Hope Everlastin' Book 4

by Mickee Madden

  “I'm all right. Go ahead."

  "Kevin, remain in front o' Roan. I dinna need the light to find ma way."

  "Tell tha' to yer shin," Roan quipped.

  Lachlan spared him a wry grin then disappeared into the darkness beyond the glow of the lantern.

  "Uncle Roan?"

  "Wha', Alby?"

  "You ain’t gonna die, are you?"

  A choked laugh burst from Roan's dry throat. "No' intentionally. Besides, I'm too mean to die young."

  "You're not mean," Alby murmured with a whimper.

  "Uncle Roan?"

  "Aye, Kahl?"

  "We love you."

  A moment of profound silence followed, then Kahl added, "I know we give you a hard time, but it's 'cause we know we can and you won't hate us."

  His eyes misting, Roan nodded. "Weel, laddies, I've got plans to see you tortured by yer own children one day. Do you think I would miss ou' on tha'?"

  Alby and Kahl exchanged a quick grin.

  "Retrabition," said Kevin.

  "Retribution," corrected Roan with a chuckle.

  "That, too," said Kevin, then asked over his shoulder, "The boogeyman won't really hurt Aunt Laura, Beth, and Taryn, will he?"

  "They'll hold their own. They have to. The plan, laddies, is to time the rescue so we come ou' the heroes."

  "I like that plan," said Kevin. "When we catch the Phantom, can I bite him good for scaring us?"

  Roan smiled through a grimace. "I dinna think so, Kevin."

  "Why not? I can bite real hard."

  "Aye, I know. Remember when I tried to pull you ou' o' yer aunt's car when it hit the oak?"

  "That was a long time ago."

  "Seems so, aye. But, Kevin, if you bite this Phantom, you could get sick."

  "How?"

  "Och, tis a lie. You willna get sick, but I'm worried he'll bite you back, okay?"

  Kevin thought this over then nodded. "Okay. I'll just kick him in the nuts, instead."

  "Me, too!" said Kahl.

  Alby remained silent as he repeatedly looked over his shoulder to make sure the boogeyman wasn't following them.

  "Okay, Uncle Roan?" asked Kevin.

  Roan grimaced in pain and exasperation. "Stay away from him."

  "He can't scare us!" said Kevin.

  "Yeah," said Kahl.

  From up ahead, they heard hinges screaking.

  Lachlan called, "Tis opened!"

  The lantern's radiance crept up Lachlan's tall frame as they closed the distance and Kevin held up the lantern as far as his small arm would permit. As they approached the doorway Roan couldn't help but admire the boys' courage. They were terrified of what awaited them, and he couldn't have faulted them if they resorted to hysterics, but they wouldn't. They were little men who were determined to see the boogeyman stopped from hurting anyone else.

  "God, the smell!" Roan choked.

  "Aye. Somethin’s afoul down here."

  Lachlan gestured them over the threshold, then followed and closed the door behind him. He took the lantern from Kevin and led the way toward the steps of the bulkhead. They hadn't gone but ten yards when Kahl released a squeal and pointed to another door. It was closed, but a black pool was visible beneath the door spacing.

  "Stay back, laddies," Lachlan warned.

  Roan remained with them. He was lightheaded again, and the stench was so overpowering, he found it impossible to breathe.

  Lachlan knelt by the pool. "Looks and feels like blood." He stood, opened the door, and held out the lantern to see into the room. He jerked back and shut the door, a hand clamped over his mouth for several seconds longer.

  "Wha' is it?" asked Roan.

  "From Laura and Taryn's descriptions, tis Stephan Miles. He's dead."

  Roan teetered on his feet.

  "And by the looks o' it in there," Lachlan said grimly, "our boogeymon has been makin’ himself at home for some time."

  "I don't feel so goo—" Kevin bent over as his stomach ejected its contents.

  "Lannie, we've got to get ou' o' here."

  Lachlan ran to and up the steps to the bulkhead and pushed open one side of the doors. He had never puts locks on them. With this part of the cellar used for storing junk, it hadn't been necessary.

