The Keeper's Journal

The Keeper's Journal by Deidre Dalton is Book #5 in the Collective Obsessions Saga.

 

Shannon Larkin is forced to confront demons from her past, while her daughter Angie discovers Colm Sullivan's journal in the old lighthouse keeper's cottage. The diary sheds light on the history between the Larkin and Sullivan families, but may be too late to stop the sisters of Mike Sullivan from wreaking vengeance on the Larkin family for sins and tragedies of the past...

From Chapter Nine

July 1995

Larkin City, Maine

 

SHANNON DECIDED TO CUT fresh roses to put on the dining room table that evening. She was sorry Tom had to leave so suddenly, but was confident he would be back soon to continue his work with Angie. Shannon was highly pleased by the obvious closeness developing between her daughter and Tom. He was absolutely perfect for her, not only physically, but intellectually as well. They thought the same way, were interested in the same things. Whereas Angie could be impulsive at times, Tom had the steadying hand of maturity and experience. “Just like Scott and me,” Shannon thought. “When we met, I was young and emotionally unstable. And here came Scott - mature and wise, and definitely highly sexed.”

She smiled as she walked onto the terrace. She stooped in front of one of the larger rose bushes, setting her basket and clippers down on the cobblestone walkway. She looked at the roses, parting some of the branches to get a better look at the healthiest blooms. She loved roses at the dining table. In fact, she loved them anywhere in the house. Their scent was heady, and their stark red beauty was as intense as the color of blood.

She paused in her inspection. Why in the world had she made such a comparison? That the red of the roses was like blood?  But they were, she reasoned, continuing with her inspection. The roses were the color of blood. She reached down and retrieved her garden clippers. She snipped off a few stems, placing them in her wicker basket. She felt light-headed all of a sudden. She clipped off a few more rose stems, taking a deep breath. A phrase kept pushing itself into the forefront of her thoughts, making her suddenly uneasy.

“Blood and roses,” she thought slowly. “Why am I thinking that? What is blood and roses? What does it mean? Blood. Intertwined blood. Intermingled? What is the word I’m trying to find? Nothing makes any sense.”

She clipped a few more stems, and then stopped. Her wicker basket was full of roses. She took the last stem and accidentally pricked herself with one of the thorns. She dropped the rose in the basket and stared down at her finger. There was a dot of blood forming where she punctured herself. Nothing serious. She brought her finger to her mouth and sucked gently. The bleeding stopped quickly, so she bent over to pick up the basket.

She paused, hearing footsteps on the cobblestone path. The breeze was blowing the rose branches lightly about, making a rustling sound as they moved. She glanced back toward the open French doors that led into the drawing room. She could hear voices. It sounded like Scott and Sean, talking. The soft glow from the lamps in the drawing room cast a shadow in front of the French doors on the terrace. Then she heard footsteps again, as if someone was walking on the cobblestone path nearby.

Rather than becoming frightened, Shannon was angry. She walked toward the sound of the noise, rounding a curve in the path that led further into the garden. She only went a few steps before coming to a halt in front of a rose bush planted off the path. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked at the bush. “Oh, God, not again,” she thought. “Who keeps doing this?”

The rose bush had been completely hacked down, its branches scattered on the path. It looked like someone had taken an axe to do the job - just like they had the first time. Shannon glanced down at the path to see if she could detect any footprints, but there were none. The walkway was clean.

“Who’s there?” She demanded out loud. “Come out and show yourself to me.”

The only sound was the breeze wafting through the garden. She set her jaw. She wanted the blatant vandalism put to a stop. Someone was invading the private property of the Larkin estate, and she wanted them found. She was furious.

Both Scott and Sean looked up when Shannon entered the drawing room through the French doors. Neither man could mistake the anger present on her face. Sean knew from one glance, having been close to his twin all of his life. She was absolutely livid about something. Scott could tell more by his wife’s body language - she was rigid and extremely irate.

She walked over to the two men by the sideboard. Each of them had a drink in their hand, watching her as she approached, their mouths slightly open. She set her wicker basket down on the sideboard and then poured herself a glass of wine. She took it down in one swallow.

Scott set his glass down. “Shannon, what’s wrong?”

She glared at him. “Someone has been hacking up the rose bushes again.”

“What do you mean, again?” Scott asked.

“A week ago Shannon went out into the garden and found one of the rose bushes destroyed,” Sean explained.

“The rose bush I just found was fine earlier,” Shannon snapped, pouring herself another glass of wine. “I watered the garden this morning. Everything was in order then.”

Scott glanced at Sean. “Do you have any idea who is doing this?”

Sean shook his head. “No. Whoever it is, they appear to be using a rather sharp axe. The cuts are clean. I just don’t get it. I can’t figure who’d want to do something like this. I’m sure it’s not one of the kids. It can’t be a maid, either, Shannon, if the rose bush was in one piece this morning. The maids left yesterday.”

Shannon sat down on a divan nearby, her wine glass in hand. “I know. That’s why it’s making me so damned mad. Someone is doing this deliberately.”

Scott looked puzzled. “But who else is there? Who could be so viciously destructive?”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. “I’m going to go and take a look. I’ll clear up the mess after dinner, Shan. Maybe I should look into a sensor alarm system for the rose garden on Monday. Do you think?”

“Yes,” Shannon replied, sipping her wine. She was still irritated. “I’ll even pay for it. I put too much work into the garden to just let some wing nut come in and hack the bushes down one by one.”

