This will be deleted soon - The Wrong Hope *Complete and Free*

22. A House But Not a Home

Sally-Anne

Year: 1983 1st of August almost 3am Monday, Summer.

Memories flooded the ruined shell that was my house, lighting up everywhere I looked with visions of my past. They were so vivid, so real I felt like a spectre; a ghost pale and voiceless witnessing the life that was. I could see Nancy on the porch swing happily nibbling freshly baked cookies. Teddy and Bobby ran past me chasing each other through the foyer roaring with laughter. In the family room Pa was reading the paper, leant back in his comfy chair with a fresh cup of coffee steaming on the side table.

“Enough.”

I looked blankly in the direction the voice had come from but saw only the past. Dark wooden panelling circled the room covering the lower portion of the walls, the top portion was painted in a warm cream, the drapes were floor to ceiling bold floral patterns with matching tie backs, the big sash windows with their white painted frames let the summer light stream in warming the room and making the polished floor boards gleam. I could hear a drip, which was strange, the sound irregular. I looked around taking in the elegant furniture, the paintings on the walls, the vase full of freshly picked flowers on the mantelpiece, the wood stacked in the fireplace and my Pa. My Pa, sitting in his chair holding the newspaper up so only his legs, hands and top of his head were visible. I wanted to see him again, his warm smiling face, have him ruffle my hair. Call me his ‘Sally girl’.

The dripping continued and an edge of fear punctured this emptiness that had been growing inside me. What if the drip was coming from my Pa? I looked at the floor around his chair and it looked clean but the fear was still there. Behind the paper that shielded him was my Pa sitting there with his throat torn out? Is that what I would see if he lowered it? He started to close the newspaper bringing the edges towards each other, the corner flopped and I could see one green eye, like mine, framed by wire glasses.

“Stop it!” The voice came again soft but warning. Something hot touched my left hand and I looked down. My hand was clenched, shaking with the effort, another hand with scorching fingers was trying to loosen my fist. Dark, almost black, blood dripped to the floor. Looking up the length of the arm to its owner; I felt dazed. I loathed to shake off these unbidden visions but when my eyes met the grey-blue ones in front of me the bright sunny day of my mind fell away, instant shadows and ruin taking its place. Slowly I cast my eyes over the room once more. In places the wooden panelling was missing, the once pristine cream walls were now smattered with graffiti, what was left of the furniture littered the floor in splintered pieces, the floor itself was dull and dusty; a few of the boards were missing and one corner was warped from damp and rot.

My home was in ruins and my family was gone – because of me. I looked back at the hand that Guy was still trying to pry open, my blood still slowly seeping from between my fingers and crashing onto the floor. I said nothing. There was no point. I didn’t know why he cared but I acquiesced with his wishes and unfurled my hand.

“This way.” He whispered with a subtle nod towards the door back to the foyer. I was meant to be helping him find the vault, but he hadn’t asked me anything about its location, not that I knew anyway; meandering around the dilapidated house seemed to be his chosen method. We exited the family room back into the foyer; Guy led me by my cuffed hand through the next gaping doorway and across the dining room towards the kitchen, ignoring the parlour to the left. I had always called it the Pa-lour, I guess I had thought it funny. It was Pa’s room where he would have his guests, strange men that he would converse with through the night. I wondered if they too had been Hunters. The door was almost always closed. I had only been in there once or twice. The room was filled with books written in strange languages, heavyset chairs and a circular table made of dark glossy wood, it smelt heavily of stale tobacco and musky men.

The kitchen was at the back of the house. It had a door that led out into the herb garden at the side of the house, it was the entrance that we mostly used to go in and out. The kitchen was the soul of our home. We ate our meals here, saving the dinning room for guests and special occasions. Nancy and I did our homework here under the watchful eyes of my Ma who was always baking or cooking. Pa had offered to have it remodelled, give it the ‘modern look’ but Ma wouldn’t have any of it. She loved the old stone floor, the cupboards that had been painted a dozen times over, the hefty solid wood table and her highly prized Monarch wood-burning stove. It was black with steel detailing and she polished it every day. The kitchen was a place of love and family - well it had been.

I stood hesitantly in the doorway. Out of the rooms we had been in so far the kitchen looked the most intact. A couple of the cupboard doors were gone and the draws had been removed and upended, the dining chairs were missing and the table had been moved, left at a haphazard angle but what really caught my eye was the dark stain on the stone floor.

I wasn’t sure if what I was looking at was real or not.

“Sally-Anne?” Guy called my name softly. My right arm hung in the air limply between us, stretched out into the kitchen by the cuff that secured me to Guy, the rest of me stood at the threshold eyes locked on the spot where my Ma’s body had fallen all those years ago. I wish I could say she had been dead before she hit the ground but that would be a lie. I had ripped her throat out with my teeth, dropped her in shock and did nothing while she lay gasping on the floor blood pouring from the wound. The noise had hit me the hardest, wet bubbling and gurgling like she was screaming but all that came out was more blood. Guy looked at me and followed my gaze.

