Casters Series Box Set

by Norah Wilson

  It was time to grab that memory. She set the copper circle back up on the tree. She’d never be the same, and she knew it. But she knew—somehow—she’d be all right. So damned much like Connie, she was—Alex froze.

  Back in the attic, her original held perfectly still, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps on the floorboards. Not the soft, sock-footed steps of Brooke or Maryanne venturing upstairs. No one whispered to her through the blackness. But someone laughed low and deep in his throat as he moved towards her helpless body on the floor.

  Her heart hammering in terror, Alex tried to move her body, but all she could manage was a helpless flop of her hand, a feeble twitch of her foot. Her helplessness—she couldn’t even turn her head to see him—and her moan of fear only made him laugh all the more. Confidently, he stalked toward her.

  In a blur of speed, Alex’s cast raced from the river toward Harvell House.

  In the attic, Alex heard him kneel behind her head. She rolled her eyes back but couldn’t tip her head far enough back to see him. She sobbed again and he laughed a laugh of pure delight.

  “You can’t move, can you? Oh, what a treat! What a rare, delicious treat!”

  He leaned over her to grasp her pajama top by the hem and hauled it up and over her head, dragging her arms from the sleeves and letting them flop back to her sides. Alex’s heart pounded in horror and humiliation as she felt his eyes on her bared torso. And oh God, she couldn’t catch her breath! The pajama top’s material was thin, but the feeling of suffocation was overwhelming. Alex heard him moving around to stand in front of her, then heard the sickening sound of his zipper sliding down. All she could do was lock her muscles and then he was on top of her.

  “Damn, that’s good!” he whispered, his breath hot, sour and close, even through the material that covered her face. “I usually have to drug my girls to make them like this, but that can cause unconsciousness. I don’t like that part. I like it like this. You’re alive in there, aren’t you, girl? A living, trembling rag doll.” He bit hard into the flesh of her shoulder.

  Fuck, no! Not again! Never again!

  She could shriek her caster shriek. Even from outside, it would probably make him pause. But it might make him flee.

  This one wouldn’t get away.

  Alex reached the window.

  “I want in!” It only took one rap and she was back inside, slamming into her adrenaline-fueled body with righteous, ferocious rage.

  Knowing what was coming when cast and body reunited, Alex shot her hands out and grabbed onto her assailant. With the force of her cast shooting back in, they both plowed across the floor. Rolling, she managed to partially turn them. When they banged into the pedestal table, it was his shoulder that took the brunt, and he let out a surprised umph. The table rocked with such force, everything on it—the girls’ candles, Connie’s candleholder—toppled off, raining to the floor beside them.

  Oh, God, she’d lit one of those candles before she cast out!

  Alex pulled the pajama top away from her face in time to see her candle’s flame gutter out, leaving them with nothing but the moonlight from the window.

  “My shoulder... ” he gasped.

  He still lay partially on her, and Alex shoved him hard. He thumped down beside her on the floor. Instantly, she leapt up. Blood dripped from the wound on her shoulder, but she barely felt the sting. There was no room for anything but the adrenaline-charged fury roiling inside, screaming for release.

  She drew back her foot to kick him, but not in the head. And not in his soft, unprotected stomach. Her bare foot caught him squarely in the groin. He retched—hard—and curled into a ball.

  “Please,” he whimpered. “Oh don’t.”

  She was struggling to shove her trembling arm back into her top when it struck her—that voice... that familiar voice!

  Clutching her arms around her now clothed self, Alex bent to peer at him in the shadows beneath the table. Even with her caster-wide pupils, it took her a moment to make out the face of her attacker. She reared back again.

  “You!” Alex’s heart contracted in horror. “Oh God, it’s you... again! You raped me!” Alex half hissed, half cried. “I remember everything!”

  It was him. The one who’d brutalized her in September had come back to hurt her again tonight! He was one and the same. This time she didn’t fight the memories, and as she grabbed at them, they smashed the walls all around her.

  She’d run into him in the schoolyard. They’d exchanged a few words. She’d been surprised to see the small flask, more surprised when he’d offered her a drink. But she took a drink all the same. Several drinks.

  He hadn’t taken a drink, she recalled, and now she knew why! He’d roofied her. Somehow brought her here to Harvell House and raped her in this attic. Violated her. Left her half-naked just so the humiliation would be complete.

