Chapter 42
His cane tapped against the weathered wood beneath his feet.
Laughter, voices swirled around him in a flurry of activity as he shuffled across the docks. Some voices even calling him by name, and he lifted a quick hand in acknowledgment.
The salt in the air grew heavier.
The voices died down.
And he could hear the water lapping against the tiers of the pier.
Night was falling quickly.
He could feel it in the gentle breeze caressing his face with chilled fingers.
No voices were heard.
But he wasn't alone.
A cold, dark presence unnerved him, and he blinked sightless blue eyes in the dusk.
"Who's there?"
His only answer was the echo of hollow laughter, and the fading noise of footfall.
He raised his weary face to the heavens and gripped his cane more tightly.
Evil was back in Harmony, and it had to be banished.
This would be his last fight.
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"Whitney? Are you sure you don't want me to come in and."
Whitney's smile was tight as she shook her head 'no', fumbling through her purse for her keys. "I don't think."
"Whitney," Ethan protested. "You collapsed. You're not well."
"Ethan, please," Whitney pleaded, raising a weary hand to the door. She was surprised when the door creaked open.
Boxes. Boxes everywhere.
Ethan looked at her in confusion.
Whitney's voice was shaky as she called Paloma's name, stepping carefully through the maze of boxes toward Paloma's bedroom.
Matthew appeared, seemingly from nowhere, startling Ethan and Whitney both, and Ethan knelt at his son's feet, accepting his hug.
"Daddy!"
Whitney shrank back guiltily when Theresa and Paloma walked out of Paloma's room together.
Theresa grabbed Matthew's tiny hand in hers, looking down at Ethan. "I didn't expect to see you here. I guess I was wrong."
Paloma glared at Whitney, sweeping past her to gather up some boxes.
Whitney glanced quickly at Theresa before walking up behind Paloma. "Paloma? What is this? What's going on?"
"I can't stay here. Not after what you.and you have the nerve to flaunt it in my face."
Ethan rose to his feet, jumping to Whitney's defense. "You're wrong, Paloma. Whitney wasn't fe."
Whitney could see just a flicker of concern in Theresa's brown eyes when she cut Ethan off. "It's not what you're thinking, Paloma."
Matthew tugged his mother's hand, looking up at her with brown eyes riddled with confusion. "Mommy? Why's Aunt Paloma being so mean to Aunt Whitney?"
"Matthew." Paloma began.
But Whitney interrupted her, her voice calm and reassuring as she knelt to Matthew's level. "It's okay, Matthew. Aunt Paloma's upset with me because I've done something very bad," she said, her voice choking with emotion as she looked into Matthew's guileless little face. "And she doesn't believe I'm sorry, but I am. So very sorry," she finished on a whisper, looking up at Theresa. Then Paloma.
Theresa's gaze was guarded.
Paloma refused to meet her eyes.
"I believe you, Aunt Whitney," Matthew said somberly, slipping his arms around her neck.
Whitney clung to his sweet little body for a moment, blinking back tears at the terrible guilt that threatened to suffocate her.
Matthew believed in her, and his innocent trust made it all that much harder to swallow.
Whitney knew years and time would probably change his mind, but she wanted to hope.
"Matthew."
Matthew pulled out of her arms and leaned forward, kissing her forehead gently. "There. All better?"
Whitney nodded, incapable of forming words at that moment. Watching as Theresa took Matthew by the hand and led him out of the apartment.
Paloma rested a box on her hip, not daring to look at either of them as she spoke. "I'll come back for the rest later. Whitney."
"I understand," Whitney choked out.
The door clicked shut, leaving them both in a hell of their own making.
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Eve locked the front door behind her, not bothering to turn on any lights.
Her daughter's life was coming unraveled at the seams.
Sheridan seemed to be teetering on the brink of madness. Julian's confidences were shattering.
Harmony was a town of great discord, and it left her more disenchanted every day.
Such heavy thoughts demanded darkness, she thought as she lay her purse on the kitchen table and walked into the living room.
Faint light from the world outside cast slats of color in the blackness of the room, and her hand stilled at the buttons of her blouse, a sound of surprise she vaguely recognized as her own breaking the silence.
A silhouetted arm reached out, and seconds later, the room was bathed in a soft glow.
"Julian. What are you doing here?"
He didn't have an answer for her. Only an offering.
She took the manila folder from his hand, sinking to the armchair across from him as her eyes scanned its contents. "Katherine's file. Julian, why are you giving me this?"
Julian ran a weary hand over his chin. "So many things don't add up," he said simply. "Mother wasn't well, yes. But.I think Father murdered her. Murdered Martin Fitzgerald to cover up something. Eve, I want you to."
