The Wicked and the Wondrous (33 page)

“I remember it,” Paul said. “It was hanging in your closet, Dillon, at least it was a month ago. I hung your shirts up when they came back from the laundry service. Viv thought vampire and you thought magician.”

“I thought women,” Brian said. “You know how many women wanted to see me in that cape and nothing else?” He puffed out his chest.

“Ugh,” Tara wrinkled her nose. “That’s totally gross.”

“That’s beyond gross, Brian,” Brenda protested, “I’ll never get the picture out of my mind.” She covered her face with her hands.

“You loved it,” Brian pounced immediately. “You begged me.”

“Way too much information,” Jessica cautioned.

“I did not, you idiot!” Brenda was outraged. “I may be many things, Brian, but I have taste. Seeing you prance around naked in a vampire cape is not my idea of sexy.”

“You know, Brian,” Robert said conversationally, “I actually like you. But I may have to shove your teeth down your throat if you aren’t more careful in the way you choose to taunt my wife.”

“Wow! That’s so cool,” Tara said, her blue eyes shining up at him. “He’s pretty cool, after all, Brenda.”

Brenda grinned at her in complete agreement. “He is, isn’t he?”

Dillon leaned against Jessica, trapping her body between his large frame and the counter. “That cape might have possibilities,” he whispered wickedly against her bare neck. His teeth skimmed very close to her pulse as if he might bite into her exposed skin.

“Not with knowing what Brian was doing in it,” she whispered back. She pushed back against him, resting her bottom very casually against him. With the counter between their bodies and the rest of the room, no one could see her blatantly tempting him. She ached for him, her body heavy and needful. She wanted to turn into his arms, be held by him, and lie beside him, under him. She wanted to see his blue eyes blazing, burning for her alone.

Dillon savored the feel of her small, curved bottom pressed tightly against him. He was becoming used to walking around in a continual state of arousal. At least, he knew he was alive. She had the softest skin, and smelled so enticing he couldn’t think of too much else when she was near. He cleared his throat, trying to pull his mind away from the thought of her body.

“Are you going to tell us about your Christmas trees?” Dillon wanted to find a way to connect with the children. They always seemed just out of his grasp. He reached around Jessica to remove the mug of chocolate from her hand. The smell was making him feel slightly sick and he wanted to inhale her delicate scent. To think about the possibility of a future, not remember the agony of where he had been. Jessica gave him such hope. His arms caged her, brought his chest in contact with the sweeping line of her back. She was the bridge between Dillon and the children. She was the bridge that led from merely existing to living life.

“We found two that might work,” Trevor said, “but neither was perfect.”

“Does a Christmas tree have to be perfect?” Don asked.

“Perfect for us,” Trevor answered before Jessica could draw a breath and breathe fire. “We know what we’re looking for, don’t we, Tara?”

“Well, next time you’d better be a little more careful and stay on the trails,” Dillon cautioned, using his most authoritative voice.

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” Jessica muttered rebelliously, “my heart couldn’t stand it.”

Trevor looked mutinous. “I knew you were going to be like that, Jess. It could have happened to anybody. You always get so crazy, even when we fall off a bike.”

“Watch your tone.” Dillon’s mouth settled in an ominous line. “I think Jessica and the rest of us are entitled to feel protective. You were completely buried, Trevor, we didn’t know if you were alive or dead or whether you were able to breathe or were broken into a million pieces.” His arms tightened around Jessica, holding her close, feeling the tremor go through her body. His chin nuzzled the top of her head in sympathy. “Have the decency to let us be shaken up. But don’t worry, we’ll get a Christmas tree.”

Jessica wanted to protest. She didn’t want Trevor going anywhere outside, but Dillon was his father. There was no sense in dissenting, but she was
not
letting the twins go anywhere outside by themselves, father or no father.

Dillon felt her instant reaction, her body stiffening, but she remained silent. He pressed a quick kiss against the tempting nape of her neck. “Good girl.” Her skin was so soft he wanted to rub his face against her. His palms itched to hold the soft weight of her breasts. His mind was becoming cloudy with erotic fantasies right there in the kitchen with everyone standing around.

“Sorry, Jessie,” Trevor mumbled. “I saw that circle. The one with two rings, one inside of the other. The one you said was used to invoke spirits or something. It was drawn on a flat rock. It was really bright. I went off the trail to check it out.”

