by Joe DeRouen
Her words satisfied Alice. With no more questions to ask, no more dialogue to exchange, she set her half-empty glass of tea on the coffee table and rose to her feet. “Thank you, Wilma,” she said. “I am very grateful to you.”
“And I, you,” Wilma said, a hint of a smile on her face.
As Alice walked to the hallway, she had one more thought. Turning around she said, “Just one more question, if you don’t mind. How did you find out about my past? The incident you mentioned when we met that first day?”
Wilma’s laugh roared across the room. “Oh, honey,” she said, her tone a little condescending, as if she felt sorry for Alice. “I never knew of any ‘incident.’ Like I said, you’re my kind of people.”
Alice nodded slowly, realization coming over her. Wilma had played her from day one. She was right; they were exactly the same. “So, what made you think I had anything you could use against me?”
“Women like you and me don’t get to our place in life without leaving a few bodies behind as evidence we’ve been there.”
Alice smiled. “We don’t, do we?”
About Angie Martin
I am a lifelong writer and firmly believe that words flow through my veins. I live in Overland Park, Kansas with my husband, two cats, and my beloved dog. I have two sons paving their own way in the world. I grew up in Wichita, Kansas and have lived all over the United States. My work reflects my background in criminal justices.
I have three novels: “False Security” (romantic suspense), “Conduit” (paranormal, psychological thriller), and “The Boys Club” (suspense/thriller). I also have a poetry/short story collection titled “the three o’clock in the morning sessions” and a short story (“Another Day”) in the anthology, “Discovery.”
“Conduit” won the Gold Medal for Paranormal Fiction in the 2014 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards. “The Boys Club” won the Silver Medal for Suspense Fiction in the 2015 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards. It was also voted as one of the 2014-15 Top 50 Self-Published Books Worth Reading (ReadFree.ly).
Works by Angie Martin
False Security
Conduit
The Boys Club
the three o’clock in the morning sessions
Discovery (an anthology)
Social Media
Website
Amazon Author Page
Facebook
Fan Group
Podcast / Book Club
Twitter
Will You Remember Me?
Heather Osborne
Sixteen year old Sierra glanced around the barren room with a forlorn sigh. This was going to be her home for the next six months while her parents conducted research at a nearby archeological site, said to be the place where women were tortured and hanged for witchcraft during the late 1600s. Looming winter in Connecticut was not her ideal place for a vacation. Hefting her suitcase across the floorboards, she left it leaning against a wall, before heading back down the ancient staircase to the main landing. “Mom?”
“In here, sweetheart!” Dr. Chloe Spears was already unloading boxes of research papers in what once served as the parlor of the Victorian home.
Sierra leaned against the door jam, a bored expression crossing her delicate features. She and her mother shared many physical similarities, but Sierra had none of the drive for history that her parents did. Brushing her brown hair back, she sighed. “How long do we have to stay here again?”
Wisps of hair escaped the hastily twisted bun at the nape of her mother’s neck, where she had jammed a pencil in hopes of taming the unruly mass. “Umm, probably until June, I think. They want to conserve as much of the site as possible before we lose it all to rainfall and snow.” She stacked some books on the old, cherry wood desk. “Why?”
Picking at a loose thread on her sweater, Sierra groaned. “No reason. Do I get a bed or anything?”
“The movers should be here shortly. Go help your dad unload the car, will you?” The hint of impatience in her mother’s voice was undeniable. Rather than stage a full scale rebellion, Sierra decided to be obedient, for once.
Stalking down the front steps, she spotted her dad behind the station wagon, unloading more boxes of research. Dr. Owen Spears paused a moment to clean his silver rimmed glasses. “Hey, muffin, what do you think of the house?”
Sierra scowled at the nickname. “If I make any friends here, please don’t call me that in front of them.” She stole a look around the rest of the street, noticing one of the curtains rustling in the house across from them.
“Sorry, just hard to remember that you’re growing up!” Owen laughed and handed over a box, “Here, this goes in the parlor with the rest of your mom’s research. Did you find a room?”
Shifting the weight of the box, she nodded, “Yeah, but it needs stuff, like, a bed.”
“Sarcasm is really unbecoming, Sierra.” He turned back to the trunk, and slammed it down. “Try to look at this as an adventure, and don’t be so sullen about it all.” He scooped up the remaining boxes and walked back towards the house.
Sierra turned her head back to the house opposite them, catching an old woman lifting the threadbare curtains. Their eyes met, and Sierra shuddered, a chill sweeping through her body. The woman vanished again. “Weird,” she muttered, following her dad back into the house.
***
Hartford Public High School wasn’t much different from Sierra’s school back in California, except it lacked her friends. Being the new kid was hard enough, but when rumors circulated that her parents were conducting research at a former site of witch trials, she became an instant outcast and fascination. Dropping her head, she decided it would only be for a short while, and then they could go home.
Homeroom provided little chance to do this since she was asked to come up before the class and talk about herself. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes fixed on Sierra, as she mumbled something about her home, and her parents’ work, before escaping back to her desk as quickly as possible. The rest of the day was just as awkward. At lunch, she chose a table as far away from all the cliques as possible, opening her brown paper bag lunch.
