House of Dred: Book Two in the Amulets of the Rainbow Series

By Troy Theisen

Twelve-year-old Reesa Bellemont moves with her family from sunny California to the dour Washington state coastline. Her fathers uncle, Dr. Edward Bellemontalso known as Dr. Dredwilled a house there to Reesas father, and the chance to move into the big, old place is too good an offer to pass up. Even as the seven Bellemonts and their dog cross the threshold of their new residence, however, strange and wicked things begin to occur.

Reesa has always had special talents, and she feels particularly sensitive to the houses ill will. Even so, her father, Gavin, denies anything is wrong, and they remain in the house despite the odd occurrences. Soon, Reesa makes the acquaintance of Jerome White, a strange man who lives in a cabin deep in the woods. Jerome comes to the Bellemont house for dinner one nightbut with his arrival, the dark forces truly manifest.

Jerome is secretly the keeper of the Amulet of Prophecy, the second of the six Amulets of the Rainbow. Using his metaphysical abilities and the power of the amulet, he and Reesa must fight against an ancient force. The deceased Dr. Dred is somehow involved, and the lives of each and every Bellemont are now at stake. Jerome and Reesa are the familys last hope for surviving the evil that threatens their souls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491703359

Troy Theisen

Troy Theisen is an accomplished guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter. He is also a respiratory therapist, currently studying for his bachelors degree in management. He grew up in San Francisco, California, and Phoenix, Arizona and currently lives in Belleville, Illinois,with his wife, five cats, and two Yorkshire terriers. This is the second book in his Amulets of the Rainbow series.

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House of Dred

Book Two in the Amulets of the Rainbow Series

Copyright © 2013 by Troy Theisen.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0334-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0336-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0335-9 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013915163

iUniverse rev. date: 08/21/2013

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Interlude One

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Interlude Two

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Interlude Three

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to:

My Grandfather—Louis Morales

My Mother—Gail Eustace

My Friend—Michelle Smith

And

My Wife—Rhenay

Secrets told, you’ll never know

Whispered words of silver-grey

Nascency is merely stardust

Time marches on toward the grave

Within the skies, we see anew

Without dimensions, seasons change

The reason I believe is now

The time has gone away

—Stories Without End

Winter Lament

PROLOGUE

And through the darkness, he came.

Renowned cardiothoracic surgeon, inventor, and genius, Dr. Edward Bellemont, roamed the vacuous and lurid halls of his beloved house, always lonesome, but never quite alone. It was a daily routine, just like fitness is to an athlete or studies are to a scholar.

Although he was a surgical master of the physical heart—the one that beats in the chest of every evolutionary advanced creature on the planet—he was not the master of his own. It was as black and empty as the corridors and as bleak and grim as the walls inside the house through which he wandered.

He was a man of notoriety in the medical field, for he had invented the first permanent replacement heart, one that could be implanted in the human body and remain functioning for a lifetime. The name he attached to it was the Bell Heart. His invention superceded the Berlin Heart, which was a German-crafted device that remained outside the body, temporarily, while a patient awaited transplant.

A small mass of people who knew very little of the medical field may have heard his name in a magazine or on a televised documentary, as well. Even so, through the passing years, it all mattered less and less. He was desperately lonely and had been his entire sixty-four years inhabiting the planet. The most important things in life, the most needed things, by almost every human being who ever took breath into their body—excepting a healthy heart, beating vigorously and healthily in their chest—were companionship, friendship, acceptance, and love. His entire life had been devoid of all.

His heartache propagated introversion, and his introversion gave rise to wicked intent.

The doctor had many ideas flourishing in his mind relative to how he would get back at the world for sending endless reaches of despair into his life—and a single expansive idea in particular. He also had a few otherworldly tools and unforeseen surprises up his sleeve to aid in the accomplishment of his evil objectives.

He had a mission. That much was certain.

Meanwhile, the planets continued to spin in their delineated orbits. The sun continued to blaze angrily like the eternal fires of hell. Streaming comets sustained their celerity, hopelessly racing toward infinite destinations. The ultimately vast universe continued its expansion to the farthest reaches of limits unknown. The malevolent spirits surrounding him listened assiduously as Dr. Edward Bellemont, acclaimed heart surgeon, cried out with the second to last breath he would ever take in his present corporeal body, It has begun!

Next, he drew the breath of death.

CHAPTER ONE

One

Give me back the ball! I had it first! Reesa Bellemont yelled at her brother.

Finders, keepers, losers, weepers! he replied. After sticking his tongue out at her and taunting her with a nasally, Ha-ha! Billy nestled Reesa’s large, red, four-square ball in the crook of his right arm and bolted.