There was a sudden silence in the room. Only the wind outside could be heard, a low mournful howl through the trees. A chill went down Jessica’s spine. She felt the difference in Dillon immediately. His body was nearly blanketing hers as they both leaned against the counter, so it was impossible to miss the sudden tension in him. His body actually trembled with some sudden overwhelming emotion.

“Are you certain you saw a double circle, Trevor?” Dillon’s face was an expressionless mask, but his eyes were blazing.

“Yes, sir,” Trevor answered, “it was very distinct. I didn’t get close enough to see what it was made out of before everything came down on me. It wasn’t drawn or painted onto the rock. The circles were made of something and set on the rock. That’s all I saw before I tripped on a log and everything crashed on top of me. I fit into the little opening against the hill so I wasn’t crushed. I covered my mouth and nose and as soon as everything settled, I breathed shallowly, hoping you’d hurry. I knew Tara would get you fast.”

Dillon continued to look at his son. “Brian, have you brought that filth into my home? Did you dare to do that after all that happened?”

No one moved. No one spoke. No one looked at the drummer. Brian sighed softly. “Dillon, I have my faith and I practice it, yes, wherever I am.”

Dillon turned his head slowly to pin Brian with his steely glare. “You are practicing that garbage here? In my home?” He straightened up unhurriedly and there was something very dangerous, very lethal in his body posture as he rose to his full height.

Dillon was vaguely aware of Jessica laying a restraining hand very gently on his arm, but he didn’t even glance down at her. The anger always simmering far too close to the surface rose in a vicious surge. The memories, dark and hideous, welled up to devour him. Screams. Chanting. The smell of incense mingled with the musty smell of sexual lust. Jessica’s terror-stricken face. Her nude body painted with disgusting symbols. A man’s hand violating her innocent curves while others crowded around her breathing heavily, obscenely. Watching. Stroking and pumping to bring their own bodies to a fever pitch of excitement while they urged their leader on.

Bile rose, threatening to choke him. Dillon suppressed the urge to coil his hands around Brian’s throat and squeeze. Instead he held himself utterly still, curling his fingers into fists. “You dared to bring that abomination back to my home after all the damage that was done here?” His tone was soft, menacing, a spine-chilling threat.

“Trevor and Tara go upstairs right now.” Jessica stood up straight, too, very afraid of what might happen. “Go, right now and don’t argue with me.”

Jessica rarely used that particular tone of voice. The twins looked from their father to Brian and obediently left the room. Trevor glanced back once, worried about Jessica, but she wasn’t looking at him and he had no choice but to go with Tara.

“I want you off this island, Brian, and don’t ever come back,” Dillon bit out each word distinctly.

“I’ll go, Dillon,” Brian’s dark eyes betrayed his own rising anger, “but you’re going to listen to me first. I do not now, nor have I ever had anything to do with the occult. I don’t worship the devil. I never turned Viv on to that scene, someone else did. I did my best to talk to her, to influence her away from it.”

Jessica rubbed her hand soothingly up and down Dillon’s stiff arm, feeling the ridges of his skin, the raised scars, reminders of that horror-filled night that were forever etched into his flesh.

“Go on,” Dillon said, his voice rough.

“My religion is old, yes, but it is the worshiping of things of the earth, spirits that live in harmony with the earth. I use the magic circles, but I don’t invoke evil. That would be against everything I believe. I did my best with Viv to make her understand the difference. She was so vulnerable to anything destructive.” Tears glittered in his eyes, his mouth trembled slightly. “You aren’t the only one who loved her, we all did. And we all lost her. I watched her go downhill just like you did. I did my best to stop her, I really did, the minute I found out she was involved with that Satanic crowd.”

Dillon raked a hand through his hair. “They weren’t even the real thing,” he said softly, sighing heavily.

“She went nuts when she hooked up with Phillip Trent,” Brian said. “She listened to everything he said as if it was gospel. I swear to you, Dillon, I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t counteract his influence.” He looked as if he were breaking apart, his face crumbling under the memories.

Dillon felt his rage subsiding. He had known Brian nearly all of his life. He knew the truth when he heard it. “Trent dragged her down into a world of drugs and manic delusion so fast I don’t think any of us could have stopped her. I had him investigated. He had his own little religious practices, looking for money, drugs, and sex, kicks maybe, but not based on anything he didn’t make up.”

