Read Online Death Springs Eternal: The Rift Book III by Robert J. Duperre, Jesse David Young - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert J. Duperre, Jesse David Young
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“I’ll ask you again. Why’re you here?”
Fear clenched Kyra’s ten-year-old heart. She didn’t like the tone of the old woman’s voice. Though she was wrinkled and slender, just like her Grandma Lucile, there seemed to be no kindness in her. In that moment she reminded Kyra of the scary lady from the Disney movie about the chipmunks who save a kidnapped little girl. She gulped.
“I…I dunno…” she repeated.
The bird lady gazed into Kyra’s eyes and, as if noticing something she hadn’t seen before, she sat back. Her tone suddenly changed—the tenor lifted, the rumbling in her throat diminished. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her while snuffing out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “You’re just a confused little thing, aren’t you? Here, take a seat and we’ll see what I can do for you.”
Kyra’s young mind was put at ease by the transformation. She complied, trudging through the sand and lifting herself onto the chair. She folded her hands atop the table and sat there, swinging her legs, waiting for Madame Rhodan to speak. But the old woman simply stared at her and traced the carvings on the tabletop with her finger. Finally, Kyra asked, “What do I do?”
“You ask me a question, if you like,” replied the old woman. “What do you want to know?”
Kyra shrugged.
“Do you want me to tell you what boy you like? Who you will marry? What your job will be when you grow up? Anything from the future you want to learn, I’m here to disclose to you.”
Kyra squeezed her eyes shut. Images ran through her mind’s eye: She saw Randall Livingston and his bright blue eyes, the picture she’d drawn of the White House in first grade, the portrait of her family on the wall in her living room. But there was one image that forced its way to the foreground. It was something she’d never seen before, a vision of an ashen, withered man with gray hair, empty black eyes, and a sinister grin. He hid in the shadows behind a statue of Paul Revere, eyes fixed on her. Kyra shivered, and her eyes shot open.
“Who’s the creepy man?” she asked.
Madame Rhodan’s expression soured, becoming one of motherly concern instead. She slowly reached under the table and pulled out a small, flat object. It was a handheld mirror. She held it out to Kyra.
Kyra started to have second thoughts. “Actually…” she began, but Madame Rhodan cut her off with a wave of her hand.
“I’m sorry, my dear, the decision’s been made.”
The old woman placed the mirror facedown on the table and slid it across. Kyra picked it up by the handle but hesitated before turning it around. An odd feeling she didn’t like came over her. It felt like she was swimming though sitting still.
“You don’t have to look, child,” Madame Rhodan said. “You can simply put it down and walk away if you like.”
Kyra squinted, scrunched up her nose, and impulsively spun the mirror around. She stared at her own reflection, smiling at the sight of her freckled cheeks, gapped teeth, and wavy red hair. There was nothing to fear, after all. The old woman had been wrong.
A fog rolled over the mirror’s surface just then, the way mist does in the shower. It blotted out her view. Kyra wiped at the stuff, but it wouldn’t come off. She could feel Madame Rhodan wince when the fog parted, revealing the mirror’s secret. Kyra couldn’t make it out what it was at first, so she drew the mirror closer to her eyes until the image became clear.
Then she screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
* * *
Josh awoke with a start, still enraptured by his dream and unsure where he was. He glanced around him, taking in the faded, flowery wallpaper, dusty picture frames, and boarded-up windows of their newfound home. The day’s first light shone through the cracks between the boards covering the windows.
He felt pressure against his back, and a soft shudder, and slowly craned his neck. There lay
Fear clenched Kyra’s ten-year-old heart. She didn’t like the tone of the old woman’s voice. Though she was wrinkled and slender, just like her Grandma Lucile, there seemed to be no kindness in her. In that moment she reminded Kyra of the scary lady from the Disney movie about the chipmunks who save a kidnapped little girl. She gulped.
“I…I dunno…” she repeated.
The bird lady gazed into Kyra’s eyes and, as if noticing something she hadn’t seen before, she sat back. Her tone suddenly changed—the tenor lifted, the rumbling in her throat diminished. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her while snuffing out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “You’re just a confused little thing, aren’t you? Here, take a seat and we’ll see what I can do for you.”
Kyra’s young mind was put at ease by the transformation. She complied, trudging through the sand and lifting herself onto the chair. She folded her hands atop the table and sat there, swinging her legs, waiting for Madame Rhodan to speak. But the old woman simply stared at her and traced the carvings on the tabletop with her finger. Finally, Kyra asked, “What do I do?”
“You ask me a question, if you like,” replied the old woman. “What do you want to know?”
Kyra shrugged.
“Do you want me to tell you what boy you like? Who you will marry? What your job will be when you grow up? Anything from the future you want to learn, I’m here to disclose to you.”
Kyra squeezed her eyes shut. Images ran through her mind’s eye: She saw Randall Livingston and his bright blue eyes, the picture she’d drawn of the White House in first grade, the portrait of her family on the wall in her living room. But there was one image that forced its way to the foreground. It was something she’d never seen before, a vision of an ashen, withered man with gray hair, empty black eyes, and a sinister grin. He hid in the shadows behind a statue of Paul Revere, eyes fixed on her. Kyra shivered, and her eyes shot open.
“Who’s the creepy man?” she asked.
Madame Rhodan’s expression soured, becoming one of motherly concern instead. She slowly reached under the table and pulled out a small, flat object. It was a handheld mirror. She held it out to Kyra.
Kyra started to have second thoughts. “Actually…” she began, but Madame Rhodan cut her off with a wave of her hand.
“I’m sorry, my dear, the decision’s been made.”
The old woman placed the mirror facedown on the table and slid it across. Kyra picked it up by the handle but hesitated before turning it around. An odd feeling she didn’t like came over her. It felt like she was swimming though sitting still.
“You don’t have to look, child,” Madame Rhodan said. “You can simply put it down and walk away if you like.”
Kyra squinted, scrunched up her nose, and impulsively spun the mirror around. She stared at her own reflection, smiling at the sight of her freckled cheeks, gapped teeth, and wavy red hair. There was nothing to fear, after all. The old woman had been wrong.
A fog rolled over the mirror’s surface just then, the way mist does in the shower. It blotted out her view. Kyra wiped at the stuff, but it wouldn’t come off. She could feel Madame Rhodan wince when the fog parted, revealing the mirror’s secret. Kyra couldn’t make it out what it was at first, so she drew the mirror closer to her eyes until the image became clear.
Then she screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
* * *
Josh awoke with a start, still enraptured by his dream and unsure where he was. He glanced around him, taking in the faded, flowery wallpaper, dusty picture frames, and boarded-up windows of their newfound home. The day’s first light shone through the cracks between the boards covering the windows.
He felt pressure against his back, and a soft shudder, and slowly craned his neck. There lay
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