Truth or Consequences: Part Two
Vancouver, 1986
Two years ago, he made a promise to himself, to avenge his dead wife. Two years was an eternity. . .two years was the blink of an eye. It felt like an eternity, waiting those two years to set his plans into motion, though he knew it was necessary. In order to accomplish his objectives, it would take him time. Perhaps a long time. He knew they were expecting him to react quickly, if he reacted at all.
It occurred to him that the latter was quite likely. After all, as far as Rayne, Tremain, and Boyle were considered, they did nothing wrong. It was a 'regrettable incident' in the eyes of those three bastards. Deirdre was a witch, she deserved to die, and Douglas was a good little Legacy precept. He even let Tremain test the mage abilities of his ten year old daughter. It would never occur to him to strike back at the Legacy! He knew that the Legacy was the be all and the end all, and any innocent was to be sacrificed for the good of the Legacy.
He didn't know if any of the three murderers actually said something so self-aggrandizing. However, any time he started doubting those things. . .he remembered his wife's memorial service. Remembered how Sir Edmund threatened to kick out any member of the Legacy who attended the funeral services of a known witch. They were all fully prepared to defy him, of course. None of them took kindly to being told what to do by that old fool. But he and Nathaniel asked them not to come. . .out of respect for Deirdre's memory. If Sir Edmund was defied, he would 'cleanse' Santa Fe House.
Douglas did not want that. He needed time. So, he devoted that year to his three daughters. To Marissa, who was home during holidays. . .to Valerie, who faced such a long, tedious recovery after what Boyle did to her. And to Kerry, his baby. He heard the pained whispers of the others in his House. He didn't blame them, any of them, for what the Legacy did. They mourned Deirdre, just as he did, and they helped him to take care of his daughters.
Two weeks after Deirdre's murder, his youngest House member, Angel Montoya, came to him. He was from Latin America, where the old and new religions combined. And he could not remain in the Legacy when Deirdre's murderer was not held accountable. Much to the precept's gratification, not a single member of his House doubted Valerie when she told what happened that day, or in her hospital room.
That gesture of support wasn't enough to deter him from carrying out his revenge against the three Legacy members who destroyed his family. There wasn't a force on earth capable of that. But to thank his loyal House members, even the ones who quit the Legacy, Douglas kept silent about his plans. He didn't want to implicate any of them, any more than they would be. In the Legacy, guilt by association ruled. You were guilty if the people you considered your friends were guilty. He would use the same rules with his people that he did with his daughters. The less they knew, the better, and the more effective he would be when the time came.
Ten months after his wife's murder, he was transferred to Vancouver. That bastard Tremain actually patted him on the back when he arrived in Vancouver, saying how pleased he was that Douglas got over that regrettable incident involving the woman. It took all the self-control Douglas possessed not to slam his fist into Tremaine's smug face. Regrettable incident. That was what he called murder. And he couldn't even grant Deirdre the courtesy of calling her Douglas' wife. Bastard. He would get his.
And that started today. Payback started today. After two years of cultivating contacts, of research, and of planning, Douglas would finally push over the first domino in his campaign against the Legacy. The Legacy was sick. . .it had a terrible cancer eating away at it. But he would stop the cancer. He would make the Legacy great once more, would right this terrible injustice, or he would die trying.
It was early in the morning when he left. . .the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and his children were asleep. Except for Marissa. She was in California, attending college. After her mother's death, she couldn't bear going to one of the universities in New Mexico. He wouldn't have to worry about her. . .she was almost twenty years old, a grown woman. She would be fine. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. . .had to keep telling himself. Otherwise, he would lose his nerve, and betray his wife's memory.
It was his two younger daughters who concerned him the most. Kerry was two years old. Just a baby. And Valerie was fourteen. . .a preternaturally mature woman-child. Legacy brats, like military brats, were forced to grow up faster than their counterparts in the private sector. Douglas knew this, for he was a Legacy brat himself. But he grew up in a far different time, nor did he suffer because of a parent's weakness, as Valerie suffered because of his. His middle daughter nearly lost her sanity and her life when she was ten years old. And the attack that killed his wife also severely damaged the young girl's spine. Valerie was in a wheelchair for months after the attack. It was a long road back. . .but his little girl made it.
Yes, Valerie was far too mature. . .but she was still only fourteen, and she still needed protection. He could no longer provide that protection. As Douglas stared at his daughters, his fear returned. What if he failed, and in some horrible twist of fate, all three murderers survived what he planned for them? What if he was discovered, and the Legacy took action against his children? It was guilt by association once more. His children were guilty of whatever crimes he committed, just as they were guilty because their mother was a witch.
Douglas flinched, but forced himself to remember the months following his wife's death. Valerie's healing took a very long time. When she wasn't in physical therapy for her spine, she was reading. Studying. Leo Herzog continued his visits to the House, teaching her Hebrew. In addition, Valerie began learning Greek. . .fitting, Douglas thought, since she was born in Greece. The rest of the House tutored her in her weaker subjects. Given how much his second daughter loved books, Douglas knew it was the happiest she could have been under the circumstances.
When they moved to Vancouver in April of 1985, Valerie was still in her wheelchair. By the time school started in September, it was discovered she was at the same level, academically, as a high school sophomore. After an involved conversation with the ever-present Nathaniel, as well as Valerie's teachers, Douglas enrolled her in the local high school. The thirteen year old sophomore raised more than a few eyebrows, but she gradually won the respect of her new classmates. Oh, she wasn't the most popular girl in school, but she won acceptance and respect.
