Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  “I know,” she said darkly.

  There was something strangely familiar about the kids outside. I squinted my eyes to see if I could get a better look. The boy needed a haircut badly—his shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes. Where had I seen him before? “How?”

  “I hear the owl calling,” she said. “It’s not a ghost. It’s death.”

  I eyed her before studying the kids again. Yeah, I better see if I could track down Barbara.

  Then it hit me—the reason these kids looked so familiar—and my stomach dropped to the ground. “Pat, your neighbors. Did they lose a dog?”

  She sighed heavily. “Bear. He was a sweet dog.”

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone completely dry. “Did ... did you see what happened to Bear?” I could barely push the words out of my mouth. My tongue had gone completely numb.

  She slowly nodded. “No. But I know what happened.”

  My voice came out in a raspy whisper. “What?”

  “The devil got him.”

  ****

  As soon as I got home, I opened a can of tuna and a bottle of wine, grabbed a glass and took everything outside. I was feeling more shaken than I wanted to admit, and I wanted to see Oscar. Yes, I had every intention of tracking down Barbara, but not today. Tomorrow was soon enough to start making calls.

  I put the tuna down at the edge of yard, poured myself a healthy glass of wine, and had a seat. I took a long, slow drink, forcing myself to breathe deeply and relax. I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful day—the sun shone in a cloudless sky, a gentle, sweet-smelling breeze tossed my hair, the birds chirped as they fought over the bird seed, butterflies flitted from flower to flower and a couple of hummingbirds buzzed around the feeder.

  Sitting in this peaceful oasis, it was hard to imagine someone, or something, killing innocent, defenseless animals like Bear.

  And I couldn’t help but wonder how safe I was. I still didn’t know where that footprint in the garden a few weeks back had come from. Heck, I didn’t even know if it was human.

  The devil got him.

  I took another big swig and refilled my glass, telling myself to slow down. I didn’t necessarily want to get drunk. In fact, just the thought of being in a drunken stupor, lying helpless in my bed, was enough to almost stop me from drinking.

  Almost.

  A shadow crept out of the woods. Oscar, his tail flicking, moseyed over to the open can of tuna, bent his head, and began to delicately nibble.

  Relief filled me, so sudden and so sweet that I slumped in my seat, all the air collapsing out of me. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how worried I had been.

  Oscar finished the can, raised his head while licking his chops, and started to clean himself.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” I said. “I was worried, you know.”

  Oscar continued grooming.

  “You could have let me know a little sooner that you were okay.”

  He paused, lifted his head, and stared at me with unblinking green eyes, before meowing.

  “No, I don’t think it would have killed you to let me know sooner.”

  He got up and headed over, hopping up on the chair next to me and settling in.

  I sat back myself. “I am glad you’re here.”

  I listened to him purr in contentment as we both watched the sun slowly set over the quiet backyard.

  Chapter 8

  I took a moment to check my phone before starting dinner and saw that I had missed a call. The voicemail was from my lawyer asking me to call as soon as possible.

  It didn’t sound good. I quickly called him back, trying unsuccessfully to push down the feeling of foreboding that threatened to swamp me.

  The news was worse than I had thought. It appeared authorities hadn’t been able to recover much of the money Stefan had stolen, and I should start to prepare myself for the reality that my trust fund may never be fully restored.

  I hung up the phone, trying not to be sick. Now what was I going to do? How was I going to support myself? Maybe I better start looking for a job again.

  Or … should I take a serious look at starting up Aunt Charlie’s healing business again? Would that be enough to pay the bills? Could I also maybe sell some of my art as well?

  No, no, no. I pushed the thought away almost as quickly as I had it. I knew nothing about healing or business or art. It would have been one thing to start a new business if I had the trust fund to fall back on as a safety net. Without that … no, I was better off looking for a job.

  The thought depressed me. I refilled my wine and went to poke through the fridge. I wasn’t the least bit hungry, but I knew I needed to eat something. Maybe just a salad. Keep it light and try and enjoy the rest of my evening. Tomorrow was soon enough to start coming up with a plan.

  I was in the middle of chopping cucumbers when my cell rang again. I dropped the knife and grabbed it, hoping against hope it was my lawyer again, telling me to forget what he said—that it looked like they had found the money after all.

  But it wasn’t my lawyer. It was my mother.

  I paused, staring at the blinking display, my stomach sinking.

  I didn’t want to talk to her. Especially now, while I was reeling from this major setback. I couldn’t bear to hear the disappointment in her voice. I was deeply ashamed that I hadn’t listened to her about Stefan.

  More than that, I knew I had let her down. Again.

  My finger hovered over the decline button. But then I thought about how often she had called over the past few weeks, even though I had continually sent her calls to voicemail.

  She wasn’t going to stop. Not until I spoke to her. Maybe it was time.

  I paused, forced myself to swallow the lump of dread in my throat and answered.

  “Rebecca! There you are. I’ve been so worried.”

  I scooped up my wine glass. “Hi, mom,” I said.

