Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle)

by Wheaton, Kimber Leigh

  Headlights illuminate the area around us as a dark SUV screeches to a halt just feet away. Michelle emerges from the driver’s seat, her face pale and pinched with worry. She races to Mrs. Kincaid’s side, kneeling in the hard gravel of the driveway. Placing her hands on either side of the comatose woman’s head, she closes her eyes and appears to go into a trance. We wait in silence while Michelle rocks back and forth, moaning and whimpering.

  Icy tendrils of fear shoot through my veins as the seconds turn into minutes. Numerous emotions race across Michelle’s face, one after the other, too close together to begin deciphering. Though, one stands out much more than the others. Terror. Stomach clenching, throat closing, silent screaming panic. When you become aware there’ll be no escape—that moment when all hope dies.

  Logan pulls me into his arms, and I hide my face against his shoulder. The look in Michelle’s eyes is all too familiar, bringing back scores of painful memories best left buried. The roar of an engine breaks the oppressive silence followed by the blinding glare of headlights. Rebecca and Carl have finally arrived. Logan wasn’t kidding when he said Carl drove like a grandma. They leap from the van, racing to our side. When I glance at Rebecca, whatever she was about to say sticks in her throat. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like a grouper, before she slams it closed with an audible click.

  “Kacie, you look terrified,” Carl says in a high-pitched, shaky voice. “What’s going on?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Logan murmurs. “Michelle’s still in her trance. It isn’t good… not based on her facial expressions anyway.”

  “But Kacie,” Rebecca says, staring at me. “What’s wrong with Kacie?”

  Swallowing around the hard lump that formed in my throat, I try to speak, to say I’m fine. Logan silences me before I can begin to utter platitudes.

  “We need to know what’s wrong,” he says, nuzzling my hair. “It’s important that we don’t keep secrets from the Circle during an investigation.”

  “Even the smallest, seemingly insignificant detail can be important,” Rebecca adds. “Anything you tell us is strictly confidential and won’t be shared outside the Circle.”

  “I have a strong feeling of déjà vu,” I say in a soft whisper, glancing at the darkened land around us. Taking a deep breath, I try to stop my racing heart from beating right out of my chest. “My mind is screaming at my body to run, to escape before it’s too late. It started when I was watching the different expressions crossing Michelle’s face.”

  “Have you been here before?” Carl asks the obvious question.

  “No, I’m sure I haven’t,” I reply, as I fight the familiar sensations, “not in body anyway.” Three pairs of eyes stare at me in confusion, waiting for me to clarify my ambiguous statement. “I think I’ve been here in my recurring nightmare.”

  The second the words leave my mouth, I’m overwhelmed by intense waves of nausea. Nightmare images flash through my mind. My knees buckle—Logan’s arms around me the only thing keeping me from collapsing to the ground. A sharp pain stabs through my head, and I close my eyes in a desperate attempt to banish the blinding agony. Hot tears burn my cheeks as I succumb to the debilitating pain.

  “Kacie, stop thinking about your vision,” Logan says, his voice sounding like it’s far away, down a long tunnel. “Focus on my voice, forget everything else. Ah hell…”

  Logan buries his fingers in my hair, pulling my head away from his shoulder. His lips descend on mine in a tender caress, drawing my attention away from my internal demons. Winding my arms around his neck, I cling to him like he’s the only thing anchoring me in this stormy chaos. The pain in my head recedes along with all coherent thought. His lips move up my cheeks, kissing away the tears before returning to claim my lips again. He shares the salty taste of my tears as his tongue dances with mine.

  “I would’ve slapped her, but this works too,” Rebecca says, snorting in a failed attempt to hide her laughter. “You may want to consider stopping now. Just saying…”

  “Hey, Rebecca,” Carl says in a choked voice. “You sure you don’t need some help too?”

  “This really isn’t the time for jokes,” Rebecca says.

  There’s a dull thud that I assume was Rebecca hitting Carl for his ridiculous suggestion. I pull back a bit, and Logan leans down, resting his forehead against mine.

  “You better now?” he asks in a husky whisper.

  “Yeah,” I manage to reply through my closed throat. Taking several deep breaths, I stop myself from grasping at the lingering wisps of memory. “That was… um… thanks.”