I’m not running after you, Billy Bellemont, no matter what you do! She had blown out the candles on her birthday cake only days ago, and twelve-years-old was getting awfully close to becoming a teenager, and the teenage years were just on the brink of becoming a grown-up. She was getting far too old to play childish games with little kids, especially selfish, annoying brothers who were five years her junior. Nope, she wasn’t a little girl anymore; she was, well, almost a woman. She loved the way those words flowed off the tongue, whether they were coming from her dad, or if she was lying in bed saying them to herself over and over, "Young woman, I’m a young woman!" It filled her with a glowing joy and made her feel all giddy inside.

Her daddy always said, when he saw that giddiness seeping out of her like sticky-sap from an old maple tree, You don’t want to grow up too quickly, honey. Before you know it, it will have already happened.

That didn’t make a bit of sense to Reesa. She wanted to be much older than twelve. Her two younger brothers, Aden and Billy, were so immature. And her older brother and sister, Emma and Jason, were just the opposite.

Jason’s voice grew deeper a few years ago, and right after that, he started getting peach-fuzz and stray hairs on his chin. With those changes, he seemed not to want to spend time with her anymore, or any of his younger siblings, for that matter. Occasionally, Jason would let Reesa’s big sister, Emma, go to the mall with him, but for the most part, he had become a lone-wolf—except for when he was hangin’ out with his school buddies. And now that he had reached seventeen years of age, she envied his independence and confidence more than ever. She craved that self-contained, almost cocky, way he carried himself. And it seemed like mom and dad let him do whatever he wanted—this, of course, was a misconception, but she knew no better. He wasn’t a jerk to her or the others by any stretch of the word, though. Jason was a good and caring brother; he was just… private. That was what he was… private—as private as the day was long. Reesa’s privacy, on the other hand, was like a bathroom without a door. Her parents and both of her annoying little brothers were always up in her business.

Presently, Billy was the one who was prevailing as a complete nuisance, and much to her chagrin, he had come back to her, standing just within arm’s reach.

Na-na-na-na-na-na! You can’t catch me! he coaxed musically, grinning ear to ear.

He just made her so mad she could scream, and she did, "Billy! Leave me alone, right now! And give me back my ball, or I’m telling!"

The little red-haired boy—badly in need of braces—whom she had the unnerving task of calling her brother, grinned even wider, visibly tickled by her growing anger. What seemed to stretch his smile even further than that was her inability to control the ire that was besting her the more he egged her on. And it was showing through every pore of her being.

His tongue was out again, but the giant giggling grin it was sticking through was making it difficult for him to tease her with it, so he began to laugh mockingly, pointing at her all the while.

Stop it, Billy, I’m warning you! I’ll tell mom.

His tittering continued, and the happier he grew, the more afflicted she became. When she could take no more, the tea-kettle that was her willpower blew its top, and she lunged at him, tackling him headlong to the ground. Billy fell flat on his back, and she landed directly on his belly, cushioning her, and forcing the residual air from his lungs with a considerable whooshing sound. The ball, temporarily forgotten, caromed away to unknown destinations with great, arced, galumphing bounces—each bounce characterized by that distinct, echoed-pinging sound that only a big, red, playground ball can make.

She looked down at him and watched as little Billy, with his blue eyes bugging out of his head, changed three different shades of purple in a matter of split-seconds.

I’m sorry, Billy. I’m sorry. Breathe, Billy. Breathe. She rose to her knees and began pounding on his chest. "Breathe, Billy!"

Now his skin’s purple shading became a brilliant, hypoxic blue.

With a loud whoosh of air moving in the opposite direction this time, Billy’s diaphragm relaxed, his trachea opened, and much-needed oxygen filled his starving tissues. His cough reflex took hold, and he began hacking uncontrollably.

She leaned back and stood up. Please, don’t tell mom. I’m sorry, Billy. Please, don’t tell.

He tried to stand, likewise, but only managed to get to his hands and knees as the powerful coughing persisted. Long strands of saliva drooled from his mouth and fell slow-motion style to the yellowing and prickly autumn-grass.

With her brother temporarily incapacitated, she spun her head around slowly, scanning the yard to make sure no one else was looking. Then she turned her gaze toward the ball that was still bouncing away on its leisurely journey to nowhere and thodded it.

The ball stopped in mid-arc, hung momentarily in the air, and then started its sluggish, deliberate bouncing back to where she stood, alighting gently in her outstretched hands.

Meanwhile, Billy’s coughing had subsided, and he finally managed to get to his feet. He looked at her through tear-drenched eyes, beaming with that individualized hatred only one sibling could have for another at the tender age of seven, and stated with full conviction, "I’m telling, Reesa! I’m telling!"