Jessica stepped away from him, her lungs burning. She needed to be alone. Away from them all. Even Dillon. The memories were crowding far too close. None of the others knew what had happened to her and the discussion was skimming the edges of where she did not want to go.

“I’m sorry, Brian, I guess it just seems so much easier to blame someone else. I thought I’d gotten over that. I should have tried harder to put her into a hospital.”

“I don’t worship in your house,” Brian said. “I know how you feel. I know you keep battery-powered lights rather than candles in case your generator breaks down because you can’t stand to see an open flame. I know you don’t want incense or any reminders of the occult here and I don’t blame you, so I take it outside away from your home. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you, Dillon.”

“I shouldn’t have accused you. Next time, get rid of the circle so the kids don’t get curious. I don’t want to have to explain all that to them.”

Brian looked confused. “I didn’t set up for a ceremony anywhere near the trail, or that area.” His protest was a low murmur.

Dillon’s gaze and attention was on Jessica. She was very pale. Her hands were trembling and she put them behind her as she backed toward the door. “Jess.” It was a protest.

She shook her head, her eyes begging him for understanding. “I’m turning in, I want to spend some time with the twins.”

Dillon let her go, watched her take his heart with her as she hurried out of the room.

T
ARA HELD THE COVERS
back to allow Jessica to leap beneath the quilt. Clad in her drawstring pajama bottoms and a spaghetti strap top, Jessica’s hair spilled loosely down her back in preparation for bed. She hopped over Trevor’s makeshift bed and slid in beside Tara. “Why is the room so cold?”

“Your mysterious window-opener has struck in Tara’s room,” Trevor said. “It was wide open and the curtains were wet from the rain. The room was all foggy, Jess.” He deliberately didn’t tell her about the magic circle made of incense ash on the floor beside the bed which both he and Tara had worked to clean. She would never let them out of her sight if she found out about it.

Jessica sighed. “How silly. Someone has a fetish for open windows. How about your room, Trev, anything out of place?”

“No, but then I set up the video camera in my room,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I thought someone had come in and gone through my things so I wanted to catch them in the act if they came back.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“And just who did you suspect and what did you think they were looking for?” Jessica demanded.

“I figured I’d catch Brenda looking for the cash,” he admitted.

“Brenda’s nice now,” Tara objected. “She’s not going to go through your smelly old socks looking for the money everyone knows you stash in them.”

“Only you know that.” Trevor glared at her.

“Now I do,” Jessica pointed out with an evil smirk.

Tara wrinkled her nose. “He puts the money in his dirtiest, smelliest pair.”

“That is so disgusting, Trevor. Put your dirty socks in the clothes hamper,” Jessica lectured, “they aren’t a money bank.”

“So are you going to tell us whether or not Dad killed Brian?” Trevor tried to sound very casual, but there was an underlying hint of worry in his voice. “The suspense is doing me in.”

“Of course he didn’t. Brian’s religion is a very old one, the worshipping of the earth and deities that are in harmony with the earth. He does not worship the devil, nor is he into the occult.” She hesitated, looked at the two identical faces. “Your mother followed his example for a while but during the last year of her life, when she became so ill, she met a man named Phillip Trent. He was truly evil.” Just saying his name sickened her. She felt it then, that terrible coldness that could creep into a room. Unnatural. Unbidden. Beneath the covers she pressed her hand to her stomach, terrified she would be sick.

“What’s wrong, Jess?” Trevor sat up very straight.

She shook her head. It was a long time ago. A different house. That evil man was dead and nothing that he had brought to life remained behind. It was impossible. Everything had burnt to the ground, reduced to a pile of ashes. It was only her imagination that the curtain stirred slightly on a cold air current when the window was closed. It was only her imagination that she felt eyes watching her. Listening. To think that if she spoke of that time, something evil would triumph, would be set free.

“Your father knows the difference. Brian explained that he worships outside, rather than in the house, out of respect for Dillon’s feelings. I didn’t ask him about the circle in my room because I want to ask him about it in private. Dillon is protective of all of us. They’re good friends and they’ve talked it out.” Jessica shivered again, her gaze darting around the room to the corners hidden in shadows. She felt uneasy. Memories were far too close to the surface. She knotted her fist in the quilt.

