Robert's forehead furrowed in doubt. "Why bother, the old man's lost it, let's face it. You and I can pool our resources and finish the deal ourselves. We don't need him."
Emilie clutched her files and stood up. It seemed there was a silent war between her father and Robert, and she felt the tension every time they occupied the same room. She wondered why her brother had bothered coming home to work for Pierre if he disliked him so much, criticizing his every step.
"Robert, you know things get dumped on Father all the time, and he doesn't know how to say no. After all the hoopla we've been planning, it must have been something important that came up. You should have more faith in him, after all, he’s been running this enterprise successfully since long before we were born. The financial charts prove the company returns tripled since he took the helm right out of college. We owe a lot to Father."
"Humph. Well, maybe he’s lost his Midas touch."
Robert stood. The chair rolled back and collided with the wall. He jerked his head a tick, then walked out without further comment.
A bad feeling snaked into Emilie's mind, and she knew there were other things besides Father that troubled her brother. Something had been off ever since he’d returned to Memphis to help run the family business, though she’d been unable to ask since Robert avoided any meaningful conversations about his personal reasons for coming home. Emilie welcomed him with open arms, of course, even though she’d been surprised at his decision. Over the years it had been difficult for her, being the only one watching over Father. Not that he was helpless, just mournful. Ever since Mother died, the entire family had been heartbroken—her father, her brother Robert, her sister Michelle, and Emilie herself, had all shared a deep loss.
She agreed with Robert's assessment that their father's behavior seemed odd. Curious now, she decided to learn the reason behind the abrupt cancellation of the most important meeting of the year. Emilie walked down the corridor, bound for her father's office.
She marched down the main hall of PDG Inc., her father's main holding company. The various businesses of his enterprise funneled into this core identity. Emilie enjoyed working for her father, it allowed her to remain preoccupied with projects instead of dealing with the dysfunction she experienced when around her family. At PDG, everything seemed so black and white, like watching an old noir movie, clicking away at life frame by frame.
Her step quickened as she neared the end of the hall, where it opened up to a reception area. Anxiety kept pace with her as she passed the doors lining the long hallway, portals to her father's various business interests. The offices that flanked the hall shrouded his employees, seated behind those doors as they finagled deals and maneuvered options. Emilie was an empath. Her gift, if you could call it that, was experiencing other people’s emotions, blind to the reasons behind them. Despite the doors that stood as barrier between her and her father’s employees, she could feel their every doubt and suspicion, all the highs and lows. Now, the barrage of emotions assaulted her psyche.
Her pulse pounded against her temples. Sweat warming her brow, Emilie teetered on the edge of another paranormal break-in—what she called it when her mind soaked up the emotions around her. These episodes had plagued her since childhood, and no matter what she tried to prevent the force, her clairvoyant gift always resurfaced. Shielding herself remained the best hope, but proved to be a difficult task.
She breathed deeply and calmed herself, forcing her pulse to slow. She knew what would happen later: a pounding headache, worse than a migraine. She massaged her temples as she approached the open area where her father's secretary, Laura, sat at a desk pecking away on her computer. She looked up when Emilie approached.
"Your father is with someone and asked not to be disturbed," she said.
The woman snapped her gum, then bent her dark curled head and started keying into her computer once more, ignoring Emilie. That was fine with her, she’d never liked Laura. Emilie had heard stories about her from the other women in the office. She wasn't the type to judge on pure gossip or based on the unfortunate situation one was born into, but the innuendos she heard corresponded with what she had observed and sensed when she was around the woman. Laura flirted whenever there was a man around, to the point of embarrassment, and Emilie wondered why her father kept her as his secretary. Then again, he didn't seem to notice things like the behavior of the people around him, almost as if he’d turned his emotions off. Emilie wished she could do the same, but instead seemed to have inherited more of her mother. Everyone said her mother, Bethany, had been special, that she had been a comfort to people, and that she had borne other's pain as if it was her own.
"There is no such thing!"
A loud voice disrupted Emilie’s thoughts. Both Emilie and the secretary heard the shouting and turned their heads to her father's office door. Something banged, as if her father had slammed his hand onto the desk. Emilie heard more ranting, but couldn't make out the words; the stranger in there must have challenged her father somehow. She fought the urge to barge into the office to help. Laura slipped out of her chair and stood in her way.
"For real, he said no interruptions. Sounds like a war zone in there anyway, so you’d better stay clear," Laura said.
Emilie pushed her aside without a thought and rushed to the door. She leaned her ear against the dark smooth wood to eavesdrop.
"The package will be at your house later today. When you see the contents, you will believe me," a man said. "You will realize that the price I’m asking is a bargain."
"Get out," her father said.
Emilie jumped back from the door and turned to Laura.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to brush you aside. You're right. I'll just talk with him later when he's not busy."
