The Collector Read online



  THE COLLECTOR

  by

  Sandra Madera

  Edited by Susan Blevins

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  PUBLISHED BY

  SandraMadera.com

  The Collector

  Copyright © 2013 by Sandra Madera

  Ebook Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be altered, re-sold, or given away to other people. This story is FREE and does not require payment. If you’re reading this book and did not download it from SandraMadera.com or other legitimate online bookstore, please download a legitimate copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Isobel and I had arrived in Caithness after a few hours of flying from London to Edinburgh and catching a connecting flight to Wick Airport. When my feet touched the ground, I nearly cried, feeling relieved to have made it to Scotland unscathed. When we exited the glass-paneled, automatic doors of the airport, there was a car waiting for us. After loading our oversized luggage into the trunk, the well-groomed driver ushered us to the backseat door and opened it for us with a curt bow. We slid into the back row and, without further hesitation, were whisked off towards Isobel’s ancestral home. My friend told me nothing of its history, except that it was hundreds of years old and needed some airing out.

  Thrown together at the beginning of the year, Isobel Keith and I, Kyleigh Blaire, were dorm-mates at a prestigious boarding school. She was new to the all-girls boarding school experience, having been home-schooled in her native Scotland before transferring to England for what her uncle called a “superior education.” Although I may not have exactly agreed with her elusive uncle, I was glad for the company, having very few friends to converse with.

  It wasn’t long after moving in that she brought up the idea of traveling to Scotland on our winter break. I jumped at the opportunity. Before her invitation, I was prepared to spend the holidays on campus since my parents were set to take their yearly vacation to Bermuda. Sadly, their trips never included the child they had abandoned in boarding school at the tender age of eight. Now in my final year of school, I was a mere burden that had to be pawned off so that they could be free to enjoy the pleasures in life. Raising children was obviously not what they had in mind when contemplating such pleasures so they quickly agreed to my request to travel to another country without parental supervision.

  Although I saw how easy it was for them to cast me off, I harbored no hard feelings towards my parents, choosing to forgive their flaws rather than let my own bitterness gnaw away at my soul. I realized early in life that not all parents were meant to be mothers and fathers. As pathetic as it was, some were destined to be eternally immature for such an undertaking, leaving their offspring to raise themselves rather than meet the challenge head on.

  Tucking a few strands of dark red hair behind her ear, Isobel smiled at me brightly. “We’re here, Leigh!” she exclaimed excitedly, throwing her door open and jumping out of the car before it had reached a complete stop.

  Sliding across the seat, I stepped out of the car slowly, looking up at the massive structure before me. As my eyes focused, they brushed across the dark gray stone surface of a large, rectangular tower. The center portion of the structure was taller than it was wide, standing at least five stories tall, with two smaller wings on either side. The smaller right wing was two stories taller than the left and featured a turret. While the left wing was wider, it contained only one level under its flat roof. The main portion of the fortress was composed of stone with the typical merlons and crenels along the top of the main tower. The overcast sky gave the tower an atmospheric gloom that instantly gave me a chill.

  It was as daunting as any place that at one time was the seat of power and wealth. However, it seemed to captivate me in a way that was puzzling. Glossing over each stone until my eyes reached the top, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over me like ice water. My heart began to pound, and my breathing began to accelerate to the point of hyperventilation.

  With the sparkle draining from her green eyes, Isobel watched me carefully. “What’s wrong?” she questioned, appearing concerned as she glanced back at me. “You look pale.”

  “Nothing,” I replied, shaking my head forcefully in response although secretly I did feel unwell.

  Nodding at my response, my reply didn’t seem to ease her concern as the crease between her brows remained prominently on her forehead. “I suppose we are a bit tired,” she replied, reaching for my shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. “A nap will do us good.”

  Gazing upon her friendly face, I smiled and nodded, hoping that my face projected a more serene appearance than the feelings I currently harbored in my interior. Without cause or reason, there was a deep sense of foreboding in my core that, before that moment, I had only read about in novels. Something was wrong. I just couldn’t put my finger on what although my anxiety levels were through the roof.

  “Just leave the bags in the main hall,” she ordered the driver, looking over her shoulder at him.

  “Yes, Ms. Keith.”

  As Isobel walked towards the entrance, I walked behind her, trying to bury the feelings that seemed to have been stirred within me. Suddenly feeling the weight of my tired body, I hoped that after a long nap I would wake up with a new outlook on the castle.