That, he knew, was small comfort to his middle daughter. Many times in the two years since Deirdre's death, Douglas heard Valerie crying at night. She believed she could have saved her mother. She was wrong. The fate of her mother rested in the hands of three men, not in the hands of a defenseless twelve year old girl. The three men whom Douglas was leaving the Legacy, in order to destroy them all. Jonathan Boyle, Derek Rayne, and Edmund Tremain. Two precepts, and a simple Legacy member. Not so simple, however, not after what Boyle did. Tremain and Rayne didn't see it that way. They said there was no crime. With that decision, Douglas made a decision of his own. He was done with the Legacy. Oh, he would still fight the good fight. He would still protect the innocent.
But he would do it on his terms. . .not the Legacy's. The Legacy allowed his wife's murderer to go free. The Legacy allowed his children to be threatened. The Legacy was nothing more than a sham, an illusion. And if his wife's old flame, Reed Horton, Douglas would have apologized to the other man for not believing him. . .would have asked his aid to avenge Deirdre's murder. And along with his faith in the Legacy, his faith in a loving God was shattered. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, his best friend would have said. Not good enough. It was time for Douglas Barton to mete out justice.
But to do that, he had to die. He had to make the Legacy believe he was dead. He made that decision long ago. . .it was the only way he knew to protect his daughters. That was why he could not discovered, at least not yet. If he was believed to be dead, the Legacy would never think to blame him, at least in the beginning. . .and would therefore leave his daughters alone. Let them find their own ways, and their own truths. Which was why Douglas was leaving early.
Before he could leave, however, he had to look upon his daughters one last time. Right now, it was Kerry and Valerie's turn, for he would see Marissa one last time, from a distance, when he went to California. Right now, Douglas watched Valerie sleep. . .he wouldn't see her graduate from high school. He wouldn't see her get married, or have children. That was his sacrifice, his punishment, but it was worth it. She was worth it, Marissa was worth it, as was little Kerry. My God, he thought, gazing at his middle daughter, she's beautiful. I never told her how beautiful she is. I should have told her. So many things left unsaid!
He tenderly kissed her forehead, murmuring, "I love you, my beautiful girl, and I am so proud of you. Take good care of your little sister. And maybe one day, you'll be able to forgive me. For everything." He kissed her dark hair, then left the room. He still had to say good-bye to Kerry. The toddler, named Kerry Isis by her sisters, slept in the room adjoining Valerie's. Douglas closed the door behind him, only to find his youngest daughter already awake. Of course she would be awake. He wouldn't get away with leaving his family that easily. Douglas accepted this penance without question. He was leaving his daughters, his own legacy from Deirdre, and he was becoming what he hated so much. Yes, this was the absolute least penance that he deserved for the sins he was about to commit.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy," she chanted, holding out her arms to him. Douglas swept her up into his arms, holding her tightly. Valerie gave her a bath just before bedtime, and Douglas could still smell the shampoo in his daughter's hair this morning. It was Valerie's favorite shampoo, and Kerry insisted that her sister use the same on her hair. Lilac. . .funny, now that he thought about it, lilac was one of his wife's favorite scents as well. Or not so funny. He could swear Deirdre's soul lived on in Valerie.
"I have to go away, my little one," Douglas whispered to his daughter, amazed at the strength in her tiny body. There were times when he swore he was destined to be surrounded by strong women. His mother, his wife, his daughters. . .all three of them. Douglas kissed Kerry's dark hair and continued, "I have to go away. But I want you to know. . .never forget. . .how much I love you. How much I love your sisters."
"Where go, Daddy?" the little girl asked, focusing on the only word she understood out of what Douglas just told her, "Why go? Me bad?"
Tears formed in her big brown eyes, immediately turning her father into a puddle of goo, and Douglas immediately reassured her, "Of course not, sweetheart. . .you're a good girl! You're my very best girl. But that's why I'm going away. Sometimes, Kerry, sometimes we have to do things that other people won't think are good, but really are. I'm going away so I don't hurt you, or your sisters."
He could tell from her glazed expression that she didn't understand what he meant. There was no way she could understand him. Douglas realized that he would have to do what he hated most. Lie to his child. He lifted her from her bed and carried her to a nearby rocking chair. Once they were seated, he told her softly, "I won't be gone long, princess." She looked up at him trustingly, and for a moment, Douglas considered scrapping the whole plan. Forget revenge, forget payback. . .stay with his girls. Then the memory of his wife's cold forehead returned. He couldn't end things like this. Douglas forced himself to say, "I just. . .sometimes, I'm afraid that if I leave the House for even a few moments, I'll never see you or your sisters again. I'll be back." Those were the words Kerry would understand, would remember.
"You be back?" Kerry asked, blinking back her tears, and Douglas nodded. He was close to tears himself, but for a different reason. He never lied to his children before, swore to himself after Deirdre's death that he would never lie to his children, not even to protect them. They encountered too many lies from the Legacy. And now here he was, breaking a promise. He was becoming that which he hated most. It was already starting.
"P'om'se?" the little girl persisted, and Douglas cursed himself. He frightened his daughter with his talk about loving her and her sisters forever, and made this that much more difficult. If he kept his mouth shut, this wouldn't be happening. Stupid, weak fool, he raged at himself, you don't deserve any of them! You never have, you never will, and you'll do them a favor by staying out of their lives from now on!
"I promise you, love, I'll be back," he answered, despite the lump in his throat. Kerry relaxed, resting her head against his chest. Of course she would relax. He never broke a promise to her. Not before today. And it killed him to break this promise, but that would be his punishment to bear, not his daughters. But even as that thought crossed his mind, he knew it to be a lie as well. He knew his daughters would bear this punishment. The only question was, which girl it would affect most. Douglas shook his head, determined to follow this through.
