Island Slave Ch. 05

"Quinn," she started, her voice catching in her throat. Calming herself, she started again. "Quinn, this is the loveliest gift you could have given me. Leaving my family and friends has been the most painful part of being your captive. May I write to them regularly, with your approval, of course."

"Of course you may. I still want you to stay because that is what you want. I don't expect you to die to the outside world."

"Quinn, I'm..." Carla hesitated, not sure she wanted to admit it. It was true however, she was losing her desire to leave him, if any such desire still existed. "Quinn, I'm close to that now." She held up the cards. "These make it even easier to stay. Can you be a little more patient?"

"Of course I can. I want your choice to stay willingly to be well considered."

"Quinn," she asked with a frown, "what if I never choose to stay willingly. Will you keep me prisoner forever?"

Quinn frowned back at her. He had never truly believed that he could fail to convince her to stay. He had never been able to explain to himself why he was so sure, but he was. "I don't know, Carla. From the first that I saw you I knew that you were the one for me. I've never had any doubt that you would choose to stay in the long run."

"I wish I could be as certain of anything in my life. I don't want to risk spoiling the holiday. We can talk about this some other time. I still need to know just who the man who wants me so much really is. You're a mystery, Quinn. I can't commit myself to a mystery."

"That's why I haven't tried to stop you," he replied, pain evident in his voice.

The end of the year passed unremarkably. By Jan. 2, Carla was back at her book sorting. Once again, she was aware of the presence of sadness that seemed to hang in the air itself. She also found her attention returning to Melanie's diary again and again.

Partway through the afternoon, holding the diary yet again, Carla found tears coming to her eyes. "Melanie, if only there was some way for me to bring an end to your pain." Carla wasn't sure why she was speaking out loud. She just felt the need to express herself.

Then the breeze returned, carrying with it the whisper, "Help."

Without thinking, Carla asked, "How?"

As if in response, one of the unopened boxes behind her popped open. Carla spun around, seeing the lid unsealed and open. Fear gripped her heart as she took in the sight. The tape that had been sealing the box was ripped, as if someone had run their fingernail along it. Standing unsteadily, Carla walked to the box and pulled the flaps back. Sitting on the top of the books was a book titledGhost. She recognized the pictures of Patrick Swaizy and Whoopi Goldberg on the cover.

"It's the movie novelization." Carla looked around; trying to see who else could be in the room with her. She was desperate to find some other explanation than the one that seemed obvious. "There's no such thing as ghosts," she told herself.

She found that increasingly difficult to believe, especially when another gust blew the paperback's cover open. When the lid of the box fell on the open book, stopping the flipping of the pages, Carla's hand reached out and picked the book up. In the story, Sam Wheat was dancing with Molly Jensen by inhabiting the body of Oda Mae Brown.

Carla dropped the book and backed away, shaking her head. "No, I can't. You're not real." She turned around and gave a small scream when she saw the woman from the painting reflected behind her, arms stretched out, mouth pleading silently. Carla spun back around, seeing no one there. She backed away, hands at her mouth, whispering, "No! no!" repeatedly. When she reached the doorway, she turned and ran down to her room, shutting the door and throwing herself on the bed.

Carla's breath was coming in gasps and her heart was beating wildly. She realized that she was terrified. She struggled to calm herself, glad that no one had seen her bolt to her room. She gripped the edge of her bed in an attempt to stop the shaking of her hands. "I'm imagining things, that's all. There's no such thing as ghosts. I'm simply too caught up in Melanie and Quinn. I need to get a grip on myself."

"Please," came the whisper on the wind.

Carla's breath caught in her throat. "Who are you?"

"Melanie."

"No, please, it can't be. You're dead."

"Yes."

It seemed that all the sadness of the world was poured into that one word. Carla broke into tears, seemingly burdened by the grief of a life cut too short too soon, unable to make peace with those that mattered. She felt an aching need deep in her soul, yet knew it wasn't her need, but that of the unearthly visitor near her. Carla could not deny the reality of the being that was in her room with her.

"What do you want?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"Forgiveness."

"Oh, Melanie, he would have forgiven you, I just know it. Isn't that enough?"

The response was full of despair and heartache, pain at not being understood. "No."