"Julian," she interrupted him. "This was so many years ago."
"Eve."
She sighed heavily, dropping the file to her lap. "I'll do what I can."
Julian relaxed minimally, his eyes sweeping over the small room. His eyes came back to her, and they were filled with sadness and guilt as he asked, "How's my sister?"
"She sees Andrew's ghost," Eve told him tiredly. "She can't forgive herself for his accident so she pretends she sees him. That he's trying to tell her something. She even has Danielle convinced. I tried to convince Luis to get her professional help, but he doesn't want to face the facts."
"What are the facts? Do any of us actually KNOW them?" Julian posed.
"Danielle fell down the stairs. Sheridan left Andrew alone in the bathtub for only a few minutes. He slipped. Maybe playing. Maybe trying to get one of his toys that had fallen out of the tub. And hit his head. He drowned. It was an accident, Julian. It could have happened to anyone."
"I'm not so sure," Julian muttered softly.
"Not so sure? Julian, what are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Julian shook his head, a disturbing image of a memory flashing through his consciousness. "I have to go, Eve. You'll."
Eve clasped Katherine's file to her chest, standing up with him and following him to the front door. "I'll do what I can. Julian."
Julian paused outside the door, waiting expectantly.
"Be careful. If everything you say is true.just be careful, okay?"
Julian's mouth quirked up at one corner, and he turned to walk through the dimly lit halls. "Goodnight, Eve."
"Goodnight," Eve whispered as she watched him disappear.
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"You don't believe me. You think I'm losing it, don't you Luis?"
Luis closed his eyes.
With each word, her voice grew louder. More frantic. What was he supposed to believe? "I don't think you're crazy," he placated, reaching for her.
Sheridan flinched at his touch, disbelief and anger in her blue eyes. "You're lying, Luis. At least have the guts to admit it," she snapped.
Danielle cried silently as her parents argued inside.
Pilar leaned against the porch railing, staring out into the darkness.
"Grandma.Grandma, do something," Danielle pleaded.
"I don't know what to do," Pilar admitted softly.
"Tell him. Tell him you see Andrew, too. Tell him Mommy's not crazy."
Pilar whirled around at the sound of shattering glass, bursting through the screen door just seconds after her granddaughter.
"Mommy!" Danielle screamed at the sight before her, rushing forward and pushing Luis out of her way so that she could be close to her mother.
Pilar grabbed a towel from a drawer. "Mija. Your hands. Let me."
Sheridan jerked her hands away, transfixed by the blood pouring from the cuts and dripping down her wrists. Echoes of a cruel, taunting voice inside her head.
"What happened?"
"She.I.I don't know," Luis said brokenly, his brown eyes moist. "Sheridan."
Sheridan's blue eyes were oddly empty as she looked at him.
"Sheridan.Baby, let me."
"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. "I want you to leave, Luis. I want you to go. You don't believe me. GET OUT!"
"Mija, you're upset. You don't mean."
"Don't you dare tell me what I mean," Sheridan spat venomously, her blue eyes flashing fire. The desolate look gone. Vanished.
Pilar visibly shrank back, fumbling for Danielle's smaller hand.
"No," Danielle yanked her hand away, scooting closer to her mother. "I'm not leaving her."
"Danielle.I can't." Luis faltered.
"Leave her alone with me, Luis? Are you afraid there's going to be another 'accident'?"
"Dammit, Sheridan! I don't blame you!" Luis roared.
"No. You don't blame me," Sheridan cried.
A teardrop coursed down Danielle's cheek, over her chin, and she tasted its salt on her tongue.
Blood splattered the tile floor around them.
"You don't blame me. You blame yourself for not being here. When are you going to realize, Luis? You can't save everyone."
Luis climbed to his feet on shaky limbs, gazing sadly at his wife and daughter, huddled in each other's embrace on the kitchen floor. "I guess you're right," he admitted bitterly. "I can't save everyone."
"Mija?"
"Pilar, please."
Danielle's sobs racked her small body as soon as they heard Luis's jeep rumble to life outside and peel out of the yard, followed closely by the noise of Pilar's old car.
Sheridan gathered her daughter even closer, unconscious of the blood staining her hands and Danielle's clothes. "It's going to be okay, Sweetie. I promise," she whispered tearfully, rocking them both gently. "We're going to save ourselves."
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"Is that so?" a cold voice mocked. The image of his daughter and granddaughter huddled in a painful embrace on the kitchen floor morphed into other images. Vacant bedrooms. Empty, echoing bathrooms. The grand old house by the sea, hushed in isolation. The crash of the waves against the lifeless shore.
Alone.
Remote.
Isolated.
"No one can save you now," he smiled evilly.
