One Last Time (22 page)

“This way.” Quillan leads me across the room and stops at the main entrance leading into the hallway. “Since they are using the secret passageways, we’re safer using the corridors in the house.”

I nod in agreement, and we slip into the dark hallway heading for the staircase at the end. Quillan holds my hand tight as we slink up the steps two at a time, anxious to find Emily. We step onto the second floor and maneuver down the first hallway, walking only as fast as our lamp is able to light our path. We reach the end and turn into the second corridor. God, this house is big. How many rooms does a family of three need?
Fortunately, this hallway is lit, seeing it’s used far more than the others, so we sprint, stopping right outside Emily’s bedroom door.

Quillan gently pushes me behind him. “I’ll check it out first.” He turns the handle, quietly opening the door and peeks inside. He slowly sneaks in, keeping flat against the wall. My heart is racing again, releasing more adrenaline. I think I’ve pretty much overdosed on the stuff this month. I wait until his arm reaches for me, and then I join him in Miss Emily’s bedchamber. It’s the same as when I left it three hours ago. The room is vast so we steal around, checking in her dressing room and any other possible corners Slimy could have her hidden. It’s empty.

“We should check the cupola,” I say, not wanting to admit it’s where she would be if Lunar has already been hung. Quillan turns somber, but agrees. We make our way back to the staircase and head up to the third floor. I dread going up here. Slimy and his men are ransacking these rooms, so it will be like making our way across a minefield. Tiptoeing down the dark corridor, we make our way halfway down, stopping at the spiral staircase leading up to the cupola. An eerie glow and a scant scuffle confirm our greatest fears. Someone is up there.

“Stay here,” he orders, and by the look in his eyes, I know not to challenge him this time.

Holding my breath, I take the lantern and watch him ascend the stairs until his shoes disappear from view. I’ve prayed my entire life, mainly before meals, it was Momma’s rule, and always before bed. It was usually nothing more than a sweet ritual for me, like washing my hands and brushing my teeth. The day I sat outside my dad’s office, rejected for the second time, I prayed and asked, since he called himself Father, if he would be mine because the man he assigned me wasn’t worth shit. I prayed again, after the hurricane hit Florida that I would hear from Momma. I never did. I’ve been disappointed more than surprised when it comes to praying, so I don’t know why I am offering up any kind of supplication now, but I am. Maybe it’s because Quillan told me he was sent from Heaven or somewhere transcendent, so I figure if any of them are watching, we could use some help about now. The truth of the matter is, I don’t want Emily to die. I want her to live and have children, mainly Quillan, and live a long, happy life and die an old woman surrounded by grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and a horde of memories.

Quillan’s voice interrupts my thoughts, only he’s not down here talking to me. He’s up there still. The sound of glass breaking startles me, and the scuffle gets louder. I am ready to bolt up the steps when I hear Quillan yell for Emily to run. Within seconds, I see the hem of her purple skirt rounding the spiral steps. She reaches the bottom and sees me. Peace floods her face when she does. “Oh, Averie, they’re back!”

“I know.” I grab her hand. Glass shatters again, and I hear Quillan yelling for me to run. His words have no more reached my ears when I see dirty boots coming down the stairs. Pulling Emily, I start bolting down the hallway looking for a place to hide. Room twenty-three is the first one we come to, so I burst through the door praying no one is in there. It’s dark and has already been stripped of artwork, vases, and any decorative piece that would bring a nice profit. We both scan the room, looking for a place to hide. Emily points to the bookcase and I know she wants to escape through the secret passageway, but it’s not so secret now.

“They are using it,” I whisper back.

The door handle is turning, and the only thing I can think is to get behind it. We can hide there and make our escape once he comes in the room. I pull her against the wall, and we hold our breath as he creeps inside.

“In the dead of night, I saw the light…” he taunts us, singing the haunting song. “Shining in the shallow water. A princess fair with crimson hair, hiding in the house of her father.” He laughs a maniacal laugh as he lurks inside the room. “Where are you, Princess?” he beckons. I can feel Emily trembling at his call. I wait until he stoops down to look under her highly elevated bed before I pull her out the door. We take to the hallways again, running like banshees, looking for the next place to hide. Hearing him behind us, we dart inside another room and slide the bolt lock in place to buy some time. I turn up my lantern and am shocked to see we are inside a nursery, complete with cradle, crib, and a beautiful hand-carved rocking chair.

