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  “Yes, I remember you.”

  “I teach your daughter orchestra and see you sitting with your wife. But I can't help but wonder about this other woman whose daughter just so happens to be another one of my students. Ms. Dickly is a girlfriend, yes?”

  Jim smiled sheepishly. “Yes, something like that.” By now, Jim was more than halfway finished with his cup of overwhelmingly strong tea; probably drunk so fast in a means to cover his nervousness while being interrogated about Amber.

  Finally, Ekaterina received the answer to her burning question and now did her best to cover the disappointment. Nearly shaking she took an angry sip of tea and then rested her elbow on the table to support her chin with the palm of her hand. Her mood shifted from trying to cover disappointment to that of implying that Jim was now in hot water and owing an explanation. Her dark, Russian eyes furiously burned into Jim's.

  But things were not going well for Jim. Apparently he wasn't used to drinking tea of such strength. With lunch eaten a few hours ago, the food digested and his stomach was empty. The strong tea had been absorbed quickly and now caused havoc on Jim's body. His stomach quivered and turned. A sensation of weakness began to overcome him.

  While fighting the uncomfortable feelings and increasing nausea, Jim struggled to defend his taboo relationship with Amber. “She moved down the street from me and I met her. I guess I really took a liking towards her. Hey, I never forget who my wife is.”

  Suddenly, the overabundance of warm, unpleasant saliva began to produce itself in Jim's mouth. This was typically a precursor to vomiting and made Jim all the more nauseous.

  Ekaterina immediately sensed Jim's discomfort. “Oh, you're not used to strong tea!” She nearly jumped out of her seat and to the ice box where a roll of Old Wisconsin beef sausage was pulled out. Ekaterina quickly cut a few slices and handed them to Jim. “Here, eat this! The salt will help you feel better.”

  The last thing Jim wanted to do at the moment was eat something, especially salty sausage. He put his hand to his forehead and realized the inevitable. Jim was moments from vomiting.

  “Eat it!” ordered Ekaterina. “You will feel better.”

  Jim did as ordered and oddly savored the salty flavor and spices of the beef sausage. It was like salami or summer sausage and ideal for making sandwiches. And just as Ekaterina promised, the nausea immediately subsided. Upon finishing his third piece, Jim was hungry and ready for more sausage. But he wasn't going to be rude and ask for more.

  “Feel better?” asked Ekaterina.

  “Oh yeah. That was weird. Does that happen to you, often?”

  “No, you're just not used to drinking strong tea. Russian people have a stomach that can handle it because we drink strong tea all the time. The tea threw something off balance in your stomach and made you feel sick. The sausage gave you salt which made everything better.”

  Jim was impressed, “Hmm…”

  Ekaterina walked over to her cupboard and grabbed a small, transparent, glass bowl. She carried it with her to a door that Jim originally thought was a closet. “If you need to use the bathroom, it's in here.”

  Ekaterina even had a small bathroom for herself?

  Inside the dark room, the sound of a well hand pump could be heard extracting water. Apparently, Ekaterina even drilled her own well and had it feed directly to the bathroom. While alone and listening to the sound, Jim realized that it was getting late and he would soon have to leave.

  Ekaterina entered the kitchen with the glass bowl filled with water. As she neared the table, Jim carefully announced, “It's getting late and I'm going to have to start heading home.”

  Ekaterina set the bowl at the center of the table and placed a candle before it so that from Jim's vantage point, the distorted flame and glow could be seen through the water and glass. “Leaving so soon?” asked Ekaterina. “You haven't had your questions answered.”

  “What questions?”

  “You came here for something.” insisted Ekaterina. “You're looking for answers, and I'm going to help you. Now, let me ask you something. Do you really think the young lady, Ms. Dickly, is the best thing for you?”

  Jim remained silent.

  “Look at the bowl.” ordered Ekaterina. “Just think about your girlfriend. What is she doing to you? You know what she is and what she's trying to do to you.”

