They stood before the mound, neither of them speaking, but both of them shaken up from their run-in with Reggie. Carter noticed that the house could barely be seen through the burgeoning trees of spring. He figured that he could undertake a project without Martin knowing, should the old man return to the house. Carter could read Brenda’s mind, and he assumed she shared in his thoughts about what needed to be done here. Their eyes met, and then returned to the mound simultaneously.
“Does this mound…by any chance…have something to do with Martin?” Carter asked.
“I was just wondering,” said Brenda, “but the diaries made no mention of living with Martin. I just assumed that our discovery of the diary, which seemed buried deeper in history than Shirley’s clothes, preceded the time of Martin and Shirley. I guess I thought that their time in this house did not overlap. But now I’m wondering if Martin does have dark secrets of his past buried here.”
“And how did my mother die?”
Brenda was silent in thought, and then spoke. “Something just doesn’t add up.”
Carter thought hard about what Brenda had said, and he began to turn a shade of red from anger. “Brenda, I think the only one in this entire world who has answers to our questions is named Martin. Let’s get our butts inside now and do whatever it takes to get the answers we need.”
CHAPTER TWENY-THREE
Carter and Brenda made their way around the house to the front, no longer caring who saw what. The force with which Carter walked made the statement that he would settle for nothing less than the truth. But as they rounded the house to the front, they noticed that the chair on the porch sat empty and still.
They marched up the porch stairs, then into the house. They rounded the corner in the kitchen, and then ran upstairs to find Martin sprawled out in bed.
“Martin,” said Carter, as Brenda joined him in the room. “What’s going on in here?”
Martin had been lying on top of the covers. The old man slowly, feebly, rotated his head toward them, and his glossy eyes wore a faraway look. He stared at his company. Carter and Brenda exchanged glances, but this time Carter felt completely helpless in the field of convalescence, and he hadn’t the power or knowledge, or even incentive for that matter, to intervene medically.
This dilemma extremely frustrated Carter, simply because no evil had been concretely proven. Carter felt like his non-intervention could be like the death penalty for an innocent man. Yet, his mind could not shake his unconfirmed investigation. Then his mind shot forth Martin’s assaults, but could Martin have reacted toward Carter and Brenda the way he did out of love? Was it their questioning of a woman he loved so much, unable to let go? Maybe he only suffered from denial?
Carter’s mind volleyed these considerations back and forth, understanding what love can do. Brenda began to really grow on him in such a short period of time, and this was something for someone who had never really loved before. He wondered what it would be like to grow old with Brenda. Then he wondered what it would be like to lose that person. He decided that he couldn’t possibly understand what Martin went through that day. Maybe the mound in the back reflected this. Now Carter was faced with how to deal with this strange old man.
Carter then rushed back to Martin’s bedside, hanging over his answers, looking into his eyes.
“Martin, are you all right? What can I do?” he asked.
For the first time since their arrival into this room, they sensed consciousness. Martin had his arms straight down alongside his body, palms to the bed, and his fingers began to wiggle, bend, and unbend slowly, and then he raised his knuckles ever so slowly toward the ceiling. Carter noticed that although Colorado’s altitude thinned the air, it now was twice as thick as the East Coast.
Brenda entered the room and pulled Carter aside by the arm, and stepped up to the plate, but first she spoke to Carter, attempting to hide nothing. “This may be our final chance for answers. Martin could be our final source. Let’s not let the key to your past fade. We need answers from him now!”
Carter watched Brenda’s desperation as she rushed to Martin’s side. She did not have a lot of time with which to work, but any shred of a clue would be immensely helpful. It would be helpful even if Martin would mumble a name or a detail that they could follow up on.
Since Brenda had taken charge of this operation and held more knowledge of such events, Carter settled for being her right hand man. He noticed Martin drifting away and watched the way Brenda tried to coax him back without the use of sniffing salt.
“Hey, Martin,” she said, following up with a quick shake of his arm. She did this repeatedly, but with no success. Brenda was not a quitter. Carter was an eyewitness to her persistence, and to her technique.
Her voice got louder. Her attempt seemed to Carter to be upgraded to desperation, as if her memory rekindled the time he freaked out on her in front of the portrait. Maybe as a child she always got her way, or maybe never got her way and had to fight hard for everything. Either way, he didn’t think Martin was off the hook even though he was at the final moments of his death bed.
Brenda moved down close to Martin and spoke to his face, which tilted away. “Martin…Martin. Can you hear me? Make a fist if you can hear me.”
Tense air whooshed with the movements of Martin’s fist in slow motion, yet at the same time it flew through the atmosphere.
“Good,” said Brenda. “Now Martin, please answer my questions. You are the only one who can.”
Martin did not move an inch, continuing his deadpan look the other way. Brenda clamped his head lightly with cupped hands, adjusting his head toward them.
“Martin, did you live with another couple back in the early seventies?”
Her question received no answer.
