“What’s that?” I questioned.
“Something you will need—I will only be a minute. Grab the keys from the table and head for the boat. I’ll be right behind you.”
“All right, please hurry. They weren’t far behind me.”
I swiped the keys from the table’s wooden surface and flew through the door. My shoulders tensed as the old boards of the deck moaned and creaked with every step. The deck had spent centuries exposed to the harsh elements of Louisiana’s swamp waters, not to mention the countless times the deck had been used as breaks for the airboat—but it chose tonight to complain about it.
I looked over my shoulder to the woods. The light was closer. The minute Fergus had promised had already stretched to several. What was taking him so long? What was he packing? I struggled to stay calm.
Before I jumped into the boat, I tiptoed around to the fillet station that was connected to the side of the shack and swiped an old cutting knife. I leaned over the cutting board and peeked through the small, dusty window that still beamed light from the fire. I could see Fergus still limping around, collecting items in his brown bag. I lightly tapped the knife on the glass and gave him a nervous look. He nodded and then finally closed his bag.
I took long, quiet strides over to the edge of the deck and stepped onto the aluminum surface of the boat. I collapsed into the damp driver’s seat and tried to recover a sense of tranquility. The keys and the knife rattled together in my lap, while my right leg shook with anxiety. I kept my eyes glued to the deck, waiting for Fergus to round the side of the shack at any moment.
I glanced back to the wooded area—I couldn’t see the light anymore. A disturbing thought entered my head—it had been over ten minutes since I’d rolled onto the wooden deck. They could already be here lurking around the shack. Through the loud singing of the crickets and frogs, I heard the familiar moaning of the deck floor.
“Oh, Clara, Clara, Clara. Why are you making this difficult?”
My body tensed. They were here. I tried to contain my nerves as I watched two slender figures round the corner of the shack.
“Did you think you could outrun us? Or were you just wanting to play?” Erik questioned again. His shades were still on, but I could feel his eyes on me.
I carefully let the knife fall between my legs so that it was completely hidden. It was the closest thing I had to a weapon. It would have to do.
“What did you do with Alice?” I tried to sound strong, but the anxiety was clear in my voice. I was afraid of what their answer might be, but I had to know. I couldn’t lose my aunt; she was all I had—the only family I knew.
“We just had a little talk with her.” The redhead spoke with such a sweet tone, it almost sounded innocent.
“Tell me where she is!” I yelled.
“I don’t believe you are in a position to make demands,” he said.
“What do you want?” My lips trembled as I glared at the evil version of the Erik I thought I once knew.
“I told you I would come for you, did I not?”
“Why? I’m nobody. If you are doing this for money, you should know we don’t have any money.”
The redhead and Erik chuckled before he continued. “It’s not about money. We just need you.”
He stepped over the side of the boat and placed one hand on my shoulder and braced himself with the other on the back of the seat. I felt light-headed as soon as his fingers touched my skin.
“This doesn’t have to hurt—if you just cooperate,” he said.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow creeping toward the girl. Fergus. He was slowly making his way onto the deck with his cane in one hand and his bag in the other. I lowered my arms to my lap and discreetly slid the hidden knife under my hand.
Whack!
In a split second, Fergus had knocked the redhead to her knees. I promptly turned the swivel chair and kicked with all my strength. My heel caught Erik straight in the chest. The air boat rocked from the movement, causing him to fall against its aluminum floor. He scrambled to grab the side to push himself from the floor. I stood from the chair and raised my leg for another kick. He caught my foot, pulling me down by his side. I struggled to get up from the floor. But he was too strong.
He pinned me against the side of the boat, pressing my sore side. I lashed at him with the knife, but it quickly flew from my hand to the deck. He pushed me harder against the boat, so that the aluminum cut into my back. His fingers latched around my throat in an unbreakable hold. My eyes darted to Fergus for help. But it was no use. The women had risen from the deck, and she stood between us—furious. And she had the knife now. My eyes began to water as I struggled for air. I was scared for Fergus. I was scared for myself.
Erik lifted me from the boat by my neck and flung me to the hard surface of the deck. He looked down, pleased by the pain he had caused.
This couldn’t be it for me, I thought. I was exhausted and still gasping for oxygen, but I was not ready to give up. I was not ready to die. Not by his hands, by his terms—not without a fight.
Fergus had knocked the knife from the woman’s hand; it was only a few feet from me now. If I stretched, I could reach it. I had to go for it.
I swung my leg as hard and as high as I could, jabbing it right between his legs. He dropped to the deck with a moan. I grabbed the fillet knife and forced the blade through the flesh of his hand. The knife drove down hard into the wood below it.
“You whore!” he yelled furiously as he grabbed at his hand.
A loud crack came from behind. I turned just in time to see the fiery redhead fly into the water, landing with a big splash. We were winning.
Fergus threw his cane and bag into the boat and then helped me over the side. We could hear Erik screaming from the deck as he pulled at the knife that joined his hand to the wood.