  "Come along," he urged from the bottom of the steps, where he remained until everyone else had gone into the night. By the time he joined them his own stomach was churning, and his eyes were watering from the fumes of decay.

  He knelt in front of the boys. "Go to the carriage house and wait till you hear from us."

  "We wanna help," Kevin insisted.

  "Listen..." Lachlan paused to draw in a deep breath of fresh, cool air. "...ye're brave lads, but I canna be worryin’ if tha' sick bastard can get his hands on you again."

  "But—"

  Lachlan framed Kahl's face and planted a kiss on his brow. "Now listen to me, Kahl. Go to the carriage house. Tell Reith we need his help, but dinna leave tha' buildin’. Understand?"

  "What about the boogeyman's nuts?"

  "Kahl, we'll discuss tha' later. Right now I need yer promise you'll no' leave the carriage house, no matter wha' happens."

  "Okay," said Kevin, his chin quivering. "I'll make sure we stay out of the way."

  "In the carriage house!"

  "Okay! Geez!"

  "Take the lantern, and be careful no' to place it near anything inflammable. Now scat."

  While the boys ran in the direction of the carriage house, Lachlan led Roan to the kitchen door. It was locked.

  Roan sat on the stoop and lowered his head.

  "How are you farin’?" Lachlan asked him, peeling out of his shirt.

  "Gettin’ weaker."

  "You need to drive to town for a doctor."

  Roan shook his head. "I'll be all right."

  "Roan—"

  "I'm too lightheaded to drive. Stop worryin’ abou' me and get to the women!"

  Lachlan swiftly wound his shirt around his fist, creating bracing layers. "Then stay here." He popped the covered fist through one of the glass panes, reached in with the other hand and unlocked the door. "Dinna move. I'll be back for you."

  Roan attempted to stand, and fell back on his buttocks. Lachlan crouched alongside him, a hand on Roan's trembling shoulder.

  "Dammit, Roan, stay here! I can best sneak up on the bastard."

  Breathing erratically, Roan nodded. "Be careful."

  "Do you pray?"

  Roan stiltedly shook his head.

  "Tis a good time to start," Lachlan quipped.

  He ran into the house, his footfalls on the glass tinkling in the otherwise stillness of the night.

  Chapter 11

  After searching the second floor bedrooms, the tower, kitchen, dining room, parlor, bar and library, Laura was mentally threatening to hang her nephews and Roan when she found them. She plodded up the stairs to the third floor, muttering under her breath and trying not to think about the headache blossoming in her temples. She opened every door on each side of the hall and called out for Roan and the boys.

  No response.

  With each door she closed, her face grew redder with vexation.

  She stopped at the closed nursery door. It was always left open. Beth and Lachlan were relatively paranoid about not hearing the babies if they awakened.

  Opening the door just wide enough to peer in, her gaze searched the room. She couldn't see anyone. The bumper blankets blocked her view of the babies and, for this reason she quietly walked to the crib. Broc and Ciarda were asleep, both propped on their sides, facing one another. Laura murmured cooingly to them, then retraced her steps and eased the door shut.

  The door to Beth and Lachlan's room was open about an inch. Laura lightly rapped and ventured, "Beth? Lachlan? Have you seen Roan or the boys?"

  Silence.

  "Beth?"

  She pushed the door open a little further.

  "Beth?"

  Silence.

  They could be in the bathroo
m, she reasoned, indulging in a bubble bath or...whatever. It was unlikely she would find Roan and her nephews in there, or anywhere else in the master suite. The only other place they could be was outside.

  No.

  It was more likely the boys had slipped from the house, and Roan was looking for them.

  The pain pulsing at her temples expanded to her nape. A tension headache. All she needed now was another visit from that Peeping Tom, Tales From the Crypt reject.

  Laura froze as she turned.

  About six feet away, he hovered just above the floor, his eyes wide behind his round-rimmed spectacles, and his hands held out in a beseeching manner. His translucent mouth moved rapidly in a succession of words, only one of which she could make out:

  Help.

  Forgotten were Roan, the boys, and her headache. Beth needed to see him! Abstractly, she wondered why he didn't come closer. Not that she wanted him to. If he touched her, she was sure she would be reduced to hysterics. Now she was still angry enough to keep her adrenaline pumping and her mind focused.

