Читать книгу Haunting at Remington House - Laura V. Keegan - Страница 11

Tom grabbed a cold beer from the kitchen and snagged the kitten from his blanket in front of the fire. He deposited the kitten on the couch and opened the front door. Bracing himself against the rain and wind, he opened and secured the terrace window shutters to the house so he could watch the storm. He built a small fire in the living room and waited for the full fury of the storm to hit. Sipping from the green, heavy-glass bottle, he listened, transfixed, to the wind howling across the rocky cliffs far below. Pounding torrents of rain, driven by gale force winds, hammered the house. Huge waves crashed onto the beach with immense power, sending spray high into the air.

A bolt of lightning struck a tree not fifty feet away. Tom leapt back, almost falling. Son of a bitch! That was close. It was time to shutter the windows again. But the wind was blowing so hard and the rain pouring so forcefully, Tom decided against going out and wrestling with the living room shutters. Picking the sleeping kitten up from the couch, he retreated to the safety of the kitchen.

Tom warmed himself before the kitchen fireplace, drank another beer. “A hot shower might relax me. Maybe the storm will be over by the time I’m out.” The kitten opened one eye, curled into a ball and dismissed Tom with a flick of his fluffy tail.

Though the storm had lessened somewhat when Tom came back downstairs, the thunder still rumbled, and the rain continued beating against the windows. Opening another beer, he carried it to the living room. As he stared vacantly into the fire, a horrible sense of despondency settled over him. He was alone—for the first time in his life—utterly alone.

“Well, Tom,” he said out loud, “are you going to sit here feeling sorry for yourself?” He downed half of his beer, got up and began pacing the floor. He saw his reflection in the storm darkened, living room window. “You look pathetic.” He took another drink. “Man, get over her. Elise is dead. Dead and buried. Dead and gone. Dead, as in pushing up daisies. Dead as a doornail. Dead. Dead. Dead!” He swigged his beer. “Need I say more? Thought not,” he chuckled, toasting his reflection with his beer.

“She drove you crazy. Remember? It was a hell of a lousy time. The worst you could conceivably experience. And man, you can’t go there again. No more loony bins for you. Face the music, move on. Right?” He argued with himself, alternately angry, then sad.

Tom knew it to be undeniably true. Elise was dead . . . but . . . a part of him was unwilling, perhaps unable, to let her go, to truly believe her gone forever. “How do I let her go?” Finishing his beer, he hurled the empty bottle into the fireplace relishing the splintering of glass, the hiss of liquid hitting the hot coals. He stared searchingly into the flames.

Crossing to the bar, he poured himself a shot of vodka from the crystal decanter. Tom turned back to his reflection in the darkened window, watched himself down his drink in one swallow. He spoke to his mirrored image, “You have to deal with the truth if you’re ever going to get over her.” He pointed his finger at his reflection. “It has to come to this, of course—this sad realization. Your love for Elise became your obsession. You wanted to possess her, she wouldn’t let you. You broke her spirit, held her soul hostage and made her hate you. You wouldn’t—couldn’t— let her go. She was your heart. Your soul. You were afraid of losing her.

“When you realized she no longer could love you, you killed her—as if by your own, bare hands. You snuffed the life out of her, took away her will to go on living. That’s what you did. How can you ever forgive yourself?” He turned from his haunting image, got another drink.

He whispered into the empty room, “Elise—my only love—you hated me so much you would rather die than stay with me. I did that to you. You took your own life—but the blood is on my hands. That is what I have to live with.” Tom dropped onto the edge of the couch and stared at the floor. “Forgive me.” A brilliant bolt of lightning lit the dark room, followed by a rumbling of thunder that shook the walls and the floor. Tom did not notice.