Voices In The Night

"I hope they find her soon then," Charles says, taking a nervous glance toward the side of the house.

"Here's a recent photo of her, Charles," the sheriff says, holding a paper out for him. "She may be dazed and disoriented, so keep your eyes open."

"Will do," Charles nods as the sheriff makes his way to his car.

* * * * * * *

Taking a nervous breath, Julie sneaks out of bed and peers out the window. Seeing Charles talking to the Sheriff her heart skips a beat. Not caring anymore who hears her, she screams at the top of her lungs to attract his attention.

"Help!" she screams. Bashing on the window she sees the sheriff look up from over his car. Waving frantically, her jubilation sending tears streaming down her cheeks.

"What the...?" Pulling his gun from its holster, the Sheriff aims it at Charles. "Arms in the air! Now!" he orders, keeping the gun aimed, arms out straight in front., he keeps his eyes fixated on Charles. Reaching inside his car he grabs his radio mic. "Jacobs? I'm at the Newport property. Get a car and an ambulance out here now! I've found the missing Hargreaves woman, see if you can get in touch with her husband too."

Marching Charles inside the cabin, his gun aimed cautiously at him, the Sheriff makes his way to the locked bedroom door.

"Mrs. Hargreaves, this is the Sheriff. Stand away from the door." With an almighty kick, the door is flung open. Falling into his protective arms, Julie sobs against his shoulder.

"Oh, thank God!" she cries. A look of sheer terror crossing her face as she looks over the Sheriff's shoulder. Following her gaze he spins around.

The shotgun aimed at the pair, Charles stands his face emotionless. The wig placed askew as he casually cocks the gun.

"You shouldn't have come here, Sheriff," Margaret's voice rings out. "She's nothin' but a tramp."

"Put down the gun, Charles," the Sheriff cautions, slowly lowering his own weapon to the floor. "Nobody is going to get hurt Charles, just put down the gun."

"Do I look like that wimpy little coward?" Margaret voice shouts mockingly, a look of utter disgust crossing Charles' face. "I'm Margaret!" he hisses.

"Margaret has been dead for years, Charles." The Sheriff edges warily closer, now mere inches from the end of the shot gun. "She died with Mark when the old factory exploded."

"Liar!" Raising the gun, Charles cocks, ready to fire.

"It's okay, Charles," the Sheriff says soothingly. "We'll get you help. Just put the gun down." With his hands held out in front, his palms flat facing Charles he inches his way closer.

Waving the gun menacingly in his face, Margaret sneers.

"You think you're so smart, don't you? Mark and I didn't die in that fire." Without warning Charles pulls the trigger, the Sheriff falling heavily at Julie's feet.

The screams resounding, deafening inside the confinements of the room, Julie falls to her knees sobbing.

"No!" she screams, looking up with tear stained eyes at Charles/Margaret. Staring down, leering at her, Charles laughs that same haunting laugh that sends shivers racing up Julie's spine. The memory of that night sending another wave of tears stinging her eyes. Looking up into the barrel of his gun, she sobs, not caring anymore if she lives or dies.

"This one's for you bitch," Charles says as he cocks the gun. Closing her eyes tight, Julie clenches her teeth as the earsplitting sound of a gun firing stings her ears. Hearing the thud of something hitting against the door, she slowly opens her eyes. Charles' body lays slumped against the door, a smear of blood staining the paint from where he had slid. The deputy sheriff moves into view, his gun still aimed at the slumped figure.

"Julie, are you okay?" Not waiting another second she gets to her feet, almost stumbling as she runs from the room. An ambulance officer grabs her and holds her close, rocking her gently as the tears spill Smoothing her hair softly, he wraps a blanket over her shoulders and leads her outside.

* * * * * * *

Sitting alone in his room, Charles sits silently. His arms restrained tight inside the confinements of the white jacket, the sleeves overlapping his body, meeting as they buckle snugly behind his back. Looking up through the small square window, he sees the Doctor peering momentarily at him before entering.

"Good morning, Charles," the psychiatrist says, taking a seat opposite him as he rests his notepad on the small table separating the pair.

"Good morning, Doctor Evans."

"Good morning, Margaret," picking up his pen and pad, he waits for Margaret to surface. With a leer Charles face contorts to that of his dead wife's.

"Hmmph," Margaret snorts.

"Is Mark here today?" the psychiatrist asks, casually scribbling in his pad as he waits for the boy to answer.

"Don't answer him, Mark!" Margaret's voice snarls.

"It's okay, Mother," Mark's voice says as Charles' face takes on a slightly softer expression. "Good morning, Doc."

* * * * * * *

Julie lays quietly in her husband's arms. The memory of her experience only surfacing when she hears that haunting laugh in her nightmares. Six months later, her life is gradually returning to normal. The soft knock on the door rousing the pair from their rested state. Pulling on her robe, she clambers from the bed and makes her way to the front of their modest house. Her mouth agape as she opens the door.

"Sheriff!" Throwing her arms warmly around his neck she kisses his cheek tenderly. His arm supported by a slim band running from behind his neck to his wrist. "How's the shoulder?"

"It's getting there," he smiles. Nodding as Mike makes his way up the hallway.

"Hey, Sheriff," Mike says, fastening the waist tie on his robe before extending his hand for a warm handshake. "Come in, I'll put on the kettle."

"Thanks." Making their way inside, Julie closes the door gently behind the trio as they make their way to the kitchen.

* * * * * * *

The psychiatrist lays in a pool of blood, the bloodied pen reflecting the light as the sounds of Margaret's laugh echo through the silent corridors...