The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection

by Tanya R. Taylor

  "Just a little over three months now," Hollie replied.

  "Three months?" Sara was surprised.

  "Yes."

  "Oh, I just thought you might have been working here much longer than that… not sure why."

  Suddenly, Hollie was quiet, sensing that perhaps Mrs. Cullen was wondering how her husband could be chummy enough to be having lunch with a newcomer. From that point on, the conversation had pretty much died and after Sara had made her selection at the counter, they rejoined Michael at the table.

  "You're gonna eat all that?" He asked, inspecting his wife's tray.

  Feeling somewhat embarrassed by Michael's question, Sara replied: "I've got salad, a little chicken and a pie. I don't think it's a whole lot to be eating right now."

  "Absolutely not, Sara! I eat way more than that at every meal," Hollie said, defending Sara.

  Just then, Michael realized that his plan of 'not coming off as a jerk in front of Hollie' seemed to have fallen out of the window.

  "I was just saying… because I know you're always concerned about your weight and all," he said. Oh man! I did it again! He could have kicked himself.

  Unsure of what else to say, Hollie started sipping her drink and Sara minced on her salad. She sat there feeling like the 'third wheel' as Michael couldn't seem to hide the real him even in public since he had practiced constantly being condescending at home so well. She was almost sorry that she ever showed up there like that and inwardly decided to never do it again.

  After some awkward chattering, Hollie again told Sara that it was a pleasure meeting her and she left to go back to work. Michael remained a few minutes longer to see his wife off before doing the same.

  "Are you angry that I came?" Sara asked him quietly.

  Michael's face was now as stiff as steel—the way she was accustomed to seeing it. "I just wish you would have called; that's all." He took a sip of water.

  "I understand, but I just wanted to surprise you," Sara replied.

  "Well… you did. I have to get back to work now, so I'll see you at home later, okay?"

  "Okay," Sara got up and Michael followed. They silently rode the elevator together, Michael got off on his department floor and Sara continued down to the ground feeling like she had messed up once again. She walked out of the building much slower than she had initially walked in—not because she was tired, but because she was now depressed.

  "Ready to go?" Beverley asked Sara who was sitting at the nurses' booth with a hand across her forehead, obviously deep in thought.

  "It's four already?" Sara asked.

  "Actually ten past," Beverley replied.

  "Okay. Just give me a minute."

  "Going to check on Sherlong?"

  "He insists on it every day before I leave," Sara managed a smile that Beverley could tell took some effort.

  "Okay, I'll wait here," Beverley said.

  Sara walked down the corridor with arms folded.

  "Freedom Queen…" Sherlong said, delighted to see Sara.

  "Just wanted to let you know I'm leaving now," she said, standing at the door.

  "What's wrong? You tired or something?" Sherlong picked up on her not-so-cheerful demeanor.

  "Yes…very," Sara replied.

  "Well then, you get plenty of rest tonight. You hear? Don't let that husband of yours keep you up late. You gotta be able to tend to me in the morning."

  "I'll take your advice," Sara returned. "Have a good evening."

  "You too, queen," Sherlong said as she was leaving.

  "Ready?" Sara asked Beverley as she reached for her purse behind the booth.

  "All ready," Beverley replied. They said goodbye to their colleague who remained at the desk and then headed out the front entrance of the hospital toward the parking lot.

  Beverley was never at a loss for words. All during the drive, she went on about her life—car problems, cat problems and insomnia. She was menopausal and having a really difficult time getting to sleep most nights.

  "I think I'm experiencing an early form of 'The Change'," Sara said, referring to the conversation of menopause.

  "You think?"

  "Yeah. I'm getting a bit moody and having some anxiety these days. I'm sure they're a couple of symptoms related to that stage."

  "Yeah. They are," Beverley said. "Look Sara… I didn't want to bring this up 'cause I know how private you are."

  Sara was quiet - kind of knowing where Beverley was heading with that intro.

  "Is everything all right at home?"

