Chapter Thirty
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Chapter Thirty |
Jack stumbled and fell onto a
flat warm surface, his cheek pushing against its somehow familiar caress. The
grit of sand grains bit into his cheek, but the discomfort was welcome. The
physical pain of it was so much different from the ache in his heart. He felt
it come to life beneath him. It was the first time he’d been out of his cabin
in days. The sun seared his eyes, his body was weak, but something beckoned. Calling
every day, until finally, finally he summoned up enough strength to face it
head on.
The dreams. The dreams
compelled him to come. The dreams of the angels and of Hannah.
Time for thinking. For
dreaming. For wondering. The dreams were interspersed with screaming nightmares
at times, the days filled with delirium. The never-ending confusion and
illness, the bouts of insanity and the caving in of the walls of his mind were
pushing him from the brink of reality to the fiery edges of hell and back again
to the gossamer silkiness of heaven. Each took their toll on his body and his
sanity.
He couldn’t remember. There was
something important he couldn’t remember.
Cursed.
He was convinced of it.
Sometimes he dreamed of an
angel sweeping through the rotting corridors of his mind and unlatching the
door to his remembrance. He thought of her often, this angel, for she looked so
much like Hannah, but she wasn’t Hannah. She was someone else. And he prayed
for her to come to him during the day, when he could touch her, speak to her.
But it wouldn’t happen, he
knew. He had stopped believing in angels long ago.
Earlier, while lying on his
bedstead, he had turned a weary face toward the ceiling.
If only there were angels, he thought. He would have
something to look forward to when he died, beautiful angels to rest his eyes upon,
for him to believe in, to take him home to God. If only there was an angel to
take him home to Hannah.
Then he had risen off the
bedstead, as if hands were guiding him.
Soft hands. And he felt them
lift at the bar that locked all his memories away in his mind. The unlocked door
swung open with a creak that nearly severed his eardrums. The hands pushed
him…pushed him out the door.
It was then he fell upon the
stone.
Hannah whispered in his ear. A
cold rain fell around him. Jack woke to find the side of his face lying in a
growing puddle of water.
Water.
It fell over him in rivulets,
awakening him to a gray dawn. His tongue reached out and lapped at the liquid. Water.
He’d not had water in…
Frantically, he wrenched his
body off the ground and knelt before the growing pool within the stone,
scooping his palms full of the life-giving nourishment and drinking to his
heart’s content. Then when he had drunk his fill, he splashed it over his head
and face, his arms and neck.
Water.
His eyes opened fully to look
at the heavens in thanksgiving, rain streaming down in his face, his arms
outstretched as if they could embrace the gift God had just given him, for it
may very well have been his life.
It was as if he’d just wakened
from a thousand years sleep.
And then he heard Hannah’s
whispers, again.
Find her, she said. Find
her and believe in her. For she is me, and I am her. She loves you. Needs you.
I was a fool, Jack. For us.
For our souls. Find her…
As he rose in the midst of the
steady shower, the pool of water disappeared, the rain stopped. He reached out
to trace the strange carvings in the stone’s face, a stubborn remembrance
jostling in his mind. Mesmerized by its power, he could not tear his gaze away.
He knew this stone! Somehow, it held the key. Somehow, the stone would answer
all his questions. And as he looked, it turned glassy and shiny, a mirror
reflecting his image back to him, and he didn’t like what he saw.
Disheveled, haggard and drawn
features stared back at him. Like skin stretched taut over a skull.
A skull?
Like rippling waves in a clear
pool of water, his image vanished, replaced by a beautiful face.
Golden tresses. Sea green eyes.
Her face. Hannah. Then
suddenly, as she too faded into the stone, every image he’d ever tried to grasp
the past few days, weeks, months, came rushing out at him in the mirror of
stone.
He kissed her forehead and
for an instant, she nuzzled him a little closer. Her hand applied a subtle
pressure on his stomach; a contented sigh escaped her lips. He held her, and as
he listened once more, he heard nothing. Not the ocean’s roar, not even a
heartbeat.
Nothing.
