Thorne Manor E-Book

Diane Wing

• Herausgeber: Modern History Press
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Modern Gothic
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Seitenzahl: 296

Beschreibung

Thorne Manor and other bizarre tales takes you on a journey through madness with haunted people and places. The reader enters a reality where the world only appears normal - underlying is a dark world of occult influence, dangerous beliefs, and fearsome energies. 206 pp These 7 page-turning tales appear in this collection: Thorne Manor: you are introduced to Heather, a woman trying to separate herself from an emotionally abusive ex-husband. While pursuing her dream of opening a business, she finds herself in an old, abandoned mansion that houses a sinister secret. Guardian at the Gate: where a demon with plans to take over the world is given a leadership makeover. The Black Sheep: in which a troubled, clairaudient girl rejects her psychotherapist when a new spirit begins to counsel her. The Quiet Neighbors: in which a housewife's first attempt at witchcraft backfires. By Invitation Only: where a grieving pet owner is visited by an unusual creature. Dream State: where a woman's dreams become deadly reality. Good Riddance: in which a man's hatred for cats creates an unexpected result.
Readers Rave:
"I love your stories! So good and engaging! I couldn't put [Thorne Manor] down. -- Misha H, Portland, OR
"I loved Thorne Manor ... actually could not stop reading it. Was well written and kept my attention from the beginning. I liked the short stories as well." -- Sue W., Abington, PA
"I loved it [The Black Sheep]! You did a great job at creating scenes and amy's thought. Great story, creepy." -- Donnie M., Philadelphia, PA
From Modern History Press

Leseprobe

Thorne Manor …

And other bizarre tales

by Diane Wing

Modern History Press

Thorne Manor… And other bizarre tales

Copyright © 2012 by Diane Wing. All Rights Reserved

2nd Printing - March 2015

Learn more about the author at www.DianeWing.com

eISBN 978-1-61599-874-6 (eBook)

ISBN-13 978-1-61599-164-8 (paperback)

Published by Modern History Press

an imprint of Loving Healing Press

5145 Pontiac Trail

Ann Arbor, MI 48105

www.ModernHistoryPress.com

[email protected]

USA/CAN Tollfree 888-761-6268

London, England 44-20-331-81304

Distributed by: Ingram Book Group (USA/CAN), Bertram.s Books (UK), Hachette Livre (FR), Agapea (SP).

Cover design by Michal Splho

Dedicated to F.W.O.T.W.

Contents

Thorne Manor

By Invitation Only

Dream State

Good Riddance

Guardian of the Gate

The Black Sheep

The Quiet Neighbors

About the Author

Thorne Manor

Prologue

My attempts at a better life have created this situation; to be shunned and denied all contact is the wickedest torture they have yet to devise. My requests for human interaction or for the chance to relate to another living creature of any kind have resulted in lessened visits by family members. The strange voices have become more talkative over the last few months, filling the silent hours of my solitude and enriching my inner world. Sometimes they admonish those who imprison me and suggest appropriate recompense for their actions. Other times they whisper to me, soothing my fear and sadness, and igniting my anger toward the situation. Treatment for the voices is a simple matter—to be able to speak with a person, or to have an animal, a pet with which to exchange emotion—would calm the incessant talking.

This journal has become my only release. My hopes and fears entered onto its pages with no response in return. Being imprisoned in these gracious accommodations with cruel jailors at the helm has pushed my mind toward thoughts of torment to retaliate against their emotional abuse.

To be able to roam the grounds and feel the sun was my dearest wish. Yet after years in these rooms, the sun now gives me headaches and a rash has developed on most of my torso. I have come to know every nook, every peel and flake of paint and wallpaper, every dimming of the colors on upholstery and carpet. Darkness quells the discomfort of these symptoms; eating exacerbates them. Refusing the food they bring only sets off a series of additional tortures they seem to enjoy administering.

Surviving puberty and its challenges, tolerating the oddities of my family and the isolation from friends, it seems that I have paid my dues. Is this the fate I am to endure for my entire adulthood as well? Whatever semblance of a god promised to me in The Bible was a lie.

The shadows are witness to my pain. Hope is replaced by loathing, tainting my disposition and my will. In the absence of guilt, in the absence of God, revenge and hatred will be my guides in this world and the next.

