PINELIGHTforkindle (10 page)

“What about Alice? We need to help her. We need to go to the police.”

“This is not a matter for the police, dear. I know where Alice will be—and it’s no place they can go.”

“How do you know this? Where is she?”

“You still don’t remember anything, do you?” he asked as though he already knew it to be true. I could see a hint of sadness behind his squinted eyes.

“You are starting to scare me, Fergus. Please, tell me what I need to know.”

“Let’s get you to the library first.

-9-

REALITY

Yellow light from the streetlamps lit the entrance to the library, casting shadows of waving trees on its peeling beige exterior. This old place was my second home.

We entered into a very still library. There were no sounds of whispers, papers turning, or books closing—only the sound of Fergus’s shoes against the marble floor. As soon as the door shut behind us, Fergus locked the dead bolts and then wrapped a chain around the door handles. We weren’t going anywhere for the night.

I followed him through the second pair of doors that led into the hall of books, but stopped when he turned down the poetry aisle. I hadn’t been in the library since my last nightmare, and to be honest, I was still shaken by it.

Fergus turned around to gauge the distance between his bottom and the small chair of the wooden desk. It was the same aisle and the same desk from my dream. He slowly sunk into the seat and leaned back. The chair tilted, clicking until it finally locked at a slanted angle to the floor.

That’s when I noticed the bookcase in front of the desk crack open.

“Fergus,” I said automatically, “what is this?”

He carefully stood from the desk and pushed the bookcase open. “It’s a secret chamber, dear. Constructed for times such as these.” He motioned with a nod of his head to trust him.

“Go on,” he insisted. “Take a look.”

I walked past Fergus, into the chamber, with the curiosity of a child.

The room was larger than I had expected, bigger than my own bedroom, but seemed small due to the lack of windows. A foldout bed hid in the back corner of the room, next to a dozen cases of bottled water and a broken wicker chair.

Fergus directed me to the left, where a rugged bench was pressed against the pale wall, and then scooted the bench a few inches away from the wall so that it sat catty-corner to the opening we had entered.

“Have a seat, darling,” he said.

He waited until I was completely settled next to him before saying another word. “I know that everything that has happened to you in the past few weeks has been difficult for you to understand. I can see the uncertainty in your eyes, and I can see that you doubt what you used to believe.” Fergus looked sideways with a look of sincerity. “Clara, there are things in this world that are very hard to explain, but it is crucial for you understand.”  

“Just tell me what’s going on. Why is this happening to me? And how do you know so much?”

Fergus cut my questions short. “Do you remember the story of the darkness?”

“Yes, of course, the story of good and evil—of light and darkness. You tell that one practically every other week.”

“I’m pleased you were listening.” Fergus paused for a moment, just long enough to run the back of his aged hand over his forehead. “The stories were not entirely stories, dear.”

I sat still, taking in every word.

“Those stories tell a history. A history of a place that is as real as this night. It is here where you must know what you believe—you must fight against the darkness,” he said. Before I could form any kind of question, Fergus leaned in toward me and placed both of his warm hands on each side of my face. “These stories are your history, child.”

My lips were open in disbelief. As I gazed up into his tender eyes, he said very softly, “You must believe. You are no stranger to these lands.”

I shook my head free of his hands and quickly stood up.

“Why are you trying to fill my head with these ideas? I don’t need your stories right now. Alice is missing! And someone is chasing us, for Pete’s sake!”

Fergus was now sitting very stiff, like he was in deep thought. I could see the sadness in his eyes again. “This must be hard for you to take in, but you must try to remember,” he said.

I focused on the black marble floor, trying hard to hold back my emotions. I could feel my eyes burning and the pressure building behind them. I watched as the white specks on the marble blurred into long, flowing streaks. I took a slow breath and signaled with my hand that I was ready to talk.

“Fergus, what you’re telling me is impossible and cruel.” I held my hands together so that I could concentrate on exactly what I wanted to say. “A part of me would love for your stories to be real,” I sighed. “I want to live in a world where I know who I am—a place where I know my past. But I don’t. I live here, in reality. This is real.”

Fergus slowly raised himself from the bench and took two steps toward me. “Day after day I wanted to tell you—there is more to your life than this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded woolen piece of fabric.

“This belongs to you,” he said.

 I reluctantly took the neatly folded piece of fabric from his hands. The wool was brown with age and wrapped around something small and hard.

“Do not look inside this cloth until you are ready for the truth. When that time comes, I will have one last story to tell you,” he said delicately with a soft smile.

Fergus leaned in one last time and planted a small kiss on my forehead. “For now, you should rest. Tomorrow will be a big day,” he said. “Tomorrow we leave this place.” Then he shuffled away.

I sat there watching the distance grow further between us, until he closed the wall behind him. I was alone again. Alice was gone. Erik was evil. And Fergus was filling my head with fairy tales. I didn’t know what or who to believe anymore.

I fell asleep that night wondering if I would ever see Alice again. If the one life I knew would ever be the same. I reminded myself that I couldn’t lose hope. I had to believe that everything would be okay—that tomorrow just might bring a better day.

-10-

SCARLET HEIGHTS

We took a cab to Bossier City early that morning. Bossier City was bigger than Coushatta—had better shopping, more restaurants, and an airport. I had been here a few times with Alice and Fergus, but unlike those times, we weren’t here to eat or to shop.

