Chapter Twenty-Two

The ride to the house was short, but long. There was no chatter in the car; each occupant was lost in his own thoughts. As the house came into view, Angel Rose spoke up from the passenger seat.

"Marty, I think you should stay outside; at least at first."

"I have been in this house many times, and nothing has happened," he remarked. "Your ghost never so much as ruffled a curtain in my presence."

Ang turned in the front seat to face him. "Marty, I can’t explain it," she answered. "Maybe she didn’t know that you were there. She for sure didn’t see you; she couldn’t have. You would have known it if she saw you."

"All I’m saying is that there’s really no reason I can’t come in with you."

"But—" Ang started, but Richie interrupted.

"You’re right, Marty," he said, pulling up to the house and putting the gearshift into park. "Maybe if she sees you and Angel Rose together, once Ang tells her who you are, it will trigger a different vision. Maybe not. Either way, I want you to be very, very careful what you say or do. I will not be a happy man if you do something that makes Kirstin hurt Angel Rose."

They gathered on the front porch, and Richie put his hand on the knob.

"Ready?" he asked. Everyone nodded. "Then let’s go."

The first thing they noticed was that the house was a good fifteen degrees cooler than the outside temperature. Ang shivered and rubbed her arms briskly. "God it’s so cold in here," she murmured. "Kirstin is agitated."

Richie grabbed Ang’s hand and held on tightly. "Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you want to do this?"

Ang nodded. "It’s not ‘want’, Richie, it’s ‘need’."

The three of them ascended the stairs, noticing that it got cooler the higher they rose. By the time they hit the second floor, gooseflesh had risen on Ang’s arms. Richie wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tried to transfer some of his body heat to her. They approached a closed door. The door to Kirstin’s room. Richie squeezed Ang’s shoulder reassuringly and unwound his arm from her. He reached out to touch the knob and drew his hand back as a zing of electricity seemed to pass through him.

"What the hell?" Richie exclaimed, shaking his hand. He looked at his fingers, and saw his fingertips were blackened. "Jesus," he said.

Ang grabbed his hand and examined his fingertips. "This is not a good idea," she said softly, kissing the marks.

"The hell it isn’t," Richie said, pulling his hand back from hers. He wrapped his hand in the bottom of his t-shirt and poised it over the doorknob. With a muttered curse, he quickly turned the knob and flung the door open, ignoring the searing pain in his hand. He stood there agape, not quite believing what he was seeing. The room was in total disarray. Furniture was overturned and papers strewn around the room. The curtains were flapping in the window, and the rocking chair, Kirstin’s chair, was shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Oh my sweet Lord," Marty said, entering the room behind Richie. He looked around at the destruction. "Where is Kirstin?" he said, turning to Ang. "Is she here?"

Ang hadn’t yet entered the room. She was staring, slack-jawed, at the damage done. Her eyes scanned the room until they stopped on a shadow in the corner. "Oh no," she said, stepping into the room. She walked slowly toward that corner.

"What does she see?" Marty asked Richie. "Is that where Kirstin is?"

Richie shook his head. "I don’t know; all I see is shadow." He followed Ang across the room, and stopped just behind her. Ang reached blindly behind her, and Richie grabbed onto her hand. The instant their hands connected, Richie saw what Ang saw. He saw a huddled, scared woman, bloody and battered, cowering in fear. He watched as Kirstin looked up with a petrified expression on her face.

"Help me," she said. "Please."

"What’s happening?" Marty asked, coming to stand behind Richie and Ang. Kirstin looked at him and screamed.

"Jeremiah!" Kirstin shrieked, and Ang recoiled. It was the same tone, the same fright as what she experienced in her vision. Angel Rose blanched when she saw Kirstin reaching for Marty. "Help me, Jeremiah!" Kirstin cried. Richie and Ang looked at each other, then turned around to look at Marty.

Marty looked confused. He saw the looks of fright on Richie’s and Ang’s faces, but couldn’t see what they were so afraid of. "What are you two looking at?" he asked, turning to look behind him.