“Close your eyes.” He said simply. It must be real then, he must see it too.

I closed my eyes and let him lead me forward a few steps before sudden panic washed over me. I took a squeaky breath, my first in a while, so I had air to speak.

“Don’t let me step there, not on it, I can’t step on it.” My voice came out hushed but devoid of emotion despite the grief that was now rising up, filling my hollow chest.

“I gotcha.” Guy reassured me, his voice surprisingly kind and patient after how things had gone at the car. I put my trust in him and allowed him guide me across the kitchen, when we came to a stop I guessed we must be at the pantry.

“You can look now.” Guy affirmed. Opening my eyes I could see we had indeed reached the pantry, like the kitchen it was mostly intact, a few things had been knocked over and it appeared one of the shelves had rotted and collapsed overtime leaving a selection of jars cracked and broken in the centre of the shelf below. Guy flicked the light from the flash light quickly over the shelving, seemingly disinterested, before aiming it at the floor. I watched as he reached down and pressed his fingers into a groove in the stone.

“Think we found it.” He stated, following the arched groove to the bottom of the right hand set of shelves. Guy gave the shelving a little tug before taking a moment to inspect the side above the groove. There was a little click and he sighed satisfactorily when he tugged the shelf for a second time and it swung away from the wall revealing a door.

“What do you see, Sally-Anne?” Guy asked me with all seriousness.

“A door?” I replied confused, could he not see the door?

“Good.” Guy started digging in his pockets. “This is important so listen carefully, in a sec you’re going to put your hand on the handle, then,” He waved a piece of paper at me, “you’re going to say exactly what’s written on this, ya hear?”

I nodded, reaching for the handle.

“Whoa, whoa not yet!” He knocked my hand away. “We get one chance at this, Sally-Anne. ONE. So you can’t mess up. When you touch the handle it is going to hurt, real bad but you can’t let go and you have to say the whole thing, understand? Word for word.” He looked me in the eyes, his gaze hard, I nodded once again.

“Okay then,” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his flask taking a big gulp. When he was done with that he slipped it back before awkwardly reaching for something on the other side.

“Here we go.” He smiled, presenting me with a bottle of blood. Sullenly I took it and drained the content without argument and without pleasure. Empty, I simply tossed it on the floor. Guy unfolded the piece of paper he had waved at me and smoothed it on his leg before giving it a quick read, his lips moved silently as he read it to himself. He nodded pleased before shuffling us both around in the small space so my free hand was by the handle; he placed the script in my right hand.

“Take a deep breath and then grip the handle, remember don’t let go and read everything as written, my middle name is pronounced ‘Owen’.” He sounded nervous, edgy but he needn’t worry. I was going to do my part, I wasn’t afraid of pain.

I took a deep breath in and slowly reached for the handle. It wasn’t a special looking handle just as it wasn’t a special looking door which made it hard to believe that any of this was really necessary.

My knees buckled under the intense pain that began the instant the handle was in my grasp, it was as though my hand was on fire and being repeatedly stabbed at the same time. I focused on gripping the handle, I couldn’t let my family down; I had to do this for them.

It had been the barest of moments since my fingers had curled around the brass but the pain had grown exponentially in strength and radius. What had started in my palm now burned greedily down my arm, reaching, stretching out to consume more of my flesh. Time was of the essence, I didn’t know how long I could endure so I held the paper in front of me and began to read.

“I Sally-Anne Bethany Brice,

true of name and last of my line,

willingly bestow upon

Guy Eoghan Murphy and his blood

The Brice Vault,

I relinquish any and all claim

To its wards and all that lies within,

From now until the end of time”

I had finished reading the whole thing and the pain had not subdued. In fact it was raging all the way down my left arm and across my chest with intensity, not only did it feel like I was on fire and being stabbed it now also felt like I was being crushed from the inside out. I wanted to let go, I wanted to scream but I wasn’t sure if the transfer was complete. I thought once I finished something would change.

Guy’s face loomed before my own, an enormous smile across his face, I was pretty sure that meant it was done but I still didn’t let go. In the end I didn’t have to as Guy yanked my arm; relieving me from the continued torture.

He prattled about what a good job I'd done and how I was so brave as he fiddled with the tiny key for the cuffs trying to get them to unlock –the whole time beaming. I didn’t feel happy, instead a question blazed in my mind but stuck in my throat as though the words I was trying to express had become physical letters lodged in my throat. Guy patted me on the head and moved to leave; desperately I grabbed his hand with both of mine. He looked back at me with an air of pity in his eyes.

“Later.” He said, trying to pull his hand away. With immense effort I choked out my question, my head felt like it would explode, my tongue was thick in my mouth and the thirst was raging; but I had to know.

“The last of my line?” My voice hoarse.

The smile left Guy’s face and he cupped my cheek with his free hand.

“It’s just you Sally-Anne, the rest are dead, your Cousins, Aunt, Uncle – all gone.” He let out a heavy breath and moved away. If he said anything else I didn’t hear it. Grief crashed over me and for the millionth time I was drowning.

This time in all the tears that I couldn’t cry.