“Martin…listen to me and speak…please! Did you ever live with another couple in this house?”
“I have to know,” said Carter, stepping in. “Did that couple live in this house before you?”
Carter saw Brenda’s exasperated look, and was afraid of what her frustration would do. However, he believed she’d give him all the time he needed since he appeared to be on his way out and only Martin held the answers.
“Martin,” Brenda tried again, “how did the woman die?”
For the first time since they entered the room, they saw a sign of life. Martin, with his right eye clamped shut, opened his left eye as wide as ever, and then slowly relaxed it back closed. This may have been bizarre to the average person, but Carter was encouraged by this. Knowing from personal experience that Martin was probably fully aware of the goings on even on his deathbed, he wouldn’t give up.
“Martin,” Carter said, “what happened to the woman’s baby? Did you have anything to do with her baby?”
Brenda repeated the inquiry. “Martin, what happened to the woman’s baby? Do you know?”
Martin lifted his head off the pillow as if he was fully awake, and looking straight into the eyes of Brenda, he said, “Surely I do.”
Brenda smiled, encouraged that they were finally getting somewhere.
“Then tell us…please tell us,” she pleaded.
“Surely…I do,” Martin repeated. “Oh Shirley I do.”
A teardrop left Martin’s eye, and Carter and Brenda watched as it rolled down his cheek and moistened the pillow. They also watched as Martin closed his eyes.
“He wants to rest,” said Brenda. I can see him breathing. Let him rest. We’ll try again in a bit.”
“Surely I do,” Carter repeated. “Surely or Shirley? Was it ‘surely’ as in definitely or ‘Shirley’ as in his wife?”
Brenda paused to think about that for a few seconds, but time was the enem
y.
“I’m not sure that he would be answering Shirley when we asked the question,” Brenda replied. “I would have to lean towards the other meaning. Hopefully, time will tell. We need to get our asses in gear, though, and we need to come up with an alternative plan.”
They slowly moved out of the room, knowing that Martin did not have a lot of time left, but hoping that if he got a little bit of rest his memory would return. They sensed that he was suffering from senility, since he may have believed it was his late wife in the room with him, and it had been a long time since her passing.
Carter and Brenda retreated to the living room to think. They were fully aware that Martin may not wake up, but they were getting nowhere as it was. They both needed a break. Lack of sleep and leaving behind the coffee did not mix well. Carter rubbed his eyes hard, and then bounced a glance back into the hallway leading to Martin’s room.
“My God,” he said in a trembling voice, “I thought I saw someone walking into Martin’s room.”
Brenda wasn’t convinced. From what Martin had said, he hadn’t had another person step foot in the house in over 10 years, and that being the paperboy who had made a second trip to his house to replace a wet newspaper, and only a couple of steps in for an apology.
“I didn’t mean to do it.” They heard Martin plead from the other room.
Before Carter could muster up the courage to check Martin’s bedroom, his ears locked on a faint whistle, which was much higher than the wind. It was the sort of high-pitched tone that twists a dog’s head. He decided to rise to his feet to investigate, as did Brenda shortly thereafter.
As Carter made his first step toward the bedroom, a book flew off the bookshelf and stopped him, making him flinch. The book never hit him, but flapped its pages open, settling spread out in the middle of the living room floor.
“This is really freaking me out,” said Brenda. “I don’t know that I can stick around for an answer that might not come.”
As Carter bent over to pick the book up, a gust of wind from one of the opened windows in the living room wafted the curtains for several seconds. Outside, the trees stood still. From the window, Carter’s eyes became fixated on the front door, which was opened wide, then slammed shut.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The gusty storms that usually rocked the foothills now moved inside the house, but not a spring plant moved outside. It was the calm before the stormy house. Carter couldn’t decide whether to choose the great outdoors over Martin’s room. When the storm pushed beyond Carter and Brenda, they could hear Martin speaking in his room. His words turned into screams. Once they could move freely, they opened Martin’s bedroom door to find a terrorized old man lying in bed.
Martin pleaded for the whirlwind to take him away, ending his misery. Carter and Brenda looked on in as much terror, but that terror soon mixed with fascination.
“Did Martin say Alexandra?” Carter asked quietly.
“I think that’s what he said.”
Martin’s terror became so real that he elevated himself with his elbows after lying on his back nearly comatose. His eyes had opened as wide as Carter had ever seen, and he had apparently entered another realm.
“Martin,” Brenda demanded. “Talk to us. Tell us what you know about Carter and his parents. And what about Shirley?”
“I don’t know anything. Alexandra,” Martin said, staring straight up to the ceiling, still on his elbows, and nearly snapping his neck back. “Just take me away from my misery. Get even.”
Carter and Brenda couldn’t even try to get through anymore. Objects were flying about the room, and papers were riding in the breeze.
“This looks like the end,” Brenda said, shielding her face from debris. “Martin’s apparently having a deathbed vision, and that occurs mostly as a take-away mission, where a relative comes to get the near-deceased.”
