The Glimpsing
Page 29
Portia immediately began drifting backward, moving in what seemed to Jack like a very awkward retreat. It was almost as if Gabrielle’s resurrected body cast some brilliant light, making Portia withdraw, as might a vampire from the approach of dawn.
The two moved in near perfect concert, Portia backing away and Gabrielle advancing, one impossibility in pursuit of the other. Bumping into the vanity, Portia was finally forced to stop. Several perfume bottles rattled, then fell. Portia looked over her shoulder, seemingly stunned that she could retreat no further. She jerked her head back to Gabrielle, as if expecting her to pounce, but Gabrielle had stopped just beyond the closet door.
Gabrielle peered at Portia curiously for a moment. She then tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the woman. “You feel it, don’t you?”
“What?” Portia blurted, unnerved.
“It’s here; the darkness. You know what’s about to happen.”
At first, it appeared Portia did not. She merely stared at Gabrielle, blinking confusedly. Then something almost seemed to move over her. Her eyes wandered off, then began to look up and all around, as if tracking a presence only she could see. Her breathing then quickened, and both her hands strained against the edge of the vanity’s table.
Jack could sense it too, a sweltering black presence so dark that it actually seemed to sap the bedroom of light. He felt himself wanting to cower, the darkness bringing with it voices that seemed to whisper, over and over in a hellish gait, something terrible was about to happen.
Portia’s face had gone pale and her hands, still gripping the vanity, now quivered. And yet still a deep and poisonous scowl marred her face. Although she knew what the presence meant, like a vicious animal backed into a corner by an even greater predator, she was still snapping and snarling.
“What do you think you’re going to do?” she fumed, panting furiously. “Kill me?”
“There is no death,” Gabrielle said with striking calm. “You know that.”
"Then what are you going to do?”
"I’m going to do what Janice could not,” Gabrielle said.
“Janice? What couldn’t she do?”
“Send you back."
"Back? To where?"
"To where the darkness should have taken you all along," Gabrielle said.
Portia blinked away. She shook her head, chuckling half-heartedly, in disbelief that it was all going to end this way. She then turned back to Gabrielle, speaking bitterly. "Then do it, Gabrielle. Do it! But I can promise you this. I won't go easily."
Gabrielle looked on for moment, then, one by one, eased her feet out of her shoes. “But you will go,” she replied.
Once more, without removing her eyes from Portia, Gabrielle extended her hand. This time she took hold of the closet door. “You were right about something, Portia.”
Portia made no reply, though her face did brandish pure alarm when Gabrielle took hold of the door.
“It really isn’t the dying that’s beautiful,” Gabrielle continued. “It’s the waking up.”
Gabrielle then violently hurled the door shut.
Jack once more found himself peering into the dark. He listened anxiously as a struggle ensued outside. It didn't last long. Soon he heard the neat flicking sounds of the stiletto passing in and out of Portia’s flesh.
The woman only groaned at first. There then followed quavering cries of “Oh God.” Finally, as the blade continued to fly, the screams began. And once they did, it seemed like they’d never stop.
Jack could only lay there, listening fearfully, until the stiletto slowed, and the clamor faded… and the darkness claimed Portia once and for all.
CHAPTER 36 – LIBERATION
It's hard to believe that it actually ended this way, that Portia’s demise was brought about so cruelly, and that by the very hand of the woman she had once murdered. Who could have fathomed such a thing? But there was one thing I did know, one thing I always believed, and that was that Portia existed by the power of a miracle, so by the power of a miracle she had to be destroyed.
I thank God every day, that’s exactly what came about.
Incredibly, however, another miracle was soon to follow. At the moment of Portia’s death, Thomas and I also found ourselves laying on the closet floor. Like Jack, we too had been liberated. We too were now free.
As wonderful as that was, both of us quickly realized that we could not return to our former lives. That was especially true of Thomas. Still wanted for the murder of Holly Grace, he couldn’t so much as call a friend or contact a family member. Doing so could lead the police back to him, where he’d be immediately arrested. Thomas had little to be concerned about, however. Jack Parke himself stepped in and, using his considerable wealth, got Thomas safely out of the country. He now resides in a small city in Italy, living under an assumed name.
My own inability to return to my former life was born more of choice than fear of reprisal. Twelve years imprisoned as I was, trying to cope with the torment of my disembodied existence, and witnessing not only Susanna’s murder, but those of Holly and Gabrielle, has left me changed. In a very real sense, the man who entered the painting more than a decade ago, bears little resemblance to the one who so recently exited it.