  “I wish a girl would thank me for kissing her,” Carl whines.

  “You’d just be lucky if she doesn’t hit you,” Rebecca retorts, adding a kick to Carl’s shin to prove her point.

  A shrill scream draws our attention back to Michelle and Mrs. Kincaid. Michelle pulls away from Mrs. Kincaid, her breath coming in pained gasps. She stumbles backward away from the car, her body bent over as she vomits the contents of her stomach on an unsuspecting bush.

  “Crap, crap, crap!” Rebecca cries, racing to Michelle’s side. She supports the girl’s body, leading her over to lean against a tree. “Don’t just stand there, Carl. Help me!”

  While Michelle continues to dry heave against the tree, Mrs. Kincaid opens her eyes. She peers around as if confused, taking in the worried faces before closing her eyes once more. It’s so quiet. Standing amid the trees I expect to hear insects chirping, perhaps the occasional barn owl, or deer rustling through the forest. There’s nothing but the sounds of my companions: Logan’s soft breathing, Michelle’s quick gasps, and now a low keening from Mrs. Kincaid.

  “Demon,” Mrs. Kincaid whispers, her eyes still closed.

  “Demon,” Michelle echoes in a faint whimper.

  “Demon? As in Dante’s Inferno, Christian Hell, Devil spawn?” Rebecca asks, her voice failing to conceal her doubt.

  “Evil takes many forms,” Mr. Kincaid says while cradling his wife in his arms. “Labels are merely an attempt to classify something impossible to comprehend. We’ll meet at my house tomorrow afternoon to discuss this investigation.”

  “Um, is it safe for us to stay here?” Bob Carter asks. He and his wife had been so quiet during the entire episode. I almost forgot they were here.

  “Do you have somewhere else you can stay?” Devon asks, taking charge when Mr. Kincaid continues to fuss over his wife.

  “Yeah, we haven’t sold our other house yet,” Beth Carter says.

  “I’d recommend staying there until we have more information,” Devon says, his worried eyes trained on Michelle, still huddled on the ground next to the tree. “We’ll contact you tomorrow after our meeting.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Carter both nod their agreement before walking toward the dark house in the distance. Devon races to Michelle’s side, pulling her into his arms and carrying her to the still-running SUV.

  “I’ll take Michelle home,” Devon says, placing the girl in the passenger seat. “Text me with the time of the meeting tomorrow.”

  We watch in silence as the SUV takes off down the winding drive, kicking up gravel in its wake. My mind races with questions. But worse are the answers hidden somewhere deep within me, tickling my psyche. Each time I pull at the wispy images, my stomach clenches in pain, forcing me to tear my thoughts back to the present. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, my mind drifts back to the black and white dream images.

  “I told you to stop,” Logan says, his arm creeping across my shoulders. “Don’t pursue those dream images now. You’ll only get sick.”

  “Yeah, I kinda figured that out on my own,” I reply, gasping as another wave of nausea hits. “Easier said than done,” I murmur between clenched teeth.

  “I’d like you four to go back the King’s Ransom Inn and complete the investigation tonight,” Mr. Kincaid says, drawing my attention away from my internal struggle.

  “But, sir, shouldn’t we be d
oing something about this?” Rebecca asks, waving her arm in a sweeping motion at the property bathed in darkness.

  “Not tonight,” he replies, his voice thready and weak. “There’s something big here. We’ll need to prepare before anyone returns to this property. Let’s clear up our other investigations so we can all concentrate on whatever is going on here.”

  “Evil,” Mrs. Kincaid’s voice floats over from the car.

  “I need to get her out of here,” Mr. Kincaid says before his eyes drift back to the car. “Meet at my house tomorrow afternoon at four.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rebecca chirps with a two fingered salute.

  “Go, now. I’m not leaving until I see the taillights of your cars heading back up the drive,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just in case you have any ideas of investigating without supervision.”

