The Truth of Yesterday (85 page)

     “I think I'll go upstairs,” Tad declared.

     “If I'm not needed here I'll go too,” Adam said. No one protested as the two of them climbed the stairs, leaving just four of us in the cellar - five it you counted
Amalie
. I shiver went up my spine at that thought. All this time she'd been entombed behind that wall instead of the marked grave in the backyard. How had that happened?

     “You have to go in there,” Judy said.

     “I'm scared,” I admitted hoarsely.

     “It's never hurt you before, has it?” she asked, maddeningly logical.

     “What are you talking about?” Steve asked.

     “One of Killian's Gifts is his ability to see the past, especially in cases like this, where something very tragic has taken place and it's left a strong emotional imprint.”

     Steve looked at me with wonder in his eyes. “It's only happened once or twice,” I protested weakly. “It might not even happen now.”

     “Oh, I think it will,” Judy insisted. “You have a strong connection to
Amalie
. This is what she's wanted all along. She wants us to know what happened.”

     “We thought it was just the baby,” Steve said almost to himself. “But there was more, that's why she didn't go away after we buried the baby next to her grave. She wasn't even there. She was here the whole time.” He looked up.
“But how?
What happened?”

     
“Killian?”
Judy urged.

     Micah stepped back and dropped the hammer, wiping sweat from his brow. “I think
it's
big enough now.”

     I took a deep breath. In my heart, I knew all this arguing was in vain. If I was honest with myself, I knew I wanted to know what had happened all those years ago as much as anyone. Maybe I even needed to know. I took a tentative step towards the enlarged opening. Micah stepped forward to help me.

     “I'll be right here, Kill,” he whispered. I stepped up to the hole and took my first look at what lay beyond. The light from the lamp showed what looked like the beginning of a tunnel. It extended perhaps ten feet from the wall before it ended in a pile of rubble. The walls looked to be packed earth, shored up with rough hewn timber. About halfway between the collapsed roof and the wall lay a pathetic heap of bones, all that was left of
Amalie
. I took another deep breath, and climbed over the broken bricks.

* * *

     The world shifted as my feet touched the ground. Immediately, I knew on some deep level that I was no longer in my own body. I remained aware of myself while at the same time I was fully aware of the feelings and emotions of my new body -
Amalie's
body. This was a much more intense experience than the time in Paul's apartment. I wasn't just feeling
Amalie's
emotions; I was
in
Amalie's
body. Terror coursed through me as she/I stumbled forward. I felt a sense of movement behind me and twisted around, crouching down as I did. Pain shot through my side as I moved and I knew somehow that I'd been punched there. There was someone in the doorway, which now stood clear. It was a man, but it was so dark I couldn't make out his features. Again, I somehow knew that this man was
Amalie's
husband, Captain
Marnien
.

     “You're nothing but a common whore,” he snarled. He moved again and candlelight turned his face into a horrifying mask of rage and hatred. Even distorted by the dim lighting, the part of me that remained me recognized him as the man from my long ago vision, the one that had been rushing into the house from the boat.

     A rush of foreign memories flooded into my consciousness. I was standing in the cupola and it was night outside the windows. I was cradling a crying infant in my arms. I'd come up here because for some reason, it usually calmed the baby, but not tonight. I was so distracted with my son that I didn't hear the footsteps until they were upon me. I spun around, my heart in my throat.

     “Captain,” I gasped. He wasn't supposed to be here. I'd been told he was lost at sea. He couldn't be here...but there he stood, water dripping from his graying hair and a look of astonishment on his face as he stared at the babe in my arms. A sense of dread washed over me. I knew it wouldn't take long for him to calculate the months in his head. It wouldn't take him long to realize that the baby I held couldn't be his. I began to speak quickly as his face slowly changed, losing all expression.

     “I thought you were dead,” I said, pleadingly. “They told me you'd been lost at sea, that your ship was assumed to have gone down in a storm. I mourned you. Look, I'm still wearing black.”

     “You obviously didn't mourn me for long,” he growled, the first words he'd spoken since he appeared.

     “I...it's not...”

     “Turn to another man for comfort did you? Even if I had been dead, I wouldn't have even been cold in my grave before you took another man to bed.”

     “Where were you? If you were alive, why didn't you send word to me?”

     “Does it matter now?” He took the remained stairs in one huge step. I backed quickly away but he moved menacingly forward. “Let's see the bastard. Does it take after its daddy?”  

     I pulled the blankets protectively over the baby's face, his cries had settled into a mere whimper. “Please no,” I begged. “None of this is the child's fault.”

     “No, this is
all your
fault.
You, my faithless wife.”
He spat the last two words, but then his voice chilled. “The child will go.”

     “No! Please! We can raise him as your own.”     

     “You think I'll have some other man's child raised under my roof?” he bellowed. “You'll have me thought a fool?”

     “No one else even knows, except the servants.”

     “Servants talk. The child goes.”

     “Then I'll go as well,” I shouted defiantly.

     His hand shot out so quickly I didn't have time to even try to get out of his way. His fist drove into my side, throwing me back against the windows behind me. My head hit one of the panes of glass, shattering it outward. Cold wind whipped into the room, as I struggled to maintain my grip on the baby, now crying again.