I do not mean this only figuratively. My change was not merely psychological or emotional, but spiritual as well. I have emerged with a gift. I now see, just as Angela, Portia’s mother, once saw. I now glimpse at all times.
As such, my former life means nothing. I believe my calling now lies along a higher path. For I now see and understand this world in a way that I never have before.
As for Jack and Gabrielle, their sudden reappearances have resulted in a firestorm of questions concerning their prior whereabouts, both from the media and police. To this point, both have chosen only to issue statements through their publicists and lawyers that the matter was private. Two investigators, one of them being the man who originally discovered Thomas McCain’s fingerprints in Jack’s bedroom, continue to press them for interviews. Those requests, however, continue to go unanswered.
Perhaps most astonished by all of this was Janice. Before notifying anyone that they were alive and well, Jack and Gabrielle had gone to Janice’s apartment to make certain she was okay. When she saw them, however, she was so shocked that she actually had to be helped to a couch. She kept looking at them in disbelief, as if they were two ghosts who had somehow taken on flesh.
After they explained to her everything that had happened, they promptly informed Janice of their plans to marry. They added also that they would love for Janice to move in to Jack’s estate and live with them. When Janice questioned why, Jack took the opportunity to inform her that Gabrielle was still pregnant, and that they would love to have her help raising the child. On that news, Janice eagerly accepted.
Everything has turned out beautifully, but sometimes I admit that I still have fears. I wonder why someone like Portia, who had taken her own life when she was just eighteen, was able to return to this world and do the things she did. I wonder if such a thing could actually happen again. But then I remember the closet, and the miracle that I saw there, and realize that we are not alone, that we have no reason to fear.
Better days are ahead, not just for me, but for Jack and Gabrielle, for Thomas and Janice, for each and every one of us. Times of great refreshing lie in our paths. I firmly believe this because of what my eyes tell me, because of the good things I see, every time I find myself glimpsing.
EPILOGUE – SMILE
Peering through the gap in the closet door, Rose watched bitterly as one by one they exited the bedroom. Earlier, as she listened to Portia’s murder, she’d felt held by some alien force, unable to move, unable to act, unable to depart the painting and come to Portia’s aid. Now that they were leaving, however, now that she was leaving, the one called Gabrielle, the power that had kept her bound seemed to be dissipating.
Turning her gaze away from the opening, Rose slowly stood to her fee
t and peered at the white mass of the closet door before her. She stared at it for a moment, then, raising her hand, delicately laid it to its surface. She held it there, not pushing the door open, apprehensive of what it might reveal. But after another moment’s hesitation, she finally did.
It swung open with a phantom’s silence, gradually bringing the entirety of the bedroom into view. And what Rose saw, what filled every inch of her pernicious eyes, made her marvel in complete and utter surprise.
The walls were candy apple red, still wet and glistening; the ceiling was a great constellation of blood splatters. The bed’s numerous pillows had been scattered, and its sheets and blankets were disheveled and bloody. The vanity’s mirror had been shattered, with large jutting sharps pointing out from it threateningly. The once gleaming hardwood floor had now become a crimson carpet.
And then she saw it, a form barely visible amongst the carnage, Portia’s body sprawled partly beneath the vanity and the bed.
She was lying on her back, her arms outstretched, the lower half of her body turned awkwardly. Her once elegant black dress was now darkly discolored, ruined by an innumerable number of puncture wounds. All of the exposed flesh, including her head, looked as if it had been dipped in blood.
Rose began forward, passing into the closet door’s frame, stepping into the reddened bedroom beyond her. She moved to Portia’s body and knelt. She stared at it blankly, emotionlessly. She then reached forward and pulled Portia into her arms.
Portia’s head sagged miserably and her mouth yawed open. Her arms hung limply to the sides. Rose brushed away the stringy, blood-saturated hairs from Portia’s face. She then used the hem of her dress to wipe away the bloody mask, allowing some semblance of Portia’s true countenance to come through. Pressing her hand to Portia’s cheek, she found that the woman was not yet cold.
At that, Rose grinned.
She continued grinning, her gaze now drifting away from Portia and toward the closet door. It swung toward closing ever so gently, pushed along by some unseen force. It stopped when almost halfway closed.
Rose continued cradling Portia, still staring at the closet door, still grinning. She watched excitedly as the door inched toward closing once more. And just as Rose’s grin became a dark, disturbing smile, of its own accord the door violently slammed shut.
Thank you so very much for taking the time to read The Glimpsing. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to recommend it to family, friends, a blog you belong to, or your book club. Again, I truly appreciate your time.
James L. Black
jameslblacksbox@gmail.com
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