Reminiscence (Statera Saga Book 1)

by Amy Marie

  Panic.

  Every nerve wound to the point of snapping.

  In this mode, people either fixate or fumble.

  Only time will tell, and I’m running out of it.

  Unaware of how I got here, I attempt to take in my surroundings. The glow of dusk casts what’s left of the day’s light over the rocks under my feet. I’m near the river, but in an area unfamiliar to me.

  Something tells me to keep moving. I push forward, weaving along the wooded banks of the river.

  Gnawing fear grows inside of me with each passing minute, knowing that if I don’t reach the house in time, my only family that I have left will die.

  Eleanor’s father.

  The thought comes screaming into my head, along with the realization that I’m again trapped in a dream. This time I know what lies ahead and I’m filled with indescribable fear.

  Seeing that the book is not in my possession, I internally conclude that the memory of where it’s hidden has already passed. I push every part of my willpower to try to think back to what led me here, but my mind is unsuccessful.

  In all of my mental capacity, I struggle to try to gain some sort of control of the situation, or even to try to stop Eleanor. To my horror, I stumble down the bank to the familiar clearing by the river that borders the Hutchinson and Grafton lands.

  Glancing into the trees, I register that I’m on Gabriel’s side of the river. A painful stab of anger reminds me of his death. Turning back toward home, I lift the hem of my homespun gown preparing to cross the stones.

  Before my first leap, there’s a snap in the brush down the bank from me. I catch myself and come to a halt as something catches my eye just off to my side, near a path that leads to Gabriel’s property.

  There appears to be something lying just beyond the tree line. I walk down a bit closer to the object for a better look.

  A scream of pure anguish rings in my ears at the limp form of what used to be Eleanor’s father, Robert Hutchinson. A cold gaze of horror is frozen on his colorless face. My mind is screaming over and over along with the screams of Eleanor in my dream.

  Losing track of my mission, I feel strong hands grabbing onto my arms, pulling me away from the scene. My mind is stuck halfway between the remainder of the dream and my own consciousness, as I’m dragged from behind, back farther and farther into the brush away from the river.

  The knowledge is trapped in my screaming mind that this is Eleanor’s last struggle, and that it’s Talbot that has a hold of me. I’m yelling and screaming, and even begging for compassion.

  The silence that is returned from behind me is all consuming and seems to be feeding off my fear.

  Dragged to the ashes that were once the foundation of Gabriel’s home, Talbot pushes me up against a nearby tree, already singed in memory of the explosion. He binds me with my arms tied together backwards around the trunk.

  I disconnectedly watch his emotionless action as he gathers kindling and wood to pile around my feet.

  “Why are you doing this?” My voice and Eleanor’s voice both scream.

  He stops and looks at me, tilting his head to the side. “You already know by now. I will destroy the balance.”

  It’s the first time I’ve dreamed a memory of hearing Talbot’s voice after finding out what he really is. It sounds even scarier than the night of the attack. It’s as frightening and hollow as he looks. Everything about him is inhuman.

  There’s no compassion for me to draw out of him. There’s no guilt, or sorrow in his actions. There’s not even anger or hate behind his demeanor. Everything in his performance is slow, even, and deliberate. He is empty, and his mission is to destroy until everything around him is just as empty.

  This is the true face of evil.

  I struggle with all my might against my bindings as he works to start a fire at my bound feet. Screams and sobbing pleas escape my lips, hoping to get some sort of reaction, but he continues his work as if I no longer exist.

  A flame is caught in the kindling, and tears fall unchecked from my eyes as I brace myself for a painful ending.

  I look at him searching for some last gleam of hope, but the eyes that stare back at me are as empty as the glass eyes of a doll.

  Surrendering my mind to the fate that will come, I look at him one last time to say, “You will never disrupt the balance, we know now more than ever. We will always find a way…” The words struggle their way out as searing pain flicks up my lower limbs. My skirt is fueling the fire.

  His expression doesn’t change, but he mocks me with a hollow smile. “The light is subdued, and I have the power to prolong the darkness. It begins now. The balance will shift, emptiness will consume, and I will remain to assure that everything is destroyed into nothing.”

  With those last words, he walks away, and my body slumps in hopelessness.

  Sobbing in the blistering pain, I pray for numbness that refuses to come.

  Minutes pass in scorching agony, and a lifetime of memories cloud my thoughts in final chaos.

  Somehow knowing that my body only has seconds left, one last thought is pushed outward from Eleanor’s mind as if she knew one day I would be present in this memory, suffering with her and listening.

  It’s hidden where I first met him.

  And then together, we fade into nothing.

  Chapter 19

  Strong hands shake me awake, and I’m crying out in pain.

  “Nora!” Darcy has a hold of my arms, sitting at my bedside, trying to rouse me with a terrified look on his face.

  “Stop. Please, water,” I croak, hoping that quenching my thirst might melt the burning pain away. At least it will drain the memory of the taste of ash from my mouth.

  Darcy jumps up to fetch me some water and comes back to my side, holding me up with one arm and feeding me the glass.