  "Sure. Why do you ask?" Sara returned, keeping her eyes on the road.

  "You don't look so happy, Sara. I've noticed for a while now that you seem to have a lot on your mind most of the time."

  "Maybe it's that pre-menopausal thing I just mentioned," Sara replied, uncomfortable with the topic.

  "Maybe," Beverley said. "But I don't think so."

  Sara sighed heavily. "Bev, I know that I confided in you once before about my and Michael's issues, but since then, we've been pretty good. We're getting on just fine; believe me."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really."

  "You wouldn't lie to me, right?" Beverley probed.

  "You know I wouldn't, Bev."

  "Okay… well maybe you are experiencing part of 'The Change' then. Let me tell you how you can tackle those mood swings and anxiety…"

  Beverley went on to offer Sara a list of remedies for her apparent self-diagnosed condition and continued with the subject for the remainder of the drive. Sara soon pulled up in front of Beverley's house. It was a single-storey, yellow, trimmed white concrete structure near a cul-de-sac. Her blue sedan was up on blocks on the carport and immediately, Beverley was annoyed.

  "That damn boy still hasn't gotten to it yet!"

  "Tom's supposed to be fixing it?" Sara asked.

  "Who else? You think I should have to pay a stranger to fix my car when my own grown boy is more than capable? These children today are really a piece of work! All that pain you go through to have them; you feed them; you clothe them; and when they grow up, they can't even be reliable enough to fix your bloody vehicle when they know how to?! How awful is that? He has me catching lifts up and down and he doesn't even have a job to go to! When he passes here tonight, his you-know-what is grass!"

  "I'll see you tomorrow, Bev." Sara laughed weakly.

  "Yeah. Thanks friend." Beverley got out of the car and closed the door. When Sara pulled off, Beverley was still grumbling as she made her way inside the house.

  That evening, Sara retired to bed early. She had prepared dinner for her family, but didn't join them at the table.

  5

  _________________

  "Are you all right, Mom?" Mira asked, walking inside her mother's bedroom after dinner.

  "Oh, honey. Come sit here," Sara replied, reaching out to her. Mira went over to the bed and sat next to her mother.

  "I'm doing just fine, honey," Sara said, rubbing Mira's arm. "I'm just a little tired; that's all."

  "Are you sure, Mom? Are you sure it's not Dad?" Mira asked, much to her mother's surprise.

  Sara sat up. "Why do you ask that, Mira? Your dad and I are doing fine."

  "Mom, there's no use trying to cover for him. Both Wade and I can see that Dad doesn't treat you very well. He barely seems to notice you sometimes. Why do you let him treat you like that?"

  Sara was momentarily at a loss for words. "Treat me like what?" She eventually asked.

  "You know how he treats you. For one… you talk to him all the time and he's hardly ever listening; he's not affectionate towards you like some other men are with their wives."

  "How do you know what other men are like?"

  "I watch TV, Mom. Most men aren't like Dad. They're good to their wives. They talk to them, cuddle with them, play around sometimes - Dad doesn’t do any of that with you. He doesn't even seem to like you," Mira explained.

  Sara took Mira's hand and held it gently. "Your dad loves me, Mira. He l
oves you and Wade too—very, very much. He just isn't one to express his feelings; that's all. I know that sometimes his behavior seems cold…"

  "Sometimes?" Mira interjected.

  "I know, dear, but that's just the way he is. He doesn't mean anything by it. Believe me."

  "I just wish he was different. It's not so much that he doesn't even say very much to Wade and me, but I just hate the way he treats you, Mom. I can't stand it." Mira was at the verge of tears.

  Sara pulled her daughter closer and stroked her hair. "I'm fine, honey. I'm happy… really. I want you to believe that. All of us have so much to be grateful to your father for. He provides for us, takes such good care of us…"

  "You work too, Mom," Mira indicated.