"You," Ang said. "Kirstin is reaching for you. Asking for your help."

"What should I do?" Marty asked, on the edge of unease.

"Give me your hand," Ang answered, holding out her other hand to the startled realtor.

Marty was hesitant, but grabbed on to the proffered hand, and gasped when Ang’s fingers closed around his. He now saw what Richie and Ang saw. "Good Lord, what happened to that poor creature?"

"Jeremiah?" A weak voice called. "Please help me."

Marty cringed for a moment when Kirstin reached for him, the tendrils of cold wafting from her. Very slowly, reached his free hand toward Kirstin’s. When they clasped, Marty shouted at the surprisingly strong grasp this ethereal creature had.

Richie felt the shock of the connection all the way through his body, and wondered how the hell Ang survived the jolt.

Angel Rose then saw clearly what she had missed in the first visions.

The Past

Crying and spitting blood, Kirstin begged the man attacking her for her life. "Please," she said. "Please, let me go back to my children. I will give you anything you want, just let me go home to my children."

"Shut up," he said, hitting her again, blackening her eye. He pressed his hand hard over her nose and mouth, and she couldn’t breathe. "Shut up or your precious children will be next." Kirstin grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand further into her mouth so she could bite him. He howled in pain, and reared up, shaking his hand. Blood droplets sprayed as he shook. Kirstin tried to lever the man off of her, but he was too strong. He grabbed her wrists and brought her arms down to her sides, pinning them with his knees.

His hands closed around her neck like a vice, choking off her airway. She started to get dizzy, and random images of her children and her husband floated through her head. She smiled at one memory, and the man got angry. "What are you smiling at, bitch?" he demanded, and loosened his grip long enough to smack her hard across the face. Kirstin snapped back to the present, and struggled anew when she felt his hands close around her throat once again. She was able to gouge his hand with her fingernails, but she was too weak to push him away.

As she struggled for breath, Kirstin tried to pull the mask away from the man’s face. She had to know who had done this to her. Maybe then she would know why. She caught the edge of the mask’s chin with a fingernail, and it slipped enough so she could make out her attacker. As her world started to turn black, she started to weep. She wept for her husband, her children, and herself.

Suddenly, she saw a glimpse of something, someone, over her attacker’s shoulder. A familiar face. She struggled against the pull if unconsciousness and tried to focus on another pair of green eyes. Kind eyes. "Jeremiah," she gasped in surprise. "Please, help me."

Her attacker turned toward Jeremiah. "Leave now, little brother."

"Isaiah, what are you doing?" Jeremiah was confused. Why was his brother hurting his friend? He stood, transfixed, while Isaiah’s hands closed tighter around Kirstin’s throat. He saw her eyes start to roll back as she croaked his name again.

His brother glared at him. "Now, Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah, please," Kirstin said once more, then she was still.

Isaiah shot a triumphant look at his brother before turning back to Kirstin’s body. "If you’re gonna stay, you may as well help me dig, boy," he said, clawing into the dirt. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see a tree branch speeding toward his face. "What the—" was all he got out before impact.

The Present

Ang jerked and twitched in Richie’s and Marty’s grasps. Papers and scraps of wood and fabric tossed around the room on their own. A horrible, high-pitched wind poured through the open window, even though the trees outside did not move an inch.

"What is happening here?" Marty asked, clearly scared. He couldn’t seem to pull his hand away from Kirstin’s, which terrified him even more. He watched as Ang’s color got low. He watched in horror as bruises and cuts appeared on Ang’s face. He struggled to pull his hand from Kirstin’s, but the icy cold grip was unrelenting. "Sweet Mother of God, what is happening to her?"

Richie swallowed hard. "She’s reliving Kirstin’s last moments."

"How can she stand it?"

