Dark Truth

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Dark Truth Page 5

by Lindsay McKenna


  There was a feeling of movement as Victor narrowed his eyes and followed the golden trail of energy left by his daughter. She obviously had never trained in the paranormal arts or she would not have left herself uncloaked, her trail easy for anyone to follow.

  Victor knew his daughter was coming home. Home. It left a bittersweet feeling within him. What was Ana like? Had she grown to look more like him or his dead wife? Was she interested in learning from him? As his spirit horse sailed through sparkling fields of stars and galaxies, Victor wished mightily that he could know the answer. Ana was his only wound, the one thing his heart pined over, because he was her father and had lost all contact with her after birth.

  Twisting to look over his shoulder, Victor made sure his other eleven guides were following behind. Each of his helpers played a powerful role. And at any given time, he could shape-shift into one of them by asking them to cover his human form.

  His ebony raven croaked loudly and flapped its wings. He was Victor’s first choice for shape-shifting when he had to traverse the third dimensional plane in disguise.

  His daughter Ana… What had life been like for her since she’d been gone? Victor had so many questions. Before now, her energy had been cloaked, and he could not find her no matter how much he searched the Other Worlds for a trace of her signature. If she knew about cloaking, why had she revealed herself now? Perhaps because she was coming home to Peru to meet with him? Victor was uneasy.

  Ana’s arrival was an unexpected gift and a possible problem for him. Still, in his heart, Victor hoped that he and his daughter could become friends and he could teach the paranormal arts. Would Ana side with him and the Tupay way of living?

  A hundred thoughts collided in his head when he saw the golden energy leading to the Lima airport. The golden, sparkling trail came from a plane in its final descent, with Condor Airlines written on the fuselage. The great silver bird landed with a screech upon the long, black, asphalt runway. Bluish smoke rose briefly from the rubber tires as the pilot slowed down the aircraft.

  Because he was in fourth dimensional space, Victor could see through any third dimensional object, whether a building, an animal…or an airplane. He pulled his spirit stallion to a halt and hovered just above the airliner.

  Eyes narrowing, Victor quickly followed the golden thread of energy into the plane. There, in the first-class section, he saw his daughter for the first time in many years. Tears crowded his eyes unexpectedly and Victor quickly wiped them away. She was so beautiful! And sleepy-looking. Victor felt a pang of disappointment as he noticed Ana was nearly the spitting image of his dead wife. She looked nothing like him.

  And yet, as he eased ever closer, he saw the birthmark beneath her shining black hair. His heart sang. Ana was just like him. She wore the same mark as he. His first daughter was Tupay, after all! Elated, Victor eased away from the airliner now crawling toward the terminal.

  Victor twisted to address another of his spirit guides, a beautiful red-and-yellow parrot.

  I want you to follow my daughter at a distance. Remain cloaked. Do not allow her to know you are watching her. You will tell me where she goes and keep me filled in. At some point, I must meet with her in the third dimension. For now, let us just watch and learn why she has returned home.

  The parrot flapped her wings. Master, I live to do your bidding. I will remain cloaked and follow your daughter’s movements. I will be in touch.

  Nodding, Victor thanked the guide and ordered his horse to turn around. Time to get back to his third-dimensional form and home. As they sped back to Aguas Calientes, Victor’s heart overflowed with joy, and at the same time filled with worry. Ana’s return was unexpected. Shocking. Wonderful. Perhaps an incredible gift.

  As they returned, the great spirit horse alighted in Victor’s office, where his human form sat in the chair. Victor patted his stalwart mount, thanked him and rose above the horse’s broad, sleek back. He aimed his energy body feetfirst through an opening in the top of his human head. Easing gently down until his astral feet locked back into place with his physical feet, he felt heavy once more. Once reentry was accomplished, Victor felt the opening at the top of his head close.

  Looking about with his human eyes, he reoriented himself for a few minutes. The room was quiet. His heart pounded heavily in his chest. He lifted his hand and rubbed the area, his red polo shirt soft beneath his palm. Ana is here.

  Frowning, Victor stroked his goatee, deep in thought. As if struck by a lightning bolt, his life had been upended. And it left him shaken. He had to plan quickly and thoroughly.

