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A Poltergeist: The Legacy Story
Written By: Sarah Saint Ives
[Disclaimer: Parts of this fan fiction contain SLASH (male/male) sexual subject matter. The characters Derek Rayne and Nick Boyle do not belong to me. I’ve kidnaped them temporarily from MGM. Just a little harm is done, nothing that can’t be cured with a little TLC and some typically mystical powers. No profit is being made, no harm intended. There are brief accounts of violence.
Mark Ryder and Penelope are my own demented creations.]
PART ONE
Mark handled the motorcycle expertly around dangerous curves as he climbed the steep Eastern Kentucky mountain road. He had removed his helmet at the foot of the mountain to allow his shaggy tan hair to whip in the wind. He wanted to reach the cottage by nightfall. After sunset, driving on the mountain would be too risky. The fog would move in, would leave no visibility, and on this narrow, sloping road at the top of the world, one mistake could prove to be fatal.
More than two decades ago, he had fled this mountain, which had been his childhood home. Now, it welcomed him back with that old, familiar sense of cheerless tranquility. Peace was his purpose here, to escape the chaotic life that had nearly driven him crazy in the past twenty years. He needed solitude, needed what only the mountain had to offer. He had learned. He understood now.
Mark saw the vehicle up ahead long before he reached it and approached warily. The driver was inspecting the car, which had nearly overturned in a deep gully. He was six feet tall, somewhere in his forties, judging from the lines around the eyes and the silver highlights in the wavy brown hair. When the driver turned at the sound of the Kawasaki, Mark saw that his brown eyes were laden with apprehension and knew instinctively that he had encountered Penelope.
Mark stopped his motorcycle and greeted the man, studying the condition of the wrecked Range Rover. It wasn't damaged beyond repair, but it didn't look good. "The frame could be sprung." he said observantly. "The front fender's just a little creased, but that wheel's bent pretty bad."
The stranger gazed at his vehicle with languid eyes. "Thanks."
"We could push it forward a couple of feet without turning it over in the gully, just enough to get the back wheel off the road so I can get past it with my bike, then I can give you a ride on up the mountain. Where were you heading?"
"I don't know."
Mark gazed at him curiously. "What caused you to drive your car in the ditch, buddy?"
"A cat."
"A cat?" The stranger shrugged hopelessly, briefly met his eyes. "Are you okay?" Mark had noticed a smear on his temple that looked like blood. He reached to wipe at it with his thumb. The wound was a tiny scratch.
The man took a step backward at the touch, stared at him with foreboding. They had shared a haunting flash, a strange psychic connection. They were both astonished to trepidation.
The driver of the Range Rover recovered first. "I'm fine. I appreciate the offer of a ride, but I'm fine." He spoke with an indiscernible European accent.
After heartbeats of stunned silence, the biker cleared his throat and calmly spoke. His deep Southern drawl prevailed over the mutual preternatural recognition. "Listen, uh...I can't just leave you here like this. It's a long way either way you go. It's going to get dark in a few minutes. It's foggy after dark up here and there are bears, mountain lions and all other kinds of hungry varmints that will be looking for a yummy snack like you. It also gets real cold and I don't see a blanket in your car. I'm *not* gonna leave you here, okay? Come on. Get on behind me, and I'll take you up the mountain." He began pushing the car out of the road, glad when the driver joined in and helped. Once the Rover was to the side, it was time for introductions. "My name's Mark Ryder."
"Derek Rayne." Solemnly, they shook hands.
"Glad to meet you, Derek. Okay, we're wasting time. Let's go. My cottage is a few miles on up the road, close to the top. We'll spend the night there and we'll talk about what to do with your car tomorrow, okay?"
"Thanks." Derek retrieved a carry bag from the car, hung the strap over his shoulder, then swung his leg over the bike to sit behind Mark.
It was dark and fog had covered the mountain before they arrived at the cottage. It was very small and obscured, almost spooky in the single headlight’s beam. As the Kawasaki's engine died, and the light blinked out, the distant scream of a mountain cat pierced the air. Both men remained on the motorcycle for a moment, listening for more sounds. In total darkness, Derek asked, "Do you have a flashlight?"
"Yeah. It's under the seat."
"Good place for it." Derek got off the bike while Mark rummaged for it. "Is the cat inside the cottage?" he asked.
"Don't think so. Found it." Mark flipped on the flashlight and shined it toward the run-down cottage.
The lion screamed again, not from the cottage, but from the woods. Derek turned quickly, twisted his ankle and fell to one knee with a grimace. "Are you okay?" Mark shined the light on him.