The propeller of the boat buzzed as soon as Fergus turned the key. The air from the blades drowned out the sound of the screams as we propelled away from the shack.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’ll be all right,” I replied while pulling my flying hair back. “I’m so sorry I brought you into all of this. Are you okay?”
“Yes, dear, I’m fine. But you needn’t apologize. We need to get you to the library. Things are much worse than I imagined.” He still spoke with the gentle voice that I knew and loved, but it was different somehow, more protective.
“What about Alice? We need to help her. We need to go to the police.”
“This is not a matter for the police, dear. I know where Alice will be—and it’s no place they can go.”
“How do you know this? Where is she?”
“You still don’t remember anything, do you?” he asked as though he already knew it to be true. I could see a hint of sadness behind his squinted eyes.
“You are starting to scare me, Fergus. Please, tell me what I need to know.”
“Let’s get you to the library first.
-9-
REALITY
Yellow light from the streetlamps lit the entrance to the library, casting shadows of waving trees on its peeling beige exterior. This old place was my second home.
We entered into a very still library. There were no sounds of whispers, papers turning, or books closing—only the sound of Fergus’s shoes against the marble floor. As soon as the door shut behind us, Fergus locked the dead bolts and then wrapped a chain around the door handles. We weren’t going anywhere for the night.
I followed him through the second pair of doors that led into the hall of books, but stopped when he turned down the poetry aisle. I hadn’t been in the library since my last nightmare, and to be honest, I was still shaken by it.
Fergus turned around to gauge the distance between his bottom and the small chair of the wooden desk. It was the same aisle and the same desk from my dream. He slowly sunk into the seat and leaned back. The chair tilted, clicking until it finally locked at a slanted angle to the floor.
That’s when
I noticed the bookcase in front of the desk crack open.
“Fergus,” I said automatically, “what is this?”
He carefully stood from the desk and pushed the bookcase open. “It’s a secret chamber, dear. Constructed for times such as these.” He motioned with a nod of his head to trust him.
“Go on,” he insisted. “Take a look.”
I walked past Fergus, into the chamber, with the curiosity of a child.
The room was larger than I had expected, bigger than my own bedroom, but seemed small due to the lack of windows. A foldout bed hid in the back corner of the room, next to a dozen cases of bottled water and a broken wicker chair.
Fergus directed me to the left, where a rugged bench was pressed against the pale wall, and then scooted the bench a few inches away from the wall so that it sat catty-corner to the opening we had entered.
“Have a seat, darling,” he said.
He waited until I was completely settled next to him before saying another word. “I know that everything that has happened to you in the past few weeks has been difficult for you to understand. I can see the uncertainty in your eyes, and I can see that you doubt what you used to believe.” Fergus looked sideways with a look of sincerity. “Clara, there are things in this world that are very hard to explain, but it is crucial for you understand.”
“Just tell me what’s going on. Why is this happening to me? And how do you know so much?”
Fergus cut my questions short. “Do you remember the story of the darkness?”
“Yes, of course, the story of good and evil—of light and darkness. You tell that one practically every other week.”
“I’m pleased you were listening.” Fergus paused for a moment, just long enough to run the back of his aged hand over his forehead. “The stories were not entirely stories, dear.”
I sat still, taking in every word.
“Those stories tell a history. A history of a place that is as real as this night. It is here where you must know what you believe—you must fight against the darkness,” he said. Before I could form any kind of question, Fergus leaned in toward me and placed both of his warm hands on each side of my face. “These stories are your history, child.”
My lips were open in disbelief. As I gazed up into his tender eyes, he said very softly, “You must believe. You are no stranger to these lands.”
I shook my head free of his hands and quickly stood up.
“Why are you trying to fill my head with these ideas? I don’t need your stories right now. Alice is missing! And someone is chasing us, for Pete’s sake!”
Fergus was now sitting very stiff, like he was in deep thought. I could see the sadness in his eyes again. “This must be hard for you to take in, but you must try to remember,” he said.
I focused on the black marble floor, trying hard to hold back my emotions. I could feel my eyes burning and the pressure building behind them. I watched as the white specks on the marble blurred into long, flowing streaks. I took a slow breath and signaled with my hand that I was ready to talk.
“Fergus, what you’re telling me is impossible and cruel.” I held my hands together so that I could concentrate on exactly what I wanted to say. “A part of me would love for your stories to be real,” I sighed. “I want to live in a world where I know who I am—a place where I know my past. But I don’t. I live here, in reality. This is real.”
Fergus slowly raised himself from the bench and took two steps toward me. “Day after day I wanted to tell you—there is more to your life than this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded woolen piece of fabric.
“This belongs to you,” he said.
I reluctantly took the neatly folded piece of fabric from his hands. The wool was brown with age and wrapped around something small and hard.
“Do not look inside this cloth until you are ready for the truth. When that time comes, I will have one last story to tell you,” he said delicately with a soft smile.
