Lost Souls

PROLOGUE

As she hesitated outside the door, her fingers curled around the hypodermic needle and the deadly cocktail it contained. She hid the needle in the folds of her dress. The poor unfortunate soul who lay on the other side of that door was already too drugged to even leave the bed, much less escape. She’d administered enough of the sedative into last night’s meal to make her sleep for a week—but sleeping wasn’t something she’d be doing for very much longer; soon she’d be dead.

Bracing herself for the unpleasantness ahead, she allowed herself only a brief hesitation before gathering up her courage and pushing aside any sentimentality. Soundlessly she slipped the key into the lock, then remembered that it was already unlocked. And when she entered the room she knew she was about to betray her sister—not just once but twice. The door didn’t make a sound as it fell open, and then automatically closed behind her.

Even from where she stood she could see the rise and fall of her sister’s chest, and felt a measure of relief to see that she was indeed sleeping. She felt mild annoyance with herself for even having doubts. Hadn’t she prepared and delivered the food herself? True, she hadn’t stayed to watch her sister eat, but she didn’t have to. Anyone would eat whatever was put before them after going without food for two days. Even her devil of a sister would have to eat like every other flesh and blood mortal. Although she was so devious, so wicked that sometimes it was hard to even think of her as human. This, she decided, was the cause of her nervousness now. She was attributing too much to her sister, giving her supernatural powers that she didn’t possess.

Squaring back her shoulders, she resolutely started across the room. One quick stab and the deadly cocktail would go straight to the heart, and her sister and all her wickedness would be gone forever. And then she and the man she loved could finally be together. Halfway to the bed, her steps faltered. She paused, reminding herself that she could do this. Mustering up her courage, she quickened her steps toward where her sister slept in peaceful slumber, oblivious to the violence that was about to befall her.

The corridor outside of the closed bedroom door was unnaturally quiet. The calm was then broken by a loud crash from within the room, followed by sounds of a struggle, a piercing scream, and then a stream of blood slowly spread from underneath the door, seeping out into the hall.

An hour later she stood over the dead body of her sister, arm and arm with her lover. Turning to him apologetically, she said, Annabelle somehow got hold of a knife, and was only pretending to be asleep. I don’t know how she had the strength to fight. She should have been too weak to do anything. I didn’t mean for it to be such a mess.

No need to worry about it now. My wife will never bother us again. The bitch is dead. He rewarded her with a look of admiration. You handled it wonderfully. I’ll forever be indebted to you.

He roughly pulled her to him and wound his fingers through her hair. The two lovers came together in a mad ravenous kiss, not caring about the dead body of the woman who lay at their feet, or her now sightless green eyes that stared up at them.

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER

The ancient sanitarium sat on the sprawling, well-maintained grounds of a meadow. Moonlight spilled down from the midnight sky onto the ground below, casting an eerie white glow over the stone walls of Lost Souls. Heavy vegetation and giant trees surrounded the open meadow on all sides.

Located right on the water off the Washington coast, the area’s rainforest thrived on torrential downpours. Violent wind and electrical storms were an almost constant. But not tonight—tonight was different. Eerie calm settled over the forest. Tendrils of smoky mist rose up from the still wet ground. The scent of the earlier rainfall hung heavy in the air.

The lone woman stood at the center of the meadow. The rising mist became denser, and thickened like billowing white smoke, rising up to devour everything in its path, making her nearly invisible to the casual viewer. Hair dark, long and lustrous ran down her back like midnight silk. Her dark green eyes were a startling contrast. The pallor of her complexion matched the pearly white of her gown that flowed all around her.

She was lost in the mist and moved blindly through it, but there was also a sense of purpose behind each step taken as she moved toward the inky blackness of the forest beyond. A high thin wail rose up from her throat and punctuated the night, spilling out into the dark woods and meadow. This was the anniversary of her death—her murder. And tonight she’d haunt the hospital grounds and forest, while plotting her revenge, her sweet revenge…

Deep in the forest, drops of blood dripped lazily down from the heavy leaves of a tree. The ferns that made up the forest floor were covered in a brilliant rich shade of red that almost glowed against the dark green foliage. A deer with its throat slashed and its insides exposed lay in the midst of the red spray, much of its lifeblood having already left its body, soaking into the soil and vegetation.

The kill was clear evidence of a large predator—a predator that remained a short distance from its fallen prey. Having already eaten its fill, the monstrous bear licked the blood from its chops, and remained hidden further back amongst the heavily treed foliage. Its smoldering red eyes glowed like hot pokers. Its muscular form melted into the inky blackness, making it invisible like a ghost. Its eyes were the only thing that gave its presence away to any unwary animal or person who happened to have the misfortune of coming across it. And by then it would be too late…

CHAPTER ONE

Concealed amongst the canopied foliage of the vast wilderness, she waited in anticipation. Her slender form fit snugly on the top branch of the tree. Gradually her vision adjusted with the help of the moonlight that shone through the vegetation and trees, like slivers of muted light.

A metallic odor wafted up. She closed her eyes, envisioning the dismembered remains of her quarry. Her breath caught at the approaching rumble signifying the animal’s presence. Darting her gaze from side to side, she scanned the forest floor. Beckoning the beast forward, she said, Come, my ghost in the night. Feed and be satiated on the spilt blood. Soon, I will bring you something much more satisfying.

