Carno's Successer
Part 4/7
By Selenite
Fourteen Years Later
Donald Gordon, when he was in a rational frame of mind, wondered how he ever could have survived for fourteen years without murdering Betty, his children, or himself. He spent all of his time in the second-floor darkroom, again with the door locked. It was his only place of refuge and of safety, the only place where he could feel truly at home. To Don, the only air he could breathe was that air which reeked of developing solution. The only light his eyes could tolerate was the eerie red glow of the darkroom. He only saw his wife and children when they brought up his meals to the second floor, and sometimes, even then, he could not stand the sight of any of them.
He still worked, of course, developing pictures for magazines, but none of the editors ever saw his face. They all admired his work tremendously, but none of them could ever form a trace of an opinion as to what Donald Gordon was like as a man. A few of them had tried to ask his wife on some occasions, but all she ever said, in a voice almost completely devoid of any human spirit, was "No comment...no comment."
No comment indeed. Don thought that Betty had plenty of comments for Marie and Jason, and they were not good comments either. "Marie," she would always say, "put that deck of playing cards away and come set the table. And, change your clothes, for heaven's sake! No daughter of mine should traipse around the house looking like a cheap prostitute! And Jason," she would nag next, "quit watching those horror shows! They rot your brain to mush! Have you mowed the lawn yet, you lazy brat? Huh?" This would go on endlessly.
And, above all, there was her church attendance. Normally Don didn't care about a single thing that went on in Betty's life, or in the lives of Jason and Marie. However, it was starting to bother him that with every meal Betty delivered to him, she also delivered a biting sermon. He would have to do something about her soon, or drinking the drain cleaner would definitely become the lesser of two evils.
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Betty wondered what had gone so horribly wrong with her life. She had a husband, whom she had grown to hate. She had two teenage children, whom she loved dearly, but who were beginning to upset and annoy her, especially Marie. Betty thought that the only two things that had kept her sane during these fourteen execrable years were her diary, kept locked in an old trunk in the attic, and her faithful, almost fanatic, attendance at the Nipawomsett Baptist Church.
Late at night, alone in the drafty third-floor bedroom, with dim embers glowing in the fireplace, Betty lay in bed writing erratically, tears streaming down her cheeks in salty rivulets.
"Dear Diary,
I have never been a strong-willed person. I have always been eager to please, eager to love, and eager to serve others, never thinking of what advantages my service has for me. As a kid, I was the one who always baby-sat, and never my sister Dorinne. Taking care of things and people has always seemed to be my role in life, and when I married Donald David Gordon, I promised to care for him also, and any children we might have.
Why, then, do I find myself wanting to leave both Jason and Marie out on their own and divorce Don? I don't even believe in divorce; I think God intended for a husband and a wife to stay married until one, or both of them, died. Still, when a husband is abusive to you, neglects you, and spends all of his time set apart from you and your children, then what other options do you have besides divorce or living an utterly horrible married life until you die?
Marie upsets me with her desire to be a magician, and Jason upsets me with his desire, period. I swear...those kids are going to get into serious trouble if they don't watch their step. I believe practicing magic, REAL magic, is against God's law, and as for Marie, I have a funny feeling that she wants to be more than just a female David Copperfield. As for Jason, he might as well have gotten some little tart from town pregnant by now, no matter how much I harp at him about the dangerous pitfalls of lust and sex.
I don't know what I'm going to do about any of them, even though I love them dearly. Diary--I hope no one finds you and reads this--I know that I'm the one who brought both of my children into this world of pain, suffering, and evil. Perhaps I should be the one--God forgive me--to take them out of it--forever.
Betty Marie Gordon"
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Jason also lay in his bed, smiling contentedly and thinking of Victoria Morsell, his favorite actress, as he ran his fingers through his curly brown chest hair, like his father sometimes did in the red glow of the darkroom when he slept.
"She is so hot," he whispered to himself, but softly, for fear his mother might hear. "She does such a good job being the victim in my favorite Horror House movies. The scream--oh, she does a good scream. I love that. Someday, I'm gonna be in those Horror House flicks, and I'm gonna be rich, famous, and the most eligible bachelor actor in America." He grinned more broadly.
Jason's life was good. He knew how to drive, he knew how to drink, and, most importantly, he knew how to date. The girls at Nipawomsett High School, no matter how smart or how stupid they were, always seem to end up throwing themselves at his feet. He could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices, analyze it in the way they walked and moved and kissed. When you're hot, you're hot, and when you're not, you're not. Jason was definitely hot and showed no sign of burning out.
It was a grand accomplishment for a boy of fifteen.
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Marie stood on the magnificent stage of Zoltan Carnovasch's theater, surveying the empty blue-violet seats, and the still air, for what seemed the thousandth time. She loved the velvet curtains, caressed the suede chairs, and smeared her delicate fingers in the old powdered makeup cases in the back room. Marie Hortencia Gordon seemed born to be a magician, and she was well on her way to becoming one. She smiled, her white teeth gleaming from beneath her full peach lips.
Wildly, she spun around three times on the stage, letting her long platinum hair swirl around her face and her arms stretch out wide, her fingers performing the exotic dance of sleight of hand.
Then, suddenly, she stopped, and her chortling laughter faded to dying echoes, suddenly sounding desperate. Marie sighed. Something was missing in this theater and in her life, and it wasn't just an audience.
"Magic," she whispered to herself. "Mom says it's a sin. I've heard it can give me great power, but only from books in the library. What is real magic, what is it like, and who, who on this earth, can give it to me?"
Marie knelt on the stage quickly, sighed heavily again, and scratched her nails across the smooth deep wood, leaving only streaks that disappeared.
"David Copperfield," she whispered. "He's a fake. So is the Masked Magician. They only perform illusions, sleights of hand, cheap little tricks, at their heart, that fool their audience. None of them can make mountains move, or change themselves into wild animals, or raise long-decayed corpses from the dead. None of them can control the world around them, just as I can't, either.
But I want to. I don't want to be a fake, or fake any part of my magic. I want control of nature, of the world, of supernatural forces. Deep in my heart, I want POWER, for I feel so powerless around everyone else. Dad doesn't know me, Jason thinks my dreams are petty and selfish, and Mom treats me like an animal, like a frightened little child who still wets the bed. If I had power, real power, then none of them would ever dare treat me as if I had none.
All of those other magicians die, and their memory fades away, just like these streaks I made on the wood. I don't want to die or fade away. If I could only ask for one thing, out of all things in the world, it would be power. I would use it wisely, but first I must gain it.
Give me power," Marie whispered, "give me magic. You know what kind I want." She lifted up her eyes, stood up, and lifted her head high.
Back in the makeup room, at the vanity table, a man sat sobbing, one who had no reflection anymore, but still had human feelings nonetheless. He had heard Marie's words, and they broke his ghostly heart, almost to the point of casting himself into spiritual limbo. More than anything, he wished he could show this poor wretched girl what his life had been like...and why POWER, in the end, had not been worth the price.
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Of the four who lived in the Carnovasch Estate at present, one would be a murderer, one would be murdered, one would end their own life, and one, after more than a century, might have a chance to banish the evil that plagued them.
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