Chapter One

Mable Lawrence's lower lip quivered as she stared at her father's prone figure on the kitchen floor.

She studied the wreckage of the kitchen, at the broken glasses and shattered dishes, at the pots and pans scattered beneath the kitchen table. She mourned the loss of her late mother's favorite blue vase, one the many victims of her father's distracted purge as he rummaged under the refrigerator. At her sharp inhale, he glanced up and scowled at her.

"Where are the keys?" he demanded irritably.

Mable took several deep breaths, and ran her hands through her red-gold hair. "What keys, Daddy?"

"My keys. You know…" He got up off the floor and looked around, lost.

Mable slowly crouched down, and started to pick up some of the broken pieces of glass. "Your house keys are on the table near the front door." She said, fighting to keep her voice calm. "Your car keys are in your room." Her vision blurred for a moment as she gently picked up the piece of her mother's vase. She had been so proud to display the fresh flowers she had bought at the grocery store in her mother's old vase.

Her father glared at her as she threw the few pieces of glass she had collected in the trash. "Well, help me find them, Bella. I have work."

Mable picked up the pot her father was nudging with his toe. She didn't bother to correct him when he called her by her late mother's name; the doctors said that happened a lot in Alzheimer's patients. If she tried to correct him, he would just get frustrated and that would make things even worse.

"Daddy, I don't think you have work today," she straightened up and watched his expression carefully. He looked like he was starting to get more confused, so she quickly changed the subject. "It's almost eight 'o clock, do you want breakfast?"

Her father's hazel eyes, the same shade as her own, narrowed. "Do I want breakfast?"

"Yeah."

He made a mumbling noise, trying so hard to remember but failing to grasp the right words. Dejected, he walked out of the room.

Mable followed him anxiously, making sure he went into his room before sighing and cleaning up the rest of the mess. She would have to check on him in a minute. Her father often wasn't able to dress himself, and the fact that he was up this early meant that he hadn't slept well the night before. On the nights when her father was plagued with nightmares he spent the next day even more ill-tempered and confused. She was in for a rough day.

Her cell phone rang right as she was pulling out the broom. With a quick glance at the screen, she pressed the answer button and said curtly, "Not a good time, Jeanne."

There was a second of silence. "I just wanted to see if you got my check." Her eldest sister said in a huffy voice. "I sent it last week, and I don't see that it's been cashed."

"I haven't had the chance to get out of the house." Mable started to sweep the floor.

"What's that noise? Are you cleaning?"

"Yes, I'm cleaning. Dad had an episode this morning, and there's broken glass all over the floor. I'm trying to get it clean before he comes in here and hurts himself." Mable held back a sigh. She had only managed to seriously clean the kitchen a few days ago, while he father napped on the couch. It would be at least another week or two before she could get the same results.

"I'm guessing he didn't sleep well last night?"

"No, I guess not. I heard him bumping around, but I must have been more tired than I thought, because I didn't even know he was up until I came in and saw him on the floor."

There was a clatter on the other end of the line, and then the soft sound of water running. Mable recognized the sound of dishes being washed. Jeanne's kitchen, Mable imagined, was spotless.

"I have to run some errands in a few minutes," Jeanne said absently. "I know you're probably stressed, Mable, but couldn't you call Miss Carol and have her keep an eye on Dad for a while? I need that check cashed, and you sound like you need a day out."

"Do I sound like that, now?" Mable said sarcastically.

"Come on, Mable. I know it's hard taking care of Dad. Yeah, I want the check cashed, but I also want you to start taking better care of yourself. You shouldn't burn yourself out before you turn twenty-six."

Against her will, her lips started to curve up in a smile. "Thanks, Jeanne. You're sure I should call Miss Carol?"

"Of course. I'll call Colette today and have her send an extra hundred to cover it."

Mable pictured her other older sister Colette, sitting at her perfect little table in her perfect little apartment in New York, with a perfect cup of coffee, and ground her teeth.

"That should be ok."

"Christmas is coming up soon. Do you think Dad will be able to handle having us all there?"

No, but Mable wasn't about to pass up a few days where she could share the caregiving responsibilities with two extra people. "Sure, he'll be all right."

Mable could hear the smile in her sister's voice as she said, "Ok, we'll try for Christmas, then. The girls will be so excited."

Mable doubted spending time with a grandfather who barely remembered their names was on the top of her nieces' Christmas lists, but she just said, "Yeah, I'll bet. Listen, I have to go check on Dad. I'll talk to you later, ok?"