His cane tapped against the weathered wood beneath his feet.
Laughter, voices swirled around him in a flurry of activity as he shuffled across the docks. Some voices even calling him by name, and he lifted a quick hand in acknowledgment.
The salt in the air grew heavier.
The voices died down.
And he could hear the water lapping against the tiers of the pier.
Night was falling quickly.
He could feel it in the gentle breeze caressing his face with chilled fingers.
No voices were heard.
But he wasn't alone.
A cold, dark presence unnerved him, and he blinked sightless blue eyes in the dusk.
"Who's there?"
His only answer was the echo of hollow laughter, and the fading noise of footfall.
He raised his weary face to the heavens and gripped his cane more tightly.
Evil was back in Harmony, and it had to be banished.
This would be his last fight.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
"Whitney? Are you sure you don't want me to come in and."
Whitney's smile was tight as she shook her head 'no', fumbling through her purse for her keys. "I don't think."
"Whitney," Ethan protested. "You collapsed. You're not well."
"Ethan, please," Whitney pleaded, raising a weary hand to the door. She was surprised when the door creaked open.
Boxes. Boxes everywhere.
Ethan looked at her in confusion.
Whitney's voice was shaky as she called Paloma's name, stepping carefully through the maze of boxes toward Paloma's bedroom.
Matthew appeared, seemingly from nowhere, startling Ethan and Whitney both, and Ethan knelt at his son's feet, accepting his hug.
"Daddy!"
Whitney shrank back guiltily when Theresa and Paloma walked out of Paloma's room together.
Theresa grabbed Matthew's tiny hand in hers, looking down at Ethan. "I didn't expect to see you here. I guess I was wrong."
Paloma glared at Whitney, sweeping past her to gather up some boxes.
Whitney glanced quickly at Theresa before walking up behind Paloma. "Paloma? What is this? What's going on?"
"I can't stay here. Not after what you.and you have the nerve to flaunt it in my face."
Ethan rose to his feet, jumping to Whitney's defense. "You're wrong, Paloma. Whitney wasn't fe."
Whitney could see just a flicker of concern in Theresa's brown eyes when she cut Ethan off. "It's not what you're thinking, Paloma."
Matthew tugged his mother's hand, looking up at her with brown eyes riddled with confusion. "Mommy? Why's Aunt Paloma being so mean to Aunt Whitney?"
"Matthew." Paloma began.
But Whitney interrupted her, her voice calm and reassuring as she knelt to Matthew's level. "It's okay, Matthew. Aunt Paloma's upset with me because I've done something very bad," she said, her voice choking with emotion as she looked into Matthew's guileless little face. "And she doesn't believe I'm sorry, but I am. So very sorry," she finished on a whisper, looking up at Theresa. Then Paloma.
Theresa's gaze was guarded.
Paloma refused to meet her eyes.
"I believe you, Aunt Whitney," Matthew said somberly, slipping his arms around her neck.
Whitney clung to his sweet little body for a moment, blinking back tears at the terrible guilt that threatened to suffocate her.
Matthew believed in her, and his innocent trust made it all that much harder to swallow.
Whitney knew years and time would probably change his mind, but she wanted to hope.
"Matthew."
Matthew pulled out of her arms and leaned forward, kissing her forehead gently. "There. All better?"
Whitney nodded, incapable of forming words at that moment. Watching as Theresa took Matthew by the hand and led him out of the apartment.
Paloma rested a box on her hip, not daring to look at either of them as she spoke. "I'll come back for the rest later. Whitney."
"I understand," Whitney choked out.
The door clicked shut, leaving them both in a hell of their own making.
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Eve locked the front door behind her, not bothering to turn on any lights.
Her daughter's life was coming unraveled at the seams.
Sheridan seemed to be teetering on the brink of madness. Julian's confidences were shattering.
Harmony was a town of great discord, and it left her more disenchanted every day.
Such heavy thoughts demanded darkness, she thought as she lay her purse on the kitchen table and walked into the living room.
Faint light from the world outside cast slats of color in the blackness of the room, and her hand stilled at the buttons of her blouse, a sound of surprise she vaguely recognized as her own breaking the silence.
A silhouetted arm reached out, and seconds later, the room was bathed in a soft glow.
"Julian. What are you doing here?"
He didn't have an answer for her. Only an offering.
She took the manila folder from his hand, sinking to the armchair across from him as her eyes scanned its contents. "Katherine's file. Julian, why are you giving me this?"
Julian ran a weary hand over his chin. "So many things don't add up," he said simply. "Mother wasn't well, yes. But.I think Father murdered her. Murdered Martin Fitzgerald to cover up something. Eve, I want you to."