—From the diary of Erick Thorne, January 7th, 2002

“It’s too risky, Heather,” Joyce Wolfe warned. “As your realtor and friend, I have to remind you that financially this is too much to take on.”

Heather stared at the Gothic mansion. It was as if Heather had been absorbed into its strange aura. Riding up the driveway, the overhanging trees hugged her from above and pointed the way toward the house. Standing amidst a dense forest of maple, sycamore, pine, and cedar the timeworn stone Gothic mansion welcomed her. The arched windows gazed down upon her with dark, tired eyes. The soaring center tower of the house enshrouded in aged brown stone gave the impression of an old woman wrapped in a tattered shawl.

“I dreamed of this place; of owning it and starting a business. I can live and work here,” her voice trailed off as if talking to herself. With commercial zoning, she saw in its dark countenance the bright spark of a successful enterprise, not simply a fantastic place to live. The rumors of the home’s dark history did not dissuade her from seeing its potential. All it needed was some loving attention, and the sadness that was said to permeate the structure would dissipate.

“No one who lives around here will come near the place. Too much has happened here—the murders, the torture—to allow a business to be successful.”

“We can clear the energy. The psychics that rent from me will bring fresh energy to the house and the grounds.”

Thorne Manor stood before them, patiently awaiting the final decision. A gentle pine-scented breeze blew Heather’s long brown hair across her face. She moved the hair to the side and hooked it behind her ear.

“There are several other properties I can show you that will be perfect for what you want to do. Let’s go take a look.”

Heather’s eyes were fixed on the mansion, mind whirring with ideas for the abandoned building. “The dark history of this house will add an air of mystery that will attract people to have social gatherings here. I can use it as part of my marketing strategy.”

The enamored expression on Heather’s face told Joyce she had made her decision, but wanted to give one last attempt to dissuade her.

“The house on Chestnut Street is a bright contemporary with an open floor plan on three acres. There is plenty of parking and we can get it for an incredible price.”

Heather nodded, knowing Joyce had said something, but did not know what it was.

Joyce could see that Heather was enthralled with the property and completely oblivious to her opinion. Thorne Manor had been on the market for almost five years; the structure was sound, but the tragedies that took place here deterred most buyers. Joyce had researched the history of the property in depth with the hope of finding something positive in its past that she could share with her clients. What she found out she mostly kept to herself.

Heather was not only her client, but also her friend, so in this case, she would do her best to talk Heather out of buying this place. The dark past of the house would not be good for Heather’s healing after such a difficult marriage. The professional relationship Joyce and Heather shared began when Heather was assigned as the accountant to Joyce’s real estate office, Mather Properties. The friendship began when Heather left her possessive husband, Robert.

When Joyce took over her father’s business when he retired in 1995, she kept his name on the sign rather than changing it to her married name of Wolfe. Residents of the area recognized Mather Properties as a brand, and Joyce wanted to honor the work her father had done in building the business. She often thought that she should have kept her maiden name to avoid hearing comments like “She’s a Wolfe in sheep’s clothing,” and “Here comes the big, bad Wolfe!” It was tiresome to hear the same jokes repeated year after year, but she simply smiled and tolerated it. Real estate was about relationships, so she was careful to allow people to think they were clever and original, especially when it helped them to remember her name and establish rapport.

Heather had never joked about Joyce’s married name; in fact, for a young woman in her mid-thirties, she seemed much older and somewhat tired. Highly professional, yet cold and aloof, Joyce could see that there was a restrictive quality to Heather’s demeanor, coupled with an underlying sadness. Joyce appreciated the accuracy and focused attention Heather gave to her account, and a friendship grew from the working relationship. They talked of many things, but Heather’s home life was not one of them. Joyce decided that when she was ready, Heather would open up.

One day, Heather came to Joyce’s office, briefcase in hand, looking like the weight that had held her down for so long had been magically removed. She walked across the floor, each step light and carefree; a smile decorated her lovely face. It seemed as though ten years had been removed from her expression, her skin radiant, and her eyes sparkling. The “good morning” she called as she entered the office sang of hope and happiness.

“Hi, Heather. Did you win the lottery?” asked Joyce with a grin.

