Carno's Successer
Part 5/7
By Selenite
During the Fourteenth Year
"Marie?" asked Jason when they were sipping Cokes at the kitchen table one spring afternoon. "Are you really gonna do it?" He looked at her curiously, mostly with a joking light in his eyes, but with a touch of concern behind them.
Marie nodded. "Yep. I've been practicing for almost a month now. In a few more weeks, I should be able to invite all the kids at school to my magic show." She casually brushed back a stray tendril from her face and smiled. "It's gonna be great."
Jason laughed. "What are you gonna do, Sis? Pull rabbits out of hats and do some overused card tricks? I hate to tell you this, but I think that high-school kids are a little too old for that."
The look in Marie's solid steel-gray eyes was cool, distant, and far-off, as if she were planning something sinister. "It's not going to be like that, Jason Gordon," she replied. "Nothing like that at all."
Jason took a long sip of his Coke, swishing it around in his mouth to ponder all its different flavors as he pondered his sister. Marie, to the untrained eye and sense of perception, looked, dressed, and acted like any other beautiful high-school girl of sixteen: confident, intelligent, compassionate, and with definite prowess in her dating relationships.
However, to Jason, something was definitely wrong with Marie. She seemed hungry for something she could never have but was desperate to get. The look in her eyes now was cunning and calculating, like the look in a crooked gambler's eyes. Jason wished he could ask her what she wanted and if he could help her obtain it, but, as he crushed his hapless Coke can, all he could manage to say was,
"You scare me, Sis. Don't do anything stupid, okay?"
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For the first time in what seemed like forever, Don felt normal again. As he swirled two pictures in the ever-caustic developing bath, he thought for a long time as to whether he should tear them into wet shreds once they were done. He glanced at his collage on the darkroom wall and stared, taking in every scrap of photograph that he had pasted into it.
There were several pictures of what seemed to be a dark and musty chapel, complete with pews, an altar, green wine glasses for taking communion, and even the family Bible of, perhaps, the former owner of his house. Combined with it were tiny photographs of an ancient-looking book with a weird crosslike symbol on the cover. There were also pictures of the brightly-lit theater: of the stage, seats, backstage makeup room, and especially the Throne of Terror.
Mixed in with these three types of torn photographs, there was a fourth: pictures of his smiling, platinum-haired, magician-aspiring daughter. Marie.
Don placed his hand over his heart.
"You want to let me go, eh?" he whispered sadly. "It's about time. You've made me into a monster, and I don't want to be one. It's about time you let me go. But tell me this: why on earth do you want Marie? She's--just a little girl. Don't take her. I want you out of me, but don't take her. Please."
Suddenly, the tray of developing bath flipped, and the chemicals splashed Don in the face, soaking into his skin and making him scream. When he had finally finished wiping his eyes with his greasy hair, he looked toward his collage wall and saw a bloody message painted there:
MARIE. GIVE HER MAGIC. GIVE HER ME.
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"Honey?" asked Betty to Marie a little later that afternoon, her voice haggard and her eyes lifeless. "It's springtime, honey. Could you please go out to the greenhouse and bring in some potted flowers for me?"
Marie hugged her mother tightly. "Yeah. Mom--what's wrong? All these years I've seen you crying, upset, angry. I know I've been getting on your nerves, and I'm sorry. I love you, Mom. Is it Dad? Why don't we just get out of here? This place has always given me the creeps, and I think we need to move. Just leave Dad here. Please."
A tear dripped down Betty's cheek. "The flowers, honey. They'll bring me peace. Please get them." She hugged Marie back.
"Okay, Mom," her daughter whispered sadly. "Okay." She made her way in the bright April sun to the greenhouse, enjoying the startling blue of the ocean surrounding them. As soon as she entered, she saw a bright orange-red geranium she thought her mother would like. Marie was just about to pick up the delicate potted plant when she saw a gleam of light in the corner.
A gardening trowel. Marie stepped into the corner of the greenhouse, brushed her hair back, and gently picked the tool up, blade side down. She walked over to the table...and saw a beautiful, dark-haired young woman potting plants methodically. Her hands patted the soil gently, and it yielded to her touch like a lover.
Marie, startled, swallowed a dry lump in her throat. "Hello?" she whispered softly.
The woman did not answer, but continued potting flowers. Suddenly, a tall, silver-gray-haired man in magician's garb stepped into the greenhouse. The woman turned to look at him. "Zoltan?" she asked, a little peeved. "What are you doing here? Did you want something?" she asked after a pause, aware that something dreadful lay in the back of her mind. "Why did you--"
The woman felt the man's finger stroke her cheek, and then his hand. The rubs were soft at first, and then more forceful. "Hortencia," the man whispered, turning her face to his. He rubbed her soft cheek harder, almost abusively.
Hortencia seemed revolted at his touch, her eyes closed and her mouth puckered in a scowl. "Zoltan," she said weakly. "Zoltan!" This second cry was sharp. "Leave me to my plants," she snapped, turning back around with a jolt.
The man picked up the trowel and fingered its point. "Yes," he purred, slipping the trowel behind his back and shoveling some soil into it. "To your plants." He turned Hortencia to face him--and--to Marie's horror--he shoved the trowel deep into her mouth.
Marie screamed, as did Hortencia, who fell to the floor weakly. The man dug soil from a large pot and shoved it into her throat a second time. "To your plants!" he cried sadistically, smiling and laughing as he buried the woman's lungs in the gardening dirt she had loved more than him. It was not long before she closed her eyes and her pulse fluttered weakly, her mouth and cheeks smeared with blood and soil.
Marie gasped, choking back her terror, as the man disappeared and the woman lay on the greenhouse floor, choking and dying. Marie quickly ran to the woman's side, kneeling beside her and taking a white handkerchief out of her breast pocket on her blouse. She wet it with water from a nearby rusty can and began to clean the blood and dirt off of Hortencia's beautiful face.
Hortencia coughed forcefully, and dirt flew out of her mouth, covering Marie. "Child..." she choked out, mucus clogging her throat and voice. "Come...here."
Marie leaned closer, holding Hortencia's head up. "Yes?" she whispered, still wiping the woman's stained face.
"If...you meet...my husband again," she said slowly, forcing the words past the spit and blood in her mouth with painful effort, "do as...he says. Listen...to him."
Marie's eyes turned cold. "If that man was your husband, Hortencia," she said savagely, "and he killed you, then I will never listen to any word he may ever say!"
"Please..." Hortencia begged, coughing again. "He wasn't...always...a monster. Listen...to him. For me."
Marie, tears streaming down her face, kissed Hortencia's forehead. "Oh, God," she whispered, "I promise. I will." The woman seemed to smile, even with her torn lips, and then she closed her eyes...and gave God her spirit.
Marie dropped Hortencia's head gently and ran out of the greenhouse sobbing, not even remembering to pick up the delicate geranium for her mother.
It was only until she was inside the house that she noticed that there was no dirt or blood anywhere on her perfectly clean body.
And, for that matter, Hortencia had disappeared, leaving only the trowel in its former place. God help anyone who dared to pick it up next.
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