Betrayal (7 page)

Listening in on my mother, as she tearfully informed our relatives and friends of my sudden death, was a poignant and definitive moment. I made the decision to leave the house for a while when mom made the disturbing call to the funeral home. I wanted nothing more but to soothe my parents, but I couldn't, I was no longer a human being; a part of their communicative world. Although I couldn’t breathe, a suffocating feeling enveloped me, and I had to escape the house. I couldn't bear to witness the details of my closed casket arrangements. The finality of my mom’s specific instructions was like a choke hold.

I staggered out the front door, well through it, and was met with a blur of glimmering flower petals and shinyribboned plush toys. Some of my neighbors and friends had left lit candles, flowers bouquets, and stuffed bears on my porch. I don't believe my parents were aware of the make shift vigil on their doorstep. I couldn’t feel it, but I saw the evening mist sparkling when I looked upward toward the violet sky. I guess there was no chance of my temperamental hair frizzing up. What I wouldn’t give for another bad hair day.

My feet guided me toward C Street, as my mind deliberated the cons of being dead. No more friends, no more ice cream, no more running off to a far away state, just to name a few.

I strolled passed people I knew whom didn't have a clue I walked amongst them, just a ghost getting some air. It had to be the first time I ever walked into town where no one said hello to me or wished me a pleasant evening. This was a small town where everybody knew everyone, and it was second nature to greet everyone like an old friend. Right now the feeling was alien. I felt so alone and desperate for a human connection.

The questions emerged incessantly. Does a person, well a ghost just wander around forever? Were there others like me floating around aimlessly?

If there were others, how would I know them from the living? Maybe they would just come up to me, and start a conversation. Actually, that would be more daunting than being alone.

Could that peculiar guy with the gorgeous face which later morphed into an ominous gargoyle’s face be a ghost too? I shuddered at the chance of another encounter with him. But perhaps, if he was a ghost, it would explain why no one in town had noticed him. But then how is it that I saw him
before
I died? Before he killed me. I couldn't make any sense of any of this as I realized how strange the main street appeared, busier than usual.

The majority of the shops would have concluded businesses for the day by this hour, but not on this night. Tonight, C Street shone like the Vegas strip while the store keepers rushed to secure their store front windows. I glided passed the gift shop where I worked – correction, used to work, it looked as odd as the other shops with the store front windows gaping wide open like jaws edged with sharp glass fangs where windows should be.

Every owner hoped looters wouldn’t prevail. I doubted any of them had figured out what caused the wreckage. I threw myself in with the lot of confused and bewildered town’s people. As I passed several saloons, it wasn’t the usual laughter filtering out onto the boarded sidewalks that stopped me, but the loud voices in full discussion covering everything which had transpired this afternoon. The taverns had to be filled to capacity. It didn’t take much to shake up this tiny town, and today’s events were nothing short of a mystery. How would this quiet town ever recover?

I blocked out the noisy voices from the bars, letting my eyes take in the shadowy mass of mountains looming ahead. The bleak and rocky structure seemed foreboding, and the enormity of it made the town seem even more infinitesimal. I continued south on the main street, lacking direction, and found myself on B Street, also known as Millionaire’s Row because of all the old mansions erected so long ago by the millionaire’s who supposedly built this town.

These new millionaires built their homes on the town's highest ground in order to keep a trained eye on their lucrative mines. But it was the block Bethany lived on. I knew I would be safe there… close to my best friend, even though she wouldn’t be able to see or hear me. I never had the chance to say goodbye to her. I didn’t want to. I missed her terribly. I wondered how Bethany was dealing with the news of my passing. Although she has always been resilient, my death had to be devastating. We were like sisters.

I had cringed in pain as my mom told Bethany the bad news. Their phone conversation had been unexpectedly brief. She spoke to Bethany through an avalanche of tears as my friend of two years listened with a strangely calm tone. Bethany had already known so my mom had proceeded in asking her if she would like to say a few words at my service, which was scheduled for Tuesday morning – two days away. Bethany accepted, and told my mom she had to go. Where, I had thought. My mom said she understood and thanked Beth for being an incredible friend to me.