  After being led up the main stairs, Isobel and I walked across a heavily decorated corridor. Intrigued, I gazed at the paintings which hung on the wallpapered walls. My eyes stopped upon a large painting of an elderly man in a dark suit, standing with a rifle in his hands and a hound at his feet. Although it was hard to envision what the man had looked like in his youth, I could tell he must have been quite handsome. He appeared tall and slender. His gray hair was parted on the side and slicked back in an elegant style. His face was angular and quite masculine with a set jaw. However, it was his eyes that took my breath away. They were so lifelike... so familiar.

  “It is a portrait of, my great, great, great grandfather, D. James Keith,” Isobel said upon seeing me admire the painting.

  “What does the ‘D’ stand for?”

  “An unusual Scottish name... Dugald. But there was some kind of tragedy in his life, and he began to go by, his middle name, James.”

  Turning, I looked at her in her eyes, seeing that they were the same as the portrait. “I can see the resemblance,” I told her, giving her a weak smile.

  When I was done looking at the painting, we turned a corner and ended up standing before a smaller, circular staircase. We climbed the stone stairs and ended up on the third floor. The windowless hall was narrower and sparsely decorated in this area compared to the historic portraits, wooden furnishings, and sculptures of the lower levels.

  Brushing away a few dark strands from my face, I looked about, trying to spot anything that needed fixing. “Everything seems in good condition,” I commented, wondering why she needed my help to clean out the castle when everything seemed in order.

  Glancing back at me, she said, “The lower levels are in good shape. It is the fourth and fifth floors of the tower that need sorting. Those rooms need some airing out. I want to surprise my uncle with a little winter cleaning. But it can be put off until tomorrow.”

  My friend ushered me to a room at the end of the short corridor. As soon as she opened the door, I was amazed. The room was fit for a princess, complete with a large canopy bed covered in lush, golden fabric and tufted chairs that had been upholstered in complementary tones. A cream-colored vanity equipped with all the necessary tools for primping was located on an adjacent wall. On the far wall, two large windows, which were framed by heavy tasseled drapes, showcased the most in
credible view of the North Sea.

  “Is this for me?”

  With a large smile, she nodded. “It is the princess suite.”

  With a huge smile spreading over my face, I turned to Isobel excitedly. “This is more than I ever expected,” I commented, clapping my hands together lightly.

  “Well, not many people would travel all this way to help out a friend,” she told me, appearing suddenly thoughtful. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

  As Isobel was stepping out of the threshold, I held her back and she looked at me quizzically. “What about your uncle?” I questioned, suddenly curious. “When will he be joining us?”

  “My uncle keeps odd hours, but I am sure he will make his appearance known soon,” she said, her face appearing distant as if caught up in a memory.

  Before I could ask her what she was thinking, she excused herself, leaving to her own quarters without further delay. Shutting the bedchamber door, I wondered if I should even bring up how her face changed at the mention of her uncle. It was obvious returning home stirred up some memories for her, and I felt that asking about them was an intrusion.

  Jumping on the mattress, I stretched my limbs as I reclined, allowing myself to sink into the soft mattress. Left to my own devices, I decided to catch up on some much needed sleep.

  My short nap was ineffective. The lull of the ocean waves wasn’t enough to calm my nerves and rest my mind enough to promote a deep sleep. Instead, I slept for minutes at a time, feeling as if I hadn’t rested at all. After an hour of trying to rest, I decided that a nap was not in the cards for me. Rising from the bed, I made my way to the vanity and sat down, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

  Gazing at my reflection, I gasped in surprise, barely recognizing the image staring back at me.

  I appeared to have aged overnight.

  Realizing that my sudden exhaustion could have given me the appearance of aging, I traced my features, noting the changes in my appearance with dismay. I looked tired with dark circles framing my almond-shaped, blue eyes. Staring into the reflection of my eyes without blinking, I realized they were a bit dull, seeming dimmer than their normal cyan color. I missed their normal sparkle but realized it was a consequence of being exhausted. My pale skin seemed unusually colorless as my cheeks had lost their rosy glow. Placing a hand on my cheek, I noticed my heart-shaped lips were not their normal ruby tone. They, too, had lost their color, appearing slightly darker than my complexion.