  She fell to her knees, fisting his collar in her hands and squeezing.

  “Wait!” His voice was a scratch. He coughed, begged. “Don’t... don’t hurt me!”

  “Don’t hurt you?” She could, she realized. She held him tightly, twisting his shirt closer and closer around his neck. She lowered herself, practically hissing in his face. “What? You don’t like being the one who’s helpless, huh? Don’t like being too damn weak to move, just like your—”

  Her last word was lost as pain shot through her head. She heard a sickening crack and knew it was her skull. Alex slid to the floor.

  Panting, the man rose, holding Connie’s candleholder in his right hand, his left grasping his pants. But the silver candleholder was dark, she saw. Why was it dark in some places?

  Blood, she realized dimly. Her blood.

  Her blood all over again... “Look what you made me do!” he hissed down at her. “This is all your fault! You reap what you sow. Reap what you deserve! Whores always do. Every single one of you will. I’ll make damn sure of that!”

  The edges of her world were turning to blackness. And the last sight Alex saw was his head turning suddenly as if he’d heard something. Someone coming, maybe? The man pocketed the candleholder and dashed from her fading vision.

  Way to go, Robbins. Get yourself killed. Who’ll look after Connie now?

  Who’ll look after her baby?

  That was her final thought before darkness came down completely.

  Chapter 35

  And Then There Were Two

  Brooke

  “Brooke! Did you hear that?”

  She’d heard it, all right. She’d been pretending to sleep, fake-snoring in the hopes of getting Maryanne to chill and go back to sleep. But she’d heard a definite thump/crash, from directly above them in the attic. Could still hear it echoing in her mind.

  Maryanne was already standing in the center of the room. “Come on! Let’s go.”

  Brooke threw off the covers and sat up. “Before the rest of the household gets there, you mean?”

  “Oh, crap! Yes! If anyone’s still awake, they probably heard it too. Let’s go.”

  “Give me some light, will ya?”

  Maryanne obliged by hitting the switch on her lamp. Brooke located a pair of sweats and pulled them on to cover her bare legs. Then both of the girls raced from the room.

  If anyone else had heard the commotion, they hadn’t come to investigate. At least not yet. The hall was empty. They found the door to the attic unlocked. No surprise there. Alex would have done that on her way up. They pulled the door shut behind them and started creeping up the stairs.

  “Alex?” Maryanne called softly. “Alex, are you okay up there?”

  “She probably just had a hard landing,” Brooke said.

  “Probably,” Maryanne allowed. “But why is it dark up there?”

  Good question. Brooke shrugged before she realized the gesture was lost in the darkness. “How should I know? Maybe her candle burned out.”

  “Wait—” Maryanne’s arm shot out and grabbed Brooke. “Was that a noise?”

  Brooke
froze. She’d heard something too, but she wasn’t entirely sure it came from the attic. “Yeah, I heard it,” she said, “but it almost sounded more like it was on our level, maybe lower.”

  “Man, I hope no one comes. We don’t need to be caught up here.”

  Maryanne was the first to top the stairs and enter the attic. She went straight to the window, presumably to see if Alex’s body lay there.

  Pulling a Bic lighter from the pocket of her sweats, Brooke flicked it on and went straight to the table to light the candles. Except there were no candles on the tabletop. Could they have fallen off? Was that the thump/crash they’d heard from their bedroom?

  “Nothing over here,” Maryanne said in a loud stage whisper from the window. “If she went out, she’s come back again.”

  “And I can’t find the candles over here,” Brooke said. She lowered her arm to scan the floor for them. She yelped and swore.

  Maryanne raced over. “What? What is it?”

  Brooke lowered her lighter and pointed, unable to speak with the way her heart was pounding. Shit! She was hyperventilating!

  Maryanne rounded the table to see Alex’s still body lying half beneath it.

  “Alex!” she cried, dropping to her knees. “Alex, are you all right? Can you hear me?” When Alex made no reply, Maryanne seized her wrist and felt for a pulse.

  Brooke’s wet lips gone suddenly dry as the Sahara. “Is she... is she alive?”

  “She has a pulse, but I don’t know... it seems kind of... slow. Crap, I think it’s too slow. We’d better get help.”

