by Lisa Morgan
“Go ahead,” I whispered, returning to the stool mounted to the floor. A pull inside me—maybe the residual child yearning for her father’s time—told me to stay still and listen to him.
My father gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Maggie, you’re in danger. I need you to listen to me very carefully and do exactly what I say. Can you do that, Maggie?”
“Dad?” I questioned, beginning to feel trapped in the room with him again. I knew what the doctor’s had said in the past. There could be times when he seemed coherent and rational, but those would only be extensions of his delusion. A sick and hopeless feeling rose in my throat with the realization that my father wasn’t really lucid.
“This is me, Magpie,” he begged, sensing my doubt. There was genuine fear in my father’s words. “I need you to get away from her, Maggie. Please. She’s going to take you to them. They need you. Liam will help you. Go to Liam.”
“Liam?” I pondered, momentarily confused. “Wait … he’s that crazy old guy who eats the checkers? Dad, let me get the doctors.” I stood, this time breaking my father’s grasp.
“No! They’ll be coming, Maggie! You have to listen to me!” he yelled, trying to stand from his restrained position, yanking furiously against the binding chains. There was a flurry of action. The door alarm was ringing loudly and I could hear hospital staff rushing inside the room behind us.
My father cried out as three orderlies stormed the room, followed by my mother. “They’ll kill you, Maggie! You have what they want! Please, baby, run! Run! Run!”
The orderlies worked together; while one shoved me out of the way, another grabbed my father’s shoulders, shoving him down to keep him in his chair. The third pinned my father’s arms behind his back with one beefy hand while he withdrew a long needle from his pocket and removed the cap with his teeth.
My father’s face was smashed against the table, but still, he writhed, trying to get free.
“Maggie!” my father pleaded frantically. “Run!”
“Dad?” I sobbed as I watched the horror unfold before me. My father continued to fight, biting out curses at the orderlies even as the needle was jammed into my father’s neck like a dagger. His blue eyes still stared at me as I looked on. His lids began to droop and his words softened, growing almost incoherent as the medication began to take effect. Within seconds, his body slackened and he appeared to pass out.
I looked for my mother, needing her comfort after witnessing this, and wiped at my eyes. Through my blurry vision, I spotted what I thought was her. Wearing the identical clothing as my mom and standing in the right spot, but what should have been her looked almost identical to the corpse secretary; a pointed tooth sneer on its face. I gasped and shoved my hands into my eyes, scrubbing hard. When I pulled them away, the creature was gone, replaced by my mother.
I couldn’t consider this now. Was I going as insane as my father? Maybe. Probably. I looked back to the orderlies who were now lowering my father’s body to the floor, wishing that those few minutes of him—talking, coherent, sane—could go on forever.
“Will he be okay?” I begged them, needing answers. “He was talking, then he just—”
“What did he say?” asked one of the orderlies sternly and I stared back at the large man dressed in white scrubs. He looked like a man, but his eyes … they were different. They weren’t really eyes anymore, but dully glowing yellow lights.
“Your eyes,” I started, taking a single step backward away from him. Before I could finish the thought, I felt my mother’s grip on my shoulder, drawing me closer to her.
“Maggie, it’s been a difficult night. We should leave and let your father get some rest,” she whispered soothingly, all the anger and disgust that had been in her voice when my father had been brought it now gone.
“But, Mom—” The words stuck in my throat when I remembered what my father had said to me. She’s not your mother …
“Yes, darling?” She went on rubbing my shoulders, but with the slight increase in pressure, it was almost painful. Her hands felt stiff, rough and rehearsed, like the gesture was more expected of her than offered freely.
“You’re right,” I agreed, beginning to accept that what had just happened was an exception, not the rule. I heard a soft, exacerbated exhale from my father’s lips.
“Can I kiss him good-bye?” The orderlies looked to the mirror on the wall, waiting for some sort of signal or indication of permission that I couldn’t see.
“If you wish,” my mother spoke coldly, the disgust returning to her voice. The orderlies backed up a little as I walked slowly to him, kneeling next to his form on the floor. Cautiously, I took a knee and bent to his ear.
“I love you, Dad,” I whispered through tears, kissing his cheek.
“Maggie,” he whispered, so silently that I had to bend a little closer. “Revenants.”
My father’s eyes shot open as if he’d never been administered the sedative, and like a chimp, he lunged to his feet, his arms outstretched in a fighting position even though still chained.
“Revenants! Maggie, run!” my father yelled.
“Dad!” I cried out as the orderlies rushed him again. They overtook him easily and another needle glistened off the lights in the ceilings. My mother grabbed my elbow, pulling my up and dragging me toward the door as the alarm signaled our release.
“Guard the blood!” my father yelled as the staff wrapped their arms around him, trying to get control.
My feet became like cement. I pulled away from my mother and my tears died on my cheeks. The world around me slowed as I focused on my struggling father.
The words from the letter I read just this morning. How did he …
“What did you say?” I asked, wanting to make sure I’d heard him correctly, taking half a step closer to him.
As my mother pulled on me again and the second needle crashed into my father’s throat, his words reverberated around the walls like a canon fired in canyon.