  Jim was no stranger to shifting his brain patterns for a brief moment. Recall his attempts of sex magick while sitting in the circle of quartz crystals. Perhaps this made his first session of scrying and seeking visions of Amber easy.

  * * *

  Trista had a secret; not a terrible one, but something she maintained from Mother's knowing. Sometimes at night Trista would hear walking around in the attic, upstairs. It was Mother; Trista knew this. But what could she have possibly been doing in that attic? Even, still, why would Mother have spent so much time up there?

  In recent years, Amber discovered a God-given talent. Preluded by sketching with a pencil and paper, she wished to create images of some sought after reality. And with such a need to create these real-to-life pictures, Amber set up her own, private room in the attic with nothing more than some tables, soft lighting and an oil canvass. From that moment on, she spent many nights enslaved to some portrait, attempting to make it as real as possible. The art was more of a way to intensify her desires. The blood, sweat, tears and frustration all added to the energy that Amber felt was some magickal power.

  Through time, Amber developed a trademarked style of creating mystical portraits. The landscapes were often fantastic places of nature with the subject appearing to be the object of Amber's desire. Amber often placed herself in the paintings so that the onlooker would be standing directly behind her. It can be assumed that Amber was the intended onlooker and she wanted to see herself interacting with whatever was in a portrait. And it wasn't uncommon for Amber to stand before creeks or small ponds where she would conjure up all sorts of things, real or abstract, even recognizable people. Would creating these images call into reality those things that Amber desperately desired?

  Noises in the attic that often awoke Trista in the night created an overwhelming curiosity. On an afternoon while Mother worked, she ascended the unfinished stairwell into the attic. Once a crude place for storage, it was now a place where Mother existed in the late night hours. She was suddenly an artist, creating elaborate portraits on canvass, many of them quite beautiful. But there was something a bit frightening of the paintings, eerie undertones that suggested Mother to be under the delusion of possessing some mystical power. In her private realm of horror, the woman attempted to influence recognizable people while conjuring up forces of nature. Just who was Mother, and what was she doing?

  Chapter 28

  For Mary, Christmas Eve most often brought with it a mellow excitement that overshadowed the morning and throughout the day. Perhaps it was deeply rooted from her childhood days of anticipating the night's visit of Santa Clause. With the years passed, she most likely displaced that childhood excitement towards a more appropriate appreciation of the holiday. The two day celebration was a bit of Heaven touched onto Earth; peace and goodwill towards all.

  And what better way to intensify those happy feelings on the morning of Christmas Eve with a fresh blanket of snow? Mary let Muffin the Yorkshire terrier excitedly run out the back door to do his morning business. The surrounding trees and forest preserves looked so beautiful dusted with snow.

  “Good morning!” Daren entered the room and stood beside his wife. Both admired winter's fresh portrait, a little Christmas present to add to the cheer.

  Then Daren suggested, “Hey, what do you say we go for a little drive this morning to Sillmac? We'll have breakfast and coffee over at the bakery; check out the snowy trees along the way.”

  It sounded like a great idea to Mary. “Sure!”

  Sometime later, showered and groomed for the day, the couple loaded into Daren's car and descended the half-block, inclined driveway dow
n to Mapleview Road. Daren turned left (north) and traveled along the wintery, forested highway, past the Hidden Lake Forest Preserve entrance and en route to where the road transitioned east.

  Mary commented on the scenery. “The woods are so beautiful this morning.” Steam and vapors hovered snaking streams that traveled through the snowy forest.

  Daren agreed. “I know; it's gorgeous.”

  Then Mary harshly scratched the needle across the record that morning with some silly talk about her favorite customer at the Mapleview Flower Shop. “That guy doesn't come in the store anymore for his daily rose.”

  “No?” asked Daren.

  “I haven't seen him since last Friday. I'm starting to miss him.”

  Daren briefly took his eyes off the road for a queer look at his wife.