Gaining his feet, improving his posture, becoming noble, Derek's full lower lip, by contrast, stuck out fretfully. "I'm fine." he answered, as if there would be an argument.
"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"
"I was startled at the scream. That's all."
Mark untied his bedroll from the sissy bar. "Like I said, panthers are all over this mountain. Cougars, mountain lions, pumas, painters, whatever the hell you wanta call 'em...they're all up here."
Derek followed him into the cottage, limping. "I hope they keep their distance."
Mark regarded him carefully as he lit a rusty lantern. "We should get some firewood in. It's cold in here."
Taking the flashlight, Derek went immediately out the door and began to gather up bits and pieces of wood that were scattered about on the porch.
The cottage, of course, was not furnished with electricity, running water or a toilet. There was no furniture other than the small round table that was host to the lantern. Mark hoped the crooked, crumbling fireplace was adequate to contain a fire throughout the night. The temperature was quickly dropping.
Derek returned with an armload of wood and Mark built a fire. He noticed that as it grew brighter, his guest stared into the flames with unblinking reflection. Fire had an optic attraction to wayworn travelers, this he knew and understood. He appreciated the emotion, the mental hush, the scattered recollections, the clustered woes. To interpret the calm, self-containment of a firegazer would add more to his knowledge than any PhD. He remembered staring into a few fires with that same calm, comfortless conviction.
When the fire was burning a steady blaze, Mark unrolled his bedding and spread it on the floor. He stood tall, stretched his long legs and arms. His palms flattened on the sagging ceiling, then, bending his back, he touched the floor. He rolled his head around as he flopped limberly onto the blanket and patted the spot beside him. "Sit down." he invited.
Derek hesitated. "I'm grateful for your hospitality." he said as he sat. "You're very kind."
Mark smiled at him. "No big thing. It ain't like I'm puttin' you up at the Waldorf or the Hilton. I don't even have a couch to offer you for the night."
"It's all right. We'll make do." Derek went back to staring into the fire. After a time, he said, "A big cat ran across the hood of my car."
"That's why you hit the gully?"
Derek nodded with a dubious awkwardness that somehow enhanced his regal features. His hair had lost its neatness during the motorcycle ride and now framed his well-chiseled face with wild, unbrushed waves. He looked much humbler like this, much more vulnerable, the ragged prince, abused and defeated but holding stoically to his aristocratic heritage. "There are lots of big cats on this mountain." Mark said. "There were so many of them several years ago that they had a bounty on them."
"This one was huge. I never saw one that big before."
"Would you like to talk about why you're on this mountain in the first place?"
Derek was surprised at the question. "Would you?"
"I'll tell you my story if you'll tell me yours." Derek's eyes were unwilling. "Best deal of the night." Mark leaned to bump shoulders with him, graced him with a winning smile. His exquisite eyes were gentle and kind. His handsome face had a moving charm that rarely failed to win over others' inhibitions. "Come on. What do you have to lose?"
With a half smile and a shrug, Derek yielded. "I have no interesting story to tell. It's rather boring, actually."
"Try me. I'm interested."
"I'm more interested in what *you* have to say. You have a very special gift that you have apparently not yet discovered."
Mark nodded in contemplation, took a deep breath, poked into the fire with a long metal pole. "I discovered it. Years ago, when I was just a kid, when I lived on this mountain, when I hadn't learned about the world, yet. Me and Penelope, all alone. We both knew. She's got a gift, too. Hers ain't like mine, but she's definitely gifted."
"Your sister?"
"Nope. Penelope's no kin to me." Derek waited patiently for him to explain. "Okay, fine. I'll go first." Mark began his story. "I lived in a town called Southern Falls the last twenty years, but this mountain kept calling me home. I came back here hoping for some peace of mind. A lot of people in Southern Falls don't approve of me, don't think I should be allowed to live in their little neighborhood."
Derek's eyes were on him. "Why not? What do they have against you? "
"I'm not like them. I'm different."
` "All right." The tone encouraged him to get on with the narrative.
"I'm gay." Mark made it clear. "They don't care much for my kind. I've spent most of my time in Lexington. They accepted me a little better there. Bigger town." Derek didn't comment. This unnecessary confession was not the issue, but he would listen. Perhaps, the real story would surface once the small talk was out of the way. "Michael is the man I was living with. Together, we acquired quite a reputation and that public scorn was a little more than I could handle. Michael started drinking. I decided to just get away from everything."
"Does Michael know where you are?"
"Nope. The only one who knows where I am--is *you*."
Derek nodded his head. "You'll contact him?"
"Not for a while. We need some time apart."
"He's still having to suffer the public scorn, only now he's doing it on his own."
