Blood & Soul

Blood & Soul by Deborah O'Toole (aka Deidre Dalton) is Book #3 in the Bloodline Trilogy.

Emma Beckett is adopted into a loving home as an infant, never knowing the true circumstances of her birth. As a child, she discovers she has unique powers of healing but eventually realizes her abilities could be an instrument of evil, begotten by a bloodthirsty monster.

From Chapter Fourteen: Dispossessed

MUCH LATER, AFTER guests had departed the Minot townhouse following a catered menu of salads, finger foods and beverages, Kate sat quietly in the den with her family and Madge. She gingerly sipped a tulip glass of Courvoisier cognac.

She made a face as she looked into the amber liquid. "I never could stand this stuff." She sighed, her glance going to Emma. "How long can you stay?"

"As long as you need me to," Emma replied firmly.

Kate smiled wanly. "I'll be okay, so please don't worry." Her eyes watered. "I never thought to lose my husband and father in such awful ways, but life goes on regardless. A piece of my heart will always be missing, and getting over their deaths will be the hardest things I've ever done, but I cannot let it destroy me."

"Take all the time you need to heal," Noel advised her daughter gently. "There isn't any rush."

"And we're all here if you need us," Madge said. "Whenever you need us."

 "You'll never be alone, love," Noel agreed. "You are surrounded by love and support."

"Thank you for that," Kate said softly, blinking her eyes. "As I'm here for you."

That night, as she lay in bed, Kate's mind tossed about like a wild sea. She was bereft and grief-stricken, yes, but also angry. How could Kirk choose to end his life with her, just like that? The last straw seemed to have been the letters Ken Lester had sent him. What had caused Kirk to finally open and read them?

Kate had read the letters, sickened by their content. Which particularly nasty comment or phrase had driven the nail home for Kirk? She would never know for sure, but suspected it was Ken's last letter to Kirk, where he went on about meeting Emma.

Captain Kelly had also returned Kirk's last poems to her. Deciding she wanted to read them now, she turned on the lamp beside the bed and withdrew the two sheets of paper from the bedside table.

Taking a deep breath, she began to read.

Heart in Dusk

Dormant now, for a decade or less.

My full heart waited in the pearly dusk,

to reach out for a long, slow caress.

Before my soul turns to dust.

Steadfast and true, are you.

Never deserved by me,

not even when we were new.

In your mind, I wish I could see.

Years of languish, deep and alone.

To take my place beside you,

from now to the end, I will atone.

For your love and forgiveness, and hatred, too.

Beating in the pearly dusk.

Waiting, hoping and humble.

So much more than whimsical lust,

as I walk toward you and stumble.

Dusky heart for you, Katie dear,

my pure and mindful seer.

All my thoughts are clear,

never again any fear.

He was declaring his love for her in his own, unique way. Tears were streaming down her face, but she read on. She heard Kirk's voice in her head as if he were actually speaking the words to her.

Throes of Madness

In the throes of madness,

twisting and turning.

Filled with inexplicable sadness,

insides wildly churning.

All effort is in vain,

hope is useless and sour.

Truly insane,

rising by the hour.

Think of me as before,

not as I am now.

I am nearly ashore,

floundering with each and every vow.

Love is but a sigh,

scattered in fray.

In my mind's eye,

you shine as I fade away.

Kate lay on her back in the bed, the sheets of paper on her chest. The last poem was his final farewell to her, so eloquently put as usual. He was telling her that he didn't have the strength to go on, no matter how much he loved her. The last lines of the second poem were letting her know that she would shine on even after he was gone.

"Damn you, Kirk Lester," she choked out through her tears. "Damn you, and damn your father." She was also angry about Kirk giving up the chance to be a permanent fixture in Emma's life. He had tossed it away, just like he tossed away their marriage. It was a complete waste, pure and simple.

Kate turned her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, the poems rising and falling on her chest with every breath.

* * *

THE GUARD STARED at Ken Lester as he sat on the bed in his prison cell. Miguel Pinilla had worked at the Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Walpole for early twenty years, most of which had been spent eyeballing prisoners in solitary confinement. He loathed Ken Lester, often taunting the serial killer with offhand remarks about his manhood or family, but nothing seemed to penetrate his evil shell.

Miguel stood in front of the cell door on the day of Kirk Lester's funeral. Ken had no inkling that his son was dead as he never read local or national news, preferring his solitary confinement over the harsh realities of the world.

The guard didn't open the cell door, but rather spoke to prisoner 561113, as he was officially known, through the bars.

"I've some news for you."

Ken glanced in his direction, a look of disinterest on his face. The former serial killer had aged badly, his once wheaten hair now wispy and white, small bits clinging to his sunken cheekbones and papery skin. "What news do you have for me?" Ken asked, his tone bored.

"Your son is dead." Miguel made the statement bluntly, hoping for a reaction from the despicable man in the cell.

Ken went still, but his facial expression remained the same. At length, he turned his head to stare at the wall opposite the bed. "What's it to me?" He finally asked, his voice cold.

"I heard tell from a source that your boy offed himself," Miguel continued with barely veiled glee. "He hung himself, and his wife found him."

"They've always been a pair of losers," Ken returned, his voiced laced with disgust.

"If anyone is a loser, it's you." Miguel's voice was adamant. "Remember, it's you sitting in the prison cell, not them."

Ken looked at the guard again. "Anything else you'd care to impart? I'm tired of your company, frankly."

Miguel slipped a newspaper clipping under the last rung of the cell door. It slid across the floor towards Ken.

"Enjoy," the guard grinned, and then moved away.

Ken waited a few minutes before he rose to retrieve the clipping. He glanced at it impassively. It was Kirk's obituary, featuring a recent photograph.

He stared at the image. Kirk, who had resembled him in the physical but not psychological sense, was now gone from the face of the earth at the age of thirty-seven.

Ken felt no great sense of loss, no paternal anguish or regret over the loss of his son. His anger at what he perceived to be Kirk's disloyalty remained firmly lodged in his heart. It was something he couldn't forgive, not even in death.

He sat back down on his bed, allowing the obituary to flutter to the ground, disregarded.