  Making a resolution to go to bed early that night, I grabbed a rubber band and started to collect my shoulder-length, black hair into my hands. Combing through my tresses with my fingers, I picked it up into a ponytail just as there was a knock on my door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  The door opened, and Isobel peeked her head inside. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab something to eat at the local dive.”

  Suddenly feeling the emptiness of my stomach, I realized I was in need of some comfort food. I also liked the idea of catching the sights at the local pub. “Sure,” I said with a nod, hopping to my feet and following her out the door.

  We climbed into a vintage Volkswagen Beetle. The black car was constructed in the 1970’s and still drove smoothly, hugging all of the winding roads that led to the village. The interior of the car had recently been refurbished as it was covered in black leather that still had that new smell.

  Carefully driving with two hands on the wheel, Isobel took her eyes off the road for a second to glance at me as I sat in the passenger’s side. “I wanted a black Corvette for my first car, but my uncle had other ideas,” she laughed, leaning towards the wheel like an anxious driver. “It has a few dings, but it still runs well.”

  “Not exactly a Corvette, though,” I commented, looking out of the window at the scenery.

  “Well, my uncle believes in earning life’s little luxuries, and it seems my inheritance was not established for such frivolous spending,” she said, appearing to impersonate her mysterious uncle. “Besides, first cars should always be purchased used since first time drivers are reckless.”

  Laughing, I nodded in agreement. “Sound advice.”

  We stopped at a small pub, located on the outskirts of town. The pub looked like nothing more than a small wooden shack between wheat fields and a town that was virtually nonexistent. When we entered, I instantly felt at home in such a relaxed atmosphere which seemed the exact opposite as when I arrived at the castle. As expected, we were met with curious stares, but the twenty or so patrons seemed to quickly grow bored with staring at us and resumed their activities.

  We sat at a small wooden table and ordered our meal. We watched the locals play pool from across the room and exchanged stories from our childhoods. It wasn’t long before our meal arrived that Isobel excused herself to the restroom.

  When the waitress brought over our platters of chicken and chips, she smiled at me, appearing eager to make small talk. “You’re not from around here, right? What are you doing in these parts?”

  She appeared friendly enough, standing at an unintimidating five foot three inches. She wore the casual pub’s uniform of a black t-shirt and blue jeans. Her brown hair was as straight as a pin and was drawn up in a ponytail. Her smile was bright and appeared genuine. Her face was pretty and kind with bright green eyes that were as clear as glass. Her pale complexion was youthful, giving her the appearance of someone in their late teens.

  Trying to be friendly, I nodded, meeting her smile. “I am staying with a friend for the break. We are going to fix up her family’s home,” I responded pleasantly. “You might know it. It is the castle down the road.”

  As soon as I finished my sentence, her smile faded, and her eyes nearly came out of their sockets. “But... that place is cursed.”

  It appeared it was my turn to be surprised. Feeling my heart begin to quicken its beat, I asked, “What do you mean?”

  She sat in the empty seat by me momentarily, leaning in so she couldn’t be heard. “The castle is haunted by the Green Lady,” she told me, her eyes large with fright. “It is said she threw herself off of the battlements, but no one knows for sure. She may have been pushed. They say her spirit walks the tower at night, seeking to bring other young ladies to their ends.”

  Shifting in my seat, my nervousness increased. I was definitely uneasy in the castle, but the idea of a haunting was too far fetched for me. I didn’t believe in ghosts whatsoever, but if they existed, I doubted they had the ability to lead the living to their deaths. “That is an interesting story.”

  “It is not a story,” she said abruptly, rising to her feet. “You shouldn’t stay there, Miss. It isn’t safe. Bad things went on there that you have no business messing with.”

  “Well, I can assure you, Jasmine, we won’t be messing with anything supernatural,” Isobel said, coming in so quietly I hadn’t noticed her return. My friend eyed the young waitress as if warning her with her eyes but said nothing threatening openly. “Jasmine loves her stories.”

  The girl appeared increasingly uncomfortable and excused herself without another word.

  Pulling out her seat, Isobel joined me at the table. Her mood instantly lightened, and she laughed humorlessly. “It is just some silly story meant to frighten visitors away. The town is full of them.”

  Pushing away any anxiety that might have been stirred up within me, I nodded in agreement, having an awkward chuckle as we ate our meal in silence.