The Red Velvet Suite

We turned and headed for the breakfast room but that door slammed shut too. Every doorway that led to the back entranceway was blocked before we could get to it. I heard Bruce cursing as he turned around, not knowing what to do. Grable appeared from behind us. "It looks like no one's going anywhere," he said smugly.

Ted immediately stepped between us. He put his hands on my shoulders. "Now, Allinson, try to remember that I need my job." So I tried to control my anger, another thing I'm not very good at.

Bruce had both his fists clenched. "Just what do you suggest we do?" he demanded of Kyle.

"I suggest we all try to get some sleep and sort it out in the morning. But first let's get something to eat. Who's hungry?"

"Is this guy serious?" I asked the air in front of me.

"There's only one thing wrong with your plan, Kyle." Bruce was nearly in a rage. "We can't get to the fucking kitchen!"

I sat down carefully in a chair near a window. A small puff of dust rose around me. Voices were on every side of me. They had become so loud that I could barely hear what the rest of our little party was saying. I felt my stomach lurch and I feared that I might vomit. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell everyone to shut the hell up and make the voices go away. Was I losing my mind? The room was spinning out of control at that point. I was afraid that I was going to die. And one voice spoke louder than the rest, desperate in its pleading, "No, Jacob, please, I'll do anything..." Then there was the sound of a door slamming and fists pounding against it. Other sounds followed and then there was blackness.

Whispering. Whispering voices touched me from far away. "She's coming around now," I heard one say. Something cold and wet touched my forehead and I opened my eyes to a sea of cobalt blue.

"Do you mind? She's my friend," Ted's unmistakable, effeminate voice lashed out. Then I saw him. He was smiling at me as if everything was perfectly normal.

I sneezed.

"You fainted, baby-doll," Ted told me. "Are you ill?"

I sat up. When I saw Grable's face I wanted to punch his lights out. "Hey, asshole, he killed her lover and locked her away, didn't he?"

"Yes," the asshole answered.

"Then she killed herself. She couldn't stand it when he came to visit her night after night. Couldn't stand to have him touch her, could she? And when he found her dead he killed himself, right?"

"Yes."

"For years he kept her locked away in those rooms, the Red Velvet Suite, the rooms you putme in. You unbelievable prick. You knew this would happen."

"No, I didn't."

"Why does this house want me?"

Grable didn't answer me but I could see he knew the solution to the riddle. I grabbed Ted's arm and used his body as leverage to climb to my unsteady feet.

"Why does it want me and why does it want Bruce dead? Answer me or I swear there will be another murder in this house." I was absolutely livid.

"The answer is in the master suite." He couldn't quite meet my eyes.

Bruce, glaring at Grable, took hold of my arm again. He ushered me quickly upstairs with the others fairly running to keep up. When we got to the master suite Bruce whirled around to face Kyle. "Show me," he demanded of his former friend.

I clamped my hands over my ears to shut out the screams of the poor woman who pleaded with her husband for mercy. The sound of the door slamming played over and over in my head. It was unbearable. I couldn't believe that the others weren't hearing it.

"There," Grable said as he pointed at the draped wall. "Behind those curtains."

Bruce stalked over and grabbed a handful of crimson velvet. He gave it a vicious tug that brought the drapes tumbling down, rod and all. The sounds in my head suddenly halted. The entire room was silent except for my own gasp of horror. A life-size portrait of a woman was hanging on the wall. It was like looking in a mirror. Except for the woman's nineteenth century gown and her blond hair I would have sworn that it was me.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I said as I rounded on Professor Grable. "This is like something out of Stephen King."

"I am so freaked out!" Ted screeched.

"I think we should all just calm down now," Maryanne chided.

But it was Bruce who took charge of the situation. "Kyle, what the hell is going on here? This is pretty sick, even for you. What are you trying to pull?"

Grable put his hands in the air. "I swear I didn't know until I got here today and saw Allinson. She's the spitting image of Emily Lovejoy. Maybe she was meant to come here and find this."

"Bullshit. You could have told us when we first got here. It was wrong and you know it."

"He was afraid of polluting his little experiment." At that moment I wanted to tear the good professor's heart out. "Did it ever occur to you that this might put us all in danger?"