The beast gave out a low rumbling growl in return, that broke through the howling wind. The smoldering fiery stare of the creature met her gaze. Tendrils of long ebony hair whipped out around her face. She and this beast were very much alike. Both were creatures of habit, creatures of the night—predators in their own right. Just like her beloved pet, no one knew of her existence—at least they never knew until it was too late. Her face, and the magnificent creature she’d raised from a cub, were always the last things these lost souls ever saw.

Her lips curled up into a grin, revealing pearly white teeth that glowed against the blood red of her lips. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, matching the violence of the storm. Throwing back her head, she gave out a piercing, howling cry that carried on the wind. Her voice mingled with that of the storm, creating an unearthly aura. The roar of the beast answered her cry. She ran her fingers along the rough surface of the branch, reveling in the grisly scene and rested her gaze on the creature.

The taut muscles of the bear rippled beneath the dense coat of fur and gleamed in the dancing, skittering shadows. Powerful jaws parted to reveal large fangs, and then giving out a low throaty growl, the bear lowered its head to the ground and went into a feeding frenzy. The scent of rotting blood and flesh carried through the air.

Closing her eyes, she breathed it in. Soon I will bring you something fresh, with living blood pumping through it.

The beast swung its head upward and gave out a reverberating roar. Crimson eyes locked with hers. For a terrifying moment all was still. Her breath froze. Surely this wild beast she’d raised from a cub and felt so akin to wouldn’t harm her. And then the moment passed. Relaxing once more, she watched as the creature lowered its head and returned to its grisly meal. The forest floor broke apart as it tore up the putrid brew. All this, she watched safely from above. Once finished, the great bear disappeared back into the denser, darker part of the forest.

***

Elizabeth opened her eyes. The clock beside the bed read three a.m. She pushed herself into an upright position. The bassinet was scarcely visible in the darkness. Glancing over to where her husband still slept, she waited for a moment, listening to his rhythmic breathing. Her memories of the past weeks were hazy at best. There were bits and pieces that flashed through her mind. She’d been heavily sedated and in bed for days, possibly even weeks. There had been pain, all-consuming, thought-obliterating pain, and then the sound of Owen’s voice. Yes, he’d been there, staying right by her side. She’d been cut open, and for the longest time couldn’t move without feeling sharp stabs of pain in her abdomen, her abdomen where she’d been cut, and then stitched. But this time was different. She could move without the searing burning pain she’d felt before. She must be healed or almost healed. Until now she hadn’t felt strong enough or coherent enough to get out of bed. One thing that was vividly etched in her mind was the memory of her baby, her Abigail. Yes, she’d given birth. And then another darker memory was there in the back of her mind, threatening to crowd into her thoughts—she just couldn’t recall it yet.

Cautious so as not to disturb Owen, she crept out of bed. She crossed over to the bassinet, leaned down and scooped the swaddled infant up in her arms. Something wasn’t right. The blankets were weightless. Feeling oddly fearful, she tore them away until there was nothing more than a pile at her feet. She stared down at her hands and saw they were covered in bright crimson. Strangled shrieks tore from her throat. She groped for the light switch, but only found the chilly smoothness of the wall. Gasping, she spun around. The moonlight served as a macabre spotlight. Her feet were heavy and weighted down, making it nearly impossible to move. Elizabeth struggled toward the light. When she tried to cry out, her voice escaped her. A hand shot up from the floor and in a viselike grip took hold of her legs, and pulled her downward where the moonlight disappeared and darkness and empty space consumed her.

Elizabeth bolted awake. Her breathing came hard and fast. She remained perfectly still, not daring to move. Then it came to her. It was nothing more than a nightmare. She turned to look at Owen, watching the steady fall and rise of his chest. With the dream still vividly etched in her mind, she found it difficult to get back to sleep. After a while of tossing and turning, she pushed herself up against the pillows. Her gaze fell on the outline of the bassinet. Moonlight spilled in through the opening of the drapes, casting watery shadows along the walls. She had to check on the baby. She had to see Abigail, and then, she promised herself, she’d be able to sleep. Elizabeth stepped down from the bed and reached out, grabbing hold of the bedpost, steadying herself. She was still weak and wobbly on her feet from lying in bed for so long. After taking a moment to regain her balance, she crossed the short distance to the bassinet, where her baby, her Abigail lay. She reached down and lovingly caressed her daughter’s forehead. It felt cold and unnatural to the touch. Something wasn’t right. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Fear crept into her heart, its cold slithery fingers grabbed hold of her and wouldn’t let go. Reaching out, she let her hand slide against the wall until she came to the light switch and flipped it on. Harsh artificial light flooded the room. Elizabeth moved back toward where the bassinet sat and peered down into it. Her gaze met the glassy stare of a doll.

A doll.

Her baby! Where was her baby?

A scream ripped from her throat. Owen jumped out of bed and rushed to her side. In a steady, even voice, he said, Calm down, just calm down. It’s all right. I’m here. Everything’s all right—just calm down and tell me what happened.

Elizabeth flew into his arms, not realizing that in her panicked state she’d grabbed hold of the doll, and was still clutching it tightly in her hand. What happened to Abigail? Where is she? Where is our daughter? She knew she sounded like a crazy woman but she didn’t care. All that mattered was finding Abigail.

Listen, I realize this is hard for you to accept.

Elizabeth got a sickening feeling in her stomach. She searched his eyes questioningly. Hard for me—what are you saying, Owen? What are you trying to tell me?