"Now," he said, "back to bed you go. Let your sister sleep as long as she likes today. No, don't pout, that's not what a big girl does. I'll see you when I get home." He rose to his feet and carried Kerry back to bed. Douglas kissed her forehead, murmuring, "Sleep well, baby. Happy dreams." He caressed her dark hair, then quietly slipped from the room. There was no more time. He had to leave for San Francisco. Now. He returned to his room and picked up his bags. He only had three. One bag for his clothing, one for his keepsakes and pictures of his children, and the last. . .the last bag was for his mission. This last bag was slung over his shoulder, while he picked up the two bags beside it. He walked quietly down the stairs, silently opened the door, and left the Legacy House. He did not look back.
Douglas paused at a pay phone en route to the airport to call Boston. Justin Adams was his college roommate, and while Douglas knew Nathaniel would take care of the girls, a back-up plan was needed. If anything happened to Nathaniel, Justin and his wife Madeline could watch over the girls. They had two children, Kristen and Ethan. If the worst happened, she would get two more. Unfair, he knew. Justin didn't even make time for his own family, but Douglas understood that. Ever since his infant daughter Claire was killed, Justin drove himself blindly. His work with the Legacy was his way of dealing with the guilt of being unable to protect Claire from her kidnappers. It was a long time ago. There was no way Claire was still alive.
With that done, Douglas continued to the airport. Within two hours, he was on the flight bound for San Francisco. He tried to relax, but images kept parading through his head. Valerie lying in her hospital bed after Jonathan Boyle tried to intimidate her into changing her story. Marissa at Deirdre's funeral, barely able to hold back her tears as her mother's ashes were scattered on the wind. Deirdre, as he saw her that last time before his departure for that damn conference. Laughing, only weeks from giving birth to their youngest daughter. And Kerry, as Douglas saw her only a few hours earlier. Once more, he cursed himself for falling into Tremain's trap. Well, now the tables were turned, and a trap of another sort was being laid. This was one trap for the price of two. . .the trap Tremain created for Valerie in that damnable test four years earlier.
Douglas couldn't think of that now. He had to focus. Douglas wondered how long it would take his people to realize that he wouldn't be coming back. Not that long, he was sure. None of his people were stupid. As soon as they learned of Jonathan Boyle's death, it wouldn't take them long at all to put the pieces together. However, would they tell the Legacy hierarchy? And even if they did tell them what they knew, would the hierarchy realize that his people were innocent? Douglas doubted it. That was why his people knew nothing of this mission. If they didn't know about his plans, their lives wouldn't be ruined.
At long last, he landed in San Francisco. Three days from now, Jonathan Boyle would no longer exist. Three days from now, the payback would begin. The countdown to retribution had begun. And Douglas knew he had a lot of work to do in those three days. He gave a harsh laugh. Three days to death, three days to life. Too bad it was June. . .Easter would have been more appropriate for what he planned.
. . .
"It took you long enough," he said as Douglas Barton entered the house. The former Legacy precept just grunted, tossing him a look saying, 'you should know better than that.' However, he never really doubted that Douglas Barton would show up. There was too much hatred in him to back out of their deal, no matter how much he loved his daughters. Three and three, it evened out quite nicely. Three daughters to avenge. . . three men to destroy. But the only one who concerned him now was Jonathan Boyle. He really was becoming a pest, and Cranshaw knew that he had a goal in common with the former Legacy precept. Douglas Barton wanted Boyle to pay for killing his wife. Crenshaw wanted Boyle to stop nosing around things that didn't concern him. It worked out beautifully, all things considered.
"We have two days yet. You knew I would fulfill my end of the bargain," Barton answered and Cranshaw nodded. The former precept continued, "So what exactly is it that you want me to do? Lure him here? That would be kind of redundant, don't you think? He's coming for you. And what makes you think that he would trust me?"
"Lure him? No. . .confirm his suspicions, however. . .that would be helpful. You could tell him that you've been tracking me as well," Cranshaw suggested. During the last few days, he spent a great deal of time thinking about this, actually. Some degree of intelligence was required when you were baiting a trap, and you needed the right amount of this and the right amount of that. He smiled darkly, adding, "In fact, you could tell him that I killed one of your daughters, and that's why you're tracking me. Tell him, that he owes you."
Barton raised a brow, then said, "You think he gives a damn? He threatened my life, trying to force my daughter into recanting the truth about my wife's death!" Cranshaw acknowledged this point. It surprised him. Most Legacy members would have never dreamed of doing something so devious. On the other hand, Cransaw's Master did tell him that Boyle was halfway to being one of Theirs. Barton continued, "But that gives me an idea. Would you agree that most abusers feel threatened somehow?"
Cranshaw looked at the former Legacy precept in astonishment. . .Barton was asking HIM? They were both former Legacy members, yes, but even so! Barton added hastily, "Okay, wrong person to ask! But you gave me an idea. Something I've learned over the last few years is that as an abuser, Boyle feels threatened by anyone who challenges his perceptions. That's why he killed my wife, because she was a witch and because she challenged his manhood. So. . ."
Cranshaw was sure there was a point to this drivel, and he waited patiently as Barton murmured to himself. The man was working something out in his head, and as Cranshaw listened, he figured it out. He asked, "So, what you're saying is, you'll contact Boyle and challenge his manhood to get him to the ambush. Clever. But how exactly do you plan on doing that, my dear Dr. Barton? Boyle is no fool. Neither of us like him, but he isn't a fool."
