by C H Chelser
Reassured that she was alone, the panic faded and weariness caught up with her. She sagged against the doorpost, yawning until her ears popped. The bedroom door creaked a little when she opened it and sneaked inside. Her feet were still cold, but not unnaturally so. The dark presence might come back, she realised as she climbed into bed and buried herself under the covers, but if it did, she hadn’t the stamina left to resist it again. Ordering it to leave had happened on instinct. Now she was too tired to be afraid, never mind to fight. Perhaps if she had to defend Danielle, she would, but as it was...
I’m staying.
A familiar, fragile warmth embraced her through the covers. She gasped.
“Danielle?”
I’m staying with you, the little girl’s voice stated with absolute conviction.
Mercedes choked a sob of disbelief. The warm sensation intensified. “Oh my dear, dear child,” she whispered into the darkness, making no attempt at all to fight the new tears, this time out of gratitude. Danielle’s touch was all around, and Mercedes stroked the sheets to give expression to the joy that burst from her. “My dearest little girl. Thank you...”
“Hmm, who are you talking to?”
Mercedes all but jumped out of her skin at Eric’s sleepy growl in her ear. “God Almighty! Don’t scare me like that.”
“What?” he protested with a gruff. “‘S you who’s talking.”
“Oh, yes, that. It was just a dream.”
“Dream? About...? Hghmm.” Eric grunted unintelligibly and turned over. “Stop making so much noise and go to sleep.”
But Mercedes lay awake for a while longer, savouring Danielle’s presence in silence. Eventually Eric began to snore again. A close call, she realised. He had heard more than she had meant him to, but he would not bring it up in the morning. For reasons of his own, he never did. A blessing and a pity, both. Mercedes longed to tell him about the little girl by her side, but he was never to know. That, too, was hers to bear alone.
***
Finding the woman proved to be a hunt with hindrances indeed. The tangled mass of souls that had gathered around her throbbed with frantic emotional bursts, blocking her from view. He had risked using stronger calls, but each time her responses came back addled, as if those souls crawled all over her. He sensed some of his own kind among them. Their gluttony appalled him.
Then, even before he reached them, the crowd scattered like mice before a buzzard. He didn’t flatter himself to think he had caused that commotion, but its effect was advantageous to his purpose all the same. With no others to hinder him, he had ample opportunity to observe the woman before he approached.
A remarkable specimen. More so than he had anticipated. He usually took little interest in the living, but this exception did not disappoint. Most humans were as grey as the rest of their world. Not she. Her emotions trailed after her like wafts of colourful smoke. A fascinating sight!
He watched the effect with rapt attention. Her fear coloured the grey fog a sickly yellow-green, while tension and resolve gave it a deep purple overtone. He came closer, reaching out to determine if this effect concerned more than colour alone.
The moment he touched the aura about her, the purple intensified. She spoke. He heard the words, but the vibrant hues dancing about her mesmerised him. It wasn’t often that he perceived the colour of a thing, so he allowed himself to indulge just this once.
The colours flared a second time, now with a dark red edge that he presumed to signify some form of stress. She spoke again, but he ignored the words. Human mouths lied, in his experience, but their energy did not. He regarded the changing colours with curiosity, but curiosity made way for indignation when he read her intentions: she was ordering him to leave.
Her audacity angered him; even more so when his first instinct was to step back. He checked himself and remained motionless. Her will was strong, but no match for his unless he chose otherwise. One careless slip into obedience meant nothing. In another world it might have been correct to submit to others, but not anymore.
More disturbing still was the fact that although her attention dwelled, unfocused, her will was poised against him specifically. A mere general awareness of ghosts could not have accomplished that. Perhaps her moment of recognition earlier tonight had not been a fluke? He raised his cane and touched her chin with the knob. As he did, the dark red of her panic consumed every other colour about her. Terror wrapped around her like a shroud.
