by Jane Toombs
Sergei's mother had chosen the room that was originally Tabitha's and had also been Celia's. Was it possible the journal had been hidden somewhere in that room and Delores had never found it? Sergei might have, though. From what Irma told her, he'd followed his mother secretly. Perhaps he also entered her room when she wasn't there and prowled through her things. He could have discovered the book in some hidey-hole there. A hiding place large enough for a person?
Geneva and Blanche had felt a presence of some kind watching them.
Could there be a secret passage from Tabitha's old room up to the room with the black door? Was that what Ramos had built?
Vera leaned over the bed. "Vincent," she said softly.
"Uh," he grunted, opening his eyes.
"I'm going to lock you in again. There's something I have to look at. I'll be right back."
He blinked at her, then his eyes closed.
Had he understood? She hesitated, then left the room. Outside in the corridor, locking the door, Vera paused to listen. Though she knew Irma was probably cleaning up in the kitchen, not a sound filtered up from the first floor. The house was unusually quiet, with none of the creakings and rattlings she grown accustomed to hearing. The hallway was insulated from the outside by the bedrooms, so she couldn't even be sure the rain still fell. The silence seemed unnatural.
She glanced along the dimly lit corridor. Nothing moved. Making her way slowly toward Delores' room to see what she could find had seemed like a good idea moments ago. Why was she so reluctant to get on with it? The room had been Celia's as well as Tabitha's and now all three who'd inhabited it were dead. All had died in the room behind the black door, as well.
Vera took a deep breath. She wasn't afraid of their ghosts, for ghosts didn't exist. What could harm her?
Chapter 21
Death is a human condition, Vera reminded herself as she continued on to Delores' room. All old houses have seen death. There's nothing to be afraid of. No one could be in the room except Sergei and she was determined to roust him from his hiding place. But when she turned on the light in Delores' room and the red-shaded bulbs threw shadows into all the corners, she paused in the doorway. Her nape prickled and she understood what Blanche and Geneva had felt. The very room itself seemed malignant. Perhaps she should wait.
Vera took a deep breath. No. If Sergei was in this room she must find him and discover what he knew about Johanna's disappearance. It was even possible the baby was with him now, drugged into unnatural sleep for some reason Vera didn't want to know.
Heart thudding in her chest, she began searching the room, trying to ignore the creepy sensation of unseen eyes watching her. She found the closet door partly open. Remembering the long red robe and the dresses still hanging inside, she pushed reluctantly at the partially ajar door, opening it all the way. Feeling for a light switch inside, she flicked it on but nothing happened. A burnt out bulb? Again she hesitated, not liking to enter the dark closet. The overhead lights weren't bright enough to penetrate the gloom in side the room, much less the closet. What she needed was a flashlight. But that would mean a delay while she searched for one. In the meantime, if Sergei was here, he might flee.
Vera stepped inside the closet, feeling her way among filmy dresses that clung to her fingers like spiderwebs. She ran her hand along the row of clothes and, at the very end, had the odd sensation that a velvet rove had moved away from her searching fingers, As, alarmed, she started to retreat, a whirlwind of motion threw her to the floor and she cracked her head against the doorjamb as she fell. Bright specks floated in the darkness, her head swam, she imagined she heard a voice.
"...knife," the voice said. "An athame, of course, though you won't know what that means."
Sergei? Who else could it be? Vera struggled to sit up.
"It's quite a sharp knife," the voice said, and she recognized it. Definitely Sergei's.
The closet light went on, making her blink. Then she saw Sergei standing above her knife in hand, dressed in what she realized was his mother's red velvet robe.
"I loosened the bulb just for you, so it wouldn't go on," he told her. "It was fated you'd come in here sooner or later."
Fear tingled along her spine, making her ease away from him and try to get to her feet. He moved faster than she did, the knife flashing down at her. She cried out as blood welled up from a cut on her arm.
"You see I'm not afraid to use it," he said, smiling as he backed out of the closet. "I want you to get up now and give me the key."
