A few seconds later, Shannon shot up off the couch. “Shuuuutuuuup!” She slapped her hands over her ears. “Nana, nana, boo boo, I can’t hear you, Mother.” Her heart raced as beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. “Why can’t you just stay fucking dead?” She stopped in place, wrapped her arms around her waist, and bent over. “Leave me alone!”
Her blood boiled as she tried to drown out her mother’s voice telling her again that she was stupid and fat and ugly and would never amount to a tinker’s damn. Trembling, she shouted, “Vamoose, ya damn ghost.”
“I need you, Clint.” Shannon staggered to the phone in the kitchen, started to dial and then stopped. Shaking her head, she said, “No. no. no.” Each no she said a little louder.
“Boys don’t like to be chased.” She stared at the phone, willing it to ring. “Call me, honey, please!” After a few seconds of silence, Shannon banged her fist down hard on the countertop. “I said, call me, you son of a bitch.”
She downed the last of the wine and opened another Chardonnay. Weaving down the hallway, she stopped in the doorway of her bedroom.
Clothes were strewn across the floor and bed, a couple of glasses stained in red wine sat on the bedside table, and two of the three lights in the ceiling fan had gone out months ago. “So what if I live like a pig? No one gives a damn about me anyway.”
Feeling no pain, she set the wine down on the carpet. After struggling to pull the turtleneck sweater over her head, she unzipped her slacks and started to wiggle out of them. But when her foot caught in a pant leg, Shannon tumbled backward onto the mattress.
“I didn’t deserve this life.” Shannon brought her head up, leaned back on her elbows, and looked up. “I blame You, whoever the hell you are, for my piddly-diddly life.” She shook an angry fist at the ceiling. “You’re to blame for all the crap I’ve been through.”
In her bra and underpants, she weaved to the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the bedroom door. “Look at me, Mama.” Turning side-to-side, Shannon admired herself. “I’m pretty.” She turned to her side and sucked in her flabby stomach. “I’s pretty as a peach.” She pulled her shoulder length hair up on top of her head and held it in place, smiling at her reflection.
Shannon slouched down on the carpet and leaned her back against the bed. In between swallows of the cheap wine random thoughts about Clint, her mother, and her life filled her mind.
Wait! What if Clint was on his way here? To her house? What if he felt guilty that he’d dissed her and wanted to make it up to her?
Shannon had to be ready for him… shower… do her hair… her makeup… and get into that pretty pink negligee she bought just for him.
Using the mattress to help her stand, before she went to the bathroom, Shannon flicked on the space heater. Included with the cracker box of a house her mother left behind was a rotten old furnace that wouldn't heat a damn doghouse.
This was the night. She knew it. Clint was as miserable as Shannon was not being able to share with the world that they were in love. Tonight they would consummate their love. Just thinking about Clint touching her, nibbling his way down to her private place sent chills through Shannon.
Naked, she pulled back the shower curtain, and stepped into the shower.
“Come to me, my love,” she whispered, as the hot water rolled down her back, shoulders, and thighs. “I need you.”
When Shannon’s eyes started to sting she sniffed the air. Something was burning. Had she put something in the oven and forgotten about it?
She stepped out of the tub and, as she turned the corner into the hallway, she gasped. “Oh my God!” she shouted when she saw smoke rolling out of her bedroom door.
Hurrying down the hall, Shannon stood frozen in place when she saw flames moving rapidly across the carpet to the curtains. “Sweet Jesus, no.” Her eyes flicked to the wine bottle that had fallen on the space heater.
Her lungs filling with smoke, she raced back to the bathroom. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Trembling, she grabbed a towel, stuffed it down into the sink, and turned on the water.
Rushing back to her bedroom with the drenched cloth, she slapped it down over the sizzling blaze over and over again, but it was too late. She needed help.
Gasping, her throat parched, Shannon weaved toward the living room. Her lungs felt like they were going to explode and her legs were wobbly. God help me. Someone help me.