  Mary continued, “Shelly knew I liked him; knew that I admired the way he got a rose for his wife each day. Sometimes I'd be working in the backroom when he'd come in. Shelly would pop her head in the door, and say that my boyfriend is here.”

  Daren definitely had a jealous streak when it came to his wife, and it flared at that moment! “Whoa, whoa; wait a minute! So what's going on over there? You've got some boyfriend who visits you at the flower shop?”

  “Daren, stop it! Shelly was joking with me. I can't tell you anything!”

  Daren struggled and bit his tongue to keep the jealous feelings from further surfacing. This guy probably liked Mary and he knew how she adored his supposed romantic side. In fact, those roses were probably bought for Mary!

  Now was the time for Daren to act! He needed Mary to understand how much he loved her. Daren pulled over onto the snowy shoulder of Mapleview Road, just where the road curved and transitioned east.

  “Daren, what are you doing?” There was a note of worry to Mary's voice.

  Daren had an intense look on his face as he reached inside the coat pocket and pulled out a small present. “I got something for you, just a small reminder of how special you are.”

  Mary smiled so adoringly while taking the package then tore into the wrapping like a little girl on Christmas morning. Whatever the item was, it was encased in a velvet jewelry gift box. Mary looked up at Daren with another smile. “What did you do?” She lifted the lid which immediately revealed the famous love pendant that had been advertised on TV throughout the holiday season—a series of joined hearts, adorned with diamonds. Its purpose was to remind a woman of her man's undying love for her.

  It was beautiful for Mary, and received so well. She leaned in and gave her husband a kiss on the lips. “Thank you!”

  Daren immediately took both ends of the pendant's necklace and motioned his desire to clasp it around Mary's neck. “Let's see what this looks like.”

  Mary pulled her beautiful hair from her neck while leaning forward. “You got it?”

  “Almost… There, it's beautiful on you! Take a look!”

  Mary pulled down the visor and glanced in the mirror while admiring the new addition to her jewelry collection. Then she leaned in to give Daren another kiss. “Thank you.”

  “Hey, like I said; just a little something to remind you of how special you are.” Then Daren placed his hand on Mary's shoulder, “I want you to know that I'll always love you. I'll never let you go. And make sure you wear that at the flower shop so all those men know you belong to me.” He wasn't joking, either. It was nearly an order.

  It was a strange request for Mary. “Isn't that what my wedding ring is supposed to do?”

  Daren reinforced his wish with a note of demand. “Just make sure you wear them both. And you never know; I might make a surprise visit one day to make sure you are wearing them.”

  Suddenly that beautiful, gleeful moment on the snow dusted morning of Christmas Eve lost its magick. Why Daren's transformation into Sleeping with the Enemy?

  There were a few minutes of silence as Daren pulled back onto the highway and continued along Mapleview Road. Then he asked, “Christmas at your Aunt Loraine's house this year?”

  “Yup.” replied Mary.

  “Are any of your relatives from out-of-town flying in?”

  “Well of course, Daren. My Mom, Dad and two brothers will be there along with some friends and acquaintances of Aunt Loraine.”

  This was an unfavorable situation for Daren. Mary's family did not like him. For starters, Mary's side of the family urged her not to follow through with the wedding. And thanks to Aunt Loraine's need to talk of wild speculations, the family held a silent suspicion against Daren ever since Kelly had disappeared. Kelly was Mary's younger cousin and a temporary guest at the Trivelli house. For some reason, Mary's side of the family believed that Daren was responsible for her disappearance. Imagine that!

  Mary offered the perfect solution. “You can fly out to Arizona and be with your side of the family if you want. I know you don't like my family.”

  This threw Daren into a fit of rage. “What are you talking about? Yeah, I'm just going to jump on a plane over Christmas and make it there in time to be with my family! Sometimes you talk out of your ass, you know that?”

  Now the beautiful morning of Christmas Eve was definitely stained with some nasty spills of negativity and insults. Mary despised when Daren used profanity. Feelings hurt with a sudden, peculiar longing for her special customer at the flower shop, Mary exploded with the only logical argument she could think of. “Watch your mouth! Don't you swear at me!” Surely, Jim didn't treat his wife that way.

