Chapter 5 Bad Blood...

"Benjamin! I love the sound of your name," she whispered through the pain, her lips swollen, so were her eyes, because she couldn't see him.

"What happened, mom?"

"I choose your name, my son. It's beautiful to me. It's time that I tell you something. I should have told you years ago."

"What is it, mom?"

"Benjamin, I sincerely hope you find a better path for yourself. Mine was doomed from birth."

He sat on the bed carefully taking her hand into his. Looking at her, she was a broken doll. There was nothing left of the beauty she had once possessed. Only visible and invisible scars which they both denied.

"My son," she sighed deeply, painfully.

"I am here. Talk to me, mom."

"The bloodline of our family is poison. Take care. Everything is not what they appeared to be."

"I don't understand, mom?"

"You know how much I love you. Think of me and I will be there." She grew quiet for such a long time. He thought she was asleep. Then she spoke again. "I thought him dead, but the shadows concealed the lies searched for the man with the scared body. He will tell you the truth about the darkness that surrounds us."

"I will leave you soon. Don't let the darkness consume you. You will know who you are when you find him."

"I don't understand, mom!"

"I trembled with fear but he had awakened the savage within me my virginity given freely but my innocence stolen and sold into slavery. I came from a world called the Garden of Eden but the truth was it was evil. My time had passed."

Silence surrounded them. Benjamin looked at her, not understanding a word she was saying. Deep in his core, he realized he was hearing a truth about his family. The comprehending of the truth was escaping his mind though.

"That is enough, Milla." The harshness of his father's voice startled him but he didn't look away from his mother.

"Find Sabina my butterfly sister. Tell her, I missed her. She gave me freedom to follow my heart. Remember my son; you were born out of love. The purest I had known, only briefly."

"Get out of the room, bastard." His father grabbed him by the shirt and forced him out the bedroom. He slammed the door closed.

He waited a few moments before he opened it again, just in time to catch the last card of a tumbling house.

"Damn you, Milla. This is your final betrayal."

"I am not afraid to die," she whispered triumphantly.

Putting his hand around her throat, he slowly but viciously began to squeeze the life out of her beaten body.

"No don't father." He moved forward, not once thinking, he simply reacted.

With strength he didn't realized he had, he lifted the older man from his feet and threw him out the upstairs window.

His father broke his neck when he landed on the rocks outside in the garden.

Once he called the police, he knelt beside his mother, knowing she was dead. He waited. No one believed his version of the censored truth. He was sentenced to jail for twenty years. In his mind, he had simply exchanged one jail for another. It made no difference to him.

Now he found himself involved in another game of lies he is doomed never to escape.

The question he was seeking an answer too, should Shamane really be involved in lies her own father had spun!

He rose slowly from the garden. He looked one last time at the grave. His mind circled around Shamane Hoffman. He knew nothing about her but he liked her, simple as that.

Trying hard to focus on her but his mind kept crawling back to the past. Apparently, the past won't stay where it belonged. When he re-entered the yard, something strange happened around him. Everything covers in heavy mist. It feels as though his world is spinning out of control. His present mingled with his past.

Standing still, he becomes a statue, looking and listening as to what was going on. The mist suddenly cleared. He sees the house he owned but it was in a different time and place.

Instead of dense weed that overgrown the garden, the place has a lush, beautiful garden. He realized he was part of that time zone, but then he was even more innocent before he led his life with his parents.

His heart nearly stopped when he sees the pale-skinned woman. His eyes young and innocent he looked at her. He knew her as a hard and cruel woman. He was frightened of her.

Wide eyed, he watched her slowly descend the wide terrace steps. She was young in body, but her eyes were cold, lifeless.

His adult eyes looked into the basket, connecting with his baby grays.

They swiftly took a path that led away from the house, going down to the hidden cottage. The snide smile made his skin crawl. His heart stopped for a complete moment.

"Mistress Lila Markovich Asher," he spoke her name while a shudder goes through his body. He was completely fearful, while he remembered her name.

Instinctively he tries to deny that name. He knew it was a name never spoken at all best to forget.

Shock brought him back to the present. His skin crawling with goose bumps. He feels frozen. Looking around, he is surprised that time had passed him everything was covered in mist.

His mind goes back over what he remembered when he had entered these grounds. As a teenage boy and the family trauma, he suffered. He firmly refused to acknowledge the name he had remembered just now.

He realized he also purposefully forgot what his mother had told him. The truth was he didn't want to delve in his past.

He, Benjamin Heyman, had questions now.

Who is Sabina?

What does it mean being a butterfly sister?

Why did his mother say he was born from love?

Who was the man with the scared body?

Who was he, Benjamin Heyman really?

Does he want to know?

Many questions and he know of a possible path he could take in searched for answers, but he would never approach Lila Markovich Asher. He doesn't know his mother's connection with her and he sincerely hoped never to meet her.

