Fatal Storm (17 page)

They congregated in the study. Sheila found
it strange that neither Adrian nor Colleen had anything to eat or
drink. Matter of fact, she wasn't even hungry. Then again, she
can't recall ever eating or drinking anything in her dreams which
only supported her theory that she was asleep or in a coma.

Sheila opened the top drawer of the desk and
grabbed the notepad and a pen. The pen seemed out of place in this
turn of the century dream. “Strange for you to have a pen like
this. How did you come across it?”

“It was the man's,” Colleen said. She was
seated on the floor, one of her dolls in her lap.

“Colleen.” Adrian's word of caution had
Colleen bowing her head.

“What man?” Sheila's reporter instincts
kicked in. Other than the three of them, Sheila hadn’t seen anyone
else either walking outside or riding.

“A guest who's no longer here,” Adrian
replied.

“Where did he go? How did he leave? I haven't
seen any vehicles much less a road out of this place.” Things
weren't making sense before and they were making less sense now.
She saw Colleen's young eyes jump to Adrian's face. His remained
hard to read.

“Not sure where he was headed. He just up and
left.”

If Sheila didn't know better she'd swear he
was trying to erase any hint of a smile on his lips. “Tell me about
your childhood.” Sheila set pen to paper and waited.

“My childhood. Well, I was a lazy student.
Father was embarrassed and vowed to pound some discipline into me.
Mother read biblical passages as though God himself was going to
come down and transform her ignorant son into a valued scholar. I
was thin and sickly, always coming down with something. I swear
Doctor Cullerton spent more time in our house than in his
clinic.”

“Doctor Cullerton. Why does that name ring a
bell?” Sheila was sure she came across his name during her
research.

“It's a pretty common name.” Adrian
continued. “Mother had tutors come in to bore me with math and
literature and reading. It's a pity I didn't take to reading until
I reached thirty years of age. I missed out on a lot of the
classics.”

“What did your father do for a living? What
did your mother do? You don't sound like you liked them very
much.”

Adrian turned dark eyes on her and without a
hint of regret said, “I hated them both. Mother the most.”

“And why is that?”

Adrian appeared to stall. Sheila at first
thought he was giving it consideration but it was definitely a
stall. Maybe he didn't want to talk in front of Colleen who was
curling her doll's hair around her finger and paying little
attention to their conversation.

Outside the sky remained overcast, as though
nighttime never came. But why should it? When you dream you can
create whatever weather you wanted. Why Sheila couldn’t conjure up
sun and white sands was beyond her. Lightning continued its show as
it streaked across the sky. Sheila was sure some shrink would find
meaning behind this dream and its characters. Colleen moved a
little closer to the couch where Sheila sat.

“Mother liked to render her version of spare
the rod, spoil the child. Except in her version she liked to tie me
to a post in the barn, strip me, and use a horse whip until she
drew blood. If I dared to cry out, she would pour salt on the
wounds and start all over again.”

His face seethed with hatred. Sheila didn't
remember either of her parents ever raising a hand to her. Some
would say she needed it and she would be the first to admit she was
spoiled rotten. But Adrian grew up in another era, one where
authorities never questioned what parents did to their
children.

“Where was your father during all this?”

“Watching,” Adrian replied, dragging the word
out with sheer loathing. “The look of utter glee on mother's face
was bested by father's” He snapped a quick gaze at Colleen, then
lowered his voice and leaned forward slightly. “Perverted pleasure.
He was in a state of, how do I delicately put this in mixed
company.”

“I think I get the picture.” Sheila was
sickened by even the thought of what some people were capable of.
“I find him…both of them, utterly disgusting.”

He cocked his head as though sizing up her
response. Finding it more than acceptable he said, “Thank you. It
is comforting to know I was not alone in my feelings.” Adrian cast
another gaze toward Colleen, this time exhibiting an unusual
display of affection. “There are some things society should never
tolerate. Harm to a defenseless child, no matter the age, should be
number one.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. Colleen
started to hum as she continued to play with the doll’s hair. “It
was when father turned his attention to Colleen that I knew I had
to act.”