In the streetlamp lit darkness, sudden images of the mammoth and fluttering caped shadow emerged in my head, sending ice cubes through me. I quickly glided down the oak tree lined street. I couldn’t wait to be amongst my friends. Bethany, along with her older brother Nikolas, moved here from Bedwyn City, one of Nickel City’s neighboring towns, about two years ago after losing their parents in a tragic car accident. She and her brother lived in what used to be their great – grandparent’s house.

I noticed that the front windows to their huge house were lit behind the sheer curtains, the lone light shining on the long block like a warning beacon. The homes, appearing obscure, were probably due to most of the residents still hanging out in town, rehashing the events of the day over foam topped and throat scorching beverages, of course.

I observed the moving silhouettes in the living room as they paused, as if on cue. I noticed a third figure. It was the silhouette of a male. He was tall but not nearly as tall as Nikolas whose towering presence I recognized almost immediately. One of the three shadows was definitely Bethany, who wore her hair pinned high on her head, her staple.

I literally walked right through the towering wrought iron gates which wrapped around the entire property, the abnormal perks of my new existence as a specter. I headed up the narrow cobblestone walkway leading up to the wide front porch. I paused once I was at the base of the two Grecian columns, which always reminded me of some of the historical monuments of Ancient Greece, like the Parthenon in Athens.

Only one other mansion on the lengthy block was styled similar to Bethany and Nikolas’ enormous property. It stood across the street, but about half a block south. Both Grecian styled mansions stood out architecturally amongst all the Victorians. The other Grecian designed estate appeared freshly built, compared to Bethany’s weathered home. The other home had immaculately landscaped grounds which were half a block long in length, as all the properties, although it was rumored to be vacant of any occupants. So of course, the ghost stories surfaced weekly with the arrival of tourists.

I wondered if I would actually meet any of the ghosts. Terrified of the possibilities surrounding the pristine mansion, I quickly climbed the stone steps to Bethany’s home.

The spacious portico wrapped around the entire north end of the mansion. The porch was free of any potted plants or flowers which usually adorned every porch of pretty much every house, in this town, at this time of the year. Besides the fact that the house was one of the largest amongst all the others, which stood tall along B Street since the late nineteenth century, it was practically in ruins, including all the acres surrounding it. A huge yard large enough to build a sizable home surrounded the eastern and southern region of the house. It should’ve been flourishing with foliage as the other gardens surrounding the neighboring mansions. Instead, the garden lay barren and neglected. Even the vacant barn behind the house looked battered.

Architecturally, the house was quite stunning, but the lack of renovations and upkeep made the other neighboring mansions appear more prestigious. Besides all the structural beauty surrounding Bethany’s ghastly home, I never judged her nor her brother for how their mansion compared. It was unfortunate that they had inherited it that way, decayed and withered, as if it was staged for Halloween. It certainly didn't suit two teenagers. The house would be virtually impossible for an adult to maintain much less a pair of minors.

Bethany said the house had been built by her great great great grandfather in the mid nineteenth century. Though the structural design was impressive inside and out, the house didn’t seem to have been updated since her ancestors resided here. Many believed the house was preoccupied with various apparitions. Bethany ignored the rumors. Now I was about to make the silly stories a fact.

I turned to go into Bethany’s house, and noticed a couple that appeared to be gawking at me from across the street. Well, at least I believed they were watching me. There was something odd about them. They were dressed as if they were doing a play set in the Victorian era. I gasped when I saw them making their way towards me, practically gliding across the street. Once they sauntered
through
the gates as I had, I knew what they were.

Ghosts!

They had to be, and even worse, they wanted to make contact with me! I wasn’t ready to adjust to my new way of not existing. I turned and flew right through the front door. After a few moments of frenzied anxiety, I realized the couple hadn’t followed me into Bethany’s house. As I stood in the foyer, the enormity of it halted me where I stood.

The house seemed way too vast and unfurnished to feel homey. It was large enough for a family of twelve. Suddenly it dawned on me that I had only been inside the house a couple of times. Each visit had been very short, less than ten minutes. It was weird how Bethany had always found an excuse to vacate it the moment I arrived. Being in the enormous manor had always felt strange – almost creepy.