When she commanded him once more to depart, he lowered the cane. He could defy her, but what purpose would be served if he did? As he suspected, she was well aware of him already. Aware and terrified. Her stark intentions melted into a plea. No longer commanding, she now begged him to leave.
Her writhing emotions became unpleasant to behold, so he retreated. He now had the answers he had come for. That would have to suffice.
He turned and left, returning to the grey night beyond the woman’s reach. A bleak prospect after her splash of colour. Small wonder her soul marker had been swamped. One who screamed her energy about her so freely posed an irresistible feast. If he hadn’t fed on those two brigands earlier, he might have been tempted to have her himself.
In all honesty, he still was.
A hungry growl filled the core of his being, demanding him to turn around and give in. So much energy waiting to be devoured!
‘No.’
Resolve shaped like a greatcoat encapsulated the growl and stifled it. No more meals tonight. He would not risk his sanity for a pointless craving. He shook his head and continued on his way. Curiosity over this strange woman satisfied, he had no business staying. Another hunt awaited him, as it always did.
Through the shades of a city barely real enough to detect, energies and soul markers passed by like scents on the wind. He sniffed them, searching and sorting them by the intentions they harboured. Legions of desire oozed from humans who wanted to go home and sleep; who wanted to stay awake to drink and fornicate; wanted to care; wanted to destroy; to protect; to take what wasn’t theirs. A myriad where wholesome intentions continuously mixed with harmful ones, sometimes within the same individual.
The living broadcast their wants and needs in gushes of vague notions, while ghosts had intentions of their own. Lust for flesh or monetary wealth held no sway over spirits, but greed, revenge and rage tainted every state of existence. Excessively, too, from what he could tell. He distilled the narrow spectrum of specific intentions that befitted his appetite and followed its trail.
The exact nature of thoughts didn’t concern to him. Whether they were good or evil, harmless or destructive, it was not for him to judge. Regardless of his soul’s considerable age, he didn’t deem himself experienced enough to know the rules by which such a judgement ought to be made. And if he ever learned, it was still not his place to make that decision. So he did not. But even a parasite of the worst kind could make itself useful.
Among his greatest assets he counted both his honed hunter’s instinct and his good sense to distinguish the just from the reprehensible. From the melee that filled the ether, he singled out those thoughts involving unadulterated malice. Having identified a source, he watched for signs of such thoughts maturing into actions. Intentions alone did not warrant corrective measures, but any action begot reaction. Swift and relentless; pure and simple. Those who pleaded ignorance were not excused. Their actions determined their culpability, always.
Anything else would be unjust.
Without clear trigger, an explosion filled his mind, blinding all his senses. Skewed notions, alien but not foreign, warped his thoughts and invaded his being. Taken off guard, he lashed out. On the second try he caught the mental foothold to fight back. His face twisted. Red-hot rage burned inside him. This fury set fire to the unwanted images, but could not destroy them. Damnable! He fed the fire with vigorous rejection. Black bile rose in his throat and spilled from his lips like putrid water.
He savoured the bitter taste of his hatred and loathing as it
dripped from his mouth. With each drop, the intruding thoughts faded, further and further, until at last they dissipated.
Shaken and exhausted, he gazed at himself. His appearance was as contorted as the flames that still blazed behind his eyes. Spikes of resentment protruded from his spine, while disgust accumulated in thick globs between his pointed teeth.
Abomination!
He couldn’t douse the insidious fire, but it could be contained. He curled into a ball, willing the anger and hatred to subside. Where he had first fought alien thoughts, he now fought the flame and the bile of his own making. One more battle in a ceaseless war.
He won, eventually. The furious beast inside him stilled and he unfolded himself, by all appearances a man once more. He tightened his fingers around his cane as he waited for the last traces of his outburst to settle down. The fire had its uses, but not here and not now.
He directed his senses outwards again. What intentions he smelled now were far away, either in distance or in another world, where first light was about to break the horizon. He grimaced. Without accessible prey, what remained of this night’s hunt had to be considered lost.
