The Star Child (The Star Child Series) (7 page)

Suddenly I knew where I wanted to go. Running easily back into the house, I set my list on the table and grabbed my jacket and a flashlight, shutting the doors after me. I pulled my hood over my head to keep the rain and the cool night air at bay and jogged to the end of the grassy lawn.

The steps weren’t in the best condition
and I exercised caution
on the weathered, rickety wood that was slippery from the harsh, salty sea air. After a few near falls, I made it to the bottom, my feet crunching on the small rocks.

The cove was exactly as I’d remembered. Though nearly covered with water, I could clearly see the rocks on the pebble-covered beach as the tide receded. Using my flashlight, I navigated carefully on the wet stones, not wishing to stray far from the stairs that led back to the house. There was a large boulder on the pebbled beach, the same one I remembered from my youth. Carefully, I climbed atop it and wrapped my arms around my legs.

I was completely isolated, and had to admit that I was afraid of the aloneness. Yet I felt a need to prove to myself that I could live on my own, that I was man enough. That was exactly what drove me—the need to battle total solitude and win.

Only moments after sitting down, however, I became conscious of water running down my face. Initially I blamed the rain but realized, with some degree of mortification, that I was crying. The wind started to pick up as the tide rose, and I realized that I was fairly close to being stranded on this rock by the incoming sea. The rock’s jagged exterior scraped against my arm as I climbed down. The rough water teased with pulling me under, but I ran straight to the stairs. I’d only reached the first step when something compelled me to turn around.

Following the instinct, I glanced back, and my heartbeat increased as I realized that I wasn’t alone. There was someone standing on the perimeter, outside of my range of focus, but I was afraid to look.

Less hesitant during the return trip, I took the steps two at a time, falling twice in the process.

When I got to the top, I glanced back toward the foot of the staircase. Despite my sense of unease, it appeared as though I was alone. Turning, I ran across the lawn to the cottage, pleased to reach the safety of the house. Heat started to fill the space and it was homey, so normal. Then I remembered that I was the only one there, and any illusion of a
home
instantly disappeared.

Once the warmth began to permeate my skin, I realized that I was soaking wet; the rain had changed from a light drizzle to a heavy downpour without my noticing. Shaking my head, I removed my wet things in the conservatory, hanging them up on a small line in the corner.

The darkness outside intrigued me, and my gaze kept being drawn to the windows again and again. There was something out there, though I couldn’t name it. Glancing into the darkness once again, I started as a form began to take the shape of a woman. Some part of me responded, urged me to leave the house, to see who—

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Talking to oneself was never a good sign. Without waiting to see if I was right, I turned abruptly and entered the main part of the house, shutting the door behind me, and headed straight for the shower.

When I looked out the window again after my shower, there was no sign of the girl, but I did see a dog sitting at attention on the back lawn. It was in reach of the backyard light that I’d left on.
Did the neighbors have dogs?
I couldn’t recall. Odd, but it looked exactly like the dog that Gran had until last year. I pulled the curtains back into place and headed for Gran’s room, which would be my new bedroom. It was the larger of the two rooms, so logically it made sense; personally I’d chosen it because it allowed me to feel closer to Gran.

***

Opening the closet, I looked around for a place to put some of my clothes. It was overflowing with Gran’s things. When I pushed one of her robes aside, I noticed a small storage box, filled with black journals.
Now where had I seen those before?

My eyes flashed to the journal on the nightstand and back again. Crouching down, I looked more closely into the organizer; the journals were labeled by year. I couldn’t believe that Gran kept these. Though Gran was gone, it somehow seemed like an invasion of privacy. I hadn’t even opened them up and I felt ashamed, as if looking at the journal bindings was akin to reading the contents. Yet there was a part of me that realized the books could tell me more about my mother.

Without thinking, I skimmed the bindings of each book until I found the one marked 2000. That was the year my mother had died and the year that I met Calienta. Heart thudding, I sat down on the bed and began to read.

I can’t believe they got to him. I wonder if he’s been touched, talking about the Star Child. I had Katie from the village come over and perform a protection rite on the house the next morning, before anyone was about. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I saw Cabhan when I stood with Kellen on the porch.

It was the last statement that bothered me the most. Hadn’t I recalled that same moment on the way to Stephen’s? I thought I saw someone that night too, and I was sure that I’d seen him before and since. Who this Cabhan was or what it meant, I had no idea. I’d have to read more of the journals and try to find some other clues. When I finally managed to close my eyes, I slept fitfully, despite my exhaustion, and I dreamed of my mother, imagining her as the one on the perimeter of my eyesight last night.

CHAPTER FIVE

ADDISON

I woke up groggily at seven-thirty a.m. So this was what a hangover felt like. After sucking down some coffee, I added some of the scones that were left for me onto a plate. On the table was the package that Alistair had given me. There were things inside that I should read, but—as an exercise in avoidance—I headed up to Gran's bedroom and started immediately organizing things instead. The envelope could wait.

By about ten o'clock, I had everything sorted into “keep”, “throw out”, or “give away” piles, and further organized them by “clothing”, “personal items”, and “household items”. The room was fairly clean, but the smell reminded me too much of Gran. Opening the windows to clear the air, I stripped the bedding and bundled up the towels, taking everything with me to the laundry room.

Doing the laundry was an experience. Gran had a modern washer and dryer, along with an adequate supply of detergent, so at least I had everything there that I needed. The mechanics behind the laundry process were basic, but I wasn’t necessarily skilled in the execution. Sorting the laundry didn’t work out exactly as I planned. Somehow, Gran’s red apron ended up in the load with the bedding.

Regardless, when the load was run, the room had a chance to air out, and the fresh pink linens were placed on the bed, the room seemed more my own, though that revelation didn’t bring me any measure of happiness. The pink sheets weren’t helping, either.

