Disclaimers:  Poltergeist the Legacy concept and characters belong to Trilogy et al.  Original characters belong to the author.  No copyright infringement is meant.
Spoilers:  Late Fourth Season.                                    Rating:  PG-14.

Mysterious Ways:
Truth or Consequences

© 2000, Deb Taylor

Chapter One

Santa Fe, New Mexico: 1982

As the daughter of a Legacy precept, Valerie Barton knew about evil.   But when she was twelve years old, she learned that not all evil took place at night, with thunder and lightning and rain.  The summer of 1982, she learned that evil could occur on a beautiful June day.  Her family had been in New Mexico for a year, and her older sister Melanie hoped they would be there long enough for her to attain her degree in archaeology.

It was the year after Indiana Jones first appeared in theaters, but Mel had loved archaeology ever since she was a child.  During her final year of high school, she had gone on an archaeological dig and fell in love with that aspect of it as well.  The girls' mother, Deirdre, had joked it was to be expected . . . Melanie had always found a way to get dirty as a child.  Why should Melanie the adult be any different?

Val's path was less defined.  While she had been chosen to follow her father as a precept, she still hadn't decided which path she would take in the Legacy.  She had been born into her father's secret organization, but wouldn't become an official member until she was eighteen.

There were so many things which interested Val . . . would she choose history, which her mother loved as well?  Or psychology, to mine the treasures of the mind?  Or perhaps theology?  That still fascinated her, though her godfather had disappointed her when he told her that even if she wasn't destined to become a precept, she still couldn't be a priest.

Or maybe she would choose linguistics, since she had a gift for languages.  The possibilities seemed infinite that summer to Val.  She was young, and still innocent enough to believe that despite the horrors faced by the Legacy, her parents would live forever.  Her mother was expecting her third child, at the age of thirty-seven.

So of course, Val believed her parents would live forever, that they would remain strong.  That she, and her older sister, would never be without them. What could be more life-affirming, more of an indication of the future, than a new child?  What could be more of a source for hope?  And she was so excited about having a younger brother or sister.  No longer would she be the baby.

Today, she was sitting in the library with her teacher, Rabbi Leo Herzog.  Her mother had met the rabbi several weeks earlier, while she had been at the university where she taught comparative religions, teaching a summer course.  During the course of the conversation, Deirdre Barton had learned that the young man could read ancient Hebrew.  He had just graduated from college a few weeks previously, and he was seeking a teaching job.  By the end of the day, he had one: teaching ancient Hebrew to Val.

In the first weeks of her Hebrew education, the lessons had been weekly, since Leo was still moving into his apartment.  But, at the beginning of this week, Val's mother had told her that Leo would be at the House every day for her lessons, at nine am sharp.  The girl had accepted this . . . but secretly wondered if their new guest had something to do with the change in schedule.

Before her father had left for Washington DC the previous week, he had explained that Jonathan Boyle, from San Francisco House, would be arriving.  Boyle would be observing the House, see if there were any improvements which needed to be made.  Mel told Val, "Just who does  Derek Rayne think he is?  He's only been a precept for a year, and he thinks he can tell Dad how to run his House?  I don't think so!"  Val had agreed, but wondered if maybe the new precept had actually said that.

And after only two days of Boyle's presence, Val was glad she had lessons.  She had always known that she was special . . . she had been born with abilities, and learned to control them as she became aware of them.  Val supposed that was how she knew Boyle was trouble.  There was something . . . dark about him.  Something that frightened her.  And so she gladly stayed out of his way.  Besides, she would have never admitted it to her godfather, but she had something of a crush on Rabbi Leo.

"How is she doing today, Leo?" her mother asked from the door way as Val struggled with the current lesson.  The girl focused on the words which were dancing in front of her eyes, tried to concentrate despite her restlessness.  Deirdre McCormick Barton added, "Aside from being restless, I mean."

"Mrs . . . er . . . I mean, Deirdre . . . she's doing fine.  Valerie is a twelve year old girl, and it's perfectly natural for a young girl to want to be outside on a day like today. Truth be told, I'd like to be outside myself.  But she's trying to stay focused and trying to concentrate," the young rabbi answered, a dull red flushing his cheeks.  Val felt a glow of pleasure at his words.  Leo didn't just say things he didn't mean.