  His stomach grumbled. Fidelia would be upset that he was not sharing desayuno with the family, so he got to his feet and made his way to the staircase. After flipping off the light, Victor left his metaphysical lair, where he’d taught so many students over the past fifty-five years of his life. As he trudged up the stairs, his heart expanded with hope. The universe was giving him a second chance with his daughter. How he wanted that chance! And yet he would have to be very careful how he reentered her life. One mistake and she could turn against him.

  And that was the last thing Victor wanted.

  Chapter 3

  Why do I feel like I’m going to my death? The question hung unanswered, like a sword suspended above Ana’s head. She wrapped her fingers around the wrought-iron ring that would open the massive door to St. Mary’s Orphanage. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she realized that Mason Ridfort was gone; he had disappeared back into the heavy morning traffic around Plaza de Armas. Off to work…

  I’m off to my life….

  All the honking horns and roar of cars zipping by became muted. Ana’s entire being focused on her hand resting on that door latch. The metal felt cool and clammy, just like her flesh. She should be happy this moment had finally arrived. Anxious, yes. Of course. The details of how she’d ended up at this orphanage would finally be revealed.

  What had happened to her before that? Did the nun on duty the day Ana had been brought to them remember anything about the occasion? That was twenty-three years ago. Closing her eyes, she trembled inside, her stomach shaking like Jell-O.

  Not known for being a coward, Ana found herself afraid to move forward. Okay, she had to do this. She’d waited all her life to find out the truth. No time like the present. As she pulled open the door, it creaked loudly and yawned like a snake’s mouth.

  Morning sunlight spilled into a courtyard inside. Ana could see the light blue sky framed by the rectangular building. As she ventured farther, she found herself walking on stone tiles toward a garden with a fountain. In the center of the small cobblestone plaza, a granite statue of Mother Mary held out her hands. Flowers were planted in colorful profusion around the ancient stone fountain, which had surely been built by the Incas.

  In her research, Ana had learned that the statue had been added much later, after the Spanish conquest and the drive to convert the populace from their Incan beliefs to the Catholic religion. Ana found irony that as one civilization was destroyed, another one came to build upon it. Here, the Spaniards had constructed an orphanage on the foundations of the Incan temple.

  Reminders of the Incas incredible stonework were everywhere she looked, so the Spanish hadn’t been able to wipe out the civilization as thoroughly as they may have wanted to.

  Shutting the door, Ana turned. A smiling young nun, hardly out of her teens came toward her. She was obviously Quero, with high cheekbones, sparkling brown eyes and a sturdy build beneath her blue-and-white robes.

  “May I help you, señorita?”

  “Yes,” Ana said, finding her voice raspy with strain. “I’ve got an appointment with your abbess, Mother Bernadette?” Ana gave her name to the young nun. In the distance, beyond some gray stone walls, she could hear the joyful sounds of children playing. They were probably at recess here at the orphanage school, Ana thought. Had she played on that same playground?

  “Of course,” the nun said sweetly. “I’m Sister Isadore. This way, Se�
�orita Rafael.” She gestured toward a portico covered with red Spanish tiles. “She is expecting you.”

  Ana looked around, this time through different eyes. She had been an orphan here for two years of her life, yet had so few memories of this place…. And then there were the nightmares that had plagued her ever since she could remember. Fragments of faces. Fragments of conversations. Often, Ana would see the head of a jaguar. Or hear the mew of a jaguar cub. The jungle in her dreams was filled with trees, vines and perfumed orchids. Running through it on bare feet, she could often breathe in the humid, fecund odors of life and death. Ana always saw the face of a woman—one with beautiful green eyes and an angelic smile. Then there was the monstrous-looking face of a man. With a black beard and fathomless dark eyes that drilled through her like laser beams, he scared her to death. Often he stalked and hunted her. Pleasant dreams would turn into terror-filled nightmares as she continued to hide from him.