"Not on my life," he said aloud.

The soft breeze rattled the branches and echoes his voice suddenly in need of a pair of changeable eyes to look into, he begun to move. Leaving the grounds, he left his pick-up behind and walked down the street.

A short distance from the house, he just had to look back. The house completely covered in mist. Yet, he could swear he saw the silhouette of a woman just standing inside the gates he knows he closed.

Pulling up his collar, he turned and walked away. He is going to ignore that house, memories, and secrets it held. He already paid a prize for whatever was going on in there. He wasn't interested.

Olga stands in the shadows of the bedroom. She just comes from the house on the hill. For a while, she had watched the big man at the graves, while avoiding the groundskeeper. The tunnel must stay hidden at all cost or there would be hell to pay.

She looked at the open window. The heavy mist sneaked past. The curtains gently moved with the breeze. Her eyes travelled back to the sleeping Shamane on the bed.

The night is cool but the curvaceous body was naked. The sexy body glittered beneath a sheen of sweat. She was restless in her sleep. The minutes ticked past.

"Shamane!"

Olga whispers her name, to test her awareness. The steel grey eyes in the exotic face watch her rival intently. Moving forward, her fingers brushed over the slender arm. The needle enters swiftly before remove again. Without making any noise, she moved back into the shadows.

Shamane open her eyes. She lay motionless and just breathed deeply. Her amber eyes travelled to her opened window. Through haziness, she tries to look. However, the sleepiness pulled her under. Still trying to stay awake, she rolled onto her side, her gaze intent.

She has a curious feeling of someone watching. No matter how hard she looked, she sees nothing. She drifted slowly back into sleepiness. Minutes past and she is sound asleep the cool sheet lifted.

Long slender fingers touch her body intimately. The tense muscles in her neck and back softly caressed and massaged. Olga takes care with her and her attention for detail is precise.

She couldn't help admire the sleepy sensuousness of the body underneath her touch. She is tempted to use the body beneath her hands. She feels her own body's lust stirred, coiling through her veins. A very sexual woman, she forced herself to deny her impulse, for she dares not touched her more than ordered. Her task completed, she vanished into the night.

Shamane wake when the warm sun forced her eyes opened. Yawning and stretching, she throws the covers from her body. She feels stiff and sore. Her eyes hurt. Her shoulders feel tender.

Crossing the room, she enters her bathroom for a warm and relaxed shower. While she lathered her body, the burning sensation on her back made her stepped from beneath the shower.

In front of the full-length mirror, she could only stare.

On her, left shoulder the picture with a knife through a heart. On her right shoulder, the curling snake around a black rose.

"Oh my God!" she said aloud.

The soap sods made a white river path down her body. The carpet wet where she stands. The cool morning breeze drying her body and still she looked.

She shivered because of the unknown intruding on her body. The longer she looked, the more erotic she found the two tattoos. Yet, at the same time, there is a sinister and evil quality about it too. She sensed the fear just at the edge of her heart.

The soft rustle of paper made her looked away from the mirror. She moves picking up the note. A shiver runs through her body. A memory flashed about her picking up another note. With shaking hands, she holds onto the paper.

"Curious about the markings on your body an alluring body certainly. Meet me at the old graveyard. Find the truth about Shamane Hoffman," she read aloud.

A frown marred her face.

"What nonsense is this?" she asked herself sharply. The room echoes her voice.

Annoyed, puzzled, fearful, yet strangely intrigued, she looked at herself in the mirror again. The reflections in her eyes changed continuously. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary about her.

"Somewhere out there in the world, someone seemed to know me," she whispered. "Do I want to know about my past though?"

Standing in the shadows of the passage, she looks at her father who sits beside the kitchen table. He is unwashed, hangover and oddly grief stricken. He looks terrible. She found no sympathy in her heart for him.

"Shamane"

Going into the kitchen, she goes and stands against the cupboard. She folded her arms across her chest.

"Morning, sir"

"Did...did you sleep last night?" he queries softly his hands shaking badly.

"Last night was strange," she replied, looking directly at him.

"I know." He nodded." Your mother why did she leave me"

"You know why, sir." She looked directly into his eyes. He grows pale. She blinked, breaking eye contact. Moving forward, she put on the kettle; remove the coffee and two cups. She made a strong brew, finished, she placed one cup in front of him.

"We had an argument."

"I know."

"Why did she leave?"

Eric looked with pleading eyes at her.

"You know the answer, sir. You tell me."

Shamane realize looking at him, she still hadn't shed one tear for her mother. Now looking at her one last remaining parent, she feels nothing. Everything numbed inside of her. Everything may have shut down inside of her for the moment, but her believe still firm, her mother is alive, she just has to find a way to proof it one way or another.