Owen gently extracted the doll from her grip. God knows it’s hard for me too.

Elizabeth waited, her breath held, and when he spoke his next words, she exhaled all at once, and nearly collapsed.

We lost our little girl. His voice cracked slightly when he said these last words.

She stared at him uncomprehending. No—she isn’t lost. Shaking her head in quick jerky motions, she moved away from him. That’s not possible. I just had her—she’s right here with us—we just have to find her.

Owen moved toward her and caught her face between his hands, and said gently, Darling, we lost her. She was stillborn—don’t you remember?

Elizabeth pushed away from him and ran out into the hall, screaming. Her screams were like that of a frightened, wounded animal.

Owen followed her out into the hall. In her frenzied panic, Elizabeth fell back against the railing of the spiral staircase. Her terrified gaze locked with his. She took one step back, and then another and another, until she lost her footing, missing the step completely and almost tumbled down the winding stairwell, and would have, had it not been for Owen who reached out and caught her just in time, and lifted her back up to safety.

Elizabeth crumbled into tears and collapsed in his arms.

Owen easily lifted her up and carried her back into the bedroom. I’m sorry—Dr. Woodland—he thought the doll might help.

I want my baby, said Elizabeth, her voice a broken cry.

I know you do. We both want our Abigail—but we can’t have her. She’s gone, my darling, and nothing you say or I say will change that. We’ll help one another get through this. He carefully laid her back down on the bed.

Elizabeth’s gaze went back to where the doll now lay on the floor. I don’t want that thing—that piece of plastic. Tell Dr. Woodland he can keep his doll. A doll doesn’t take the place of our child.

Owen nodded as he helped her under the covers and tucked the sheets and blankets in around her. He shook out two sleeping pills and dropped them in her hand, then stood back and watched her swallow them.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and let herself fall into a dreamless slumber, and welcomed the sweet oblivion of nothingness. She was still sleeping when the beeping from the alarm clock brought Owen awake. He leaned over and shut it off. Glancing over at his wife, he lightly placed a kiss on her forehead before quietly getting out of bed. He cringed when he caught sight of the bassinet. He was now beginning to regret the decision of having it there in the house with them. It wasn’t good for him or Elizabeth. He’d thought he had everything handled, but Elizabeth wasn’t reacting the way he’d hoped and planned for.

The incident the night before was a reminder of just how careful he’d have to be. On his way over to the walk-in closet, his foot hit against something hard. He looked down to see what it was, and his gaze locked with the unblinking stare of the doll. A burst of fury went through him. Reaching down and grabbing it up, he crossed over to the bedroom window, threw the drapes aside, then tossed the doll out into the early morning darkness. He took a cautionary look toward Elizabeth, making sure that she hadn’t been disturbed, and was relieved to see that she hadn’t so much as changed positions since swallowing down the sleeping pills. That was good. She needed her rest.

A helpless feeling came over him. It was still hard to believe how destroyed their lives had become in such a relatively short time. He knew the rage he felt toward the doll was irrational. And if he were to be completely honest, he’d have to admit that he was really angry with himself—the doll was merely an object that he projected that anger onto.

Crossing back over to the bed where Elizabeth slept, he stared into her impassive face and murmured, My sweet darling, I want the same thing you do—I want our life back, the way it was before all of this. If only you would understand. Everything I did, I did for us. I only want what’s best for you…

As if sensing his presence, Elizabeth began to stir from her sedated slumber. Opening her eyes, she stared up at him. What time is it?

It’s five o’clock, still too early for you to be up. You had a rough night, and need your rest.

She turned away from him and moaned inwardly at the remembrance. I’m so tired. Her words came out faint and slightly slurred.

Clasping hold of her hand, Owen said, I need to be at the hospital early this morning. He gave her hand a light squeeze, then shook out two capsules from the bottle of pills on the nightstand. He poured her a glass of water from the pitcher that sat on a smaller table close to the fireplace. Bringing it over to her, he said, Dr. Rhodes did mention that you would be in some discomfort for a while longer. But the worst is over with. You were so brave, my darling, so brave.

Elizabeth tried not to think about what he was saying to her. She didn’t want to think about what happened or the loss she suffered to get to where she was now.

Continuing on, Owen said, I fear I may have accidentally hurt you when I stopped your fall by grabbing hold of you. He helped her into a sitting position, before handing her the pills to swallow. After watching her take them, he helped her lie back down, smoothing the blankets out around her. Then in an attempt at making her smile, he said, I know that Dr. Rhodes said you were healed up enough to get out of bed and go for short walks, but I don’t think he meant you were well enough for almost falling down the stairs.

His last words had the desired effect and elicited a small smile from Elizabeth. Then remembering her loss once again, her smile vanished. She gave out a low wail, "I lost our daughter. I lost her."

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Owen gathered her to him. No, you didn’t lose her. No one lost her. Sometimes these things just happen. There’s a grieving process we have to get through is all, and we’ll get through it together. This too shall pass, and you’ll forget all about it. It will be as if it never happened. We’ll move on with our lives and be once more the way we were before. He stared searchingly into her eyes and brushed the tendrils of hair away from her face. I have to leave now. You promise that you’ll be okay?

Elizabeth nodded.