Tara leaned close to her, studying her face. She glanced at her brother, and then put her hand over Jessica’s, rubbing lovingly. “Tell us the Christmas story, Jessie. It always makes us feel better.”

Jessica slipped deeper into the bed, snuggling into the pillow, wanting to hide beneath the covers like a frightened child. “I’m not certain I remember it exactly.”

Trevor snorted his disbelief but gamely opened the familiar tale. “Once upon a time there were two beautiful children. Twins, a boy and a girl. The boy was smart and handsome and everyone loved him, especially all the girls in the neighborhood, and the girl was a punky little thing but he generously tolerated her.”

“The true story is just the opposite,” Tara declared with a sniff.

“The true story is, they were both wonderful,” Jessica corrected, falling in with their all too obvious ploy. “The children were good and kind and very loving, and they deserved much happiness. Alas, they both suffered broken hearts. They hid it well, but the evil, wicked Sorcerer had stolen their father. The Sorcerer had locked him away in a tower far from the children, in a bitter, cold land where there was no sun, where he never saw the light of day. He had no laughter, no love, and no music. His world was bleak and his suffering great. He missed his children and his one true love.”

“You know, Jess,” Trevor piped up, “that whole one true love thing used to make me gag when I was little, but I think I like it now.”

“That’s the best part,” Tara objected, appalled at her brother’s lack of romance. “If you can’t see that, Trev, there’s no hope you’re ever going to get the girl.”

He laughed softly. “It’s all in the genes, little sister.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “He’s so weird, Jessie, is there hope for him? Don’t answer, just tell us why the evil Sorcerer took him away and put him in the tower.”

“He was a beautiful man with an angel’s face and a poet’s heart. He sang with a voice like a gift from the gods and wherever he went, people loved him. He was kind and good and did his best to help everyone. He brought joy to their hard lives with his music and his wonderful voice. The Sorcerer grew jealous because the people loved him so very much. The Sorcerer didn’t want him to be happy. He wanted the father to be ugly and mean inside, to be cruel the way he was. So the Sorcerer took away everything that the father loved. His children. His music. His one true love. The Sorcerer wanted him to be bitter and to grow hateful and twisted. He had the father tortured, a painful, hideous cruelty in the dungeons of the tower. The Sorcerer’s evil minions hurt him, disfigured him and then they threw him in the tower, sentenced to an eternity of darkness. He was left alone without anyone to talk to, to comfort him, and his heart wept.”

There was a catch in Jessica’s voice. They would never know completely what life had done to him, taken from him. The twins had been five at the time of the fire and they had only vague memories of Dillon as he was in the old days, the charismatic, joyful poet who brought such happiness to everyone with his very existence.

“The children, Jess,” Trevor prompted, “tell us about them.”

“They loved their father dearly, so much so that they cried so many tears the river swelled and flooded the banks. Their father’s one true love comforted them and reminded them that he would want his children to be strong, to be examples of how he had always lived his life. Helping people. Loving people. Taking responsibility when others would not. And the children carried on his legacy of service to the people, of loyalty and love even as their hearts wept in tune with his.

“One night, when it was cold and the rain poured down, when it was dark and the stars couldn’t shine, a white dove landed on their windowsill. It was tired and hungry. The children immediately fed it their bread and gave it their water. The father’s one true love warmed the shivering bird in her hands. To their amazement the dove spoke to them saying that Christmas was near. That they should find the perfect tree and bring it into their home, and decorate it with small symbols of love. Because of their kindness, a miracle would be granted them. The dove said they could have riches untold, they could have life immortal. But the children and the father’s one true love said they wanted only one thing. They wanted their father returned to them.”

“The dove said he wouldn’t be the same, that he would be different,” Tara chimed in eagerly with the detail.

“Yes, that’s true, but the children and the father’s one true love didn’t care, they wanted him back any way they could have him. They knew that what was in his heart would never be changed.”

Outside Tara’s room, Dillon leaned against the door, listening to the sound of Jessica’s beautiful voice telling her Christmas tale. He had come looking for her, hating the sorrow he’d seen on her face, needing to remove the swirling nightmares from her eyes. He should have known she would be with the twins. His children. His family. They were on the other side of the door. Waiting for him. Waiting for a miracle. Tears burned in his eyes, ran down his cheeks unchecked, and clogged his throat, threatening to choke him as he listened to the story of his life.

