Ashes of Another Life (13 page)

Then she noticed something that puzzled her. Two of the photos had changed. She was certain they’d been different just moments ago.

In the most recent photo, taken not more than eighteen months back, a scribbled “X” occupied the spot where Tara Jane’s face used to be. She was barely recognizable as a person, but she knew (from looking at the photo before) that the face hidden beneath the big, black “X” was her own. The one beside it was the same. Taken four years prior, the face of a younger, much more innocent Tara Jane was lost beneath a menacing “X.”

A voice whispered around her, as if floating on a breeze. She froze. An icy bead of sweat paused halfway down her spine. She took a deep breath and focused, trying to hear the words.

A floorboard creaked down the hall, then another. The sound of distant weeping wafted through the front door, carried from far off. Inside the house, there was the sound of shallow breath whistling in and out of charred lungs. “Help me, sister.”

She stifled the fit of manic sobs that wanted to burst from her chest. She dug her fingernails into her palms.

If this is a dream, I want to wake up now.

The voice returned, accompanied by another. “Help us,” the tiny voices said. The words filled her eardrums, blocking out all other sounds as if funneled straight into her head. The air, the walls, the house itself seemed to shudder as a little boy and a little girl begged, “Help us, sister. Please help us.”

Her pulse quickened. The walls rattled slightly with each thump of her heart as if she were connected to this place, like the house itself was a part of her, a biological extension. She knew better, though. It was the other way around.
She
was a part of
it.
It hungered to be whole again.

Just a dream, just a dream
, she repeated in her mind. She couldn’t escape the fear that she had died and this place was her eternal prison.

She heard the crackling of the fire before she smelled the smoke. It curled into the room from the hallway. Thick and gray, it reached the far wall in a heartbeat, swirling into every corner.

A clock near the photos chimed 8 times, and every off-key note sounded even more sour than the last. Each slow torturous stroke of the hour was like a fresh punch to the gut, for Tara Jane recognized the time. 8 o’clock. It was time for nightly prayers.

A creak echoed from down the hall, then the sound of shuffling feet on ashy floorboards. She backed away as her family filed into the living room, one by one. Her toes curled, anxious to run, but she couldn’t. Not because her body wouldn’t allow it, but because she had nowhere to go.

They shuffled in on pencil-thin legs. Huge portions of roasted flesh showed through the torched rags of their clothing, and for the first time since arriving, she was thankful for the shadowy gloom. She would never grow accustomed to seeing them this way—blistered faces, hair singed to the scalp. Even if she were forced to spend eternity here, she’d never stop detesting their gore.

A slow procession of corpses packed the room as Tara Jane backed into a corner. No one looked at her. No one so much as glanced her way. Their empty sockets and melted eyes held no trace of acknowledgment.

They took their positions in the prayer circle, locking hands in a standing position. Some of the furniture had been reduced to what looked like coal dust, but she knew they would have remained standing anyway. Everyone stood until Father said otherwise. That had always been the way.

All at once, they hung their heads solemnly and waited, though for what she didn’t know. Curiosity burned like fire through her veins, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing.

Nightly prayers hadn’t always been dreadful. She bit her quivering lip. On most nights, when no one’s behavior needed correction, they would sit and chat together, and those moments had been pleasant, even warm. But there were other nights when Father had reminded them of what it meant to be God-fearing people. That’s what permeated the atmosphere in this ghostly home, choking everything in sickly smoke and swirling ashes—the sadness of a family torn by duty, a well of sorrow like no other, a hellish trap where once had been love.

She spotted Jackson and Susie at the edge of the circle, heads bowed, and she was thankful not to glimpse their ruined faces. It always seemed they kept to the edge of the sullen, resurrected family, most of whom stared blankly ahead with a dazed look of absolute surrender, like Father’s mindless puppets.

She had loved them once, each of them in their own way, and it pained her to imagine their final moments and, even worse, their eternal unrest. Fond memories pulled at her from one direction. Fear pulled from the other. She dug her fingernails into her palms again, but this time she wasn’t trying to wake up. Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles had no color.

She looked away from the scorched remains of her loved ones and caught a glimpse of herself in the oval mirror on the wall. Heat had cracked its surface and warped it around the edges, but she saw herself reflected in its fragmented pieces. She hadn’t realized it until now, but in this place, her hair was how it used to be—untouched by scissors in all its years. Tight braids were gathered at the back of her head, and she frowned, feeling the weight of them.

She stared at herself. She wondered if anything had really changed in the twelve months since she’d left Sweet Springs. People in her new life said she was “strong” and a “survivor,” but in her reflection she saw only the face of the scared little girl she’d always been.

Father appeared in the doorway behind her. Resentment wrinkled his putrid face, reflected a dozen times in the broken mirror. He wasn’t aflame, but wisps of smoke rose from his clothing and red hot embers fluttered through the air as he pointed an accusatory finger in Tara Jane’s direction. She jumped and spun around.

“I tried to save you, but you are hopeless. Just like your mother.”

Seeing her father without his fiery veil, she found herself wishing the flames would return. At least then she wouldn’t feel trapped in his cold, dead stare. She wouldn’t have to try to ignore the way his melted lips caused one half of his face to grin despite his rage-filled expression.

He lowered his hand and swaggered to the center of the group. No one but Father locked eyes on Tara Jane. All heads remained dutifully bowed. Father’s stare never wavered, his unblinking eyes challenging her to speak against him.

Though he whispered his next words, his voice echoed around her, so much deeper than before and more depraved. “You’re not one of us, Tara Jane. It’s time to let you go.”