  “I tried to wake you. You have been screaming for quite some time.” With bags under his eyes, he looks just as ragged as I feel.

  Tears flow down my cheeks as I look up at him. “I felt you, I think. When I first screamed. I felt you grab my arms to wake me, but then he grabbed me and it was like I was dragged back into the dream, and I had to finish it.”

  “I know. You have told me how intense the memories can be. What happened?” he asks, searching my eyes.

  “It was fire… earlier when we talked about the nightmares, I had thought my subconscious may have been warning me about Talbot. But now I think it’s been trying to tell me something else. I hadn’t noticed the coincidence of the deaths that I dreamt until you pointed them out. Air, water, and earth… there was one noticeably missing.”

  The thought makes my skin crawl. Goose bumps cover my arms as I begin to shiver. A burning shiver. My body aches.

  “I do not understand,” his brow wrinkles in confusion.

  “Eleanor. She was killed by fire. He burned her alive,” and as I’m saying it, I see it again, awake this time. I give him a description of the dream, sparing him the gruesome details of her pain near the end.

  When I snap out of the final memory, the true nightmare, I am shivering and numb from the ghosts of pain.

  Darcy looks like he has seen a ghost himself, and tears form in his eyes.

  “You are certain?” he asks, his voice straining not to break.

  “Not until just now, but yes. She was awake and alone… burning.” Tears keep falling unchecked from my eyes, and I have to choke the last word out.

  Darcy clenches his fists in obvious rage, and I wait in apprehension for him to let loose the dark temper I can see stirring below the surface. Looking at me, he checks his anger and releases his frustration in silent tears of pain.

  This is why they never found out what had happened to her. There was nothing left of her but ashes.

  Until now. Now the truth can finally be told through my memories.

  A new resolve has filled me. It’s as if the spirit inside of me has awoken with a vengeance. I know now that I must find a way to destroy this ev
il. I must do everything I can to help Darcy and Uncle Mike.

  But how?

  A voice of doubt halts my emotional internal pledge.

  Have faith.

  The voice of truth, whether it’s her voice, my voice, or something else entirely, assures me that it can be done.

  Darcy seems to be struggling with his own ghosts of the past, so I lay my hand on his in reassurance.

  “I’ll do everything I can,” I say, struggling to come up with words of comfort. “But Darcy, at the end of the dream, her thoughts spoke to me. It was like she knew I’d be there one day, witnessing the memory.”

  “What did she say?” he asks, snapping to attention.

  “She told me where she hid the book. She said it’s hidden where she first met you,” I tell him, hoping he will be able to unlock the mystery, since I haven’t yet had a memory of their first meeting.

  When he doesn’t respond right away, I attempt to look into his eyes for an answering memory of explanation. A glimpse of a brick structure along the river flashes in my mind, but the image is lost almost as soon as it comes.

  “That does not make sense,” he says, breaking eye contact. “I knew about her and glimpsed her several times at the river before I was formally introduced to her. But when I did finally officially meet her it was so insignificant. I barely spoke two words to her that day. In fact, she gave me the distinct impression that she did not care for me to be near her at all. She told me later on it was because she was disturbed by the overpowering reminiscence, but it was a day neither of us held dear in our memories,” he shrugs, “I am not certain why in the world she would hide it there.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  He meets my eyes again, “Gabe had just returned to his property, and he had wanted to take Eleanor to the new mill buildings along the river. The local chocolatier had just started giving tours of the mills for purchasing customers. Gabe took her there for her birthday. I did not go along, but popped in along their tour to deliver a message. When I was introduced, Eleanor refused to even look at me.”

  “A chocolate mill? Didn’t the lower mills use to be part of a chocolate company?” I ask, my voice rising in excitement. “Those buildings are still standing! They’re not too far down the river from… from where she died. I think just passed them yesterday.”

  “They are still standing. Though I do not understand how the Statera could be hidden there, or why she would choose that location?”

  “What if she chose it because of its lack of significance? Maybe she thought that Talbot would most likely look everywhere that you would think of looking.” I attempt to unlock Eleanor’s logic.

  “It is on the way from our hiding place to… to where you say she died,” he says, his voice catching in sadness.

  After a moment, I say, “It seems a safe enough place to hide it during such a period of turmoil in the area. But how could she ever have expected you to find it?”

  “To be honest, I searched everywhere. But that place never even occurred to me. The question is, could it possibly still be there?” he says, showing as much excitement as he can after such a tumultuous turn of events.

  I move to get up and he stops me. “We cannot go now,” he says, “It is late.”

  “But we can tell Uncle Mike!” I argue.

  “In the morning, Nora. I need time to let this all sink in.” I can see the weight of tonight’s revelations in his distraught features. The anxious lines of his face seem to have doubled overnight.

  Of course, I understand. He’s been haunted for hundreds of years over the question of Eleanor’s fate, and now he finally has found a horrifying answer.

  “I’m sorry, Darcy,” I say, my voice quiet.

  He looks at me with open pain, and stands up to leave, “I will let you get some rest.”

  For the rest of the night, I sit alone in my room. I’m unable to rest, mourning the knowledge of Eleanor’s suffering and death. Fear keeps me from falling back to sleep for the possibility of reliving more misery and pain.