  Logan takes my arm, leading me to his Mustang. He opens the passenger door, waiting until I’m inside to close it. The act of chivalry is both amusing and sweet. He’s treating me like I’m made of glass. Funny thing is, at this moment in time, he may be right. My jaw is clenched, my hands fisted at my sides, and I can’t stop shaking. Perhaps a hard blow would shatter me into a million pieces…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Freak Show

  When the Mustang pulls up in front of the inn, Mrs. Anders awaits us at the curb.

  “Can you say freak show?” I whisper. “The headlights make her look even creepier… as if that’s possible.”

  “I wasn’t thinking,” Logan says, pulling the car over but keeping the odd woman bathed in the lights. “I should’ve stayed with Carl. I wonder how far back he is.”

  “Why is she out here waiting?”

  “I assume Rebecca called to let her know we were coming back,” he says, turning off the engine.

  “Okay, but again, why is she out here in the cold, with no jacket?” I ask after glancing at the green dash display. “It’s fifty-two degrees out here, she must be freezing in short sleeves.”

  “Kacie, if that’s the strangest thing we deal with tonight, I’ll be happy,” Logan says, flashing me a grin. “Let’s go talk to the crazy lady.”

  “All she needs are a few cats to hurl at us…”

  “Simpsons fan?” Logan asks.

  “What gave it away?”

  Logan opens his door, unfolding his lean body from the bucket seat. With a ragged sigh, I throw the door open a little harder than necessary, and push myself out of the deep seat. Mrs. Anders rushes over, a wild glimmer in her eyes.

  “I’m so glad you returned,” she gushes while bouncing up and down. She looks like a kid waiting in line for the ice cream truck.

  “I’m glad we were able to return so quickly,” Logan says in a calm tone.

  He seems to have a flair for dealing with annoying people. I remain silent since anything I say would be rude. With any luck the bizarre woman will ignore me.

  My stomach settled the moment we left Foxblood Manor. But the phantom images left along with the pain. Strange, no matter how hard I try, the images that were so clear while we were there are nothing but a wispy memory now. I try once more to grab at a tenuous image only to have it dart away deeper into my mind.

  “So, Kacie was it?” Mrs. Anders asks, turning to face me, her wide eyes unblinking. She looks like a spooky owl. “You seem a bit edgy.”

  Edgy, really? No way in hell am I explaining the million ways I’ve been put on edge tonight. This crazy harpy is making a bad night ten times worse. Oh God! Do harpies exist? I glance at the manic woman from the corner of my eye, watching her shake and bounce. No wings are visible, so probably not a real harpy. Besides, she’s fixated on me, and if I remember my mythology correctly, harpies go after guys.

  Just as I’m cursing my never-ending bad luck, I hear the roar of the van pull up to the curb. My eyes haven’t left Mrs. Anders for at least thirty rapid heartbeats. She still hasn’t blinked. What is going on? Or maybe more apt, what is she on? I whisper my suspicions to Logan, and he regards her with a cold glare.

  “Well, Mrs. Anders, I’m so glad we were able to make it back tonight,” Rebecca says from behind me. I jump, startled by her voice.

  “Oh, Rebecca, you’ve returned too,” Mrs. Anders says, her voice hard. Now who’s edgy? “Come, Kacie, let’s go inside while your friends get together all that strange equipment.”

  She tries to grab my arm, but Logan moves between us, placing my hand on his arm. Wrapping my arm around his biceps, I smile up at him, relief flooding me. He gives me a big grin followed by a sly wink. Mrs. Anders whips around and takes off toward the front door.

  “She really freak you out that much?” Carl asks, peeking his head out of the back of the van.

  “It’s fine, Carl,” Rebecca says with a loud sigh. “Just get the equipment and let’s wrap up this circus sideshow.”

  “You okay with us staying here tonight?” Logan asks after pulling me away from the others.

  “Yeah, as long as I don’t have to be alone,” I reply, refusing to allow that bat-crap crazy woman to keep me from completing my first Circle assignment.

  “Hmm, is that an invitation?” he purrs against my ear.

  My eyes blink a few times while I process his words. I’m terrified and he’s making a joke? Though part of me wants to throttle him, deep down I know it must be his way of dealing with a difficult situation.

  “Maybe not the best time for a joke,” he chuckles when I glare at him.

  “Ya think?” Rebecca says, pushing past us to stomp toward the door. “Oh wait, stupid question.”