Good. In the meantime, while I’m gone, Esmeralda will be here to see to all your needs. Rosemary mentioned she’d try to stop by later on today. If an emergency comes up, you know I can always be reached on my pager. I left the number in the bedside stand, in case you forgot it. He laid her back down against the pillows and placed a light kiss on the side of her face. Bye, I love you. Crossing over to the door, he gave her one last look, thinking how she resembled a wilted lily, then quietly left the room.

Once outside, Owen placed a call to the obstetrician. Up until recently, he hadn’t realized just how important and useful Dr. Rhodes had become. Running his fingers through his short curly blond hair, he speculated on how best to handle the delicate situation. Initially he hadn’t wanted anyone to know about Elizabeth’s condition. It was a secret he’d planned on keeping. His fears, however, quickly overrode his desire for privacy. In the end, Dr. Rhodes’s expertise was greatly needed.

Dr. Rhodes answered his phone on the first ring, How are things?

As well as can be expected, said Owen.

Is she remembering anything?

Only that she delivered a child that was stillborn, said Owen.

Perhaps we shouldn’t have kept her awake for so long, said Dr. Rhodes.

I have everything handled. She just needs time to adjust. Frankly though, I am a little worried about her physical health. Owen then went on to recount the previous night and that she may have over-exerted herself.

You really should reconsider taking some time off to be with her, said Dr. Rhodes.

I’ve already been offered a sabbatical by Dr. Woodland, but I can’t accept it.

"Can’t or won’t are two different things."

All right, I’m choosing not to—things are busy at Lost Souls, and Dr. Woodland isn’t getting any younger. I can’t possibly put him at risk for another stroke.

"I’m sure the other new interns could take the load of your patients for a while—at least until the rehabilitation period is over with. I think you’re making a mistake—I think Elizabeth really needs you."

Then it’ll be my mistake, said Owen.

Mistakes can be messy to clean up, cautioned Dr. Rhodes.

You forget—I’m the head psychiatrist of a very unorthodox sanitarium—I’m used to messy.

All right, have it your way then. I’m only going to tell you this once. Now I know you don’t want to hear it, but as someone who’s greatly indebted to you, I’m telling you from experience that you and Elizabeth need this time together. It’ll make it easier on her if she can have you there to grieve with her.

Your concern is appreciated, however there’s nothing more I can do for her that I haven’t done already. Elizabeth is still trying to come to terms with everything and that’s something she’ll have to do on her own. Lost Souls needs me, and I need Lost Souls.

I can’t say I agree with you, but all right. Still, Elizabeth does need someone with her. I’m going to stop by the house and see how she’s doing, said Dr. Rhodes.

Thank you, I know Elizabeth will appreciate it as much as I do, said Owen.

There’s no need to thank me. You’ve done so much for me and the rest of this community that none of us could ever fully repay your generosity and kindness. Never hesitate to ask for help. I’m never more than one phone call away, said Dr. Rhodes.

I think you’ve proven yourself quite well in that regard. I knew you’d understand. Owen clapped the phone shut, placed it back in his pocket and glanced toward the house one last time before getting in his car and driving out onto the road.

Owen was deep in thought on the drive to Lost Souls. The restoration of the ancient sanitarium had required a lot of work and money. He and Dr. Woodland had worked closely together to restore it back to its original grandeur. The original layout of the hospital had been lost years earlier, so no one including him or any of the staff knew exactly how many hidden rooms there were. It was intricately designed. In the process of restoring it, he’d discovered a couple different false walls with rooms on the other side, but he was sure there was more, he just hadn’t discovered them yet, and maybe never would. They did nothing to alter the style in any way. The interior of Lost Souls gave the casual viewer the impression of a grand old manor rather than a sanitarium. It sat in the middle of a lush green meadow, surrounded by rose gardens and heavy rainforest that bordered all sides.

Owen liked how different it was compared to other sanitariums. It was unique, just as their form of treatment or rather rehabilitation was unique. He enjoyed his position there. If only his home life could be as easy. He now realized he’d become so caught up with his position as head psychiatrist of Lost Souls, that he became neglectful in other ways. He forgot to look for the signs of what was to come.

Dark green ferns and towering trees flanked either side of the road. The morning mist rose up in smoky tendrils from the cold wet ground. Typically, he enjoyed the surrounding scenery. He’d always thought of this remote part of the Washington coast as his own personal paradise. For a short time he’d lived in the city of Spokane. He spent some time working out of one of the downtown facilities. It was during this time that he and Elizabeth met. She’d been hospitalized, and had come to him as a patient. During that time he saw her weekly for therapy sessions.

Somehow and without really meaning to, he’d found himself drawn to her in some inexplicable way—a way that he couldn’t explain and didn’t fully understand. By the time he realized what had happened it was already too late. Despite the very real risk of losing his medical license, he started an intimate relationship with her. Soon after Elizabeth’s release papers were signed, things between them became much more serious. He knew that if their relationship was ever discovered he’d be ruined professionally forever—but she cast some kind of spell on him, because that’s the only thing that could explain his lapse in judgment, and he was more than a little surprised to realize that he resented her for it.

For a while he’d even tried to fight the inappropriate feelings he was having for her, telling himself that he was experiencing nothing more than false intimacy with a patient. But the longer he tried to deny it, the more he found he couldn’t. There was something about her that drew him to her—what that something was he couldn’t quite say. She had no living family or relatives other than a mother who was currently living out her days in a psych ward. So against all better judgment, he continued seeing Elizabeth discreetly outside the hospital.