No, Billy, please. I didn’t mean it.

Yes, you did! And I’m telling mom! And he ran off to, most likely, do just that.

Reesa was startled by a voice from behind her. I saw that.

Her other little brother, Aden, this one ten-years old and not quite as annoying as Billy, stepped out from his hiding place behind the big oak tree in their less-than-generous front yard.

Don’t tell, Aden. I’m sorry. She truly was sorry. She had a heart as big as the moon, and it grieved her to see others hurting, especially if she was the cause of the pain, whether it was physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. You saw! He was teasing me and being mean. It’s not fair!

No, not that, the other thing, he replied with a hint of accusation tainting his voice.

Uh-oh, she thought to herself. Only mama and daddy and Emma know about that. And mama told me not to ever tell anyone.

What ‘other thing’ are you talking about? she asked, putting on her sweet-and-innocent face as quickly and as convincingly as possible—given the short amount of time she had to work with—and consequently fidgeting with the gold cross pendant hanging from the necklace around her neck, a present from her grandfather before he passed away. Go with God, he had said that day. She thought the cross was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in the whole world and would spend hours admiring it in the mirror and in her hands.

Don’t play dumb, Reesa. You know what I’m talking about. The ball. The ball that stopped and floated in the air and then came bouncing merrily right back into your waiting arms.

* * * * *

Even though he was nothing like Billy, Aden was just as strange as Billy was annoying, and he was well aware of it. His dark brown, almost black, hair, in absolute contrast to Billy’s fiery-red top, laid flat against his head. It had a constant shiny, wet look to it, as if he slathered it thick with gel every morning. The brown irises of his eyes were so large and dark that they carried the perpetual eerie illusion of being totally black. And his skin was ghost-white, like a gothic-freak from a Rocky Horror Picture Show reunion. His smile was virtually non-existent, although he did crack one from time to time, reminding everyone—albeit briefly—that he was just a boy, after all, and not some hell-spawn. His level of stolidness was still a great rarity for a nine-year-old and all but absent from his day-to-day routine. And that routine involved playing with his calculator or escaping into the computer game, World of Warcraft, for hours on end. If he was up for a spot of reading, he would mix up a cup of hot chocolate, sit down in his cushiony reading chair, which had been a piece of furniture from an old living room set his parents had owned, and leaf through his Vampire magazine collection, Webster’s Dictionary, or one of his Encyclopedia Britannica books. He had already read A through Z during his short life, had started over again, and was all the way up to D this time.

Hot Wheels, Matchboxes, and G.I. Joes did not exist in Aden’s toy box… what did were wires, little pieces of metal, batteries, and other electronic junk. By and large, his favorite toy was the chemistry set his dad had bought him the previous Christmas, claiming it had come from some red-clothed, fat guy named Santa Claus. He had quit believing that nonsense at the tender age of five, and even a year prior to that, he had still been skeptical, but yet, his parents persisted with the lie—probably for the sake of young Billy, who was a few cards short of a full deck, at least as far as he was concerned.

Aden was overly intelligent; probably genius material, and that intellect, coupled with his ominous presence, was what he considered to be the separating factor between him and others his age. He was an outcast at home and at school. However, he didn’t mind one bit, and he made sure it showed in his disposition. He was quite sure that everyone around him found that component of his personality to be an even stranger factor than his bizarreness could ever dare to be.

A few years back, when the Bellemont family moved into their Daly City, California house, the neighborhood kids would tease him and call him names like Eddie Munster and Phantom Freak, among others. Nevertheless, all the crap they gave him ran downhill and slid right off. One time they went so far as to physically gang up on him, but during the whole episode, he never cried out or swung back, and not once did he reward them with the smallest tear. He simply let them beat him bloody and sore, got up, brushed off his pants, and limped home without so much as a whimper. After they had tried every bullying technique known to kids his age in order to achieve getting his hypothetical goat, only to be stroked with a big, bunch of boring nothingness, they eventually left him alone altogether. They wouldn’t even give him a second glance anymore. He became a huge, blank nothing in their world.

* * * * *

Reesa privately commended him on that (not so long ago) day. Although she thought his strategy against them had been most effective in the long run, it sure must have hurt along the way.

That’s silly, it bounced off the fence and came back is all, she replied.

Come on, Reesa, you don’t really expect me to believe that now, do you? Somehow, you made that ball come back to you. Give it up. Tell me how you did it, Aden replied. He squinted his eyes, You can’t fool me.

