So Dead, My Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  EPILOGUE

  SO DEAD, MY LOVE

  Other Books by Patty G. Henderson:

  THE BRENDA STRANGE

  SUPERNATURAL MYSTERY SERIES

  The Burning of Her Sin, Bella Books, 2002

  Tangled and Dark, Bella Books, 2004

  The Missing Page, Bella Books, 2005

  ANTHOLOGIES

  Call of the Dark, Bella Books 2005

  Chilling Tales of Terror and the Supernatural, Ed., PD Publishing, 2008

  CHAPBOOKS

  Blood of the Lamb, Bite-Sized Chapbooks, 2004

  Author’s Choice Edition

  Copyright © 2008 Patty G. Henderson

  Cover Collage by: Boulevard Photografica

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  ISBN # 978-0-6151-4025-4

  This one is for Heidi...The spark that started the fire.

  Let me die

  Let me die

  And how can I possibly be consoled

  In this cruel fate

  In this great suffering

  Let me die

  “Lament of Arianna” by Monteverdi

  Prologue

  Karnov Mansion

  Bayton Isle, off the coast of Maine,

  early 1700’s

  When they stormed through her door, she’d just sat down at the piano to play something for her mother. Immediately, Lara knew they’d come for her.

  Her mother ran wildly to stand in front of her daughter, arms outstretched. Lara stood up behind her and watched Stefan, Nicolas and Johann approach. Darkhaired, slender and abnormally tall, they were her least favorite of the Karnov clan.

  “Move away, my Lady,” Stefan said brusquely, “the Countess is to come with us.” His eyes were yellow, aglow with anticipation of the full moon.

  “No,” Morina Karnov shrieked, “She is my daughter.”

  Johann Karnov moved delicately forward and smiled down at her, the chilling smirk revealing yellow, sharp teeth.

  “She is the Karnov prophecy.” His voice was mocking, inflicting ridicule. “You believe that as much as she does. Well then, she is to be put to the test.” He raised a hand with long, black fingernails. Nicholas handed him a short piece of thick rope. There were symbols and numbers burned into the length of the rope. Lara knew what they were.

  “Take her,” Johann said, “We must hurry. The moon comes ever closer.” His face looked hungry, twisted in impatience.

  Stefan pushed Morina aside violently, sending her back against the piano. Johann walked defiantly to Lara, his face so close she could smell his breath. Rancid, metallic. He’d been feasting already.

  “You will be bound and laid to rest,” he stated arrogantly, “Wilmon has ordered it.” Nicolas suddenly grabbed her wrists together in front of her and began to tie the rope tightly around them. Johann was grinning from ear to ear.

  “What a lovely little game, dear Lara, don’t you think? This rope binds you forever in darkness with the curse of fire.” His eyes glowed a deep maroon. “If you break the rope of your own free will, you will perish...”

  He circled around her, making sure Nicolas had fastened her wrists securely. He came back to stand before her. “If you undo the rope, you will be consumed by fire,” he finished. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered.

  “Unless, of course, your chosen one comes to your rescue.” He laughed so loud, his voice echoed in her head.

  There was nothing to be done. Morina Karnov struggled in Stefan’s arms, cursing him and calling for Wilmon. Lara looked at her mother and smiled. Wilmon’s fear had consumed him. This was meant to be. Was this not what she had longed for?

  “Take her down,” Johann said quickly, moving to the door. “And don’t forget to bind her feet as well.” Stefan released Morina and they walked out with Lara in their arms. Morina could do nothing but stand and watch them take her daughter. Johann turned abruptly to look back at her.

  “Do not worry, dear Lady, Lara will be fed and cared for. In the meantime, we will methodically find every dirty little human female beast she’s had relations with and murder them. We must level the playing field.”

  The smile that formed on his lips was cold. “I personally will enjoy selecting the sacrificial virgins. Her current little companion will be the first to shed her blood for your daughter.

  “No. Do not touch her! She is just a frail girl, my personal maid, that is all!” Lara screamed. She tried desperately to escape their grip.

  “Why fret so, dear cousin? If she is your chosen one, her death will not keep her from you. Besides, Wilmon suspects her attachment to you, and I do not care much for the color of her eyes. They are the color of steel.” Johann’s laughter began as a malicious giggle and erupted into a manic cackle as he walked away.

  Bayton Isle, 1977

  The bloodcurdling scream shattered the Barnes house. Haley Barnes sprang out of a light sleep. It was Samantha! She pushed her husband awake and ran off to her daughter’s room, not waiting for him to follow.

  Ten year-old Samantha was sitting up in bed, hands wiping repeatedly at her tear-stained face.

  “There, there, darling,” Haley sat on the bed next to her, holding Samantha’s shaking, sobbing form. Samantha buried her face in her mother’s chest, calmed by the soft hand that caressed her hair.

  “Was it that nightmare again?” Marty Barnes stood in the doorway, brushing stray hairs from his face.

  Samantha nodded her head weakly, the dream still far too vivid in her brain, the pain of the knife coming down on her stomach so real she wanted to retch.