The conclusion confirmed itself when the only nearby presence he detected was that of a guide. The white spirit didn’t approach, but he could tell its focus was on him.
He had noticed this particular individual on various occasions, but it rarely came this close. An unadvisable decision, considering that his resentment of both guides and the world in general was so strong at the moment that streaks of black extended around him like tentacles. Yet the obstinate guide would not leave him be.
He upped the stakes by shifting away from the threshold, where his dark world might blend into those of the light and of the living. Around him but out of sight were others, ghosts, ghouls and parasites alike. They tensed when they noticed him, and outright fled at sensing the guide following close behind.
Grey fog became a place of shadows, but he shifted further. Space and appearance had no meaning here. Some guides dared to brave the oppressive solitude of the deep darkness, but their courage never lasted long. Their occupation of these realms was too mismatched to endure, so it didn’t. It couldn’t.
To his amazement, the guide persevered even when the black void swallowed its light. Incensed by this breach of natural law, he prepared to confuse the guide’s concentration. The white spirit had locked on to his soul marker. Losing that beacon in this place would compel it to give up.
He was about to create a diversion when the endless fog revealed a lurking presence. A strange marker that was impossible to miss but at the same time impossible to read. He recalled catching whiffs of it before, but never this distinctly.
Suspicious, he stopped, his unwanted follower momentarily forgotten. His mind searched the expanses of this new presence, but as he did, it stalked away and hid deeper in the fog. Closer to the outer edge. That in itself spoke volumes.
He searched the fog for the other’s trail, but discovered he had lost it. Just like he meant to make the guide lose his. How was this possible? Something this big should not be able to escape detection so easily. His senses were keener than that.
A faded but still strong light drew his attention. He deflected it before it touched him.
‘Leave me be,’ he spat without facing the guide.
The reply came not in words but in a peculiar vibration that could only be interpreted as an apology. He scoffed, shoulders stooping in anger while his back bristled.
‘How dare you hunt me. How dare you show your light here. We do not want your kind!’
The guide approached tentatively, dimming its struggling light another fraction in a preposterously dangerous gesture of ill-fated goodwill. Infuriated by such pretence, he felt the bristles on his back shoot out as the fire rekindled in his eyes.
‘You will not lure anyone into your trap tonight,’ he snarled. ‘The darkness is ours. No one will leave it by your force.’
The guide didn’t retreat. Rather, it seemed to only edge closer.
Outraged, he swiped both arms to halt the intruder. From them a thick, dark shield expanded. Fuelled by his hatred, the shield extended rapidly in every direction, protecting not only himself but various creatures of the dark in the process. They slithered and crawled behind him, grateful for the safety he provided.
He stared at the guide through the shield. Through his silence he dared the other to breech it. The guide tried, but before its weakening light reached the barrier, it withdrew. He dared it to try again, but it would not. All it emitted was a sense of regret and hurt. A ruse, perhaps, although the ragged shine of its light was a sign of pain. He persisted. As he expected, the guide did not. In the next instance, the faltering light disappeared and darkness returned.
A satisfactory outcome. He didn’t expect the guide to follow him again after this confrontation. At least not any time soon. It would return, though, and no doubt sooner than he would like. Perhaps one day the guide might push through his shield. Unlikely, but not inconceivable. When that day came, he wouldn’t surrender without a fight.
Chapter VI
Silence reigned supreme at the Sunday breakfast table. Mercedes stared at her plate, her listless hands resting on the edge of the table. She had slept only a few hours, all filled with nightmares about black claws wresting Danielle away. In the end, the church bells calling the people for early morning mass had woken her. By then Eric’s side of the bed was already empty.
She dipped a small spoon into the tiny bowl by her plate and scooped up a dollop of confiture, which she spread over one end of her croissant. A single drop of redcurrant jelly fell onto her fingers as she sunk her teeth into the soft dough. The sweet taste of the preserved fruit revived her, if only a little. It did nothing to lessen the dark circles under her eyes or ease her nervous stomach. Nevertheless she forced herself to swallow each mouthful.
