After an uneventful day at work, I placed a call to the Morrisons to check on their grandfather. I’d heard nothing from Mary or Terrance since the old man’s strange visit to the clinic and I wanted to make sure he was doing okay.
“Hello?”
“Mary?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Kate Pomeroy. I’m just calling to see how your grandfather is.”
Mary hesitated. “Oh, Kate. Good to hear from you. Ian’s doing as well as can be expected for a man of his years. He sleeps a lot.”
“But he’s okay? He wakes up, doesn’t he?”
Again, she hesitated, this time longer.
“Mary?”
“Oh, yes, yes, I’m here. I just got distracted. What was it you asked?”
“I’m calling to check on your grandfather - he’s functioning okay, isn’t he? You know, it might be a good idea to have him seen by an internist on the mainland. He or she would have access to a lot of testing facilities that we don’t have on the island. It may be there’s just something simple to do that will improve his quality of life. Vitamins or a change in diet.”
Mary laughed as if what I’d said was somehow hilarious.
“Mary?” I questioned again.
“Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. Ian’s quality of life, as you call it, is just fine and, if it needs improvement, I’m sure he’ll take care of it himself. Now, was there anything else you wanted?”
Surprised by her curtness, I thanked her and hung up. What was her problem? I knew we’d never been fast friends, but we’d always been polite with each other. She treated my call as if it were an intrusion on their privacy. I made a mental note to try to avoid any interactions with her family in the future.
Sighing, I pocketed my cell, grabbed my coat, and said goodnight to Steve and Nadia. Hurrying out the door, I noted that it was beginning to snow and that the sky looked like there was a storm coming. Clutching my wrap tightly about me, I hurried down the path to the Carriage House. Jeremy was coming over and I needed to get a fire started and dinner in the oven.
35
The Old Man
Trouble at the Morrison Mansion
MARY MORRISON HUNG up the phone and poured herself two fingers of vodka, neat. Without hesitation, she tossed the drink back and poured herself another, this time bowing to convention by adding a couple of ice cubes.
As she sipped her drink, she thought about the phone call with Kate.
That poor child doesn’t have the foggiest idea about what’s going to happen, she thought. Her whole life is going to be turned upside down and she can’t do anything about it. And the danger…
She shook her head and took another healthy sip. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. The old man had ripped them up one side and down the other when they’d returned from the clinic. Said they’d ruined everything. That the process would now take twice as long and that, because of their incompetence, the subject’s vitals would begin returning to normal and that it would twice as hard to alter his chemistries.
Be that as it may, what had frightened her more was the way he’d looked at her. Those cold blue eyes stripping away everything that she’d thought she knew she was. Laying her soul bare, naked and unclean.
She shuddered. He frightened her – frightened her more than anything she had ever encountered in her lifetime and that was saying a lot. But Terrance coveted what the old man could bestow and, blast their souls to hell, she loved her husband and would see that he got what he wanted.
Pouring herself another drink, Mary tried to clear her mind. She didn’t want to think anymore. She just wanted to get drunk.
Terrance walked into the room and saw his wife sitting at the kitchen table. The bottle of vodka was almost empty.
“Mary,” he said, holding the bottle up in front of her. “Look at me. Don’t you think this is just a tad excessive?”
His wife raised her head, her eyes rheumy and unfocused.
“Leave me alone,” she slurred, reaching to take the bottle from his hand. “If I want to get drunk, I’ll get drunk.”
Terrance shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. There’s too much at stake. If you do something rash, well, we’ll both pay for it, and I’m not about to suffer for your insecurities.”
Mary laughed. “Do something rash? And what, I pray, is that old bastard doing except for something rash?”
Terrance sighed and sat down at the table, taking one of her hands in his. “Mary, we’ve talked about this. We have to help him. There’s no other way. And the benefit, my God, Mary, if he follows through on his promise, we’ll have everything we ever wanted.”
Again, Mary laughed. “You mean you’ll have everything. What about me? You will live forever, but me – I’ll just grow old gracefully and die. Then you’ll be rid of me. Maybe that’s what you really want.”
“Mary, please. It won’t be like that. I’ve been doing a lot of research in the occult. Once he passes his power on to me, there are ways I can share it with you. We’ll both live long, long lives. Believe me, it’s possible.”
His wife couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she stared at the table, putting her head in her hands.
“I don’t know anymore, Terrance,” she sobbed. “Is it worth it? What he’s going to do to our friends? And, after, if it all works out, how do you know he’ll keep his promise? How do you know he’ll give up his power? He’s never been the generous sort, you know.”
“We have to have faith. I know, that sounds corny, but what other alternative do we have? If we back out now, he’ll kill us for sure. No matter what happens we’re stuck and it will be to our advantage to help him finish this as soon as possible.”
Mary looked up at her husband, wiping away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.
Terrance patted her hand.
“Don’t cry, dear,” he said. “Come on, let me help you to bed.”