"Julian," she interrupted him. "This was so many years ago."
"Eve."
She sighed heavily, dropping the file to her lap. "I'll do what I can."
Julian relaxed minimally, his eyes sweeping over the small room. His eyes came back to her, and they were filled with sadness and guilt as he asked, "How's my sister?"
"She sees Andrew's ghost," Eve told him tiredly. "She can't forgive herself for his accident so she pretends she sees him. That he's trying to tell her something. She even has Danielle convinced. I tried to convince Luis to get her professional help, but he doesn't want to face the facts."
"What are the facts? Do any of us actually KNOW them?" Julian posed.
"Danielle fell down the stairs. Sheridan left Andrew alone in the bathtub for only a few minutes. He slipped. Maybe playing. Maybe trying to get one of his toys that had fallen out of the tub. And hit his head. He drowned. It was an accident, Julian. It could have happened to anyone."
"I'm not so sure," Julian muttered softly.
"Not so sure? Julian, what are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Julian shook his head, a disturbing image of a memory flashing through his consciousness. "I have to go, Eve. You'll."
Eve clasped Katherine's file to her chest, standing up with him and following him to the front door. "I'll do what I can. Julian."
Julian paused outside the door, waiting expectantly.
"Be careful. If everything you say is true.just be careful, okay?"
Julian's mouth quirked up at one corner, and he turned to walk through the dimly lit halls. "Goodnight, Eve."
"Goodnight," Eve whispered as she watched him disappear.
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"You don't believe me. You think I'm losing it, don't you Luis?"
Luis closed his eyes.
With each word, her voice grew louder. More frantic. What was he supposed to believe? "I don't think you're crazy," he placated, reaching for her.
Sheridan flinched at his touch, disbelief and anger in her blue eyes. "You're lying, Luis. At least have the guts to admit it," she snapped.
Danielle cried silently as her parents argued inside.
Pilar leaned against the porch railing, staring out into the darkness.
"Grandma.Grandma, do something," Danielle pleaded.
"I don't know what to do," Pilar admitted softly.
"Tell him. Tell him you see Andrew, too. Tell him Mommy's not crazy."
Pilar whirled around at the sound of shattering glass, bursting through the screen door just seconds after her granddaughter.
"Mommy!" Danielle screamed at the sight before her, rushing forward and pushing Luis out of her way so that she could be close to her mother.
Pilar grabbed a towel from a drawer. "Mija. Your hands. Let me."
Sheridan jerked her hands away, transfixed by the blood pouring from the cuts and dripping down her wrists. Echoes of a cruel, taunting voice inside her head.
"What happened?"
"She.I.I don't know," Luis said brokenly, his brown eyes moist. "Sheridan."
Sheridan's blue eyes were oddly empty as she looked at him.
"Sheridan.Baby, let me."
"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. "I want you to leave, Luis. I want you to go. You don't believe me. GET OUT!"
"Mija, you're upset. You don't mean."
"Don't you dare tell me what I mean," Sheridan spat venomously, her blue eyes flashing fire. The desolate look gone. Vanished.
Pilar visibly shrank back, fumbling for Danielle's smaller hand.
"No," Danielle yanked her hand away, scooting closer to her mother. "I'm not leaving her."
"Danielle.I can't." Luis faltered.
"Leave her alone with me, Luis? Are you afraid there's going to be another 'accident'?"
"Dammit, Sheridan! I don't blame you!" Luis roared.
"No. You don't blame me," Sheridan cried.
A teardrop coursed down Danielle's cheek, over her chin, and she tasted its salt on her tongue.
Blood splattered the tile floor around them.
"You don't blame me. You blame yourself for not being here. When are you going to realize, Luis? You can't save everyone."
Luis climbed to his feet on shaky limbs, gazing sadly at his wife and daughter, huddled in each other's embrace on the kitchen floor. "I guess you're right," he admitted bitterly. "I can't save everyone."
"Mija?"
"Pilar, please."
Danielle's sobs racked her small body as soon as they heard Luis's jeep rumble to life outside and peel out of the yard, followed closely by the noise of Pilar's old car.
Sheridan gathered her daughter even closer, unconscious of the blood staining her hands and Danielle's clothes. "It's going to be okay, Sweetie. I promise," she whispered tearfully, rocking them both gently. "We're going to save ourselves."
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
"Is that so?" a cold voice mocked. The image of his daughter and granddaughter huddled in a painful embrace on the kitchen floor morphed into other images. Vacant bedrooms. Empty, echoing bathrooms. The grand old house by the sea, hushed in isolation. The crash of the waves against the lifeless shore.
Alone.
Remote.
Isolated.
"No one can save you now," he smiled evilly.