Scott agreed. “We should have some sort of alarm outside of the house, anyway. I’ll go with Sean on Monday and we’ll find something.” He looked at Sean. “Let’s go and take a look in the garden.”

Sean nodded, making his way toward the French doors. Scott paused to give his wife a kiss on the cheek. “It’s okay, kitten. We’ll put a stop to this, one way or another.”

She had calmed somewhat. “Thank you,” she said, touching his hand. “You go ahead with Sean. I’m going to go check on dinner, and put the roses on the table.”

Scott left the room by the French doors, but Shannon remained seated on the divan. The incident in the rose garden irritated her, but she was also disturbed by the thoughts that ran through her mind while she was alone in the garden. They came to her from nowhere. Blood and roses? She thought hard for several minutes, staring into the contents of her wine glass. Gradually, her face began to pale, as if the blood was draining from her face one drop at a time. Her eyes grew wide with fear. Her skin started to tingle, and it was decidedly not a pleasant tingle. It was very unpleasant. Images flashed in her mind, past remnants coming forward from where they had been hidden for so many years. It held her mobilized, the wine glass still in her hand. She stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed. The eerie wisps kept slamming through her, almost making her sick to her stomach. It was as if the sensations were taking her to a different place, and her physical presence on the divan in the drawing room almost seemed secondary. She felt like she was looking at herself from some other location, desperately wanting to get back. But her thoughts were holding her, and even though she tried to will herself to shake the mood, she was unable.

Her eyes travelled to the portrait of Molly Larkin, to the left of the cold fireplace. Molly stared out from the gold frame holding her image, riding crop in hand as she sat on a large rock, the lighthouse in the background. Shannon’s eyes grew unfocussed as she started at the picture of her ancestor. Through the blur of her own making, Shannon felt as if Molly was staring at her from behind muted light. She looked angry, her dark eyes hatefully furious.

“Destiny,” Molly hissed through clenched teeth. She was a portrait after all. How could her lips be moving? And then Shannon saw Mike, coming from behind Molly in the portrait, young and handsome but with a look of pure evil on his face. He was angry, too. But why? Molly and Mike functioned in the same frame, seemingly unaware of each other. Shannon felt pressure building in her head, as if her brain was about to explode.

“This isn’t happening,” she thought hazily. “It can’t be. Have I lost my mind?”

Then Mike began to fade from Molly’s portrait, retreating behind her toward the lighthouse. He looked over his shoulder at her, laughing and calling her name.

“Shannon,” he entreated. “Don’t forget our destiny. It’s all about the blood, and the roses…”

Blood and roses. They had been destined from the start. Their destiny was bound to stay on its course. They were tied together by blood. And roses? The past was the past, but nothing in the future could change the events of history. It was a spiraling nightmare that was speeding out of control, and Shannon could not find the brakes. Mike always had the last word, and she felt a flash of anger in her dream-like state. That damned letter. He was like a moth to the light, forever trying to get to the radiance even though it would kill him when he finally got close enough. But he knew that all along, too, and it didn’t stop him. He kept pushing and pushing, never giving up. And he had reason not to surrender, she told herself stubbornly, because he knew the truth of what tied them together. She tried to bury it with him, but he never let her do so. He was always there, reminding her, whether he was dead or alive.

She shook her head, coming out of her reverie. She finished the wine in her glass and set it down on the coffee table. She closed her eyes, Mike’s letter flashing in her mind. She recalled the end part of the letter, word for word, as he had written it:

I cannot apologize for what I have done. I just can't help it. I would do it over and over again if I could. But, like I said, if you are reading this, I am in a place where I cannot get to you. At least, not yet. It seems like when my eyes are closed, I still see you. When I'm wide awake, I still dream about you. It never changes...

“And is never forgotten,” Shannon whispered to herself on the divan.

She heard Sean and Scott walking on the terrace. They were coming back into the house. She quickly stood up and went over to the sideboard, refilling her wine glass. She felt a bit weak, physically, but she could sense the color coming back into her face. Blood was returning to her face. The intertwined blood. Sipping more wine, she returned to the divan, sitting back down.

When Scott and Sean entered the drawing room, Shannon was reclining on the divan, watching them as they approached.

“Did you see the rose bush?” she asked them.

“Yes,” Scott replied, going over to the sideboard. “Whoever is doing this knows how to handle an axe. Those cuts were clean, like they were aimed from an angle. There is not a jagged, rough cut on any of the branches.”

“I’ll clear it up after dinner,” Sean told his sister. “We’ll get a sensor alarm installed as soon as we can.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Sean. I appreciate it.”

Shannon watched her husband and brother from under her lashes as they refilled their glasses at the sideboard. She felt almost fully recovered from her mental confusion. She convinced herself that was all it was - temporary mental confusion. There had been too much talk of Mike Sullivan in the last few days, and it was getting to her whether she liked it or not. Tom and Angie had very little left to investigate, so the dredging up of the past should be over in a few days.

“Thank God,” she thought to herself. “Angie can have her story and we can all get back to normal. Maybe after this, we’ll never have to mention Mike’s name again. Perhaps it’s time I stopped the yearly visit to his grave, too. I’ll tackle that issue with Linda next year. I don’t want to go to his grave anymore. I’ve had enough. Besides, Mike is long dead. There is nothing left in this world he can do to me. It’s over.”

                She felt a chill go up her spine. It might be over, she concluded, sipping her wine again. But it was not forgotten.