Chapter 20: Ghosts of Yesterday
The walls of this new place were a bright off-white, accented with rich oak paneling. Old-fashioned golden sconces capped with elegant white glass shades were evenly spaced down the length of the hall. And beneath her feet was plush gray-mauve carpet.
She was home.
"Not possible," Alyssa muttered, turning around.
The door behind her, which had been made out of the same thick, rusted metal as the rest of the place she had just spent far too long getting acquainted with, now looked like a pretty oak wood door, polished so it gleamed. If Alyssa didn't know any better, it looked like the door to her mother's room, but there was no nameplate on it.
Turning around again, she saw a box directly in front of her, tucked away in the corner. Sitting crookedly on top of the box was a plush toy rabbit, with a head as round as its body and a shiny pink nose. If she was back home somehow, that box hadn't been there when she left. And the last time she saw that chubby white rabbit it had been sitting on her dresser.
Her disbelief mounting, Alyssa drew closer and lifted the stuffed toy by its ear. It sure looked like the stuffed rabbit she had had for as long as she could remember, only its coloring wasn't faded, and there was no sign of wear on its soft fur.
Setting the toy down again, Alyssa looked down the length of the shadowy hallway. She knew this had to be some kind of trick—that she had stumbled into a place that only looked like her home—but there was such a feeling of warmth and safety that she felt more relaxed than she had since..
Well, since this whole mess started in the first place.
She was no fool, though, and didn't let her guard down as she started down the hall. As she moved past the upstairs bathroom her ears pricked up; there was a sound coming from somewhere nearby, but it was too muffled to make out.
At the end of the hall was the little sitting area—the same spot that had eventually led her to the sacred glass bottle she now carried, only now there was a fire crackling in the fireplace. Standing next to it was another relic from Alyssa's childhood; her old rocking horse. Except it didn't look quite so old. In fact, it looked brand new, and it smelled faintly of fresh paint and wood glue.
Alyssa absently gave it a push as she remembered the day her mother told her she had grown too big for it and that it was time to pass it on to some other little girl. She had tried not to cry, she remembered. She was pretty sure she had anyway.
She could only think of one reason why it would be here now; this was her home—her home back when she was a child. The idea made her feel so strange she didn't know whether to start laughing or to rush to find a way out of here. Was she on the verge of bumping into herself—a much smaller version of herself? And what of her mother? Was she here, too? Or maybe...
Alyssa's heart beat faster as another, even wilder idea struck her. What if she had gone back to a time when her father was still alive? The thought of seeing him in the flesh instead of just in photos made her feel nervous—but excited, too. Not that it mattered; it wasn't like she could walk up an introduce herself. She hoped she at least caught a glimpse of him before she was done here.
She knew she had to be here for a reason, though she couldn't imagine what that reason might be. She turned away from her old—new—toy and the warm fire, her eyes wandering along the hall to the closed door across from her. Only instead of her own name, a plate reading 'Nancy' was fastened to the door.
Alyssa tested the knob, but it was locked. Undaunted, she moved down a little and opened the door that led out to the upper hallway, which would then take her down the stairs to the entryway.
As soon as she opened the door, the strange sound she had been hearing grew louder. Only it wasn't a strange sound at all. It was a normal sound heard every day—just not in the Hamilton house. And if she was hearing it now it could only mean one thing.
Moving as if she were in a dream, Alyssa followed the sound—a baby's cries—down the stairs and across the main floor. As she drew closer to the doors that led into the dining room, another sound joined the unhappy fussing—a sound she knew so well it made her heart skip several beats to hear it now.
Someone was humming a song, gentle and sweet, with a voice so warm it could chase away even the darkest nightmare. Alyssa had heard that song—that voice—countless times when she was small. As she listened to it, she forgot about not being in her real home. She forgot about being chased by Subordinates. The only thing that mattered to her right now, in this very moment, was seeing if the source of that song was really, truly there.
Pushing open the doors that led into the dining room, Alyssa was momentarily blinded by sunlight. Shielding her eyes, she took a step into the room; the singing, along with the crying, had stopped. "Mum?"
