Chapter Two: Part Four

I followed Madam and Detective Charles up an incredibly steep staircase into the attic.  It must have been built in the early 1900’s, as code enforcers wouldn’t have allowed that type of construction in the past half a century or so.

Reaching the top, I stopped with a gasp.  Chills started shooting down my spine.  There was nothing there but a dark room with a dingy old table and chairs in the center.  It was darkness so thick that it enveloped me like one of the heavy quilts that my grandmother used to make.  This, though, was not a calming feeling like the beloved quilts used to offer.  This was a heavy feeling, as though I was disappearing into a dark abyss.  No natural light could make it through.  A single kerosene lamp gave off what little light there was.

“Oh my God,” I thought.  “Someone, please help me.”   I feared that I’d been kidnapped by a couple of strangers who were going to torture and kill me.  They’d dismember my body in the downstairs kitchen. They’d stuff me into black plastic garbage bags and throw me off the bridge into the river.  Nobody would ever know what happened to me.”  Thoughts.  Just random thoughts.  The only sound that came out of my mouth was a low, guttural gurgle.  I couldn’t even scream.

They stood completely still, just looking at me with quizzical looks on their faces.  The woman had a look of what can only be described as sympathy on her face.  The man, I thought, looked guilty, which frightened me even more. 

“Please forgive the sparse decor in my apartment,” said the woman in green, “but I have no need for lavish surroundings.  Let’s move on, if you feel able.”

I shook my head, very slowly, in the affirmative, not knowing what else to do.

“Now, let’s work on helping you get over your terror so we can get to work,” said Madam.

Detective Charles sighed and sat down in his own quiet manner.  For a split second, there seemed to be something disconcertingly familiar about him.

“Mrs. Edwards,” he stated.  “We can only imagine how difficult this must be for you to understand.”  He hesitated, looking at me intensely.  “And I apologize for how much more difficult this may get for you as we explain.”  Terror.

“Mrs. Edwards,” said Madam.  “Please look at me very closely.  What do you see?”

I sat staring in silence for a moment.  All of a sudden, flashes of light began.  The air seemed to glisten, as though there was glitter floating through it.

“That’s right,” she said.  “Keep looking.  What, exactly, do you see?” she repeated.

Suddenly the sparkles and lights disappeared, as did Madam.  The place that she had been standing was now empty.  My goose bumps turned into cold volcanoes of streaming sweat.  My blood turned to ice.  It was freezing in that room, and I was sure that I was about to die.

Nothing was making any sense.  Then a thought came to my mind.  A thought so clear it had to have been written on my brain: “Megan.”

“Where is Megan?”  I shrieked.  “What have you done with her???  Please, you can do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt her!!!”

Suddenly, a bright light shown through the darkness, and my fear was gone.  Madam was standing in front of a large, ornate table carved out of a magnificent slab of mahogany.  She looked absolutely regal, as though this table had been carved especially for her.  Detective Quinn was sitting next to me.  Had I passed out and had a horrifying nightmare?  Was Megan really missing or had I just dreamt that?

Then, somehow, I realized that it wasn’t a nightmare.  I was sitting in a room that was fully furnished in beautiful antique furniture.  A silk rug, the type hand knotted centuries ago by the tiny, over-worked hands of women in the Orient, was on the floor under the table.  A breathtaking crystal chandelier hung over the antique table, its hundreds of pieces of leaded glass emanating a grayish tint over everything in the room.  It gave a welcoming feeling to the odd room.