Her body gently relaxed
against him. Her breathing halted. The beating of her pulse stopped. And he
cried…
Jack tore his gaze away from
the mirror and cried out, his terror raping the sands. But he could not look
away. He had to look again.
Her eyes flashed open
beneath him.
Who are you?
I am your lifeblood.
Oh God, we’re going to make
love.
No, we are making love.
I’m a part of you. You’re a
part of me.
His chest heaved; his heart
started beating again. He was beginning to remember.
Hannah!
He reached out to her. She
turned and looked down at him.
Trust me, Hannah.
Trust me.
She jumped into his arms.
Then it was ripped away,
another memory replaced it.
So you are a whore, then?
No, Jack. I’m not a whore.
Then you are married.
No.
And another came crashing back…
He crushed her into his
body, arms wrapped around her waist, he breathed long and hard, whispering her
name over and over again.
The images came and went so
quickly, ripped in and out of his remembrance like a…like a…
The dunes sped past him. The
houses, the trees. And he looked over at her. At her. Hannah. Claire. Hannah
Claire.
Claire?
His heart raced. His pulse
pounded. His chest felt about to burst. He remembered. He remembered!
She stepped back out of the
moonglow. He was reaching, reaching out to her.
Jack!
She screamed for him, her
fingers plunged into the beam of light splaying over the stone. He stretched
toward her, stretched his fingers as far as they would go. Then the lights
enveloped him and he could do no more than scream as he faded away.
I will come back, Jack. I
will find you…
Claire?
“Claire!”
Her name bounced off the
desolate sands and back into his heart, the memories ripping his chest apart
like tiny shards of glass crashing against the stone at his feet.
He had to find her. He had to
find Claire.
****
She dressed in a chemise,
skirt, and corset that had belonged to Hannah. She grasped her backpack,
rechecking its few contents, which included photographs of her and Vicki, and
one of her parents standing in front of the farmhouse. She also packed a few
things for the baby: clothing, cloth diapers, bottles, powder, lotion, and
several bars of a mild soap with which to bathe him.
She had no misgivings about
taking these things, for she would truly need them to care for him. She had no
idea what she would encounter back in Jack’s century. She’d just have to be
extra careful no one but Jack ever saw them. If she was very careful, they
might stay good for quite a long time, even if she had another child.
She bundled Jackson in the baby
front pack she’d strapped to her body, padding the bottom with several layers
of diapers, making a firm base for his bottom. Then she reached to the bed and
lifted the cup into her hands.
“Here,” Jeremiah stepped into
the room and thrust the western duster at her. “Vicki says I don’t need this,
and you never know. It may come in handy. And with it on and the baby like
that, no one will ever know he’s there.”
Smiling, she reached out and
took the duster and then stepped closer to Jeremiah and placed a kiss on his
cheek. “Thanks.” As she wiped a lingering hint of lipstick away, she looked him
square in the eyes. “For everything. You know I love you for it.”
He grinned back. “You know I
feel the same.”
“Take care of the farm, you
two.” She glanced back and forth between them. “I have no idea of its mystery
or why Mama wanted it safe, but I know you will make sure it remains so.”
Vicki hugged her. “You have our
word, Claire.”
She looked to Jeremiah. “You
don’t mind if I borrow her, do you?”
He shook his head. “I’ll stay
here with Kari, if you don’t mind. She’s sleeping so soundly.”
She left him with a lingering
smile. She owed this man so much. Donning the duster, she slipped the cup deep
into an inside pocket. After throwing the backpack over her shoulder, she then
turned to Vicki. “I’m ready.”
They stole across the beach
into the dark night, holding hands like children, the bond strong. So strong,
in fact, either would do anything for the other. The past few months had proven
that. The future would prove it even more.
Golden ridges of lightning
streaked through the dark sky around them.
Eyes clenched, Claire could see
them through the backs of her eyelids. A few cold, stinging beads of rain
battered her shoulders. She opened her eyes and looked at Vicki. “It’s going to
storm,” she whispered.
“Yes.” She nodded,
understanding. She squeezed Claire’s hand tighter.