Her query was answered with a gentle laugh. Bathed in golden light, her mother was sitting in the middle of the room, where the dining room table and chairs should be. In front of her was a large basket, which her mother was peering down at intently. Alyssa drew closer. "Mum? Is that really you?"
When no one answered, Alyssa's moment of frivolous hope faded in a hurry. She stopped trying to talk and watched quietly, knowing it was no use to try and get her mother's attention. What she was seeing wasn't real; the light in the room was unnaturally bright, and it blurred strangely at the edges, like an old photograph. As during her previous journeys through time, she was watching something that had already happened. Only this time no one was in danger.
Leaning over the basket, Nancy Hamilton cupped the pendant that dangled from her neck in her hand—the same clover-shaped pendant Alyssa had been finding pieces of throughout her long night. There came a gurgling from the pile of white blankets inside the basket, and Alyssa realized—with a jolt—that she was looking at a part of her own past, too, a part too long ago for her to remember.
"My darling little daughter," Nancy murmured. "Has this already caught your eye? This is a very special pendant, you know; each leaf has its own meaning. There's one for friendship, one for hope, one for courage, and, of course, one for love. It's been in our family for many generations—because only a Hamilton, like you, would know how to unlock the secrets it holds. It'll be yours when you're old enough to understand what that means."
From the doorway, soon-to-be fifteen Alyssa watched her mother and her less-than-a-year-old self, who was now stretching her tiny, chubby hands out for the glittering pendant as her gurgling and cooing bubbled up into something else.
Nancy was so delighted by the new sound that she jumped up and turned toward the door. Alyssa automatically moved to the side; she had watched the scene before her with a sense of calm and warmth in her heart, though she felt a twinge of sadness as her mother brushed past her as though she weren't there. "Philip, darling," she called out. "Father, come here; Alyssa is laughing her first laugh!"
Brimming with motherly pride and happiness, young Nancy returned to the basket. Alyssa would have been content to watch her and her younger self for hours, but a sudden cry behind her made her whirl around.
Her mother didn't seem to have noticed the sound, but Alyssa left the idyllic scene behind and ran across the entryway, following the sounds of a scuffle. She had been wrong about no one being in danger; through the closed door that led out into the garden, she heard angry shouting and thumping as two people shoved one another about.
Though she had no idea what to expect—so far as she knew nothing bad had ever happened in Hamilton house—Alyssa ran to the door, threw it open and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the garden below.
Two men were on the balcony, grappling at each other as they struggled. It looked like the larger, older of the men was trying to push the smaller, younger man over the railing—but Alyssa knew that couldn't be so.
She knew because she recognized them both. The older man, dressed in his usual maroon suit, was her grandfather. And though she had only seen his face in pictures, she knew the younger, fair-haired man at once; it was her father. And at that moment he looked terrified.
"Why are you doing this, Dick?" Philip Hamilton cried as he was pinned against the rough stone railing.
Dick Hamilton had his hands on the other man's throat, and on his face he wore a look Alyssa had never seen or imagined him using before; one of twisted rage.
"I bet you thought you were clever, keeping that from me," was the older man's furious response. "First you took my Nancy, and now you want to rob me of my Alyssa, too? I won't let you, do you hear me? I won't!"
Ignoring Philip's frightened screams and pleas for mercy, he continued to push and shove. Though she couldn't believe the scene before her was real—that it had ever been real—Alyssa wanted to rush forward and stop them. But there was nothing she could do to stop something that wasn't really there; the two of them had that same hazy look as her mother, as if she were watching them through a filter. There was nothing she could do but scream as her father slipped and fell from the balcony.
There was a thud, after which the garden turned so quiet it was almost painful to listen to. Dick Hamilton was staring downward, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing. He looked horrified and angry over what he had just done—but the words he growled before fleeing the scene were anything but remorseful.
"Nancy will regret the day she chose to marry you."
Suddenly alone, Alyssa stood against the ivy-covered wall for a moment and trembled, her heart beating in her chest so hard it felt like a firecracker exploding over and over again against her ribs. With tears in her eyes, she forced herself into motion and descended the stone steps.
