this regarding?”
“A very strange set of events,” he said. “I was thinking maybe this Stefan person would have some insight.”
“Give me your information, and I’ll contact Stefan. If he’s interested, he’ll contact you.”
That was the best Rowan could hope for. “Please let him know this is urgent.”
The other man said, a weariness in his tone, “It’s always urgent.”
Rowan hung up. He looked at pictures of Stefan online and read up on his life’s work. Rowan didn’t know how to contact Stefan other than leaving that message. Unless he was incredibly strong and could hear messages on the ethers? That was how his grandmother would have described her form of communication. With that in mind, Rowan leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and thought, Stefan, I really could use your advice.
His phone rang. He picked up the department’s landline but then realized it was his cell phone. He didn’t recognize the number on the other end. “Hello?”
“Stefan here,” a voice said briskly on the other end. “Don’t bother asking how.”
Rowan’s jaw dropped. “Okay,” he said, when he finally could. “Then considering what you’ve just pulled off, I’m really hoping you can help.”
“Then start,” he said. “Tell me everything.”
Rowan told him about Phoenix’s arrival, her life in the US. Her childhood. Irene, the first scenario. Where they both saw her flung off the cliff and then returned, only to have her wake up and commit suicide and now being haunted by her ghost. The fact that Phoenix had this letter that wouldn’t burn. She had come to his small town, looking to put it in Burning Fires. Rowan took a deep breath and added, “And we live on a lot of seismic activity, so it’s not totally unexpected, but it’s the timing …”