When the offer to work as head psychiatrist at Lost Souls came in, it provided the perfect opportunity, both personally and professionally. The move provided the perfect escape for him and Elizabeth. Finally they wouldn’t have to hide their relationship, and would be free to live openly as husband and wife.

He did have to admit that before the appearance of this recent little problem, Elizabeth had been a constant supporting presence during the restoration of the two-hundred-year-old hospital. She’d been fascinated by the rich history and gothic look of the place, and had tackled every project with enthusiasm. Every morning she’d arrive with him at Lost Souls and volunteer her time, assisting with cleaning and other mundane chores.

Moments later he caught sight of the stone asylum of Lost Souls.

Cutting the engine, he remained seated in the car just long enough to gather his thoughts. Thinking of the older psychologist, he couldn’t help grinning. Dr. Woodland should have retired years earlier but his tenacity pushed him onward.

Owen got out of the car and breathed in sharply, savoring the surrounding stillness. Lost Souls housed over five hundred rooms. Each of those rooms was done up with tapestries and antique furnishings. It had the capability of accommodating many patients—although most of the rooms were unoccupied.

Owen made his way up the stone walk, passing the marble lions that flanked either side of the entry, and walked through the double doors. He’d made it only a short way down the corridor past the main ballroom when he was approached by Dr. Woodland.

Earlier this morning I was informed of the recent admission of one of our residents. Apparently she was discovered by some of the staff wandering the road. When asked if she needed help, she was incoherent and difficult to understand. They didn’t want to leave her alone in her current state, and brought her back here. Do you remember when she was last seen or given treatment?

A grim shadow crossed Owen’s face as he looked over the admission file Dr. Woodland handed him. Yes, I treated her myself actually. When I saw her last she was doing remarkably well. He looked up, closed the file and handed it back to Dr. Woodland. It’s probably nothing more than a simple case of erratic behavior brought on by prolonged isolation. She’s a recluse, and doesn’t socialize well with the other residents. Perhaps a small stay here in Lost Souls would do her some good, get her back on the right track.

Nodding his agreement, Dr. Woodland said, Yes, I’m sure it will. I would like a full evaluation done on her. Hopefully she will have calmed down some now, at least enough for you to talk to her.

It looks as if we already have ourselves a busy start to the morning, said Owen.

That we do. Dr. Woodland paused. I hope you never forget the sacrifices and the work involved for someone of your position.

I wouldn’t—why would you ever doubt my sincerity?

I just know how easy it would be to be influenced into forgetting just exactly what it is we’re doing here and why. You’ve spent a long time away from home—too long.

Well, I must say it’s good to be back. And to answer your question—no, you needn’t have any worries or concerns. My time spent away only furthered my conviction in the way Lost Souls is run. I’m dedicated to our cause.

Then you needn’t say more. I know you’ll continue doing a wonderful job, just as you’ve done since you got here. Dr. Woodland reached out and patted him on the back. One day we’ll be recognized by the medical community as a whole. Until that time comes, we must always maintain the strictest form of secrecy. At any rate, I’m grateful to you for coming back and realizing the importance of the work done here, not only by me, but by the others before me. I’m afraid I’m getting too old to handle everything on my own, and as you know, outsiders can’t be trusted.

I promise I won’t let you down. Owen offered up a smile. It’s a pleasure to be working here alongside you. Then referring to the woman recently admitted he asked, Which room do we have her in?

Dr. Woodland rattled off the room and ward number.

Owen said, I’ll go to her right away. If you’re up to it I could really use your assistance later today. There are some house calls that need to be made and pending evaluations.

I’d be happy to stay and help for as late as you need me to, besides it beats sitting at home smoking my pipe and listening to my wife chatter.

All right, then let’s get started on a promising morning helping our lost souls find their way, one lost soul at time, said Owen.

Dr. Woodland smiled as he watched the younger man disappear down the long corridor.

***

Elizabeth woke a few hours later to see Dr. Rhodes standing over her. Her vision was blurry and at first she thought she might be having another strange dream, until she wiped away the sleep from her eyes and realized this was really happening. Why was he there? What was he doing in her room?

Seeming to sense the questions in her mind, Dr. Rhodes said, I received a call from your husband this morning. He’s concerned for you. It seems you may have overdone things last night, and in so doing impeded your body’s ability to heal.

Elizabeth felt slightly chagrined at realizing what Dr. Rhodes referred to, and at the same time felt bothered that Owen would feel the need to confide last night’s events to the older obstetrician. Instead of voicing any of these thoughts, she gave a forced smile and said, That was very thoughtful of you to come to my home to see me.

You and your husband are a valuable part of this community. Making a house call was the very least I could do. Now let’s check your blood pressure and your stitches to make sure you’re still healing properly.

Dr. Rhodes brought out his stethoscope to do the preliminaries, and listened to her heart, pulse, and breathing, before undoing the bandages that covered her abdomen, and checking the sutures before redressing them.

He straightened back up and said, Even though you’re going through what I hear is a difficult time, you’re healing up rather nicely. In a few more weeks you should be able to resume your daily activities. He offered an encouraging smile. I’m sure you’re tired of being cooped up in this room all day, and probably are anxious to get back to your normal life. Then becoming serious once more, he said, I’m not going to lie to you, Mrs. Taylor—I’ve never treated anyone under quite these circumstances before. All I can advise you to do is take all the time you need. And if you feel strange or different in any way, never hesitate to call me or tell your husband. Do you have any questions for me?