Barton smiled grimly, answering, "Oh, but he is. That's the beauty of it. Say I call him. . .perhaps at home, or at the Legacy House. Better the Legacy House, especially if Derek Rayne is there as well. I don't want Boyle's wife or son to get involved with this. They've done nothing to me. I tell him that I've been tracking you as well, because you killed my daughter, Valerie. I remind him that he tried to kill Valerie himself, and tell him that by helping me, he's being given a chance to atone for what he did."
Cranshaw blinked, asking, "And as you so eloquently put it a few moments ago, why would he care?" His companion laughed softly, and Bryan Cranshaw cocked his head, looking at Douglas Barton. Once more, he wondered if he could fully seduce the former precept to the Dark. He was, after all, halfway there. He sought out and made a deal with the devil to avenge his wife's death. He was carrying out that deal. Perhaps another time, when Barton was no longer driven by hatred and love. After he stopped caring altogether. . .about his wife, about his daughters, about himself. Evil was most powerful when people simply didn't give a damn. That was why unwitting operatives such as Jonathan Boyle were so vital to the Dark. The Legacy would fall because of their own stupidity and their own arrogance.
Once, Cranshaw was like Douglas Barton. He had a wife he adored. . .four wonderful children who made him very proud. That was in the late seventeenth century, in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The time of the Salem Witch Trials. His wife was beautiful, and for that, she was burned at the stake as a witch. She who never encouraged the attentions she received from any of the men in their village. . .she whose only crime, aside from her beauty, was her Sight. She was burned at the stake in the hysteria surrounding the witch hunts.
At that time, his name was Branson Cranshaw, and it wasn't until the twentieth century that he changed it to 'Bryan,' to make him fit in better. And Branson Cranshaw went insane with grief. They thought his beautiful, gentle wife was evil, did they? He would show them evil! He called upon the dark forces to avenge his wife, and in return, he would give them his soul once his children were grown. Once they were safe.
Oh yes. Once, he was much like Douglas Barton. Perhaps that was why he agreed to meet with the man. There was no way to be certain, but Cranshaw thought Barton resembled the first of the Cranshaw boys. Could it be this man was his descendent? Anything was possible, and if there was anything remotely human left within Branson Cranshaw, it would have wept that this possible distant child of his was becoming what Cranshaw was now. But. . .there was nothing human remaining with him. That made his infiltration of the Legacy so delicious.
Barton was answering him now, and listening to the man's plan, Cranshaw had to admit he had several good points. The former precept explained, "That's what I mean about the beauty of the plan. I remind him that he tried to kill Valerie, and tell him this is his chance to atone. Men take responsibility for their actions, after all, or so I was taught. Let's see if Boyle is man enough to atone for what he did to my daughter."
Cranshaw took only a few moments to think this through. Barton was right. . . Boyle could never resist that challenge to his masculinity. That was something Cranshaw learned as his partner. Then he nodded approvingly, saying, "Do it. Make the call. . .you know what to say." Barton smiled coldly and Cranshaw again had to regret that they were on the same side for only this battle. The man would have made an excellent ally. He could still. If Cranshaw was willing to wait. He thought briefly about killing one of Barton's daughters, and making it look like the Legacy was involved, then shook his head. No, that would be pure stupidity. One thing he learned about Barton. . .the man was relentless. If Cranshaw did something so stupid, Barton would eventually find him out, and then. . . Besides. He was no longer human, but that didn't mean he wanted to kill one of his descendents. She wasn't in his way, after all.
Very well, then patience would have to do. Patience that eventually Barton would realize just how hollow revenge against the three men responsible for his wife's death truly was. Patience that he would kill until there was nothing of his soul left. Patience that in time, not even his beloved daughters would mean anything to him. Just as he hoped Boyle would eventually realize that hurting other people would not heal his own wounds. Unfortunately for him, Boyle wasn't nearly as smart as Barton. That stupidity would cost him his life.
Once Douglas Barton reached that point, once he began killing because it filled the empty space in his heart where his wife once lived, then Cranshaw would lure him to the other side. The job was half-done, of course, when he turned against the Legacy. But there was far more work to be done, and turning against the Legacy didn't mean turning against good. It didn't mean that at all. But maybe one day, it would.
. . .
Back in Vancouver, a storm raged within the House. . .once Valerie Barton awakened on the day of her father's departure, she knew what happened. She always knew a day would come when she would wake to chaos because her father left unexpectedly, without a word to anyone else in his House. She just hoped she was wrong. The question now, what would she do about it. . . if anything? Was there anything she could do?
The Legacy could just wait. Valerie's first priority was her younger sister. Kerry was the last one to see her father, and he assured her that he would come back. When the day ended without his return, the little girl realized that he lied to her. Not that she would admit to this at first. She was two years old, after all, just a baby. Worse, Val knew that the child would be questioned by the Legacy hierarchy. She knew Sir Edmund Tremain, and she didn't trust him. And so, for the first time in her young life, Val consciously made a decision to lie. She would keep her baby sister away from the Legacy hierarchy. Toddler or not, Valerie just knew the Ruling precept would try to find a way to interrogate the small girl. That would not be tolerated. It was long past time that Sir Edmund Tremain learned you could only push a Barton female so far. That wasn't the only decision she made.
The second decision came at the end of the second day. She called her older sister Marissa in San Diego, and told her the news. As she was taught by both her father and her godfather, Val obtained a secure channel first, before calling her older sister. And then, she waited. . .waited for the sky to fall on them all. It was only a matter of time, and Valerie learned from her mother that you used the time you had to prepare.