“Hey, can I sit here?”
Sierra raised her eyes from her turkey and cheese sandwich to the lanky teenage boy standing beside her. His blonde hair was carelessly ruffled, bright blue eyes meeting hers, with no hint of malice. Sierra gulped, “Uh, sure.”
“Thanks.” He scooted onto the bench opposite her. “My name’s Derek. You’re Sierra, huh?”
Picking at the crusts of her sandwich, she nodded, “Yeah.”
“Cool. I’m in your English class.” He opened his bag, and began crunching on potato chips. “So, how do you like it here?”
“It’s different, I guess.” Sierra could feel her cheeks reddening. It wasn’t the first time she had talked to boys, but Derek was pretty cute, by high school standards. She began to wonder why he was sitting with her, and not the popular kids, but she didn’t dare look over at their table to see if they were watching.
Derek leaned forward on the table. “It’s tough. I get it. My dad was in the military. We moved around a helluva lot.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot different when your parents travel around unearthing secrets that people want to keep hidden.”
He contemplated her words for a few minutes. “Yeah, I get that too. It’s a weird place, the one your parents are looking at. The kids dare each other to go up there all the time.” He lowered his voice. “They say, there’s the ghost of a woman who roams up there, stealing the souls of the living as punishment for her wrongful death.” Derek shot her a heart-stopping grin, wiggling his fingers in a spooky gesture.
“That’s silly. I’ve been to loads of those places, and nothing has ever happened.” Sierra sulked a bit. It wasn’t like she didn’t want something to happen, just nothing ever did.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. Derek gathered up his trash. “Wait by the front after school; I’ll walk home with
you.” He grinned again, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and heading off.
Sierra watched him leave, noticing a group of girls glaring back at her, with shock and disgust. Great, she thought, I’m a pariah after one day. Picking up her own trash, she deposited it into a can and walked out of the cafeteria, doing her best to ignore the stares boring into her back.
***
The dripping water in the stone cell accosted Mary’s ears, and echoed in her head. Her lips remained forever chapped, despite the dampness, and no amount of water could quench her thirst. Caressing her distended abdomen, Mary lamented her state, and cried bitterly for the son she would never nurse at her breast. Seeking out her leather journal and quill, she wrote of her angst, claiming to have been tricked by the men of the town into confessing her consort with the Devil.
‘Tis not so, for I am a gentlewoman, bred to respect all of God’s blessings afforded to me. I shall not rest until my life is avenged, and the men who placed me here are brought to justice. A curse on this town, and all who inhabit it! How humorous that they should be jealous of a woman with property. If I am meant to lay with the Devil, let it be for a reason, and not a rumor.
Sliding back one of the stones, Mary deposited the journal behind the cold rock, sealing it in the wall for safekeeping. The items had been smuggled to her by a trusted friend, and Mary longed to shout her ideas to the world, but it would only cause more strife. With her silence came the promise of a visit from her dear, little daughter, who would now walk the world motherless, tarnished with the stain of witchcraft on her family name.
***
The nightmare was so realistic, that Sierra sat straight up in bed and felt her stomach for signs of pregnancy. Her back ached as if she bore a tremendous weight. Bringing her fingertips to her lips, she realized her lips were chapped, like the woman in the cell. What the heck was going on?
Traversing the creaking floorboards, Sierra made her way to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Looking up at her reflection in the mirror, she saw her head covered by a dirty, white cap. She couldn’t even scream, and instead, rubbed her eyes furiously. When she looked back the second time, her own pale reflection gazed back at her in horror.
“Sierra! What is it?” Her father rushed into the bathroom.
She ran into his arms. “I just got scared. That’s all. The house makes loads of noises.” She mumbled into his t-shirt.
The show of affection from his only child took Owen aback, but he wrapped Sierra up in a tight bear hug. “I know it’s a big change. Come on. Things will be less scary in the morning.” He guided her back to her room and tucked her into bed, like he did when she was a small girl.
Sierra pulled the covers tighter as her dad left, eyeing the darkness with a great deal of suspicion. Finally, as the sun began to pinken the sky, she fell into a restless sleep.
***
“Sierra Elizabeth Spears! I will not call you again! You’ll be late!”
Dragging herself from the warm blankets, Sierra groaned and stumbled her way into the bathroom, flipping on the shower. The water sputtered brown, and then ran clear. “Gross,” she scowled. Quickly washing herself in the tepid water, she returned to her room, pulling on a pair of a jeans and plain black t-shirt. Yanking on her lace up boots, Sierra grabbed her backpack and made her way down to the kitchen.
Her parents sat at the table, drinking their morning coffee. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Ready for another day?” Owen chimed out, causing her to groan again and grab a cereal bar from the open box.
“No. I think I’ll resign from high school.”
They both laughed, and Chloe stood up. “We are going to see about the site today, so here is a key to let yourself in after school. We will be back for dinner.”
Sierra took the silver key and turned it in her hand. The intricate carving on the handle captivated her.
