he carried out The Well’s mandate and spent his eternity loving Michael—which he had every intention of doing— she would be fine with never seeing him again, and the feeling was doubled where Ciaran and Saoirse were concerned. What had happened to the mother who cradled him in her arms? Who told him bedtime stories of an enchanted land called Atlantis? Who made him want to be just like her when he grew up?
“Don’t be a stupid prat, Ronan,” he said, chastising himself. “You know exactly when she started to change.”
“Burn the devil!”
The growling voice burst into the present from Ronan’s memory, bringing along with it a disturbing image of Saxon tied to a stake, half his body consumed by fire, his eyes closed as if he were dreaming. He looks so different from Mum, Ronan thought. Daddy looks like he’s sleeping and Mum’s woken up from a bad dream.
On the beach Ronan shuddered, remembering how Edwige looked as she watched her husband’s body melt, her eyes containing more fear than he thought possible, her mouth wide, the sounds she made like a wounded animal’s, her body twisted, contorted as it tried to break free from the two men who were holding her back. He remembered as a little boy calling out to her, “Sssh, Mum, you’ll wake up Daddy.”
As a child he had no idea the turmoil Edwige was experiencing or the self-control she was displaying. She looked like a woman who had lost all her inhibitions, but she was actually a water vamp who understood that if she revealed her true self, she would find herself disintegrating alongside her husband. It wasn’t the unthinkable pain that she feared, it was knowing that if she died, she would leave her children orphans in a brutal, barbaric world. She kept her truth hidden so her children could at least have one parent.
“We still need you, Mum,” Ronan heard himself whisper to the waves.
He heard Edwige reply, “Mummie needs you, Ronan, now more than ever.”
But it was a request from the past. Physically exhausted, her eyes swollen and red, Edwige simply couldn’t pick up Saxon’s ashes all by herself.
Michael picked up the straightjacket and wondered why Imogene had brought him here. He knew exactly where he was and it was not a place he wanted to visit, either in real life or in a vision. Being inside the psychiatric clinic where his mother died was not exactly what he would call appealing. Throwing the jacket on the makeshift bed, Michael silently asked Imogene to take him away from here, but she turned her head. In order for Edwige to have her revenge, it was necessary that he stay.
When Grace entered the room, the first thing Michael noticed was how calm she looked. She wasn’t screaming or trying to run away from the orderlies as she was when they took her from the house in Weeping Water. She looked normal. Maybe this vision would be a good thing after all, maybe it would allow him to see that his mother really hadn’t lost her mind.
“Should we put her in the jacket?” the younger orderly asked.
“Nope,” the gray-haired one replied, grabbing the straightjacket roughly from the bed. “Doc said she’s so drugged up, she can’t hurt a fly even if she tries.”
Michael jumped when the door slammed shut. It was such a small room, nothing in it but a mattress on a cot and a pillow, the padded walls and thickly carpeted flooring making it look even smaller. The only window was an inch from the ceiling, thick glass, horizontal in shape, and covered in bars. A small patch of sky was all that could be seen and Michael imagined it permitted only a thin ray of sunlight to enter the room during the day. It was heartbreaking to think that this is where his mother spent her last moments in life, in such a barren, confined space. But as much as the room seemed to make Michael upset, it seemed to bring Grace comfort.
Kneeling beside the bed, Michael watched his mother sleep. Her face was soft again, as if she had fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on back home, she looked unworried and Michael was relieved to see that the drugs they had given her were working. She wasn’t restless, she wasn’t anxious, and when Michael saw the envelope that had been stuck underneath the mattress fall to the floor, he understood why. Bending down, his instinct was confirmed. His name was written on the envelope in his mother’s handwriting; inside was her suicide note. She was sleeping peacefully because she had already decided to end her life. He couldn’t believe that in a few short hours, she would awaken and kill herself. How could that be possible? If only she could remain asleep until the morning, maybe history could be altered and she wouldn’t die. But then Vaughan woke her up.
“Grace,” Vaughan said, shaking his ex-wife’s shoulder gently. “I’ve come for you just like I promised.”
Stunned, Michael crawled backward until his back hit the padded wall and then he scurried into the corner underneath the window. What the hell was his father doing here? Michael glanced over to the door and saw that it was still locked. How in the world did he get in? As bizarre as the scene was to Michael, when Grace opened her eyes, she reacted as if this was exactly what she was expecting.
“Hello, Vaughan,” she said quietly. “I was wondering how long it would take you to come.”
She must be dreaming, that has to be it. There’s no way she could think this was normal. Yes, she had been dreaming of Vaughan, and his appearance was simply a vision within a vision. He saw Imogene shake her head and heard the words in his mind, “No, Michael, everything you see here actually happened. It’s all real, it’s all the truth.”
How?! This just isn’t possible. “I want to go home!” Michael shouted. “Get me out of here!”
Imogene was the only one who heard him and her response was to turn her back on him and look up toward the window to count the stars. She didn’t care about astronomy, all types of science were her least favorite subjects, but watching the stars was better than watching the past unfold.
“It’s time for you to go away,” Vaughan whispered. “Permanently.”
Michael couldn’t see his father’s face, but he could see his mother’s reaction, and whatever Vaughan did made Grace recoil in horror. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her throat. She jumped up and stood on the bed, her back pressing into the cushioned wall, her arms spread out wide, her fists banging into the wall as if she were trying to break through the padding.
“Grace, you can no longer fight this,” Vaughan said. “I’ve decided that now is the time.”
As terrified as she looked, Grace apparently disagreed. “Not like this!” With her eyes focused on Vaughan’s face, she kicked his chest so unexpectedly and with such force that he flew across the room, his back facing Michael, his body inches from his feet. Cowering in the corner, Michael saw his mother run toward the door, but just as her fingertips scraped against the metal handle, Vaughan grabbed her hair and threw her onto the floor.
“NO!” Michael screamed, scurrying on his knees to where his mother had fallen. He tried to grab her hand, help her up, but her body wasn’t solid, his hand went right through her. Grace remained on the floor, frozen more by fear than any physical injury she may have incurred. When Michael turned to see Vaughan standing over her, he understood why she was afraid. His father looked grotesque, his handsome face replaced by features Michael knew all too well. “This can’t be real,” Michael heard himself say out loud.
But it was.
His father was a vampire.
Saliva dripped off of one of the fangs that hung past Vaughan’s lower lip, and landed on his chin. His face was sallow, like sun-bleached sand, his cheeks so sunken that the bone looked like it might pierce the flesh. Worst of all were his eyes, completely black, lifeless and hollow as if they could transport you to the depths of hell, which is exactly where Grace believed she was about to be taken.
“Vaughan, no, please, don’t do this,” Grace pleaded, slowly inching her body across the floor away from him. “I promised you I’d never say a word and I haven’t.”
She knew? His mother knew his father was a vampire? Michael’s head was spinning, he felt dizzy, he had to fight the urge to succumb to the sensation and faint, allow his body to rescue his mind so he didn’t have to bear witness to this horror. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t abandon his mother, not now, not when there was so little time left to save her. He knelt next to her, hoping she would somehow feel his presence, hoping he could find a way to help her fight back.
“Yes,” Vaughan responded as he walked toward them. “You’ve been a very good girl and I thank you.”
“Then let me leave by my own hand. I’m ready to do it now, I promise,” Grace pleaded.
Vaughan thought for a moment and then said finally, “No, I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Michael looked up and saw Vaughan standing above them, his neck so elongated and curved that his head looked like it was separated from his body, his face almost horizontal as it peered down at them. Vaughan smiled and his mouth grew wider. The drop of saliva became so large that it could no longer hold on to his fang and fell,