Heather’s head tilted to the side like a dog trying to understand its master. A look of insight replaced puzzlement and she responded, “Something even better.”

“Shall I keep guessing or would you be so kind as to tell me what’s going on?” Joyce prodded her.

Heather’s grin widened, white teeth gleaming, “I left my husband.”

Joyce had never seen a woman so happy to end a relationship. There was giddiness in Heather’s voice, like children bursting out of the double doors on the last day of school as summer began. Joyce had noticed that the wedding ring Heather always wore was no longer on her left ring finger. Neither was the thick gold collar necklace that seemed permanently fixed into place around her neck.

“It feels so good to be by myself and free of the constant criticism. We should go out to celebrate,” suggested Heather.

Joyce was open to that. She like d Heather and wanted to encourage her in her new life. At dinner, they chatted about shopping, hair and nails, and celebrities. No mention of Heather’s husband or what prompted her to leave him after five years of marriage. Heather gradually spilled the horrors of her life with Robert and the way he had treated her, and Joyce was glad that with each revelation she became more detached from the past.

Heather now had the same expression on her face Joyce had seen when she dropped the bomb that she was leaving her torturous five-year marriage. The happy expectation of a charmed life swam across her face. Her joyous resolve displayed the same determination about acquiring this place as to rid her life of her abusive husband.

Heather turned to look at the green of the tree line that bordered the lush lawn and opened her arms wide to receive the vibrations of the forest. She took a deep breath and a broad smile replaced the contemplative expression she wore as she made mental plans for the property.

Heather knew Joyce had her best interest at heart, but she did not want to succumb to doubt and fear. It was a test of her newfound courage to proceed. If she could tolerate the criticism, restriction, and emotional blackmail her husband had imposed, she could deal with anything. Nothing could be worse than the time she had spent with him.

Heather’s eyes gleamed as she met and ignored Joyce’s concerned gaze. “I want to see the inside.”

Rumors of spirits roaming the hallways added to its charm. Clients would come for the promise of the supernatural and the occult. The front porch creaked under the weight of each step she took, bringing her closer to the peeling front door with its massive lion head brass knockers. She pounded the knocker against the door purposely to hear the sound echo in the immense hallways. Visitors would get an immediate sense of the enormity of the building when they heard that sound reverberate off the walls; they would know they had come to a special place.

The key had to be wriggled into the lock and the mechanism resisted releasing the deadbolt. The door sang with the rust of age as she slowly pushed it inward. Heather relished every sight and sound.

Joyce gave in. “Since it’s been empty for so long, there’s a good chance I can negotiate the price down and make it affordable for you. In its current state of disrepair the bank will agree to sell it as a fixer upper. They just want it off their hands.”

Stepping over the threshold, they realized that the outside of the house had deceived them. Now that they were inside the large Gothic structure, Heather and Joyce were pleasantly surprised to see that its condition was much better than expected. For a house that was a century old, the walls showed only minor cracks, which were a testament to its solid construction. It had withstood the years of physical and emotional weathering quite well.

The two-story center hall was lined with windows above and on the main floor. Light struggled to stream in through the dirty windows, dimly illuminating the dust into white particles floating in mid-air. A colossal crystal chandelier was suspended in the middle, hanging down past the second floor railing. It reminded Heather of an old One Step Beyond episode where a girl had repetitious premonitions of a chandelier falling on her. When she finally decided she was being silly, she ignored her fear and was almost crushed by the falling weight. From that episode, Heather Grey learned not to ignore intuitive information. She wasn’t sure if it was intuition or hope that flooded her psyche, but she had determined that the house would be her salvation, her work, and her home.

Heather flicked the switch to try the lights. Most of the bulbs lit as electricity coursed through them but could not shine through the dirty crystals. Both women were surprised they worked. “Power and water have been turned off for years,” said Joyce. “I can’t imagine how the lights could be working.”

Heather made a mental note to have it cleaned to its original sparkling brilliance. With all of the sunlight in the space, it would send prisms shooting toward every wall.