  After Haley and Marty were able to get Samantha sufficiently calmed and back into bed, they proceeded to have the same conversation that had become an unwanted part of their stay in the Bayton Isle vacation home.

  “Haley, we’ve got to get help for her.” Marty was sitting at the kitchen table, watching Haley stir her coffee blindly, like a zombie. “This is getting too weird,” he finished.

  “They’re just bad nightmares, Marty.”

  “My ass they are. How come they get worse when we come here? To this house? She spends almost the entire two months out there on the beach, alone. I followed her once. She just stares up at that creepy house on the cliff.”

  “Well, what do you expect her to do? We forbid her to go anywhere without us. The beach is her only outdoor entertainment. She prefers to read and draw.” Haley took a swallow of her coffee while staring into space. “I don’t know, honey. Maybe it’s just the change from her comfy room back home.”

  “That’s bull. Her comfy room back home isn’t much better. She has the same nightmares there.”

  Haley put the coffee cup down gently on the table. She knew her husband was right. There was something terribly wrong with their daughter. “I’m going to check into a good child psychologist when we get back home.”

  She got up, kissed Marty lightly on the lips and began gathering the cups and saucers. “Come on, Marty. If we don�
��t stop drinking this coffee, we’ll never get to sleep.”

  Bayton Isle, Present

  Chapter 1

  When Tamara Weissman made the cut deep across her forearm, Karnov Mansion seemed to sigh in relief, the heavy flow of blood a drink for the parched walls. But it wasn’t the house that screamed for the blood. It was something far more ancient.

  Inside Karnov Mansion, the light was dim; the flickering candles playing hide and seek with the shadows that moved in slow motion like black figures in a macabre dance. The twenty first century had seemingly overlooked Karnov Mansion.

  Tamara sat motionless in front of the large mirror at the far end of the sitting room. The ceiling was so high the light of the candles was sucked up into the darkness above. The furniture, the walls, the carpeting, everything in the room wore dark colors: reds, blacks, maroons, forest greens.

  Before her, on the large marble table carved with sneering gargoyles indulging in obscure delights, all had been laid out as before. A gilded dagger lay shimmering on a red velvet cloth.

  Tamara was a young woman, yet her eyes and skin were visions of age. Her color was pale and her dark hair was showing premature gray. She was still lovely in a dark, morbid way.

  The ritual tonight was no different from any other night. For decades it had remained so. Preparations were always needed. All had been done according to tradition. She had washed and donned her white floor length gown.

  Tamara found that putting herself into a semi-trance helped her forget things she didn’t want to remember anymore. Forget every night from now until the end. Sometimes her life flashed before her, the images like little chasing Christmas lights, except they were all red, like the color of blood. Everything was red.

  Tamara took one of the candles and put it beside the dagger. As she stared deeply into the mirror, her image seemed to change before her eyes. She grew old, withered and toothless. She felt herself drawn deeper and deeper into that crone’s world. She picked up the knife again and cut a smaller slit on her lower arm. The other cut wasn’t bleeding fast enough. The blood trickled out slowly. It was becoming more difficult to get a steady flow.

  Holding her arm over the brass urn atop the table, she let the ruby liquid drain into it. Up and down both her arms were tiny scars, dull reminders of the pain and suffering she had endured. She knew that her time was short. Everything would be coming to an end soon.

  Tamara could feel her stirring. The air was alive with charged energy. Tamara’s body shook with exhaustion and fear. She had served her mistress well and had gained nothing in return. Hell would have a special place for her. Tears swelled as the blood now ran freely down her arm. The room itself seemed to dim ever so slightly and she thought she could feel the house shift on its foundations.

  “Stop it now,” she heard herself moan. “It’s not time yet. Samantha Barnes must come to us. She is the chosen one.” Tamara broke the trance and grabbed a towel on the table, applying tight pressure to the wound. The frightening, fuzzy image of the crone in the mirror faded away, leaving only the too familiar sight of Tamara Weissman.

  Staring at the still gushing wound on her arm, she made sure to drape over the ritual table, urn and knife with the velvet cover, hiding any indication of its unholy use.

  As she walked slowly to every window in the room, making sure drapes were drawn and windows fastened, she managed to catch sight of the full, round moon casting a cold eye her way. She shivered, rubbing the wound on her arm gently, wishing she could turn off the light of the moon like she snuffed out a candle.

  ***

  The pain in her stomach was so intense, she feared she would pass out. The knife plunged again, deeper and deeper, its thirst for blood tearing her flesh, the red life force exploding onto her face, chest and hands. She couldn’t move. They had tied her to a stone table in a dark, damp place. She was the sacrifice.

  The figures in black with long, dark fingernails kept shouting a name at her face and laughing as the knife kept digging deeper, so deep she thought the tip had gone straight through her and imbedded itself in the stone bed beneath her.