  "Yes. But I only work because I want to, dear. I love my job. If it were up to your father, I wouldn’t work because he earns enough money to sustain this family all by himself. By being a nurse, I get to take care of people and that's something I love to do, but I can retire tomorrow if I want to and your dad would not have a problem with that. So, trust me… he's a wonderful man. He may not say a lot or be very affectionate, but he loves his family. He loves us all very much and I want you to remember that.

  "Okay, Mom," Mira replied, getting up. As she opened the door to leave, her father was heading to the bedroom. She briefly made eye contact with him, then headed to her own room.

  * * * *

  Mira got up to use the bathroom. The alarm clock on her night-stand read: 2:33am. As she walked into the dark hallway, she suddenly heard a noise; it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen—as if a tin pan or pot had dropped onto the floor. With heart racing, she reluctantly forced herself to go have a look. She rounded the bend towards the front area, switched on the living room light and carefully proceeded into the kitchen. Scanning the floor, Mira was now confused about the sound she had heard—there was no evidence of anything having dropped—neither in the dining area.

  Not knowing what the sound was and also not so keen anymore on finding out, she switched off the light and quickly headed to the bathroom. When she was finished, she walked out into the dark hallway again and headed to her bedroom. After crawling into bed, she reached over for the covers and on turning, her eyes met those of the mysterious, haggard woman she had seen before. The ghostly visitant was standing over her again with overwhelming sadness in her eyes and strangely, her entire silhouette glowed in the dark—the blood on her white dress eerily prominent. Though standing, she seemed to be floating several inches off the floor just as Mira had seen her in the closet of the Ferguson house. Startled and afraid, Mira quickly backed up against the head-board, knees raised, hugging them tightly with both arms.

  "What do you want?!" She demanded in a shaky voice, staring at the apparition and hoping the thing would not hurt her.

  "Have… you… seen… him?" The woman made a slight turn of the head.

  "Who? Who are you talking about?" Mira pleaded.

  The woman slowly raised her left hand, then suddenly, she was gone.

  Wanting more than anything to dart into her parents' room as she had done before, Mira fiercely resisted. She remained against the head-board for what felt like hours—trying to digest the reality of what had just occurred.

  As soon as the thought hit her, she sprung out of bed and hurried across to Wade's room.

  "Wake up! Wake up!" She shook him vigorously.

  Wade rolled over and cracked his eyes. "What do you want?" He asked lazily.

  "I have to talk to you!"

  "Can't this wait?" He asked.

  "No, it can't," Mira sat next to him and switched on the lamp. "I've seen her again, Wade."

  "Seen who?"

  "The woman from the Ferguson house."

  "What? Where?" Wade was now fully awake.

  "She was in my room again!" Mira replied.

  Wade rubbed his forehead and sighed. "What does she want? Did she say anything?"

  "Only the same thing as last time. She keeps asking me if I've seen him. I have no idea who she's talking about. This time, I actually asked her who she was referring to and she just disappeared right in front of me."

  "Wow. That's weird," Wade said.

  "I'm afraid to be alone in there. I don't know why she keeps coming to me!" Mira was clearly frustrated. "Can I sleep in here tonight?"

  "Okay. Let's just hope she doesn't come in here too," Wade answered.

  Mira slipped under the covers with her brother and tried very hard to fall asleep.

  * * * *

  "That was a really awkward situation the other day." Hollie took a bite out of her donut.

  "What do you mean?" Michael asked.

  "Well… your wife showing up like that. You didn't seem that happy to see her." Suddenly, Hollie felt like she had wandered into waters she had no place veering into. "I'm sorry," she wiped her lips. "I didn't mean to get into your business like that. Forgive me."

  "No. No… that's quite all right, Hollie. You're right; I wasn't happy to see her," Michael admitted, much to Hollie's surprise.

  He sighed deeply. "Sara and I are not in the best place right now, you might say. We have some issues like every other couple out there does."

  Hollie slowly stirred her orange juice with a straw. "Pardon my asking, but are you two trying to work out those issues?" She asked, for the most part still looking at the juice.

  Michael cleared his throat. "In a way…yes and in a way… no," he replied.