The deep gold ceramic tile in the circular entry foyer surrounded a medallion in a compass design crafted from cream colored travertine and black and gold granite. The floor was dirty but solid, waiting to be restored to its former glory. From the grand entrance were rooms in every direction and a massive stairway that curved to the left guarded by a mahogany banister reached to the expansive upper levels. She smiled as she pictured the spectacular renovation completed. Drawn to the upper levels, she ascended the staircase to explore with Joyce close behind.

The restoration would be a labor of love that would pay off in the end. It was a place to live and work. She could move out of her apartment once her rooms were completed and live here while the rest of the work was being done.

She brushed her hand over the thick dust that coated the mahogany banister. It was amazing how much dirt could accumulate in the span of five years since the house was abandoned. Heather would need to stock up on spray wax and paper towels to clean this up. She rubbed her hands together then wiped them on her jeans to remove the dust.

Joyce offered some insight, “The thick spindles are said to be hand carved. By hand or machine, they are magnificent. The original owner was a surgeon. He could afford to hire artisans from all over the country to carve the woodwork and lay the tile.”

Heather nodded in admiration, excited to be so close to owning such finery. Once the filth was removed, a gem would emerge from the rubble. The stairs creaked under her slight weight as she hugged the gentle curve of the staircase. Cracks of various lengths and formations decorated the plaster wall that lined the stairway. Nothing some Spackle and a bit of sanding couldn’t fix.

“How wonderful that the man who had this house built was a reputable doctor who helped people,” said Heather.

“Actually, he was a skilled surgeon who got greedy and did illegal abortions at night. Supposedly there was an operating suite and lab in the basement.”

“Maybe he felt sorry for the pregnant women who had nowhere else to turn and didn’t want to have a baby,” justified Heather.

“Maybe,” Joyce said, knowing that Heather’s desire to own this house overrode her sense of propriety.

At the top on the second floor landing, a tall arched stained glass window colored the light straining to shine through the layers of dirt. Its design included round gems of deep red, cobalt blue, and emerald green. Drops of dew clung to a delicate spider web hanging from a magnificent tree in the countryside. The effect was stunning, the craftsmanship unparalleled.

“The doctor put a lot of special touches into it,” commented Heather.

“He certainly did. I did a bit of reading about Dr. Benjamin Strand. In order to lure the woman he loved, Miriam Hart, into marrying him, he built this house and added decorative touches that she chose herself,” offered Joyce.

“See, he did have a streak of goodness in him. Anyone who loves someone that much must be good deep down,” Heather rationalized.

“Miriam left him when she found out about the abortions,” Joyce said, watching Heather’s reaction.

“Oh,” Heather quietly responded.

“Anyway, Miriam had it copied from a Tiffany window commissioned by Mrs. Winchester for the famous Winchester House in California. Interestingly enough, that house is said to be haunted, too.”

“What do you mean, too? I haven’t seen or heard any ghosts since we came in, have you?”

“I’m just saying, the rumor is that this house is haunted. That’s why it’s been on the market for five years. That’s why the locals won’t come near here…with the exception of the local kids looking to drink in the woods.”

“So who do they think is haunting this place?”

“The people who owned the house most recently, the ones the house gets its name from:The Thornes . They’re all dead.”

“I like the name. Thorne Manor has a nice ring to it. Let’s keep exploring,” Heather said and turned away from Joyce, cutting off the negative conversation. She wanted to believe that this house could be healed and her hopes were replaced by doubt with each bit of information Joyce provided.

From the walkway on the second level, visitors could look over the balcony and have a bird’s eye view of the foyer and crystal chandelier. Seven rooms, two with connecting bathrooms, and one bathroom in the hallway were on this level. Seven, such a cosmic number for this purpose, its mystical significance was legendary throughout history, and now it held special meaning in her mysterious dream house.

Practitioners would occupy the second floor, providing services to Thorne Manor patrons. Finding occult practitioners of varying talents, promoted as “psychic entertainment” to ensure staying within legal guidelines, would be ideal: a card reader, Reiki practitioner, trance medium, palm reader, psychometrist, a tea leaf reader, and a massage therapist would be available to her guests for an extra fee. Each would have their own room to conduct their craft.

She considered taking a room on the second floor for herself to do tarot readings, but she had never done readings professionally and was not confident of her abilities. She would make the time to practice and hone her skills before charging customers for the service. She had some natural psychic ability, and this house would bring it out and help her develop it.