Richie couldn’t answer, for he wondered the very same thing. He tried to slide his hand from hers, fully intending to pull Ang into his arms and flee the house, but he couldn’t get his hand free. Her grip was stronger than that of ten men, and she felt as unyielding as if she were carved into a mountain. Her strength, rigidity and immobility frightened him. Then, just as suddenly as the assault on the room began, it ended. Ang became limp and her hand slipped from Marty’s as she slumped against Richie. The shadow in the corner seemed to retreat. Richie hurriedly scooped Ang into his arms and left the room. He ran down the stairs and outside. Marty followed, slamming the front door shut behind him.

As soon as the warmth of the sun hit Ang’s face, she started to stir. Surprised, for last time this happened, she had to be brought far away from the house, Richie dropped to the ground, cradling Ang in his lap. Marty was half a step behind, panting as if he had run a marathon.

"What the blue-spotted hell just happened in there?" Marty dropped next to Richie and Ang.

"It wasn’t Jeremiah," Ang said softly, her eyes starting to flutter open. "Isaiah killed Kirstin, not Jeremiah. She called out to him for help, but it was too late." Tears sprang to her eyes as Marty swore. "Richie, we have to go back in there."

Richie shook his head. "No. No way. You’re bruised and cut again, Angel."

Ang struggled to sit up in Richie’s lap. "We have to. She showed us what we needed to see. We can ask her the right questions and get her to tell us how to help her." Richie was still shaking his head, and tightened his arms around her. "I know we can; please," she begged.

Marty put his hand on Ang’s shoulder. "Angel Rose," he said, "you can’t be serious."

"We have to help her," Ang said simply, the tears flowing from her eyes.

Richie sighed and stood, still cradling Ang in his arms. Slowly, he started back for the house. As he approached, the front door opened. The threesome stopped dead in their tracks. Ang saw Kirstin descend the once-grand staircase to the lawn. "Do you see that?" she asked in a low voice. "Put me down."

Richie complied and nodded his head. "I see her. Marty?"

"Yes. My God, I can see her too. Where is she going?"

They watched as she circled the house and disappeared.

Richie and Ang looked at each other. "The lake," they said in unison, then started to follow.

Marty watched after them for a moment, stunned beyond belief, and then followed as well.

When they reached the lake, they scanned the shore for Kirstin. "Where did she go?" Richie asked.

"Do you see her?" added Marty.

Ang just shook her head. "I don’t see her," she answered. She was pulled to the large boulder that sat by the lake, getting warmed by the sun. When she reached it, she would have sworn she heard the rock whispering. She rested her hand against it, shuddered. "Here," she said. "Kirstin was sitting here. She was feeding the water birds, and something startled her. It sent her back to the house in a hurry."

Marty frowned. "But the local lore says she disappeared on the way to a neighbor’s from her house. She wouldn’t have had to come this way," he said. "She wouldn’t have run into trouble out here."

Ang slapped her hands at her sides, sighing loudly in frustration. "Dammit, something happened here." She put both hands on the rock. After a moment, she rested her forehead against it and closed her eyes. Several minutes later, she pushed back, disgust in her face. "Something definitely happened here, but it wasn’t Kirstin’s death. We have to go back to the house. See if we can find her there."

"In my dream," Richie said, "she was on some sort of wooded path." The three of them turned their heads toward the thick tangle of rhododendrons. "Maybe that’s where she went."

"Then why would she lead us back here?" Ang asked, exasperated.

"I don’t know; you’re the expert," Richie retorted.

Marty spoke up, speaking softly and calmly. "There may have a path through there once. Several, in fact. There are acres of rhodies in those fields. Some of it’s been thinned, of course, as the developments and farms went in all around here," he said, "but I suppose it’s conceivable she entered the thicket from the house, and..."

"And that’s where she met with trouble and disappeared," Ang said.

Richie shook his head. "Conceivable, but it’s not probable. I read all those news articles; neighbors walked those paths for hours, days, looking for some sign of her." He held up a hand when it looked as if Angel Rose would interrupt. "But, we have to try," he said. "That’s where she reached out for my help. She’s got to be there somewhere."

"But –" Marty started.

"But nothing," Ang said. "Let’s go."