Emilie turned and headed toward her own office. Walking away, she looked back over her shoulder and saw Laura watching her with an odd smile. The image of a sly fox came to mind, and Emilie knew she couldn't trust the woman. Then, from out of nowhere, panic clouded her mind. It was so strong it took her breath away for a moment. Where was it coming from? Her chest tightened, her vision funneled to only the area directly in front of her. She reached out for the wall beside her, steadying herself. Was this her father’s emotions she was sensing? That sealed her decision to go home early for the day: she wanted to inspect that package before her father returned. Emilie needed to know what was happening to him.
CHAPTER THREE
Emilie stood vigil in the front parlor. She pressed her face against the cool window glass as she gazed out at the expansive lawn that gleamed bright green with new spring grass. The southern breeze touched the tree limbs, shaking the new leaves. The sky was painted pale blue, picture perfect. Distressed despite the peaceful vista, Emilie had a premonition of something going wrong.
She had left the office and driven straight home after overhearing her father arguing with the stranger in his office. It had been three hours since then, and she was tired of anxiously waiting for the delivery. Finally a truck crawled forward from the open front gate. She hurried to the entry hall and pulled open the front door before the messenger had a chance to ring the bell.
"Oh, hi there," he said. "Special delivery, and I need a signature."
The driver slapped a stylus on the electronic pad and held it out to her. He was lanky and wearing sunglasses, which he pushed up along his nose to keep them from falling off.
Emilie grabbed the clunky pad from him and balanced the thing in the air as she signed. Her long brunette waves dropped across her eyes, so she pulled the strands back behind her ear, away from her heart-shaped face. She looked up at the young man as she handed the pad back to him and forced a wide smile. Emilie noticed his quick glance up and down and blushed at his blatant consideration. The driver left the package, whistling to himself as he walked back to his truck.
Emilie closed the door and ran upstairs to her bedroom. Once inside, she laid the package on her desk. She checked around to see if anyone was watching
her, maybe Evans, the house manager, who reported back to her father about everything. There was no one in sight. Her father would be angry if he learned she’d opened his mail, but she didn't care about that now.
Still, her stomach twisted. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes a second, and then returned her attention to the package. She opened it with care, trying to keep the flaps from getting torn, then slid her finger between the taped ends and pulled the folded edge up. The paper unfolded and she flattened the sides. Inside the packaging, she found a disc and another item inside a cloth bag. She opened the bag and found an antique book.
She examined the book first, taken by the beauty rubbed into the honed leather cover and rough parchment pages. Right away she was pulled by an attraction. Some kind of force emanated from the ancient book, and she experienced that force as waves of spiritual energy. She touched the cover, her hand shaking. Determined, she opened it and turned the pages. Her fingers tingled as if zinged with an electric shock. She flinched at the unexpected charge and pulled her hand away. Being a clairvoyant empath, she was used to strange sensations, but this feeling wasn't familiar. She chose to ignore it and pushed the sensation to the back of her mind. She continued her inspection.
Emilie appreciated the book's fragility, and realized it was a unique historical piece. A blue ink insignia marked the inside cover. She gingerly turned more pages, scanning the lines. It contained dated journal entries written in French script. Though fortunate to be fluent in the language, she’d need time to interpret a proper translation from the old handwriting. The yellowed parchment and faded ink made the task even harder.
She discovered strange hieroglyphics drawn onto some of the old pages, penned with brighter inks and more colors. The drawings had eerie faces with evil eyes, and what looked like disfigured animals. Picasso meets the ancient Aztecs. The more she gazed at them, the stronger she felt the madness that pulsated from the page.
A coolness chilled her skin and goose bumps rose on her bare arms. Darkness penetrated her thoughts and an old magic poured out from the sketches. The drawings described something otherworldly, she felt sure the book possessed an element of evil. Intrigued, she wondered why the stranger thought this antique book would interest her father. Pierre, a superstitious man, despised anything that suggested the paranormal, refusing even to discuss his own daughter’s clairvoyance. A flash of anger washed over her, as she wished her father would accept her true self. She breathed deep and exhaled slowly.
She closed the book and turned her attention to the disc. Opening her laptop, Emilie pushed the disc into its side slot. The file opened, showing a visual inventory of documents. Paranoid, she looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, then copied the information from the disc to her hard drive. She then placed the disc and old book back into the box, and wrapped and taped it again without a tear. When finished she flew down the stairs so she could leave the package on her father's desk in the library.
Emilie opened the doors and surveyed the large, masculine room. Everything was in its place, no photographs or personal touches visible in the decor. She left the package at the center of the desk, careful not to disturb anything else. She backed out of the room and closed the doors, not making a sound. She turned to go back to her room.
"What are you doing in there, young lady?"
Emilie jumped. She put her hand to her chest and tried to stop her heart from bouncing out.
"You scared me to death, Nina." She laughed to cover her rattled nerves. "I just put a package on Father's desk. It was just delivered."
"I didn't hear no bell ring," Nina said.
Nina had a strange look on her wizened face, and Emilie knew the old cook was making some kind of internal judgment again. Emilie sometimes considered that Nina knew the family better than the de Gourgues’s knew themselves. She’d been working for the de Gourgues family for years, but Emilie suspected Nina’s intense devotion to her own religious beliefs as a Southern Christian led her to distrust the de Gourgues’ association with the Catholic Church. Whenever Father Eddie stopped by to visit she looked at him with overt suspicion.