  Brooke’s heart rate had started to level out a little, and her thinking process cleared. “Wait. First let’s make sure she didn’t just faint. She must have cast back in and hit the table. Pain can make you faint. And maybe when you faint, your pulse slows down.”

  “We’ll need better light, then,” Maryanne said. “There’s a penlight in my headboard bookcase.”

  Brooke glanced around, spying one of the three candles which had rolled several feet away. “How about a candle instead?”

  “That’ll do.”

  Brooke dove for the candle. It took two tries with her shaking hands to light it. Maryanne took it from her with equally shaky hands and bent over Alex. Brooke’s heart sank at Maryanne’s sob.

  “Her head! Brooke, I think she cracked her skull on that table leg!”

  Brooke knelt close to Alex’s head. “Oh, man, that’s a lot of blood,” she said. “We definitely need to wake Betts and get some help up here. Although I don’t know how we’re going to explain how she hit her head on the leg of a frigging pedestal table. That’s pretty hard to do unless you’re sliding on the floor with some speed.”

  Brooke started to get up, but Maryanne barked an order. “Wait!”

  Brooke froze. “What?”

  “Her shoulder... it looks like she might be hurt there too, from the blood on her nightshirt.”

  Brooke bent close again, tugging the material away. Yes, there was a wound there. How in hell had she managed that? The table leg couldn’t have done it, nor would a falling candle. It looked more like a—“Shit!” Brooke leapt up. “It’s a bite mark. It’s a human bite mark!”

  “No way!” Maryanne took the candle from Brooke and bent down to examine Alex’s now exposed shoulder. “Oh, God, it is a bite mark. Which means her head injuries aren’t accidental.”

  Brooke barely heard Maryanne’s words. She was too busy scanning the attic’s shadows. “He could still be up here,” Brooke croaked, her heart hammering painfully again. “Oh, God, the noise we heard! We have to get out of here!”

  “What about Alex? We can’t leave her.”

  “We can’t move her, either. She has a frickin’ head injury. Maybe a bad one.”

  “You go fetch Betts,” Maryanne said firmly, but the elevated pitch of her voice gave away her fear. “I’ll stay here with Alex.”

  Brooke’s eyes searched the shadows again. He could be hiding here still. He could be in that damned wardrobe! “No way am I leaving you here.”

  “C’mon, Brooke, one of us has to go. Alex needs help!”

  “Oh, I’ll get help,” Brooke said. “I’m just not leaving you here.”

  Brooke went to stand at the top of the stairs, where she started stomping on the floor and screaming for Mrs. Betts.

  Chapter 36

  Still

  Maryanne

  Maryanne watched the rain, falling to roll dejectedly against the window pane of Alex’s hospital room. Falling as though it were just going through the motions. Much like Maryanne herself as she sat slumped at her friend’s bedside. The snow outside didn’t stand a chance, even against such a listless rain. There’d been less than a centimeter of the white stuff on the ground this morning, and it wasn’t the kind that stayed.

  Maryanne dragged her gaze from the window to the monitors, tubes and other equipment surrounding Alex’s bed. She’d seen a lot of medical dramas on TV, but never had she seen a person plugged into this much technology. Of course, most of the characters on those dramas weren’t comatose, head-injured patients.

  At least Alex was breathing on her own. A mechanical ventilator would have been too hard to take—listening to it, watching Alex’s chest rise and fall with each artificial breath.

  Maryanne dropped her gaze from the forest of equipment to look at Alex herself. She looked so tiny in that bed. Tiny and defenseless, with her head swaddled in white bandages. Her trademark razor-cut bangs peeped out from under the bandages, but Maryanne was pretty sure they’d shaved parts of her head to suture her wounds. Thankfully, she hadn’t required brain surgery—no depressed fractures, no pieces of skull to be dug out of her brain. But Maryanne was thankful not just for Alex but for herself. A neurological patient they could handle at this newly-constructed, state-of-the-art local hospital. But a neurosurgical case would have been shipped out to a larger centre where they were equipped for neurosurgery, and Maryanne wouldn’t have been able to visit.