  “I’ve been calling and calling. Why haven’t you called me back?”

  “It’s ... I haven’t wanted to talk to anyone,” I said, taking another swallow of wine as I eyed the bottle. If this conversation was going to stretch out any longer than a few minutes, I’d better eat something—I had already finished half the bottle. I dug out a loaf of French bread, butter and cheese.

  “I’m not just anyone. I’m your mother.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She sighed. “Well, I can imagine how rough things have been for you. And there you are, all by yourself in that awful house. No wonder you haven’t wanted to talk to anyone. When are you coming back to New York?”

  I shifted uncomfortably as I began slicing the bread. “I ... there’s still a lot I need to do here,” I said lamely. I didn’t want to admit to her that there was no way I could afford it now. I wasn’t even sure if I could afford living in Redemption for very long, even in a paid-off house, unless I was able to find a decent-paying job. Where on earth was I going to go if I couldn’t? God, I felt like a loser.

  “Well, of course there is. But your health is important, too. I’m sure you’ve done enough to at least put the house on the market.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “It’s just ...” I wasn’t able to finish my thought.

  “What, Rebecca?”

  I took a deep breath. “You and dad were right about Stefan,” I said, miserably. “I should have listened to you.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I had a feeling that was why you haven’t called me back.” She paused. “You father and I talked, and we’ve already found an apartment for you. We’ll make all the arrangements. We just need to know when you’re coming back.”

  I stopped slicing, the knife stuck halfway in the bread. “You ... you already did that? For me?”

  “Of course, Rebecca. You can always count on us.”

  I squeezed my
eyes shut tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to overflow. Why was I crying? Isn’t this what I wanted? My safety net was back. So why did I feel so awful?

  “Your brother Randall has an opening in his firm,” my mother continued. “As soon as you get settled back here, you can get started. You see? There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll take care of you.”

  I opened my eyes, the threat of tears dissolving almost as quickly as it had surfaced, a cold lump of dread forming in my stomach. The rest of my life unfolded in front of me; a grey, lifeless sort of existence. A safe and secure job. A lovely, safe and secure apartment I would never have to worry about not being able to afford. The security of knowing the bills would always be paid and my life funded.

  At first I would be so grateful, I would only have a glass or two of wine each night. Then, as the resentment and stifled feelings grew, it would turn to two or three glasses. Then, a whole bottle.

  I wondered how long it would be before I started opening a second.

  Is this the life I really wanted?

  But, what choice did I have? My safety net was gone. I didn’t have a job, nor did I have any prospects for one.

  What else could I do?

  The kitchen spun around me, and I grabbed the counter to steady myself. I definitely needed to slow down on the wine. “Let me think about it.”

  “What is there to think about?” She sounded truly surprised. “We’ve figured everything out for you. All you need to do is sell that house and come home.”

  Home. Where I would be loved, supported and suffocated. Where I would never again have to worry about supporting myself financially because my every move would be carefully watched … and controlled.

  What price was I willing to pay for security?

  “I have to go,” I said. “My dinner is about ready.”

  “Get that house on the market as soon as you can,” she said. “Do it soon, Rebecca,” she said. “I don’t think being in it is healthy for you.”

  Something clicked in the back of my head. Something I couldn’t quite put a finger on. It was shrouded in darkness, whatever it was, like a black cloud of buzzing gnats. I wanted to ask her why she would say that but she was already saying goodbye.

  I had lost my appetite but knew I needed to eat something, so I assembled a plate of bread, cheese and the vegetables I had already cut up. I also refreshed my wine, noting that the bottle was now about two-thirds gone. This was it—the last glass of the night.

  I took my plate and glass to the kitchen table. Oscar joined me, silently leaping onto the chair next to mine and settling in. I broke off a piece of cheese to offer him, which he delicately sniffed before gently accepting.

  I buttered the bread and began to eat as I looked around my spacious, homey kitchen and considered my options.

  If I did decide to stay, then I absolutely would have to make something work, and do it soon. Either I would have to go find myself a job, or I would need to get my act together around starting some sort of business—either the healing or the art or both.

  If I did go the business route, could I even do it? Could I succeed at making money despite a lifetime of failure staring back at me?

  What if I tried and failed? Would my parents’ offer still be there? Or was this a one-time only thing?

  Was I willing to risk losing that offer?

  Oscar finished his cheese and fixed his unblinking stare on me. I broke off another piece to give to him.

  Maybe I was looking at this all wrong. Maybe I needed to ask myself if I really wanted to stay here, in Redemption. Plenty of people in this town would be happy to see me gone, for sure. And then there was everything else that had happened in the past few days.

  Daphne lied to me.

  Bear, the dog, went missing.

  Pat swore the devil is haunting her.

  And fifteen years ago, I was screaming in the woods before being taken to the hospital because I was dying.

  What did I see?

  Why did I scream?

  And what wasn’t my mother telling me?

  ***

  A scratching noise. A burst of bright light.