  As I lay in bed, wondering when my anxieties will finally let me doze off into oblivion, I hear a soft knock on my door.

  I get out of bed and open it to find an exhausted looking Darcy.

  “I am sorry,” he hesitates, “I just was worried. I do not want you to have to dream about it anymore,” he struggles to explain, ending with a shrug.

  I’m touched by his concern and relieved to delay the nightmares. I walk back to my bed and grab a blanket, wrapping it around myself as I make my way out into the great room.

  We sit together on the couch in the candlelight and distract ourselves by taking a break from the reality of our daunting quest.

  After a time, Darcy tells me story after story of his long life and the developments in society that he’s seen happen throughout the years.

  “You’ve lived through all of America’s wars!” I say in astonishment at the reality of his life. Talking with a living, breathing piece of history in this context is like a dream for me. I’ve never been so fascinated in conversation in all my life.

  “I have shamefully been AWOL in every war. Only fighting at night and not being able to be killed by the enemy would raise a few brows.”

  “What do you suppose they would have done?” I ask in wonder.

  “Tried to kill me, exorcise me, or experiment on me, I would imagine. Unknown and unexplainable phenomenon is frightening to the masses. I have found it has been best to keep things discreet.”

  “Has anyone tried to kill you?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Yes. During the revolution, I traveled one night to deliver a message to a small gathering in order to help the rebel cause. In an unfortunate circumstance, two British soldiers found the group. They shot the lot of us before asking any questions. I had to play dead until they left the room, and escape out a window.” His features grow even darker than normal at the retelling of this bloody story. I quickly ask him another question to change the subject.

  I sit and listen to tale after tale of Darcy’s discoveries and accomplishments in his long life. We avoid anything that has to do with Eleanor, or the Statera for the time being, in a relaxed and easy conversation, giving ourselves a break after the horrifying discovery earlier.

  Fascinated by his descriptions of the eras of the nation, his first-hand accounts leave me awestruck. He describes the early years of the government, expansion, reform, wars, industrialism, technology, and every development in between. I barely let him finish his explanations and descriptions before I ask for more. With question after question, I’m sure that he will tire of answering, but much to my surprise, he appeases every curiosity I have.

  As the candles burn down, he begins to ask me about my life growing up in Ohio, my early life with my parents, and then my adopted family.

  There’s an unexpected natural ease in sharing my personal experiences and feelings with him, and he seems to be taking a genuine interest in me. I feel guiltily pleased by his attentions. I’m grateful that he doesn’t take one opportunity to put pressure on me by bringing his Eleanor into the conversation, or compare any likenesses or distinctions.

  The candles flicker and dim as they burn their way out, alerting us that we’ve talked into the early hours of morning.

  In the dim of the firelight, we stand up to bid our goodbyes.

  “Thank you, for giving me a much-needed break from everything. I needed the time off,” I say with genuine gratitude, while avoiding the intimate charge that comes with eye contact.

  He cocks his head to the side as if he doesn’t understand me. Grabbing my hand, he brings it to his mouth for a kiss, in what is becoming his signature gesture of farewell. “Oh, my dear lady, these past few hours we have made our greatest progress yet.”

  He gives me his most mischievous smile.

  I’m shocked to find myself warmed by the implications of the compliment. Blushing under his gaze, I fumble out a goodnight and move hastily to my room. I’m thankful to close the
door and put up the barrier against his onslaught of affection.

  This time when I hear soft laughter from the other side, I roll my eyes vowing next time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

  After the exhausting night, I wake up refreshed later in the day, but disappointed to not have made any progress with memories in my dreamless sleep. I was dead to the world in my unconscious state.

  Out in the great room I share breakfast with Darcy, and he informs me that he has updated Uncle Mike with the happenings overnight. They’re arranging for a way to get in and search the old mill buildings, hoping that I might have a dreaming memory of a precise hiding location.

  Not sure of what to do in the meantime, I get myself cleaned up and grab my phone to send out emails to my family, checking in again.

  When the messages are sent, I remember the photos and videos of the river from the other morning stored on my phone. Hoping for inspiration, my thumb slides through the small images wishing I could blow them up to make them bigger.

  Struck with a brilliant idea, I jump up and make my way up to Uncle Mike’s office, hoping he can assist me in carrying out my newest project.

  After spending some time on Uncle Mike’s office computer, I ask him to help arrange everything I need to pull off my plan.

  I make my way back down to the sanctuary with butterflies in my stomach.

  Either this is a really good idea, or a really bad idea. But either way I think it might help spark more memories.

  Knocking on Darcy’s door, he opens it with a questioning look. I invite him to follow me.

  Chapter 20

  Feeling like a child again, I ask Darcy to close his eyes as I lead him up from the sanctuary.

  We go out of Uncle Mike’s office and down the basement hallway. As we pass, Uncle Mike gives me a thumbs up, silently letting me know everything is in place.

  We approach the door to the designated room. I check to make sure Darcy is not peeking as I open it up, and we step inside. For full effect, we move directly to the center of the room.