McCann's Manor

Mystic Moon Press
www.mysticmoonpress.com

Copyright ©

The Actor's Guild—McCann's Manor

By: Charlotte Holley

ISBN—978-0-9800146-9-3

All rights reserved

+ Copyright © Jan. 2008,
Charlotte Holley

Cover Art copyright © Jan. 2008, Charlotte Holley

Mystic Moon Press, LLC

Santa Fe, NM 87507

www.mysticmoonpress.com

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She slipped as she scrambled around the corner, whacked her slender arm on the painted cinder block wall and struggled to regain her balance. She mustn't be caught; must keep running, but where? Where could she hide? How could she convince them she would never tell anyone what she'd seen? She'd stumbled on a secret and now they were going to kill her.
I don't care about their secret,
she thought.
I don't want to die! Please, dear God, help me find a way out!

Her heart was in her throat as she raced down the hallway with its institution-beige walls, tore toward the room at the end—a slender, ghostly figure in a white gown, bare feet soundless on the cold, unyielding floor. If she could get inside the room, maybe she would be safe—at least have time—to think, to rest, to find the words to convince them she could do them no harm.
Why did I have to be the one to learn their secret? I didn't want to know! Besides, who'd believe me anyway? It's all too hideous and far-fetched. Why can't I wake up and find it's all been a bad dream?

A few more steps and she'd be inside the room, behind a strong, locked door. Maybe they didn't know where she was; she could hide until they gave up. Maybe she could pull this off and then—
then what?
They'd never stop until they found her.

At the end of the hall, she threw open the door and stole a glance behind her as she pulled the door closed and fumbled for a lock. No one was in the hall, but no knob or latch met her eager, grasping fingers. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she trembled against the door and tried to think. A quick scan of the darkened room revealed a semi-cluttered storage area with one small, high window at the far end which admitted enough light for her to see rows of stacked boxes on either side of the room.

She crept farther inside, tried to slow her breathing and heart rate to normal.
Think, Missy! Why is it so hard to think?
She crossed to the window, peered outside and down. She was several floors up, but she had no idea how many. It would be easy to slip her thin form through the window, but there was no fire escape on this end of the building, nowhere to go from here except down—a long way down—in a hurry.

She thought about the past year, moving to the city, coming to the Complex and how kind everyone had been to her; kind, that is, until last week when she first saw that
thing. Was it only last week? It seemed a lot longer somehow, or was her memory affected by—by what? What could make her forget so much?

She should have left then, should have packed her meager belongings and headed for home, but no; she had to play
nosy
Missy, had to learn all about the
thing
she had seen, had to find out about the
monster
's diabolical plans. Now she knew too much; Dr. Winter himself had said she must be silenced. Of all people, she had thought he was at least her friend; otherwise, she would never have confided in him. All she wanted was to forget about it, to go back home to the little house in Iowa and live in peace.

She raised the window with some difficulty, tiptoed until she could just push her head out to survey the outside of the building, hoping to find a ledge overhead—something, anything she could use to pull herself out of the window and to freedom. Nothing. She shrugged and was about to pull her head back inside, but froze instead. A chill of dread ran icy fingers down her back and told her she was no longer alone—
it
had found her.

"No,
please
—” she cried, but she knew the
monster
hadn't heard, wouldn't have cared if it had. Tremendous hands grabbed her from behind, shoved her head-first through the tiny window. She screamed, then laughed in hysterics for thinking screaming would help.
They'll tell everyone I killed myself—they all say I'm suicidal. I am not crazy! Dad! You believed in me, didn't you?
At the bottom a second of searing pain was all she felt as the pavement deflated her crumpling body, wrested her tormented hysteria from her. Silence.

"My God!” Liz screamed as she drew a gulp of air into her lungs. “They killed her!"

Kimberly raced into the bedroom to her friend's side, encircled her in warm, protective arms. “Liz, wake up! It was a dream. You're all right! I could hear you screaming at the other end of the house,” she said. Liz was trembling and Kim rubbed her back, tried to calm her. The light from the hall revealed the ivory and cream-colored coverlet and lace-edged sheets, tangled in grotesque patterns from Liz's thrashing. Kim reached down with one hand to straighten them.

"No, Kim, it wasn't a dream—it was
real
! They killed her because she knew too much. I was
there
. Someone—or some
thing
shoved her out a window. I
felt
her body crunch when she hit the ground.” Elizabeth cringed. Her elegant blue and white nightgown was soaked in sweat; her breaths were shallow rasps. “Honestly, this was not like any nightmare I've ever had—it was
real!
"

Kimberly turned on the small dragonfly motif Tiffany-style bedside lamp and brushed Elizabeth's tousled medium length auburn hair out of her blue eyes. “Okay, I believe you,” she said. “Look, I'll go make some cocoa and you can tell me all about it. Change to a fresh gown, wash your face and meet me in the kitchen."