  “Rebecca, aren’t you gonna help with all this stuff?” Carl whines from the curb.

  “I’m sure Romeo will help you,” Rebecca says over her shoulder. “He needs something else to occupy his hands.”

  Logan freezes at her words, one hand entwined in my hair and the other at the small of my back. I glance up into his shocked eyes, watching the blush spread across his tanned cheeks. My lips curl into a smile, and I lean up to peck him lightly on the lips.

  “You look so adorable right now,” I whisper against his mouth before pulling away and following Rebecca to the door.

  “Way to leave him wanting more,” Rebecca whispers as I join her on the porch.

  While that wasn’t my intention, when I glance back at Logan, my heart leaps at the intense look of longing in his eyes. Celia would be proud. Rebecca snorts her laughter when Carl whines again for help, snapping Logan’s attention away from me.

  “Damn, girl,” Rebecca murmurs. “You need to teach me how to do that.”

  “I wish I knew myself,” I mumble in reply.

  My gaze is torn from Logan’s tall form when the front door flies open with a loud creak. The hallway beyond the door is empty. Maybe the wind blew it open. When I run my fingers along the dark wood, I gasp under my breath. It’s a brand new door with inventory stickers still pasted on the inner frame. I wonder how they managed to get it to creak like that.

  “Old hinges,” Rebecca whispers the answer to my unspoken question. “All the doors in the house have them.”

  “That’s just plain weird,” I comment, wondering why someone would go through a remodel just to use old rusty hinges on new doors.

  “This is only part of the weird,” Rebecca says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Once the bat and her husband go to sleep, I’ll fill you in.”

  “Is it anything I should know before opening myself to the spirits?” I ask, not sure if Rebecca understands the dangers a medium faces. Lack of information is seldom a good thing.

  “Oh, no. Don’t worry,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder. “It’s more about the changes she made during the remodel. Weird secret passages with spy holes looking into the rooms… that sort of freaky thing. Oh, and you’d expect the place to have new wiring, right? Well it doesn’t. Makes the lighting a bit erratic at times, not to mention it screws with the EMF.”

  My c
uriosity is piqued. It’s like Mr. and Mrs. Anders created a haunted attraction rather than an inn.

  “They also didn’t fix the floorboards before putting in the new carpeting, so the stairs creak a lot,” Rebecca adds in a whisper.

  Standing next to Rebecca on the porch, I watch Logan and Carl lug the equipment from the van. My pulse leaps when Mrs. Anders appears again. She’s like some scary English butler, skulking in the shadows and popping up when needed. We follow the guys into the living room, watching as they deposit the equipment on the coffee table.

  “I feel like we just did this,” Carl mutters under his breath.

  “I’ll set up the spirit board on the table,” Mrs. Anders says in a dramatic whisper.

  She glides from the room, leaving behind a cloud of her cloying perfume. Covering my nose, I glance at my friends, wondering if I’m the only one affected by the eye-watering scent. Carl lets out a loud sneeze. Nope I’m not alone. She breezes back into the room, the board tucked under one arm and a reluctant Mr. Anders towed by the other.

  It’s odd. Mr. Anders has a look of… I don’t know… perhaps fear… in his eyes. I watch his gaze dart between his wife and the tray in his hands. As edgy as I am right now, I know what edgy looks like, and that man in most definitely edgy. Maybe he doesn’t like spirits.

  He places a tray of lemonade on the table and pours glasses for everyone. I drain my glass in seconds and he pours me another. We watch in silence while Mrs. Anders sets up the board on the dining room table. I keep waiting for Logan to say something. We aren’t going to let her use the board, are we? My pulse races at the thought. Nothing good comes from opening a portal. If Mrs. Anders uses the board the same way most people do, we may be in for a dangerous night.

  “Okay, it’s all ready,” Mrs. Anders says in an excited whisper.

  We join her around the long, oak table. Our host sits at the end with her husband to her right. The spirit board is ancient, beautiful. It looks like an antique. I wonder how many spirits have been called across the veil with her board. The planchette is light ivory in color, almost white. Marble I hope. My mind whispers bone, and a shiver races through my body.