Elizabeth gazed off toward the bassinet and murmured, No, I don’t. Thank you.

All right then, I will see you later, hopefully under much better circumstances. Dr. Rhodes cast her one last worried glance before exiting the room.

The part time housekeeper, Esmeralda, approached him on his way out. How is Mrs. Taylor?

Her emotional state doesn’t look good, he paused, but of course that’s to be expected from anyone who has gone through what she has.

Do you think she’ll come out of it okay, persisted Esmeralda.

Eventually yes, she should make a full recovery. All any of us can do is hope for the best but be ready for the worst. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to check on Elizabeth again. In the meantime if anything else occurs please feel free to call, any time day or night and I’ll be here.

In case of an emergency I’ll be sure to notify you immediately.

Tipping his hat, Dr. Rhodes said, Good day then.

She crossed over and holding the door open, bid him goodbye, then took the winding stairwell up to the bedroom where she found Elizabeth staring up at the ceiling, a faraway look in her eyes.

Would you like me to open the drapes?

It makes no difference to me, said Elizabeth.

There’s no sense lying here in the dark. The older woman pushed the drapes aside, letting in the light from outside. She then crossed over to the vanity and picked up a comb. Running it through Elizabeth’s dark brown silken tresses, she said, You’ve such lovely long locks, it’s a shame to let it go uncombed for so long.

Turning to give the older woman a sad smile, Elizabeth said, You’re too good to me. You’ve done so much around here lately, you should cut back some on your hours—I can manage here alone, until Owen comes back from his shift at the hospital. And I’m sure you’ve got a busy enough schedule at home, especially when you have your sick elderly father to take care of. Dr. Rhodes said that in a few more weeks I’ll be up and moving around again, like normal.

Cut my hours—no, Mrs. Taylor, I wouldn’t think of it. You need more help now than ever. These last few weeks are the most important for healing, meaning that you’ll need as much rest as possible.

Yes, but it’s unfair of me to keep you here so much of the time when you have other obligations of your own to attend to, reasoned Elizabeth. She hoped the kindly housekeeper wouldn’t realize that she wasn’t saying this purely out of altruism, but rather a real need to be alone. From the time she lost the baby it seemed as if the visitors were constant. If it wasn’t Esmeralda it was Dr. Rhodes coming in to check on her progress. It almost felt as if she had no privacy at all anymore.

I don’t mind. Your husband is more than generous with his pay. I wouldn’t think of abandoning you in such a dire time. And in case you forgot, my sister is a nurse and is perfectly capable of caring for our elderly father herself. Now all I want you to worry about is gathering your strength—do we have an agreement?

Elizabeth smiled weakly and nodded. It was pointless to argue with the kindly older woman. She learned a long time ago that when Esmeralda had her mind made up there was no changing it. And she hated to admit it, but she knew Esmeralda was right. She did need the extra help around the house still.

Elizabeth knew that she was only trying to make her feel better by mentioning her sister who was caring for their father at home, but instead this only made her feel guiltier. It reminded her that Ms. Stride, the head nurse at Lost Souls, was forced into taking extra time off work to accommodate for all the hours Esmeralda was spending there at the house. Owen would never say, but she was certain that things weren’t running as smoothly without the head nurse’s presence.

Esmeralda finished combing out Elizabeth’s hair, then helped her to lie back down, before leaving the room, being sure to close the door behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

Elizabeth stayed awake for a while longer but gradually fell back asleep. She still wasn’t ready to face her new life; the life that she knew would be changed forever since the loss of her child.

Clink. Clank. Clink. Clank.

The sound was like a tick, tock, tick, tock, in Elizabeth’s head, filling up the space between her ears. Only this wasn’t the sound of a clock, but was rather the sound of not just one shovel, but many shovels digging their way up from beneath the earth.

From beneath the earth.

Not from above—but beneath.

The realization alarmed her. She couldn’t open her eyes. It was as if they were glued shut. Disoriented and unsure of her surroundings, the beginning of panic and fear twisted through her stomach and snaked up her spine. The one thing she was certain of was that she was on her feet, standing in an upright position. She could feel the cold air whip around her, penetrating her very soul. When she tried to move, she found she couldn’t. Instead her feet were firmly planted in the ground, holding her in place.

Where was she?

What was happening?

Her eyes flew open of their own volition, and there she was standing in the middle of the graveyard. The ground all around her began to shift. She wanted to run but her feet that were still planted firmly in place, rendered her helpless to do anything other than watch. Something was happening but she wasn’t sure what.

When she pulled her gaze from the crumbling, shifting earth, she was struck by further terror to see that the graveyard shot out in all directions and seemed to stretch out endlessly before her. A mass of graves and headstones went on for what looked to be miles.

The wind picked up speed and swept past her. A ghostly howl followed in its wake as it roared through the graveyard.

The ground all around her began to crack and cave in on itself. Shovels shot up from the earth and baby dolls burst up everywhere. They climbed out from their graves. Their wide, unblinking glass eyes glowed a strange blue. There was a sinister look in them. They crowded all around her with their arms outstretched, chanting one after the other, Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.

Mommy!

Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Wake up, it’s only a dream, wake up.

Elizabeth shot awake with those words and eerie childlike voices still echoing in her head. The familiar sound of Rosemary’s voice calling her name broke through her thoughts, and pulled her from the nightmare and back into the present.