  Help.

  For help.

  His lips slowed enough for her to grasp, Go for help.

  Backing into the door and bumping it wide open, she crossed the threshold.

  The spirit flagged his arms. The cut of his hair made it look as though it was standing on end. That, combined with his wild expression and gesticulating arms, made him almost laughable.

  "Come with me," Laura said softly, through a strained grin. "There is someone I want you to meet."

  His motions became humorously frantic.

  Laura backed up, one slow step at a time. "Come up, you handsome dead person you." Perverted jerk! "It's time you met the lady of the manor. Her name's Beth. You'll like Beth. Beth goes for the silent, dead type."

  The ghost lowered his arms and slumped as if too weary to go on. He stared at her dejectedly, and for a moment—a blink of time, actually—she almost felt sorry for him.

  "Beth? There's someone here to see you. Beth!"

  What the hell is going on? she thought, fear twisting through her stomach.

  Had everyone gone deaf, or stepped into the Twilight Zone?

  Her nose wrinkled when it detected a faint putrid scent. A chill licked up the nerve endings of her spine. An immediate sense of danger detonated her awareness, locking her joints and causing her heart to thunder behind her breast.

  At the same instant that she turned her head and saw two unconscious figures bound in duct tape on the bed, the stench was upon her like a cloud of death. A beefy arm shot out from behind her and wound about her neck. The muscles at the crook of the arm tightened at her throat, cutting off her oxygen and her outcry. A curtain of darkening grayness descended in front of her eyes as she clawed and pounded at the human vise.

  Wheezing, hot breaths filled her right ear then the gutturally spoken words, "I'm the chosen one."

  Although her world was darkening by the second, she was more terrified for the children than herself. She closed her eyes and went limp. For a moment she thought her ruse had failed, for his hold didn't lessen. But then he sighed and pressed his lips to her neck, just below the right earlobe. It was nearly her undoing. Repulsion rose up into her throat. She forced it back, back for the sake of the children, the man she loved, her friends, and for herself.

  His arm slackened. It took all of her willpower not to suck air into her lungs, only a little through her nostrils so as not to warn him she was conscious. He clumsily repositioned the arm beneath her breasts, grunting in the process, and began to drag her.

  Toward the bed, she knew.

  Her mind scrambled to assess the possibilities of escape. She was barefoot. If she attempted to ram one of his shins with a heel, she could miss or not do the damage she hoped for, and knew she wouldn't get another chance at catching him off guard.

  The same applied if she tried to drive a fist into his face.

  She had to do something but the wrong move could end her life in a heartbeat.

  One of the babies began to cry. The other joined in.

  The assailant trembled. For a fleeting moment she hoped it was out of compassion for the infants. But no. With sickening clarity, she knew the sound was enraging him.

  She had no way of knowing the Phantom had lost his hearing, and that the rage she sensed in him was for the awakening Taryn. The louder the cries grew, the more he quaked, until she was sure her insides would vibrate up and out of her mouth. She couldn't see Taryn stirring on the bed.

  How many times during the past years had she thought about taking self-defense classes?

  Thought about, but never followed through!

  She was at a gross disadvantage. Unless she could see her target, she couldn't risk blundering a shot at him.

  * * *

  At the same time that Lachlan ran into the main hall, Winston and Deliah charged into the house through the front doors. They met at the staircase.

  "He's here," said Winston.

  Breathing heavily, Lachlan nodded and glared up the stairs. "The women are up there. Roan's been stabbed. He's ou' on the north stoop. The lads—"

  "We talked to them," said Winston.

  "I'll see to Roan." Deliah fearfully searched Winston's face. "Be careful. Both o' ye," she added, glancing at Lachlan.

  "Don't come upstairs," Winston ordered.

  "But—"

  "Deliah, stay wi' Roan!" he demanded in a stage whisper.

  Without hesitation, she ran down the secondary hall toward the kitchen.

  Lachlan and Winston headed up the stairs, mindful of their footfalls until the infants' shrill demand to be fed reached their ears. They sped up but stopped at the third floor landing when greeted by the spirit of Stephan Miles. The ghost frantically pointed toward the end of the hall, his eyes wide with terror, mouthing words neither man had time to understand.