“Don’t lose it!” Chloe admonished. “Now, go on!” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and shooed her out the door.
Stumbling onto the front porch, Sierra shivered in the morning air. Kids were walking along both sides of the street, headed to the high school. Tucking the key in her pocket, Sierra joined them, feeling much like she was on a death march, rather than heading to her education.
Glancing over across the street, she saw the door to the house across from them slam, rattling the dirty windows on the second floor. Shivering again, she wrapped her arms around herself and quickened her pace.
“Sierra! Hey!” Derek ran up beside her with a grin, his head covered in a blue knit beanie.
She blushed and smiled back, “Hey.” A group of girls passed by them, giggling, one intentionally elbowing Sierra.
“That wasn’t cool,” Derek murmured, once the gaggle had passed.
“Who is she?” Sierra recognized the one in the pale pink cashmere scarf, and matching hat.
“Her? Oh, that’s Rebecca Stone. Her father is the minister at the church. She’s all high and mighty because her family have lived here for like, hundreds of years.”
Rebecca turned back one more time, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder with a sneer. The wind whipped up several flurries of orange and yellow leaves around her ankles as they stood, eyes locked for a few moments.
Derek nudged Sierra’s arm. “Come on. She’s just pissed because I wouldn’t go with her to the Halloween dance.”
Adjusting her backpack straps, Sierra fell into step next to him. “Not really nice to think I’m stealing you or something.” The words tumbled out before she realized.
“Eh, she’ll get over it. I’m not about to fall into the cliché of the cheerleader and the star quarterback.” He chuckled, smiling down at her.
Sierra blushed again, lowering her head, and filling the silence with small talk about an upcoming English project, promised by their teacher that afternoon.
***
The whipping was the worst, I must divulge. It went on for endless hours, Minister Stone glaring at me with every lash. “Confess!” he hissed violently in my ear, his hot breath vile on the back of my neck, as my auburn hair fell from my cap. When I would not speak, he continued. Only when I feared for the life of my babe, did I claim I consorted with the Devil. As I was removed from the pillory, my eyes bore into those of my accusers, the men who so coveted my late husband’s lands.
I was brought back into the church, cleansed by several of the elders. I knew they were inspecting me for witch’s marks, but instead, observed the slight rounding of my belly I had strived so hard to keep hidden. A gasp came from the minister’s wife, Elizabeth, as she fled to confess her observations to her husband. My secret was out.
Clothed back in my humble garments, I was escorted into the pews, facing the Minister. He stared longingly at me, revealing his intentions through his fiery perusal. Damn him to Hellfire! I longed to issue the threat from my lips.
“You bear a child, Goodwife Young?”
I nodded, “Before my husband passed, I was blessed once more.” I wondered where my daughter was, the promised visit long overdue.
“You confess to your crimes?”
“I confess I am a good Christian woman, Minister Stone.”My stoic gaze pierced him, causing him to shudder back. I knew his thoughts, and his promises, should I do what he wished.
Mary paused in her writing, trembling at the horrid day Minister Stone visited her. Her husband was not yet cold in the ground, yet he promised to allow her to inherit the properties, a thing unheard of at the time. His only condition was unthinkable. She knew she had to write it down, for prosperity’s sake.
He had asked me to lay with him, a thought I found much more repulsive than consorting with Satan himself. There was no witness to this proposition, save my young daughter, who would not be believed. My sweet child was wise beyond her years, but they would see that as a witch’s curse. Women were to be silent, obedient, and fruitful.
“We will hold a trial this very week, Goodwife Young. Your crimes shall
be brought before a judge. Until then, your daughter will remain in keeping with us, and you shall remain in prison.”
“A promise was made.” I knew this was my last chance.
“We promise nothing to witches.” Minister Stone turned his back coldly.
I was raised from my seat, heartbroken, and escorted back to the cells. Minister Stone turned the key himself, staring at me in the dank prison. “You had a chance, Mary. Why did you reject me so cruelly?”
“I was mourning my husband.” My meek answer sought to appease him. “Perhaps, if I saw my daughter…” My hand stretched out, caressing his fingers in a gesture I found compelled to do, swallowing the bile in the back of my throat.
“You are a temptress, Mary. Promise from your lips, and I will bring her after your trial.”
I found myself speaking the words I had not dared. Endearments only whispered to my dear Louis in the sanctity of our marriage bed.
Mary dropped the pen as she heard doors opening. Hurriedly wrapping the diary in the cloth, she replaced it back into the wall, her heart pounding violently. She must finish this before her boy came into the world. She must!
***
“The Crucible by Arthur Miller.” Their teacher, Mr. Harlow held the book aloft in front of the groaning junior Advanced English class.
“Mr. Harlow!” Rebecca held her hand high, perched on her chair in the front row.
Passing out the books amongst the pupils, Mr. Harlow paused by Rebecca’s desk, “Yes, Miss Stone?”
“My father says that book is full of lies about people who were totally misrepresented by the documents recorded by those people.” Rebecca straightened, smug in her concise interpretation.