When she glanced back over her shoulder, she saw the fire heading straight for her. Crumbling to the floor wheezing and weak, dancing flames licked at her toes, the scorching pain excruciating.
I don’t want to die, she tried to say, but nothing came out. She crept forward on her stomach; her mouth wide open, fighting for air.
Disoriented, Shannon didn’t even know if she was going in the right direction.
Just as the tips of her fingers touched the bottom of the front door, she could no longer fight the battle and everything around her turned to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘
IT HAD ONLY TAKEN SECONDS FOR WINSTON to channel Faith. It was as if she wanted to take him to her sister.
“Where are we going? Winston asked.
She turned around. “You’ll see.”
When they stepped out of the sultry tunnel, what he saw took Winston’s breath away.
To the right looked like an ocean, or a large body of water, with gentle waves lapping at the shoreline of a white sandy beach. A few feet out from the shore, bright-colored fish shot up out of the crystal-clear water and dove gracefully back in. He noticed two child-size lounge chairs shaded by pink umbrellas and surrounded by sand pails and beach balls
To his left was a dense forest with tall, regal pine trees. It was like Kentucky and Florida had been seamlessly woven together.
When he heard music, Winston spotted the carousel. Lights flashed above pairs of plastic ponies following each other around a circle as they moved slowly up and down.
“Mira loved the carousel she saw at the fair,” Faith told him and looked up. “And balloons too.”
Winston tilted his head back and gazed at the dozens of pink, yellow, blue, and green balloons float across the endless, blue sky.
“Who lives here?” Winston asked puzzled.
“Just me,” she answered. “And now Mira.”
“You mean there’s never been anyone else here?”
“Nope.”
Where the hell was he? Maybe he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming instead of channeling Faith.
“Come on,” She told him, breaking into his thoughts. “Let’s go find Mira.”
The chirping of what sounded like a million birds served as a backdrop when they made their way around dense trees. Winston’s anxiety grew stronger as they traveled deeper into the woods.
A cottage appeared when they came to a clearing. Winston shielded his eyes from the bright sun, admiring the thick lush ivy that traveled up the outside walls to the A-framed thatched roof. Tulips, daffodils, and daisies filled the front yard and bordered a white picket fence. The curved sidewalk that led to the bright red front door was framed in hundreds of dark purple violets.
“Whose house is this?” he asked.
“Mine, silly. And now it’s Mira’s.”
Winston held back his many questions. His suspicions had been right: Faith had taken control of Mira’s mind and body. It was clear that it was Faith who held the power and he needed to be careful not to make her angry.
“Wait.” She closed her eyes.
A few seconds later Winston heard barking. He turned toward the yelps and saw a dog that looked exactly like Hank running toward Faith.
“Mira was thinking about Hank just now.” Faith bent over and patted the top of his head.
“So you brought Hank here?”
“Well, not the real Hank, but he looks like him.” Faith looked up at Winston. “Wouldn’t be fair if I have a dog, and Mira didn’t have one, too, would it?”
Winston didn�
�t know what to say, as whatever was going on with Faith and Mira was beyond his experience. When he heard a faint whimper, his eyes skimmed the forest until he spotted a small form curled up at the base of a tree.
“There she is.” Faith started for Mira with Hank following. “I’m Faith,” she said. “But you knew that, right?”
“I suspected,” Winston said, “If you were aware that I knew you weren’t Mira why did you bring me here?”
“‘cause Mira’s lonely. I thought maybe you could cheer her up.”
Faith knew she was in charge and had no fear that Winston could help Mira.
When they reached Mira, Faith plopped down on the ground next to her sister. “Get up, Sissy,” Faith said and helped her sister sit up. Mira was identical to Faith, except that Mira was thinner and paler and her clothes were wrinkled and dirty.
“You doin’ okay?” Faith asked Mira.
Winston decided to listen to the twins’ conversation.
