PREVIOUSLY:

BELLINGHAM MANOR WAS THE SCENE OF A TRIPLE HOMICIDE IN JULY, 1922. CHARLES BELLINGHAM, THE WEALTHY SON OF A BRITISH SHIPBUILDER, MURDERED HIS PREGNANT WIFE, HER FRENCH LOVER AND A BELOVED CHAMBERMAID.

INVESTIGATORS WERE NEVER ABLE TO ARREST CHARLES, WHO SEEMS TO HAVE DISAPPEARED INTO THIN AIR.

AFTER SIX MONTHS, THE CASE WAS RELEGATED TO THE FILES OF UNSOLVED MURDERS.

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BELLINGHAM MANOR
JULY 20, 1922
NOBLEBORO, MAINE


Catherine Dupree, the only living child of a millionaire industrialist, was three days into her eighteenth year when she first met Charles Bellingham. Her life, to that point, was insular and sheltered like the hot-house orchids pressed into superiority by her determined mother. From their first dance at her parents’ annual Mardi Gras celebration until their wedding seven months later, Catherine’s future was wrenched from her control by a father determined to arrange a suitable marriage.

The young woman tried to suppress her doubts as the days and weeks progressed at a fevered pace. Even if her betrothed was not the handsome man she’d dreamed of marrying one day, he possessed an unwavering confidence. Her father considered this an admirable trait and, indeed, the reason he’d acquired one of the largest fortunes in New England. But her Poppa was never present when Charles’ eyes bulged and his features morphed into a hateful mask if she dared to disagree.

After their honeymoon in Tuscany, Catherine moved into Bellingham Manor. Though she had sleeping quarters apart from her husband, he warned her to keep the suite’s door unlocked at all times. Night after night he forced her to commit acts of such repugnance she began to retreat into the deepest corner of her psyche.

She never intended to take Phillipe Decault as her lover. His equal reticence was due to the Catholic Church’s belief that adultery was a grave sin. Eventually, they succumbed to their yearnings and entered into a passionate affair. Bolstered by the sense of being half each of a whole, the two made plans to escape to France.

On a hot, humid night in July, the Bellingham's hosted a dinner party attended, primarily, by four couples who pandered to her husband’s every whim. Phillipe’s inclusion gave her comfort. It escaped her notice that her lover’s presence was odd given the rest of the guests were part of a tight-knit group of wealthy industrialists. She was preoccupied with worry over the disappearance of Margarethe. At one point, when she thought herself unobserved, she pressed herself against Phillipe’s body and whispered, “We need to talk. I’ll come to the Lake House when he’s asleep.”

Catherine arrived at the cottage near midnight. She poured out her concerns regarding Margarethe and made a chilling observation. “He’s snatched her, Phillipe. I think he’ll do something terrible to her because of me. I know what he’s capable of--you’ve no idea.”

Phillipe smoothed the lines of worry on her face and tried to counteract her fears. “Margarethe will be back in the morning, Mon Ange. I am sure of it.” They made love, then, with a wildness born out of fear and desperation, and Catherine slept with her hands cradling their unborn child.

Two hours later, with dawn's appearance yet to come, a man bent on vengeance slit Catherine's throat. The number of stab wounds and obvious ferocity behind the attack led investigators to theorize passion was the driving force.

The gentleman lying next to the woman suffered a similar fate. His face was battered beyond recognition, and only a coroner’s examination would be able to establish the exact number of stab wounds. More disturbing to the investigators was the graphic evidence he’d suffered castration.

“I hope he was dead a’fore the butcher cut off his private parts,” the lead detective remarked to the forensic team. But given the level of brutality, down to a man they guessed that was not the case.

After the bodies were removed, a lone investigator lingered at the scene, trying to imagine how the crime had played out. Goosebumps rose on both his arms, and he felt sure he was being watched. ‘God have mercy on your soul,’ he mumbled while crossing himself and exiting the cottage with extreme haste.
                   
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Gray filled every niche of Catherine's limbo world, and it was the cruelest aspect of her fate.

While on the physical plane, her soul sweetened whenever her eyes rested on the rich color of the Objets d'Arts acquired during trips to France. Tapestries depicting tranquil pastoral scenes covered the walls of her private quarters. Her sitting room, as well, was filled with tiny treasures of such exquisite craftsmanship, they made her heart ache. She'd linger for hours caressing them, and anchoring her sanity after one of Charles’ sexually depraved ‘lessons’.

Once her murder investigation was complete, an entire life's belongings were consigned to a dark corner of Bellingham Manor’s large attic. For many years following her death, cords of attachment drew her to these objects. Her hands followed the outline of a precious china tea cup or stroked the length of a bejeweled shawl.

Inevitably, Catherine capitulated to the brutal loss of physical sensation and fled to other, less painful parts of the Manor. Malignant sadness shrouded the light of her faith until she grew convinced that Charles' words had been fulfilled: "You think to escape me, Catherine, but you never will," he'd sworn while violently thrusting himself inside her.

The presence of the paranormal team threatened to undo the uneasy truce established by the entities inhabiting Bellingham Manor. Already, opposing energies fed off the new presences and procured increased power. Decades of existence in the gray realm left Catherine Bellingham with only one hope: finding her son and helping him cross over in the hands of God.
 