Sheila’s pen hovered. Colleen was such a
beautiful child and the thought of a father, or any adult, turning
his deviant attention on her was unfathomable. “What did you do?”
she asked him.

“I killed them,” he said simply. “Both of
them. I was sixteen years old.”

Sheila stared. Colleen continued to hum. If
Adrian had been sixteen and Colleen six, why was Adrian an adult
now and Colleen still a child? “But that means you are only ten
years older than Colleen yet...how can that be?” She waved her hand
as though erasing the confusion. “Forget it. I’m in a coma, it’s
just a dream. I once dreamed I was a fairy, like Tinker Bell, and
flew around the city.”

“What’s a Tinker Bell?” Colleen asked.

“From the Peter Pan book and movie,” Sheila
replied. “You know, well, I guess you wouldn’t know.”

The clouds outside the windows were starting
to accumulate, gathering for some planned finale. The rain erupted
in torrents, bringing the visibility down to practically nothing.
Sheila could barely see past the one tree which crouched outside
the window. There was a gleam in Adrian’s eyes as he walked closer.
He inhaled deeply as though he could smell the rain through the
walls.

Skizzy paced in front of the windows, bony
arms crossed as though keeping himself together. “Wish the storm
would just blow over already. It seems to hover over us like we’re
in some weird snow globe, just this house and the storm.” He
stopped abruptly and pressed his face closer to the glass. “And
will you look at that.”

They gathered next to him and waited.
As lightning lit up the acreage they could see a mist crawling out
of the forest, the warm ground meeting cold rain. It crept and
spread, bringing with it a sense of isolation. “Reminds me of that
movie,
The Crawling
Eye
.”

“Oh, dude. Did you have to mention that?”
Flea whined.

“Shhhhh.” Sara cocked her head and listened.
A hush fell over the room.

Dagger listened intently but didn’t hear
anything.

“Do you hear that?” Sara took several steps
toward the door. “The music box. It’s playing.” She ran out of the
room without even grabbing a candle.

Dagger told Skizzy, “Watch them,” as he and
Padre chased after Sara. Candlelight bounced off the walls as they
took the stairs two at a time. Sara reached the landing and now the
two men heard the music, too.

“Shit, I’m gonna have a freakin’ heart
attack.” Padre press a hand to his chest. “Slow down.” The candle
he held had blown out so he took the time to relight it.

Sara slowed her pace, watching for any hint
of the same figure she had seen before. She stopped in the doorway
and waited for the two men. The waltz continued playing it’s tinny
tune.

“How the hell did you hear that music box all
the way down in the library?” Padre cautiously poked his head
around the door jamb. Dagger was the only one who understood how it
was possible for Sara to hear what the others couldn’t.

They entered the room. The candle Padre held
sprayed light against the side wall. The music box sat in the
middle of the dresser, the lid propped open. It had been closed the
last time they were in the room.

Padre made a sign of the cross. “Okay. Who’s
got an explanation for this?”

Dagger picked up the music box and checked
the bottom. It had a key that had to be wound in order to enable
the music box to play. “Maybe we only thought the lid was
closed.”

“I’ve heard of music boxes that haven’t quite
unwound and out of the blue start unwinding again. That’s
plausible, right?” Padre asked hopefully.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sara glanced toward the
doorway. She had the distinct feeling they weren’t alone.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Dagger
ushered her to the hallway. “I don’t think we are learning anything
from those three. I may have to start beating the truth out of
them. Dagger and Padre headed toward the stairs but Sara hung
back.

Lightning could easily play tricks on one’s
eyes, making shadows emerge, dodge, and disappear. But one shadow
had substance. Sara watched as it pressed close. She felt her hair
being lifted from her back, slowly at first, as though someone had
placed a hand under the weight of it all and then sifted the silky
strands through unseen fingers. Sara was too shocked to move. Was
this another draft as Padre had said or was someone standing next
to her? What could possibly hurt her that couldn’t be seen? She
calmed her breathing, thinking back to one of her grandmother’s
favorite quotes from Chief Seattle. “There is no death, only a
changing of worlds.”