Mira looked up at Winston, her sad eyes pleading with him, her lower lip quivering. “I wanna go home.”
“I brought my new friend to see you,” Mira said. “He has a funny name, but I can’t ’member it.”
Trying to remain calm and objective, Winston bent over and put his hands on his knees. Looking into Mira’s eyes, he said, “My name is Winston.”
“Can you help me get outta here?” Mira asked.
“I told you that you’re not going anywhere!” Faith spouted angrily.
Mira cowered, shielding her face with her arms.
“Honey,” Winston said to Mira, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
“I want my mommy.” She started to cry and took hold of Winston’s hand. “Please, I want to go home.”
“I know,” he soothed, stroking her tangled hair. “I know.”
He reached out and took hold of Faith’s hand. “I’d love to see the inside of your home.”
“I think you’ll like it.” She looked around him at Mira. “He’ll like it won’t he, Sissy?”
Mira didn’t respond.
Winston could feel every emotion going through each child just by holding their small hands. He felt Faith’s strong will power, and Mira’s hopelessness.
When they reached the red front door, Faith turned the knob, and Winston followed the twins inside.
The one room cottage was small, but homey. Tall white candles scattered around the wood floor were lit and a dozen or so miniature stained-glassed Disney characters hung from the ceiling, creating a kaleidoscope of a colors reflecting off the light yellow painted walls.
A shelf that ran the length of one wall was low enough for the six-year-old girls to reach the mason jars filled with jelly beans, M&M’s, and gummy bears.
Faith nodded at the ledge. “Those are all Mira’s favorite treats.”
Replicas of pictures Winston had seen in Mira’s home covered the walls and, when he walked closer the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Every photo not only had Mira in it, but Faith.
“Be careful.” Winston heard. Saul had found him. Maybe he had more answers than Winston, but he couldn’t ask him now.
“Your home is beautiful,” he told Faith.
“Wasn’t my idea,” Faith answered. “Mira thought it up.”
“Thought what up?”
“Faith says that whatever I think of and like, she can make it just appear.” Mira sat down on the edge of the bed covered in a pink and white checked spread just like the one in her room.
“Well”—Faith rolled her eyes—“like one time Mira saw a picture of the ocean and love it so much that I just closed my eyes and wished and wished for one. And when I opened my eyes, there it was.” Faith giggled. “And one time Daddy read Mira a book about a little girl and boy who were walking through a forest and—”
“Hansel and Gretel,” Mira interrupted.
“And they were leaving these breadcrumbs or something like that,” Faith said excitedly and looked to Mira. “Right?”
Mira nodded.
“And that’s how you came up with this house,” Winston added. “It’s like the one in the book.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So everything here came from Mira’s thoughts?” Winston couldn’t believe what he was hearing, let alone understand it.
“Everything my sissy really, really likes is here,” Faith said excited. “And, it’s everything I like too.”
Although it seemed impossible, somehow their minds were sharing information. “Well, if you have everything here that Mira has, why would you want to leave?” Winston asked Faith.
Faith took a stance. “‘cause I don’t have my Daddy. And it’s my turn to be with him and have a real home.”
“But you don’t want to be with your mommy?” Winston asked Faith.
Faith frowned. “’Cause she let me go and kept Mira.”
“How long?” Winston asked. “How long have you been able to see what Mira’s doing?”
Faith shrugged her shoulders. “Forever, I think.”
“So it was you who told the police that your mother hurt Mira,” Winston stated.
“I had to.”
“What about letting Mira go home to tell her mommy and daddy goodbye?” he tried to reason.
“No way,” Faith said flippantly. “Mira got to live with Daddy for a long, long time. And now it’s my turn.”
Winston had to think. “How ’bout we take a walk?” He needed to buy some time. “I’d like to see all the wonderful things here.”
As they walked, Mira was quiet as Faith babbled on and on. She explained to Winston that the swing set, the sand pile, toys and dolls were the same that Mira had at her house. “Mira has the everything here as she does at Daddy’s house.”