  Hollie stopped stirring and looked up. "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean that one of us is trying and one of us isn't."

  "Which one are you? The one that is or the one that isn't?"

  Michael reached for his water and took a sip. "I guess I'm the one that isn't."

  Hollie was dumb-struck. Was Michael Cullen really coming out and revealing to her—a mere stranger—that he was having marital problems?

  Sensing her shock, Michael said: "I know that doesn’t sound good, but it's true."

  "Your wife seems like a lovely lady, Michael," Hollie finally replied. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't feel like working out your problems?"

  Michael placed both elbows on the table and clasped his hands together beneath his chin. "The thing is… nothing's so bad. Everything is good. My wife is a wonderful woman. I know she loves me, does everything for me and the kids, and tries really hard to please me… but as strange as this sounds… that might be the problem," he said.

  Hollie was totally consumed by this incredible revelation. "Let me make sure I understand you. In essence, you're saying that your marriage is falling apart because everything is good?"

  "No. My marriage isn’t falling apart—that's not what I'm saying." Michael stretched out his arms on the table. "Sara and I are just having a bit of a struggle because in my mind I can't properly process, I guess, all the attention she gives me. It's always been that way and I think that the more time went by, I didn't know how to appreciate it anymore."

  Hollie stared at him for a few seconds, hands clasped together on her lap. "Are you still in love with her?" She asked evenly.

  "I love her," was Michael's reply.

  * * * *

  The sounds emanating from the motel room were only vague from the sidewalk. The thick, brown curtains had been drawn a few minutes earlier for reasons of privacy. A man's pair of black shoes and a woman's high-heel silver pair had been strewn across the floor along with a long, gray khaki pants, short-sleeved striped dress shirt, a silver mini-dress, and some underwear. The romantic interlude in the queen-sized bed was intense as the couple gyrated slowly beneath the thick blanket.

  As the man looked deeply into the woman's eyes, he kissed her lips passionately and wished that the moment would never end.

  * * * *

  Feeling unusually tired, Sara had taken the day off from work. She had spent hours in bed wondering why she couldn't manage to pull herself together.

  She walked into the kitchen for a gla
ss of water and after looking up at the clock, noticed that it was 6:57pm. Thinking it odd that Michael wasn't yet at home, she sat down at the counter near the wall, picked up the phone and dialed his work number. The Gaming Board closed at 5:00pm, but Sara was sure that Michael was putting in a little overtime and had just forgotten to call.

  "Security." A man answered the line after the third ring.

  "Hi. Good night. I'm trying to reach Michael Cullen please," Sara said.

  "Mister Cullen's already left for the day, ma'am," the officer responded.

  "Really? Oh… I guess he's stuck in traffic then. Thank you, sir." Sara hung up the receiver with an uneasiness inside her gut. It was strange for Michael not to call, she thought. What if he got into an accident?

  She walked over to the back door to see if it was locked. Wade and Mira were evidently in one of their rooms since Sara could clearly hear them arguing back and forth.

  "Kids, keep it quiet in there!" She hollered before heading back to her bedroom. Just then, she heard a car pull up on the driveway. With a huge sense of relief, she turned and walked over to the living room window. Michael was closing the car door and heading inside with briefcase in hand. Sara proceeded to meet him at the kitchen door.

  "Where have you been?" She asked before he barely stepped inside.

  "I had to drop off some documents after work," Michael passed her, heading over to the couch.

  "Don't they have a messenger for that?"

  "Sure, but I decided I would take the documents to the vendor myself." He looked up from the chair—eyes reprimanding her for having the nerve to conduct that line of questioning.

  "I was worried that something might have happened to you," Sara said, wanting to ease the rapidly building tension.

  "Why? Because I got home an hour later than usual? Come on, Sara! That's crazy!" Michael kicked off his shoes. "Next time I decide to make a quick stop after work for any reason at all, I'll make sure to call; okay?"

  Choosing to ignore Michael's sarcasm, Sara said, "I'll get your dinner now."