The Awakening

Page 5

With a fair amount of excitement, they had accepted the offer.
First, they were going on a vacation, taking the honeymoon they'd never had before, and spending time in Florida. Sunny Florida, and then spooky old Salem.
While they were gone, the workmen could do some of the necessary repairs on their home in the French Quarter, and it would all be perfect Perhaps Finn hadn't realized just how far rumors had gone, and that her family members would all stare at him, wondering if he was a wife beater, if Megan shouldn't have stayed as far away from him as she could.
She turned, wanting then to make amends, wishing she'd never touched that loaf of bread.
To her surprise, he was no longer lying awake. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and he was breathing deeply and evenly.
"Finn?"
He didn't answer.
Megan slipped out of bed, frowning, but he still didn't awaken. She walked over to the big, overstuffed antique chair by the fireplace and found her terry robe, wrapping it tightly around her. She pulled back the draperies to the balcony door, hesitated, then slipped out.
October in Massachusetts. A cool breeze was softly moving, but it wasn't uncomfortably cold outside.
The sky was beautiful and strange, a deep blue, almost black in places, and light, almost ethereal in others. As she looked down at the street below, she saw a whirl of fog, and she found herself remembering the words of the crusty old storyteller who had been at the fireside tale-telling earlier in town.
Ah, but though those caught, hanged, and pressed to death, as old Giles Corey, were most probably true innocents, those earlier guardians of justice might not have been so foolish in their fears of evil, though they were daft in their methods of discovery. Think my friends, when there is goodness, there must be evil, and evil is rooted in the very history of mankind. Throughout the years there have been stories of man, and of beasts, and of those, creatures who fall somewhere in between them. As there have been angels, there have been devils. There is the Good Book, and there are works of the greatest demonic frenzy, and there have always been, as there are now, those who seek the secrets of the Devil, of imps and demons from beyond, of the savage beings we
remember only in the deepest, darkest, recesses of our hearts. It's said, you know, that All Hallow's Eve is the night when the dead may rise… especially if they are so bidden, if, perhaps, they are called from the fires of hell to walk upon the earth once again, and inhabit the lives and souls of man.
A log had fallen in the fire then; half the old man's audience had jumped and cried out, and then laughed.
Megan had done so herself. She hadn't imagined that she would come back to their rented room, dream of evil, and scream in the night.
The fog below appeared to be blue. It seemed to spiral, puff, curl, and move like some living thing itself.
She wasn't afraid of fog…
She felt the lightest touch against her nape. Fingers, lifting her hair, softly, gently. She closed her eyes and smiled.
Finn had awakened. He was behind her.
That was his ritual. He would come to her. Stand in silence. Touch her hair, lift her hair, press his lips against the flesh of her nape. She felt him touch her, then. The hot moisture of his lips, the warm, arousing moisture of his breath. In seconds, his arms would come around her. He would tell her that he loved her.
And being Finn, he would bring his hips hard against her while he held her, and probably whisper that if she was going to scream, he should see to it that she was screaming for all the right reasons, because the things he could do to her were just so good that she couldn't begin to help herself…
She felt his hands, sliding over terry cloth, beneath it, touching her flesh…
His touch fell away. She thought she heard him breathing… waiting. Waiting for her to turn into his arms, melt into them as she always did.
"Finn…"
She spun around, ready to do just that.
He wasn't there.
She was alone on the balcony.
The breeze suddenly turned colder. The eerie blue fog was rising from the street, moving quickly, coming higher, as if it were eager to engulf her.
Chapter 2
There were two other families staying at the bed and breakfast, a thirty-something mother and father with their children, a boy of about twelve and a girl around ten, and a younger couple, late twenties or early thirties, on their own as well. As Finn and Megan walked through the house to the dining room, where breakfast was served, Finn couldn't help but wonder if the others had heard Megan screaming in the night.
They had.
He knew, because as he approached, he heard them all talking. Then, as he and Megan came into the room, all six stared at them for a split second—they were like a tableau, frozen in time. Then—as if on cue—every single one of them stared down into their plates, as if suddenly finding an intense interest in toast, bacon, eggs, or cornflakes.
"They all think I'm a wife beater," he couldn't help whispering to Megan.
"Don't be silly," she said, but they had both frozen for a second as well, and she hadn't spoken with much assurance.
