The Soul of the Sun (The Argos Dynasty) Page 21

  She gazed at me sadly. “You know what you must do Margaret, you must protect your granddaughter. You need to tell her the truth, tell her who she is. You’ve put it off too long already.”

  Sometime later, I awoke to the sound of tree frogs croaking outside the window. I checked the alarm clock on the nightstand—11:45—there was still time. I gripped the locket and eased myself out of bed.

  I knew what I had to do.

  Later, when I returned to the bedroom, I took out the letter for a moment. I looked at Diamond’s bold writing on the front of the envelope that said PLEASE READ, and quickly, before I could change my mind, I broke the seal.

  62

  Emma Diamond

  I watched as a variety of emotions flashed across Tristan’s face, shock, amazement and strangely, acceptance.

  “Are you sure? I mean…are you sure it’s you?” He was stuttering now, struggling to accept the implications of what that meant for him—and for me.

  “I’m sure,” I said squeezing his hand tightly.

  I wanted to comfort him; to tell him it was all right, but I had no idea why I was part of his dreams and why he was connected to all this. I released his hand; his confusion was coursing through my veins, making me nervous. I paced the room.

  “Tristan, there’s another painting; it’s hanging in a secret room in my house. What I want to know is, is it your artwork and if so, how did it come to be there? Did you give it to Granna? I recall you said you knew her.”

  Tristan stood and crossed to the fireplace. He examined the painting as if searching for clues. The silence was palpable.

  Finally, he spoke. “I’m not sure how it came to be with you. I’ve painted this same scene many times. It just won’t leave my mind.”

  He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He turned to face me. “Now I’m the one with the questions. If you are the woman in this painting, how do you know it’s you?”

  I clasped my hands behind my back. The hands revealed so much and I was harboring a secret I was too scared to divulge.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked him in the eye. “You already know, don’t you?”

  “Aye, I do,” he said holding my gaze. “I sensed it on the beach, but I wasn’t sure. You’re the one they’ve been waiting for; the time traveler, the miracle healer.”

  I let out a sigh of relief—I was still nervous, but I finally had someone to share this with, someone who did not turn away from the supernatural.

  “How did you know?” I whispered.

  “When I paint, I can feel your energy. I sense the evil you’re up against.” He paused for a moment. “What I don’t understand,” he continued, “is how I came to be involved in all this. Why do I have this obsession to paint the same scene again and again? Not only that, but to feel all the emotions I do? The same emotions I feel coming from you now. That is why I understand who you are.”

  A damp strand of hair hung loosely over my face; he reached up and tucked it back behind my ear, “You and I are connected for a reason, Emma.”

  I touched the locket that dangled from my neck. “Granna would say it’s fate. Maybe you had these dreams so you could help me. You did rescue me on the beach earlier,” I said with a smile. “For now, Tristan why don’t we just leave this book on the shelf?”

  “But don’t you want to find out what this is all about?” he asked.

  “I do, but I have no idea how to go about it, and the thought of trying to figure it all out right now is a bit overwhelming,” I admitted.

  “No worries, Lass. Why don’t we go have some of that soup I made? We can use the time to find out about one another. See what we have in common.” He grinned at me and gave me a wink.

  I felt a warmth in my heart that made it impossible to say no. “All right then.”

  “Now that’s settled, if you please, my lady,” he said with a bow. He held out his arm to escort me back to the kitchen.

  “My pleasure,” I said laughing.

  Tristan had laid out a beautiful table. What looked to be tomato bisque was in two bright yellow bowls and garnished with a basil leaf on the top. A basket of warm bread was at the center of the table. A beautiful mixed bouquet of flowers completed the look.

  I looked over at Tristan, “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble on my account,” I stammered suddenly nervous.

  “It was no trouble at all; I just warmed up some soup. I was going to eat anyway when I got back. Please sit down.” He pulled out a chair and I took a seat.