She really did not want to deal with this right now. Her day at school had been hard enough. She had bruised her knee when a student rushing through the hall had accidentally knocked her down, she had slammed her finger in her locker door, and she had finished second place in the Spelling Bee, instead of placing her usual first. If she could only use her power all the time, she wouldn’t have to worry about those kinds of things—well, at least the finger in the locker door incident—she could have closed it with her thodded.

As she was fumbling for the correct words to say, she heard the screen door open and her mother’s voice say, Reesa, you get your fanny in here, now!

In other circumstances, she would have been hating life at that moment, but she was saved by the bell—or the mom, if she was being practical—and quickly eased out of the present situation with Aden. Well, sorry, got to go. Mama’s calling me.

Wait, he said.

But it was too late; she hastily turned away from Aden and ran off to receive her punishment, her long, thick, brown hair, tailing behind her in the breeze.

Two

Sarah Bellemont, mother of five, was well aware that Billy was acting much worse than his actual injuries could sustain. His fake crying and forced pouting were quite bothersome, actually, as he tried to milk it for all it was worth.

William Xavier Bellemont—long for Billy—would never be an actor; that was for certain. But he would always be an adopted child. The information Sarah and her husband received from the agency was vague about the baby boy’s history prior to his being found keeping the ants and cockroaches company at the bottom of a trash can in a slimy back-alley of the Tenderloin—a crime-ridden, drug-saturated, prostitute-walked San Francisco district—simply because the agency just did not know. Most likely, he had been the offspring of a down-and-out crack-whore who hadn’t the means or the maturity to handle a new life or the sense of compassion to do something humane with the baby once it was birthed.

Sarah’s two oldest children knew about the adoption, but the younger ones hadn’t quite figured it out yet. They would eventually, though, and she wanted to break the news to Billy first before Reesa and Aden put two-and-two together. Just how she and Gavin were going to perform that little stratagem without ripping the whole world out from under the little boy’s reality was still being discussed and contemplated at night after the kids had gone to bed. They were fairly certain that Billy would be pained and hold some level of resentment, especially toward their biological children, but they wanted to keep any bad feelings that might stem from its induction at a bare minimum.

Through the tears that he probably wished were there, Billy glowered unconvincingly, massaged the back of his head, and said, Mama, it hurts. She knocked me down and broke my cradium.

It’s not a cradium, dear. It’s a cranium. She assessed the area and felt nothing out of the ordinary. And it’s not broken, Billy, but I’ll call her inside to ask her why she pushed you down, all right?

Okay, mama, he replied, rubbing his puppy-dog eyes with fisted hands.

* * * * *

When Reesa walked through the door, Sarah said, Sit down, young lady.

She liked young lady, too. Not as much as young woman, but it was close. And she smiled.

What in the world are you smiling about? You just hurt your brother, and you’re about to get yourself grounded.

I’m sorry, ma. I didn’t mean to hurt him, Reesa answered.

Well, why did you do it?

He stole my four-square ball and wouldn’t give it back, so I got mad.

Sarah looked over to Billy. You didn’t tell me you were teasing her. Then to Reesa, she pointed and said, But that doesn’t make what you did right. Turning, once again, to Billy, So, why didn’t you tell me the whole truth?

I don’t know, he replied, I guess I forgot.

You should never hide the whole truth; it can get you into trouble. Now, go on upstairs and wash your hands for supper; I’ll take care of Reesa.

He paused.

Go on, I said.

But I wanna watch.

There’s nothing to see, Billy, she said. Now, get a move on!

He hunkered away, hands in his pockets.

* * * * *

Reesa, Sarah said, as she sat down on the living room sofa, you’re a lot bigger than he is, and you could really hurt him. Are you aware of that?

I know, I… I just got so mad. I couldn’t control it, mom.

Furrowing her brow and turning her head slightly to look at Reesa accusingly from the corner of her right eye, she said, You didn’t thodded him, did you?

Oh, no, mom, I would never do that. I could kill him if I thodded him.

Please, promise me, you’ll never thodded anyone, even in a nice way, okay?

I already know that. I’d never do it to anyone. It wouldn’t be fair.

Sarah looked at her daughter. It was so hard to have anger toward her, for quite a special one she was. It was a wonder she was even alive. By now, all that should have been left of her was a pile of bones in a casket six-foot under the topsoil of Colma, where California’s nearest cemetery stood. She believed her daughter’s ability to still draw in breath was truly a miracle from God.

When Reesa was just five-years old, she had contracted chickenpox. And as it progressively ran its course and went away, she became increasingly listless and complained of being tired all the time. This was followed up with constant vomiting and diarrhea. When Sarah took returned her to their family-care physician, she was first tested for diabetes. When that came back negative, the doctor diagnosed her incorrectly with encephalitis, meningitis, or the combination of both—encephalomeningitis.

That was where the near-fatal mistake was made.

