The Red Candle

Chapter Nine

Grandma treated our wounds and bruises once we reached her car. She and I carried Lucy to the car and we drove our way to our home. "We must bring her to our home first." Grandma said. We laid Lucy's body on the rear seat of our car and let her rest. I sat beside grandma and we drove our way out of Simoune's house. I glanced around and everything was dark. I looked at the time in our car and it says 11:46 PM. The branches of trees and its leaves gleamed under the moonlight. The trafficless street was dark, even with the light posts on the road. "Where are we?" I asked.
"We're still in Jourman. Not very far away from our home." Grandma said and glanced at the mirror to look at Lucy behind. "We're dropping your friend in our home. We must let her rest there."
"But what about us? Where will we go?"
She sighed. "I'm pretty sure you already know everything, Sandra. I see you've already met Simoune."
"Do you know her?"
She nodded. "Absolutely. Why would I forget the ghost that tried to kill me once, when I was your age. Fortunately, she never had the opportunity to harm your mother." Grandma gave me a stern glance. "What else did she tell you?"
I told her everything and everything, from my dreams this morning before I woke up, from the time when we visited the museum, to all the things that I've seen and when I did pass out. I told her everything that Lady Simoune took me and Lucy in her place as I woke up, and what she has shown us through our communication with Dolora herself. She didn't seem surprised about everything she heard, even with all the horrors Lucy and I witnessed in Simoune's house.
"Well," Grandma finally spoke. "Everything you saw is true. All the stories of Queen Dolora, as well as the crimes of your uncle Henry. Or must I say, my father, Henrick Al'Dor."
I was stunned, although my theory earlier was that perhaps grandma Lourna was uncle Henry's daughter, all along. "So, is it also true that he kills every year just for him to sustain the powers of the immortality ring?" By then, we reached our house and grandma parked our car in the garage.
"Let's talk about this inside. For now, let's give your friend some comfortable bed to sleep on."
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"So is he really a priest?" I asked grandma. "Why does it look like he was the evil one instead of being God's instrument?"
"He believed that being a priest may save him, and us, from evil spirits." Granda chuckled. "But he did not know that his protection for us won't last. He was truly a pathetic one." Grandma sat on a couch in our living room, placing her tea on the table before her.
"And what about all the bodies he has killed. Where are they?"
"It is all underneath the museum. He has his secret chamber there." She took a sip in her tea. I sat with her while listening to all the stories she was about to unveil through my ears. "It is where he keeps all the deads' bodies, chaining them so that their souls may not haunt us; me, your mother, and you."
"So, is it also true that he does kill every year?"
She nodded. "Every year, he does that. Just for him to sustain his life. Just for him to remain strong from sickness. He kills somebody, and takes their corpse to his underground chamber in the museum."
"But why is he doing that? That doesn't sound reasonable at all."
"I know, honey. Your uncle doesn't say why." She placed her cup on the table. "My guess is that he was on something. I saw him once studying theories and concepts of the afterlife. But one time, I saw this in his office at church." She stood and took something from the closet beside her. Later on, she handed me a paper, like a thesis paper we once used to submit to our professors back during school days. It wasn't the usual thesis, for it was intended for astral studies, faith of the mortal, philosophy, and other related spiritual theories. Definitely, this one isn't related to the Church nor any forms of Christianity. I read the title and it says about the theories of resurrection of human life. I arched my eyebrow at grandma. "What does this supposed to mean?"
"Henry might be planning on reviving Dolora's body, once more. He thought that maybe, if he might be able to resurrect her, and all the souls he had slain as well, perhaps the ring's curse might be broken for the good of all." She sat and sighed.
"So, Dolora's body is underneath the museum?"
"Yes, my dear. He was keeping it all along throughout his life, just as his feelings for her aren't fading yet. And now, he might be seeking a way to revive her, so that maybe all his wrongdoings may be redeemed by it, and for him to remain immortal for eternity."
I still feel sad for him, but yet he must let go of that. He even did kill many lives which all rooted from the hatred that has grown from his love that was spurned. That was never an enough justification for him to harm other lives. "I still can't believe that he took many lives." Then a shivering thought brushed my mind. I turned to grandma.
"Is uncle responsible for the death of my dad and grandpa?"
Grandma was stunned, sadness rippled in her eyes. "In truth, he was." She wiped her eyes before her tears could drip. "Your grandpa was, undeniably, the love of my life. But then, one day, your Henry was sick of seeing us happy together, and I know that deep inside his heart, enviousness among the others and longing for an embrace of his loved one was all he truly desired, ever since my mother died of sickness."
A melancholic wind of midnight swirled among us. Word per word, I realize how pathetic uncle Henry was. "At first, all I thought was that my husband died of sickness, and your father died in an accident. All along, it was all a lie."
Her eyes fixed on me. "It was just two years after the death of your father when Henry told me about these things. He just told me the truth by then; he told me that he was my real father, he told me about these ghosts, about the history of Queen Dolora, and most brutal of all was that he disclosed to me about all the killings he had been doing. I cannot even dare to go against him because my body is already weak, even deep inside me, I wanted to kill him several times."
My heart stiffened upon hearing other details about my father's death. "Does my mother know about this?"
She shook her head. "No. Henry keeps this secret from Anya and you. He feared that you and your mother may oppose him while you are both still young and strong, unlike me." She took a deep breath. "I cannot even disclose this to you, and even to your mother for I know that you both cannot control yourselves once you heard about your father. And I apologize for saying this to you." She bowed her head, trying to prevent herself from sobbing.
"It's okay grandma, I understand. But you're right. Now that we know about this, we must do something."
Grandma's expression turned hard and she stood. "You're right, Sandra. I can no longer see more lives being taken by his malevolence. And I can no longer bear seeing you being haunted by the souls he has killed."
"So what will we do now?"
There was a glint of bravery in her eyes. "Tonight, we will visit him in his underground chamber at the museum. Perhaps, it is the time that you must discover all of these."
I stood, as my emotions were stirred by fear and rage, yet above all, I was eager to face my uncle. I was eager to do anything for the peace of these souls. "But what if he tries to hurt us? He's even immortal."
Grandma took the car keys and faced me. "I will protect you, no matter what and don't worry, I have a plan. Come on, Sandra." She went away to the garage and I stood to follow her. On my way out, I peeked on Lucy, who was slumbering deeply inside my room. I feel so sorry for having all the troubles she had. I went inside and took a closer look at her beautiful, sleeping face. I sat beside her and held her hand. "It will all be over soon, Lucy. I'm truly sorry for all of this." I stood up and glanced at my clock. It was already 12:16 AM. It was already my birthday. Grandma warned me earlier that on the day of our nineteenth birthday, all the lurking ghosts are at their strongest. That was why she handed me a rosary and kept it inside my pocket. For the last time, I glanced at Lucy although this time, she was not alone. Beside her stood the ghost of prince Bardon Windister, his blank eyes gazing at me. I wasn't surprised by his presence. I gazed at him, one last time, and I promised him, his mother, and everyone that was slain by Henry that they will attain the peace which their soul yearns for ages.