"I believe that.  Well, since you're both working so hard, I asked the kitchen staff if they would mind baking some chocolate chip cookies for you.  They obliged, and the cookies are cooling in the kitchen.  The staff has been given the rest of the day off.  If my watch is correct, you have a break coming up in a few minutes," Val's mother observed.

Val snapped alert.  The kitchen staff was leaving?  The kitchen was right off the study, where most of the Legacy's meetings were held.  The girl decided to talk to Brigid, a local high school student who worked at the House during the weekends and summer vacations, during her own break.  Meanwhile, Val snuck a look at her mother.

Deirdre Barton was smiling, but Val could see strain in her mother's eyes.  Val would have never sworn in front of either of her parents, but she privately thought, damn that Boyle!  He's upsetting Mom, and that's not good for her or for the baby!  Dad's gonna be furious!

But that situation was between her father and Derek Rayne, and Valerie knew better than to interfere in 'grown-up business.'  She resolutely returned her eyes to the task at hand, but turning her mind to the translation wasn't so easy for the young girl.  Especially not now that she was so worried about her mother.

"We do indeed . . . fifteen minutes.  And if we manage to catch the kitchen staff before we leave, we'll be sure to thank them for the treat, Deirdre," the young rabbi answered. This time, Val had to smile.  While she had a crush on her  teacher, it was pretty obvious that he had a crush on her mother.  Why wouldn't he?  She was beautiful, smart, funny, and had a beautiful English accent.

"You're very welcome.  Val, love . . . don't put your head so close to the paper.  You'll hurt your eyes," Deirdre admonished and Val obediently lifted her head.  She saw her mother smile, and Deirdre Barton added, "Much better.  Working hard is fine and honorable . . . but I don't want you making yourself sick.  All right?"

Val nodded and Deirdre blew her a kiss, then left the room.  As she did, Val noted that her mother's left hand was pressed to the small of her back.  The girl murmured, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't alone, "Mom needs to sit down for a little while.  Her back is hurting."

"You're a little young to be a mother yourself, Miss Val, but there's nothing wrong with trying to take care of that lady," the rabbi answered.  Val jumped, then blushed, and Leo added with a smile, "Don't be embarrassed, Val . . . your mother is a wonderful lady, and I think it's fine that you try to take care of her.  Especially when your father isn't around."

Val just smiled, accepting the praise.  That was something else she was learning from Rabbi Leo . . . how to accept praise when it was given.  But the girl found herself wondering a bit uneasily.  What would happen if Rabbi Leo found out her beloved mother was a witch?  Would he still think she was wonderful then?

*    *    *

"When Douglas gets home," Deirdre Barton murmured to herself as she left the library behind, "I shall have a short conversation with him about Valerie's education. She works entirely too hard."  She had agreed with Douglas when he mentioned the daily lessons with the rabbi while Boyle was here.  Boyle was a fool, they had agreed on that before he had even arrived, but it wouldn't take him long enough to realize that Valerie was a special child.  But now . . .

Valerie was a special child, yes, but she was still a child.  What had they been thinking, starting her training as a Legacy precept so bloody soon? That was something which Winston Rayne had done, and look what had happened to him.  More to the point, look what had happened to his son!  If Jonathan Boyle was any indication, Deirdre knew she couldn't go to San Francisco any time soon.

And surely they could have come up with a better way to keep Valerie out of danger while Boyle was here . . . Melanie was seventeen, but would she have really begrudged her little sister a few hours at the mall each day?  Valerie tried so bloody hard to please them, not to disappoint them. Deirdre thought of her daughter, head bent over the ancient Hebrew words, and fought back tears.

She had known when she joined the Legacy, almost twenty years earlier, that her children would not have a normal life.  That they would become adults much more rapidly than their peers.  And she knew that they might suffer for Deirdre's faith, for her belief in the Goddess.  That was why she had agreed to raise them as Catholics.

And yet, it seemed that no matter what she did to protect her children, it wasn't enough.  Deirdre was terribly worried about Valerie, and about her unborn daughter.  The Legacy matron knew her unborn child was another daughter.  Just as she had known that both Melanie and Valerie were daughters.  She had cast no spells . . . she just knew.  She also knew that she wouldn't live to see her youngest daughter to grow up.