One floor up, the old man lay in his bed, unmoving. His breath was shallow, his heartbeat almost nonexistent. But despite this, he still was aware of every thought that passed through his granddaughter’s mind.
The woman is smarter than I gave her credit for. When this is over, it will be time for her to disappear. A suicide? Yes, but first, the cane.
His lips curled into a grin. She might be smart, but it was her fear he relished. He fed on it. Her regret and melancholy he didn’t have time for. Foolish human emotions. But fear … ahhhh … that was delicious.
He was deep into hibernation now trying to regenerate his depleted powers. The clinic visit had been an unnecessary gesture – one that had cost him time and energy.
But he couldn’t dwell on that now. Anger took too much out of him. So, instead, he let his mind wander back again to the beginning … back to the story the old enchanter had told him so long ago…
36
The Old Man
The Enchanter’s Story, Part II
“LIKE YOU,” THE old enchanter said, “I wanted to live, but knew that life with my infirmity would be hard and painful. The man called Numir smiled at me when I told him this and asked me to give him my hand. I did so willingly, but when he bit down on my wrist, I became afraid. There were tales told at night of creatures like him that lived on blood – creatures that did not die. But somehow, as the man continued to drink, my fears subsided and, in fact, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm pass over me. And, when he commanded I drink of his blood, I did so willingly. When I was sated, I sat back, listening, as the man passed on his knowledge.
“Finally, we came to the final thing – the thing he said was the greatest gift of all – the gift of long-lasting life. ‘Follow me,’ he said rising. ‘We must find you a proper body.’
“Not knowing what he meant, I did as he bade. When we came upon a tavern, he indicated for me to wait while he went inside. Minutes later, he emerged with a young man around my age at his side. I recognized the lad – he was a beggar like me, howev
er, his body was whole, not damaged as mine was. But he, too, had his impediment – he was not right in the head and could barely string five words together coherently.
“Numir indicated with a nod that I should follow them, which I did, making sure I was not observed. They stopped under that same fig tree where the old sorcerer had passed on his blood to me. There, I watched as Numir kissed the boy fully on the lips, then lay with him under the tree.
“I stood mesmerized as Numir made love to the lad, an act I had never seen before. When the enchanter was satisfied, he bound the boy’s hands with his silken scarf and motioned for me to come out of my hiding place.
“’Do you like him?’ Numir asked.
“I struggled to find the right words. Finally, I answered. ‘His body, yes, kind sir, but not his mind. It is weak.’
“Numir grinned then said, ‘Once you inhabit his body, your mind will rule. The weakness of his intellect will no longer matter. So, I ask again, do you like him?’
“I stared at the enchanter and could tell by the look in his eyes that he spoke the truth. Coveting the boy’s body, I nodded.
“Without hesitation, Numir took my hand in his and placed it on the young man’s forehead. ‘Think about his blood – about changing it – making it yours.’
“I did as he instructed and closed my eyes, envisioning the boy’s vital fluid flowing through his veins - to his heart and to his brain. As I did this, I could feel the heat in young man rise, his forehead almost too hot to touch, his blood boiling over.
“’Now!’ the enchanter cried. ‘Leap into his body! Own it! Do it now, boy, with your mind!’
“I didn’t really understand what Numir meant. My body was withered. I could not jump like other boys. But he had said to use my mind, so, instead, I pictured myself leaving the ground where I sat, leaping straight into the boy’s head.
“What happened next was beyond belief. I felt myself – my soul perhaps – falling into a dark abyss. But I was not alone. No, the boy was there, too, and for a brief period we struggled for control. Of course, with all the knowledge Numir had bestowed upon me and because of the frailty of the lad’s intellectual powers, I was easily the victor.
“When I realized what I had done, I laughed and began running up and down the street, jumping into the air, and twirling myself round and round, enjoying all the things this body could do that my old one was not capable of.
“Numir watched me, a sad smile on his face.
“Finally, out of breath, I ran back to Numir. There was one thing about what had occurred that bothered me.
“’Sir, I asked, ‘what happened to the boy’s soul?’
“Numir frowned. ‘Who cares? It’s gone, pushed somewhere deep and dark within the recesses of the mind, never again to see the light of day.’
“I nodded, the look on Numir’s face telling me that it would not be wise to question him further on this subject.
“It was at that moment that I noticed my old body – the one I’d been born with – lying in the sand at Numir’s feet. It lay still and silent, like a piece of garbage fit only for carrion birds. As I stared at myself, I felt a fleeting pang of regret, but pushed that emotion aside as I regaled in the strength and hardiness of my mind’s new home.