Rosemary’s startled gaze traveled down to the blood-tinged sheets. Wait—don’t move. You must have torn some stitches. I’ll be right back, I’m going to get Esmeralda.

Running out into the hall, Rosemary called down to Esmeralda, who was in the front parlor dusting and polishing the furniture. Dropping the cloth from her hand, she took the steps two at a time and burst into the bedroom. Crossing over to the bed, she moved aside the sheets with the blood, carefully lifted away the bandage, and inspected the slight tear around a few stitches. Looking back over her shoulder to where Rosemary stood wringing her hands, Esmeralda said, Please notify Dr. Rhodes immediately while I get this cleaned up. I believe his number is already programmed into the phone. It doesn’t look too bad but might require a few extra stitches.

Dr. Rhodes arrived soon after. He worked quickly, repairing the small tear around the stitches. Then after giving her a shot of antibiotics and something to help with the discomfort, he left the room, and approached Esmeralda who was waiting at the foot of the stairs. The two of them kept their voices low and spoke in hushed tones. Elizabeth should be fine now. I’ve given her something to help with the pain.

She was practically healed. What do you suppose caused the stitches to tear?

My guess would be nightmares—vivid nightmares. Very similar to what someone suffering from Post Traumatic Stress would experience. I’ve given her an extra dose of sedative that should help keep the bad dreams away—at least for now. There wasn’t much damage done. The bleeding made it look worse than what it was. She only incurred superficial wounds that will heal fairly soon. In the meantime try to make sure she doesn’t do any activities. It’s imperative that she remain still and in bed for the next week.

I’ll see to it and I’ll be sure to let Dr. Taylor know as well. Thank you for coming out here again on such short notice, said Esmeralda.

After what I’ve given her there shouldn’t be any more problems. If there is or something else happens don’t hesitate to call.

Esmeralda assured him she would, then bade Dr. Rhodes goodbye.

Rosemary looked in on Elizabeth one last time, and when she saw that her friend was already fast asleep, she left the room and joined Esmeralda down in the kitchen for some tea and biscuits. The two women carried on a hushed conversation about Elizabeth and her condition.

THREE MONTHS LATER

Staring back at her reflection from the mirror, brittle laughter erupted from her throat. More will die. Her words hung heavy in the air.

There was still a lot of work to do, she reminded herself, and it wouldn’t be easy. She’d played this charade and lived two separate lives for so long that sometimes it was hard to remember what was real and what wasn’t anymore. She’d have to make it back out into the woods. Her pet must become accustomed to his nightly feedings. She gazed back at herself from the mirror in a kind of awe. Long dark hair spilled out around her shoulders and down her back. Piercing green eyes stared back at her with an intensity in them that bordered on insanity. This was how she liked herself best—this was the real her, the her that nobody but her pet saw and knew, and of course those unfortunate enough to be chosen to die. She’d orchestrated everything perfectly. Nothing would get in the way of her master plan. At midnight she’d slip out into the forest. Her lips curled up into a wicked smile. The beast would be waiting.

***

The time that passed by felt more like years than months. Dr. Rhodes had been right about her recovery. Just as he predicted, she was able to do all the things she’d always done, and resume living an active life. Physically she was fine, but she still felt empty, and was very much aware of the loss she knew they suffered. Whenever she thought about the loss as hers, she always felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t just her child, her loss, but instead it was their loss. So why didn’t it feel that way? Why did it feel like she was the only one grieving?

It was true that Owen didn’t openly express his grief like she did—but surely he still felt the loss just as acutely. After all, he’d spent just as much time planning for their child’s arrival as she had. It was unfair, she decided, to judge him. Everybody grieved differently, and some like Owen held their grief in. Owen had so much responsibility within the community that it would only stand to reason that he would remain strong, stoic. More and more often, she’d had to remind herself of that. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but rather that he cared so deeply he found it necessary to keep his pain locked away deep within himself. And although he didn’t share his feelings the way she would have liked or wanted, she did have to admit that he’d been nothing but solicitous and attentive in his care of her, during her time recovering, and even now he was patient with her lapses of depression, and open displays of grief. Yes, he was there for her, attentive to her needs—so attentive in fact that he insisted she take certain medication on a nightly basis.

Years earlier, when she’d first been hospitalized and then later began seeing Owen as a patient, she’d struggled with bouts of depression and anxiety—anxiety that triggered the first of many panic attacks and emotional breakdowns that were to come.

Initially after time spent in therapy, Elizabeth felt as if she were finally gaining a hold on it. But then after the loss of the baby, she felt as if she also lost her ability to manage the growing anxiety inside her. Recently she promised Owen that she would try to get a better handle on things.

The dreams she’d been having since the pregnancy were so vivid and disturbing that they left her in a constant unsettled state. Mostly she tried to keep the details of these night terrors to herself, and only rarely did she mention more than just a few words about them to Owen. Mainly she chose to keep much of the details private because she didn’t want to burden him needlessly. It was enough that she woke him almost nightly with her tears, and each time he was always there to comfort her.