They would be safe. As soon as
she and Jackson could get across, they would be safe. As long as Rick didn’t
follow.
Around them, a sudden maelstrom
of rain and water blew hither and yon in the darkened night. Wind fierce and
strong tugged and pushed at them from all sides.
A storm.
Jackson screamed out. Quickly,
she looked to her child and cooed, drawing the duster up around him, snug and
tight, trying to protect him from the storm, patting his bottom until he
quieted. They would soon be to the lighthouse. Suddenly, they stood ankle deep
in water. She watched it swirl and pool around her feet…
A high tide. Unusually
high.
She searched through the
cloud-filled night, trying to find…trying to see if the moon was still full. Surely,
it was. Oh God, don’t play tricks on me. And then suddenly, as the rushing wind
blew a dark storm cloud away, she saw it, for only a split second, the moon,
round and full and yellow, sitting just above the horizon.
A full moon. A blue moon.
With her hair streaking down
her face in wet tendrils, she grasped her bundle to her chest and clutched
Vicki’s arm. Both ran into the dark night toward the lighthouse. The wind
swirled around her, white caps of the ocean’s waves crested in the peak of the
storm, the tide curled around her ankles, rain pelted her body, and she prayed.
Prayed with all her might for
only one thing, that she’d pass through the portal safely and find Jack. Had to
find Jack. Oh, God. Why had she ever left him? Her mother would have
understood, wouldn’t she? Why hadn’t she gone back with Jack in the first
place? But that was all in the past. And she’d had so much to learn, to
understand. Perhaps that was even the plan.
Or the curse. She wasn’t sure
which.
But now was the right time, and
all she had to do was concentrate on her future.
Their future. She trusted Jack
would be waiting on the other side. She refused to think any differently and
didn’t want to ponder any other scenarios.
They entered in silence, the
protection of the lighthouse quieting the storm. Their hushed whispers broke
the interior calm, the storm raged on the outside. Claire led Vicki across the
circular floor to the crack over the stone. She’d told her about it a thousand
times, and now, they stood looking at it.
And the tears came to Claire’s
eyes.
Even in the dark, she could
see.
Gone was the gaping hole over
the stone. Bricked up. Gone.
Shocked, she stood shaking her
head from side to side, the tears falling like hot steaming pellets of rain. “No,”
she sobbed. “This can’t be happening.” Thoughts of all the months since she’d
been here raced through her mind.
The renovation. The
construction.
Why had she not realized? Why
had she not thought to check earlier? Why did this have to happen to her now?
“What are you going to do?” Vicki’s
soft question came at her and Claire knew. She knew what to do.
“Go get a lantern. Hammers. Crowbars.
Mallets. Anything you can find,” she said quickly. “There’s a small shed at the
back of the house. I don’t know what’s in there, but surely there has to be
something…something. Get Jeremiah. You stay with Kari.”
Vicki ran.
Claire turned to the stone
embedded into the foundation of the lighthouse and stared at the bricks mounted
above it. No way could she stand in the center of the stone, reach its energy
source, with the bricks in place. Reaching, she touched the mortar between the
bricks, tracing the outline of several. The mortar came off easily in her
fingernails. New, fresh mortar. Jackson whimpered at her breast, and she laid a
tender hand on his back. “It will be okay, baby, it will be okay.”
“Have you taken to talking to
yourself while in seclusion these past few months, Claire?”
An icy shiver seized her. She
didn’t have to turn around to see who it was; she knew the body attached to
that voice very well. How could she have been so stupid to let herself fall
into this trap?
Had Rick closed the gap?
Obviously.
When she turned around, she
didn’t see him, so she waited. Finally, he stepped out of the shadows from
beneath the circular staircase. Drawing her coat around her to conceal her
precious cargo, she could only stand there, the picture of utter defeat. On the
outside, at least. On the inside she would fight to the death to keep the
chalice and return to Jack. He could care less if she crossed over; he only
wanted the damned cup. And then panic seized her once more. Somehow she had to
keep him from crossing over after her.
“I don’t have what you want,
Rick. I…I sold it months ago. I needed the money.”