I will find a way to protect my girls, Deirdre vowed as she entered the kitchen, I don't know what will happen, but I will protect them.  I'm their mother.  And she had an idea where to start.  She had observed Brigid and Valerie talking, their heads close together.  The high school student was four years older than Valerie, but in some ways, she seemed younger than Deirdre's little girl.  And in others, she was another big sister.

Yes, she thought, that's a good place to start.  She's not Valerie's sister, so she doesn't have to worry about the embarrassment Melanie would get.  To her relief, Brigid was still cleaning up the kitchen and Deirdre asked, "Brigie, dear, do you have a moment?"  Like Deirdre, Brigid was a generation removed from Ireland.  But unlike Deirdre, who had been born in London, Brigid's parents had emigrated separately to the United States, where they met, married, and had four children.

The soon-to-be junior smiled and said, "Like, no problem, Mrs. Dr. B.  Let me guess . . . Val's getting set to take a break, and you want me to make sure Boyle-boyle-toil-and trouble leaves her alone.  Am I close?"  Deirdre wouldn't allow herself to laugh at Brigie's nickname for Jonathan Boyle . . . no, absolutely, she would NOT!

However, she did allow herself a smile as she lightly chastised the girl, "Now, Brigie, we must be tolerant of others.  No matter how much they try our patience."  The teen just snorted in disgust, sticking her finger toward her mouth.  Deirdre got the reference.  It was hard not to, between her students and her daughters.  

Brigie retorted, "Gag me with a telephone pole!  Totally!  Like, he is a complete moron!  Even my mom thinks so!"  The girl stiffened, then added in standard English, "Of course, I'll look out for Valerie, Dr. Barton.  You know I think of her as a little sister."  It didn't take a psychic to realize Jonathan Boyle had just entered the room.

She turned to face the man and asked calmly, "Yes, Jonathan, was there something you wanted to discuss?  Brigie, thank you . . . that means a lot to me. Come, Jonathan, we'll go into the study."  Without waiting for an answer, Deirdre brushed past the visiting Legacy member and walked back into the study.

"Well, wasn't that sweet . . . or should I be concerned?  Two witches in a coven," Boyle sneered.  Deirdre's blood ran cold . . . how he had found out?  She, Douglas, and Nathaniel had agreed to keep Deirdre's faith a secret from the rest of the Legacy.  Deirdre wasn't ashamed of being a witch . . . but she knew the Legacy.

She asked, "What do you mean?  I asked Brigid to make sure Valerie doesn't work too hard.  She's only twelve . . . and children need to relax."   Deirdre chose her words very carefully . . . she knew his views on raising children.  If anything could distract Boyle from her beliefs, this would.

She wasn't to be that lucky.  Boyle held up Deirdre's pentacle and snarled, "I know what this is, witch.  You've destroyed a good man, with your witchcraft.  You've probably destroyed your daughters as well.  But I'll cleanse this House.  And I'll cleanse your daughters as well.  It's a pity they have to suffer for your sins, but that's the way the world works.  They can blame you on their way to hell."

Boyle threw the pentacle to one side, swaying slightly as he did so, and Deirdre realized for the first time that he had been drinking.  She forced herself to stay calm and replied quietly, "What I believe does not make me evil.  It just makes me different.  I won't argue with you about this, Jonathan.  Valerie is due to take a break in a few minutes, and I mean to see that she gets that break."

She half-turned, but wasn't fast enough.  Boyle lunged forward and caught her arm.  He whipped her back around to face him and Deirdre cringed at the smell of alcohol.  Goddess protect her, she could still smell the liquor on his breath.  Boyle sneered, "Don't you get it yet, witch?  I'm in control now!"  He began chanting in Latin . . . evidently, he believed Deirdre would cringe from hearing him call upon his Christian god.

He would not be happy to realize that it wouldn't harm her, since she honored the Christian God, as well as the Goddess.  Deirdre began to look around carefully for possible escapes.  She was eight months pregnant, and he was a big man . . . but she knew he would harm her and her child.  It was steadily becoming more clear how things would turn out, but Deirdre was determined not to let down her family.