She could barely stand to look. The drop from the balcony to the ground was only a few feet and not likely to kill someone, but her father's body lay flat, still, and lifeless. But the fall alone hadn't killed him; he had landed next to a large stump. Alyssa's stomach lurched and she had to sink to her weak knees; in her normal time that stump was carved to look like a seat, and she had many memories of sitting on it in her mother's lap, or sitting there alone as she played with her dolls.
In this time, the tree that once stood where the stump was now had only recently been chopped down, and the ax was still propped up against it. And the stump itself was covered in her father's blood from when his head had landed on the axe's blade.
Alyssa couldn't bear to look any longer. She turned and curled up in a ball in the shadows beneath the stairs, face in her hands and her body racked with sobs.
She couldn't believe this had been kept from her. All her life she had assumed her father had died from disease, or in an accident. Not that she didn't believe it wasn't an accident—her grandfather couldn't have truly meant to push him off—but his death had clearly been covered up. Hidden from her. The stump had been carefully carved into a pretty shape and stained a deep, dark red-brown. She would never be able to look at it the same way again.
No, said a voice inside her. No, it's not true.
It wasn't the voice of her Rooder self, but the voice of the little girl who once walked with her grandfather through the park, and held his hand until she fell asleep on nights her mother was away, and sat on his knee as he read her stories in his study. There was no way what she had just seen was real—he wasn't capable of that sort of thing. It was all an illusion, a dirty, mean-spirited trick being played by...
Alyssa stopped sniffling as the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end. She scrambled to her feet and whirled around, bottle raised in one hand and the other extended in front of her, finger pointed accusingly. "You!"
The Subordinate's wild laughter echoed unnaturally throughout the small garden as he leaped up to balance on one foot atop the stump. Alyssa's eyes flicked briefly to the base; the body, ax, and blood had vanished.
"Now you know the truth," the Subordinate was saying, his cruel laughter still ringing in her ears. "It was your own dear grandfather who murdered your father."
"Liar," Alyssa all but screamed. She lunged for him even as he jumped down and barreled toward her. He swung at her, but his aim was high and she dodged easily. He just laughed as his ax struck one of the stone pillars supporting the balcony. He was playing with her; playing and laughing at her pain. Anger flared up inside her so fiercely her chest burned.
"You lie," she shouted again. "That's all your kind does; you lie, you steal, and you kill!"
She was nearing hysterics and she knew it, and she didn't care. And she realized, as the fire burning in her chest grew, that never in her life had she really hated anything or anyone. Not truly. Looking at the being in front of her now, still laughing insanely and swinging wildly at her, she knew she despised him with every fiber of her being. She hated his grotesque, red-streaked face, his ghastly white eyes, the sound his axes made as they sliced through the air—and especially the way he kept laughing.
The two before him had also laughed, but this time it was different. He knew what he had just shown her had greatly upset her, and he was reveling in the pain he'd caused her. As she dodged up the stairs, she felt like the fire inside her was burning through her, shooting clear to her fingertips. When she stood on the landing, she spun to face her enemy. "Enough!"
The Subordinate was running up the railing; her sudden shout made him pause and cock a hairless red eyebrow curiously. Alyssa stared him straight in the eye, ready to take him on with her bare hands if she had to. As soon as the thought passed through her mind, the palm of her hand started to burn, as if the fire raging inside her had exploded from her fingers.
She didn't need to check twice to figure out what that meant. The glass bottle had already spiraled into an elegant curve, reshaping itself in response to her need—her need to attack instead of defend. There were no theatrics this time, no swirl of golden light around her, just a surge of power from within her, bursting to be let out.
Fearless as the energy pulsed through her veins, Alyssa raised the bow and fired an arrow of light at her laughing foe. Only he wasn't laughing now; he dove from the railing with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a yelp. Elated, Alyssa propped one foot on the railing and aimed over at the retreating Subordinate. He was already in motion and the shot flew wild from her adrenalin-laced fingers, but somehow it hit the mark.
Instead of feeling the usual rush of excitement and relief like she usually did when she struck her target, Alyssa frowned. She climbed atop the railing and dropped to the grass below, landing in a crouch. Her enemy was still reeling from the first hit, and she easily aimed and struck again.