“But my mother was not related to Martin,” Carter protested, “and he mentioned Alexandra.”
“No, but they must have known each other,” explained Brenda.
“But why wouldn’t a close relative come to take him away? Isn’t that usually how it works?”
“Usually, but there are no rules, at least rules that we are confident about. It’s just…watch it!”
Carter ducked impulsively, avoiding a collision with a flying lamp, which narrowly missed his head and smashed into the floor. Brenda began to panic even more so than ever.
“It looks like Alexandra is not exactly here for a comfortable transition. She’s pissed off. Martin, what the hell did you do to Alexandra?”
When Brenda spoke, Martin lifted his head up, looking only at her and said, “Nothing…Shirley? Shirley is that you, my love?”
A savage wind gust blew through the room. Martin spoke distinctly. He stared deep into Brenda’s eyes, forcing her to take a step back, before his head again collapsed onto the pillow. Then he managed another sentence. “You two just don’t…know when…to quit.”
The viciousness of the storm eased, but not entirely, and Martin was not out of the woods yet. Carter could still hear Martin being terrorized by Alexandra, but wondered why she was evil.
The heavy calm persisted for several minutes, but Carter knew that could change at any moment. The air thickened, almost as if it had substance. Apparently it had. Carter’s eyes were wide open, and Brenda equally displayed nervous fright by the red blotches on her face. They had pretty much lost hope, and again retreated. They stood in the living room, whispering. Carter sensed that Brenda had something else up her sleeve. He hoped she had at least one more plan. Carter had thought he had seen an apparition, and things were flying across the room. Something had to give. Desperation settled into the already thick, cold air, so desperate measures would be required to cut through it.
“Carter,” whispered Brenda, “have you ever had a séance?”
Carter took a step back, thinking about the darkness in the room. The macabre environment seemed to be reaching out to her, he thought.
“Why on earth would you want to have a séance?” Carter asked.
Brenda leaned in to Carter and whispered, “Because this may very well be our last chance for answers. It’s a connection to the spirit world. Martin is talking to your mother, so maybe she really is out there. Maybe she has the answers we need, and once Martin leaves us, he will be taken away by whatever spirits are with him. Once that happens…”
“But do we really want to tamper with the spirit world?” Carter returned in a whisper. “My mother is not taking too kindly to us being here. Maybe she’s pissed off that we’re here. Maybe she’s pissed that we’re buying in to my father’s experiment.”
Carter then filled his mind with thoughts of guilt, feeling that he may be the real reason behind all of the deaths that took place in 1974. Carter then opened his mouth and crinkled his eyes in horror.
“Maybe she’s mad because she thinks I’m her boyfriend Darren. Maybe I really am.”
Carter had just finished displaying his mind when he saw Brenda’s face light up a touch.
“And that’s exactly what we need to find out. You’re getting it now. Lay down on that couch,” said Brenda, pointing to the long couch in the living room.
“Why?” asked Carter. “What’ve you got?”
“Never mind what I have,” said Brenda. “Just lie down and close your eyes.”
Carter spread out on the couch.
“Now close your eyes,” said Brenda.
“No fuckin’ way,” said Carter. “I’m not closing my eyes in this house. Are you crazy? What are you trying to do…hypnotize me?”
Brenda stared into Carter’s stubborn eyes. “Carter,
I think I might be able to bring your mind back to the place and time of your birth, and make you tell me about what happened in your life that made you an orphan.”
“Ouch.”
“Don’t ‘ouch’ me now,” exclaimed Brenda. “Okay then…I’ll bring you back to the time of your adoption.”
Brenda had not let Carter down once since the day they had met. Her advice was to follow signs, but if those signs led him to a bridge, then he would stop following signs. It had to be within reason. He would rule out meandering into the mouth of Moby Dick if signs led him there.
Fortunately, none of the signs that he followed led him into the whale’s mouth. They were reasonable signs, legitimate signs, and he only mildly put himself in danger. However, skipping mildly dangerous signs would have cut his chances of success, at the very least, in half.
Martin’s low drone persisted, but turned into a shriek, apparently whenever he claimed innocence. Carter sensed that his mother’s spirit was still around, but about to leave with Martin’s. He knew that time was of the essence. He wasn’t too keen on Brenda’s bizarre suggestions, and he was getting a bit freaked out, but any type of information obtained from this world was looking less plausible. He looked at Brenda again.
“Don’t you…kind of…need…some sort of training or…something?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” said Brenda, “but Reggie showed me how to do it. The only way for me to get Reggie’s attention at that time was to do what he thought was cool, and man did he ever think this was cool. He showed me a lot.”
“Have you ever actually hypnotized anyone yourself?” Carter asked.
Desert Son Trilogy: Desert Son, Wayward Soul, Spiritual Intervention (Books 1-3) Page 17