~}{Birds of a Feather}{~
The hallway is long but straight and narrow. It's an exterior walkway. In the distance I can see a door, marking the end of the hall. It reminds me of all the horror movies I have ever seen.
An unsuspecting girl heads down the long, eerie hallway and somehow comes upon a door that she had never noticed before. She grips the knob, turns it and some kind of nightmarish creature pulls her into the darkness.
So, what lies in wait behind this door for me?
I have no idea where the hovering essence will lead me. I have no idea how I knew it was here at all. I could just sense it. All I really cared to know was that I feel I have get away from it.
I keep walking down this long hallway. To my right is simply a wall. To my left, windows sit every couple of feet in neat, pristine order. I pass in and out of the sunlight into darkness. It seems foreboding; a message to remind me that I was walking a thin line. Or perhaps, it was telling me I had already crossed it.
Up ahead there is a break in the wall to my right. A set of double doors I had not been able to see before. They stood open and latched to the wall so tight I had missed them. I stop before them and peer into the room. It was the tapestry gallery. I couldn't figure out how I knew it was, but I did.
For some reason, the lights were on inside. It is vast and it is filled to the brim with paintings and wall hangings. It smells dusty, stale. I feel like I am in a museum of sorts or rather… memoriam dedicated to those lost in Rose Red.
I walk around and look at each of the paintings. They were of family members mostly; Ellen, John, Adam, and April. However, every now and again there is a landscape or a portrait of the house. You can map how big it grew through the years from these pictures. It had started off slightly bigger than the normal wealthy home and then transformed into some monstrous thing.
I come to an oil painting that makes me stop and stare. I tilt my head slightly to one side and narrow my eyes. Slowly, I lower myself to the ground and cross my legs.
The painting is enthralling. The colors, the tone, everything held me in its grasp. It is a portrait of a séance. The same one that Joyce had told us about here at the manor. Several people sat at a round table with a crystal ball in the middle. Most of them looked like aristocrats, but straight on at the back of the table was a woman in odd, spectacularly colored clothing; a gypsy. This was no doubt Madame Stravinsky.
I stare at the portrait for a long while, getting lost in my thoughts. I stare at the painted eyes of Cora Frye, almost into them.
I realize that I know this woman.
Somewhere in my mind, there is a memory of her name floating around. I just can't reach it though. The harder I try, the further the memory becomes. Soon I'm falling into a haze, voices screaming at me while blurred faces pass before my eyes.
"Oh, thank God!" The voice startles me. "There you are."
I blink and then turn toward the entrance to the room. Nick stands there, sunlight pouring in behind him like some kind of heavenly deity. He makes me feel as small as a human to a god; insignificant.
I look back at the portrait, not saying a word. I have nothing to say.
"I've been looking everywhere for you. For over an hour." He declares, expecting me to say something. Anything to let him know I was really there and not some illusion the house had concocted.
"Well, here I am." I close my eyes and bite my tongue. It was meant to be joking, but it came out patronizing. I hear his footsteps closing in on me; rapid and heavy.
"You had me worried sick, Luciana. You shouldn't have run off like that." I can hear the anger in his voice. I can feel it rolling off him like a sickness. "Why didn't you stop when I called out your name? Why didn't you come out when I was running around like a madman trying to find you?"
I don't say a word. I let him go on.
It reminds me of my parents when I had gone against their wishes and taken part in the first psychic field trip. It reminds me of my brothers telling me how stupid I was for going along on the second.
Nick makes me feel small. He makes me feel like a child.
"What were you thinking?" He finishes as he kneels beside me.
I can't look at him. I feel too guilty.
Nick says no more. He only stares at me. After another moment he sits on the ground beside me and places a hand on my back. He moves it slowly, up and down, as though this was supposed to make everything okay.
It does.
I stare up at the portrait of Cora Frye and lock eyes with her ghostly image. I swear that she is staring right back. That somehow her spirit had become attached to this piece, the house.
"This must have been the night she told Ellen that the house wouldn't ever be finished."
Nick's comment breaks me from my trance. I look over at him but don't say anything. There is an intent look on his face; eyebrows narrowed slightly; jaw strained. He looks at me with purpose.
"You have the same eyes."
"What?" I asked suddenly and looked back at the painting. I stare at Cora's eyes, studying them, and then look back at Nick. "The same eyes?"
"The same shade of blue. The same shading from dark to nearly white around the pupil." He explains.
Something pokes at the back of my memory. A nagging, sinking feeling settles into the pit of my stomach screaming at me to remember something I had long since forgotten.
"I remember why her name is familiar." I speak up as it hits me.
Nick follows my gaze and looks over the scene painted onto the canvas. Cora stares back at us with a dark fire in her expression.
"Who? Cora Frye?" He asks slowly and looks back at me after taking in the work. I nod my head.
"Things are slowly starting to make sense." I breathe out and pull my knees to my chest, lacing my hands around them.
"What do you mean?" Nick is worried. He doesn't understand as I do.
"I think Rose Red wants me to understand something. But I just don't..." I start and lay my chin on top of my knees. "I think it's something about myself. Or maybe it's not me at all. I'm not exactly sure. There are still some holes in this puzzle."
"Forgive me, but I still don't understand."
I look at Nick and scan his face. I'm instantly reminded of the stunt I pulled.
"I didn't mean to worry you." I apologize. Nick gives me a small smile and places a hand on my cheek.
"It's okay." Nick drops his hand and narrows his eyes at me. "Tell me, though, why did you run away?"
"Back in the kitchen, I felt a presence. It was just hovering over me like a storm cloud. I could feel the damn thing following me, almost leading me along. I wanted to run back to you, but I just couldn't. When you mentioned that the house wants me, I just..." I fall silent and stare off at the floor. "I've known it for a while now. Long before I even came here."