The sky fell only hours after she called her older sister. The entire Ruling House arrived at the Vancouver Legacy House. That was something Valerie expected. What she didn't expect was the way the Vancouver House closed ranks around her and Kerry, after London House arrived at the House. From the moment they arrived, the members of Vancouver House made sure no member of London House even approached Valerie or Kerry. Valerie would see them when she was damn good and ready. Not before then. Her father was a precept who was very fortunate in his people, at all his Houses.
In the years which followed that day, before she went away to college, Valerie learned many interesting things about her father's final Legacy House. In the view of the members of Vancouver House, Valerie was only fourteen years old. Her father just disappeared without a word to anyone, she didn't know what was happening to her father or her family, and she didn't need to deal with Edmund Tremain's Spanish Inquisition.
Valerie was stunned by this show of support, though she knew she shouldn't have been. She should have remembered the days after her mother's death. Angelo Montoya leaving the Legacy because Sir Edmund decreed no member of the House could attend the funeral of a known witch. The other members of the House quietly closing rank around the three girls, shielding them from the scrutiny of the Legacy. She should have remembered many things, but she didn't. So now, she spent all of her time caring for her inconsolable baby sister. On the third day after her father's disappearance, and the day after London House arrived, Valerie finally made her appearance. She sensed that her father was avenging her mother, and wasn't sure how she felt about that. Should she be grateful that he was making sure no more children would lose their mothers? Was she angry because he left them alone, when they still needed him?
She knew she was angry with the Legacy. Not with the individual members, but that such an organization allowed monsters like Jonathan Boyle and others free rein to harm innocents. She couldn't remember what happened when she was ten. She knew something happened, something terrible, because there was a huge hole in her memory. A week-long hole, and Valerie wasn't sure if she wanted to remember.
The high school junior chose to make her entrance during Kerry's nap, dressing as professionally as her wardrobe allowed. Valerie had a black knit dress that she wore to funerals and a pair of black pumps. That would do nicely. She showered and dressed, pulling her dark hair back into a bun to look much older than her true age. Again, remembering what her sister told her, Valerie wore the bare minimum of makeup. She wanted to seem older, not like a little girl who got into her mother's cosmetic bag. To finish the effect, she wore the pearl earrings her mother bought for her, a final gift from Deirdre McCormick Barton. The effect worked quite well, she thought, and Valerie asked for an escort from her father's team. She received it, and descended the staircase of the Vancouver Legacy House on the arm of her father's security chief. He was a big man, standing well over six feet, and once they reached the contingent from the London House, he remained at her side. It was a message to the Ruling House, one received loud and clear by all members.
If Sir Edmund thought he could cow her, he was terribly mistaken. Valerie spent the last two years strengthening her body, her mind, and her very soul. He questioned her thoroughly, even when her protector Dallas glowered at him. Dallas was a dear. . .a former quarterback from Texas State University, who was taught that only cowards struck a woman. And striking a pregnant woman, who was even more sacred, was nothing short of blasphemy. No one asked what he thought about striking a child protecting her mother. . .but it was not necessary.
Within days of his arrival at Vancouver House, Dallas heard the story of her mother's death. . .it got around quickly, and Dallas went to her father. He was a Christian, believed in the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. . .but he didn't believe for one moment what was said about Deirdre. She raised three wonderful girls, and there was no way she deserved to die, much less the way she did. He nodded once, very sharply, and walked out of her father's office.
Later, her father asked him to take on extra duties, aside from being security chief. He wanted Dallas to watch over Valerie and Kerry. And by God, that was what he was doing now. He said that, too, glowering right back at Sir Edmund Tremain. He told the London precept that it was men like him and Jonathan Boyle who made Dallas ashamed to be a Christian and even more ashamed to be a member of the Legacy. That comment drew frowns from London and cheers from Vancouver. Valerie had a very hard time keeping her own face straight.
There would be consequences for that, of course. There always were. And Tremain tried to take those consequences out on the Barton girls. When the precept demanded to see Valerie's baby sister, the young girl answered in a cold, crisp voice, "I think not. I remember the way you question people, Sir Edmund, especially little girls. You're getting nowhere near my sister. And you'll find that I'm much stronger than I used to be."
Tremain took a step forward. Only one. . .Dallas moved out from behind Valerie and shifted himself in front of Valerie, so that he stood between the girl and the precept. He said in a menacing voice that probably scared opposing players to death, "The lady said no. Where I come from, 'no' means 'no.' Call it unsophisticated, call it simple-minded, but I call it good manners. Too bad you have none."
Oh yes. Vancouver House would definitely pay for that one. Valerie could hear it in the stirring among London House, could see it in Tremain's eyes, which grew stormy with rage. Dallas either didn't know the consequences of mouthing off to the Ruling precept or simply didn't care. Knowing Dallas, though, he just didn't care. The former football player added, "Now, I was told when I joined the Legacy that this was an organization dedicated to the protection of innocents. Nothing was ever said about bullying young girls."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr Wentworth. We are trying to get answers, and it is my firm belief that Dr Barton told his youngest daughter where he was going," Sir Edmund said stiffly. If he thought that would get the men and women of Vancouver House to back down, he was wrong. If anything, the circle closed around Valerie even more protectively, and now the teen could feel the glares directed at the entire London House. Further, the remark backfired, because the young girl also saw members of the Ruling House glaring at their precept. . .like Dallas, they didn't sign on to bully children.
"Sir Edmund, Kerry Barton is two years old. What possible help could a two year old child, who can barely speak properly, be to our investigation?" one of the younger members of London House asked, a youngish woman. Valerie fought her desire to defend her sister, but years of self-control paid off, and she maintained her silence. Sir Edmund didn't answer, as he was trying to stare down Valerie.