  I blinked. Aunt Charlie leaned across the kitchen table, the flame from the match deepening the wrinkles in her face. She lit three thin, long, taper candles nestled in a black, wrought-iron holder placed in the center of the table—black, red, white. She then sat back in the chair, shaking her hand to extinguish the match.

  “I see that we’ve moved from tea to candles,” I said.

  She shot me a secret smile. I was now sitting across from her, the soft golden light filling the kitchen.

  “Do you want tea? I can make it for you.”

  “Before you said the tea didn’t work.”

  She shrugged. “Just because it didn’t work doesn’t mean I can’t make it for you.”

  And just like that, grief swamped over me, almost overwhelming me in its embrace. “I miss your tea,” I said, trying to hold back the tears.

  Aunt Charlie nodded sadly. “I know, honey.” She reached over and covered my hand with hers. “I know.”

  I blinked my eyes quickly, looking around the kitchen to try and distract myself. “What’s the significance of the candles?”

  She gently squeezed my hand and let go. “Black to vanquish the bad energy. Red to draw in fresh, new energy. White for truth.”

  The flames flickered, revealing dark, twisted shadows behind my aunt. I grew cold.

  She stretched a hand out toward the candles. “Black. Red. White.”

  The flames leaped up, almost eagerly, growing brighter and larger. “You’re telling me to buy candles.”

  Her eyes glittered. “I’m not telling you to do anything.”

  I was starting to feel annoyed. “Then, what ARE you saying?”

  She placed both her palms on the table and leaned forward. The flames on the candles danced even higher, making her look like she was trapped in a prison of fire. “It’s starting again.”

  “What’s starting?”

  “The pattern.”

  The cold touch of fear brushed the base of my spine and I shivered. “What pattern?”

  “The one that started fifteen years ago.”

  The flames from the candles were so high, they licked the ceilings. The shadows were growing larger as well. I could see teeth and claws forming. “The night Jessica disappeared?”

  Aunt Charlie’s eyes were like shiny black pebbles. “You must remember.”

  Irritation warred with fear inside me. “You don’t think I want to?” I snapped. “Why don’t YOU tell me? Don’t the dead know everything?”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  I slammed my hands against the table. “Of course it doesn’t. Why on earth would it be that easy? God, I just want to know what happened that night.”

  Aunt Charlie’s lips pulled up into a mocking smile devoid of warmth. “I don’t believe you.”

  My mouth fell open. I stared into Aunt Charlie’s glittering black eyes—insect eyes. “What are you talking about? Of course I want to know what happened.”

  She shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “No, you don’t.”

  “How do you know what I want or don’t want?” I was starting to feel like a misunderstood child.

  She started to say something and then a look of horror crossed her face. “Oh no,” she moaned, her hands rising to her face as she stumbled to her feet. “Oh no. Not you, too. Oh nooooo.”

  I half-stood, too. “What? What’s going on?”

  Aunt Charlie backed away, her mouth opening into a scream.

  I tried to go to my aunt, but the candle flames exploded, shoving me back. I could feel the heat spread across my face like a bad sunburn, and I shielded my eyes against the flames and shadows that jiggled and
danced like broken marionette puppets.

  I sat straight up in bed, dripping with sweat and panting with suppressed screams. Next to me, Oscar picked up his head, stared at me for a minute with his large green eyes, then curled back up.

  Something inside me relaxed, and I laid back down, my breathing slowing.

  I wasn’t alone. And somehow, that made everything better.

  I stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about my dream, but unable to stop myself.

  What was Aunt Charlie screaming? She said something. A word.

  Something that sounded like ... Pat.

  I shivered, the sweat on my body turning to ice.

  Did something happen to Pat? Mentally, I kicked myself. I should have made an effort to track down Barbara today instead of waiting until tomorrow. I could feel guilt start to creep through my limbs. If something had happened to her after I left, and I could have prevented it ...

  Well, there certainly wasn’t anything I could do in the middle of the night. I promised myself I’d deal with it first thing in the morning.

  I didn’t think I would be able to fall asleep again, but my body begged to differ. My eyelids grew thick and heavy as I listened to Oscar purr next to me, and before I knew it, I had drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 9

  I was contemplating what to make for dinner when there was a knock at the door. It was Daniel.

  “Do you have a moment?” he asked. He was dressed in his uniform, but his face was scruffy, like he had missed shaving that morning and black circles bruised his eyes. Was this a social or official call?

  Silently, I pushed the door open and backed away. “Can I get you something to drink? Lemonade? Tea? Wine?”

  “Lemonade if it’s not too much trouble,” he said, following me into the kitchen.

  “No trouble,” I said, fetching a glass and the pitcher from the fridge. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

  “Unfortunately, no,” he said, taking his hat off and rubbing his face as I brought both our drinks to the table. “Pat is dead.”

  I froze, my body contorted in a strange position as I was in the process of sitting down. All I could see was Aunt Charlie’s horrified face, screaming Pat’s name.