“Do you need help?” Sara’s voice came out as
a whisper.

Something touched her hair and then a
voice in her ear whispered.
Stop
him
.

“Stop who?” Sara asked. “I need more
information.”

“Sara?” Dagger and Padre paused halfway down
the long hall. Lightning flashed through the windows casting
elongated shadows across the hallway, but providing much-needed
light.

Sara turned but as her hawk eyes peeled
through the darkness, she didn’t see anything. Not a mist or a form
or any hint that someone had been there. Slowly she joined Dagger
at the top of the staircase.

“Did you see your friend again?” A smile
tugged at the corners of his lips.

“What?” Padre looked from Dagger to Sara.
“What’s he talking about?”

“Someone whispered to me.”

Padre laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Man or woman?” Dagger asked.

“Man. He said ‘stop him.’”

“Hey!” Padre said. “Enough with scaring this
old man.”

A loud crash of thunder appeared to shake the
very floor they were standing on. Padre felt like hanging onto the
wall. There wasn’t a pause between the crashes. Candle flames bent
sideways and were extinguished. Before they had a chance to react,
an ear-piercing scream erupted from the bowels of the building and
the three were off and running again. Lit candles at the bottom of
the staircase were the only things that kept them from stumbling
down or losing their footing. In a dark corner of the foyer near
the entrance to the library Venus was huddled in a ball, her eyes
wide in terror.

Skizzy emerged from the library, a
candleholder in each hand. “What’s all the hollerin’ about? Are you
trying to wake the dead?”

Dagger’s Kimber was in his hand and now Padre
pulled his Glock.

“Holy sheeeiitt.” Skizzy held the candles
aloft and nodded toward the far wall. Blood was splattered on the
white marble floor and across the wall. It looked as though someone
had tried to spray paint the wall.

“What the hell?” Padre holstered his gun and
held his hands out to keep everyone back. They stood silent, taking
the scene in, their eyes assessing each other. Whose blood was it?
Was everyone accounted for?

Flea strolled in from the hallway and came up
short when he saw everyone standing in the foyer. “What’s up?”

“Where the hell were you?” Padre
demanded.

“Bathroom. Why?” Flea’s eyes slowly
registered the carnage. “Holy...oh my god...what happened?” He
wrapped his arms around his thin frame, his body turning away from
the blood, then rocking back toward it as though his brain were
trying to absorb the situation. “Venus?” Flea finally looked down
at the young woman and saw the blood on her face. “I...I gotta get
outta here.”

Padre grabbed Flea’s arm. “No one is going
anywhere. Now pull yourself together.”

“Where’s Josh?” Sara asked. She looked to
Skizzy who was the last one to emerge from the library. “Was he
with you?”

“No.” Skizzy nodded toward Venus who had yet
to move or even blink. She kept staring at the blood on the floor.
“Josh and Venus got into a heated discussion, a continuation of
that whole taping thing.”

“Josh?” Flea’s eyes widened as he ran
trembling hands through his hair. “What the hell is going on?”

Padre moved closer to the pools of blood,
walking around to the left side. Dagger mirrored his movements on
the right side. “This is arterial spray,” Padre said. “See how
bright red it is? The direction of the spray tells me he was
standing near the wall. There isn’t any way someone could have
walked away with this type of injury. There aren’t any footsteps
leading away from the blood.”

Padre was right. Dagger saw a clean patch of
flooring. He watched as Skizzy and Sara helped Venus to her feet
but as she stood the candlelight revealed splashes of blood on the
front of her dress.

Padre moved over to Venus and studied the
blood, turned her hands over, then her arms. “This isn’t her blood.
She was facing Josh. Anyone see a knife anywhere?”

“What?!” Flea stammered. “You think Venus
stabbed Josh? You can’t be serious. Venus wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Shit, man. What the hell is going on?”

Skizzy searched Flea’s clothing for blood,
then examined Flea’s glazed eyes. He backed away when he detected
an odor. “You been drinking, boy? Is that what was in that flask
you’ve been hiding?”