I look around the room and shake my head at the idea.
"I just feel like I need to get away; to hide. I allowed some force to push me into the same situation as before and I just-" I stop short and lick my lips. I can see that Nick is trying to follow, to understand. He can never truly understand if he doesn't know the entire story. I'm not ready to tell him though.
"Cora Frye," I start a new train of thought and nod my head at the portrait. "She wasn't a fraud as Joyce said."
"How do you know?" Nick realizes that I'm not ready to talk about the past. I'm more than grateful that he doesn't push the subject.
"She was my great-grandmother." I can see the reveal has shocked him though he was doing a rather good job at hiding it. "I knew the name sounded familiar. I just couldn't remember why... until I found this painting; until I saw her face."
"You actually met her?"
"Yeah, once when I was really young. I remember it though. Most of it anyways. I could never forget it." I admit and look back at Cora in the painting.
She had been much older and greyer than she was in that painting. I had been six. She was ninety-three.
"I remember something she said to me. It hadn't made sense then when I was a child, and it didn't really make sense any time after that. I always figured it was just some nonsense she spouted because of her age."
"What did she say?"
"She said a lot. Most of it scared me. She talked a lot about voices calling to her; said that they wanted her to 'help them build'. I get that part now. The one thing that stuck out, though, was, 'For never 'For never was she half so fair, whose colours bleed the red rose white and milk the lilies of their light...'." I reply and look over at him. "I always thought she had some strange superstition about red roses or something."
"I assume then you didn't take her warning seriously?" Nick asks gently. I can see some kind of smirk or smile hidden in his eyes.
"What warning? I thought she was a loon." I reply and shake my head. I look back at the painting and sigh. "She scared me. For a long time, I had nightmares because of her."
"What else did she say to you?"
"Something about how a villain may disguise himself, but he will not deceive the wise and that evil wishes come home to roost." I finish.
"Is there something else?"
I shake my head at Nick's insistence and then stopped suddenly. A memory surfaces from somewhere deep in my mind. It was faint and I was hanging on to it by a single, thin thread.
"What is it?"
I hear Nick's voice, but faintly. He was far off. No. I was far off.
I am walking down a long, dark hallway lined with windows on one side. They are open and the curtains, thin and billowy, blow in the breeze. I can hear voices. I can see light. It burns like the flame of a candle. I peer in through the keyhole. I'm small, a child. I don't see anything at first. The room is dimly lit. I can smell popery.
"Evil tendencies are early shown, Maeve." The voice is stern. It holds a tone of superiority.
Someone coughs harshly in the background and footsteps move quickly across the wooden floor. A shadow passes by the keyhole and to the bed at the right of the room. I know it was my aunt speaking. I know it was my great-grandmother coughing and my mother whose fervent steps stopped at the bed.
"A villain may disguise himself, but he will not deceive the wise."
"Rowan please… enough." My mother begs. She sounds exasperated; worn. She is the only one taking care of Cora. She is the only grandchild who cares about the senile woman on her deathbed. "She is my daughter; your niece."
"Yes, and she is a curse, and you know it." My aunt snaps. I see her move from her place by the bed. Her arms are crossed over her chest. A scowl is firmly set on her face. "She is unstable."
"...greatness carries its own penalties." A ragged voice gasped out. "She cannot... help what she is. She cannot help... her strength; her power."
She begins to cough violently.
"Seanmháthair, don't talk. Save your strength. Shhh..." My mother soothes and then turns her attention to my aunt. "She cannot change what she is."
"What she is, is a disaster. She's too powerful and she can't control her abilities. She's going to hurt someone." My aunt argues and pushes herself away from the desk she had leaned on.
"Those who pretend to be what they are not Rowan, only make themselves look ridiculous." Aunt Rowan stiffens at my great-grandmother's words. She was a black sheep. She denied her abilities; refused to use them, to acknowledge them. "Luciana is a child... She only needs direction. She will learn to control her powers."
My great-grandmother breathes out in a rush.
"Seanmháthair-"
"Luciana must learn to control them." Great-grandmother speaks again, cutting my mother off. "For never was she half so fair, whose colours bleed the red rose white, and milk the lilies of their light."
"She's losing her mind." Rowan states and straightens up. I see the bed move as my great-grandmother pulls my mother close.
"She will bleed the red rose." Great-grandmother whispers.
"It's dead." Rowan states and shakes her head. "It's been dead for a long time."
"Not dead. Asleep." Great-grandmother corrects her oldest daughter. "Luciana is key. What's bred-"
"Luciana?" Nick is calling me again. I hear him. I'm back in the present.
"What's bred in the bone is sure to come out in the flesh." I speak without looking over at him. "We can't escape what we are. She knew that. Cora knew that. Even then."
"You think she knew you would come here someday?" Nick puts the pieces together. I nod my head and look over at him.
"She saw me coming here because she had come here." I look over at him. "What's bred in the bone is sure to come out in the flesh."
I stand up from the floor and stare down at Nick.
"She's the whole reason why I'm here, Nick! Don't you see?" The realization excites me. I give a laugh and push my fingers into my hair, grabbing onto it tightly. "She escaped Rose Red. The house wants her back. It wanted her power. It wants my power. It wants-"
Cold rushes over me. My hands fall from my hair.
"Rose Red can't have you." Nick picks himself up from the floor and stands before me. He places his hands on my upper arms and looks into my eyes. "You're mine."
He pulls me to him in a tight, protective hug. All I feel is fear; a sinking, sickening fear that starts in the pit of my stomach and spreads like fire throughout my entire being.