It wasn't working. The teen felt her father's security chief place his hand in the small of her back, both supporting and comforting her with his touch. Valerie said coolly, "My sister knows nothing. My father told her nothing. If I were you, I would suggest you look to your own past mistakes, Sir Edmund, for clues about what my father is doing." The words came out before Valerie could stop them, but she couldn't let herself feel guilty about that.
"Past mistakes? What is she talking about, Sir Edmund?" asked that same woman. She looked from the precept to Valerie and back again. Again, the members of Vancouver House pressed closer to the daughter of their precept. The woman repeated, her eyes narrowing, "Sir Edmund. You're not denying what this young girl said. What kinds of mistakes have been made that would lead Douglas Barton to leave his two young daughters alone?"
"I can answer that, ma'am. Two years ago, a member of San Francisco House was visiting Santa Fe to make sure Douglas Barton was running his House properly. This man, Jonathan Boyle, had a real hard time finding out what he wanted to know, 'cause most of the House realized he was up to no good. Now, at this same time, Dr Barton's wife, Valerie's mama Deirdre, was eight months pregnant with Kerry," Dallas explained in a slow, deliberate voice.
Another member of Vancouver House, researcher Shelby Young, continued, "According to most stories, Jonathan Boyle found a pendant that led him to believe Deirdre Barton was a witch. He confronted her while drunk and tried to perform an exorcism. When it didn't work, he became enraged and attacked her. Her two daughters, seventeen year old Marissa and twelve year old Valerie intervened. . .and Valerie was almost killed."
"Deirdre went into premature labor as a result of the attack, and died while giving birth to baby Kerry. Shortly after her father's return from Washington DC, Valerie awoke to find Jonathan Boyle looming over her. He threatened her with her father's death, if she didn't change her story. Unfortunately for Boyle, Douglas Barton entered at that point and found Boyle getting in his daughter's face. At that point, Dr Barton made a fatal mistake. He took his case to the precept of the Ruling House, one Sir Edmund Tremain," Dallas picked up the narrative once more.
"According to your dear precept, no crime took place, because Valerie Barton lied about the attack on her mother, and about Jonathan Boyle's threats. Tremain and the San Francisco precept were stupid enough not to check out all sources. They didn't talk to the staff of Santa Fe House. They didn't talk to Leo Herzog, Valerie's tutor. They didn't talk to Marissa Barton. All of whom could have told them that Jonathan Boyle was the liar," Shelby concluded.
The woman from London House glared at Sir Edmund, snarling, "Is this true?" He didn't look at her, and she repeated, invading his space with little regard for those consequences, "Is this true? Did you allow the murderer of this girl's mother to go free?" Sir Edmund still said nothing, staring into Valerie's eyes with pure hatred. Valerie didn't look away. She owed this man big time. . .and if disgracing him in front of his House was her best chance, so be it. The way she saw it, she was buying her father time to do whatever he meant to do. Maybe his actions were wrong, but he was still her father.
. . .
It was ridiculously easy to carry out their plan, even easier than Douglas anticipated. He waited until the third day after his disappearance before calling Boyle at the Legacy House. This was actually Cranshaw's idea. They needed those three days to get organized. They were organized, and now they had all the time in the world. He hoped. With the Legacy, that was always in question.
By now, he was sure the Legacy hierarchy knew of his disappearance, even if they didn't know the reason. That was both good and bad. If they figured out what he was up to, they wouldn't have as much time as he needed. . .but at the same time, he wanted Tremain to know what he was doing. He wanted the old goat to know that he would be next. For now, Douglas could only pray Val remembered her mother's death, and the aftermath, when she was dealing with Sir Edmund Tremain. She didn't remember. . .the other time.
As luck would have it, most of San Francisco House knew only that Douglas disappeared. They knew nothing of Sir Edmund's interviews with Vancouver House, if those interviews did indeed take place. This, Douglas learned while he was waiting for Boyle to come to the phone. Jane Witherspoon, one of the most respected members of Boston House, was in San Francisco for a meeting with Derek Rayne, and she answered the phone.
It was to Jane that he told the first lie. He told her that he went rogue to track down his daughter's killer. The Legacy tried to tie his hands to prevent further deaths, and Jane bought the story. Douglas knew he had his own fierce protectiveness of his daughters to thank for that. After the death of his wife, and after Tremain refused to believe Valerie, Douglas refused to allow Tremain, or any other Legacy precept, access to any of his children.
He wouldn't even take Marissa with him when he was ordered to appear at a Legacy tribunal as a judge. He served with Rayne, and ignored the other man completely. When Boyle picked up the phone, it was too easy. Douglas already chose, even before he made the call, how he would carry his plan out. But Jane's grief and compassion for his 'loss,' served to convince him. Douglas said harshly, "I have a proposition for you, Jonny boy. I've been told we're on the trail of the same killer."
"I'm listening," the other man said, then added curiously, "And what the hell did you say to Jane? When she gave me the phone, she was in tears." Douglas smiled coldly. Oh, this was getting better all the time! While he initially cursed the fate that led Jane Witherspoon to answer the telephone, now it was turning into a blessing. Wasn't that the way of most things? That which you cursed ended up being a blessing. The damnable test from four years earlier was turning into such a blessing. His daughters would not trust in the Legacy so easily now.
"Because I told her what I'm about to tell you. That thing you've been after. . . I'm after it, too. It killed my little girl, my Valerie. You do remember Valerie, don't you, Jonny boy? The sweet girl you tried to kill, then called a liar four years ago? She's dead! I'm sure you're real happy about that," Douglas rasped. To his surprise, lying about his daughter's death wasn't as hard as he thought.