“But that was not the end of it. Numir ordered me once again to sit under the fig tree for there was more knowledge to impart…”
The old man cut short his stroll down memory lane. The rest was just boring crap. That ancient enchanter finally finished the story about Numir and began waxing poetic about responsibility, being careful, and a host of other platitudes like: “conserve your power,” “choose your subjects wisely so they last,” and “don’t leap more than once in any lifetime.” Oh, he’d listened, but he was just a boy and could already feel the power building within him and he remembered with glee how he’d ached, with every fiber of his being, to wield it. Most of all, he’d wanted to destroy the enchanter and everyone else who’d ever held power over him – his uncle, the learned physicians, and all the people who’d ever ridiculed his weaknesses. He wanted to grind them all to dust. But it was not the right time. So, instead, he’d paid lip service to the old codger, knowing full well that as soon as they parted, he would go his own way.
But, now, as his powers waned, he had to admit the old sorcerer was right about some things. He’d squandered too many of his gifts. Had he been more conservative, more careful, perhaps he wouldn’t be in this position now.
These thoughts angered him and he had to forcibly control his irritation. It wasted energy and he didn’t have any extra to toss away heedlessly.
Calming himself, he put his thoughts, fears, and doubts aside. All that mattered now was that he restored himself – and as quickly as possible.
37
Kate
Everything’s Shipshape
JEREMY AND I spent a nice evening together making plans for the rapidly approaching Christmas holiday season. Jeremy was eager to re-introduce me to his parents, who lived on the mainland. The thought of seeing his folks again after so many years put a few butterflies in my stomach, but I did look forward to renewing my acquaintance his uncle, Sloane. I hadn’t been in touch with him since the events of the summer before and I wondered what he’d been up to. An amateur historian, he’d been indispensable in helping me unravel the mysteries of Storm Island.
“It’ll be good to see Sloane again,” I said.
“Yeah, Mom says he’s been traveling lately – to Europe and beyond – on a lecture tour or something like that.”
Sloane was a world-renowned sculptor, famous for his bronze lobstermen.
I smiled. “Well, I’m sure he’ll have some stories to tell. Now, how have you been feeling? Anything I should know about?”
Jeremy frowned. “Hey, can you put down your stethoscope for one evening? I’m good. In fact, I feel great. And, no, there’s been no other symptoms. I think I’m cured thanks to you.”
I took a deep breath. “I wish I could be so sure. You’ll keep the appointment with Dr. Porter in town, won’t you? I mean, even if you feel great.”
“Yes, Mother, I will.”
“You’re making fun of me. That’s not nice. I’m just concerned.”
He laughed, put his arm around me, and pulled me close. “Yes, I am. And, I’m sorry. But I do feel terrific.”
Jeremy got up and turned on the television, signaling that any further conversation about his health was verboten. Sighing, I settled down on the sofa beside him to watch a movie.
Glancing at his profile out of the corner of my eye, I thanked my lucky stars that I’d found him. Things were, finally, looking up for me. I hadn’t had a nightmare in days and, gratefully, no one had told him about my meltdown at the clinic. Any mention of that and we’d be back on the “you need to see a therapist” channel. I did tell him I’d discontinued the anti-anxiety pills and he seemed genuinely pleased about it.
Yes, things were going well and, with the grace of God, would continue that way.
The first Saturday in December we had a major snowfall. Jeremy arrived at my house the following morning with a snow blower and two pairs of cross-country skis.
“Come on, Katy. After I finish clearing out your driveway, let’s put these on and go have some fun. Time for you to start enjoying your first Maine winter.”
I laughed. “Where are we going to ski? The island’s not that big!”
“The Palmer and Levine estates are empty. We’ll trespass. Lots of open area there. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch sight of some wildlife – maybe a deer or even a moose!”
After an afternoon of cross-country skiing, we returned to my home. We broiled steaks and, later, relaxed in front of the woodstove, both of us deliciously tired.
“That was fun today,” I said. “I’m glad you talked me into it.”
“It’s just the beginning of our adventure together,” he replied. “And, also, I wanted to spend a whole day with you. I won’t have much free t
ime over the next few weeks.”
I nodded. Lobster season was ending, but scallop season was just beginning. Jeremy had to work on his boat, converting it for dragging in those tasty crustaceans. Maine scallops were some of the best on the planet and I looked forward to a generous free supply courtesy of my fiancé.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I understand. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, too.”
As I spoke, I remembered that strange little diary I’d found in the silo – the one that mentioned the name, Ian Morrison. Maybe tomorrow, I’d take some time to give it a read.
38
Kate
Maude’s Diary
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, alone, I pulled out the little red book. I poured myself a glass of wine then settled down on the couch to read. I’d tried to read it once before, but had fallen asleep before I could finish the first page. Tonight, however, I was wide awake and eager to embark on an adventure with Maude Prichard, the witch who was my great-great-great or whatever grandmother!
I opened the book to the first page –
“In the Year of Our Lord 1698 I was about to set off, with my husband and daughter, to reclaim my stepson, Samuel, from that evil whoreson, Ian Morrison.”
As I finished that first line, I felt my eyes grow heavy. Yawning, I put the book down, took my wine glass to the kitchen sink, and poured the contents down the drain. No more alcohol for me. I put a pod in the coffeemaker and waited while it brewed. Then, when it was ready, I returned to the couch.
The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2) Page 13