The monthly rental fee would be higher for the space with its own bath. In this way, the practitioners would help pay for the renovations and the mortgage. She was surprised that most of the work was cosmetic at first glance; nothing that some spackle and paint could not fix.

“Will the bank think that it’s odd for the house to sell at such a low price as a handy man’s special, when there isn’t much structural repair needed?”

“The carpenter, plumber, and electrician may come up with a different opinion, but for now, let’s see what they say. I’ll play the ‘empty-house’ angle with the bank.”

Heather did a little hop and clapped her hands in excitement. She took the minimal repairs as a sign that she was meant to own the home

Heather and Joyce continued up the curved steps to the third floor. This was where she would begin the work, for these would be her rooms. As she rounded the bend upward, a solid wood door blocked her way with a heavy bolt on the outside. It seemed odd that the lock would be on the outside rather than inside. That would have to be changed. The carpenter would be able to help her with that. Heather was pleased that there was already a door there to prevent visitors from exploring her personal space. A hiss and loud bang made her jump. The radiators must be functioning at least.

“How can that be?” Joyce exclaimed. No services are supposed to be active on this property. We’ll have the home inspector check the heating system and all water pipes.”

“It’s almost like the house was expecting me!” Heather said, flashing an I-told-you-so smile at Joyce.

There were six rooms, including a kitchen, and two bathrooms on the third floor. A large circular room housed in the turret to the left when facing the house was perfect for her library. The adjacent room would be her office. The kitchen could hold a small dining table and was next to a large space with a fireplace that she would turn into the living room. The room with adjoining bath would be her master suite, and the remaining room would be a guest bedroom.

The appliances in the kitchen needed to be replaced, so she measured the apertures for a new refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher. The crew could remove the old appliances before beginning the work. The floor in the kitchen needed to be replaced, so she measured for tile and wrote them down along with the other dimensions. It felt like home already.

Joyce watched her friend, indulging her enthusiasm before she said, “We need to get you approved for the loan and purchase the house before you can start making changes, you know.”

“I know, but it will happen. I want to get a head start. The lease is up on my apartment at the end of this month, and I extended it for one month, but they won’t allow me to continue on a month-to-month basis after that.”

“That only gives us 40 days to secure a loan and get to settlement. That’s not a lot of time.” Joyce jotted it down in her notebook.

Letting Joyce worry about the time constraint, she mused, “It’s so quiet here. Almost like a tomb.”

Heather pictured the placement of her furniture as she wandered through the third floor rooms. She paused to inspect some small cracks near the fireplace and heard a creak from behind. Whirling around to catch Joyce daring to sneak up on her, her eyes saw Joyce standing in the same spot, still writing notes to herself. She wondered what could have made the noise. Old house, she rationalized, yet gooseflesh rose on her arms and the feeling of being watched made her back away from the direction the sound had come from. She was reluctant to mention it to Joyce, afraid that she would begin her arguments once again to look elsewhere.

She heard the words of her friend, Celeste Templin, echo in her head saying that it was dangerous to live in the middle of such a large property where no one could hear you if you screamed. Yet privacy and seclusion was exactly what she wanted. Sharing her personal space with a ghost did not appeal to her and the stories that circulated in the neighborhood floated in her mind.

Feeling silly and refusing to let a little noise deter her from achieving her dream, she rubbed warmth into her arms and continued to inspect her future living quarters. Besides, she would not be alone most of the time. Clients, workers, and visitors would keep the action at a respectable level. All of the activity should scare away any unwanted apparition roaming the third floor. Celeste would be among them as the on-site tea leaf reader.

Her attention turned to the rugs; the carpets had seen better days, so they would be removed. She wondered if the wood floors were in decent shape. If they could be salvaged, area rugs would do just fine. Shadows hung throughout the apartment and the air felt dense, probably due to the windows being closed for so many years. It needed airing to remove the stagnation. Maybe it would be cheerier when the curtains were removed and new window treatments went up.

Heather’s discomfort increased despite her attempts to talk herself into explaining the noise and oppressive atmosphere as part of the normal characteristics of an old house.

“Ready to go?” she said to Joyce, trying not to sound as though she were rushing her.

“Sure,” said Joyce, making a final notation in her book.

