Redemption (4 page)

I moved up behind her, and she jumped as I looked over her shoulder. A man? Really? I wasn’t slow. It just seemed too unreal. My bedroom was on the second floor.

Monroe began shaking. I was close enough to see the goose bumps lining her shoulders, and I stiffened. There was no doubt she was telling the truth. I grew numb. The prickly sensation of being watched gripped me,

“What did he look like?”

Monroe let go of the curtain and slid down to the floor. Her breath was coming fast. I stayed standing.

“It was just his face. I saw it briefly. Dark hair, dark eyes—”

My bedroom door flew open.

“What in God’s name!” my sister cried out as she marched into the room.

Monroe and I both looked up at her, startled. Amber’s face was pale. I glanced quickly at Monroe and found she had turned to face me as well. The unspoken words were there.  "
Are you going to tell her?"
my eyes asked. "
Don’t say anything!"
Monroe’s eyes shouted back. Mine narrowed. "
Why not?"
Amber moved over to the window.

“What’s wrong?” Amber asked, her gaze moving between us frantically, settling finally on Monroe’s pale visage.

“Monroe?”

Monroe pushed to her feet.

“I’m okay,” she said unsteadily, “I thought I saw a mouse.”

Amber didn’t say anything, but her eyes narrowed. It was a lame excuse. I glanced at Monroe quickly before looking down at the floor. I wasn’t good at lying. It was a good thing Amber didn’t question us further. Weak or not, the excuse
was
plausible. Mice liked the Abbey. I looked at Monroe again. She shook her head.

“What are you doing in here?” Amber asked, her gaze moving to land on my bed and Monroe’s portable DVD player.

I cringed. The screaming girl was still plainly paused in mid-action. Very few electronics, unless approved, were allowed at the Abbey. It corrupted the soul.  Amber stared at the image on the screen. Neither Monroe nor I answered.

“Put it away before anyone finds it. Please. You know the rules, Dayton. The Order is already pushed to its limits with you,” Amber whispered. I knew that.

“And after last year . . .”

I pushed away from Monroe and stalked over to the bedroom door. It was already open, but I held it wider, my knuckles white with the desire to shove Amber through it. Logic stopped me. I wasn’t mad at her. I was angry at the memory.

“I know, Amber."

 I was weary of being reminded of my flaws. Last year had been a mistake. Monroe and I had gone with a group of friends to a bar called Everett’s on the edge of Lodeston to celebrate our friend, Lita’s, birthday. We’d used fake I.D.’s, put back more than the legal amount of alcohol, and managed to wreck Lita’s brand new car on our way home. At the scene of the accident, marijuana had been discovered stuffed inside the glove compartment of her candy-red Sentra. It had not been a good evening. All five of us involved tested positive for THC, spent a few days in Juvenile Detention, had our licenses temporarily suspended, and came out of the incident with tainted records and months spent on parole doing community service. Not to mention our friend, Conor Reinhardt, had to spend six months in physical therapy for a leg injury. He still limped occasionally.

“Everything’s fine. We just had a scare,” I said as I motioned for her to leave my room.

Amber glanced at us warily. The reminder of last year’s incident had brought the color back into Monroe’s cheeks.

“We’re fine,” Monroe echoed. Amber took the hint.

“I’m just down the hall, Dayton,” Amber said as she walked out the door.

I slammed it behind her. My irritation with Amber was evident. I knew she loved me, but I wished she’d find a new way to show me she cared. Being pushy was her preferred method. It annoyed me only because the older we became, the more she sounded like my aunt. Monroe walked toward me.

“Why didn’t you tell Amber about the face in the window?” I asked.

She looked down at the floor.

“I wasn’t sure it was real."

She didn’t have to say more. We both knew she had a talent for seeing things no one else could see. Visions her mother called it. Her parents considered it an esteemed gift. As practicing Wiccans, her family valued the rare ability. Sometimes it frightened Monroe, mainly because she couldn’t always discern vision from reality. She’d never admit it though. She saw it as a failing. I felt it meant she was incredibly powerful. The more real a vision appears, the more ability you must have. The concept made sense to me.

“Let’s put in a comedy,” I suggested lightly while moving over to the bed. Monroe nodded.

I’d never admit it, but the window incident had me freaked out. I kept glancing over at the side of my room. Monroe settled in next to me, and we went through her movies, popping in one we knew we’d both laugh at before settling in for the night.

The sky outside my window grew darker, the crickets outside grew louder, and my Grumpy Care Bear nightlight made up for the lack of light as the sun faded completely.  Sleep came to us. The dream engulfed me. But, used to it as I was, it only woke me up once that night. I stared at my bedroom window as I came to. My heart was beating fast. The window mesmerized me. Maybe it was a mix of the dream and Monroe’s vision but I could swear that I saw a face. It seemed familiar to me, and I squinted. It was gone. One blink and it was no longer there. Grumpy Bear scowled back at me. Weariness carried me away again.

Chapter 2

In spirit, she is her mother. The mystery of her life will be hard to unravel. She will grieve. But, as her mother before her, she will own her problems even when it seems she has given up. This I trust.

~Bezaliel~

My alarm clock buzzed, and I threw my pillow at it. It missed and fell on Monroe instead.

“Hey!” she grumbled before sitting up on her sleeping bag reluctantly. I peered over the side of the bed and grinned.

“Oops.”

She threw me a glare before pushing herself off the floor. You didn’t ignore an alarm at the Abbey. The clock read 5 a.m. Days tended to dawn early here. It was a religious thing. And today, of all days, you didn’t oversleep. It was Sunday. At the Abbey, it was a day of reckoning. I sat up and glanced at the window. Light was beginning to chase away the darkness, fog wove along the grass and among the trees, tiny sparkles glinted off a small pond in the distance, and there was an exuberant chorus of bird calls. The sight should have been comforting, but the vision of a face plagued me.

