Deliver Us From Evil

Chapter 2

Within an hour's time, the child had fallen asleep in her room. Phoebe paced the halls, enjoying a solitary respite. Her eyes scanned the ornamented walls, lovingly gazing upon the old photographs. One in particular caught her gaze. The wooden frame was so well-polished, the woman could see her face in it. However, it was not herself she was looking at, it was the photograph. In it was her sister, sitting on the front porch, laughing, hand in hand with her fiancé. The black and white portrait didn't show the beautiful colors, still vivid in the elderly woman's memory.

"Millicent," whispered Phoebe, gently touching it.

Funnily enough, it was she who'd photographed her sister. The moment replayed in her head.

"Come on Phoebe, take a picture," Tom begged, pulling Millicent closer. "Look at how beautiful my blushing bride is."

The girl was giggling madly as she tried to squirm away. He bent and gave her a peck on the cheek. "You're gorgeous, Millie."

"Oh Tom, now really," Millicent laughed, turning redder.

"Alright, alright," Phoebe laughed, snapping a picture quickly.

Millicent Clair Brooks had fallen for an American soldier when she was sixteen. She'd first encountered her handsome future husband in the village, just at the foot of the mountain. Their first conversation had been eagerly retold to Phoebe by the younger of the two sisters.

"Ma'am, you dropped something."

Slightly flustered, Millie turned around, her cheeks a rosy hue of pink. Her bewilderment increased all the more when she found herself confronted by an American soldier. He was brown haired and brown eyed. His jawline was sharp enough to cut something, she thought to herself. Not to mention those well-defined cheekbones. He'd noticed her staring, quickly Millie averted her eyes to the ground.

"Oh," she finally said, turning redder. "Thank you."

Before she could make a very rapid and awkward exit stage left, he tipped his hat. "May I be so bold as to ask your name?" He inquired.

"Millie . . . Millie Brooks."

"Mine's Tom Carl Garner. My unit was stationed here earlier this week."

"How wonderful," she exclaimed. "Have you fought any Nazis?"

"'Fraid not," he said with a shrug. "I shot a squirrel once when I was eighteen."

"Ah I see."

"I assume you're sided with the States then?"

"Of course!" Mille said fervently, her eyes bright.

Tom took a brief look at his watch. The girl caught a glimpse of the metal reflecting the sunlight

"I'll have to be going now," he said, almost regretfully as he made a bow. "Will I see you again?"

"Perhaps," she said coquettishly, with a sweet, innocent smile.

Their whirlwind romance had gone over the course of a year, after which, they wedded the day after her eighteenth birthday. Their home was indeed one of domestic bliss and felicity. It was only broken by Millie waking up, over a year after their wedding and complaining of feeling very ill. Her health went downhill quickly and her distracted husband attempted to drive her to the hospital.

A mixture of frayed nerves and the icy road was their doom.

It was the middle of the winter.

The car slid off the road and crashed.

The couple was killed instantly, the only survivor was their small baby, Margaret Garner. Thankfully, at least for her, the older sisters of Tom stepped in, adopted the child and cared for her. The three of them consorted together on raising the girl. And by consorted, it is meant squabbled, bickered, fought over, and argued about the raising of the child.

The Garner Sisters were an oddity in their own right. They were three elderly, maiden sisters that lived together on the family estate. They were interesting indeed to their neighbors. If an outsider were to observe what went on in that house, standing across the street on a certain afternoon, he would observe some rather heated arguments. One sister adopted an exotic pet, a shark to be exact and put it in the swimming pool. This might have been well enough, except she forgot to mention this fact to the other two. No matter, they found out about three hours later, once they went for a swim. That was one of the more normal occurrences.

These ladies, all in their sixties, had sworn off marriage entirely, but not men. This promise was rooted in their younger years when all three had fallen for the same man and had only agreed on neither of them having him than just one. Granted, their lives had not at all been devoid of romance. Each had more than her fair share of suitors, but in the end, refused all of them.

Another grave problem these eccentric ladies daily faced was the fact that they were triplets. This would be all good and well, save the fact they'd never discovered which was the eldest. This added much unneeded strife to their daily lives.

These were the women with whom Margaret Garner had spent five years of her life. Each of the women were very kind to the child, but none had any idea how to raise children. Due to this, each developed her own theory and used that. The only problem with this is that each theory was a total contradiction of the other two, and thus accomplished nothing.

Indeed, it was a relief to all of them when Phoebe Brooks came down from her mountain and asked if Margaret could spend the summer. Of course, they'd never been too fond of her, each proclaimed her to be most peculiar, but after hours of conference, they decided that a summer with Phoebe Brooks would not turn Margaret into a moral degenerate.

These brief thoughts all flashed through Phoebe's mind as she stared at the old photograph, smiling a little as she stared at Millicent and Tom's smiling faces. It hardened at the remembrance of that fateful day when she received a call from the police station.

"Miss Brooks?"

"Speaking. Is something the matter Officer?"

A deep sigh sounded on the line.

"We need you to come down the morgue and identify someone for us."

Phoebe's heart suddenly dropped.

"Whose body?" She faintly whispered, clutching the phone, her knuckles showing white.

"There are two. Miss Brooks, we believe them to be the bodies of your sister and her husband, Thomas and Millicent Garner."

"The child," she said hoarsely, turning ashen.

"Is safe. Can you drive down or shall we send a car?"

Collecting her nerves, Phoebe shook her head. "I'll drive. I'll be down in an hour at most. Thank you."

Sinking down to the floor, she placed her head between her knees and burst into wild sobs.