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Mariah rolled it into a ball and hurried back inside. Just in time, she realised, as an outraged roar greeted her ears. Seconds later, a half-naked man appeared before her, and Mariah squealed with laughter.
“You look like a grape!” Mariah howled.
She had emptied three-quarters of a bag of flour out and filled it with indigo flakes. Which once they met water, would turn anything a purple-blue. Only Benedict looked more purple than blue. And obviously, Benedict once again scrubbed at his skin to remove it, which meant his hair, face, neck, and hands were all, from what she could see, purple! Benedict had donned a dressing gown, but she noticed his legs were also purple.
“You… you…” Benedict stuttered, aghast, as Mariah wept with laughter.
“Yup, grape!” she cried, sobbing through her laughter.
“Remove it!” Benedict yelled.
“No! You keep creeping up and yelling things; now I’ll see you coming,” she replied, still chuckling.
Benedict had remained invisible until now, but the dye outlined him perfectly. She could see his features, which were as handsome as his portrait. His hair curled on his collar, and his nose was straight. Mariah scrunched her nose as she walked around him.
“I don’t get it,” Mariah murmured as Benedict muttered threats at her.
“What?” he snarled.
“There’s no obvious wound. How did you die?” she blurted without thinking. Mariah gasped as Benedict’s expression changed from anger to cruelty.
“Stupid woman, I’m not dead!” he hissed and disappeared.
Mariah sat down hard on a chair.
Not dead? How did that work, then?
Benedict
He materialised in his room. He’d given up moving Mariah’s belongings out of his and sullenly had done the gentlemanly thing and allowed her his bed. Now he paced back and forth, struggling to control his temper. Should he lose restraint, Mariah would be in greater danger than she realised. The monster rose inside him, fighting for supremacy. The urge to bite, tear, and rip pounded through his veins, and he wrestled the creature within himself.
Benedict had never been so close to losing control. The thing he controlled so tightly unwound itself in his gut and stretched. Benedict clutched his head as he battled the vicious feelings it was trying to unleash, and he reached for the one memory that would contain it. Cecilia, laughing, dark curls bouncing as she raced alongside him. Her laughter was almost real, and he swore he could hear her voice. The monster faded beneath the happy image, and Benedict regained his precious control.
Panting, he collapsed back against the bed and drew his knees up. Mariah had to go. It was too dangerous, not just from the prisoner but also from himself.
Benedict hadn’t been so close to losing himself, not since that fatal night. Mariah was more stubborn than anyone he’d come across before. The Black Cat reached out and settled around him, offering comfort and love. Benedict leaned into her positive feelings, allowing them to soak through his bones. The lid was again on Pandora’s box, and evil was contained. But it was merely a matter of time, with Mariah determined to have her own way.
The Black Cat understood and offered him her help. He sensed the struggle within her. She yearned to be repaired and loved. But she knew his battle and would always support her master. Benedict touched the floor and sent love to her.
Maybe once he got rid of Mariah, Mr Evans would work for him. Strangely, he hadn’t seemed phased by the appearance of a ghost. It was odd behaviour, but the Black Cat could get her repairs and be happier. Benedict certainly had enough money here. Mariah hadn’t discovered his hidey-hole. He could afford to buy the maintenance the Black Cat required.
Mariah
Something had changed in Benedict in the final moment. For the first time, she’d felt genuine fear. The atmosphere had been charged with danger. What had Benedict meant when he claimed he was not dead? How did that work? She was puzzled and confused. He was a ghost. Ghosts came from being dead. That was her understanding, even if she hadn’t believed in them.
If Benedict wasn’t dead or a ghost, what the hell was he? Mariah’s mind began coming up with fantastical scenarios. She almost jumped out of her skin when her phone rang. Looking down, she saw it was Maggie, and she answered it immediately.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Lucian is driving me nuts. I brought in a priest, and Father McBride could not pick his cassock up quick enough and took to his heels,” Maggie spat, annoyed.
Mariah sat up. The name Lucian meant something to her, but she couldn’t remember what.
“Oh no. Well, I dyed mine purple!” Mariah said with a weak laugh.
Maggie roared with laughter as Mariah explained what she’d done but left out the ending. Somehow she knew Benedict wouldn’t want that loss of control known. It was frightening, and she needed time to understand what had happened.
“Oh, that is a wonderful idea. I may steal it from you. Although Lucian suddenly seems to have changed his ways. We had a proper conversation without scratching each other’s eyes out. And your Benedict, that’s his name, isn’t it? Is he sulking?” Mariah wondered at the note in Maggie’s voice. She was fishing for something.
