FanStory.com - Miracles - Chap 11by Begin Again

Background
The powerful Judge Doyle vows revenge against those who brought him down. As his reach extends beyond the prison walls, a grieving Eleanor, armed with ghostly powers, is ready for battle.

"Woman, did you have to pick the hottest day of the year to explore?" Eleanor chastised herself.

Having spotted a building that interested her, she had paused her journey and found herself resting under the sprawling branches of a gnarled tree. Its shade was a welcoming respite.

Her initial thought was that she'd found a refreshing spot in the shade, but the loud, crude voices changed that opinion. Her gaze settled on the rough-looking group and their bikes in the parking lot across the road.
Three men, laughing and jeering, surrounded a young woman wearing an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and jeans. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders. The focus of their attention was a fourth man with broad shoulders and muscular arms sporting scars from previous battles.

"Come on, Bruiser, give the pretty little lady a goodbye kiss," one shouted, grinning.

"You're begging for it, aren't you, sweet thing?" Another guy wagged his tongue when he spoke to her.

Crystal turned away, uncomfortable, but Bruiser's hand clamped onto her shoulder, holding her in place. Eleanor felt a surge of anger rise inside her. She tensed, watching as Bruiser yanked her toward him. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

"The boys think you want some of this." His eyes traveled across her heaving breasts. "Do you think you're worthy of Bruiser's attention?"

Her voice was barely audible as she pleaded, "Let me go, please. I've got to get back to work."

"Take her, man!" another man hooted. "Show her who's boss."

The men erupted in laughter as Bruiser shoved Crystal against the outside wall of the bar, ignoring her weak protests. He forced a brutal, ugly kiss against her lips, his fingers digging into her sun-kissed arms. The men cheered louder when she whimpered, slapping their knees in amusement.

Crystal's eyes welled with tears. Her face flushed with shame as she struggled, helpless, against Bruiser's grip.
As Eleanor looked on, a knot of fury and frustration tightened in her chest. She wanted to intervene and make him stop, but knew this wasn't the right time.

Bruiser laughed as he finally released her, shoving her backward. She stumbled, clutching her blouse in a desperate attempt to cover herself as Bruiser callously tore the front fabric open.

"Might as well share the view with my friends!" he sneered.

The men roared with laughter again, their taunting fading as they climbed onto their bikes, revving their engines with a wild sense of victory. One by one, they roared out of the parking lot, leaving Crystal alone, holding her torn blouse together, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Eleanor clenched her fists from her hidden spot beneath the tree, her mind racing. She knew this was only a glimpse of the cruelty in this place, and she felt a fierce resolve building within her.

She watched as Crystal disappeared around the building. A strange sensation tightened her chest as she moved closer to the bar. She felt as if some unknown power was pulling her, but why? Was she meant to intervene and speak with Crystal?

As she moved across the gravel lot, she stopped. A chill ran through her bones. Someone or something was trying to tell her something.

A jagged rock, partially buried, caught her attention. It wasn't anything special, just a chuck of limestone. Bending down, she picked it up, rolling it between her fingers. Then she saw it — bits of dark stain embedded in the grain, invisible to the mortal eye.

Another chill shot through her. It was blood — Donatelli's blood.

Her senses flared. Clutching the rock in her hand, she dug deep into her inner soul, searching for something to tell her what had happened.

A whirlwind of fragmented images flashed through her mind — Donatelli's badge, his bloody face, shouting, and a brutal blow.

She gasped as she saw him slumped over the steering wheel. "Oh, Matthew, what happened to you?"

The rough edges of the rock dug into her skin as she slid it into her pocket. She knew whoever was responsible would regret ever crossing Detective Donatelli or her.

With one last glance toward the bar, Eleanor turned her back on it and headed toward the road. The game had changed, and she wasn't about to let his blood go unavenged. Like a bloodhound, she was on the search for more clues.

Eleanor spotted what appeared to be a small general store a few hundred feet away. It was a relic from another time, with faded, peeling paint on its wooden siding and a rusty, single-pump gas station out front, the kind that creaked as it counted the gallons. A small, hand-painted sign hung crookedly by the door, declaring it OPEN, though the hours were anybody's guess. Inside, shelves sagged with dust-covered items — canned goods, some faded snacks, and a jumble of essentials long past their prime.

Behind the counter sat an old man, his face weathered like leather, with deep lines from sun, wind, and years of watching the world go by. He barely glanced up as the occasional biker pulled in for gas, familiar enough with their kind but surprised by any other visitor who wandered his way.

The bell above the door jingled as Eleanor stepped inside. The sharp-eyed man looked her over with curiosity that quickly turned to concern. She picked up a bottle of water, twisting the cap open as she approached the counter.

He glanced outside, eyes narrowing. "Don't see a car, and you don't look like the type to be hitchhiking."

Eleanor gave a quick smile. "My car broke down about half a mile back," she offered. "I called a tow service. They're on their way."

The old man frowned, rubbing his chin. "Well, you're lucky you stopped here, not the place down the road. That bar's no place for a lady like yourself."