We flew out of Bossier City at 11:00 a.m. that Saturday morning. I had never flown before, so it was quite the experience. The plane was larger than I imagined, but inside felt like a small, overcrowded bus. The seats were high and stiff, the floor space was minimal, but the view was fascinating to me. Once the initial fear of being thirty-five thousand feet in the air wore off, I almost enjoyed it.

The plane landed in Houston, Texas, where we ran through the airport to catch our connecting flight to Chicago, Illinois. We would have one more plane switch in Newark, New Jersey, before we were on the plane that would take us to Ireland.

Running from terminal to terminal was hectic and tiring. Pure adrenaline kept me awake through the first two plane rides, but that adrenaline was wearing off. Before the New Jersey plane had even left the runway, my eyes had closed, and I was drifting into a dream.

There was a girl—a small girl—running barefoot into the night. As she darted around the rocks, her long cinnamon tinted hair flew up and around a bright red cloak. I called to her desperately—
“
Stop! Wait!
”
—but she kept running toward the edge of the cliff. I tried to move toward her, but my feet were too heavy to move. The harder I tried to run, the less ground I covered.

“Please…wait,”
I pleaded again.
“Where are you going?”
I noticed a short giggle floating through the wind as it pushed by me.

She did not stop. I tried to plead with her again, but this time my voice was gone. Not a sound or word escaped my lips. My arms reached for her, but she could not see.

The young girl had finally made her way to the edge and was staring down into the raging sea. I could feel panic rushing through my body as I realized I could not save her. Suddenly, the wind stopped blowing, and all was quiet. As her hair lay to rest against her cloak, she slowly turned around.

“I must go home,”
she said with a small grin.

All I could do was motion for her to stop, but she simply extended her arms into the night air and smiled. Then, with her back to the sea, she let herself fall over the cliff. She fell in slow motion. I held my breath and watched helplessly as her small body fell over the edge into darkness. Everything immediately turned pitch-black.

I woke up with my sweaty forehead plastered to the plastic window of the airplane. Once my eyes focused, I could see rich green mountains and a rocky coastline through a light film of fluffy clouds.
Ireland.

The colors of the countryside were bright, even from high above the clouds. It was a beautiful sight, almost beautiful enough to take my mind off the nightmare. There was no mistake; the dreams were getting worse.

“What do you think?” Fergus asked, pointing out the window.

“It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen.”

It really was enchanting. Something about the blue of the water and the green of the land made it appear like a flawless dream. It would have made a perfect postcard.

“What time is it?” I asked through a much-needed yawn.

“Nine a.m.,” he replied. “Sunday morning.”

The plane landed in Belfast, Ireland, safely and on time. Since we didn’t have luggage to claim, we made it through the airport fairly quickly. We didn’t stop until we walked through the sliding doors at the entrance.

Fergus dropped his brown carry-on bag to his side and skimmed his eyes over the people walking the sidewalks. He was looking for someone.

I stood there quietly gazing at the sky and listening to the sounds of Ireland. I could hear birds chirping over the loud putter of taxi-car engines. The sky was a smooth baby-blue color with pink and orange clouds drifting across its horizon.

I eavesdropped as people walked past. The accent here was very different than I had expected. Words were pronounced with hard consonants and with a strange rhythm. It was hard to understand what everyone was saying at first, but the harder I listened, the easier it got.

After standing there for a good ten minutes, a fancy black limousine pulled up to the curb. It was an older car—a classic. The body of the car was long and curved, like a wave pushing forward. It had protruding round lights on the front, a large grill, and a silver hood ornament of a woman leaning into the wind like an angel.

The driver of the car, a man in a black suit, stepped out and walked directly to us. He was middle-aged, fairly tall, with square shoulders. He had a nice smile.

“Calahan?” he asked in a rich Irish accent.

“Yes, yes,” Fergus responded.

“Good morning, sir—miss.” He tipped his head slightly and grinned. “I am here to drive you to Scarlet Heights.”

“Scarlet Heights,” I whispered under my breath. “What kind of a place is Scarlet Heights?”

“It is a manor, dear.” Fergus responded. His cheeks rounded with a grin. “And someone very special lives there. Someone I’ve been waiting for you to meet.”

The driver stepped between us to grab the brown bag Fergus had set beside him, and then loaded it in the small trunk of the car. He quickly darted to the back door, swung it open, and stood tall with a pleasant smile.

“Nice day for seeing the sights,” he said cheerfully.

“Nice day, indeed,” Fergus replied.

As soon as we slid into the car, the driver shut the door in place and then quickly trotted over to the driver’s side. He seemed enthusiastic about the upcoming journey.

Our driver, who insisted we call him Duffy, veered and honked his way out of the airport traffic, then turned to take a narrow, less-traveled road. I clutched my seat belt a few times as the car whizzed by oncoming traffic. It was going to take some time getting use to driving on the left side of the road.

I forgot all about it when the view from the side window changed from plain green countryside to a rocky land that dropped into the ocean. I rolled down my window to smell the rich, salty air for the first time.

The car slowly inclined, giving us a far better view of the ocean. I placed my arm on the window seal to hold my head as I studied the new scenery.

The ocean stretched out across the horizon and kissed the painted sky. Waves traveled all the way from the edge of the earth just to explode at the rocky shore. Seagulls welcomed them by swooping down from the sky to meet their white, foamy spray.