In just a few days’ passing, she became combative, irrational, and confused about her whereabouts. She even forgot her name. By the time Sarah had gotten Reesa back to their doctor, her condition had escalated into a state of delirium. As Sarah was holding her hand and guiding her through the parking lot of the doctor’s office, Reesa fell to the ground and began seizing with acute spasms and convulsions. Sarah, keeping her cool, had lifted Reesa up into her arms and darted back to the car—she was sure, now, that the doctor had misdiagnosed Reesa, and she had no intention of letting that quack get near her again. By the time they had reached the Seton Medical Center’s emergency room, she had slipped into a coma.

The on-duty ER doctor immediately recognized her illness for what it truly was, Reye’s syndrome. The first thing he had asked Sarah, after she had given him a brief history, was whether or not she had administered aspirin to Reesa during her bout with chickenpox, and the answer to that was: Yes, everyday. That was the wrong answer. Apparently, aspirin carried an association with the contraction of the syndrome, but how was she supposed to have known that. The only thing she had ever heard to the negative about aspirin was that it could be rough on the stomach lining from time to time.

The following four-and-a-half weeks were a living hell for the entire Bellemont household:

Gavin, an agent for a San Francisco marketing firm, had a difficult time getting away from his job to spend time with Sarah and their comatose child at the hospital. His boss was an A-Number-One Jerk. Gavin had asked for some early vacation time to be with his family during their time of need, but Carl Waverly wouldn’t budge. Nope, he said, with his hefty, unlit cigar bobbing between his likewise-fat lips, no can do. We’ve barely got our hooks into the Parker-Robinet account right now, and we’re only holding on to those bastards by an RNH, Gavin. You know damn well that the Thompson Marketing jerks are trying to sink their fat wieners into them as we speak!

RNH? Red nut hair? Where does he come up with this crap? Gavin pondered while nodding his head and ignoring his boss’s ravings.

Sarah spent day and night at Reesa’s bedside. Every evening, though, after school let out, she would go home to make sure Gavin and the kids had something to eat. But after that, she, accompanied by her husband, would go right back to the hospital. After an hour or so of sitting quietly with her and Reesa, Gavin would take the Bay Area Rapid Transit—otherwise, known as BART—home to their Daly City residence to get rested up for another metaphorical day at the races.

She was well aware of the fact that her family felt neglected, although they never complained, but Reesa was her Little Angel—a term coined by Sarah when Reesa was growing in her womb. Jason and Emma were special to her, of course, in their own ways, but Reesa was different, somehow, in a way she could never quite put her finger on. It was almost as if their souls had been intertwined at some point during the pregnancy, like vines in multifaceted, unbroken bonds, with no beginning and no end.

She was grateful for her wonderful husband—who did everything he could, short of quitting his job—to make sure the family unit still held together like the sole-survivors of a shipwreck. On weekends, Gavin would recruit Emma and Jason, and the three of them would clean the house, do the yard-work, wash the dirty laundry, and get the shopping done. Not once did he hear a peep of bellyaching from the children, who, clearly not liking all the additional chores and the reduction of their playtime, still pulled through like troopers. They loved their baby sister, and even though, at the ages of eight and nine, they were not fully capable of grasping the depth of the ramifications concerning Reesa. They still sensed that something was terribly wrong, and worry and regret invariably painted their little faces.

* * * * *

Nearly a month and a half after Reesa fell into a coma, she slipped back out of it. One moment, she was a breathing vegetable, the next, her emerald-green eyes were open wide, and the first expression Sarah saw wearing on her face was one of confusion and disorientation. Reesa gazed at her with dazed, vacant eyes—either not seeing her or not recognizing her—then looked at her right arm. Seeing the I.V. tube taped to it beneath a plastic housing and the pole it was attached to next to the bed, she panicked and screamed. And when she did, the medical tape holding the I.V. in place magically pulled loose from her skin, the I.V. line slid from her vein, and the entire I.V. stand picked up and sailed across the all-white room, slammed into a small linen cabinet, and crashed to the linoleum floor.

Momentarily disregarding the whole strange incident, perhaps not even letting it register—only joyful that her daughter had awoken—Sarah yelled out, while frantically pressing the call button numerous times, Nurse, nurse! Somebody come, hurry! Three or four attending nurses raced into the room, where Sarah was rocking back-and-forth on the bed while embracing her once comatose daughter.

Reesa was crying with big, soul-wrenching sobs, and asking, Mama, where am I? Mama, what is this place?

A few days after all the necessary tests had been completed, and Reesa’s physician had set up proper follow-up treatment for the potentially deadly disease, Reesa had been released to a happy and relieved Bellemont family. Jason and Emma could not wait to see their baby sister, and Gavin and Sarah could not wait to kiss the forehead of her tiny sleeping face before they retired for the night.