“Like hell you did, I’ve been
watching you. Where’s the baby? Where’s my child?”
If she ever thought fear had
embraced her before, she was wrong.
Dread like nothing she had ever
experienced severed her soul. It had never dawned on her that Rick would claim
this child as his own.
Terror burst through her. “My child, Rick. The child is mine, and
Jack’s. You never even came close to giving me something so precious. You never
wanted to.”
Stall, Claire. That’s right, stall him. Jeremiah is coming. Keep him
talking.
“That’s ridiculous, Claire,”
his voice came to her, sultry and seductive, as if he were trying to convince
her of his frankness. “I want you and my child.”
A short huff escaped her and
she sneered. “You’ve just been waiting to make your move, haven’t you?”
“I’m not stupid.” He stepped
closer.
“You are not the father of my
child.”
“Where is the child? You’re
taking it back with you, aren’t you?”
“And why shouldn’t I? His
father is waiting for us on the other side.”
“His father is right here,
Claire. I want the child. If you want to go back and live like a dirt farmer,
then that’s your business, but my child stays with me.”
She struggled against her
rising panic.
Keep him away. Keep him away from the baby.
Rick drew closer, and she
stepped back, away from him, her backbone pressed flat against the lighthouse
wall. “Stay away from me, Rick. You’ll not get my child or the cup.”
He faced her, reached out, his
fingers curled around the placket of her duster. She clutched the opening
closed and jerked away. His eyes met hers, fury and rage boiling within.
“You don’t want a child, Rick,”
she spat out. “A child is too much responsibility for you. You’re a free
spirit, remember? You want adventure, parties, and riches. You don’t want a
child.”
He laughed then, and an icy
chill flooded her entire blood stream, her heart pumping the frigid mass
throughout her body. She yanked away. He grasped at her again and then ripped
the duster open to reveal her tiny son nuzzling into her breast.
Rick grinned sardonically.
And gently touched the child’s
head.
“Don’t,” Claire whimpered and
twisted away. “Don’t do this to me, Rick. You can have whatever you want from
me, the farm, the chalice…anything. Just leave me and my baby alone.”
When she saw the look of
triumph wash over his face, she knew she had lost. That he had tricked her once
more. And that he had gotten what he set out to do. She could hardly stand to
look into his face.
Jack. Oh God. If you’re out
there, I need you.
I need you now.
****
Her name bounced off dune and
sea, escaping into the clouds, riding the wind into oblivion. The remembrance
raced over him. The mirror faded. Clutching it, grasping at the images,
screaming at them to come back, he pounded the stone until his hands were beat
near to a bloody pulp. Then dejectedly, he rose, frantically rose and looked
around him as if he hadn’t seen anything in months.
He remembered. He remembered it
all.
The stone. Blackbeard. Rick.
Claire.
Loving her. Loving Hannah.
Loving Claire.
He remembered.
But she had sent him back. Claire
had pushed him back through time. Let him go back alone. Why?
“Why…?”
I have to do this to save
you. For our child. For love. It is the right thing. I will be back.
His agonized scream tore
through the stillness. He shook his head. He didn’t know why, but he’d be
damned to eternal hell if he’d wait around any longer to find out. Swinging
back around to the stone, he looked at it, wondering if its powers would be
able to take him back to her. He would go, of that he was certain. He would
find her. He needed to know when the portal would be open again. He wanted, no
needed, answers now.
I need you, Claire, now.
And that was when he stepped on
the stone.
Immediately, it possessed him,
pulsing red with fire. A high-pitched hum rent his ears. The vibrations seized
his soul. And he heard her. He heard Claire’s clear voice directly before the
light took him and hurled his body and soul through time to find her.
Jack. Oh God. If you’re out
there, I need you. I need you now.
****
Thunder rolled and echoed
throughout the lighthouse. A piercing shaft of lightning illuminated the
interior. And a strange hum enveloped both Claire and Rick as they stood facing
each other.
“Give me the child, Claire.” Rick
crowded up against her, ignoring the happenings around them, his hands
searching inside the duster to grasp the child.
