Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know?

by Heather Graham

  Not again, God no, please.

  She held his hand, weeping.

  “I love you. I love you.” She whispered it over and over.

  Suddenly she couldn’t help but remember the tarot card. The way it had spun from the deck.

  The Empress. Home, hearth, health, fertility… and reversed. A warning. She needed him, God, yes, she needed him, and she hated it, because she was so afraid of pain. And yet this…

  “Please, I love you. I need you. Max, please…”

  “A pulse!” Dale told her. “He has a pulse! We’ve got to get out of the way, the EMTs are here, Montana, come on!”

  She moved away. The police were rushing in and medical help was there, too. She knew that the crime scene techs who had arrived would be moving past them.

  They would find her friend, Connie. They would take pictures, there would be an autopsy…

  She couldn’t even weep for her friend, Montana thought. Not now; she was in too much shock. She could only pray for Max.

  Dale saw to it that she could ride in the ambulance with Max. Ethan would come behind them, with Dale and Brenda.

  The police would handle the haunted manse.

  And the corpse of their far-too-real Jack the Ripper.

  *

  It was almost an entire day before Max opened his eyes.

  Montana was there. She jumped up, tears springing into her eyes again. She spoke incoherently.

  “I thought I’d lost you; I think the doctors thought we’d lost you, too,” she said.

  He smiled and he touched her cheek gently. “I thought I was lost myself, for a bit,” he told her. He had a strange reflective look in his eyes.

  “What? What? Max?” she asked him.

  “I felt I was in some distant land… or an alternate universe, maybe! I thought that I had to leave, that I knew you couldn’t see me, but, I somehow had to say goodbye. But, then there was this woman. She walked toward me as if she was nobility… she was very regal. And she said, ‘no, Max. You can’t go. She needs you. She said that she needs you.’ And then I felt myself coming back, as if whisking through time and space… opening my eyes, and seeing you.”

  Montana started to shake. She tried to sound light, as if she were joking, as if it was all part of the hospital and the knock on his head and the fact that she might well have died herself.

  “Did she have a tiara or a crown?”

  “She did! In fact, she kind of resembled you. Maybe she was you, deep in my heart, calling me back!” he said.

  “Maybe,” Montana whispered. “Maybe she is me, and what is in my mind, and all my fear… and what faith I need to have. I’m not at all sure, Max. I think she was the Empress.”

  “The Empress?” he murmured.

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she told him softly.

  And it didn’t.

  But later—weeks, later, actually—when Max had long been out of the hospital and they were finally planning their wedding at the cathedral, she went back to the teashop.

  Donald was still there; the Empress had moved on.

  “Where is she?” Montana asked.

  “I believe she went on to Salem. You know, after all that craziness at Monster Manse, she said that she was done here, that she’d done what she’d come to do. She had to move on.

  “Do you have an address for her?”

  “I do—but, you know what? I asked friends in Massachusetts—this address is actually out in the Atlantic Ocean. I’m sorry. She’s just… gone.”

  Montana thanked him and left. She hurried down the street; Brenda was back in town. She and Dale—left together while Max was in the hospital—had become an item.

  They were all due to have dinner at Antoine’s.

  A nice thing to do in New Orleans!

  As she hurried down Chartres, she passed a window that displayed tarot cards. In the fan of cards, she saw the Empress.

  And she paused.

  “Thank you!” she said softly.

  She didn’t know if she was foolish or not. She didn’t know if the woman she had met had been some kind of a strange adult Mary Poppins, or if she hadn’t really existed at all—if she had only been the reflection of what was inside each person she saw.

  Didn’t matter.

  She smiled at the card.

  “Thank you, thank you!” she repeated.

  Then she hurried on, ready for her future, whatever it might bring.

  5

  the emperor

  linda j. parisi

  Upright: Stability, power, aid, protection, a great person, conviction, reason

  Reversed: Benevolence, compassion, credit, confusion to enemies, obstruction, immaturity

  Settling Station, NY 1983

  “S-s-so, Trembles. Who’d you pick?”