“Did they find the perfect tree?” Tara prompted. There was such a hopeful note in her voice that Dillon closed his eyes against another fresh flood of tears. They were wrenched from the deepest gouge in his soul. Enough to overflow the banks of the mythical river.

“At first they thought the dove meant perfection, as in physical beauty.” Jessica’s voice was so low he had to strain to hear. “But eventually, as they looked through the forest, they realized it was something far different. They found a small, bushy tree in the shadow of much larger ones. The branches were straggly and there were gaps but they knew at once it was the perfect giving tree. Everyone else had overlooked it. They asked the tree if it would like to celebrate Christmas with them and the tree agreed. They made wonderful ornaments and carefully decorated the tree and the three of them sat up on Christmas Eve waiting for the miracle. They knew they had chosen the perfect tree when the dove settled happily in the branches.”

There was a long silence. The bed creaked as someone turned over. “Jessie. Aren’t you going to tell us the end of the story?” Trevor asked.

“I don’t know the end of the story yet,” Jessica answered. Was she crying? Dillon couldn’t bear it if she were crying.

“Of course you do,” Tara complained.

“Leave her alone, Tara,” Trevor advised. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

“I’ll tell you on Christmas morning,” Jessica promised.

Dillon listened to the sound of silence in the next room. The tightness in his chest was agony. He stumbled away from the pain, back up the stairs, back into the darkness of his lonely tower.

Jessica lay listening to the sounds of the twins sleeping. It was comforting to hear the steady breathing. Outside the house, the wind was knocking at the windows like a giant hand, shaking the sills until the panes rattled alarmingly. The rain hit the glass with force, a steady rhythm that was soothing. She loved the rain, the fresh clean scent it brought, the way it cleared the air of any lingering smell of smoke. She inhaled, drifting, half in and half out of sleep. Fog poured into the room carrying with it an odor she recognized. She smelled incense and a frown flitted across her face. She tried to move. Her arms and legs were too heavy to lift. Alarmed, she fought to wake herself, recognizing she had moved beyond drifting, past dreams to her all too familiar nightmare.

She wouldn’t look at them. Any of them. She had gone beyond terror to someplace numb. She tried not to breathe. She didn’t want to smell them, or the incense, or hear the chanting, or to think about what was happening to her body. She felt the hand on her, deliberately rough, cruelly touching her while she lay helplessly under the assault. She had fought until she had no strength. Nothing would stop this demented behavior and she would endure it because she had no other choice.

The hand squeezed her hard, probed in tender, secret places. She would not feel, would not scream again. She couldn’t stop the tears; they ran down her face and fell onto the floor. Without warning the door burst open, kicked in so that it splintered and hung at an angle from broken hinges. He looked like an avenging angel, his face twisted with fury, his blue eyes blazing with rage.

She cringed when he looked at her, when he saw the obscenity of what they were doing to her. She didn’t want him to see her naked and painted with something evil touching her body. He moved so fast she wasn’t certain he was real, ripping Phillip Trent away from her. There was the sound of fist meeting flesh, the spray of blood in the air. She was helpless, unable to move, unable to see what was happening. There were screams, grunts, a bone cracked. Shouted obscenities. The smell of alcohol. She was certain she would never be able to bear the odor again.

And then he was wrapping her in his shirt, loosening the ties that bound her hands and feet. He lifted her, with tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry,” he whispered against her neck as he carried her from the room. She caught glimpses of broken furniture, of glass and scattered objects. Bodies writhing and moaning on the floor as he carried her out. His hands were bloody but gentle as he placed her in her bed, rocked her gently while she cried and wept until both their hearts were broken. She begged him not to tell anyone how he found her.

She had no idea how much time passed. He was filled with fury, his rage was still lethal. He was arguing she needed her mother, stalking from her room to cool off outside where he couldn’t hurt anyone. She scrubbed herself in the shower until her skin was raw, until there were no tears left. She was dressing, her hands shaking so badly she couldn’t button her blouse, when she heard the volley of shots ring out. The sound of the gun was distinctive. The smell of smoke was overwhelming. It took a few moments to realize it wasn’t steam from the bathroom that was making the room hazy, it was clouds of thick smoke. She had to crawl through the hall to the twins’ room. They were crying, hiding under the bed. Flames ate greedily at the hall, up the curtains. There was no getting to the others.