Vera rose warily to her feet, keeping her gaze on the knife. "What key? Where's Johanna?"
"I'm going to take you to Johanna. I need the key."
"What key?" she repeated.
"I think you know. You have the keys. Dad wouldn't ride off after Samara without giving them to you."
The red shades on the overhead lights tinted his shadowed face so he seemed far older--a stranger. A sinister stranger. She tried not to give way to her fear--she had to keep her wits about her for Johanna's sake.
"The key!" he demanded.
Noticing the tip of the dagger-like knife in his hand was dark with her blood, a horrible suspicion rose in her mind. Stan had told her about the dagger found next to Delores and this one fit the description. Surely this couldn't be the same knife.
"If you don't give me the key, I won't take you to Johanna," he told her.
Reaching into her pocket, she brought out the key ring.
Instead of taking it he smiled and she wondered how she could ever have found his smile appealing. The blankness in his eyes unsettled her, threatening her grip on keeping calm.
"You keep the keys for now," he said. "I have my own, actually."
Confused--then why ask for hers?--she was unprepared when he grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the room's door. By the time she regained her balance, he was behind her knife point pressed into her nape so hard she felt a trickle of blood run down her neck.
"An athame is a witch's knife, you know," he confided.
"Where is Johanna?" she asked, trying to conquer her rising panic.
"Upstairs of course. I'll let you have the honor of opening the black door."
Fear blossomed into a terrifying growth within Vera as Sergei drove her forward with continual pricks of the knife. Blood trickled down her arm onto her hand making her fingers sticky. If she screamed, would anyone hear her? More than likely he'll kill her if she tried to call for helped.
When they reached the third floor and stood in front of the black door, she gathered her courage to ask, "Have you hurt Johanna?"
"You'll see. Unlock the black door."
She had trouble finding the right key on the ring and, by the time she fitted it into the lock and turned it, the key was sticky with her blood.
Sergei reached around her, yanking the key out and pocketing the ring. He opened the door and shoved her ahead so forcefully she slammed down onto her face, knocking the breath from her. Before she could move, the light clicked on and she felt the weight of his body pinning her to the floor while he forced her arms behind her and tied her wrists together. He got up and closed the door.
Vera struggled awkwardly to her feet, her gaze frantically searching the room. "Where is she? What have you done with Johanna?"
"The brat's with Samara. She disobeyed me. They'll both suffer soon enough."
She understood now he'd lied about the baby to get her to come to this room without more of a struggle. He wanted her here, wanted her for his own reasons. Panic beat inside her. "You're mad," she whispered.
"She said that. My mother."
Vera gasped at the implication. She edged away from him, watching with horror as he relocked the door with a single key and pocketed it. Was she going to be found in this room the way Delores was?
"Keep moving," he said. "You're almost to the altar."
Quickly she turned to go the other way and, unable to use her hands for balance, fell. Sergei stood over her smiling his awful smile. H
e reached down, grabbed her leg and traced the number four on her calf with the knife point. As he did, the robe that was no longer tied with the black cord she'd noticed before, fell open. He must have used it to tie her hands. She grimaced at his nakedness beneath it, hunching herself away from him, blood dripping onto the floor. She moaned in terror and pain, scuttling as far from as she could get. When he turned from her, she staggered to her feet and began to edge toward the door, even though she knew it was locked and she no longer had a key.
She watched numbly as he climbed to the altar where he pushed aside the red cloth hanging on the wall. She caught a glimpse of what looked like a religious painting--the Virgin Mary holding Baby Jesus--before he yanked the cloth over it again. now holding a tarnished silver box. From a hidden compartment?
He took out four black candles, half-melted down, a tarnished silver chalice and two small silver dishes.
"Tabitha's," he said in a conversational tone than froze her blood. "She was a witch, you know. I've inherited her power."
Vera bit her lip to keep from whimpering. He was completely mad. She mustn't lose control of herself. Focusing on the red drapery, remembering what she'd seen behind it, she tried to blot out Sergei and whatever dreadful ritual he was about to perform.