“GUARD THE BLOOD, MAGGIE!”
Seven
My mother and I didn’t speak in the car. She’d normally spend the entire trip home raving about how good my father looked or about some perceived moment of progress. Tonight, after all that’d happened during our short visit, she’d ushered me to the car, hadn’t taken the time to even switch our items from the Dad Bag, and drove in utter silence.
“Mom?” I questioned. She gave no response, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of us.
“Mom?” I asked again, thinking maybe she was lost in her thoughts, having seen the same events I had. Still, she didn’t spare me a glance or make any gesture signifying that she’d heard me.
Frustrated by her ignoring me, I put my window down, hoping the cold air against my face would help me find some solace. My hair flew into my eyes and, for a moment, my memory of the motorcycle ride earlier in the day replaced my thoughts about the visit. I remembered how gorgeous Michel was, the feeling of his muscles as they’d shifted beneath the supple leather jacket. I said his name over and over in my mind, a mantra that somehow made me feel grounded. He was so good looking, and that guitar music he’d been playing was remarkable. I liked to think of myself as having a varied taste in music, crossing the full spectrum of genres, but his melody could not be placed into any one category. Moreover, I was sure I’d heard the song before.
“He lies,” my mother said flatly, pulling me from my daydream and breaking the silence in the car
“What?”
“John Henning,” she went on in the same emotionless tone. “He lies.”
My Michel memory was temporarily on hold, replaced with confusion. Had my mother just referred to my dad by his proper name? She never did that. It was always “Dad” or “Father” or “Daddy,” but never by his actual name. I used to think it embarrassed her, acknowledging that we were related to the local celebrity killer.
“John Henning speaks false,” she said, stone faced, staring at the road ahead. Her voice was low, almost animal-l
ike in its timber, as she continued, “I stayed to the plan.”
“Mom?” I asked, shaken by the tone of her voice. “Are you okay?”
If she heard me, she didn’t show it. “I have done what was ordered of me. I watched. I kept her safe. I stayed to the plan,” my mother went on to no one.
“What plan, Mom?”
She fell silent, ignoring my question.
“Looks like it’s all for one at the Looney Bin tonight,” I muttered under my breath, deciding that my mother must be in shock from my father’s outburst at the hospital. I dipped my fingers out the open window, letting the cold night air slam against them.
I have a circulation problem, came Michel’s voice in my mind, replacing my mother’s disconnected proclamation.
I remembered his smile when he saw me waiting for the signal light to change, sitting on his motorcycle with a hand on his hip. I swear I could almost hear the engine roaring still …
Roaring?
I looked to the side mirror and saw a single headlight following the car. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of the rider behind us. They swerved past, missing us by inches before speeding off into the night ahead.
“Can you believe that guy?” I asked in an exasperated huff that I didn’t really mean. After riding with Michel, I was more intrigued than aggravated.
“They are enjoying a moonlit ride,” my mother answered simply.
Okay. Now I was sure something was wrong. Never in her life had my mother made a comment like that when a crazy driver was on the road. In fact, Mom had always loathed motorcycles, calling them death rockets.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, a physical manifestation of the fear that was beginning in the pit of my stomach. There was definitely something wrong.
I spoke carefully, glancing to the left and gauging her reaction, “Dad said you weren’t my real mother.” Nothing. She continued to look forward, her hands white-knuckled on the wheel and not acknowledging that I’d even spoken.
“Mom? He said I was in danger.”
“You are foolish to listen to John Henning, child,” she said stoically. Her voice was deeper, warped somehow. It came to me as if it were three different voices of different pitches speaking all at once, repeating the same phrase. “I have stayed to the plan.”
“He … he told me to run.”
My mother’s reaction was sudden. She made a hard right turn, slamming her foot on the brake. I heard the squeal of the tires as the back end of our car skidded on the pebbles and my body shot forward, my head hitting the dash board.
“Damn, Mom!” I cried out, pressing my palm to the pain shooting from my forehead as I looked over to her. “What the hell are you doing?”
However, the face I saw was not my mother’s. This face was pale and rotted with scabbed-over lips curling into a wicked grin that showed off pointed, sharpened teeth. Patches of her hair were gone, leaving flashes of white behind where her skull was exposed to the air. I saw the skeletal hands reaching out to me from under what had once been my mother’s shirt. And her eyes … they were changing.
“Margaret Henning,” her voice remarked through that evil smile in a dark, almost maniacal tone, “you bleed.”
“Mom?” I stuttered, the pain momentarily subsiding from my mind even as fear clawed up my throat. “Dad told me to ‘guard the blood’.”
I screamed as the driver’s side door was suddenly ripped off its hinges and the creature I called Mom flew from behind the wheel into the night.
I screamed again, not understanding what was happening. I could hear growls, like some kind of wild animal, from outside the car. I heard blood curdling shrieking and tearing, and sounds like a wet bag of sand hitting pavement. My stomach churned with fear, but I was unable to move, frozen in place with horror.
“Can you drive?” an urgent voice asked me from my open window, scaring me. I screamed out in a high-pitched wail.
“Maggie,” the voice asked again, a little more calm and familiar.