  But Daren refused to be ordered by his wife. Using that horrible word of fornication, he told Mary to shut up. And then he reminded her that he'll talk however he wished, again, using that horrible word of fornication.

  Mary and Daren were no longer on speaking terms, at least for Christmas Eve. She didn't deserve to be spoken to that way. Silence was Mary's way of controlling the situation. And besides, if Daren hadn't done those unmentionable things with Kelly while she stayed at the Trivelli house, Aunt Loraine wouldn't have held such suspicion against him. It was a dark reality that Mary and Daren never got to the bottom of.

  Breakfast at the bakery was a miserable experience. After making his part of the order at the counter, Daren asked his lovely wife, “And what do you want?” He intended to relay Mary's request.

  But Mary wasn't speaking to her husband. She was a grown woman and perfectly capable of ordering for herself. She spoke directly to the clerk. “Just a bagel and orange juice.”

  The clerk could see that Mary was angry with her husband.

  Daren took notice of the clerk's realization which spiraled him into more anger and jealousy. The clerk had better stay out of it and not take sides if he knew what was best for him.

  Eating in silence and receiving no eye contact from his wife, Daren finally asked, “So what's your problem?”

  Was Daren for real? Since when was it acceptable to insult and use profanity at Mary? She returned a hostile and scornful look. It was going to be a long and miserable Christmas.

  Chapter 29

  I'm afraid I'm hardly qualified to fully understand and explain the strange, new perceptions of Jim. Since his initial encounter of Ekaterina on the carousel ride, it would appear that he was delving into a strange world of delusions that were becoming increasingly worse. To explain his condition, it might be best to seek the professional knowledge of Jim's own doctor, Dr. Millheimer.

  When talking with the man, one can clearly see that Dr. Millheimer is a man of science with not only the credentials and years of experience as a physician, but a wealth of understanding into the human psyche. He once treated a patient whose wife was tragically killed in a car crash; but suffered the horrible hallucination of seeing her alive, conscious and well in the hospital room while signing the death papers.

  To this, Dr. Millheimer advised the patient some days later, “The mind has been a mystery for countless ages, and it continues to baffle us. I'm afraid the more we try to understand the human psyche, the more we will realize how little we know of it.” />
  And what answer does Dr. Millheimer give us with Jim's new perceptions? As he says, “There are many clinical papers written that address what is typically described as delusions of witchcraft. This phenomenon can be broken down into two classes: passive and active. Patients exhibiting symptoms of passive witchcraft delusions typically feel that some known or unknown, mystical force that was generated by a witch caused harm or even damaged the patient. In an active case, the patient is under the delusional belief to possess the abilities of performing witchcraft.

  Now we need to be careful not to assume that everyone who speaks of or believes in witchcraft to be delusional. There's an entire religion, Wicca, that utilizes witchcraft, and these followers can be deemed normal. As far as believing in the imposed will of others (believing that harmful or beneficial spells are being casted onto one another): magick can be seen as an extension of the psyche. There is nothing wrong with believing in magick and using it as a vehicle to unlock the potential of the human mind—provided this is done in moderation.

  So where do we draw the line? When should these so-called delusions of witchcraft concern the doctor? It's when the patient exhibits signs of paranoia and suddenly develops the strange perception of a surrounding population of witches who wish to inflict harm.

  There's a clinical study currently in the works with results not yet published for it needs more clarification. There appears to be a correlation of young to middle-aged men who are so attracted to the opposite sex that they begin to believe that certain women are witches. Such men become confused from their overwhelming supply of the chemistry of attraction, and conclude that a particular woman casted some sort of love spell. As the delusional male further concludes; if his woman of desire causes such intense feelings simply by walking in the room, then surely she must be a witch who casted a spell for either causing him to fall in love, or simply as a means for telepathic tracking with purposes of consecrating her victim into magick.