Some deep inner voice, long silent, started droning in my head. I knew instinctively that Jacob Lovejoy would never willingly let me leave his house. I was his and he intended to keep me. I realized just why things were happening now, why I had acted like such a slut with Bruce and why he had attacked me so wildly. I knew it all as the pictures and voices in my head fell into place.

"Old Jacob has been having a great time," I told my companions. "He's been having us all act out the scene just the way he remembered it. Emily had a lover. He caught them together in the east wing, in the Yellow Suite where you put Bruce. He killed the man savagely and locked his wife away. He kept her here for months and years, visiting her nightly and forcing her to submit to him. It was her punishment for betraying him. He tortured her mind. He kept her like a prized possession and didn't allow her visitors. Her life was lived in this gilded cage without hope and without love. She never left the Red Velvet Suite. She stayed there until she couldn't take it anymore. She had to find a way to escape. She begged him to let her out. But she found an escape, didn't she, Grable?"

"Yes," he said. "She finally got out."

"I'm not acting," whined Ted. "I think I really shit myself."

I turned without another word and ran to the bedroom. I could hear the footsteps behind me as the rest followed. I snagged a chair from the floor and lifted it over my head.

"What are you doing?" Bruce demanded as he grabbed the leg of the chair, held it motionless.

"This is how Emily got out and it's how I'm getting out, too." I yanked the Queen Anne style piece free and hurled it through the panes of the massive window where I had seen Emily die in my visions. The glass exploded outward into the gathering darkness.

I ran for the window but Bruce stopped me. "I thought you said Emily died," he said somewhat uncertainly.

Turning toward the others in the room I fixed Grable with a damning stare. "She did die, didn't she, Professor?" I looked at Bruce. "She threw herself at the window and crashed through the glass. Her throat was cut. She didn't care how she got out. She just wanted out. And so do I." I headed for the window again but then stopped to think about what I was about to do. I turned then and pulled the blankets off the bed. As I tugged at the feather mattress I saw a hand reach out to help me. It was Bruce. He grabbed up the heavy bedding and carried it to the window. The house started to groan and items on the walls and tables began to clink and clatter. "We better hurry," I said as I looked up at the ceiling.

Bruce gave the mattress a pitch and it landed on the ground below. "Take hold of my hand and I'll swing you down," he told me.

As I slipped my hand into his, I tossed my leg over the edge. "NOOOOOOO...," a voice boomed through the house. The others heard it this time.

"Hurry," I told Bruce as I lowered myself out the window. The last thing I heard before I dropped two stories was Ted's voice, "But you know I hate heights. I'll just take the stairs." Then I was falling. Satin skirts billowed up around my head. Blood spurted from my face and throat to stain the fabric. And still, I fell. Ever downward my body hurdled through time and space and darkness -- and that voice, full of rage and pain screamed, "Emily, no!"

My feet hit bottom at last and I rolled head over heels off the mattress and onto the grass. I struggled to my feet and turned to look. The scene on the ground before me was ghastly. Emily lay in a broken heap, her throat cut so deeply that she was nearly decapitated. Pools of blood soaked into the earth around her and her face was a gruesome mask of open wounds. I turned away from the corpse. Pain coursed through my left hand and up my arm. I saw a large chunk of glass sticking out of my palm.

A moment later I heard the unmistakable thump of a body landing behind me. "Oh, I think I broke my coccyx," I heard Ted cry.

I turned to see that my whining friend had replaced the apparition. Looking up, I saw Maryanne lowering her legs out as the house shuddered and shook. "Get up," I yelled as I bent to grab his arm with my good hand. "Move your ass!"

Maryanne landed just as Ted got off the mattress. A silver-handled hairbrush soon followed. Other objects flew out the window as I saw Bruce trying to protect his head with his arms. Broken chunks of brick started to fall off the side of the old mansion as the violent shaking became more intense. "Hurry up!" I yelled at the window as Ted helped Maryanne.

Kyle climbed out next, swinging down and letting go. A large piece of crumbling brick struck and shattered against his head. Maryanne ran to his aid and Ted yelled, "look out!" Just then a piece of furniture hit Bruce as he leaned out the window. He was knocked off balance and fell forward.

"Bruce!" I screamed as I ran forward. I guess I thought I could catch his large frame and protect it from injury. I saw him snag the edge of the windowsill and hang on for dear life. He pushed his body away from the wall and let go just as another piece of furniture came crashing down where his fingers used to be. He landed in a heap in front of me.