"He doesn't have to live there. If he hadn't taken up the drinking, I would have stuck it out with him. I have nothing else against him. He was my best friend for a long time. I still have feelings for him. I just needed to be alone a while."
"All alone? You could live that way?"
"I did it before. I can do it again. But I'm not alone this time. You're here." Mark smiled and patted Derek's knee. "What kinda accent is that? Where the hell are you from, anyway, Derek?"
"The Netherlands."
"Never been there."
There was a pause, then Derek asked, "Do you believe that there's a reason for everything that happens?"
"Yeah, sure. I believe in destiny. Doesn't everybody?"
"I suppose so." Derek looked down. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
"You mean the big scary ones, or the little friendly ones?" Mark asked with a bemused twinkle in his eyes.
"I mean restless spirits, good and evil. There are all kinds."
"I have a better question, Derek. How many ghosts have you met?"
"I've met many."
Mark gave him a sharp look. "Tell me about it."
"I'm the precept of the Legacy House, chairman of the Luna Foundation. I deal with them constantly."
Mark's face was impassive now. He situated himself on the bedroll to face him and pulled the front of his coat together, giving Derek a glimpse of shiny metal in a leather shoulder holster. He sighed and opened the coat to reveal the gun. "Good to be ready, just in case. You never know."
Derek's full lips trembled with the cold, his brown eyes wandered, magnetized again by the fire, appearing solid black in the shadowy room.
Mark raised up and put a log on the fire. "It's supposed to get down to about zero tonight but we'll stay warm in the blanket. It's extra thick."
Derek glanced down at the sleeping bag. It was a deluxe model, made especially for arctic weather, big enough for two, but he had reservations. "I think it would be as well if I kept watch over the fire tonight while you sleep."
"I think not." Mark bent to unzip the bag. "What are you... homophobic? I promise I'm not going to try to rape you. We're friends now, aren't we? Considering the circumstances, we have very little choice in the matter. We just sat here and got acquainted, so I think we're friends now, whether you want to admit it or not."
"I don't mind admitting it."
"Then take off your coat and hang it on that nail in the wall. Here, take mine. Put it up there, too." Mark laid his gun within arm's reach of the bedding as he handed him the coat.
Derek hung the two coats on the wall and crossed his arms on his chest at the chill, alarmed that the mountain cat's screams were getting closer. "Do you think we should barricade the door with that pole?"
Mark went to the door and checked it. "It's not very sturdy, is it? It wouldn't be a bad idea." Derek stabbed the point of the pole into the rotting wood floor and jammed the bent end beneath the doorknob, doubtful that it would keep the gigantic cat from entering.
Mark led the way back to the fireside. "Take off your boots and climb in there. It's only a little past eight o'clock, but it's cold and we're tired. I'm exhausted. We may as well get a headstart on the night."
Derek sat down to take off his boots, setting them on the hearth. "Well, don't just sit there. Crawl in here before you freeze to death." Mark said. Derek reluctantly slid in between the folds. Mark laid down beside him and pulled the zipper to the top of the tract. "Good night." he said with a yawn.
"Good night, Mark." Derek had not slept in days. In bed with a stranger, in an all-too-subduing situation, he snuggled close for warmth and drifted off to sleep.
At midnight, the air was shattered by a scream from just outside the door. Both men sat bolt upright at the same instant, finding they were surrounded by almost total darkness. The lantern had burned out and the fire in the fireplace was now nothing but embers. Mark's hand felt around frantically in the blackness for the flashlight, struck it, knocked it away and finally seized it.
"Where's your gun?" Derek whispered.
"Got it."
Suddenly, Derek's whole body tensed in alarm. "What is it?" Mark asked, holding the gun ready.
"There's someone here."
"Some *one*?"
"I think it is the cat....the same cat that caused me to drive into the ditch." Derek got to his feet and slowly moved toward the door, reaching out his clairvoyant hands to ‘see’ what lurked in the night.
"Derek, wait...she could..." Mark's warning was too late.
Abruptly, the door burst open, struck Derek with enough force to hurl him into the far wall. The flashlight in Mark's hand beamed on a huge mountain lion whose intent eyes were low against the floor, the mouth open wide, showing sharp, menacing teeth.
"Leave him alone!" he shouted. "He’s not a threat to you! Get out!"