  Normally, ignoring Hugh Devlin was easy. But not this time, Alan Trembley thought.

  This time he knew the Triumvirate would really laugh at him.

  Thwack! The slap on the back of his head stung. He sat down, rubbing the abused area. Poor Ollie. They both suffered the ignominy of brains instead of brawn. Poor Ollie.

  “I asked you a question, Trembles.”

  Alan hated being smart sometimes, hated that he was always in classes with older boys. And now even a girl. Funny, they picked on him way more than they picked on her.

  Deciding silence was the better part of valor, Alan ignored Trevor Chadwick as he sat down next to him. “Ooooh,” Trevor mocked, throwing up his hands and feigning terror. “He’s too frightened to answer.”

  Jasper Niebold stopped in front of his desk, looming like a large bear. The assignment was to choose and “become” a Roman Emperor for their Ancient Civilizations class. “I’ll bet you didn’t even pick one,” Jasper said, the disdain in his voice pricking him deep inside. Most of all he hated the Triumvirate. Devlin, Chadwick, and Niebold.

  Niebold sat down in front of him. Alan wondered if that was to allow him to hide, or so as not to be seen. Did Mr. Strickland share their sentiments? After all Alan was the anomaly, even more so than Christine.

  “Lay off him,” Christine Hathaway ordered.

  The Excelsior School, with deep roots going all the way back to 1829 and a proud heritage for the young men who graced its hallowed hallways; men who became the movers and shakers of this country. How they must mourn for those days. Alan knew Mr. Strickland did. His voice caught as he acknowledged Christine, forced to accept that she even existed. But money talked. The school was in financial trouble from what he’d heard his parents say. And besides, the times they were a-changing.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Take your seats please.” Mr. Strickland waited as the room quieted down. “Good. Let’s begin. I hope you all took my request seriously and selected an Emperor.” He glanced around the room. “As moderator of the class,” his teacher continued. “I’ve chosen Julius Caesar. I’m sure you’ll all agree that’s appropriate.”

  No one would dare disagree. Despite the changes in the student population, teachers still ruled at The Excelsior.

  “Excellent. Should there be any duplication, the first applicant wins.” He paused then pointed. “Mr. Devlin? You start.”

  Of course. The Triumvirate would go first. Always Devlin, Chadwick, and Niebold.

  “I chose Augustus,” Hugh began. “Because he was considered to be the first Emperor. His reign lasted from 27 BC to 14 AD.”

  “Good choice, Mr. Devlin,” Mr. Strickland nodded. “Let’s keep this short. Just an introduction. You’ll all need to go into depth later.” He looked around the room. “Mr. Chadwick?”

  “I chose Vespasian, sir. For his military prowess. 69-79 AD.”

  “Not surprising, Mr. Chadwick, considering your family history.” A long line of West Point graduates. “Mr. Niebold?”

  “Hadrian, sir.”

  “Ms. Hathaway?”

  Wow, Alan thought. That was an unexpected honor. Right after the Triumvirate.

  Christine ro
se, flashing him a little grin. “Marcus Aurelius, sir. For his dedication to duty. 161-180 AD.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Strickland murmured. “Impressive choice.”

  Alan listened to others then started as his name was called. Dead last. “I chose Antonius Pius. He had the most peaceful reign of all the Emperors. 138-161 AD.”

  “Figures,” Trevor sneered, not trying to hide his contempt.

  “Too afraid to fight,” Jasper agreed.

  Strangely enough, Mr. Strickland supported his choice. “Gentlemen. Be not so quick to judge. Antonius Pius is considered one of the Five Good Emperors.”

  Before anyone could answer, the bell rang, saving Alan from more ridicule. “A brief history and lineage for tomorrow’s class,” his teacher called out. Several classmates groaned. There was a Physics midterm tomorrow. But Alan smiled to himself. He’d anticipated the request and already had the assignment put together.

  Hurrying out of the classroom, Alan caught up with Christine. “Tha-Thank you.”

  Her smile warmed her soft brown eyes. “It’s okay Alan, I get it.”

  “Ignorance is bliss.”