  Ana walked across the well-worn granite stones and seemed to vaguely recall the statue of the Virgin. Perhaps a memory of this fountain? Unsure, Ana followed the nun down another quiet, empty stone corridor. A slight breeze made it cooler here. They stopped at another dark wooden door that said Abbess. Opening it, the nun said, “Go right in, Señorita Rafael. Mother Bernadette is expecting you.”

  After thanking Sister Isadore, Ana stepped fearfully through the doorway. She felt as if she were entering a torture chamber. Why was she reacting like this? Now Ana wished she’d asked Mace about his adoption. Had he felt similar when he’d found out who his parents were? What had his journey of discovery been like? The knowledge might have helped her come to grips with her own findings.

  Straight ahead of her was a huge antique desk made out of some heavy, reddish jungle wood, perhaps mahogany. The light was weak, but drove back the shadows in the rectangular office. The nun sitting behind the desk had short silver hair and wore round wire-rim glasses at the end of her fine, long nose. The glasses emphasized her watery hazel eyes. Her triangular face, just visible above the tacks of papers on the desk, was pinched and lined with age.

  Ana introduced herself.

  “Ah, Señorita Rafael. Welcome! I’m Mother Bernadette. Please, please, sit down.” The nun stood up and gestured toward a large, heavy wooden chair in front of the cluttered desk.

  Ana did as she was instructed, keeping her gaze on the abbess. Her dark blue and white robes hid her figure, but she was clearly a frail and tiny woman.

  Within moments, a young nun glided silently into the room with hot tea and biscuits. After clearing a spot, she placed the silver tray on the desk. Mother Bernadette thanked her and she quickly left, closing the door behind her.

  “You must be worn out from your travels, señorita. Have some tea and we’ll chat about your time here with us so long ago.” With a smile, she picked up a folder from one of the leaning stacks. Mother Bernadette said, “Everything about you is in here.”

  Fear zigzagged through Ana as she reached for her tea. Gripping the cup and saucer, she leaned back and crossed her legs, her heart hammering. “Thank you for seeing me, Mother. I—I’m on a quest—a journey to find out who I really am.”

  Chuckling, the abbess nodded sagely and pushed aside the papers she’d been working on. “Oh, yes, my dear child, I understand.” Looking up, she smiled kindly across the desk. “The fact is we’re all on the same journey. Did you realize that? Oh, we might know who our parents were, our background, but there’s still an inner journey to one’s soul which must be taken by each of us. That is the important part, and something you have within you. No one can ever take it away from you, and that’s a blessing.”

  Ana tasted the delightful hint of bergamot in her tea. “Still, knowing where you came from is so important, Mother.” “Of course it is, Señorita Rafael. I don’t mean to suggest that it is not. Now, let me see here….” She opened the dog-eared, yellowing file. “I was a nun here at the orphanage and on duty the day you were brought to us.”

  Mother Bernadette squinted and moved the file away, then closer, trying to focus on the scribbled words on the entrance form. “Hold on. I need my magnifying glass.” She searched for it beneath a sheaf of papers to her left. Finding it, she smiled. “Old eyes, you know. I’m eighty-five years old. The good Lord has allowed me to live a long time, but he sure didn’t give me eyes that could keep up with the rest of me.”

  Sitting tensely, her shoulders tight with anticipation, Ana waited. It seemed that each breath she took rocked her entire reality and then shredded it. What would be in that file? What had Mother Bernadette written about whoever had brought her to this orphanage?

  “The man who brought you here was named Juan Sanchez,” the abbess murmured, barely lifting her chin to look across at Ana. “It was October thirty-first when he came here to the orphanage. Interesting. That is when the Day of the Dead is celebrated. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, in your correspondence you told me the date I was brought in.”

  “Ah, I see. Very good.” She squinted down at the folder in her hands. “I have here in my notes that Señor Sanchez was a farmer who worked a small plot of land about two miles south of Aguas Calientes.” She lifted her head. “Do you know where that is?”

  Ana shook her head.

  “Actually, it’s very close. You can take the train from Cuzco. Aguas Calientes is a frontier town at the base of the beautiful Incan temple complex of Machu Picchu.”

  “Oh, I see.” Ana had heard of Machu Picchu.