The beast ignored him, focusing on Derek. Mark fired the gun and the lion was hit in the ear. Blood sprinkled into the crazed, feline eyes. With a scream of pain, the animal reared on its hind legs and pawed the air, then attacked Derek with razor sharp claws. Derek joined in with the cat, both now screaming in pain as his body was ripped apart. Internal organs were snagged by claws and wrenched from their resting places. The lion plunged it's wide face into the split body and chewed mercilessly into him, grinding his flesh into globs of indistinguishable meat. A pool of blood grew in circumference, filling every crack in the wood floor. As Mark's bullets riddled the tawny fur, the big cat drew back an enormous paw and took one last desperate swipe which ripped Derek's handsome face to ribbons. At last the animal fell prone and laid twitching.
Derek was mortally injured, of this, there was no doubt. Mark stooped beside him, checking the deep laceration. His body was open from breastbone to pelvic bone, his every remaining organ and bowels exposed. Though he was missing pieces that laid on the floor in the mess, his heart was still intact, still pumping, the lungs were functioning. Running the light up and down the length of him, Mark stopped it at his face. “Oh, Derek, I’m so sorry.” he whispered.
Derek moaned and writhed, but Mark held him steady, tugging the flesh from the left toward the flesh at the right. "Take it easy. I know it hurts. Just lie still."
Derek's breathing shortened to strangled gasps. His body began to convulse. The spleen and other smaller organs laid around him, more closely resembling ground beef than human body parts. The very last of his blood trickled from his nose and ears as his eyes rolled back in their sockets.
Mark's hand nervously smoothed back the hair from Derek's forehead, slowly covering his entire face. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, releasing the struggle within himself.
Snarls from the waking beast did not disturb his concentration. The animal struggled to its feet and galloped from the cottage in a headlong rush. The bullet holes had faded and disappeared from the tawny fur.
Mark leaned closer to his dead friend and summoned deeper into his long-abandoned faith, lying his hands on the man's open chest and abdomen. "Help me." he whispered. "Give me the strength. Heal this man. Heal his wounds and make him whole again. Make him *live* again!"
The prayer went on for some time, faith faltered, then renewed. Then, abruptly, Derek jolted and cried out in horrible pain. His hands flailed in the air, uncoordinated, unsteady, his unfocused eyes darting past Mark's face. Mark could only imagine what was going through the man's mind. Just waking from death was bound to be a very frightening, very addling ordeal. He caught his hands and held them tightly to give him some semblance of consolation.
"Hi. Welcome back." Mark said softly. There was trust in his new friend's eyes as they centered on him. "How do you feel?"
"Terrible." Derek's body was healing, was closing up like a zipper, the flesh mending itself. The pain was diminishing. His face was smooth again, without so much as a scar.
Precious minutes later, when the miracle was done, Mark helped him slowly to his feet, guiding him to the sleeping bag, gently putting him back to bed. He was extremely weak. "I'm gonna try to rebuild the fire, then I'll clean all this blood off you. You lost gallons and gallons. I didn't know there was that much blood in a human body."
Derek's breathing was shallow. "That was very painful."
"No *shit*!"
Even in death, Derek's perception was intense. "Thank you. Thank God. I knew you would save me."
"Of course I would save you. Do you think I'd let you die?" Mark bent to touch foreheads with him.
Derek’s fluttering fingers lightly stroked his cheek. When the fire was burning brightly, Mark shined the light on his face again. He took the hand that Derek raised to shield his eyes from the light and spoke gently to him, "Let me look at you." When he achieved a surrender, he spent several minutes studying his bloodstained body. Mark's fingertips tarried on his chest as he hovered thoughtfully over him.
Finally, with the realization that he had not moved for some time, and Derek was becoming uncomfortable in his scrutiny, he got up to get his canteen. "I should wash this blood off you before it dries." Then, sitting beside him again, he whispered a warning as he poured water onto a cloth. "I don't want you to jump outta your hide with shock or anything, now. This is cold. Just relax."
As the cool, wet cloth washed the blood away, Derek closed his eyes and murmured, "You're a good friend, Mark. A very special person."
"Shh. Don't say anything. Sleep if you can." Mark concentrated the cleansing momentarily around his eyes and in the hairline. "I'll be right here when you wake up, taking care of you. Everything will be okay."
"The lion..."
"The lion ran away. It won't come back."
"It's something extraordinary, Mark. An evil spirit, a changeling, a monster. Whatever it is, its essence is overpowering. It wants me dead."
"I know, but she won't get you. I won't let her near you."
"Penelope?"
"Yep. That was Penelope." Mark admitted with reluctance.
"She's jealous. She thinks you love me." Derek's dark eyes were closing. He was weary beyond speech now, falling asleep.
Mark gently scrubbed blood from his ear. "I know I just met you, Derek," he muttered, "But my thoughts are headed precisely in that direction."
...to be continued....
E-mail author at sarahr@jc.net
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