Across the table, Eric beheaded a hard-boiled egg with his knife. He hadn’t said a word since she had joined him for breakfast half an hour ago. She tried to gauge his mood, but after an almost sleepless night thinking did not come easy. Sweet fruit helped only so much, and her second cup of coffee had yet to take effect. Not that she needed her ‘second sight’ to know why his ginger brow furrowed. The sore bruises on her throat reminded her every time she turned her head.
Eric disposed of his empty eggshell and pulled his napkin from his lap with an angry tug.
“Do hurry and finish breakfast, madame. We need to leave soon. It is a long walk to Notre Dame.”
Mercedes snapped from her thoughts. “Notre D—?” She winced when her throat protested against her sudden movement. “Why Notre Dame? We went there last week. Why not go to our own parish church?”
“Because Father Beaucamp is a forgiving man, and I believe a more rigorous reminder of our Christian duties is in order.” He shot her a glare. “Don’t you agree?”
“Indeed? Well, if you wish me to do penance, I should take this off, shouldn’t I?” Her fingers plucked at the lace of her high-neck chemise. “Demonstrate my culpability in public.”
Eric’s mortified expression was priceless. “Good Heavens, no! Do show more dignity than that!”
“Why? If what you think of me is true, I have no dignity to show. Only disgrace. I might as well confess as much and be judged.”
“Our actions must be judged by and before God, not by society.”
Her gaze, still fixed on him, went stone cold. “Then I shall be judged by God’s standards, not by those of society.”
“Your actions are damnable to both, madame.”
“They would be, if indeed I had committed an indiscretion. But I did not.” She sighed. “God knows I have not been unfaithful to you, mon cher. I trust that you will accept His judgement.”
Eric made no reply.
Mercedes took another bite from her croissant, but its texture on her tongue made her stomach roil. She glanced at the other end of the table, but Eric still had his gaze lo
cked on a faraway horizon. His jaw worked fiercely; she lowered her eyes when she noticed. Chiding him was a gamble, one that would backfire if she had been too impudent. On the other hand, if he had his unreasonable way, she would never set foot outside the house again regardless.
Across the table, Eric’s lips pressed together until they went white. One fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly, but then his fingers uncurled and he dragged his chair back.
“All right, yes,” he said as he shot to his feet. “Possibly we both need to be reminded of our Christian duties. He who is without sin and all that.” He waved a dismissive hand about and paced out of the dining room.
Mercedes’ shoulders sagged in relief. Coming from Eric, the benefit of the doubt was as good as an apology. His wounded pride would take longer to heal and he would be curt with her for a while, but as punishments went, that was to be favoured over indefinite confinement within these walls.
I told you. Daddy loves you.
She smiled at the gentle voice, but when she looked around, the weariness of last night prevented her distinguishing more of Danielle than a vague presence somewhere nearby.
“Madame?”
“Hmm? What is it, Gagnon?”
“Monsieur is waiting for you by the door, madame.”
“Already?” Patience was not one of Eric’s virtues and today was the wrong time to try it. She rushed to finish her croissant, still chewing on the last bite as she gathered her reticule, hat and manteau to join him.
Their hasty and no doubt late departure was no prompt for Eric to take a cab rather than walk the distance to the cathedral. Mercedes knew better than to push her luck and argue. The sky was overcast, but the weather was mild and she welcomed the chance to stretch her legs, as she had meant to do when she went to visit Anne last night.
A pang of remorse stung her chest. Contrary to Eric’s belief she hadn’t been out with another man, but she had betrayed him in other ways. However necessary, her white lies and broken promises were sinful. Indeed some measure of penitence was in order. Yesterday’s incident with the cab would make good material for her next confession, she decided. Such minor disobediences earned a few rounds of the rosary, but no penalty of consequence. Her greater transgressions, however, she would keep to herself as usual.