Eleanor tilted her head, intrigued by his tone. "Oh, you mean the Hideaway? I noticed it a little ways back. Doesn't seem like a friendly spot?"

The man shook his head, lowering his voice. "Not friendly and not safe. Trouble seems to stick to that place like tar. Fights, folks going missing — bad things happen to people who get too comfortable over there."

"I think a friend of mine was there the other night."

The old man turned away, opening the cash register. "That bottle of water will be a buck."

Eleanor nodded and fished a dollar from her pocket. "I'm actually on my way up to the old estate. Do you know much about it?"

A shadow passed over the old man's face. He hesitated, his gaze turning distant. "The abandoned mansion —" he murmured. "Yeah, everyone around these parts knows something, whether it's true or not. It's been empty for years now, boarded up and left to rot." He cleared his throat, glancing out the window as if making sure no one was listening. "My granddad couldn't believe what the townsfolk did to the girl who lived there. That was a long time ago, of course. They were all excited — the biggest party this town had seen in ages. And yet —"

Just then, the low rumble of motorcycles filled the air, interrupting the moment. Two bikers pulled up, one heading straight to the pump while the other strode into the store, grabbing a few items off the shelf.

Eleanor could sense the tension in the old man as he shifted uncomfortably. As the second biker sauntered back outside, Eleanor silently slipped away, letting the man behind the counter blink in confusion at her sudden disappearance.

*****

Moments later, Eleanor stood outside the imposing rusted gate, blocking the weed-covered gravel drive leading to the estate. The grand entrance was barely discernible, and the gardens were a chaotic mix of wild weeds, forgotten rose bushes, and scattered wildflowers.

Driven by curiosity, she navigated through the overgrowth to the house. The mansion's once magnificent beauty was now a poignant sight, hidden beneath layers of chipped and faded paint, broken windowpanes, and decaying boards.

Scanning the surrounding countryside, Eleanor could see the towering cliffs that Danni had mentioned and a body of water with the sun reflecting across its surface. She could easily imagine how beautiful the setting had once been.

Desiring to explore further, Eleanor vanished and reappeared inside. Her astonishment was unmistakable as she took in the interior. Instead of the expected cobwebs and dust, she found herself in a preserved world — a pristine parlor, curtains that looked freshly drawn, a faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. Everything was immaculate, untouched by time, a stark contrast to the worn-down exterior.

How was this possible?

She moved from room to room, amazed by the priceless antique furniture, the wood shining as if recently buffed. Eleanor couldn't resist touching the delicate pieces of china and tiny figurines. The paintings — definitely works of art by an artist who loved his work — were scenes of a seaside village clinging to the sides of rugged cliffs. She wondered if it might be where Rebecca's family once lived.

She sensed she was no longer alone as she neared the sitting room. Someone was watching her.

Eleanor held her hands out, palms open in a gesture of peace. "I don't mean any harm." She looked around the room. "I can sense that you've been through something traumatic. Maybe I can help."

There was a faint rustling behind her near the fireplace. Eleanor turned to face the figure as she emerged. Her eyes were guarded and uncertain. She hovered near the doorway to ensure her escape if necessary.

"Why are you in my house?" Her voice was a mere whisper, not threatening, just questioning.

"I didn't mean to trespass. I apologize. I didn't know anyone was here. My name is Eleanor, and my friend, Rebecca, has inherited the property."

The woman gasped and turned away, her trembling hands resting against her chest.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you. You said it was your house — are you afraid —"

"Afraid?" She turned back to face Eleanor. Tears glistened in her eyes. "No, I'm not afraid. This home — my home — has been waiting for a long time for her to come home."

"Are you talking about Rebecca? Do you know her?"

The woman held out her frail hand to Eleanor. "My name is Miriam Cascio — the wife of Trevor Cascio."

"The man who was murdered?"

Miriam shuddered but stood her ground. She slowly untied the scarf she wore and pulled it away, exposing the rope burns around her throat. "It was our wedding day, and those hateful men accused me and hanged me from the tree out back. I never had a chance."

Without thinking, Eleanor moved across the room, wanting to comfort her. As her fingers brushed Miriam's hand, a jolt of recognition passed through her. This hand had touched Donatelli. His presence was faint but undeniable.

Eleanor withdrew her hand slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm — sorry for what happened to you. Is that why your spirit still lives here, waiting for answers?"

Miriam nodded. "It was a very long time ago. I've learned to live with the hand I was dealt. I don't expect to right a wrong, nor do I want anyone's pity."

Sensing that Miriam was withdrawing from her, she chose her words carefully. "I'm looking for a friend. Is it possible you've seen a stranger seeking shelter somewhere nearby?"

Miriam's expression shifted, and her wariness intensified. "No. No one's been here. "

Eleanor held her gaze, sensing the guarded tension in her answer. She nodded, choosing not to press — yet. "Alright," she said softly, turning toward the door. "I'll be back another time, Miriam, if that's alright?"

Miriam gave a slight nod, her eyes never leaving Eleanor. As Eleanor slipped out the door, she couldn't shake the feeling that Donatelli was here, hidden somewhere in the shadows of this house or close by, just out of reach.

She gazed across the fields. "Matthew, where are you?"