  “Señor Sanchez said the following about you. “‘Child found beneath a dead female jaguar that was shot by an unknown hunter.’ Apparently, Sanchez was going to his field one last time before the seasonal rains came, when he heard the shot and saw a man fleeing with a gun. A poacher. And in the corner, near the jungle, he spotted the dead jaguar. When he walked over to it, he saw the arm of a child sticking out from beneath the body of the cat.”

  Heart pounding, Ana sat up straight. “That was me?” The words came out hoarsely.

  “Yes. At first, Señor Sanchez thought you had been shot, too, there was so much blood on you. Apparently you were knocked unconscious. He pulled you from beneath the dead jaguar and carried you to his home, a mile away. He and his wife cleaned you up, and by that time you had regained consciousness.”

  Mother Bernadette looked up and frowned. She set the magnifying glass on the old, crinkled folder. “I vaguely recall this story, señorita. Señor Sanchez was very frightened. His wife saw a mark, a birthmark, on the back of your neck, and she made him take you here, to us. She didn’t want you in their home. She felt threatened.”

  Sitting up, Ana whispered, “Why was she threatened?” And then she recalled her adoptive mother, Mary, telling her that she had a birthmark high on the back of her neck, a circle with a dot in the center. Ana had never paid any attention to it because her adoptive parents had disregarded its significance. Her long black hair always covered it up, so no one else knew it was there.

  And then the dream she’d had on the plane, about Grandmother Alaria, slammed back into Ana’s memory. The elder had told her of the symbol of a circle with a dot in the center. She had not given Ana any information about it.

  Mother Bernadette pointed a gnarled finger at the file. “I drew it. It’s a circle with a dot inside.”

  “That’s what scared Señor Sanchez’s wife?”

  “Oh, yes, my dear.” The abbess chuckled. “The Quero people are a very superstitious lot, you know. Everything is a symbol and means something good or bad to them.”

  Ana placed the empty teacup on the desk in front of her. “So I was found beneath a dead jaguar. This farmer rescued me and brought me to his home. And his wife saw my birthmark and told him to get rid of me.” A feeling of abandonment surged through Ana and she tried to swallow the pain.

  “Yes, that is so. Señor Sanchez had you bundled in a very old, frayed alpaca blanket when you came here. He had wrapped you cocoonlike so that your arms and legs were not free to
move.”

  Startled, Ana whispered, “But why?”

  “Do you have any memories of being a youngster here, my dear?”

  “Just fragments. The statue at the fountain feels familiar to me. I have dreams, nightmares, but I see only bits of scenes, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Do you remember me?”

  Shaking her head, Ana whispered, “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I’ve went through many therapy sessions trying to unlock huge chunks of time, years that I can’t remember to this day. My therapist said my brain might be holding memories that it felt would overwhelm me, and that’s why I can’t recall them. She said one day, when they weren’t so upsetting to me, I might remember.”

  “Well, I must say, you have changed remarkably since you lived here, and what a beautiful young woman you have grown into.” Pulling off her glasses, Mother Bernadette pinched the bridge of her nose. “You were a wild little animal when you first arrived, Ana. You could not speak Spanish or any other language. Your hair had been all chopped off. Señor Sanchez said it had been long, filthy, terribly matted, and appeared never to have been combed. His wife cut off your hair and bathed you before he brought you here. You were, for all intents and purposes, a wild animal that had been accidentally captured when that female jaguar was shot and killed.”

  Ana frowned in confusion. “A wild animal? Me? I didn’t speak Spanish? Is that why I was wrapped in that blanket so tightly? Did I want to escape?”

  “Yes, that’s why Señor Sanchez wrapped you up. You see—” the nun leaned forward on her elbows “—he told me a fascinating story. It’s not one I’m sure I believe, but I must tell you about it. He said there was a legend of a young girl-child who ran with a family of jaguars, that the jaguar mother had saved her from death and raised her as her own. This child had suckled the milk of the jaguar, and was seen from time to time at the edges of the jungle by different farmers in that region. They all thought the child was a spirit, of course. They said the jaguar would shape-shift into this young child to lure them into the jungle and kill them.”

 

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