Sarah was at Reesa’s bedside in her upstairs room, when she thought back to that wondrous day. None of the nurses had paid much attention to the fact that her I.V. had been removed and that the stand was lying sideways on the other side of the hospital room. The excitement involved with her return to the land of the living had masked all that, but when Sarah and Reesa had finally been left alone in the room, Sarah had asked her, Reesa, do you remember how that I.V. stand, and pointed at the one that was now upright near the bedside, flew across the room when you woke up?

She became shamefaced, pouted her bottom lip and nodded her head.

How did that happen? Was it something you did, honey?

I think so, mama. I’m sorry.

What do you think you did to it? Sarah asked.

I thodded it.

You what?

I thodded it, mom.

She reflected hard on the words that Reesa had just said, and then it clicked. "Oh, you thought at it."

Yeah, ma, it scared me, and I wanted it to go away, so I thodded it.

Listen, I don’t fully understand how you were able to do that, but I don’t want you to thodded anything else, at all—at least until we can figure out what it is and how you did it. Okay, sweetheart?

Okay, mom, I’ll try my hardest.

And don’t tell anyone, either, not your brother or sister, not even daddy.

Okay, I promise, she said, and nodded, her hair rustling against the fabric of the oversized pillow beneath her head.

. . . mailman, ma, Reesa was saying, when Sarah returned from her brief daydream.

What? Oh, I’m sorry. What were you saying?

I said, ‘I think I hear the mailman, ma.’

Three

Reesa ran out the front door, letting the screen slam behind her. Hi, Mr. Samms!

Hi, Reesa. How was school today?

"Oh, it was all right. In math, we’re working on fractions, and they’re kinda hard. But in chorus, we’re rehearsing for the school play, and it’s a lot of fun.

How’s your mailing today? she asked with a big grin.

Mr. Samms was a tall, gaunt looking gentleman with a smile for everyone and permanent laugh lines to prove it. At Reesa’s words, that smile turned into a chuckle. Well, he paused to allay his laughter, "my mailing is doing just fine, thanks for asking. Then chuckling again, he handed her a flier and thumbed through a few more pieces of mail before saying, Oh, look. There’s a certified letter here. I’m going to need your mom or dad to sign for it."

Mama’s inside the… She turned to point at the door and saw her mom standing on the porch. Oh, she’s right there.

She noticed the mailman’s solemn eyes looking past her finger and catching sight of her mother. Then his eyes connected with Reesa’s once again. Thank you very much, young lady.

There were those words again, not quite young woman,, but they meant the same thing. And she loved Mr. Samms for noticing.

You’re welcome, Mr. Samms, she replied, still grinning ear to ear.

* * * * *

When he reached Sarah, he handed the mail to her. While handing her an additional envelope with a green postal sticker on it, along with a matching green card and a pen, he smiled and said, Good afternoon, Sarah. I need your Jane Hancock on this one.

Hi, Mr. Samms.

Got you a real firecracker there, huh? He was referring to Reesa.

Oh, yeah, she said, while scribbling her signature, she can be quite a handful sometimes.

Sarah looked up and gave the mailman a friendly smile. But then a cloud quickly blanked out the sun’s rays, and a very similar cloud of darkness seemed to hover over Mr. Samms, as well. His face went grim, his attentiveness seemed to turn hazy and distant, and his eyes appeared to sink further back into his head and become black around the sockets. He ambled closer to her, almost robotically, and bent down to her ear. Sarah became very uncomfortable, but didn’t flinch, as Mr. Samms whispered, There’s a dark road awaiting her in the future, Sarah. His breath was icy and cold on her skin. You best keep an eye out for her or she won’t be long for this world.

Sarah was frozen, and fear crossed her face.

His whispering continued, Consequently, you best keep an eye out for your whole family, for you’ll all be on the same road as Reesa—along for the ride, so to speak. And it’s a dark road, Sarah… a very, very dark road.

He pulled back from her, and his eyes instantly cleared. The smile, that had just seconds before been erased from his always cheery disposition, returned to his face. She looked up toward the sun—whose rays were now shining brightly again—and squinting, saw that there weren’t any clouds anywhere near it.

Mr. Samms spoke as if nothing had occurred, "Well, I best get back to my route.

Have a nice day, ma’am." He tipped his hat to her and was on his way.

She was shocked, but still managed to reply behind him, And you do the same.

On his way from their front walk, he smiled at Reesa, winked, and said, Have a nice evening, young lady.

Her still smiling face brightened even more at the reiteration of those golden words, and she replied, Bye, Mr. Samms.