“I guess I’m gone,” Monroe muttered as I turned to look her way.

Her eyes moved from me to the window. Neither one of us mentioned the previous night. There was reluctance there. I nodded. We didn’t talk much in the mornings anyway. It was too damned early for conversation. Monroe threw her stuff into her bottomless overnight bag, walked over to the door, waved at me, and left to drive home in her pajamas. She’d climb back in bed as soon as she got there. She was NOT a morning person. I wasn’t much better. I fought the urge for sugar-laden coffee and artificial flavored lollipops.

“Couldn’t we make sleeping late a priority?” I asked the Heavens, my face tilted upward.

The snooze on my alarm went off. I slammed it against the wall before getting up with a groan to go through my closet. I donned a dark skirt and white-cotton button-down shirt, ran a brush through my hair, and made my way to the door. Will power is an amazing thing.

Once downstairs, I avoided the dining room, referred to as the refectory, and moved to the back stairwell. The longer I could avoid the Order, the better. Sunday was free advice day. Unless you wanted it, it was best to avoid it.

Organ music filtered from the church across the yard, and I moved into the building soundlessly, slipping into the last pew to watch my sister play. Amber sat alone, her back to me as her fingers moved over the keys. I’d always thought the organ sounded haunting, and Amber played it well. She’d learned from a Sister called Mary a few months after our parents passed, and I appreciated the discipline it must have taken. She was a fast learner and desired approval. That same desire was the reason the Order had taken to Amber so quickly after our move. She had, out of the two of us, always sought acceptance. I tended to withdraw.
Amazing Grace
filtered through the room.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.

That saved a wretch like me.

“You’re here early,” a voice said suddenly, and I scooted over.

“You are too,” I replied with a grin.

Harold Grayson sat down next to me with a chuckle. He was an old man, maybe in his seventies, who lived on the edge of Abbey property and tended to minor maintenance issues. His older sister, now deceased, had once been a part of the Order. 

“
We lost folk have to be, I reckon,” Harold commented.

I covered my mouth and laughed into my hand. 

“That we do."

Harold turned toward Amber.

I once was lost, but now am found.

Was blind but now I see.

“Your sister has a way with the organ,” Harold said after a moment.

I nodded in agreement, my lips curling upward in a pleased smile. I was really proud of her. We may have grown apart over the years, even to the point of being strangers, but she was still my sister. My senses flooded with both nostalgia and music as I took in a deep breath and ran my fingers over the soft fabric covering the pew. I loved the way the sanctuary smelled, the way the candles glowed at the front. It almost felt like home.

Amber made it to the end of the song and started over. It was one of her favorites. Mom used to sing it to us when we were children. I closed my eyes as the memory assaulted me. It was an old one. Mom was singing as we helped her make the beds. She always turned it into a game, throwing the sheet up and letting it billow down on top of us. She’d catch us up in it and hold us there until we yelled to be let free.  As soon as she let go, we’d beg for her to do it all over again. And the whole time, she would sing. She loved to sing.

“She’ll be one of them,” Harold whispered suddenly.

I froze, my smile slipping a little as the memory left me. I looked over at him in confusion.

“Sir?”

He turned toward me and patted my hand.

“Just the rantings of an old man, my dear."

 I stared at his profile as he turned back toward the organ. One of them? The Order?

“How have you been, Dayton?” Harold asked, his gaze still glued to Amber’s back.

I faced forward. Thoughts raced through my head as I worked to keep up with Mr. Grayson’s abrupt change in conversation.

“Okay, I guess,” I answered. Harold snorted.

“They’re too hard on you,” he said knowingly.

I continued to look at Amber. This conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
Harold put a hand on my shoulder.

“Our mistakes don’t define us, Dayton. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Our mistakes make us stronger, wiser. If we didn’t make mistakes, we’d be open to much more temptation. Hard lessons learned are harder battles fought."

 I swallowed the tears that tried to rise. It had been a difficult year for me. What did the old man know? Was there talk outside the Abbey? My imagination perked up, lifting to attention, and I saw newspapers flipping toward my face from across the room. Headlines flashed neon.

Blackstone Abbey: Estranged Niece Arrested. Blackens Name; Local Order Responsible for Rebellious Orphan . . .

The images made me nauseated, and I shifted. The imaginary headlines ripped and vanished. I had no desire to read them. My heart thudded as I looked at the old man from the corner of my eye. His face was understanding and compassionate. There was no censure there.

“Thank you, Mr. Grayson,” I replied unsteadily, turning to give him a brief smile.

He winked at me before sitting back in the pew.  Amber kept playing, the song weaving its soul-searing magic as the congregation began to filter into the church. Chatter and music weaved in and out of the room as people visited, and I snuck away from the pew to the stairs at the back of the sanctuary. No one stopped me to talk. I wasn’t known for mingling. The stairs led up to the balcony, and I walked up them slowly, my thoughts on Mr. Grayson and Monroe. The night and morning had been a strange one.

“You should be sitting on the main floor,” a voice said from behind me and I jumped.

Aunt Kyra. I should have heeded her comment and responded in turn, but I kept climbing. A wall of imaginary flames seemed to sear my back. If anyone could be a dragon, it’d be my Aunt Kyra.

“I feel closer to God in the balcony,” I replied dryly as I climbed the last three steps and took a seat on the front pew.

“Do you?”

 I nodded.  The organ still played, and Aunt Kyra looked over the balcony at Amber.