“My room when I was born,” she explains, pointing to a big toy box filled with teddy bears, dolls, and other cherished playthings, now preserved for posterity sake. “Over there.”

Slimy crashes up against the door, quickening our escape. Emily crouches down and sifts through the toys, rummaging her hand deep inside the box. Her face shows relief, and I figure she has found what she is searching for.

Bam!
Slimy hits the door again and the wood splinters. “Hurry.” I pant in desperation. She pulls a small lever at the bottom of the box and then puts the toys back in place. Tugging at the treasure chest, she grunts until the box pulls forward. There is no entrance to a secret passage, only a small safe room of sorts. Perfect, unless Slimy discovers it, too. We jump inside and pull the wall closed behind us. Emily slides the lock in place as we hear the door to the room burst open. We huddle in the corner, holding our breath.

“I know you’re in here,” Slimy taunts, and then begins singing the sinister song again. We trace his path by the sound of his dirty boots scuffing around the room and freeze when he stops at the toy chest. He rummages through the box and then stops. It stays quiet for a few moments before we hear his boots clomp away, sounding as if he left the room.

“Let’s wait a little longer before we leave,” I suggest, not putting it past him to be lurking in the hall waiting for us to emerge.

“Only for a while.” Emily’s concern is on the rise. “They took Lunar and said they were going to hang him.”

I pale at her words. “When?”

“He and I were in a room up here when they burst in and found us. They beat Lunar pretty bad, and then drug him away to hang him. After that, two of them took me up to the cupola to watch. That’s when Quillan showed up. He started fighting them and yelled for you to run right before he and one of them fell through the window.”

My heart falters. The cupola sits higher than the third floor. It would be hard to survive a fall from that height. Still, if I save Emily, I save Quillan.

“They’re robbing you, Emily. I overheard them say they’re planning on killing everyone around midnight and pinning it on Jeb and the boys.”

Emily’s spirit fades. “If they kill my family and hang Lunar, I might as well die.”

I grab her shoulders and pull her close to me. “You can’t die Emily Faulkner, you hear me? No matter what, you are carrying a life inside you, and your son wants to live! I’m not giving up, so don’t you either. If I die tonight, then I die fighting.”

Tears stream down her face, and she nods.

“All right,” I say. “Let’s go. We can’t sit here and hide. We have to save Lunar.”

Breathing a prayer, I unlatch the lock, push open the door, and exit our secret hiding place. Closing it carefully, Emily takes extreme caution to not make a sound. We’ve decided to make our way to the pistols James keeps locked inside a gun cabinet in his study. Emily admits she doesn’t know how to shoot one. I am pretty sure I can pull the trigger, as long as it’s already loaded. Again, she’s not sure he keeps them loaded, but it’s worth a chance, anyway. At least I can wave it around, acting like it is.

We creep past the cupola stairs, and my heart drops when I think Quillan might be dead already. It’s quiet, and there is no glow from a lantern. Only the moonlight fills the round room, radiating its soft light on us as we sneak by.

We make it to the staircase, and I breathe a sigh of relief. For some reason, it seems much safer on the second floor. We take the corner, my skirt flares out again. Only, this time I’m not having fun. I’m running for my life. The clock strikes eleven, an hour left before my departure and the bludgeoning of the Faulkner family.

Anxious to retrieve a weapon, we burst into the study to find it already ransacked and the gun cabinet empty.

“Lookin’ for somethin’?” Jimmy’s voice comes from the darkness. The door slams shut behind us, and Slimy steps in front of it. “Well look who came to visit.” He sneers, walking toward us.

Grabbing Emily’s hand, I back toward the bookcase.

“Where’s Lunar?” she demands.

“That Negro is poised and ready for execution.” Slimy grins, puffing on an expensive cigar he found. “He’s just waiting for his audience. What do you say we take that trip back upstairs so you can get a good look at what happens to Negroes who go after our pretty white women?”