  Her body suddenly started to spasm. Death could be her only salvation. Instead, a tall, thin woman appeared to form out of a thick red fog. She looked surreal-Too gaunt for her height, and beautiful in a pale, haunting way. Her long, fiery auburn hair draped over her shoulders. The woman spoke softly.

  “I will be with you always. Your love will keep me alive.”

  Then she reached out with long, slender arms and began to stroke her intimately. Ecstasy exploded into pain, crushing her barely beating heart. But even death could not put an end to the orgasm which caused one final, brutal convulsion. A scream forced itself out of her mouth, cut short by a suffocating darkness.

  Samantha Barnes woke up screaming in bed. The nightmare was back. Even after waking, it was hard to forget the pain of the plunging knife and the haunting woman who whispered words of undying love.

  She wiped a light sweat from her face. In her younger days, the dream came often. The bad dreams had almost become part of her. Hell, she was almost possessive of them. Maybe she didn’t really want to get rid of them. That’s what one therapist insisted. Still, it left her with the same bad taste in her brain.

  It was still dark outside and the alarm clock on her black night table blinked three a.m. Samantha remained quiet for a while, trying to compose her thoughts. She might have succeeded if her accelerated heartbeat hadn’t kept pounding in her chest.

  Damn that dream. Why couldn’t she let go of it? She pushed the comforter off and got out of bed. In a cool morning like this, she was grateful for the fuzzy carpeting.

  There was no way she was going to get back to sleep now. It was too close to dawn. She had to meet Bob Holder at the bank by eight and she hadn’t even gotten the initial presentation sketch finished.

  Coffee. She needed coffee. A grizzly bear backed into a corner couldn’t be worse than Samantha Barnes in the morning without her coffee, although you couldn’t tell her that. She didn’t consider herself a coffee addict. Coffee and a glass of premium Merlot merely seemed like earthly saviors to her.

  She draped the chenille robe tighter around her slim body as she worked her way down the stairs of her two-story home. There was a chill throughout the house and she made a mental note to call a repairman to check into it. The heating unit had always done the job even throughout the worst of Maine coastal winters.

  As fluorescent light flooded the kitchen, Samantha felt an extra shiver as the dream came intruding into her memory again. Damn, she hated feeling this way. It made her vulnerable to those old lonely thoughts and the house suddenly loomed like an empty tomb. She thought of getting a cat, but just never felt ambitious enough to go out and do it. But most of all, she wanted to shake these negative feelings away. She didn’t want the melancholia to find its way into her life again. Not so soon. She had suffered from dark depressions and loneliness so heavy it had been suffocating.

  The coffee maker was one of the most well used and appreciated gifts Carmen had given her. Samantha felt fortunate have Carmen as a friend. She’d never been able to make friends easily. That hadn’t changed much since her school days when she was scorned and ridiculed as “the fat kid” nobody wanted on their teams. No matter the sport or game, Samantha was always the last one no one waned. The lone reject. Softball and baseball were her favorites and when some unforeseen circumstance forced one of the other girls out of the game, Samantha actually got to play. Although a great hitter at bat, she was never allowed to continue once she got on base. Overweight and not a fast runner, she was always pulled for some skinny-minny who could streak across the field. Back to the bench she went. If only they could see her now. She was as thin as any model in those fashion magazines.

  Fixing herself a strong cup of French Roast, Samantha settled down at her drawing board in the dining room. Although she loved the view across her table through the bay window during the day, it was still dark out. She coul
dn’t see a thing. Bayton Isle was one of the most picturesque places off the Maine Coast that Samantha could think of.

  In any case, she had to finish the pencil and charcoal sketch for the commissioned painting at the Bayton Isle National Bank. Although she could and did make a comfortable living working as a freelance artist doing romance book covers, she once in a while liked to branch out and take a breather from the heaving bosoms and manly chests to create rich canvasses of landscapes and still life.

  While an active wind played gently on the trees outside, Samantha Barnes worked her pencil on the sketch paper. The vision of a lonely cliff with wild, splashing waves cascading over jutting rocks began to take solid image.

  Samantha often lost track of time when she worked. It wasn’t long in her mind before she added the final touch to her landscape. Holding it up at different angles to the light, she let a sigh of resigned satisfaction escape her lips.

  She had spent so many years of her artistic life breathing life into portraits, she’d lost her touch with other things.

  “It’ll have to do,” she told herself dryly, eying the inconsistent perspective between surf and rocks. “A bank VIP isn’t going to notice the problem. I can fix it when I paint it.” Convincing herself, she began putting her pencils away. She looked at the neon clock on the wall and saw that she had been working for close to two hours. She suddenly felt drowsy.

  Unable to fight off the fatigue, she plopped herself on the couch. The thought of getting a nice fire going was tempting, but she just couldn’t muster the energy to throw some logs into the fireplace. Maybe she could catch a couple of hours of sleep instead.

  As the dark curtain of sleep reached out and that nether world of unconsciousness swept over her, the unwelcome sound of heavy, frantic breathing began to ease into her mind and the vision of a beautiful, willowy woman covered in red, began to take form, like a distorted shadow on an empty movie screen.