  “You hardly ever stutter with me. Do they frighten you that much?”

  “The Triumvirate?”

  She laughed, getting his reference immediately, and nodded.

  Alan loved the sound, crisp and clear like music. “Not really,” he answered honestly. “Something just stops inside, like a connector that won’t quite make contact.”

  She turned to go to Political Science and Alan had Physics. “See you later.”

  As he walked down another hallway toward the front offices, Alan saw Mr. Strickland talking to some parents. Had they found Ollie? Alan missed his friend. They’d gone to sleep five days ago, and when Alan awoke, Ollie was gone. Alan didn’t think much of it at first, but as the day wore on and Ollie wasn’t in class, or at lunch, he began to worry. The next day he got up the nerve to approach Mr. Pickering, the Headmaster. Oliver was missing, he was told. He wasn’t at school and he hadn’t reached home yet.

  The day droned on and the hole inside Alan grew. His classes complete, he walked into his room feeling very alone. Ollie was a good kid and made Alan laugh. Placing his books on Ollie’s desk, he walked over to the window, watching some boys play soccer on the green, sleeves rolled, ties flapping in the wind. For a moment he wished he was strong instead of smart. Then he’d be able to fit in. With a heavy sigh, he wondered yet again. Where are you, Ollie?

  The next day, after class, he summoned the nerve to ask Mr. Strickland. “I-I s-s-saw you with some parents yesterday. Were they Oliver’s, sir?”

  Mr. Strickland sat back in his chair, his usual stern visage softening. “I’m afraid so, Alan.” He watched his teacher rub his face with his hands, and then drop them with a sigh. Sorrow reflected in his gaze.

  “You think s-s-something’s happened to him too, don’t you?” Alan asked, twisting his hands in his pockets, dreading the answer.

  “Yes, yes I do.” Mr. Strickland leaned forward in earnest. “Do you have any idea why he might run away?”

  “N-n-no sir. I swear. W-w-we’d been studying for our Physics midterm. He was talking about going home for spring break.”

  “Did he seem terribly homesick to you?”

  Alan shook his head, that emptiness filling his belly again. Mr. Strickland nodded. “Very well, Alan. Thank you. Now I must warn you. The police are coming back again. They’re probably going to be more forceful when they speak with you this time. Answer their questions as honestly and as best you can.”

  A prediction of bad tidings, the police did exactly that right after his Physics mid-term.

  At first, they were polite. “Where were you five nights ago?”

  “In b-bed.”

  “And did Oliver go to bed too?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Then they got angry. “That’s all you remember? You didn’t hear anything? You didn’t wake up? How could you not have woken up? He must’ve made some noise.”

  “N-NO! D-d-don’t you think I w-wish I h-had?”

  “You were good friends. Why didn’t he tell you anything? He told you something. He must have.”

  “H-he did-dn’t!”

  But Alan survived the interview. Wrung out, he skipped dinner and lay on his bed wondering where Ollie could be and what could’ve happened to him. Was Ollie lying in a ditch somewhere? Could he have gotten kidnapped trying to hitch a ride to the train station?

  Christine stopped by after dinner with a smuggled piece of chocolate cake. His favorite. “Thank you.”

  “Are you all right?” she asked, sitting down on Ollie’s bed.

  “Something’s happened to him,” Alan said, sitting up across from her and placing the cake on his night table. “Something bad. I just know it.”

  She nodded. “If he did try to get home, it could be anything. I mean, he’d have had to walk five miles to town then get on a train.”

  Alan slammed his hand down on the bed. “Why didn’t he just say something? I could have… I could have tried to talk him out of it.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want you to,” Christine answered softly. “Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise for his parents. I don’t know.”

  “But he’s smarter than that, Christine,” Alan protested. “To just up and leave? Without a word?”

  “Alan, c’mon. You’ve got to stop this. You’ll make yourself crazy.”

  Christine was right. “Thanks. And thanks for the cake.”

  She rose, squeezed his shoulder lightly, smiled, and left. But Alan knew. Something inside wouldn’t let him go. He had to find the truth.