     “You're not going anywhere,” he said in a frighteningly calm voice. A sudden terror gripped my heart and instinct took over. I had to protect my baby; I had to get away. I dove past him, a move so unexpected that he barely had time to react. I made for the narrow stairs as he lunged after me. His large hand struck my shoulder as I took the first step and I felt myself veer out of control. I stumbled down several steps, crashing into the wall before I caught my balance and started running down the stairs. But he was still right behind me. Suddenly, I was shoved violently from behind. For a few seconds, I felt as if I was suspended in mid-air, but then I was falling, falling into the inky blackness of the stairwell.

* * *

     For the briefest moment, I was myself again. I was crouching in the dirt of the dank passage, staring blankly at the partially opened doorway. Micah peered anxiously in at me, Judy visible just over his shoulder.

     “Killian, are you ok?” Micah asked.

     Then they were gone.

* * *

     I sat up with a start and looked wildly about. I was in the cellar, lying on the dirt floor. The room was lit only by a single candle. I hurt in so many places, but especially my side. The scene in the cupola came back to me in a flash. My baby! Where was my baby?

     I spotted the little body lying a few feet away in an undignified heap, still and silent - much too still. I crawled frantically towards him, ignoring my pain, already sobbing, knowing the worst. The baby was dead, his tiny body already growing cold. How long had I been unconscious? Could I have saved him if I'd been awake? A grief like I'd never known before took over me and for some unknown amount of time, I simply held my baby to my chest and rocked back and forth, weeping so deeply I didn't make a sound.

     Eventually, I stopped crying. I knew I had to bury him. My husband, the Captain, wouldn't afford him that much dignity. I removed my mourning shawl and wrapped my son carefully in it, laying him tenderly aside. I quickly began to dig into the hard-packed earth floor. I didn't know how long I had, how long the Captain would leave me down here. I dug and dug with only my bare hands until my nails bled and fingers ached with the cold, and still I dug. Finally, I had a hole large enough to bury the little body. It was so small.

     I once again began to cry silent tears as I lifted the little bundle and laid him in the hole as gently as possible. I stared down at him for a moment, looking at his beautiful face. I could almost imagine that he was only asleep. He looked so peaceful. I couldn't bring myself to cover him with the dirt, but I knew I had no choice. I fumbled with the brooch at my neck; it had been a wedding present from my parents. Finally, the clasp gave way to my numb fingers and it dropped into my palm. I laid it lovingly on my son's chest. I leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then quickly swept the small pile of dirt over him, covering him before it was too late.

     I cried while I smoothed the dirt over his grave, my tears mixing with the earth to form mud. When I had hidden the evidence of my digging to my satisfaction, I curled up in a ball over the spot and wept bitterly.

     I was still crying when I heard the Captain speaking at the top of the stairs. I suddenly hated him with a depth of emotion of which I hadn't known I was capable. I wanted him to suffer the way he'd caused me to suffer. I lurched to my feet and began to look madly around the room for something to use as a weapon. I had never been down here before; the Captain had always said it was no place for the lady of the house. It didn't take long to realize that there was nothing here except a few wooden barrels against one wall and shelves well-stocked with the canned food the women had put up in the fall. A ham hung from the rafters in one corner.

     The door at the top of the stairs opened and the Captain descended with ominous purpose. I pressed myself against the far wall. He stood staring at me, his eyes filled with hate and disgust. Neither of us spoke for what felt like an eternity. Then he unexpectedly swung around and grasped the edge of the shelves containing the canned food. Even in my grief-stricken, shocked state, I was surprised to see the shelves slowly swing away from the brick wall to reveal a dark doorway.

     The Captain turned back to me, a dark grin on his face. “It's a tunnel,” he said simply. “It comes out near the dock. I had it built for business purposes, but if you want to leave so badly, go ahead.”

     I stared at him in disbelief. Was he actually going to let me go? It seemed
to
good to be true.

     “Go!” he shouted. “Get out and never come back!”

     I threw myself away from the wall and dashed towards the door. He pushed me as I passed him and I stumbled into the darkness. I stopped dead when I saw that the passage only went a few feet before stopping in a heap of rubble. A cold laugh came from behind me.

     I twisted around, crouching down into a feral position of defense as I did. “You're nothing but a common whore,” he snarled. He moved again and candlelight turned his face into a horrifying mask of rage and hatred. “You think I would allow you to leave me? You'll never leave this house. Never! You'll die here like the dog you are, bitch.”

     He started to close the camouflaged door. Belatedly, I realized that he meant to lock me in the collapsed tunnel, leaving me to die. I threw myself at the door but it was too late. It closed with a sickening thud, shutting out all light. I began to scream and claw at the door, pushing against it with all my weight, but to no avail. I pounded against the wood, screaming for mercy, but my only answer was an unfeeling chuckle and then silence. The utter darkness slowly began to close in around me, until I couldn't breath. I crumpled to the floor, dragging myself away from the door until I collapsed completely to the ground where I began to will myself to die.

* * *

     “Killian!” a voice shouted.

     I opened my eyes and saw light. I wasn't locked in the tunnel, left to die. I moved my hand and realized that I was once again back in my own body. I was lying on my back on the dirt floor of the tunnel.