Liz took a deep breath, nodded. “All right. Thanks."

Elizabeth Carr and Kimberly Henson had been best friends and roommates off and on ever since their days at the University of Texas in Austin. They shared a common interest in the supernatural and both had an abundance of extrasensory perception, a
gift
that got them into as much trouble as it did adventure. Liz had always laughed about their friendship, saying they were destined to be roommates forever, because they were the only two people weird enough to understand each other.

Sure enough, they found they always wound up together, with time out for errant marriages and various career pursuits. Kim was open with people about her psychic abilities, while Liz had been more secretive, sharing the memories of her dream journeys with no one save Kim. Now, with Liz's children grown and Kim taking an early retirement from her government job, they found themselves rooming together and dabbling in parapsychology as a profession.

Kim was just pouring the steaming water over the cocoa mix when Liz arrived in the kitchen and climbed onto one of the low-backed, padded bar stools. Her hands were still trembling as she reached for her mug with the saying,
Treat me no differently than you would the Queen
in an Elizabethan script under the picture of a smoky gray Persian cat. She didn't notice the mug tonight and continued to stir the hot liquid and powdered mix long after it was blended. Kim watched her friend with concern, and waited.

"You're a good friend—nursing me through these episodes like a worried mom,” Liz said after a moment.

Kim smiled, took her own mug, decorated with the saying,
There were a hell of a lot of things they didn't tell me when I signed on this life,
and a puzzled-looking angel in blue jeans and a tank top with huge furled wings. Kim took her position on a stool beside Liz and stirred until the rich brown was creamy smooth. Her lazurite eyes twinkled behind thick, dark lashes as she surveyed her friend. “What else can I do?” she asked. “I know your dreams are more than just dreams. You forget I've had my share of them. I'd hate it if I came to you with one of mine and you yawned, rolled over and told me to shut up and go back to bed!"

Liz shook her head and gave Kim a grin. “Is there anyone else in the world as crazy as we are?"

"You know we're not crazy—weird, I know, but not crazy—we just
see
things differently from most people. What can you tell me about the dream?” Kim asked.

Liz sighed, shrugged. “You know, when I'm in the dream, I know all of it—when I come out, the details are sketchy at best. There was this girl, Missy, I think; wait, I
know
she called herself Missy, but after that, the whole thing starts to get vague. She was in a kind of mental fog, like she was drugged or something. I think she may have been in some sort of institution, but she was under the impression because of some
secret
she had learned, she was going to be killed."

"Secret, huh? Must have been quite a secret to merit her death!” Kim mused. “So, did you get any feel for where she was?"

"She had thoughts about a farm in Iowa, but this place was in a big city somewhere. It makes no sense to me,” Liz said. “Her thoughts were jumbled, but she was certain she had seen something and
they
were determined to kill her for it. In the end, she was thinking they would tell people she had killed herself—but she wanted to live!"

"We might be able to check out the news services to see if someone named Missy fell to her death in some large city in Iowa and fan out from there."

Liz shook her head, asked, “Thereby proving what? I'm reasonably sure she wasn't in Iowa anymore because of the way she thought of being
back
in Iowa. Anyway, I'm not sure it would do any good, aside from maybe proving the girl in my dream existed. Then, of course, there is the part about the monster—"

Kim frowned at Liz, cocked her head. “
Monster?
"

"I know; sounds like it just went into a whole different realm, doesn't it? Somewhere in that area it stops being a possible true experience and enters the domain of fantasy,” she said with an exaggerated shrug. “Missy thought of the
thing
that threw her out the window as being a monster, but I don't know if it was a
literal
monster."

"So what can you tell me about this
monster?
"

Liz closed her eyes, tried to conjure up the vision Missy had of the thing she had seen, but came up empty. “It was vivid moments ago; now, it's gone. Big, strong; very strong. Maybe it was a man, but there was something—I don't know—not exactly
human
about it. Not much to go on, huh?"

"You could channel Missy,” Kim suggested.

Liz scowled.

"
Or
—you could try sketching the monster like you did with the murderer in the
Flower Shop Case
. You got so close to the way that guy looked, it helped them find him."

Liz rolled her eyes, checked the time and said, “It's four in the morning. Right now, I just want to calm down a little and try to go back to sleep. I'll tell you what;
when
you do the research and find there was a girl named Missy who fell to her death in a large city in Iowa or some
other
state, I'll try to come up with more details."

Kim pursed her lips, put on her best disappointed look, “Sounds like a pretty tall order. All right, but you know the longer you wait, the harder it may be to get more information."

"We don't even know
when
it happened; it may have been years ago,” Liz pointed out. “You know, these things aren't very time-specific; as far as
where
it happened; hold a dandelion up to the wind and see where the seeds land!"

"That's true, I guess, and then there is also the possibility you witnessed an event which
hasn't
happened yet and if we could find out more, maybe we could save that poor girl,” Kim said as she gave Liz a hopeful look.