Brian Freeman - Dark Screams - Volume Six

Lennox was everything I’d read: seemingly genuine, warm, magnetic… and very hot. Literally—his hand felt almost like it was scorching mine. I realized I was blushing, but I forced myself not to turn away. Lennox saw it and laughed, but it was out of delight, not derision. He was so beautiful it was hard to look at him. “Happy birthday,” I finally said, and even that came out too soft.

He released my hand, and part of me was sorry. “Thanks, but to tell you the truth—I hate these things. Maddie always wants to throw them, but I never feel quite comfortable among all those people.”

“Really? That surprises me.”

Lennox arched his eyebrows and gave me a half-smile. “Well, Ms. Peck, I hope I can show you some other surprises, too.”

“Sara, please.”

He nodded. “Sara.”

We stood there for a moment, uncomfortable in that way that only two people who are very attracted to each other can be. Finally Lennox waved at my bag. “Would you like a few minutes to change, or…?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Should we go down to join your party?”

“Only if you want to. You know what I’d rather do?”

“What?”

“Show you the Beltane Room.”

Now, that was an interesting invitation. The Beltane Room was one of the most mysterious parts of the Wilmont estate. It appeared in side mentions in family histories, the name apparently being derived from a three-day-long party that was held there in 1920, starting on the evening of April 30—Walpurgisnacht, or Beltane in the old Celtic calendar. No one knew exactly what had happened at the party, or at least if they did they hadn’t talked; they also hadn’t mentioned what was in the room.

I said, “How did you know I was going to ask to see it?”

“I think we have a connection.” He took my hand again, and the strength of my response—tingles of desire—made me light-headed. “Come on.”

We exited the Gold Room and turned left heading out, away from the main staircase. “We’ll take the servants’ stairs so Maddie won’t see us,” he said.

He led me down the hall, through a doorway, down a narrow spiral staircase, and through a utility room. Opening another door there, he indicated more stairs leading down. “It’s in the basement.” He waved me ahead and glanced around to see if we’d been spotted.

I headed down the stairs and waited for him at the bottom. Around me was a utilitarian hallway, like something you might find beneath a hotel. He joined me, and I followed him to one end, where he used a key to unlock an unmarked door. He reached inside, flipped a light switch, and bowed. “The Beltane Room, m’lady.”

I stepped past him—and froze.

The room was large—unexpectedly so—and lit by two huge chandeliers overhead. It contained low divans, all upholstered in decadent velvets and brocades, and tables holding crystal decanters.

But the walls were the real attention-getter. They were covered with art—not framed paintings, but a mural painted right on the walls. Lennox pulled me to the left so I stood in front of a re-creation—or was it a continuation?—of the Magnasco painting I’d admired earlier. “Start here and follow it around.”

The work looked like a hurried version of the Italian classicist; it was less perfect, more rushed, but similar in theme, with gods and nymphs cavorting among ruins.

“You’ve heard of the Beltane party that took place here in 1920…? Well, what you probably haven’t heard is that one of the guests was a well-known artist who took three days to paint this. The other guests—who included famous actors, writers, and at least one newspaper mogul—drank bootleg liquor and smoked hashish and spent the three days here just watching him work. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

I moved to my right and saw that there was a definite progression to the painting: It grew darker, the figures more violent. Now they looked less like gods and more like monsters. “It looks like the Magnasco upstairs, but…”

“Yes. One of the guests was a medium—you know, they were all crazed for spiritualism back then—and she swore the artist was channeling Magnasco.”

“Who was the artist?”

“His name was Dennings. You wouldn’t have heard of him—he was a highly regarded forger, you see.”

I came to a corner, turned to the right—and stared in shock. Now the figures on the walls had the dark, shaggy fur coverings of mammals, but they walked upright and bore human faces. And they were… well, not to put too fine a point on it, they were vigorously fucking one another. A few yards farther to the right, two of them were entwined above the dead body of a naked woman, blood pooled on the ground around her severed legs. Feeling simultaneously nauseated and curious and excited, I moved around the next corner and saw piles of dismembered corpses, some with splayed legs as if they’d been violated.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“It’s fascinating, though, isn’t it?” Lennox stood behind me, so close that I could feel his presence like a storm cloud. “They’re gods, you know. Old, very old, gods. Can you imagine watching this take shape beneath the artist’s brush, while around you a real-life orgy is happening? The rich smells of the smoke… and the sex…”

A shiver passed through me, my own excitement surprising me. Lennox must have seen it, because he purred soft approval.

Past the next corner, the art gave way to words:

Once, long ago, in a land on the far edge of the world, there lived a poor shepherd. The shepherd, his wife, and their two children barely existed on goat’s milk and a few rabbits the shepherd was able to snare…

I bent down to read more but paused when I felt Lennox just behind me, his body close to mine, his breath hot on my neck. I was suddenly afraid—not of him, not even of the terrible scenes on the wall or the childish story, but of myself, of what I might do if I suddenly turned, when he was there behind me…

“Lennox!” That was Madelyn’s voice. I hadn’t heard the door open, and I did turn, startled by her harsh tone. She stood just inside the Beltane Room, her posture rigid. “The party is upstairs.”

Lennox was facing her, away from me, and he was slightly hunched. When he spoke, his voice sounded too deep, too rough. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” A musky scent hit me, strong enough that I backed away and tried to breathe through my mouth.

Madelyn waved at Lennox angrily. “Lennox, stay here while I escort Sara out.” I hesitated—which of them did I prefer to displease? But Lennox kept his back to me, silent. “Lennox, I’m sorry,” I said, as I walked past him.

Madelyn led me upstairs—not back to the Gold Room, but out the front door, where the limo waited for me, my bag already inside. “I’m so very sorry, Sara—this was entirely my fault.” She handed me an envelope. Inside was a folded sheet of paper—and a check. I saw the words NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT at the top of the sheet. I didn’t bother to see how many zeroes were on the check. I passed the whole thing back to her. “Don’t worry—it’s not necessary to buy me off. I like Lennox too much to hurt him.”

I climbed into the limo, pulled the door closed, and looked down into my lap. I didn’t want Madelyn to see that I was crying.

The next day Lennox called me at home. “I’m sorry for that, Sara,” he said. “I’d like to see you again.”

“Your sister made it clear that was a bad idea, I think.”

“My sister is not my keeper.”

We chatted awhile longer, about everyday things, almost like normal people—about birthdays and airport security and bad in-flight movies and weather. After an hour, Lennox asked me what I was doing later that night.