"I can't do this right now, Melanie. It's too soon. I'm not even sure I believe what's happening."

"Come." The request was accompanied by a breeze that blew towards the bathroom.

Carla walked to the bathroom, her heart stuck in her throat. It was not a surprise to find Melanie's image in the mirror with her own. The spirit was reaching towards the surface of the mirror with her finger, making writing motions. Carla nodded her head and turned the hot water on, letting it steam the mirror. Before her eyes, symbols appeared in the condensation. It took several seconds before Carla realized that they were letters being written backwards and from right to left. Slowly, she made out what was written on the mirror.

"I need to forgive Quinn. Help me end his pain."

Carla stumbled back against the wall, her mouth hanging open. The image of Melanie, visible through the letters, was reaching out imploringly, begging for Carla's help. Carla started to cry again.

"I can't, not now. It's too soon for me. Forgive me, I just can't do it."

Carla fled the bathroom, throwing herself on the bed where she sobbed for almost an hour. It was only the realization that dinner was soon to start that brought her to her senses. Washing her face, trying to ignore the image in the mirror, Carla joined Quinn in the dining room for dinner. Quinn thought it strange that Carla did not talk during the meal. That night, Carla dreamed.

Melanie was bound to the cross in the basement. Pain flowed through her back, little prickles of agony as sweat rolled into the welts that covered her from neck to feet. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Quinn holding a cat-o-nine-tails.

"More?" Quinn asked.

Melanie nodded. The whip lashed out, raising another welt on Melanie's back. Her scream filled the air. Again and again, the whip landed and Melanie screamed in pain. When she was a sobbing wreck, unable to utter a coherent word, Quinn dropped the whip and fucked her with a brutality that matched the whipping. Only then did he release her and carry her upstairs to her bed.

Quinn left her lying there. Carla moved closer. She could see Melanie crying as she groaned in pain. Clearly she regretted what had happened. Carla could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Shortly, Melanie passed out.

Time jumped forward. Melanie woke and rose painfully to her feet. She was shaking her head, muttering softly, "I can't take it anymore. It's too much, I have to leave." She dressed and, sneaking through the house, left the mansion. Carla tried to follow, but found herself unable to. Instead, she was drawn to Quinn's bedroom where he was sleeping, oblivious to his loss. Carla felt a deep loss, pain the reached deep into her soul.

Time jumped forward again. Quinn woke. He dressed and walked to Melanie's room. When he saw the empty bed, he staggered back. Quickly, he searched the house and the grounds, looking for the woman he loved. When his search was fruitless, he broke down and sobbed from deep in his heart. As he cried, he whispered to himself, "Why? Why was I so cruel? I drove her away. I should have been gentler."

Carla woke from her dream with a start. "That's not what happened!" Carla whispered. "Quinn wasn't even here when she left. She left out of guilt for letting Leoni fuck her. She liked the harshness. What is going on?"

The breeze was there again. Carla knew it was the spirit of Melanie. Her heart clenched as she rose and walked to the bathroom. As she expected, Melanie was there, reflected in the mirror. Sadness filled her face as she shook her head and reached her hand out.

"Is this what Quinn believes?"

The ghost nodded.

"But, you liked the harshness, the cruelty. My God! You asked to be tortured all day for your birthday."

The ghost nodded again.

"He doesn't understand. He blames himself. You have to tell him! You have to let him know the truth. I can give him your journal."

The spirit shook her head in sadness.

"Why? You tell everything in it. He needs to know."

Melanie hung her head, clearly frustrated with her inability to communicate clearly. Carla did not know what caused the limitation, but apparently she could not talk much, and even then, only in single words. Carla turned the hot water on again, filling the mirror with condensation. She watched as the letters, written backwards, appeared from right to left.

"I need to forgive him, be forgiven. I can't leave until then. The journal will break him."

The mirror was full, but Carla hesitated to wipe it down and refog it. She knew what was coming. Melanie wanted to use her to talk to Quinn. The thought of letting herself be possessed struck terror into Carla. She had visions of being a prisoner in her own body, helpless to stop Melanie from seeking out the severe levels of pain that she desired.