"God is always with you," Sister Mathilde had reminded her before she came her. Knowing there was no other hope left, she began to pray.
Sergei's voice kept intruding into her prayers. "Mother had to die," he said. "She was the Scarlet Whore of Revelations. I knew because I watched her with them, Uncle Vince and old Grosbeck. I saw her unclean acts. I told her she must stop and she struck me across the face. Me! Then Johanna was born, the daughter of sin."
Vera closed her eyes, willing herself not to hear. But the voice, now an eerie sing-song, continued.
"Mother sat holding her baby like the picture behind the red drape. Mother Mary. Only my mother was evil and her child, too. I made the blood sacrifice first, using her black cat, and it was then the voice that Tabitha heard whispered to me what I must do. First the mother, then the daughter. I didn't have time for the baby then, but she would have been a sacrifice before now if you hadn't come and dared to stand in my way."
Unable to help herself, Vera opened her eyes to see Sergei lighting the black Candles. He flicked off the overhead light. Shadows sprang from the corners, seeming to advance toward the altar as Sergei placed powder into one of the small dishes and dropped hot wax onto it. A pungent odor crept into Vera's nostrils. Her head whirled.
I can't faint, she told herself. The idea of being unconscious in this hideous place with a madman was so overwhelming she began praying again.
"I tried to scare you away when you arrived in the fog," Sergei said. "But you paid no attention and now you really can't escape."
He started toward her with the silver chalice and Vera shrank against the wall. He reached for her and she kicked at him, but he grabbed her leg and she fell backwards, sliding down the wall onto the floor. He jabbed the knife into her leg, catching the blood welling from the cut in to the silver chalice. The irrationality of what he was doing fogged her senses until nothing seemed quite real.
He stripped off his mother's robe and, naked, carried the chalice to the center of the room where he muttered words she didn't understand and then dipped his fingers into the chalice, smearing her blood around him in a circle. Squatting inside the circle, he intoned more unfamiliar words.
Vera tried desperately to pull her hand free of the cord, but could not. Pushing against the wall, she'd worked her way up onto her feet by the time Sergei finished his chant and came toward her. She averted her gaze from his nudity. To her surprise, she slashed the cord from her wrists.
"Take your clothes off," he ordered.
"No!" she cried.
"I like to use the knife," he told her. "The bloodier the sacrifice, the better." To emphasize his point, he picked the hollow of her throat with the knife point.
Tears filled her eyes from the pain, but she blinked them away. Distasteful as the idea of undressing in front of this madman was, it might buy her time. Somebody might be wondering by now what had become of her. The faint of rescue combined with fear of the knife, made her obey.
When she was naked, he forced her to walk toward the altar, blood trickling between her breasts from the tiny gash in her throat. "I won't touch you," he said. "Mother worried about that, but I know better. Blood is the life."
Sergei's words seemed to come from a long way off. Bright dots flashed at the edge of her vision, then blackness blotted everything out.
Pain in her head, combined with a persistent pounding, roused her. "No!" she screamed, no knowing where she was or what was happening. "No!"
"Shut up!" someone hissed.
She opened her eyes. Sergei. The knife. The room with the black door. She lay on the floor and he was trying to drag her up onto the altar by her hair. The pain made her eyes water. Only gradually did she realize the pounding was not in her head.
The door. Someone was at the door.
"Vera!" a man's voice called. John.
"He's in there, too." Vincent.
"Sergei, "John called through the door. "Let me in."
Sergei's gaze flicked from Vera to the door. In the candle flame his eyes had a reddish glow. She could see his reflection in the mirrors beside the door so that the room seemed crowded with naked Sergeis, all clutching knives.
"Sergei, I know you're in there. I know what's happened. Let me in." John's voice was cold, demanding.
"Samara's back home," Vincent added.
Sergei's face twisted at the mention of his sister. He let go of Vera and stalked to the door. "I am the Master," he shouted. "Only I can hear the voice, I obey no one else."