Shutting the windows, I placed the remainder of Gran’s things into garbage bags and headed downstairs. There was more to do, certainly, but completing these tasks made me feel less edgy. It also increased my appetite. Hungry, I went off in search of lunch. As I headed into the kitchen, I finally grabbed the large manila envelope that had preyed on my mind throughout the morning.

There was bread on the counter, and I rooted through the fridge until I found some baked ham slices and cheese to go with it. Marveling, I tasted a small piece of each before constructing my lunch. Everything was organic here—it was wonderful. The food probably came from the farm down the road.

I inhaled the meal; there was simply no other word for it. Then I reached for the envelope. It was warm in my hand, but that was my imagination. My fingers ran over the outside several times, unconsciously wondering what other things I could possibly need to do before opening it. There weren’t any, and I couldn’t put it off any longer.

Dumping the contents onto the kitchen table, several things fell out at once. Groupings of papers stapled together in separate packages and two envelopes, both addressed to me, were deposited on the aged wooden tabletop. My breath hitched as I recognized my mother’s handwriting on one of the envelopes. I pushed it to the side.

Selecting the stack of documents, I noted that it consisted of Gran's will and paperwork on the financial trust that had been set up for me. There was also a copy of the deed to the house and the land. Getting up, I went into a spare room and took my time finding a file folder to store all of the paperwork in for safekeeping. This allowed me to kill a grand total of five minutes.

Next, I opened the first envelope. It contained a small key and a note from Gran. I unfolded the note as I set the key on the table and started to read.

Kellen,

When your mother died, I had suspicions that your father would destroy all of her things. Therefore, I arranged to ship many of her belongings here. I couldn’t save everything, but I thought that you might like to look at what I did keep. Then you can do with everything as you please. The key is to my attic room. I kept everything locked up, in case Stephen visited.

Read the letter from your mother. You need to know her story; it was too late when I found out.

Love,

Gran

Grabbing the unopened items, I took the stairs two at a time to find the attic. It took a while, but I finally located the door in the back of Gran's closet. It wasn't a traditional attic; I think it was once a small third-floor room. With only one child who’d moved out early, they’d never needed the space. Her closet wasn’t original to the house, so Grandda must have built it right over the door to the room above. There was a flashlight on the closet shelf, which I assumed was there for exactly that purpose. Picking it up and switching it to the
on
position, I pushed roughly on the door and walked up three steps into the room.

And nearly had a heart attack when I saw a lady in white.

Talk about a cliché from every ghost story ever imagined. Okay, it wasn't exactly a lady in white, but it was a white dress hung in a clear protective garment bag from a hook on one of the ceiling beams.

“Holy cow.” Muttering, I tried to get my heart back in working order. I walked stiffly to the windows and pushed them open, letting in air and light. Almost immediately, the room was more inviting.

As I turned to examine the gown more closely, I was brought to a halt by the large trunk sitting on the floor beneath it. A small brass nameplate was affixed to the front of the trunk above the keyhole. The initials printed on it were ACS. Addison Clare St. James. Heart pounding, I kneeled down and slowly released the latch.

The trunk was filled with memorabilia: baby hats, baby shoes, and locks of hair. Everything was labeled in the same hand that wrote my letter. It was creepy. There were photographs of me as a child, my mother and father, Roger, Gran, and many people I didn't know. Old school chums, probably.

The final object was a small glass vial, which upon opening I immediately recognized as my mother’s perfume. It was a vanilla, sugary smell and made me think of freshly baked cookies. The scent surrounded me and I inhaled deeply, taking it in, trying to imagine that she was there with me.

After I’d touched everything at least once, I sat down in one of two oversized burgundy chairs in the room and leaned into one of the many pillows that covered the chair. This was probably where Gran came to read. Although at first blush it was a little claustrophobic, with the window open I could hear the waves and smell the salt air. It was peaceful once I got over the weird dress and initial musty smell that generally accompanied attics.

Steeling myself, I looked at my mother’s letter in my hand and unceremoniously ripped it open, sliding out the contents. There were more envelopes inside. The first had my name on it, but there was a second there for Roger, which I set aside. Despite our differences, I’d send it out with the morning post.

There could be no more stalling. Taking a deep breath, I began to read.

Kellen,

I know that you were probably surprised to receive this letter. I only recently discovered that you and your brother were told that I was dead. However, I’m very much alive. This is why you need to have the whole story.

First, please know that it was never my intention to leave you. I never wanted to. I love you so much and I have always wanted you, from the moment that you became a part of my life.

Although it isn’t in my nature to speak poorly of anyone, I'm afraid I can’t extend the same courtesy to your father. He is, most definitely, an evil man, and I can never forgive him.

When you were about five years old, I became sick. The doctors said it was cancer and that I wouldn't last long. At first your father was an excellent caregiver, but then he stopped checking on me and started ignoring me. I became very weak as a result of his neglect; one time, a whole week went by before anyone offered me food or helped me bathe. I believe he told you that I was on a women’s retreat that week.

Eventually, I managed to make my way from the guest room where I was staying to my own room that I shared with your father. When I found him, he explained that I’d lived much longer than he expected, and now my care was becoming too much of a burden. Therefore, he was going to place me in a long-term care unit. I protested, but he assured me that someone would bring you boys to visit me.

I found out shortly thereafter that he wasn't sending me to a long-term care unit; he was having me committed to a mental hospital. I couldn't believe it. He'd already broken my heart but now he was taking my humanity as well.

I woke up, after what I believe was a week later, in a facility in Northern Scotland. I don't believe that anyone actually knows I have cancer here, so I’m not being treated for it. One would assume that lack of treatment would speed up my death, but that hasn’t been the case.