Carla backed out of the bathroom, unwilling to communicate with Melanie any further. As she sat on the edge of her bed, she was overcome by sadness. She finally understood Quinn's pain. He truly believed that he had driven Melanie away. It's doubtful that he ever read the journal, or at least not the last few entries. How could she let Quinn know the truth when he was unwilling to allow the subject of Melanie to be brought up? Crying softly, Carla fell asleep again, not waking until morning.

Over the next week, Carla finished her inventory of the books in the boxes. She found that the end of her project was mildly depressing. Melanie's ghost had not bothered her since the dreams, yet Carla found she was still haunted by her knowledge of just why Quinn was so sad. She felt a deep need to bring that pain to an end. She just did not know how.

The two were still having sex regularly; every two to three days. Quinn did not tie her up or inflict any pain every time. In fact, most of their love making was gentle, yet passionate. Carla had come to the conclusion that she was no longer a prisoner. She had, for months now, access to clothes that would have allowed her to leave whenever she wished. She did not wish to leave. As she contemplated the reason, she could only come to one conclusion. Carla loved Quinn. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She knew, however, that until Quinn dealt with his pain over Melanie, there was little chance for true happiness between them.

On Jan. 10, while they were eating dinner, Quinn announced, "Carla, I will be flying into St. Croix tomorrow. Is there anything you need me to bring back?"

Carla thought for a moment. "I can't think of anything. Would you put some letters in the mail? I would like to write some to of my family and friends."

Quinn nodded his head. "Sure. Just leave them on my desk and I will look them over and take them with me."

"Thank you, Quinn. How long will you be gone?"

"It should be three days. I'm picking up some supplies and making a few business arrangements."

"I'll see you when you come back."

Carla wrote several short letters. She didn't include anything earthshaking in any of them. They were simply the letters one writes to keep in touch with loved ones. She left them on his desk in the study and went to bed. In the morning, she had an idea. Once she was sure that Quinn had left, she ran upstairs and dressed for the first time in months. She chose a practical outfit from the woman's clothing that she had unpacked and put into the closets and dressers.

When she walked back downstairs, Bonita looked at her in shock. "Miss Carla! What are you doing? You can't go. It will break Master Quinn's heart."

"It's okay, Bonita. I'm not leaving. I just want to visit the village and talk with Maria. I'll be back tonight or tomorrow morning, I promise."

Carla could see tears in Bonita's eyes. The elderly woman walked up and grasped Carla's arms with an intensity that surprised her. "Please, do not hurt him. It will destroy him."

"I don't want to hurt him. I need to understand what has happened in the past. Tell me, Bonita, have you ever encountered a ghost in the mansion?"

Horror filled Bonita's face. "Ghost? I...I...I'm not sure what you mean."

Carla could see the recognition in Bonita's face as she denied the ghost's existence. "You've been upstairs before, haven't you?"

"Please Miss Carla, don't interfere. The ghost, it is evil. It will destroy Master Quinn."

"I don't think so, Bonita. I don't know much about ghosts, but this one wants to heal Quinn of his pain. She can't. I don't know why just yet. Tell me why do you think the ghost is evil?"

"All ghosts are evil. That is what the church teaches."

Carla wasn't sure about church teachings, but realized that Bonita would be of no help. It was likely that all of the staff believed as she did. Resolved, Carla left the mansion and started the long trek to the village. She had worn a solid pair of boots to deal with the rocks and thorns that seemed to be abundant in the area between the village and the mansion. All the cleaning and sorting had left Carla in better shape than she had been when she arrived. The walk, however, was still strenuous.

By the time she could see the village, her legs were sore and she could feel a blister starting to form on her heels, the result of the shoes that were available being a half size too large.

"I should have prepared better," she thought to herself, her mouth feeling parched. "A water bottle of some sort would have been a good idea. Seven hours without a drink? Stupid!"

One of the children saw her first. He pointed and started speaking rapidly in Spanish. A woman responded to the excited cries by joining the child. Carla recognized Maria, the woman she had chatted with when she had first arrived so many months ago. Carla smiled and walked closer.

"Carla? Carla Baxter?"

"Yes, it's me, Maria. How have you been?"

"I've been good. Did you walk all the way from the mansion?"

"Yes, I did."

"Come! Sit down. You must be exhausted."

"And very thirsty!"