Jeanne gave her a cheerful good-bye, and hung up. Mable finished sweeping the floor, and put the pots and pans away. As she straightened up, she wondered where she would be now if her father had not been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Would she have a law degree, like her sister Colette, and living in a nice apartment somewhere outside the city? Or would she be like Jeanne, with a loving husband and children?

Would she have actually finished college, have lots of friends, and actually see her sisters more than a few days a year?

Mable gave the kitchen one last look around and mentally shrugged. There was no use in dwelling on what might have been. Her father was sick and Mable, who was the youngest and had been already living at home when her father started to show symptoms, was his caregiver. She supposed they could have sent him to a nursing home, but Mable didn't have the heart to place him in one of those cold, unfeeling places until it was absolutely necessary. Jeanne and Colette had agreed that, as long as Mable felt she could handle it, it was for the best.

Mable strode down the hall to her father's room, frowning when she opened the room to darkness. Her father sat on the bed, dressed only in a pair of jeans, running his hands over a shirt he had thrown over his knee. Mable felt her heart constrict as she saw him there, so different from the patient, loving man who had raised her and her sisters alone for almost twenty years.

"Daddy? Do you want help?"

Her father turned and gave her a brilliant smile. "Hey, Mable-cake. When did you get home?"

Mable gave herself a moment to keep from crying. "Just now." She lied. It was better to go along than to correct him. "Do you want help with your shirt?"

Once she finished helping him get dressed, she coaxed her father back to the kitchen for breakfast. She watched him like a hawk while calling her next-door neighbor, Carol Yardley.

"Mable! Do you need anything, honey?" A warm, caring woman, Miss Carol had been a nurse for almost thirty years before she retired. She and her husband had lived next door to Mable's family since Mable was a baby. After their mother died, Miss Carol was their father's go-to babysitter when he needed to run errands without three little girls tagging along.

Mable always called her when she needed help with her father. Miss Carol kept the same caring, watchful eye on Mable's father as she had with Mable and her sisters.

"Hi, Miss Carol. Could you come over today and keep my dad company? I need to cash a check for Jeanne, and to be honest, I really need a bit of time to myself." Satisfied that her father could eat without her for a few minutes, Mable turned to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"Why, of course! I'll be right over."

Mable hung up and saw her father playing with his cereal. "All done, Dad?"

He ignored her, which wasn't unusual.

Mable put away the rest of the breakfast dishes, except his—her father might finish his cereal, he might not—and quickly started to gather all of her winter things. This early in November it was possible it could snow. In fact, they had already gotten a dusting a few days ago. She didn't mind the snow that much, and was rather enjoying the idea of going in the clean, cold air.

A few minutes later, Mable was hugging her father and Miss Carol good bye as she strode out the door.

Miss Carol gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. "Go on, honey." She told Mable fondly. "Go out, and don't worry about a thing. Your father and I will have a great time, won't we, Stephen?"

Mable's father just hugged her and wandered back into the house.

After a quick trip to the bank, where she did indeed cash her sister's check, Mable drove a few more miles until she saw a sign noting a nature trail not far ahead. Feeling adventurous now that she was out of the house, Mable took the turn off and pulled into a little, potholed parking lot. Her car was the only one in the lot that she could see.

That wasn't too strange, she told herself. It had been bone-chillingly cold for the past few days, and most people would be indoors. Vermonters were known for their love of cold and the winter, but anyone who enjoyed winter sports would be out on one of the mountains that surrounded their town of Berkshire. Everyone else huddled inside and waited until spring.

Mable got out of the car and straightened her over-sized, shapeless winter coat. For too many years, Mable's sisters had gifted her with clothes that were far too small for her plump, overweight frame. They either didn't understand or didn't care that what fit their beautiful, shapely forms did not fit Mable, who had never quite lost her baby-fat. In an act of rebellion, Mable had gone out and bought several outfits that were two sizes bigger than she needed, so that most days she was wearing jeans and a overly-baggy sweater that came down to her knees. Tugging on an equally large, green winter hat, Mable set off onto a well-worn trail through the woods.

Mable inhaled the smell of pine and cold air, a smile creeping onto her face as she trekked deeper and deeper into the woods. It felt so good to be out of the house. She loved her father, but taking care of him in his current state was physically and emotionally draining. Jeanne and Colette would occasionally drive out to help, but they had their own lives. Mable's friends had also moved on without her, gathering jobs, lovers, and families. They had no time to spare for the girl they once knew, the girl who dropped out of college her sophomore year to aid an ailing father on her sisters' dime.