After taking one last look around the space to note tasks for the workers, Heather hurried to the stairway, glancing behind her to make sure nothing followed. Her back tingled as she quickly descended the staircase. Relief replaced distress when she hit the second floor landing. The air seemed less dense here and the light reached the far corners, giving her comfort and making her reaction seem unwarranted. She waited for Joyce to catch up.

“What’s your hurry?” Joyce said, carefully descending the steep stairs.

“I’m just so excited to get started on the process to buy the house, that I’d like to go as soon as possible,” Heather finagled.

With a parting glance backward at the stairway leading to the third floor, she descended the staircase to the first floor. Her heart began to beat normally the farther she was from the third floor stairway, and her attention once again turned to how the building could service her customers. The main floor could hold up to 200 people. The large dust covered dining room could seat 20; the huge dining set was a nice surprise left by the former owners. The high back chairs would need to be recovered, but the ornamental carved teak wood was irreplaceable. It was worth the month it would take to have them reupholstered.

“Why do you suppose the table was left here?” Heather asked Joyce.

“It was another purchase made by Dr. Strand at Miriam’s request. She loved to throw massive dinner parties. The Thornes inherited the table when they purchased the house. Being quite reclusive, I doubt there were any more than the four of them seated for dinner on any given night. The Thornes had no surviving relatives and so the bank took what furniture could be sold at auction. The table was too massive to move, so they left it here.

“Lucky for me,” said Heather. “Let’s finish looking around the main floor.”

“I thought you were anxious to go,” reminded Joyce, and then seeing that Heather was wandering into the living room, simply followed.

The living room with its twelve foot ceiling and expansive marble fireplace was a wonderful gathering spot. There were two half bathrooms on this floor. The industrial sized kitchen could prepare enormous meals for large parties. The stainless steel gas appliances seemed to be in working order and like the rest of the house needed a good cleaning. The ad for a caterer would go in the paper next month. The service would be an opportunity for another rental space and added income.

French doors off the living room gave way to the small parlor she had envisioned for her own readings. The walls would be cranberry red, with rich tapestry furniture and a round table with two armchairs. Tiffany lamps completed the mentally decorated scene. Another room with a fireplace connected to the dining room, and could be used for additional seating for large groups. It was all falling into place. She was meant to be here.

“Can we include all of the ideas I have for rental spaces on the loan application?”

“We’ll need to,” advised Joyce, “Your individual income isn’t anywhere near enough to cover the mortgage plus the taxes.”

Joyce closed the front door and carefully slid the bolt to its locked position, as Heather walked slowly down the front steps, deep in thought.

II

The United Trust Bank was the institution that held Heather’s checking and savings accounts. She had never moved them after her marriage had dissolved. It was her ex-husband, Robert King, who made the decision to have all of their accounts here, since he sat on the bank board.

Heather stared unbelieving at the loan officer before her. Richard Welling felt bad delivering the news that her loan had been rejected.

“Please understand that this is not a simple residential loan, Mrs. King.”

“My name is Grey now, and I want to know why my loan is being rejected!”

“The combination of a business loan plus mortgage has put you over your maximum limit for a loan Mrs. K…, er, Ms. Grey. I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do.”

“I’ve been banking here for years. I’ve always had a solid standing with this bank.”

“That’s true. However, your individual income is not sufficient to carry a loan of this size. I’m sorry.” Richard stamped the application with the REJECTION stamp.

The red letters blazed at Heather. She stood up without a word and walked toward the door at a medium pace with her head held high. This could not be happening. The house was meant to be hers. She resolved to apply for loans through Lending Tree to get multiple offers and then choose her best one. Maybe it was a mistake to go through her bank first since Robert was still on the board. She wondered if he had anything to do with the rejection.

A week later, with all potential lenders contacted, Heather was crushed at all of the rejections she received. Joyce had warned her that it was going to be a large nut to crack. Even being steadily employed as an accountant, along with the promise of so much rental income from the property, the banks all felt she was too big of a risk. She sat bent over, her forehead supported by both hands. All avenues had been exhausted. She was a failure, as her parents had told her she would be, and as Robert predicted she would be without him.