Fergus leaned in one last time and planted a small kiss on my forehead. “For now, you should rest. Tomorrow will be a big day,” he said. “Tomorrow we leave this place.” Then he shuffled away.
I sat there watching the distance grow further between us, until he closed the wall behind him. I was alone again. Alice was gone. Erik was evil. And Fergus was filling my head with fairy tales. I didn’t know what or who to believe anymore.
I fell asleep that night wondering if I would ever see Alice again. If the one life I knew would ever be the same. I reminded myself that I couldn’t lose hope. I had to believe that everything would be okay—that tomorrow just might bring a better day.
-10-
SCARLET HEIGHTS
We took a cab to Bossier City early that morning. Bossier City was bigger than Coushatta—had better shopping, more restaurants, and an airport. I had been here a few times with Alice and Fergus, but unlike those times, we weren’t here to eat or to shop.
We flew out of Bossier City at 11:00 a.m. that Saturday morning. I had never flown before, so it was quite the experience. The plane was larger than I imagined, but inside felt like a small, overcrowded bus. The seats were high and stiff, the floor space was minimal, but the view was fascinating to me. Once the initial fear of being thirty-five thousand feet in the air wore off, I almost enjoyed it.
The plane landed in Houston, Texas, where we ran through the airport to catch our connecting flight to Chicago, Illinois. We would have one more plane switch in Newark, New Jersey, before we were on the plane that would take us to Ireland.
Running from terminal to terminal was hectic and tiring. Pure adrenaline kept me awake through the first two plane rides, but that adrenaline was wearing off. Before the New Jersey plane had even left the runway, my eyes had closed, and I was drifting into a dream.
There was a girl—a small girl—running barefoot into the night. As she darted around the rocks, her long cinnamon tinted hair flew up and around a bright red cloak. I called to her desperately—“Stop! Wait!”—but she kept running toward the edge of the cliff. I tried to move toward her, but my feet were too heavy to move. The harder I tried to run, the less ground I covered.
“Please…wait,” I pleaded again. “Where are you going?” I noticed a short giggle floating through the wind as it pushed by me.
She did not stop. I tried to plead with her again, but this time my voice was gone. Not a sound or word escaped my lips. My arms reached for her, but she could not see.
The young girl had finally made her way to the edge and was staring down into the raging sea. I could feel panic rushing through my body as I realized I could not save her. Suddenly, the wind stopped blowing, and all was quiet. As her hair lay to rest against her cloak, she slowly turned around.
“I must go home,” she said with a small grin.
All I could do was motion for her to stop, but she simply extended her arms into the night air and smiled. Then, with her back to the sea, she let herself fall over the cliff. She fell in slow motion. I held my breath and watched helplessly as her small body fell over the edge into darkness. Everything immediately turned pitch-black.
I woke up with my sweaty forehead plastered to the plastic window of the airplane. Once my eyes focused, I could see rich green mountains and a rocky coastline through a light film of fluffy clouds. Ireland.
The colors of the countryside were bright, even from high above the clouds. It was a beautiful sight, almost beautiful enough to take my mind off the nightmare. There was no mistake; the dreams were getting worse.
“What do you think?” Fergus asked, pointing out the window.
“It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen.”
It really was enchanting. Something about the blue of the water and the green of the land made it appear like a flawless dream. It would have made a perfect postcard.
“What time is it?” I asked through a much-needed yawn.
“Nine a.m.,” he replied. “Sunday morning.”
The plane landed in Belfas
t, Ireland, safely and on time. Since we didn’t have luggage to claim, we made it through the airport fairly quickly. We didn’t stop until we walked through the sliding doors at the entrance.
Fergus dropped his brown carry-on bag to his side and skimmed his eyes over the people walking the sidewalks. He was looking for someone.
I stood there quietly gazing at the sky and listening to the sounds of Ireland. I could hear birds chirping over the loud putter of taxi-car engines. The sky was a smooth baby-blue color with pink and orange clouds drifting across its horizon.
I eavesdropped as people walked past. The accent here was very different than I had expected. Words were pronounced with hard consonants and with a strange rhythm. It was hard to understand what everyone was saying at first, but the harder I listened, the easier it got.
After standing there for a good ten minutes, a fancy black limousine pulled up to the curb. It was an older car—a classic. The body of the car was long and curved, like a wave pushing forward. It had protruding round lights on the front, a large grill, and a silver hood ornament of a woman leaning into the wind like an angel.
The driver of the car, a man in a black suit, stepped out and walked directly to us. He was middle-aged, fairly tall, with square shoulders. He had a nice smile.
“Calahan?” he asked in a rich Irish accent.
“Yes, yes,” Fergus responded.
“Good morning, sir—miss.” He tipped his head slightly and grinned. “I am here to drive you to Scarlet Heights.”
“Scarlet Heights,” I whispered under my breath. “What kind of a place is Scarlet Heights?”
“It is a manor, dear.” Fergus responded. His cheeks rounded with a grin. “And someone very special lives there. Someone I’ve been waiting for you to meet.”
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