Maria led her into the small village center. Several women were moving about doing chores of one sort or another. One older woman looked up as Carla sat and screamed. She began chattering in rapid fire Spanish, too fast for Carla to make out plainly, but she could tell that Carla had reminded her of someone, someone that shocked her. Once her thirst was slaked, Carla looked up at Maria.

"Why did that woman scream? I think I reminded her of someone."

Maria introduced the woman. "Carla, this is Rhiannon, my mother."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Rhiannon. How did you come to have a Celtic name?"

Rhiannon rolled her eyes and laughed a little. "My mother always said she named me after a goddess. I think she simply loved the name."

"I see. It is a beautiful name, just surprising to find here. May I ask, why did you scream?"

"You are wearingherclothes."

"Do you mean Melanie's?"

"Yes, her name was Melanie, and she was the love of Mr. Sanchez's life."

"I know. I've found out some things about her. I know she left him. Can you tell me anything about her?"

Rhiannon looked nervous at the request. "I'm not sure I should. She broke his heart. It's best if she is left as dead."

"I don't think that can happen. I need to know more. I want to ease Quinn's pain."

"The pain of betrayal can never be healed, only lessened with the passage of time."

"How do you know that Quinn's pain is that of one betrayed? Couldn't it be caused by something else? Guilt, for example?"

Rhiannon looked around. Carla looked as well and saw that every person in the village was listening in on the conversation. The older woman took Carla's hand. "Come. We should talk in private." Looking at the others, she said, in a voice the brooked no argument, "I'm sure that the rest of you have chores that need doing. Go on!"

Rhiannon led Carla to one of the dwellings. Inside, she offered Carla a chair. Rhiannon herself sat in a rocking chair and fixed her gaze on Carla.

"What makes you think that Quinn feels any guilt? She left him, not the other way around."

"I have reason to believe that Quinn has misunderstood the reason for her leaving."

"Why did she leave? How do you know?"

"She left because she felt she had cheated on him and could not be forgiven. I read her personal journal. The details aren't important, but she ended up having sex with someone else. She was convinced that what she had dome could not be forgiven."

"That is betrayal, the source of Quinn's pain."

"He doesn't know that. He thinks he pushed her away, at least, I think that's what he believes."

"Quinn does not talk to anyone about her. How would you know what he thinks?"

Carla took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to broach the subject that might label her as crazy. "What do you believe about ghosts?"

Rhiannon stopped rocking. She stared at Carla for over a minute, trying to pry into her soul. "Have you seen a ghost?"

Carla nodded her head silently. She found she was holding her breath.

"Ghosts are spirits of the dead who cannot cross over for some reason. The reasons vary, but the most common one is unfinished business. Have you encounteredherspirit?"

"Yes."

"Has she tried to do anything to you?"

"No, just communicate. It's not easy. She is only visible in a mirror and can only make single words heard. She can write in the mirror, though."

"You must understand. If she is trapped because of unfinished business here on earth, she will feel the need to finish that business. Ghosts are not evil, per se, but they can be callous. Why does she make herself visible to you and not him?"

"I don't know. Quinn may not want to see her. I didn't see her until I had read her journal. I felt sad for her."

"What does she want to do?"

"She wants to forgive him, to ask for forgiveness, to let him know that it wasn't his fault."

"If Quinn can't see or hear her himself, there is only one way for her to do that."

"Possess my body?"

"Yes," she answered, nodding. Her face was concerned. "There is danger involved. She can't enter you against your will, but once she is inside you, you will not be able to control what she does, including when she leaves you, if ever."

Carla brought her hands to her face. She shook her head over and over. "I can't do it, I can't."

Rhiannon rose and took Carla's hands in her own. "You don't have to. From what you've said, however, Quinn and Melanie will know no peace until someone allows her to talk with Quinn one last time. If it helps, I can tell you that Melanie Thiesman was one of the kindest and gentlest souls I have ever met. She nearly died helping us fight an epidemic. I was one of the ones she saved."

"I know about that. She wrote about it."

"Ghosts are simply the spirits of the dead, trapped here. They are as capable of good and evil as the living are. The basic nature of a person is not changed by death. I do not believe that Melanie would take your body for any longer than she needed to."