There was a moment of silence, then Jonathan Boyle said slowly, "I'm sorry, Barton. I never had anything against your daughter. . .she just got in the way. . ." He never had a chance to say anything, because Douglas burst into harsh, staccato laughter. Any lingering doubts or regrets for this action were quickly dying. Did he ever doubt he was doing the right thing? How stupid was that? Of course he was doing the right thing!
"Well, what did you expect? You were trying to kill her mother! Oh, that's right, how silly of me to forget! Her mother was a witch, she deserved to die. I guess since my daughter was the child of a witch, she also deserved to die, hmm? Now listen up, and don't interrupt. I've been on the trail of this thing ever since it killed my little girl. I'm offering you a chance to atone for what you did," Douglas told the other man.
He heard Boyle sputter, and Douglas went on, "You know, I was raised to believe that real men took responsibility for their actions. Tried to find a way to make things right. I'm offering that chance to you. . .assuming, of course, that you're a real man. Personally, I have doubts. I know about you, Boyle. And that idiot Derek Rayne may have bought into your 'Father Knows Best' routine, but I'm smarter than he is."
"Hey, look! I get that you hate my guts, and that you'll never trust me. But leave Derek out of this, he isn't guilty of anything!" Boyle defended. Douglas actually felt himself turn green at that statement. Derek Rayne. . .wasn't guilty. . .of anything? Just how stupid did Boyle think he was? No, he wouldn't answer that question. . .he didn't want to know. However, it still took several moments to contain his nausea.
When he could speak without vomiting, Douglas fired back, "You have got to be kidding me! What did Derek Rayne do? What is he guilty of? He knowingly and consciously sheltered a murderer, a liar, and a thief! Don't you dare tell me that he isn't guilty of anything, because he is. He is just as guilty as you and Tremain. That arrogant little toady told me that I never found you looming over my little girl, trying to intimidate her into changing her story about her mother's death!"
Cranshaw was shaking his head almost desperately, and Douglas caught his breath. Oh Christ, he almost blew it. He almost screwed up his own plan. He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. Boyle, of course, was too stupid to leave it alone, and said, "Look! I'm sorry if I scared your kid. . .I panicked! You wanna take it outta my hide, go right ahead. But don't blame Derek when his only mistake was trusting me."
Douglas asked impatiently, "Get over yourself, Boyle. Are you gonna be a real man, and make amends? Or do you show once and for all what a coward you really are?"
There was a long silence, then Boyle asked, "When and where?" Douglas controlled his desire to laugh. . .he knew Boyle wouldn't be able to resist the challenge to his manhood. His kind never could. The trouble was, at least for Boyle, was that he was too stupid to know that in this kind of pissing contest, he would lose. He was supposed to be a Marine major, but right now, Douglas was questioning how someone so stupid could have attained that rank. It was bad enough that he was a disgrace to the uniform he once wore, but this was even worse!
The former precept was well aware that he was in a dangerous game, that his own arrogance could get him killed. But he was willing to take that chance. The truth was, in the four years since his wife's death, he found it harder and harder to go on living. If Cranshaw did kill him, at least Douglas took out Boyle. He answered, remembering the house where he met Cranshaw, "There's a house on a stretch of highway. . ." He gave the other man directions, then added, "Oh, by the way. Don't get any ideas about telling Derek Rayne. That stupid kid would probably screw things up. Come alone. Tomorrow." And then he hung up. Time to wait.
. . .
At the time of their conversation, Jane Witherspoon thought little about Douglas Barton's story. She knew Deirdre Barton, grieved when she learned of the woman's death, and grieved for the three girls. And for Douglas to lose one of his daughters, only a few years after losing his wife. . .Jane was only surprised that he didn't die from the grief. She didn't think to mention her conversation with Deirdre's husband to Derek Rayne until the following day.
She was in the control room with Derek, as they mapped out the hauntings in a five mile area, when the young precept asked absently, "Do you know where Jonathan is, Jane? He was supposed to be here, since this is his other major case." Jane frowned. . . she hadn't seen him all day, and it never occurred to her to look for him. He was one of Derek's people, after all. Besides. There was something about him she didn't trust.
Perhaps it was his affinity for alcohol, perhaps it was the way he spoke of his wife. . .that contempt for her weakness. Or what he thought was weakness. Men were stupid like that, she knew. Jane Witherspoon didn't know Jonathan Boyle's wife, but she doubted if the woman was weak. It was a mistake men often made. . .confusing true strength with brute force. It was a mistake the precept at her side also made.
"No. . .no, I haven't seen him since yesterday, when Douglas Barton called. Poor man. As if losing his wife wasn't bad enough, losing his daughter as well?" Jane asked, shaking her head and returning her whole-hearted attention to the map. She was vaguely aware of Derek straightening. Jane, like most of the Legacy, didn't know about the exact circumstances of Deirdre Barton's death. If she had. . . well, things could have been very different.
"Douglas Barton? You spoke with him?" he asked. Jane glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was only thirty-four years old, quite young for a Legacy precept, but there were times when she could have sworn he was much older. Perhaps it was watching his father die in a Peruvian cave when he was a teenager, only a few years older than Justin's daughter Kristen was now. Jane mentally added sadly, and he was also only a year older than poor Valerie.
"Yes, yesterday. . .he called, asking to speak with Jonathan. Such a terrible tragedy, and the poor man has already lost enough. From what he told me, Douglas went rogue after the creature Jonathan has been tracking killed his middle daughter Valerie. The Ruling House forced him to stop his investigation, for fear of losing more people," Jane answered, still focusing her attention on the map.