  *

  Mr. Strickland wasn’t at his best the next morning. His pets, the Triumvirate, weren’t prepared and Alan showed them up with his presentation despite his delivery needing a bit of work. Mr. Strickland motioned for him to stay a moment after class.

  “Thank you for being prepared, Alan,” he praised. “How did everything go with the police yesterday?”

  “I-I did exactly w-w-what you told me to do. I told the truth.”

  Mr. Strickland nodded. “They’re doing everything they can, Alan.”

  “Not enough,” he protested. “Sir? S-s-something’s not right. He wouldn’t just l-l-leave without saying good-bye or leaving a note.”

  “I’m sure he meant to, Alan.”

  Footsteps drew his attention to the door and he turned. Christine was there giving him a brave smile.

  “I’m late for Physics,” he mumbled.

  Mr. Strickland nodded then reached out and squeezed his shoulder, just as Christine had the night before. Maybe he felt as bad.

  Some of the emptiness dissipated. “Thank you,” Alan said, and then he walked out.

  “How are you doing?” Christine asked as they continued down the hallway.

  “I don’t know,” he answered, still miserable inside.

  Hugh spied them from down the hallway. “Oooohh, look at you making goo-goo eyes at a girl, Trembles.”

  “Think he’d know what to do?” Trevor asked.

  “All of you, stop it!” Christine’s face reddened.

  Professor Brooks insisted on telling everyone in Physics about Alan’s perfect score again. Crawling under his desk sounded mighty good. As his classes droned on, Alan wondered why the Triumvirate were riding him so hard. Had they done the same to Ollie? Had Ollie not told him because he was embarrassed? Scared? Or resigned, because he knew there was nothing he could do about it?

  After classes were over and he was in his room, Alan walked over to his window but this time he didn’t see the Triumvirate on the green. Curious, he walked past Devlin and Chadwick’s room. They weren’t there. The same with Niebold.

  Alan knew lots of hiding places in their dorm, had used many of them to get away from the very boys he now sought out. He checked them one by one until he came to the last and best. The storage room behind the boiler in the basement. As he approached, he heard voices
he recognized.

  “Did you see his eyes? It was sooo cool.”

  “Pissed himself. Disgusting.”

  “Squirmed like a worm on a hook. Sweet.”

  Alan had heard enough. No wonder Ollie ran. They’d been torturing his friend.

  Gathering his courage the next day, Alan asked to see Mr. Strickland after classes were over. “S-s-sir? I-I think I n-n-know why Ollie ran away, sir.”

  “You do?” Mr. Strickland asked with a frown. A combination of alarm and concern filled his gaze. “Are you quite certain? This is very important, Alan. I have to know the truth. Don’t forget, the police are involved.”

  He couldn’t forget. Besides, Mr. Strickland had just called him by his first name. And his teacher never did that. Ever. Not with any of the boys. Or girls. “Y-y-yes, Mr. Strickland. It’s the Triumvirate.”

  “Triumvirate?” his teacher asked.

  “S-sorry, sir. Messers Devlin, Chadwick, and Niebold. Th-th-they were hiding in the s-s- storage room behind the boiler. I-I overheard their conversation.”

  “Overheard a conversation,” Mr. Strickland repeated, a frown of consternation growing on his brow. “Go on.”

  “Th-th-they’d been teasing and torturing Ollie, sir. That’s why he ran away.”

  His teacher didn’t answer right away. “Are you sure?”

  Alan nodded. “I’m sure. They’ve done the same to me,” he confessed, his gaze falling to the floor. Then he looked up in earnest. “N-n-not as bad as this sounded, but bad enough.”

  “I see,” Mr. Strickland murmured. “This is a dangerous accusation, Alan.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “Right now this is simply hearsay. Can you get anyone to corroborate?”

  “You know they won’t, sir. Th-th-they’re too scared. They only pick on the younger boys.”

  “All right,” his teacher told him. “You leave this with me for now, do you understand? Not a word to anyone else. I need to figure out the best way to approach Mr. Pickering. With the police involved…” A flicker of horror ran through his gaze. “Their parents could destroy this school.”