Although in many ways he was attentive to her needs, sometimes she still felt more like his patient than his wife. Much of this was the way in which he approached her, analyzing her every thought and move. It also bothered her that he still insisted she swallow these certain pills, every night before bed, that he kept on the nightstand. They were kept in an orange medicine container and were unlabeled. When she’d asked what they were, he became very upset, and told her that he was the doctor and knew what was best for her. He went on to accuse her of not trusting him. Until then she hadn’t realized just how much stress he was under. She was ashamed to realize that she’d been so self-involved with her sadness that she hadn’t stopped to think about what he might be going through.

Of course he apologized afterwards, saying that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to snap at her. She was quick to reassure him that it was all right, and that she understood. Then not wanting to upset him further, she just accepted that whatever the pills contained was for her own good, and started taking them every night before bed without question or complaint.

It was true that since their move up there to this isolated wilderness, she hadn’t bothered going out much on her own. Sure, she’d taken walks, but only on certain trails, trails that Owen had told her were safe to walk on. Understandably he had some concerns about wild animals, and the possible dangers posed. In order to secure her safety she’d always take along a can of bear spray and a compass just in case she was to get lost or turned around. Because of this, she only stayed on certain pathways and hadn’t really explored the area they now lived in and called home. Considering the wild animals, she would have preferred a gun, but Owen insisted that it wouldn’t be safe for her to have one. She knew that he kept one locked away somewhere in Lost Souls, and that he and Dr. Woodland used it to scare off wolves and any other wild animals who ventured into the graveyard.

She was mildly surprised to realize that the daily tedium of her life had become boring. She hadn’t been bothered by it before, mainly because her entire focus had been on the pregnancy and preparing for the baby’s arrival. Elizabeth had gone to the nearby town only a handful of times. On each occasion she’d been in the presence of Owen. What Elizabeth had seen of it and the shops that lined the street, she found charming. Everything seemed to be perfect, almost too perfect. And then there was the beach with its clear expanse of water that she assumed must be the ocean. Owen had been vague about the exact location of where they were living. The only thing he really said was that they were on an isolated coastal part of Washington in close proximity to Lost Souls, the sanitarium he now worked out of.

The move up there was a virtual blur. She couldn’t recall even one thing about that day. It would turn out to be just one of many events in her life since their marriage that had gone missing, a complete blank in her mind. The only real memory she had of that time, was waking up in an unfamiliar bed, and finding herself in the most beautiful bedroom she’d ever seen, complete with a king-sized canopied bed, marble fireplace, and large French doors that led out to a rounded balcony. Gone were all her old clothes and in their place was a closetful of beautiful gowns, pants, blouses, and other outfits along with some maternity clothes.

Owen had been right there by her side, and his exact first words were, Welcome home darling—isn’t it wonderful?

And of course it was wonderful. She remembered how Owen had taken her from room to room, showing her everything about their new home there was to see, floor to ceiling marble with cathedral ceilings, six bedrooms, a drawing room, study, front room with two chairs positioned on either side of the fireplace, and parlor with a sitting area. It had been freshly cleaned and fully furnished; everything gleamed and sparkled and smelled of cedar, making it look like the perfect home—and perfect it was, right down to the antique molding on every wall, the hanging crystal chandeliers, and winding grand stairwell. It was more mansion than home. The kitchen was the kind Elizabeth had always dreamt of. Spacious and open with plenty of cabinets, marble countertops with an open bar area and connecting dining room, and a morning room off to the other side. The walk-in pantry, refrigerator and freezer had been fully stocked with groceries.

Later she learned that Esmeralda had done the shopping herself and had overseen much of the work. She’d organized everything within the house. When Elizabeth had thanked her, the older woman simply said that it had been no trouble, and she was glad to have her and Owen as part of their community.

Elizabeth’s first impression of Esmeralda had been a good one. The older woman was easy to talk to and had a way of making her feel welcomed, at ease, much different from her twin sister Ms. Stride. It seemed like so long ago since she’d woken up in the most feather soft bed, with the silkiest sheets she’d ever slept in, and in many ways she wished she could go back to that time when everything was new and exciting before the loss of their beloved child, their Abigail.

Then remembering her mother and how she was living out her life in a mental institution, was enough to make Elizabeth more determined than ever to pull out of her depression and start forcing herself to do activities throughout the day and weeks to follow that were considered normal.

A walk was the first activity on her list of things to do. She had to get back to a daily routine and this was as good a start as any. Taking the precautionary bear spray with her, Elizabeth locked up the door and took off down a familiar pathway in the woods—a pathway that she and Owen had taken many times before. Pulling her coat up higher around herself, she breathed in the forest smells of wildflowers, wet soil, vegetation, and trees.

Even this simple act of taking a walk without Owen right there next to her, felt freeing in a way she couldn’t explain. She couldn’t go through life constantly doubting herself and this was just the start she needed to help get back to a healthy routine. Elizabeth had only gone a short distance when she decided to turn off the familiar path, and onto a more secluded one. She was so busy admiring the wild roses that grew along the path that she forgot to pay attention to what was up ahead waiting for her, watching her from the shadowed darkness of the trees. When she looked up and was about to continue with her walk, a slight movement or shift in the shadows of the forest directly ahead, caught her eye. Elizabeth found it impossible to look away and instead found that she was drawn forward, toward whatever it was. She couldn’t run from this. She had to see what had caused the perceived movement. She was sure that it was nothing more than shifting light playing a trick on her eyes. As she looked closer she realized that her gaze was fixed on a figure cloaked in shadow and darkness. Deliberately forcing herself to push forward, Elizabeth reminded herself that she couldn’t let irrational