"Oh, Gott. . .no," Derek murmured. He was silent, then said, "Jane. Are you sure he said Valerie was killed?" Jane did look away from the map and nodded. Derek continued, his voice rising and his accent thickening as it always did when he was agitated, "Then Jonathan is heading into a trap. I spoke with Sir Edmund this morning. . .Valerie has been caring for her small sister Kerry ever since Barton's disappearance."
Valerie was alive? Douglas lied to her about his daughter's death? He was so protective of his children, why would he say something like that? And. . . Jane gasped, "But why? Why would Douglas say something like that, why would he want to lead Jonathan into a trap?" The young precept began pacing, and Jane was horrified to see his obvious fear. She knew Derek for many years, and she never saw him this frightened, by anything.
"I thought it would pass, given enough time. Time to heal. But now it seems that I was wrong. Listen to me very carefully, Jane. Douglas Barton holds Jonathan responsible for his wife Deirdre's death. She died in childbirth, Jonathan had nothing to do with it. And yet his daughter Valerie swears that she was there when it happened. Jonathan swears that the child lied, for reasons of her own. I have no reason not to believe him," Derek answered. He was silent for several moments, then said, "Come! We must stop Jonathan!"
Jane followed him from the control room, as he headed to the car. She paused long enough to leave a note for the others. But she knew Valerie Barton. All children lied from time to time, but Valerie was an essentially honest girl. If she swore that she was there when her mother was killed, and that Jonathan Boyle was responsible for her death. . .then maybe, he was. As they headed out to the car, Jane made a mental note to herself. She would call Justin Adams, since he was still in Boston.
Derek was a good lad, but he could be too trusting. With his own people, he accepted them at face value, and didn't notice the things Jane did. How often Jonathan Boyle drank. The contempt in his voice when he spoke of his wife, of any woman. Jane wasn't there when Deirdre Barton was killed, but she knew certain facts. She knew that Deirdre was a witch. The Legacy strongly disapproved of witches. . . considered them in league with the Devil. And Jonathan Boyle was afraid of any woman who seemed stronger or more powerful than him. It added up to a picture that Jane didn't like.
He feels threatened by any person who is stronger or more powerful than he is. He shows contempt toward anyone whom he perceives as being weak. He drinks too much. He has all the classic symptoms of an abuser, she thought numbly, and if he learned that Deirdre was a witch, I can easily see him attacking her. Deirdre was a witch. . .of course I know that. But I also know she was a good woman. Aloud, she said, "Derek. . .let's say for the sake of argument that Douglas Barton is right. That his daughter wasn't lying when she said Jonathan attacked her mother." Derek looked away from the road, horror flashing in his eyes. Jane contined resolutely, "Would that change any of our current actions?"
She didn't know what she wanted him to say. Really, she didn't. When all was said and done, Jane didn't care anything about Jonathan. But she did care about Douglas Barton, and she did care for his children. She didn't want Douglas to become a murderer. Derek said slowly, "I'm not sure. We would still be trying to stop this. Killing Jonathan will not bring Deirdre Barton back from the dead, and in any event, I'm not so sure that Jonathan wasn't justified. She was a witch, after all."
It was Jane's turn to look away from the road in horror. The official party line of the Legacy was that any magick-user outside the priests with their holy words and holy water were agents of Satan. As a practical matter, however. . . She said slowly, "I am appalled to hear you say that, Derek. Deirdre Barton was eight months pregnant when she died. And you think that Jonathan was justified in killing her, just because she was different?"
Derek started to answer, but Jane continued, her voice rising, "Think about the Salem Witch Trials. Innocent men and women, dying because they were different. You would have been burned at the stake as a witch, because of your Sight. Perhaps the witch hunters would have been justified in killing you, because you could easily use your own magick for ill. And then there's the whole. . ."
Jane stopped just short of finishing her sentence. She, unlike most of the Legacy, knew about the tests carried out by Edmund Tremain four years earlier, on Valerie Barton. She knew that the tests almost killed the little girl. . .that they almost stole her sanity. She knew, because she was there. She couldn't tell Derek, because if he knew what sorts of magickal abilities Valerie had, the child would be dead. He would kill her, for someone with such power could not be trusted.
Instead, she said quietly, "I will pray that Douglas doesn't have a chance to carry out his revenge, Derek. But not because I think Jonathan was right to kill Deirdre. . .or because I think he's some great hero. I'm praying that Douglas doesn't kill Jonathan, because Douglas doesn't deserve to be a murderer. He deserves better. His daughters deserve better. Unless you think they should die as well, because their mother was a witch?"
She couldn't hide the sarcasm in the last sentence. Derek was glaring at her, his hazel eyes dark with indignation. But worse yet was the knowledge she saw in those eyes. She was right, and he knew she was right. Even so, he replied quietly, "I do not desire the deaths of those girls. Nor did I desire the death of their mother. But, Jane. . . she was a witch, and the Legacy is very clear about those who traffick in the occult. They cannot be trusted. It is far too easy for evil to gain a hold on their souls. The Legacy is filled with such stories." Jane just stared at him. Was he being deliberately dense? Or did it never occur to him?
"Derek," she said softly, "do you have any idea how that sounded? The Legacy itself trafficks in the occult. . .perhaps you think I cannot be trusted as well?" Derek jerked his head toward her, shocked by this remark. Jane sat back, quite pleased with herself, and said, "Just think about that, Derek. Think about that, before you judge and condemn people like Deirdre Barton. . .or her daughters."
With that, Jane sat back, folding her arms over her chest. There was nothing more to be said, she would just let Derek stew for now. She did and said what she could. The rest was up to Derek now. She understood his reasons, of course. He encountered Legacy members who went to the Dark. . .Reed Horton, for one. But Deirdre was not Reed Horton. And not all magick-users were created equal.