When Winston saw the tunnel suddenly appear, he stiffened.
“Mister and I have to go now,” Faith said letting go of Winston’s hand, “but we’ll come back and visit again, okay?”
Mira stared down at the ground.
“Faith”—Winston squeezed Mira’s hand—“how about letting Mira go back with me and you stay here for a while.”
Faith’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not Mira’s home anymore. It’s mine.”
Winston felt a cold breeze brush over his cheek. “Just for a little visit.”
Suddenly, everything grew eerily quiet. The birds no longer chirped, the waves in the ocean turned from calm to turbulent and the skies began to darken. Winston shivered when he realized Faith’s mood could change the atmosphere.
Taking a chance that Faith would let them go, Winston tugged on Mira’s hand and started toward the tunnel.
When the sky turned black, Winston quickened his pace. “Try to stay with me, honey,” he told Mira, “And don’t look back.”
“Stop!” Faith shouted.
When the wind picked up, clumps of dirt, grass, and sand whirled around Winston and Mira, making it difficult to see. Winston started to run and whisked Mira up into his arms, hobbling as fast as he could toward the passageway.
Help me, Saul, Winston said silently as sheets of rain began to pour down on them.
His heart racing and out-of-breath, Winston stopped when Faith appeared in front of him, seemingly untouched by the tornado-type conditions. He saw her clothes were dry and her hair wasn’t moving with the gusts of wind as if there was an invisible shield around her.
Winston tried to move past Faith, but she thrust out an arm, stopping him.
Tears welled in Faith’s eyes.“You want to take Mira back and leave me here? I thought I could trust you.”
When a bolt of lightning barely missed Winston’s feet, a roar of thunder followed, sending out a warning. His heart beating rapidly, Winston pushed past Faith. But when another lightning bolt struck so close, blinding him, Winston dropped to his knees, shielding Mira.
“You’re not my friend, Mister.” Faith’s voice sounded far away. When Winston looked up, he found Faith inside the tunnel.
“Don’t do this,” he sho
uted, but words were in vain as he watched the opening close and Faith disappear.
A few seconds later, the wind began to calm, the clouds parted, and a perfect rainbow appeared in the sky.
Dear God, what the hell was he going to do? He looked down at Mira he held tight in his arms, her face devoid of expression.
Faith had left them trapped somewhere between heaven and hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A PIERCING SCREAM WOKE HIM. Clint lunged out of bed, tore his way down the hall and into Mira’s room.
He flicked on the overhead light. “What’s going on?”
She was noticeably trembling, her knees pulled up to her chest, her back sandwiched tight against the headboard.
She glanced down at the floor. “It’s Mister.” She sniveled. “I think he’s dead.”
“What?” Clint scrambled to the other side of her bed and saw Winston on the floor, his eyes closed and his complexion colorless.
“Jesus.” Clint dropped to his knees and shook his shoulder. “Winston? Wake up!” He shook him again, but there was no response.
When he placed two fingers on the side of his neck, and found a heartbeat, he rushed back to the door. “I’m going to call an ambulance. Stay where you are.”
His heart racing, what the hell was Winston doing in Mira’s room at four in the morning?
“Nine-one-one dispatch,” a voice answered. “What’s your emergency?”
“It’s Clint Abbott. There’s a guy at my house who’s unconscious and I can’t rouse him.”
“What’s your location?”
“The Abbott farm,” he said. “Two miles west of Sheffield on Highway34.”
After Clint hung up, he found a blanket in the closet of the spare bedroom, and covered Winston. “Go on downstairs, honey,” he said.
He shook Winston’s shoulder again. “Winston?”
She scooted off the bed. “Is Mister dead, Daddy?”
“No, he’ll be fine,” Clint said calmly so as not to upset her. “Just go downstairs and wait until the ambulance gets here.”
He checked for a pulse again. Winston’s clothes were disheveled and tendrils of hair stuck out from his head. What in the world had gone—
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