The Psychic Legacy

Chapter 4: Sanctuary

I awoke in a dark room. I was laying across a large bed and I realized I couldn't really see much in the dim light. Outside a nearby window, the sky was a vivid pink as the last rays of sun sank from view...

Night already?

How long had I been out?

Once my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I glanced around the room. I didn't recognize anything about it. The only thing that stood out was that this definitely wasn't a hotel—it looked like someone's bedroom. The bed I was laying on was king-sized, so big that it touched three of the small room's four walls.

Whose room was this? I wondered. A friend of Polly's?

I shimmied over to the edge of the bed and stood up. My legs felt a little stiff, a little sore, but otherwise fine. The horrific pain Matilda had inflicted on me was a raw memory but it seemed I hadn't actually suffered any real damage. Maybe I could survive an exorcism after all, even if it wouldn't be a pleasant experience...

I felt a twinge somewhere deep inside and a chill crawled up my spine in response. Something—someone—was still in there, inside me. Could they hear my thoughts? Hear me plotting to get rid of them? They had said they were trying to help me, but...

Well, I wasn't sure I believed them.

Whether or not they took offense, the voice I had heard in Matilda's house kept silent.

Whatever, it wasn't them that I needed to talk to.

I needed Polly.

I headed for the door and took hold of the handle, but froze mid-twist. I assumed this place—wherever it was—was safe because Polly had taken me here, but I didn't know for sure. Had Polly brought me here? Or had Matilda hadn't caught up to us, like Polly feared she would?

I released the handle and pressed my ear to the door, listening to the sounds beyond. Somewhere in the distance, a TV or radio was playing music but I didn't hear anything else. So I turned the handle—relieved to find it unlocked—and opened the door a crack.

I peered out. Beyond the door was a dark, narrow hallway. There was another door set on the opposite wall and a warm glow from around the corner at the end. I slipped out and crept forwards, down the hall.

I soon found myself in a densely packed and colourful kitchen. The bottom cupboards had been painted a nice cool blue, contrasting with the black and white tile on top. The upper walls were full of shelving, filled with cookbooks and mis-matched plates and bowls. The fridge was a surprising burnt orange, a relic from an era past.

The kitchen opened into the small but equally colourful living room. A small loveseat, covered in afghans, sat opposite another relic of a TV and tucked into a corner was an old recliner—

I jolted as I realized someone was there, sitting in the recliner. Their form was crumpled with age and their long white hair cascaded over the back of the chair...

My breath caught in my throat.

Matilda!

The person turned as if I had called their name. My held breath came out in a rush of relief—no, it wasn't Matilda. It was a completely different old woman, though she and Matilda had the same long white hair. Only, instead of milky-white eyes peering through me, this woman's eyes were a clear piercing light grey that seemed... familiar.

"Hello dear," the woman said, giving me a small wave. "Who might you be?"

I just blinked at her, my mouth agape. I was in her house, yet she didn't know who I was? Where the hell was I? And who was this woman?