“No.” She sobbed and pushed at
him, vaguely aware something was wrong, something was changing.
“Then give me the cup.”
A low-pitched hum filled the
air.
“Not my baby. Get back, and I’ll
get the cup. You can have it. I’ll talk to Vicki. You can even have the farm.”
Rick laughed and let his hands
slide down the sides of her breasts and clasped her waist, forcing her up
closer. He leaned into her and whispered mockingly, his breath hot and foul
against her mouth. “I’ll have the chalice, my dear Claire. I’ll have the child
if I want, and the farm. And before I leave, I’ll have you one more time.”
His hand moved down to her
thigh. She kicked and pushed.
Time to pull out her ace in the hole. Now, Claire.
She pulled Blackbeard’s Chalice
out of her pocket and shoved it toward him. “Here! Take it! Just leave us
alone!”
He paused. Looking at the thing
that had cursed her and Jack’s love. It glinted and sparked with the
intermittent flashes of lightening. His hungry eyes took in the precious
artifact and he drooled at the sight of it again.
He reached.
She pushed.
He grasped the edge of the silver-plated
cup.
She tugged back.
He cackled and his eyes shone
yellow in the night and smoke curled around his head.
“No!” She wanted it back. Couldn’t
let him have it.
Do what you have to do, Claire.
His hands curled around the
slim column of her neck and bit into her flesh. “Let it go, pigeon. Or your
baby won’t soon have a mother.”
Need air. Can’t breathe. Dizzy.
Lightning struck and thunder
simultaneously boomed throughout the lighthouse. Behind Rick, she saw a flash
of silver-gray slice through the night, and immediately, his fingers released
his hold on her and he crumbled to the ground.
She gasped for air.
“Are you all right?”
Jeremiah. A mallet in his
hands. Rick on the floor.
He clasped her to him and she
sobbed. “Thank you,” she said into his chest. “Is he dead?”
“No. But I’ll make sure he
doesn’t go anywhere for a few days. Go. You go now.”
She nodded.
The deafening hum was already
growing around them.
“Take care of you,” she said. “And
your family.” Taking a few backward steps, she threw him a kiss to say goodbye.
“Tell Vicki I love her.”
Jeremiah slipped into the
shadows, dragging Rick with him.
Thunder crashed into the
structure and the winds whipped. She turned back. “Run, Jeremiah!”
The pulse had started, low and
steady, rotating inside the tall cylinder. Suddenly, a roar engulfed the
quaking structure, a crimson pulsating beam lit up the night, and a thousand
points of light swirled inside, bouncing off the spherical walls, blinding
them. An explosion ripped through the core of the structure and bricks burst
forth from over the stone, raining down around them.
The storm and mystical powers
collided, and Claire wasn’t sure where Mother Nature began and the stone’s
power ended.
She sheltered Jackson from the
lights and the sound and the flying bricks and mortar. She leaned into the
lighthouse wall, ready to take her step onto the stone.
Then in a halo of bright light,
she saw him. Strong, handsome, healthy, his dark hair flowing in the night
breeze wafting in from the gaping hole, a red haze filtering around him.
Jack.
Oh, God. It’s been so long.
He held out his hand, and she
stepped forward.
Who are you?
I am your lifeblood.
Do you still love me?
You’re a part of me. I am a
part of you.
Who am I?
Claire. You are my Claire.
And you are my husband.
My spirit mate.
My life.
With a flash of light, she
sighed and grasped his hand, tears stinging her eyes. She held their son close
to her breast and stepped on the stone—ready to return to her home by the sea. With
Jack. Blackbeard’s chalice dangled from her fingertips as they slipped back
through time.
Outside, the winds shrouded the
lighthouse until it shook. The storm ravaged the island, ripping the lighthouse
from its foundation, and then silenced. The high tide receded, sucking the
remnants of the structure into the sea. Midnight struck and the blue moon
passed into a new month.
As Jack and Claire stepped from
the stone in the eighteenth century, the chalice slipped from her fingers—swallowed
into the dune, the cup and curse buried, along with the magic stone and the
shifting sands.
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