He began whistling as he progressed down the street.

To Sarah—who was still trying to figure out if what had just happened had, in fact, happened—the mailman’s footfalls were booming and resonant, as if he were walking through a very long and narrow tunnel. Her senses were heightened to a level she had never known before, and his whistling echoed like an otherworldly canticle in an oversized tomb.

His breath had poured coldness into her soul and fear into her heart. Reesa, get in the house, right now.

But why, mama? I’m going to play hopscotch.

She yelled, "Get in the house, now!"

* * * * *

Reesa had no idea what the sudden change was all about. Maybe her mother had decided to punish her for what she did to Billy after all. She argued no more and did as her mother told her.

Once she was past the screen door, she held it open—expecting her mother to be following—but Sarah’s back was still turned to her. Reesa quietly let the screen door close and watched her mother, who stood motionless as she stared after the mailman. She didn’t turn away until he was around the corner and out of sight.

* * * * *

When Sarah had entered the house, Reesa asked her, Mom, are you all right?

She still felt clammy and detached from reality, but she answered, Yeah, yeah, Reesa. I’m okay. She didn’t want to lie to her daughter, though, so she continued, saying, I just feel a little dizzy. That’s all. I think I’ll have a cup of warm tea. Would you like some, too?

Sure, mama, that sounds good.

With the letter Sarah signed for temporarily forgotten and resting on the kitchen counter, mother and daughter spent a rare twenty minutes of quiet time in the Bellemont household, together, sipping hot jasmine tea from miniature oriental-style cups, not sharing words, just sharing smiles.

Inwardly, Sarah silently hoped that her worries and fears would not be revealed through those smiles.

Four

As twilight faded into the fall of darkness, Gavin pulled into the driveway of his small, but very expensive, bungalow. The Pacific Ocean fog that usually hugs the ground and cools down the normally warm Bay Area evenings in the month of October was as thick as molasses. So much so, that he could give it a good kick and watch the huge swirls of mist spin like pinwheels in the air. And he did just that, pretending that the fog was the rear-end of his incessantly crass boss. He chuckled to himself as he approached the front door and mentally prepared himself for the very busy, and always noisy, night in the Bellemont household.

I’m home! he announced as he entered. Nice and loud, too, so that he could be heard above the din of… nothing. Hello? Is anybody here?

He thought he could hear the faint, redundant, Druid-like drumbeat of a rap song coming from the back of the house, but other than that it was silent.

Silent as shadows.

Hello?

In here, honey, Gavin heard his wife say from the kitchen.

He walked through the saloon-type swinging doors—which he absolutely despised, and had always meant to take down (procrastination at its finest, folks)—to find his wife and Reesa at the kitchen table. Sarah’s head was held low, her dark-brown bangs hung in her face, and in her hand was an opened envelope.

Are you okay? he asked, and in the same breath added, Where are the kids? What’s goin’ on around here?

I’m fine, and so are they. They’re all in their rooms, and… She stopped.

Annnnd… he persuaded, emphasizing it with swirling hand movements.

I was sitting here with Reesa having tea. You know, a nice mother and daughter bonding moment, when I decided to open up this letter. She lifted it and shook it slightly to indicate it was the one she was signifying. It came today, certified.

Using the light switch on the wall to his right, Gavin turned on the electric chandelier above the table, grabbed the back of the nearest dining chair, pulled it out, and sat down directly across from her. What is it? Can I see it?

While handing it to him, Sarah said, Feast your eyes on a huge change in our lives.

Really, how bad could it be? he asked, while observing the name of a law firm, Corey, Manciewicz, and Assoc. in the upper left-hand corner of the envelope. Lawyers, huh? Great, that’s all we need.

She nodded, straight-faced and full of caution, and placed a shaky hand on his. This could be the beginning of a whole new life for us, Gavin.

He looked at her while she spoke, and then turned his attention back to opening the flap of the envelope and removing its contents. Gavin spent the next five minutes or so staring at the cover letter. The expression on his handsome, square-jawed face went from curiosity to befuddlement within the first few seconds and remained that way throughout. Beneath the law firm’s letterhead, it read:

Mr. Gavin Bellemont,

I am writing you with my sincere condolences concerning the unfortunate and untimely death of your uncle, Dr. Edward Bellemont.

He was a great man and will be missed.

However tragic this may be, there remains the matter of his considerable assets. In his will, Dr. Bellemont has named you, Gavin Bellemont, as the beneficiary of its entirety, nothing excepted.

As testator of his will, Dr. Bellemont appointed me executor of his patrimony. I have procured the estate, a desideratum of great prosperity and wealth, with the full intention of it’s being bequeathal to you as long as you occupy the property immediately.