  Sighing, Maryanne rubbed her temples. She’d been here for a couple of hours, and would be here a while yet. She and Brooke took turns spelling Mrs. Robbins, who’d flown in from Halifax as soon as Mrs. Betts had contacted her. Poor woman. She left Alex’s bedside only when Maryanne or Brooke could fill in, and only to snatch a few hours’ sleep at her motel, shower and eat. And of course, to phone home to talk to Alex’s dad, who’d opted to stay home with Alex’s little sister, to keep life as normal as possible for her.

  Maryanne turned back to the window to watch the rain again. The low humming of the monitors had made their way into white noise. Even the murmur of voices and steps in the corridor beyond the closed door faded into the background as Maryanne got more and more lost in the rain. Lost in the time. Oh so lost in her thoughts.

  With eyes sore from crying, she turned her gaze back to Alex’s white face.

  She and Brooke had talked to so many nurses over the last three days since Alex had been admitted. And they all advised the same thing. “Talk to her. About big things and little things. She might be able to hear you, even though she’s in a coma.”

  Coma. Maryanne still couldn’t believe it.

  Okay, talk. She drew a deep breath. “So, Mr. McKenzie asked me about you,” she said. “And not in his usual snide way. A lot of the teachers wanted to know how you were, Alex. Lots of the kids too.”

  Maryanne looked at the monitors. Glanced at the numbers as if they’d have something to tell.

  “Your mom’s been great. Of course, you know that. She’s here all the time, right? Your dad and sis are worried about you. Your mom updates them a couple of times a day. Oh, and poor Mrs. Betts—she’s been a wreck since this happened. And so have I, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Maryanne’s eyes filled with tears all over again. For Alex’s sake, she tried her best to keep them out of her voice. “The police asked Brooke and me if we saw anything. Asked all kinds of questions about how we found you. But we didn’t have any answers. And..
. we didn’t tell them about Connie’s missing candlestick. How could we without telling... ” Maryanne lowered her voice, glanced at the door. “About Connie.

  “But I did tell them that I heard something. That I woke up when I heard a thump that I thought was coming from the attic. And that I saw you weren’t in your bed at that time.” She paused. “Do you know what one officer asked me? She... she asked me why I didn’t go looking for you then, when I saw you were missing. You should have seen Brooke when she heard that.” Maryanne half smiled with the memory. “She just about took that cop’s head off. The officer actually apologized. She said of course, I had no way of knowing... that none of this was my fault. But, Alex... if only I had done something. Followed my instinct.” Maryanne’s fingers went to the ring on her right hand, the one her grandfather’s friend had given her, but there was no solace to be had from it. “If only I hadn’t failed you. But I did. I failed you... just like I failed Jason.”

  Maryanne felt the emotions flood in. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. Not now, not with everything hitting so close to home, and the flood gates, too long dammed up, were opening. She was swamped by it, drowning in the grief and guilt.

  Jason.

  She’d not said that name out loud in so long. But now that that much—just the name—had tripped from her lips, more would follow.

  She looked into Alex’s still face and prayed to God for her sake, Alex could somehow hear what she was saying. And though terrified to admit it, Maryanne half prayed that for her own sake, no one ever would.

  “Jason was my baby brother. He was barely a year old when he died. And it was my fault that he did.”

  Maryanne swallowed hard. She’d never said those words to anyone. “My parents went into Toronto for the evening. Something they did every so often. It... it was one of those big dinners Mom’s firm held, and she just had to be there. I’d babysat Jason before. It was no big deal. It... it should have been no big deal.

  “He’d been whiny all evening, ever since Mom and Dad left around five. Really whiny and clingy. He wasn’t sick, just running a bit of a temp from teething. He wouldn’t take his bottle. Didn’t want his soother even. I put him to bed at 7:30—that was his bedtime—and that wasn’t a moment too soon for me. I was more than a little frazzled by the time I tucked him in. Tired of hearing him crying. Calling Me-anne, Me-anne, Me-anne over and over and over. Even after I put him to bed, I must have gone back into his room a dozen times. No, two dozen! But I couldn’t stop his crying. Couldn’t fix anything. It was coming on to nine o’clock and he still wasn’t asleep! So... so I decided to just let him cry it out. Cry himself to sleep. My grandmother Webb swears by that—and she raised six kids. He kept crying. Kept calling my name. Then I heard a thumping on the wall... some kind of a clatter.