Mable had read all the notes and internet advice on taking care of family with Alzheimer's, and every one had told her not to isolate herself. But she didn't know how they expected her not to. She couldn't very well leave for a dinner date, not when there was a chance her father could leave the house and wander off. He had already done that once before, and Mable had spent two hours driving around, frantically calling for him, until she finally found him on a bench outside a gas station.

Routines were important at her house; they served as touchstones so her father could get through the day. While all her friends her own age were out dating or going on spontaneous weekend trips, Mable was making sure the house she had grown up in stayed in relatively good condition, that the bills were always paid on time, and keeping her father as calm and healthy as possible. Jeanne and Collette helped by sending her money to cover most, if not all, the costs, so Mable didn't have to worry about leaving her father to work. But that meant most days Mable was at home with no one to talk to except her muddled, easily-irritated father.

Mable's vision blurred, and she impatiently brushed aside the tears. It was from the wind, she told herself sternly. She wasn't feeling sorry for herself. Yes, taking care of her father was hard. Yes, she wished for a friend or someone who could understand how difficult it was, feeling like she was spinning her wheels while everyone else moved on with their lives. But she had a home, and a family she loved. She wouldn't trade those in just because her life was a little more complicated than it was for any other twenty-five-year-old.

Mable threw her chin up, as if defying the world. She was doing just fine, and would continue to be fine, as long as her father needed her.

It was then that the ground came out from underneath her, and sent her flying into darkness.

Mable felt herself coming to, gradually. First it was just sensations. She felt something tickling her face. Her hands and feet where numb, and tingled sharply when she wiggled them. She felt the impression of her head resting on something incredibly hard. Her breath came out in fast, shallow puffs, and panic started to seep in. She opened her eyes and all she could see were gray sky and the tops of the trees. She went to push herself up, and only felt numb.

Oh shit, she was paralyzed.

Wildly, she tried to move again, not sure if it was fear or the cold that was making her body numb. This time it worked, and she was able to slowly sit up. She let out a relieved chuckle, flexing her fingers to get the blood moving. She felt the back of her head, and winced. There was a very large lump. Bones cracking in protest, she turned to discover the source; a large, icy rock.

Her temper, which she never got chances to use with her father, started to rise. How the hell did she fall backwards when she had been walking forward? Frowning, she slowly stood up, and groaned as her body ached from being in one position for too long. She felt a ticklish sensation on her cheek, and glanced up. It had started to snow.

Mostly to test her voice, she yelled, "Dammit!" to the empty woods. Nobody answered back, but she felt some satisfaction at shouting into the wilderness. She glanced around. How far had she walked before she got to this part of the woods? Nothing looked familiar.

She yelped loudly when she heard a rustling in the brush, but before she could move, a squirrel streaked in front of her and up an opposite tree. She shook her head at her own stupidity, and reached for her cell phone. The cops would surely know where she was, and help her get back to her car. She studied the cell cautiously. She hoped it hadn't broken in her fall. It looked undamaged, and she quickly scrolled with numb fingers to Miss Carol's number. She'd call her first to make sure Miss Carol knew where she was, so she wouldn't worry. After that, she'd call the police. She pressed the call button, silently praying that someone would pick up.

She didn't even get a dial tone.

Oh, boy. This was bad.

More because she needed something to do than because it was a good idea, Mable started to walk. Her body was starting to shiver from the cold and ache from the fall. It had been mid-morning when she arrived, she calculated, so she must have been out for at least four or five hours.

She hoped she didn't have a concussion, but could people walk with concussions? Well, she'd just have to hope she didn't faint again. If she didn't move around, she was going to go crazy. She hunched her shoulders, blinking back tears of distress. She glanced at the phone in her hand. Surely there would be some signal, or someone's voice telling her she was out of range? Did she have signal when she left the car?

She couldn't remember.

She continued to walk, her hair whipping around her face. Great. Not only was it getting darker by the minutes, but the wind had started up.

It continued to darken as she walked, trudging through the dead leaves and needles, anxiously looking for some sigh of the parking lot or even a road. She panted as she climbed over rocks and stumbled over hidden tree roots. The wind had turned from a soft blow to a nasty howl. Mable was certain she could hear voices drifting on the wind, but whenever she turned to look, there was nothing there. Thoroughly creeped out, she hurried onward, tucking her face into her jacket so the only part showing was her eyes. Even those were useless. All she could see were the trees right in front of her. There was no path, nowhere to go, and the snow was falling faster and thicker. Mable felt it sting her eyes as she picked up the pace, heart pounding.