Too easily. The garden wasn't large, but there was still room for him to dodge, and there was a large tree near the stump he could duck behind, not to mention the pillars. But his white eyes were wild as she drew back and aimed again, as if her suddenly taking the offensive had truly taken him off guard. She had her doubts about him being as shocked as he appeared, but she wasn't about to stop her attack and ask him what other tricks he had planned.
She managed to strike him again before he seemed to recover from his shock and starting rushing her. He was fast and leaped around nimbly, but Alyssa adopted the strategy she had assumed he would use and took cover behind the tree. It was getting easier and easier for her to pull up the power inside her, allowing her to make larger, brighter arrows of light in less time. The sparking energy danced along her nerve endings even as the thought that something wasn't right gnawed at the back of her mind.
Alyssa didn't know whether the feeling was legitimate or just a bout of fear, so she shoved it aside and continued to fight with all she had. With the golden power pulsing through her she barely felt the pain in her side anymore, but as her enemy weakened, she noticed that she was weakening, too.
Her lungs burned in her chest as she breathed, and she nearly tripped over the stump as she stepped back to ready another arrow. The Subordinate had suddenly leaped back and raised his ax over his head—perhaps to throw it, perhaps just to taunt her—and she took advantage of the brief opening. The arrow she let loose was tiny and weak, but it struck him at the base of his throat and made him stagger back. Alyssa turned and ducked under the stairs, where she leaned against the cool stone of the wall, her breath coming in short, rapid gulps.
This is it, she thought.
In this small space she had little chance to let her arrows charge, and she wasn't going to let this opportunity slip by. Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing as she held the bow in front of her, invisible bowstring pulled back as far as it could go. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest as she listened the Subordinate's footsteps as he hurried closer. She focused on the energy crackling at her fingertips and forced herself to remain still.
Just a little more, she told herself. The energy was straining against the bow, ready to ignite and take off like a rocket, but she continued to hold it in place. She waited until the rapid footsteps were dangerously near before stepping out from under the steps, bow pointed directly at her enemy's chest.
She didn't bother with words; she let the sparking ball of yellow light do the talking for her. As it had with Haigh, the charged arrow exploded in a blinding white light that had her foe roaring in pain, and when the light faded enough for her to see again, he was anchored in place by the brilliant golden light now engulfing him.
The Subordinate thrashed, tugged, and howled, but it was no use. With her head held high, Alyssa felt like she was glowing from head to toe as she raised the bow again. "It ends now."
She charged another arrow until she couldn't hold it a second longer, and as it sailed through the air it unleashed such a shower of gold and white sparks she had to shield her eyes. When she uncovered them she expected to see a pile of ash where the Subordinate had been.
Instead she saw something that made her heart stop and her insides twist into one big knot.
The Subordinate was still standing. He had his axes crossed in front of him, flat sides facing her like a shield. He had not only broken free from the hold, he had blocked her attack—her final attack.
Alyssa all but dropped her bow as she stared, dumbstruck, at the unscathed killer, every last bit of strength in her gone. He gave a hop and balanced on top of the stump, as if showing her how unharmed he was. He gave his ax a toss and a twirl before pointing it at a spot near her feet.
"That was fun," he declared, "but playtime is over. Say hi to everyone down there for me."
Down there? Alyssa thought dumbly.
She looked down—and let out a shriek. A pool of black water had formed around her feet, and before her brain could finish sending her feet the signal to move, she started sinking in it. Alyssa shrieked again as she grappled for something—anything—but there wasn't anything within reach. She tried to throw herself forward in the hopes she could drag herself out, but it was too late. She was already down to her waist, the black substance pulling at her mercilessly. It was cold and thick and didn't feel like water at all—it didn't feel like anything she had ever touched before.
Within moments she had been sucked down to her chest; she threw her head back and gasped as her broken rib was squeezed. She wanted to scream, but she barely managed a whimper. Across the garden she caught a glimpse of the Subordinate. He had his back to her and was walking away, as if she wasn't worth bothering with anymore.
And then her gaze dropped too low to see him anymore. The last thing she saw were blades of grass, and then the darkness swallowed her completely.