  “It all looks so amazing. I can see that you are a very talented chef.”

  Tristan grinned at me. “Aye that I am. Now let’s dig into this soup before it gets cold.”

  We ate in silence for a few moments. I let the warm soup work as a tonic on my war-torn body. I was cocooned in a safe haven after the battle of my life. Finally Tristan broke the quiet with his thick Irish brogue that I could have listened to forever.

  “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about myself shall I? And then maybe you can tell me a little bit about you?”

  I simply nodded and let him begin.

  “Well, as you can probably tell from my accent I’m from Ireland. I’ve lived in the same county of Ireland my entire life until I moved to the states. It’s the county of Donegal. I still hold those beautiful cliffs of home in my heart. The cliffs of Slieve League are a sight for sore eyes. In the summer Slieve League lights up with white heather as far as the eye can see. To this day I think it’s the most beautiful place on God’s green earth.” He paused, lost in his imaginings of his homeland.

  He gazed into my eyes across the table. “These cliffs I speak of Emma are the cliffs of my dreams. The cliffs that I see you standing on. So my question for you is, have you seen my cliffs, have you been to the place that has a piece of my heart?”

  My eyes grew wide and my heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. What the hell was he talking about? There had to be some mistake. The cliff I had just fallen from was in Ireland? Dear God, what was going on? Then I remembered. Granna’s premonition. I shut my eyes and groaned inwardly. The portal. That was really true? I hadn’t even felt it. I couldn’t tell Tristan what I was capable of. Not yet. It was just all too much for me to comprehend.

  Not able to articulate any words, I just shook my head and let him continue. I picked up a piece of warm bread just to have something to do with my hands and avoid his gaze.

  He patted my hand and soothed my beating heart with his now familiar voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, so why don’t I just keep on with my story?”

  Accepting my silence he continued, “I’m one of three brothers. I was the youngest and was always picked on by my brothers and my Da. They always thought I was bit daft for one reason or another. Da thought it was girly that all I ever wanted to do was cook and paint. Ma was a different story, she was the warmest, most understanding person that I’ve ever met. I spent many hours in the kitchen with her. It was warm and cozy there, and no one dared pick on me in the sanctity of Ma’s kitchen.”

  Looking over at Tristan I could think of no reason why this handsome man would be picked on. He was just so beautiful. I shook myself from my revere and concentrated on what he was saying.

  “She is the reason I am a chef. My Da was a teacher and was ashamed of me at school. He was always so proud of me brothers, they loved soccer with the same passion he held. I didn’t fit in. I loved to draw and paint those green hills of home, and I hated the competitiveness of sports. But my brothers always made my Da proud. He was a thin man with a stern face and I remember he had a crease in his forehead that would grow deeper when he was disappointed in me. Ma was round and jovial and had beautiful rosy cheeks. One thing I never doubted was how much Da loved Ma. He always said their love would never die. And he was right. Ma died first, her heart gave out when I was only eighteen. Da was never the same, he gave up on his will to live and he followed her one year later. I think he died of a broken heart. My br
others, Colin and Devin had gone off to University, and were living their own lives. I dreamed of culinary school, and had no desire to attend University.”

  Tristan got up and cleared the plates. His voice held a sadness to it now. I could tell how much he missed his parents.

  “Was there no one else for you there? Your Grandparents anyone?” I asked concerned for the young man of nineteen, orphaned and alone.

  “I never knew my grandparents. Da married Ma against his parent’s wishes and they cut him out of their lives, and Ma’s parents were dead before I even came to be. I suppose I had some old school chums, an aunt and uncle who loved me, but nothing stronger than this pull that insisted I had to come find you.”

  I felt myself blushing and looked down at my hands to avoid his intense gaze. I think he sensed my discomfort, so he continued on.

  “I decided to pack up my belongings, and my brothers and I sold our childhood home and split the money between us. All I could think was, I have to go to South Carolina. It was as if my mind was in control, and I had no choice. I had the money. I had to go.