All pertinent information is enclosed. Please contact my office to make the necessary arrangements at…

The rest of the words faded into the page like old paint on porous canvas. He was shocked. Taken aback. Bowled over.

Reesa, honey, Gavin said, lifting his eyes to his daughter, could you please go find something to do for a little bit? Your mom and I need to have a little talk amongst ourselves.

Sure, daddy. She finished off her tea and took the cup to the sink.

As Reesa was pushing her way through the swinging doors, her mother said, I’ll call you for dinner when it’s ready, okay?

She turned back and answered, Okay, ma. I think I’m going to work on my paint-by-numbers. Thanks for the tea.

You’re welcome, hon. Sarah paused, picked up the Raggedy Ann doll that her daughter refused to call Ann, and said, Oh, Reesa, I almost forgot, here’s Becky. You left her in the backyard when you fed Colonel this morning. Reesa thanked her, took her doll, and departed through the swinging doors.

Turning back to her husband, she asked, "So, tell me, what do you think about that? She nodded her head toward the letter he had set down on the Formica-covered kitchen table. He was a renowned heart surgeon. He was loaded, Gavin. What would we do with that kind of money?"

I don’t know, babe. I just don’t know. I’m floored, literally floored. He was shaking his head in disbelief. I don’t know whether to jump for joy or wish this letter had never arrived. Sure, things at the office have been going sour, lately, but I’m comfortable with…

Sarah interrupted him. Lately? Who are you trying to kid? She pulled her chair in closer to the table. Gavin, things have been going sour (she fingered the quotation marks in the air) at that office since the moment you set foot through its doors eleven long years ago. Honey, listen, you deserve to live in a nice house, in a nice area, completely away from it all.

He rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and nodded in agreement. He did have a couple of big mansions that I know of: The secluded cliff house on the Washington coastline he used for vacations and the one down in Los Angeles.

Exactly, and just think, you can finally try to fulfill your dream of being a writer. You always said you wanted to move into a quaint, little ranch-house out in the country and do just that. Now you’ve got your chance. She placed both her hands on his. Granted, the house in Washington isn’t a ranch-house in the country, but it’s a cliff-house by the ocean, which is just as serene.

I don’t know if it’ll be as easy as that. We really don’t know what kind of money he had or what debts he had incurred, Gavin answered with a furrowed brow.

Sarah tried for a more straightforward approach, Look, you and I both know he was as rich as Croesus, a bit antiquated and eccentric, but rich, nonetheless, right?

Well, yeah. He rubbed his hands together nervously.

Okay, if this letter isn’t some kind of hoax, then, at the very least, we know we’ve come into a fairly substantial amount of money, right?

Right, he paused, staring blankly as he reminisced. Before my dad died, he told me that Uncle Ed was a miser. But where are you going with this, Sarah?

Now, she took complete hold of his hands. Honey, you’ve busted your butt for this family and put up with a lot of abuse from the other marketing firms. You’ve made a load of sacrifices for me and the kids over the years. And if anyone deserves to have his dream come true, babe, it’s you. Besides, wouldn’t you like to march into Waverly’s office and tell him to take his job and shove it up his you-know-what? She smiled.

He smiled back; she was beautiful when she was being silly. Well, yeah, I’d love to tell him where to stick his J.O.B., but I’d probably be more prone to writing a Letter of Resignation and…

Oh, you’re such a fuddy-duddy. That’s no fun.

A fuddy-duddy, huh? Well, if I need him as a reference in the future, I’ll need to make sure he…

Gavin, you’re probably not going to need a job in the future. You’re an excellent writer, and you’ll get published. Besides, that jerk wouldn’t give his own mother a good reference.

Gavin Bellemont was a full-blown adherent to the University of Skepticism when it came to the patterns of life and the unerring way it weaved its path around him and the other present partakers in its mysterious web. He was astounded at the way life itself seemed to comprise its own existence and how little control he and the rest of the population had over it—whether they knew so or not. He was entranced by life’s bounty of wisdom in the manipulative ways of controlling how each person’s decisions on a moment to moment basis were all intrinsic to other people’s lives—known and unknown. Usually, the end results—if it ever did end, which was something he would ponder on another day—weren’t monumental, but sometimes they were, and it freaked him out when he could observe irony in all its bizarreness, right up close—through the microscope, so to speak.

He had watched similar situations spread through his workplace like a plague, and it never ceased to keep him in awe, especially since no one else in the office appeared to be seeing the big picture the way he saw it—at least no one ever let on that they had deep thoughts analogous to his.

One time, for instance, Paul Sutter—the marketing rep for a majority of the car dealers