"We'll break down the door," John warned.
Sergei laughed. "You can't get in before I make the sacrifice." He whirled and took a step toward Vera.
She heard a sharp crack, then another, and stared uncomprehendingly as Sergei toppled forward and lay unmoving. Heaving herself to her feet, she saw a pool of red spreading out from under him. Blood, she thought, still not understanding.
Then the room filled with men. She saw John's shocked face, Vincent, Jose. Someone put Sergei's discarded robe over her shoulders. The feel of the velvet made bile rise in her throat, but she pulled it around her naked body and let herself be helped down the stairs to her room where John lifted her onto the bed.
She looked into his drawn face. "Sergei?" she whispered.
"I'm going back up there now. Irma has Johanna. I'll have Blanche tend to your injuries."
She glanced at her legs, where the cuts were already scabbing over. None of her injuries had been deep enough to be serious. "No, I'm okay. Just leave the light on. What--?"
"I'll come back as soon as I can. Sergei..." His voice trailed off and his face twisted in pain. "I meant to shoot the lock off the door. I didn't know he was standing in front of it. I killed him."
Vera sat up and put her arms around him. He laid his face gently against her hair.
"Thank God you're all right." Then he pushed her gently down onto the pillow and left.
Unable to stand the feel of the red robe any longer, Vera struggled to her feet and shrugged it off. She managed to wash her hands and don one of her nightgowns before collapsing back into the bed with no energy left to take care of her crusted over knife cuts. Her eyes closed and she drifted between being asleep and awake.
The rattle of a doorknob roused her. A tremor of fear shook her as the door opened. Vera sat up in alarm as Samara slipped inside.
"Please don't be afraid," Samara begged. Her dark hair was damp and she wore a blue, quilted bathrobe with slippers to match. "I'm supposed to be in bed, but I heard gunshots. I know something happened up there and I was afraid..." Her words trailed off as she stared at Vera. "You're hurt!"
"Not badly. I'll be fine."
Samara swallowed. "Where is he?"
Knowing she mea
nt Sergei, Vera told her the truth. "Dead." The word lay flat and ugly between them.
Samara's hand flew to her moth. "You're sure?"
Vera nodded wearily. "He was shot."
"He said he couldn't die," Samara wailed.
Despite everything, compassion rose in Vera. "Come sit by me."
When she did, Vera reached for her hand. When she did, the sleeve of her nightgown slid back exposing one of the scabbed cuts. Samara drew in her breath.
Holding Samara's hand, Vera said, "Sergei wasn't normal, you have to understand that. Whatever he told you, whatever he did..." She broke off, remembering that the boy had killed his own mother.
"He said I was like him and I had to do what he did because we were twins. But I got scared." Samara pulled her hand covered her face. "Johanna's my baby sister, I couldn't let him..." She dropped her hands and clutched Vera's arm. Please don't hate me 'cause I took Johanna out in the rain, I had to. I was afraid he'd get her otherwise."
"I don't hate you." Thinking it might relieve Samara to unburden her guilt, Vera added, "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me."
"I saw him put something in the baby bottles in the refrigerator, so I knew he was planning something awful, I meant to empty them but then Uncle Vince got hurt and you handed Johanna to Irma and I knew Irma couldn't watch her close enough , I knew that Sergei would get her. So I took her first."
Samara rubbed a hand over her face. "I was afraid she's cry and give us away so I took one of the bottles Sergei had fixed with medicine to make her sleep and fed it to her up in the south tower. She fell asleep right away and I hid her in the sleeping bag with me. I knew she wasn't safe, though, 'cause Sergei'd figure out I had her and he knew where to find me. I thought of his cave in the hills and decided to hide out with her there, but I got lost."
"Is she all right?" Vera asked.
"She never did wake up, but she's breathing okay--I kept checking--and Irma took off all her wet clothes and wrapped her in warm blankets after my dad and Jose brought us back. I was glad to see them, but scared, too. Sergei—"