Through thoughts of a dim future, she heard the phone ringing. She did not feel like talking to anyone, yet maybe it would provide her with the distraction she needed to move beyond the pending depressive episode she felt coming on. She reached for the receiver and picked it up.

“Hello,” she answered in a quiet tone.

“Hello, Babe,” came the bright voice from a too-recent past.

“Robert, sorry, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”

“You’re not doing anything right now except sitting there feeling sorry for yourself.”

How did he know what she was doing? He always seemed to know, even when they were married. She looked around her expecting to see a hidden camera.

“What do you want?”

“I want to help,” he said with a smile in his voice.

“I doubt that,” she said, a tone of suspicion in her voice.

“I always wanted the best for you, Babe,” sounding wounded.

“I don’t care what you want for me, Robert. What I want is for you to leave me alone.”

“You’re willing to give up your dream out of pride?”

Heather paused. It was creepy the way he always knew about her. When she first met him, it seemed endearing, and now it was invasive.

“What are you talking about?” she hedged.

“The house, Babe, Thorne Manor. What a great spot for a catering facility.”

“But, uh…”

“Your application was filled with hope, but not with anything to provide financial back-up. Are you surprised that you were rejected?”

“I’m still waiting for some lenders to get back to me,” she felt exhausted once again having to defend herself.

“They won’t help you, but I will,” he promised.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Heather begged.

“Because I want to see you happy. And maybe one day you’ll realize that I’m the only one who can take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Come on now, Babe. Don’t be like that. What harm can it do for me to give you a leg up on your project? I can afford it.”

“I know, but…”

“You took nothing from me when you left. I’m doing you a favor for being so considerate.”

“I wasn’t being considerate! I just wanted to get away from you!” She felt herself close to tears. He could wear her down so quickly.

“Now that you’ve had time to think about it, I’m sure you’ll come around. I can give you what you want.” Robert’s voice maintained a steady, upbeat tone that made each word feel like a spike through her head.

“I don’t want anything from you!” she yelled as she slammed down the phone. Her heart pounded and she was short of breath. It was as though no time had passed since she lived with anxiety attacks on a daily basis.

Heather tried to ground herself, taking deep breaths and thinking of a calm lake in the middle of a green forest. She closed her eyes and focused on the soothing landscape. Amidst the serenity loomed Robert’s face as he made sweet promises that held deadly conditions. She would be indebted to him, giving him power over her life once again.

Another deep breath; breathe in white light; breathe out red and black energies that came through the phone and into her head. She could feel his possessive hands squeezing her throat, limiting her ability to speak, to breathe. Let it go, she thought, desperate to rid herself of his hold on her. Heather needed a distraction. She picked up the phone and dialed Joyce’s cell. Joyce picked up on the second ring.

“Joyce Wolfe speaking,” she answered in her professional realtor greeting.

“Joyce, it’s Heather. Are you busy?”

“Never too busy for you; what’s up?”

“Is there any chance that the bank will come down on the price of the house?”

“I’ve tried everything I could think of. They already came down $100,000 from the original price.”

“It’s not enough to get the mortgage plus a business loan.”

“Let’s look at a couple other properties that better fit with what the banks will be willing to give you.”

“I know that Thorne Manor is the house I’m supposed to have. It’s perfect,” pleaded Heather.

“It’s not perfect from a financial perspective. And you’re running short on time. Your extended lease will be up at the end of this month. That gives you four weeks before you’re homeless.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just trying to reason with you, put things in perspective. You’ve run out of alternatives.”

“I do have one last option,” Heather said with trepidation.

“What’s that?” Joyce’s curiosity peaked. She knew every bank had rejected Heather’s application.

“Robert just called and offered me the money.”

“Forget it! Are you crazy? It took you years to get away from him, now you want to be at his beck and call again?”

“Maybe it will be different this time. He won’t be living with me. And I could pay him back.”

Joyce could hear Heather talking herself into it.

“The options are to look at properties you can afford without him or take the money and be under his thumb again. Which would you prefer: independence or slavery?”

“It wouldn’t be like that. I’d still have my own place. He sounded like he really wanted to help.”

“Listen, I know you well enough that you called me to talk you out of this. I cannot in good conscience give you any rationale to support you taking money from that man! If you get tangled up with him again, I no longer wish to be involved.”