He stepped back and took the hands of his two eldest wives, completing the macabre family circle. He finally broke his stare with Tara Jane, bowed his head and led the prayer:

Vessel of Satan,

evil unto death,

Apostate,

birthed in dishonor,

Thou art banished to a place

where the worm dieth not

and the fire cleanses thee,

never quenched.

Everyone repeated. Everyone but Tara Jane.

Vessel of Satan,

evil unto death,

Apostate,

birthed in dishonor,

Thou art banished to a place

where the worm dieth not

and the fire cleanses thee,

never quenched.

A sizzling heat rose as the floor erupted in flames. The fire lapped at her shoes. It melted the soles and sought her toes with sinister purpose. She looked down, whimpering at the thought of going through such pain again.

She scooted out of the corner, sideways along the wall. Her teeth chattered with anxiety as she watched the fire follow and reach out for her. It licked at her ankles, climbed her legs. Her skin blistered, and she kicked at the flames in a mindless gut reaction. The family’s prayer rolled over her, a nauseating wave of ceaseless, chanting voices, each word condemning her.

“Jackson,” Tara Jane called out. He didn’t look up. He continued to pray, his burned face angled to the floor. “Susie,” she cried, but Susie only scooted closer to Jackson and trembled as if frightened.

Pain consumed her. It made her want to give up, to run away, but she didn’t know where to run. If she had died on the McKelvey’s front lawn after escaping Randall and attempting to defeat Father, if this was her afterlife, she needed to take control. She was bound to spend eternity regretting her cowardice if she failed to get the upper hand now.

I’ve lived an honest life, God. I’ve done my best to follow your word. I didn’t mean to let my brother and sister die. Surely, this is not my punishment. Surely, I don’t deserve Hell. How can I escape him? Please, God, help me now.

Her eyes brightened as she recalled the blue glow, the weeping voice from outside the house. She stood as tall as she could manage and looked at Jackson and Susie. “Please… I’ll take you to mother.”

Father’s head popped up. He flashed a look full of venom that might have buckled her knees as a child, but he didn’t scare her any more. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

She approached the zombified flock. Their brittle fingers laced together like gnarled tree roots. Electric energy pulsed from the circle, lifting the fine hairs on her arms and neck. Jackson chanced a sideways glance in her direction. Father grunted, and the boy dropped his gaze.

Tara Jane licked her lips and spoke louder, spurred on by Jackson’s curiosity. “You were going to be free. I was going to return you to mother.” She looked at Susie and saw her lower lip tremble.

“He can’t stand it. That’s why he stopped me. That’s why he brought us here. Here, where you are his puppets,” Tara Jane said. She looked among the gruesome, burned faces for signs of a reaction but found nothing. Their mindless chanting made her sick. “All of you! Nothing but puppets!” she screamed.

The fire grew past her knees, and she fell down, crying. “Jackson… Susie… If you don’t break the circle… if you don’t come with me… I don’t know what will become of me, and I don’t care.” She winced, shaking violently. “Because I
do
know what will happen to
you
.”

Her face flushed as she pushed through the torture. “You’ll be trapped with him forever. You will never know happiness, just as he never did. I believe he loved us, once, in his own way, but he sacrificed us. There is no love in that.”

Father groaned and raised the volume of his vile prayer, each chanted verse like gasoline to the flames.

“This house is a place of guilt and misery and fear. And… and…” Heavy tears streamed down Tara Jane’s face. She made sure to look at them both. She needed to tell them, needed them to know. “And I wish I could change the past. I wish I could trade my life for yours. I came back. I wanted to save you… I live every day knowing I failed you.”

She coughed and wheezed through weakening lungs, her nose and mouth filled with the smoke of her burning prairie dress. “Losing you, it tore a hole through my heart… but I never tried to mend it. I never wanted to fix it.” Susie glanced her way, and they locked eyes. “I wanted that hole to hurt, to feel the torment of it inside me…because that meant you were still with me. Still there.”

Deep sobs shook her. Her arms trembled as she struggled to remain on all fours, filled with a mixture of pain, sorrow, and terror. “I’ll never let go. Not as long as you’re in this place. I’ll take it with me, that hole in my heart, even now. I won’t let go… not until you are free.”

Finding that she had nothing more to say and no desire left to fight, she fell silent and slumped against the floor. The flames were at her torso now. She trembled.

Little Susie broke free of the circle, sliding her fingers from the grip of her half-sister and urging Jackson to follow with a soft tug of his fist, clasped firmly in hers as usual. At first Tara Jane wasn’t sure what was happening, until the menacing prayer lost its structure and began to fall apart. The timing was off and half the words were confusedly mumbled. Susie and Jackson had weakened the circle by choosing to break it.

The others joined hands again, reconnecting with a surge of rippling power as Father directed the jumbled murmur of voices, escalating the demonic chant again. But despite his efforts, the circle throbbed with less energy than before. His face grew red and he sneered, concentrating on the words. “Vessel of Satan, evil unto death…”

Susie stood before her. Tara Jane pulled herself into a kneeling position so that their eyes were level. She hugged herself, fighting the pain. Flames still covered her skin, but they were weaker now, struggling to stay lit. They burned low against her clothes as if a harsh wind might extinguish them any moment.

The little girl scrunched her melted brow and said, “Momma…”

“Yes! Momma. Yes! I can take you to her. You can… finally meet her, Susie.” Tara Jane felt stronger now. The flames were dying off.

Susie extended her toddler-sized fist, and Tara Jane’s heart filled with a happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time. Susie’s blackened arm was speckled with spots of raw tissue, but it didn’t cause Tara Jane even a second of hesitation. She wrapped the little hand in her palm and squeezed, just enough to savor the touch but not hard enough to break the fragile fingers.