We keep retreating toward the bookcase, but Jimmy comes around behind us. We’re surrounded. “Let’s go have some fun, rice princess.” Slimy snuffs out his cigar and grabs Emily, pulling her away from me. “And you.” He shakes his head disappointed. “You’re proving to be far too much trouble than you’re worth. Jimmy, do what you want with this one.” Covering Emily’s mouth, he pulls her through the bookcase and into the secret passage.

Jimmy grins, a manic smile, and then walks toward me. “Are you the one who took Leonard’s head off?” He raises the harvesting sickle. My heart races, stampeding in my chest like a herd of wild horses. I am in the same room with the grim reaper, and he’s holding death in his hand.

Now I know how James Faulkner and his guests were dismembered.

“You’re pretty when you’re scared.” He eyes my heaving chest. I am breathing hard, I know, because I am scared as hell right now. Backing up against the bookcase, I reach behind me and grab a candlestick. Using it like a bat, I swing for a home run. Stunned, he stumbles backward, dropping the knife as he falls. Taking my chance, I bolt for the door, but he reaches out and grabs my ankle. I hit the floor hard, knocking the wind from my lungs. Keeping his hand tight around my ankle, he yanks, pulling me closer. He flips me over and pounces on top of me. His grimy hands snatch a handful of my hair, pulling my head back. Blood pours from his wound onto my face. He grabs my mouth, squeezes it open, and crams his tongue inside. I bite down as hard as I can. He moans, pulls it out, and hits me, angry I would try and defend myself. What did the dumb ass expect would happen?

Keeping his heavy body on top of mine, he scans the room and reaches for the velvet cord holding back the curtains. Yanking the tassel, he rips the rope from the drapes. I start kicking and screaming. I can see my actions have him panicked. Making a quick decision, he lays the cord aside and slaps his hand hard over my mouth, smothering my cries for help. Still lying on top of me, he rises up slightly, giving himself enough room to shove his other hand in his pants pocket and pull out his hanky. When he does, I take my chance. With one swift move, I grab the smooth wooden handle I see sticking out of his belt, aim, and pull the trigger. It was loaded, and Jimmy’s dead with a giant-sized hole where his gut used to be.

Scrambling to my feet, I keep the pistol and run to the third floor. It’s dark, and I don’t have my lamp, but I don’t care. I know the way by now. I hear Emily sobbing by the time I reach the third floor. I run down the hall, turn the corner, and make my way to the soft glow of the moon, spotlighting the floor. Without a thought, I take the spiral staircase. Slimy won’t be expecting me. He thinks Jimmy has me in the study, but true to his word, I’m trouble.

I slow down on the last spiral, sneaking up on them. Slimy’s got his back to me, and it would be easy to shoot him, but I fear the bullet might go clean through at this range and hit Emily. Hearing her sobs is heart wrenching. I can only imagine what it is she’s seeing as Slimy forces her to look out of the cupola. The night air is blowing the fall leaves in through the broken glass, and again my heart weeps, knowing Quillan fell trying to save his mother. Despite his efforts, she’s back up here in the clutches of Slimy, and once again I’m haunted with the question—is it possible to change the past? No matter what we’ve done, we keep coming back to the same end. But then, in the midst of my darkest hour, I have a thought. It’s a brilliant idea, and once again, I am brought to remembering something my momma always said. “Averie”—she would tell me—“every situation you find yourself trapped in is an opportunity for you to think smart.” I never understood what she meant until now. I am in the worst situation I have ever found myself, and I am thinking smarter than ever. If there wasn’t a chance to change the past, then Quillan wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to begin with. He was given a chance, and that is what we have, a chance, an opportunity, a possibility
.
And what is a possibility? Something that
is
possible.

I point my pistol and step into the cupola cramming the barrel against the back of Slimy’s head. “Let her go!” I pray he doesn’t feel my trembling hand. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t let Emily go either.

“Why don’t you take a look at your husband,” he suggests. I want to turn and look out the window with everything that is in me, but I don’t. I will not be distracted, not now.

“I said turn her loose.” I pull back on the hammer, ready to fire. My hand cramps when I do. The gun is heavy, and ordinarily it would take two hands to fire the thing. I’m hoping I can still do it.

Without warning, Slimy pushes Emily through the gaping hole of broken glass, killing her and her unborn child. I fire, and what little brains Slimy has splatter against the glass and drizzle down with the scattering leaves.