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BELLINGHAM MANOR
FEBRUARY, 2010
NOBLEBORO, MAINE


Mia followed Emma out of the library and into the relative safety of the foyer. She frowned at what she could see was a pronounced limp.  Crossing in front of her friend, Mia probed, “Did something happen back there you haven’t told me about?”

“It’s nothing, Mia.” But when Emma tried to continue forward, she winced from the effort. Throwing out her arm, she made contact with a nearby wall and leaned on it. “Shit. I think... maybe... I've re-injured my ankle.” She screwed her eyes tight and leaned her head backward. “The Hornets need me in good shape if we’re going to take the title this year.” Rubbing her teeth across her bottom lip, she groaned. “This can’t be happening!”

“Remember me telling you that I’m a Reiki Master?” Mia said. “It's perfect for this kind of injury because it can bring down the swelling. We can then treat it further back at the B&B."

Emma snapped her head forward. “Yes! I remember you saying something about Reiki. I’m not sure what it is, but I believe in you.” Grasping two of Mia’s fingers, she urged, “I'm ready if you are."

Ten minutes later, Mia felt the intense heat fade slowly from her hands. Though her palms continued to tingle, she knew the energy download was complete. She sat back on her heels and spoke to the female spirit drawn to her side.

Whoever you are, may Christ enfold you in his loving arms,” she offered.

A far-off sigh was the only response.

Mia pushed aside her concern for one of the Manor’s lost souls. She turned her attention to Emma who’d fallen asleep under the influence of the comforting warmth suffusing her body. At the light touch on her skin, Emma's eyes opened. She thrust her leg forward and bent her foot at different angles. "Whoa girl," Mia warned. "Let your foot rest in my hands while slowly rotate your ankle.”

Emma did as suggested, a smile forming on her lips. She pulled Mia into a tight embrace. “No pain." she said. "How do I thank you?"

"No necessary, Emma. Reiki is a sacred trust passed down from teacher to student. It's meant to be shared." 

The girls' attention moved to the sound of approaching footsteps. First Luke, then Mike emerged into the light. Mia glanced at Emma and raised an eyebrow. “They looked pissed.” When Mike and Luke were within earshot, she asked, “What’s happened?”

"We're all returning to the bed and breakfast," Mike said, "at which time Luke and I will fill you in on the details." Mike's arms were stiff at his side and his cheeks were flushed. "Jim Norris is staying behind, alone, to clean up tonight's mess."

"What mess...?" Emma started to inquire before catching Luke's chopping motion across the throat. "Um...well...maybe this isn't the best time to get into the details," she backpedaled. "But there's something we need to do before we leave.” Turning to Mia, she said, “Tell them about your encounter.”

Mia quickly filled in the two men and finished by suggesting they do a sweep of the library, including a check of the EMF levels. “Unfortunately, we have no pictures of the event, but maybe the readings will indicate an energy source for the spirit’s manifestation.”

“Good idea,” Mike concurred.  

They formed a single line and proceeded to the Library. Three of the walls had shelves empty of books. Pushed against the fourth wall was a leather-topped desk with strange markings cut into its top. A lone chair sat in the middle of the room covered with a drop cloth.

Mia was stunned by the presence of the desk and chair. Her feeling was confirmed when Emma pulled her aside. “I don’t recall there being any furniture in this room. For sure, that chair was not where it is now.”

Nodding, Mia added, “It’s as if this stuff materialized out of space. I’ve heard of events like this, but never thought I’d personally witness one.”

“Doesn’t surprise me," Mike interrupted. "The paranormal activity in this house is over-the-top. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were in the middle of a cheesy horror film.” He retrieved a device from his backpack and lit it up while stepping forward, “I’m going to take a look at the desktop through the IR camera.”
  
The three other members of the team watched him pace around the desk. When he finally lifted his head, he looked like a man sipping a thousand-dollar bottle of wine.

“You've got to see this."

Luke grabbed the camera to see for himself. “Holy Shit, there’s a heat signature around the markings, and they look like fingerprints.” He turned to where Mia and Emma stood. “Did either of you touch the desk earlier?”

“No,” they answered in chorus.

Luke returned the camera to Mike and announced, “I’m going to do an EMF sweep.” Stopping at various points to get baseline readings with his detector, the paranormal investigator looked for fluctuations in energy. Experience had taught the team that readings of two points or higher commonly indicated the presence of a ghost drawing on available energy to manifest itself.

The readings remained consistent until he reached the chair. The gauge lit up as Luke made several passes over and around it. "I'm getting a significant energy spike,” he called out. The group gathered to watch as Luke pulled off the drop cloth. 

Underneath was a chair matching the wood of the desk. Slash marks and carved triangular shapes marred its original beauty. Stacked neatly in the middle of the seat was a pile of books.

"Don't touch those," Mia ordered. "Let Mike get some pictures while I activate a grid of protection.” Luke retreated to Emma’s side as the Psychic stepped forward to build an etheric web composed of lines of energy.  

The oppressive heaviness in the room lifted as soon as Mia completed her task. When she indicated it was safe to touch the pile, Luke grabbed the book on top. He raised it up to eye level, title facing outward.

“The Satan Paradigm: A History of Evil,” Mia read. She crossed her arms in a warding gesture. “What in the name of God are we dealing with?”    


~~ to be continued ~~


Dear Reader,

This is a re-posting of a heavily edited chapter. Please do not read ahead or you will be very confused!
As always, thanks so much for reading.

WFD