It was full dark, and the light snow had thickened into a wall of white when Mable finally reached the gate.

Stumped, Mable blinked snow out of her eyes as she lifted her face out of her jacket. The gate was taller than her by five feet, going far above her head. It was cast iron, black, with no spots of rust. It gleamed even in the dark, as if it had recently bee polished. Mable tried to look past the gate, but she couldn't see much. She looked around. The gate seemed to be the only entrance along a gigantic brick wall that stretched outward in the dark. Mable struggled to make up her mind. She wasn't sure how to get in, but surely it was better to try and climb the fate than to wander down the length of that endless wall?

She hadn't even finished her thought yet when the gate, soundless in the howling of the storm, opened on its own accord.

"That is definitely spooky." She murmured. Her voice was lost in the wind. She backed up a step, uncertain, but hurried forward as a cold gush pushed her through, like it wanted her to go in. She strained to look through the snow, which clung to her hair and her eyelashes. Her fingers were numb with the cold, and she stuck them in her mouth to warm them. She winced, and gingerly toughed her tongue to her lips to discover they were cracked and dry from the wind.

Mable staggered into what might have been a courtyard, trying to ignore her cold, wet feet. Because there had only been a dusting on the ground, she hadn't bothered to put on her sturdy winter boots. Instead she wore a ragged pair of sneakers that were soaked through. She huddled against another burst of wind as it sent bits of ice towards her, stinging her cheeks and nose.

After a few moments, she yelped as her knees hit something hidden in the dark. Leaning down, she felt frozen stone against her hands. Wishing fruitlessly that she had her gloves, she pushed away some of the snow and revealed the circular form of a garden fountain. Mable squinted, and thought she could see the top somewhere in the dark. It looked like the water had been gushing earlier, but the freezing temperature had made the water turn into ice that was cascading down into bowl.

Keeping one hand on the fountain rim, Mable eased herself around it, hoping to use it as a reference point if she couldn't find the residence the gate was attached to. She was beginning to wonder how much further she had to walk until she found a damn house or shed or something. She was about three feet away from the fountain when she saw lights in the distance. Eagerly, she surged forward, keeping her eyes on the lights that started to climb upwards the closer she got. She was so intent on reaching them, she didn't notice the steps until she tripped and fell flat on her face. Swearing loudly, she got up, and found that she was at the steps of a humongous castle.

Cue the creepy lighting.

It had to be a castle, her mind stuttered, it was too big to be anything else. She could see towers and turrets even through the blinding snow. The windows, where the light had been shining from, were made from etched glass that made the snow sparkle and dance as they were illuminated. Other windows cast out rainbows as light shone through stained glass. The castle itself was made of thick stone, in bricks cut taller than she was. She looked in both directions, and couldn't see where the castle walls ended in the dark. The whole effect made her feel incredibly small and insignificant.

How the hell do they keep this place heated?

Mable bit back laughter that came close to hysterics at that thought. Falling on her head must be having some effect. She forced her fist in her mouth, her breath coming out in quick, painful gasps. This was a hallucination. She must be lying in a snow drift somewhere, half-dead. This castle couldn't possibly be real.

It took a couple of minutes shivering in the cold until she finally composed herself enough to attempt the stairs. There was no point in staying out here, especially when there was a chance to get warm, even she was just hallucinating. She inched her way up the stairs, on the lookout for patches of ice that would send her on another trip into unconsciousness. She got to the top of the very long staircase and gaped at the huge, oak door that loomed in front of her. It looked costly, with polished wood that stood far over her head. It wasn't just one door, either. It was a pair of double doors, the kind that was only found on castles.

She stupidly started looking for a doorbell.

Of course, castles didn't have doorbells. She cursed herself for her idiocy, and raised her hand to grab one of the gold, ornate doorknockers. There were two, in the shape of lions' heads. Each of the heads was bigger than her fists. Anxiety made her hesitate, but the snow, aches, and weariness made her grab the ring that was hanging in one of the mouths and knock. It was heavy, so she knocked again. The sheer weight of the knocker hammering against the wood made her bones vibrate. She could hearing the echo of the knocker in the castle, and wondered if anyone even lived here.

Well, there was light flowing out of the windows, so someone had to be here. She rubbed her hands together, and went to grab the knock with both hands, intending to knock the damn door down if she had to.

Before she could even touch it, the door opened, and she blinked as warmth brushed her face and bright light filled her eyes.