  Side by side they raced toward the master suite, bursting into the room and halting simultaneously at the sight of a massive man standing at the side of the bed, his right arm holding up a seemingly unconscious Laura and a knife clutched in his left hand.

  "Let her go!" Winston shouted, his fists quaking at his sides.

  The sound of his voice jerked Laura's eyes open. The Phantom flung her onto the bed and raised the knife as if to plunge it into her. At the same time she drove one heel into his abdomen, Winston and Lachlan were on him, the latter attempting to wrest the dirk from the Phantom's hand, Winston attempting to subdue his other arm.

  Three bodies staggered away from the bed and crashed to the floor in a heap of flailing arms, pounding fists, and a cacophony of growls and curses.

  Laura scrambled to her knees atop the bed. Both Taryn and Beth were lying face down. Taryn's head turned, and she blinked dazedly at Laura. Beth began to come around. Laura yanked the duct tape from Taryn's mouth. Ignoring the woman's gasp, she worked feverishly to unwind the tape about Taryn's wrists, and then her ankles before focusing on Beth's.

  Within a short span of time, she was helping both women off the bed and urging them out of the room. With the men still struggling on the floor, the women took the babies and escaped down the stairs, the new specter resident in their wake.

  To Lachlan and Winston's surprise, the Phantom managed to overpower them. The knife first slashed across Lachlan's upper chest then drove into Winston's upper left arm. Both men were shucked off the enraged bulk of muscle and fat, and the Phantom jumped to his feet, spewing foaming spittle past his curled back lips. He drove the point of the dirk into Winston's right thigh, and would have targeted Lachlan's middle if the laird hadn't driven the heel of one boot into the Phantom's left kneecap.

  With a feral howl, the Phantom staggered back.

  Lachlan, despite the pain radiating through his chest, climbed to his feet and helped Winston to his. It was then, as they faced the giant of a man who stood not six feet away, they noticed his ravaged face.

  Wade Cuttstone resembled something out of a child's worst nightm
are. His shocking white hair stood on end, as if combed with static electricity. His protruding eyes were bloodshot with dark pockets of flesh hanging beneath them. The irises were colorless, as lifeless as marbles. The face and what could be seen of his neck were mottled with shades of gray, bluish tones, and raw red where there were open sores and rings of inflammation surrounding blisters.

  "Good of you to join me," said the Phantom in a surprisingly cultured English accent. His voice was overly loud, prompting Winston to scan him.

  "He's deaf," he whispered to Lachlan, moving his lips as little as possible.

  "Ask me anything you like before you die," said Cuttstone to Winston, a skeletal grin mocking his adversary of four years. "You can't save yourselves or the begetters. I have the power of the Guardian on my side."

  "Ye're insane," Lachlan growled, a hand pressed to his bloodied chest. He looked askance at the swords mounted on the wall. So close, yet so far. If he dashed for one of the weapons, he was sure it would further provoke the Phantom. He dreaded the idea of feeling the dirk's steel enter him again, but he was terrified one of the others would be the next target.

  The Phantom's gaze never wavered from Winston's mouth. "No need to ask, my good man. Your mind questions the car chase and the resulting tragedy which followed." Cuttstone sighed with theatrical patience. "It was indeed my car, but not more than an hour prior to the chase a carjacker had the misfortune to choose me as his next victim."

  He grinned mirthlessly. "Imagine his surprise when he found himself surrounded by police, and he being such an unworthy criminal to warrant such attention."

  Cuttstone lunged forward with the dirk extended. Winston shoved Lachlan to the floor, out of immediate danger, but was only able to twist himself out of the way enough to avoid a stab to the chest. The edge of the blade grazed his side, along his rib cage. The wound wasn't deep, but—combined with his injured leg going out from under him—painful enough to make him collapse to the floor. Cuttstone slashed to his right, the blade opening Lachlan's right palm. He swung to his left with the intention of driving the dirk to its hilt into Winston's chest, but another figure ran into the room, followed by yet another.

  "Deliah, get ou'!" Roan thundered.