  “I remember my heart wept as I left the familiar hills of my childhood. I decided since I had to go to the states I would make use of it, and was accepted to go to culinary school in Myrtle Beach. I never looked back, and I’ve never regretted it.

  “It was as if I had something to accomplish, but I had no idea what. So here I am in South Carolina and it looks like I’ve found you. However now that you are here in front of me I have no idea how to help you.”

  “I’m sorry, Tristan. I wish I had some answers for you. I really do, but I can’t think of a thing. Maybe if you tell me more about what happens when you paint me?” I said, doubtful it would help. We’d just finished cleaning up and Zen was snacking on some leftovers. Weird cat liked tomato bisque.

  “As I told you before, you have haunted me my entire life. I would always see you on the cliff, plagued by darkness. I painted the image of you over and over again. In my mind’s eye I always called you my lass on the cliff. You came to me in dreams and you would always speak to me, ‘You must come, please help me. Don’t allow the past to repeat itself.’ I would try to follow you, but each time I was picked up by a giant tornado that sucked me up and spirited me away. I would awaken always in that precise moment, and I would hear your voice say, ‘Come to South Carolina, come find me.’ Then, because I could do nothing else, and powered by something bigger than I was, I hurled myself out of bed and began to paint that scene of you on the cliff. It was the only way for me to quiet your voice in my mind and for my hands to still. That voice I heard and your voice are one and the same. It makes no sense and you probably think me foolish but there it is.”

  “You’re not foolish Tristan,” I said quietly, “I just don’t really understand. You say I called for you to save me? But I don’t even know you. Why would I do that? I have never even been to Ireland. Yet we are both sure the girl in that painting is me. I…”

  “Sshh, Lass. Don’t tax yourself. All will be right in time. You have had a pretty rough day already.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I replied.

  He really had no idea, I thought. My story was strange enough, but now here I was wrapped up in Tristan’s story. What did Tristan have to do with any of this? Ugh. I felt too befuddled to think anymore tonight. “Look, it’s getting late, maybe we can talk about this another time?”

  “Wait a minute, I’ve told you my history but I still know very little about you.”

  “It’s a long story, would you mind if we talked about me next time? I can give you my number and you can call me, okay?”

  In a strange way, listening to his story of home had helped me keep my mind off of the bigger truth that Granna was gone. But telling him about me would be filled with Granna and my memories of her. He must have seen the pain on my face because he interrupted my thoughts.

  “I’m just teasing you Emma, it’s absolutely fine. Besides, it will give me an excuse to see you again.”

  I laughed. “I think we have plenty of excuses to see one another again, not to worry about that.” I looked around the kitchen. “Do you have something to write on?”

  He turned and grabbed a notepad and pen from a drawer by the sink. “Here, you can use this,” he said.

  I quickly jotted down the number and handed it back to him. I watched as he carefully folded the paper and placed it neatly in his pocket.

  “Well I think that I better drive you home, Emma. It’s still pouring out there,” Tristan said, gazing out the kitchen window.

  “Oh I don’t know…” I said. Inside I was screaming; don’t make me go back there. Don’t make me see Granna’s body lying there all alone in a pool of blood.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m taking you home; my truck is just outside.”

  Not letting me argue further; he handed me a raincoat and I followed him out to his truck.

  We were quiet as Tristan drove down the narrow street that followed the long stretch of ocean. The windshield wipers worked furiously on the glass as he struggled to see through the deluge.

  He pointed the truck toward the old beach house and drove down our lane. “How do you know where I live?” I asked, confused.

  “I know your Granna remember?”

  “You never told me how you met.”

  “Why don’t we save that story for next time too; it’s a little complicated. You look completely exhausted.” He turned off the ignition and turned to face me. “Are you going to be all right?”