Quite a few rooms in the house were unfurnished, except for the two bedrooms Bethany and Nikolas used, the living room, and the spacious kitchen. They didn't seem to have any use for the other six bedrooms, library, dining room, study, sun room, the second kitchen, or what used to be the servants quarters below the house. Each and every one of those rooms remained completely unfurnished.

I walked further down the dimmed foyer, and paused under the archway leading into the living room. I thought it odd that no one was in there when only a moment ago shadows could be seen from the porch. I was about to leave the living room, but stopped abruptly when I picked up on familiar voices. They seemed to trickle in from down the hall.

Nikolas’ voice boomed first, deep as usual. “Victor’s senses have heightened considerably. He has tracked her to this point in time. Victor will send for his disciples, and they will attract the Apolluon.” What Nikolas spoke of made absolutely no sense to me. Either way, he sounded desperate.

“We must go to her
now
. Please, or it’ll be too late. We have less than twenty four hours,” Bethany said, wailing. “She spoke of how vivid her visions had been, how the dreams lengthened each night, and how she had awakened with wounds from them.” Bethany was talking about me, and those horrifying dreams.

“She remembers.” Nikolas said.

“Well, she’s beginning to.” Bethany said, her normally calm voice quivering. “She shouldn’t be alone when her memory returns. Cordelia will be lost and confused if she doesn’t retain what she knows now of
this
era. The Gods will never forgive us.”

Bethany wasn’t making a bit of sense to me, and the urgency in her voice worried me more than what she had uttered. She spoke of me as if I were still alive although, she had spoken to my mother less than an hour ago. Bethany knew I had died today.

I had no idea of what I was supposed to be remembering, and her use of my full first name was unusual for her, and kind of threw me off. She had sounded as if she had read it off of an important document. No one ever called me Cordelia. Actually, the last person who had called me by my complete first name had been the boy in my dream, but that didn’t count.

“We should have foreseen her death.” Nikolas said, remorsefully. “Obviously, Victor has discovered a way to mask his scent therefore, his presence went undetected by us, but we are not to blame for that. The Gods know our intentions and our loyalty to them, Bethany.”

Ok, so they do know that I’m dead, but Nikolas sounded even more puzzling than his sister, with all this talk about gods. “There’s other ways to detect the son of Iptian.” Nikolas added.

“That means we’ll have to wait until he’s within the vicinity to detect his aura, which he’s incapable of concealing. His aura will cause the temperature to rise,” Bethany said, sounding many years older than seventeen.

“That’s correct.” Nikolas said.

“But that only provides a brief moment of escape,” Bethany countered, impatiently.

An icy chill slipped through me, and I stood frozen in its wake when I overheard the next voice – a familiar one. The voice of an angel – deep, rich, and mesmerizing. The voice I’ve never heard while awake, only as I slept... as I dreamt. It was the voice that held my heart captive every night for the last two weeks of my life. I could never mistaken it for another. It had to be him, the boy who made those hellish nights bearable. But he wasn’t real.

He was just a figment of a love starved girl’s imagination. The voice drew me in now as it did in the dream.

“I’m well aware of the eminent danger she is in. We
will
find her. We’ve already joined our forces to bring her to us. She’ll come to us. I’m certain of this. The damage Victor has done is not irreversible, and impunity is not an option for him. He has defied the Gods.” The voice –
his
voice was uniquely the same – intense and enthralling. But there was one discernable difference – the arctic edge.

“The Gods haven’t intervened thus far. We are to do battle alone. They don’t hear our invocations,” Bethany said argumentatively. “Do they no longer feed off of our devotion?”

“Keep faith Beth.” There was that enchanting voice again. “The Gods are always guarding over the family, and they will intervene when necessary.” My need to make certain, who in fact possessed the voice, as if it could belong to anyone other than my angel and protector, was crucial to any hopes of maintaining my sanity, at this precise moment. The alluring voice drew me into the unfurnished dining room.