"Nina, don't worry. It's just a package, some kind of business," Emilie said.
"Monkey business, I bet." Nina left, laughing to herself as she walked away toward the kitchen. Emilie wasn't laughing. It was clear that something was wrong with her father. Since her mother's death, it was rare for her father to show any emotion, this library a perfect reflection of his apathy. He was a great man, handsome and brilliant, always groomed and proper, it just seemed that he was missing a heart.
Emilie pulled in another deep breath and exhaled, then went back through the foyer and up to her room. She opened her computer and scrolled through the items listed from the disc, anxious to understand what it all meant. Most of the images on the disc looked like old documents, PDF images of marriage certificates, death notices, postcards, letters, and statements made by people Emilie had never heard of.
According to the documents, a young woman named Rose Riley had married Emilie’s great grandfather in 1935, and died within weeks. There were all kinds of clippings from news stories speculating about the mysterious death, and even more when her great grandfather married his second wife a few years later. Another odd statement came from a man living nearby in Fayette County, telling boyhood stories about conversations of curses long ago. His ancestors came to Tennessee from New Orleans, and had lived with a family on a big farm estate.
"What does any of this have to do with my father?"
Emilie, more perplexed than before, decided to read through every document and review every image until it made sense. She scrolled through the files, scrutinizing each one. It took some time, but eventually she recognized a pattern that established a grim timetable of sorts.
The files documented the deaths of the women who had married her father's ancestors.
It appeared that every woman who ever married a male de Gourgues had died young. Some lived long enough to have children, but always died before the children were full grown. Pierre, her father, had seemed to be the blessed one…until Mother died.
The files went all the way back to the sixteenth century. The deaths were tragic, the women just beginning their lives and families. Some of the documents were statements taken from observers, strangers and relatives who insisted there was a curse on the de Gourgues family.
Hours later, she finished.
Emilie stared at the wall with blank focus. A deep sadness filled her. "Impossible!" she cried to herself. "There is no such thing as curses!" The ornate toile wallpaper melted away as her eyes swelled with tears.
For as long as she could remember, Emilie had known something evil hovered around her family. She had told her parents years ago, when she was just a little girl, that something was wrong. Emilie remembered her mother laughing at her warning, then swooping her up into her arms as she hugged her. Don't worry, Emilie, we’re all perfectly safe, Mother reassured her. Emilie had believed her…right up until the day she died.
Dread filled her thoughts, knowing there was truth to this preposterous claim. She wondered who’d sent her father this package, and why. This curse she’d just learned of could explain so much about everything she’d felt all these years. It wasn’t all in her head, and if it wasn’t all in her head, then there might be a way to actually do something. There was nothing she could do to bring her mother back, but she asked herself, How can I change our fate and prevent this from happening again?
If there truly was a curse, she was determined to end it for good.
The last of the sun's rays streamed through the window into her bedroom. The glow warmed her face, and soothed her mind after the influx of information she’d just read and absorbed.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eight. By the fourth bong, the sound registered. Emilie pulled herself back to reality, hurried to the bathroom, and splashed water on her face. She grabbed a towel to dry herself, and gazed at her imag
e in the mirror. The reflection showed similarities to her mother, her face was heart-shaped like Mother's and they shared many of the same features, but without freckles. Emilie's coloring came from the French side, however: dark brown hair and eyes like her father, instead of her mother's blue. But she had the Irish spunk of her mother. She brushed the last wrinkles out of her skirt and left her room, dragging herself downstairs for dinner. After everything she’d read, all that she had learned, she was determined to get to the truth.
Emilie's stomach twisted in knots, her palms damp with perspiration. She wiped her hands on her skirt. Ever since Mother died, it was hard to converse with her father. Trying to get information out of him seemed like a tall task. She was certain that something bothered him, and wished he’d let her in so she could help him.
She approached the room with apprehension. The doors were open to the dining room, her father and Robert both seated at the table. She entered and slipped into a chair as they waited. When she pulled her napkin to her lap, they began to fill their plates with portions of catfish, black-eyed peas, and collard greens, all Southern specialties made by Nina. She had been a godsend. Mother had hired her shortly before she died because she’d known that simplicity in life, like dinner together as a family, was important. Nina provided a reminder of the family unit, which they all seemed to need from time to time.
Almost thirty now and still handsome as ever, Emilie noticed Robert had gained weight since he’d returned home, though he still looked good. She watched, nauseous, as he piled fried fish onto his plate. Never would Emilie eat a whiskered fish that trolled the bottom of a river. The room was quiet except for the light tap and scrape of utensils against the serving dishes. She wondered why there was never conversation at dinner anymore. Emilie took a piece of leftover king's bread from the pre-Lenten season and picked at her salad, searching for the best way to start this conversation. Why was it so hard to communicate with her own father? She looked at him and noticed the distance in his eyes.
BREAKING CURSED BONDS Page 2