  This time I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The silent tears began to fall as I looked out at the warm comfort of home. The front porch. Granna’s favorite rocking chair. The chimes tinkling in the wind. The rain hitting the roses.

  Tristan’s eyes filled with concern. “Hey lass, what is it? What’s wrong?” He rubbed my shoulder in support.

  That was all it took. The sobs racked my body in spasms. “Granna. Gone. The body. Oh God, the body. She’s gone. She’s gone. My heart…” I knew I was making no sense. But the air had left my lungs and I struggled for breath.

  “Shhh…it’s all right. It’s going to be all right.” He pulled me over to him and let me rest my head on his shoulder. I sobbed for the woman that had raised me as her own, the woman that was my world. I was bereft. There were no words.

  I couldn’t go in and deal with her remains. I just couldn’t.

  Tristan petted my hair in slow smooth strokes. I found an odd comfort in it. His strong arms stayed around me and I felt I was in a protective cocoon. When he finally pulled back I was cold again.

  “Listen Emma, you’re going to have to run this by me again. I didn’t understand what you were saying you were crying so hard.”

  He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to me, waiting for me to compose myself.

  “Granna was murdered last night and her body is inside that house. She is lying in a pool of blood and I just left her in that awful, awful room. I can’t go back in there.” My voice caught in my throat and I grabbed my locket for comfort. It had only seemed like yesterday she had given it to me.

  Time changed so many things.

  Tristan brought me back. He spoke softly. “What happened to her Emma? Who did this? You can tell me.”

  I looked into his kind eyes and realized I could.

  He took my hand as I explained the last twenty-four hours to him, everything that led up to this moment. His thoughts were quiet; at least I couldn’t hear them. I wondered what he thought of it all.

  He was silent for a second. “I’ll go in the house Emma. You stay here. I’ll search just the main house first and then come back. Okay?”

  I nodded numbly. With shaking hands I went to find my keys but realized I didn’t have anything but my wet clothes.

  “It’s open, go right in,” I said.

  He nodded and patted my hand before running up the front steps to the house out of the rain. As I watched him disappear inside I realized I couldn’t let him do
this on his own. I had to face my demons.

  I hopped out of the truck and followed Tristan in. Once inside, my confidence ebbed. I decided to sit on the couch and wait for him to reappear.

  After a few nail-biting moments I heard his footsteps on the stairs.

  He looked surprised. “What are you doing in here Emma? I thought you wanted to wait in the truck.”

  I stood up. “That would be the coward’s way. I couldn’t just let you come in here and deal with my problems. It’s my mess Tristan.”

  “No it’s not. You are not alone in all this. The house looks fine I didn’t see anything amiss, but I need you to tell me where the secret room is.”

  My lip quivered; I started to cry. “I have to check that room. It’s my job. That’s where I left her.”

  “You’re not to do this alone, lass.” He offered his hand and we climbed the stairs to Granna’s office. I was oblivious to my surroundings, just putting one foot after another, until we reached the door.

  Tristan grabbed a flashlight that sat on Granna’s desk and we headed down.

  I felt my palms start to sweat and my breathing became shallow. Tristan squeezed my hand.

  “Emma, let me go for you.”

  “No, I have to do this,” I whispered.

  Once inside the main room I stopped, stupefied.

  The body was gone.

  63

  I looked around, puzzled. There was no blood. There was no sign of a struggle. Nothing but the same old dining table and thirteen chairs.

  The room was cold and empty. I had won out over the evil, but at a price. An icy chill ran down my spine. I had done what the Greeks from so long ago had asked of me.

  With heightened alertness, I scanned the room; I sensed no bodies here, not Granna’s nor anybody else’s. Where had he put them? Had he buried them somewhere else? What was Thomas speaking of when he said they were buried in here? Conceivably, they had found freedom and escaped to the afterworld. But if their remains were still here, I would not unbury the dead, let them rest in peace.

  A smell wafted past my nose. Peppermint and sea spray.