I didn't wait to see if he was all right. I grabbed at his arm and screamed, "Move!"

The five of us ran as if the hounds of hell were out for our blood. The house was in a rage as it shook and groaned. I fished in the pocket of my jeans as we neared our vehicles. Pulling out the keys I didn't miss a beat as I threw myself through the open driver's door of my car.

"I got shotgun," Ted squealed as he grabbed the passenger door with Bruce right behind him. The tree overhead began to dance wildly, its massive branches hitting and clawing at the top of my precious car.

I saw Ted land in the back seat as Bruce shoved him through the door. "Drive," he yelled as he jumped into the passenger seat, tossing my previously-deposited bags into the back. I heard Maryanne scream and turned to see her close the door of her car as a branch hit the window. Kyle got behind the wheel and fired up his engine just after my car roared to life.

I got out onto the driveway first, flooring the gas pedal and gasping for breath as the massive oak tree reached out for us. I drove with my right hand and kept my left hugged to my body, making it difficult to escape the overgrowth as it bent forward, lunging at us while the car sped out onto the long driveway. At last we were on the extended lane that would take us out of there and to safety. The house behind us raged in a crescendo of rumblings, hisses and howls.

The rough road buffeted my car as the big block under the hood propelled us forward. We topped hills like ramps and flew into the air, landing with our heads slammed into the headliner. I didn't slow even when the road narrowed, barely dodging the craters in the center of the path. A mirror went flying off the car as I swerved up against the clawing brush. Branches smacked the windshield and chiseled the paint of my classic candy-apple red 1965 Ford Mustang 2+2 Fastback with the 289ci V8 engine, but still I didn't slow down. Finally we shot through the edge of the thicket and flew out onto the narrow roadway, nearly careening off into the ditch as I struggled with my one good hand to turn the steering wheel in time. I looked in the rearview and saw the professor and Maryanne exiting just behind us.

"We're clear," Bruce stated the obvious.

"Really. Ya think?" I retorted and squashed the accelerator again.

"Will you slow down? My ass is killing me," Ted whined. "And I have a date next week too."

"Shut up, you fag," I screamed at the back seat. I wanted to toss him out of the car again but didn't want to slow down for anything.

"My, aren't we all just so touchy," Ted huffed. Seeing the look in my eye as I glared at him in the rearview he decided to clam up.

We all breathed a sigh of relief as the lights of our fair city came into view. My hand was throbbing and when I looked down, I could see the blood soaking through my shirt. It reminded me of the rooms covered in blood-colored velvet and I shuddered outwardly.

"How bad is it?" Bruce asked. "Why don't you pull over and let me drive?"

"No, thanks. No one drives my baby but me," I declared in my disgust as I looked at the cracked windshield.

No one else said a word as we drove through city streets. We reached Ted's apartment first and Bruce got out and pulled the seat up for him. "I'm going to have a hot bubble bath and throw up, in that order," Ted announced. "If you want to come up, you can wash my back," he invited Bruce.

Bruce, to his credit, merely smiled and declined politely. He got back in the car and let his head fall back against the seat with a heavy sigh. "Take me home, will ya?"

"Sure," I said as I put my car in gear. I nearly climbed onto the dash when I heard a rap on my window. It was Ted. I cranked the window open.

"You take care of yourself, kitten," he said as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. "You've been through a lot."

I smiled at him. I watched in my mirror as he bounced up the steps to the building. "Where do you live?" I asked the guy next to me.

"Six sixty-six Belial Avenue," he said with a smirk.

The car skidded to a stop in the middle of the parking lot. "You've got to be joking. Please, tell me you're joking." The man actually lived in a house bearing "the number of the beast" on a street named after Satan himself. I screamed with laughter as my foot slipped off the brake and my beat-up classic candy-apple red 1965 Ford Mustang 2+2 Fastback with the 289ci V8 engine rolled forward. We found ourselves creeping into the road before I managed to get hold of myself. A passing car swerved sharply, just missing us.

The drive to Bruce's house was relatively quiet with intermittent fits of giggles. He pointed out his house as I turned down his street. "Home," he said. "Man, it's good to be here. Wonder if Kyle and Maryanne are okay."

"Who gives a shit?" I intoned sourly. They could have driven off the face of the earth, for all I cared. We pulled into the drive and I put the car in park.