Breathing roughly and trying to regain my bearings, I took in what was before me. Michel stood at my window, leaning in toward me. His hands held the door and his jade eyes were full of concern. From his questioning mouth, I saw the glisten from elongated canine teeth.
Fangs?
My world went black.
***
A piercing pain shot from my forehead, thudding a drum beat that felt like my brain would explode. I moaned and reached up with my hand, pressing on the painful spot. I drew back with surprise, feeling a sticky damp mess on my palm. I slowly forced my eyes to open and discern what was on my head.
Blood.
It all rushed back. My father at the hospital with a warning about my mother. Her face—it had changed—like a zombie in a horror film. Her eyes … The hands that reached for me … Michel at my window …
“You’re awake,” a voice spoke softly from my right. I clawed at the power button for my window, not wanting to feel the chilly breeze any longer, and the window closed. I turned toward the voice. Behind the wheel, driving my mother’s car, was Michel. The driver’s side door was missing.
“You?” I asked, my voice shaking. “What have you done to me? Where’s my mother?” I saw Michel check the mirrors, but he didn’t answer me.
“What is going on? I … I don’t have any money … but there’s a little jewelry in the metal box under your seat. Take it, just don’t hurt my mom,” I pleaded with him
I saw Michel’s eyebrow cock up at my remarks. “Don’t hurt your mother? I didn’t touch her. Luc, however … I think he took care of her.”
Panic took complete control. My heart raced against my ribs, and Stephanie’s warnings from earlier flooded my thoughts. “Are you going to kill me?”
Michel said nothing.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and gather courage. I slipped my hand down my leg, looking for my cell phone, thinking I could call 911.
“Your phone is gone,” Michel informed me matter-of-factly. “I tied it to a robin back where I found you. They can have fun trying to trace that.”
I’d seen enough movies to think perhaps I could strike a bargain with my future killer. I inhaled deeply and pleaded, “I don’t know what it is you want, but I have no money, and my father is a lunatic,”
“John Henning is no lunatic,” Michel interrupted, taking me off guard.
“I don’t know what John Henning you know,” I went on, deciding maybe I could scare Michel, “but my father is the John Henning, the guy that killed all those people in that church ten years ago.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Michel responded, glancing at me quickly before looking back to the dark road in front of us.
I’d heard about these people … groupies that wanted to be part of a killer’s inner circle. Great, Dad has a fan club …
“Then you must know,” I continued, trying to sound threatening, “I could also snap at any time. And so help me God if I do, I’ll hunt you down first and the little campfire my dad had? Nothing like what I’ll do to you.”
A bemused smile grew on Michel’s face and he laughed as if my threat had been the funniest joke he’d ever been told.
It was his easy laughter that helped my fear to ebb a little and change, growing into more resolution that panic. And since I was sure I was going to die anyway, I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
I reached for the steering wheel, and before he could stop me, I jerked the car off of the road and into the trees. The headlights skated over the pines, bobbing up and down with the drainage ditch as the car came to rest, steaming, and the front-end totally smashed. Quickly, I grabbed the handle of my door and tried to force it open. I pushed as hard as I could, slamming my shoulder into it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What are you doing?” Michel asked, a hint of amusement still in his voice.
“Saving my life, you scumbag! If you think I’m just gonna lie down and die …”
Michel’s laughter was a
loud roar that filled the car, drowning out my voice. His green eyes twinkled as he appeared to be admiring my determination. I couldn’t help but notice that his flawless good looks hadn’t suffered when we went off road.
“I’m not trying to kill you, Maggie. I’m trying to save your life. I even fastened your seatbelt before we—”
“Save my life?” I yelled, now angrier that he seemed to take pleasure at my attempts to get out of the car. “Where’s my mother?”
A shadow crossed his face. “That was not your mother, Maggie,” Michel echoed my father’s words from earlier, his eyes not leaving mine.
“Of course it was my mother! We were at the hospital, and then …”
The memory of bony fingers danced in my head and robbed me of my voice. I saw them reaching for me from the driver’s side of the car, where my mother had been. I shook my head back and forth, trying to clear the wild sights from my thoughts.
Michel’s eyes scanned the dark forest in front of the car then fell back to mine. “Maggie, it’s not safe here. We need to move.”
“Not safe? No kidding! I’m being kidnapped and—”
“That’s not what I mean—”
“Then what do you mean, not safe?”
“That woman … thing that was driving … that wasn’t your mother. It was a revenant. And if Luc didn’t kill it, it’s still out there. And Maggie, it’s going to come back.”
Revenant. I’d heard my father use the word when I thought he was having a cognizant moment during the visit.
“What the hell is a revenant?” I asked, but Michel didn’t answer. His eyes shot out the windshield, glaring into the shadowed trees.
“Michel? What’s going on?”
I was answered by the shattering of glass as something large hit the windshield. It fractured in a spider-webbed pattern as whatever large object collided against it. I screamed as Michel grabbed my head, shoving me down and keeping the shards from doing serious damage.
“We have to go!” Michel ordered, rushing out the door-less driver’s side and pulling me with him. “We need to go now, Maggie!”