"Ah, well, let's brave it out!" he murmured, squeezing her hand, and giving her a slight wink. He didn't know why he had been so shaken up himself. She'd had a nightmare. His anger had been uncalled for, and today, he was determined to make it up to her. Part of the problem, he knew, was that he really loved Megan. Desperately. He'd thought once that he wasn't going to explain himself, or beg forgiveness for what he'd never done. But he knew differently now. Not that he didn't still believe she should have trusted him; he just understood that doubts and life without really talking could undermine a marriage, tear it apart. And he wasn't going to let it happen again.
"Good morning!" he said cheerfully, and with Megan's hand in his, he approached the large oblong table.
Two seats had been left vacant for them, and he pulled out a chair for Megan. She sat, something of an awkward smile on her face.
"Morning," the thirty-something wife said. Finn thought that her husband nudged her leg beneath the table.
Susanna McCarthy, Fallon's female counterpart—as tall, skinny, and dour looking as the man himself—
entered with a coffeepot and served them both without a word. "How did you want your eggs?" she asked them, eyeing them as if she were forced to feed escaped convicts.
"Scrambled, please," Megan said.
"Over easy, if you will," Finn told her, determined to smile no matter what. He was also going to break the ice at the table, let them think what they wanted, then. "I'm Finn, and this is my wife Megan," he announced to me table. "Weren't all of you at the hotel storytelling down at the square last night, too?
Saw you all in the lobby here, briefly, but I think we're following a lot of the same events, as well."
There was a brief silence, then the twenty-something man spoke up. "I'm John, and this is my wife, Sally, and yes, we were at the storytelling thing last night, too."
Sally, a pretty little thing with blond hair down her back, spoke up, "Yes, and was he something! I must have jumped cleanly out of my chair at one point."
"He was great!" the little boy said, speaking up. "Great! Some of the stuff is just hokey, like if you go to some of the haunted houses. But he was great."
"Very scary," Megan agreed, smiling at him. She had a nice way with kids. She really looked into their eyes, paid attention when they were speaking. Finn didn't doubt that, one day, when they had their own, she was going to be a wonderful parent. He wished he was as sure about himself.
"Hey!" the boy said. "I can tell you what to do and what not to do, if you don't want to hit the hokey stuff," he said.
"Joshua!" his mother said sternly. "Maybe they want to discover the places on their own." She looked at her son as she spoke, then looked over at Finn and Megan as if she had to, but wasn't necessarily happy about it.
"We'd certainly love to hear his suggestions," Megan said sincerely.
"But you're from here, aren't you?" the father said, looking at her.
"From the area, yes," Megan admitted. "But when I was young, most of this wasn't even here yet. A lot of them are fairly new businesses."
It was then that Joshua's little sister, a cute little redhead with a smattering of freckles, spoke up. "That's right! Mr. Fallon said that your family goes way back here! So, if you know all about the ghosts and stuff, why were you screaming last night?"
"Ellie!" her father said, aghast.
Megan laughed, and the sound was light and real and had the charm that her laughter always did. "Ellie, just because I know about some of the stories already doesn't mean that they can't still scare me. In fact, you and your brother were certainly very brave, because I came back here, went fast asleep, and then had the worst nightmare you could ever imagine!" She looked at the parents of the two with apology.
"I'm so sorry, I guess I did wake everyone up." She shook her head. "I just had a terrible, terrible dream."
She must have been believed, because the father seemed to relent at last. "Hey, we were woken up by peacocks at the last place we stayed. I'm Brad Elgin."
"And I'm Mary," his wife said.
"And I'm—"
"You're Joshua, and you're Ellie," Megan finished. "And it's very nice to meet you, and please, even though I am from these parts, they change a bit every year. Finn and I are always up for suggestions. And my husband hasn't been here before. Ever! So, he may want to trust your judgment, just in case mine is a little tainted at times."
"Well, actually, I've been through here once," Finn said, glancing at Megan. "I got it into my head to drive up alone from New Orleans to Maine, and I'd never done it before. I wound up taking a few wrong turns off the highway, so I have had lunch in the center of town."
Megan grinned at him. Usually, he had a great sense of direction. She'd found it amusing that he'd gotten lost in New England, and sweet, as well, since he'd been on his way to find her.