"I want you to come in with me so I can have a look at that hand," he said as he opened his door.

I was tired and wanted to go home but my hand was throbbing and it still had a hunk of glass imbedded in it, so I shut off the ignition. He was already around to my door and opened it for me. When I got a good look at what was left of my precious vehicle I nearly cried. It was going to need a good body shop.

"Mind if I use your phone?" I asked.

He opened the house and led me in. It smelled clean and masculine and was furnished as one would expect of a bachelor. He led me to the kitchen and seated me at the table, handing me his telephone before leaving the room.

I dialed my house to let Geoff know that I would be home soon but there was no answer. So I called his cell. He answered on the third ring. The minute he heard my voice he cut me off by saying that he had moved out and he didn't give a damn where I was. He hung up on me and I looked at the dead phone in my hand. Well, that was one worry I no longer had.

Bruce returned with the dried blood and grime washed off his bruised face and a first aid kit in his hands. He gingerly took my injured hand and stretched my arm out on the table.

"Everything all right at home?"

"Geoff has moved out," I said with a sigh.

"Is that good or bad?" he asked.

"Let's just say that it's one less problem in my life."

"This needs a couple of stitches," he told me as he prodded my flesh. "Allinson, I think we need to talk about what happened at the mansion."

I wrinkled up my nose and grimaced as he removed the large shard of glass. "I really don't want to talk about ghosts right now, if you don't mind."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the other thing."

"Oh," I said inarticulately. Thoughts of wild fucking gave me a shiver even as he applied antiseptic that made my wound burn with the fires of hell.

"I think that we can chalk that up to whatever was influencing us in that house." He didn't look up from his task. "I think it's safe to say that we were behaving irrationally."

My feelings were hurt again. I was hoping for a little more than a clinical assessment of the situation. I couldn't think of anything appropriately caustic to say.

"Will you be too offended if I tell you that I really want to get to know you and maybe even show you that I'm not such an animal in the bedroom?" he asked. "I know you just broke up with your boyfriend and all, but I think that detail is pretty much a non-issue at this point."

A slow smile crept across my face. I started to laugh but I couldn't really tell if it was amusement or just plain relief. "I don't know what you're worried about," I said. "Animal is good."

He finished wrapping my hand and looked up at me. "It was good, wasn't it." His eyes were glittering with a lust that brought heat racing to my face.

"I guess we could say that Old Jacob gave us quite a gift. The least he could do for trying to kill us." I was grinning foolishly, hoping he would kiss me. He didn't disappoint.

"Let's see if we can improve on it." He took my good hand and pulled me out of the chair. "Take a shower with me?"

"A shower sounds marvelous." I could feel the grit of the dusty old house clinging to my skin. My body was already reacting before he even turned to me in the bathroom and started to disrobe. I followed suit, removing my filthy clothing unashamedly. I was discovering a new facet of myself.

He dragged my naked body against his. Grit or no grit, he felt good. His body was hot and hard, and fit against me like we were made for each other. He ran his hands down the curve of my back and took my lips in a tender kiss. After releasing me he reached for the faucet and took some bath linens out of a cabinet, setting them on the vanity.

Bruce stepped into the steaming shower and held his hand out to me. With a carnal smile on my lips, I took that hand, stepping into the stream of water. It felt so luscious that I moaned and tilted my head back to let the water wash over my face and breasts. He got behind me then and ran a slippery bar of soap down my back. His hands worked up a lather, massaging their way around to my front, pulling me backward into him. His hard shaft pressed into the small of my back sending shudders up and down my spine. His soapy hands slid over my breasts causing ripples of pleasure that hardened my nipples under his touch.

"I want you so bad," his lips said against my ear.

Then his hands wandered lower, caressing in soapy orbits across my flesh and around my belly button. I moaned as they worked ever lower, touching my mound, deliberately slowing their caressing motion. My arm drifted upward, sliding behind my neck to encircle his. I turned my head as I pulled his face toward mine, giving him a kiss and feeling his hot breath on my lips. He reached over and took a bottle of shampoo off a shelf and applied it to my hair. He massaged the lather down the length of the tresses. I reached behind me, capturing the streaming suds and sliding the fingers of my good hand along the length of his lance. God, it felt good to touch. I heard him moan as he pushed against my hand.