When he finished the chant, she merely looked at him, resisting the childish impulse to fold her arms over her chest and stick her tongue out at him.  No sense in deliberately making things worse.  His brow furrowed in confusion and he asked, more to himself than to her, "What's wrong?  I must be doing the chant wrong. It should have killed her.  Why aren't you dead, witch?  Is your pact with Satan that strong?"

Deirdre considered him.  She was Wiccan, not a Satanist, but she knew that mattered little.  At last, she said, "I have made no pact with Satan, Jonathan.  I am a child of the Creator, as you are."  His eyes hardened and he flung her away.  Deirdre cried out, in spite of herself, and threw her hands out to catch herself.  The nightmare had begun.

*    *    *

It was good to be on summer vacation.  Especially when you lived in New Mexico.  And especially when you were heading for your freshman year of college.  Melanie Rose Barton often asked her father if he had chosen New Mexico for its archaeological importance.  It was a joke, of course . . . Mel knew that the Legacy sent you where you were needed.  According to her godfather, Father Nathaniel, it was kinda like being a priest.  The Church sent you where you were needed.  Sort of.

But she had been ecstatic when she learned that they would be in New Mexico.  There was such history, so much potential!  And things could only get better.  She was seventeen, poised on what promised to be the greatest adventure of her life to date.  And as a child of the Legacy, that  was saying a lot.  Mel didn't care that she wasn't destined to be a precept.  She hated paperwork.  She would leave that to her kid sister.

Who was, at this moment, poring over ancient Hebrew.  Like, yuck!  What sane twelve year old would want to be studying on a day like today?  Then again, Mel knew that Val was in her lessons to protect her from that creep, Boyle.  Mel shuddered dramatically as she put away her nail polish. When would that jerk leave, so life could go back to normal?

As an incoming college freshman, Mel was caught between the world of children, which her younger sister still inhabited, and the world of adults.  Still, she belonged more to the adult world . . . and during the last few days, she had seen the dark side of the Legacy.  At least, Mel hoped that the arrogant, volatile Jonathan Boyle was the dark side of the Legacy.  She didn't want to think he was the good part.

Mel wiggled her toes, hoping the polish would dry faster.  She looked around her room, trying to focus on a book that would hold her attention long enough for her nail polish to dry, then grimaced.  Okay, no books which she hadn't read, or was dying to read again.  And she had promised her father that she would only read for pleasure vacation.

She glanced at her toenails again.  Well, they were already starting to dry.  It couldn't hurt if she headed downstairs to get a snack.  She would just have to be careful about the way she walked.  Mel slid off her bed and very gingerly walked across the bare wood floors.  As she slipped downstairs, she could hear Jonathan Boyle's voice. Mel's hand tightened on the banister.  This did NOT sound good.  Still . . . she crept on downstairs and inched her way toward the study.

She listened with growing horror to the conversation between the visiting Legacy member and her mother . . . how on earth had he found her mother's pentacle?  That didn't matter now.  Mel saw her mother turn to leave, and Boyle grabbed her arm.  He started chanting something in Latin . . . Mel's Latin was rusty, but she knew enough to realize he was chanting the 'Our Father.'  What, did he think it would kill her mother?

Apparently so . . . for Mel next heard the prick asking what kind of a deal her mother had struck with Satan.  Puh-leaze!  Mel knew the majority of the Legacy thought all witches were evil, but this was going a bit far.  Then again, she thought, this is Jonathan Boyle.  However, her contempt turned back to horror when she saw Jonathan Boyle shove her mother away from him.

Mel knew about abusers.  She knew that Boyle wouldn't wait to launch a second attack.  And as he strode toward her mother, Mel launched an attack of her own.  She ran toward him, screaming, "Get away from her, you bastard!"  He turned at the sound of her voice and Mel flew into him, sending him staggering back.

Mel wasn't a large girl . . . at the moment, she weighed a hundred fifteen pounds, and she stood five foot one.  But her momentum was enough to startle Boyle, and gave her mother a few precious seconds to crawl further toward safety.  Mel manuevered herself until she was clinging to Boyle's back.  And true to form, he started trying to dislodge her, snarling obscenities.  There was one other problem . . . Mel could smell the liquor on him.  The son of a bitch was drunk.

Continued

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