The Barren Tree

Chapter 11

by Myeerah, published from May 20 to May 28, 2001

Grace pounded to a halt. "What's wrong? What happened?"

They were in Gabriel's bedroom, next to the library. Through the open doorway, Grace could just make out Celeste curled into a tight ball on the floor on the opposite side of the desk. Her choked sobs, on the other hand, were quite clear.

"Gabriel!" Grace said, as he stared at her in mute shock.

"I. . . I don't know." He looked up at her, all of hell in his eyes. "I can't get near her."

"What? Why not? You told her, right? That's why she's crying?"

"No," he started, but--

"You didn't tell her?" Grace interjected.

"Yes! No. She guessed, but--"

"She guessed?" Mosely had just wandered in.

"Glad you could make it," Grace remarked.

"Listen!" Wide-eyed, Gabriel looked back and forth between their stunned faces. He settled on Grace. "I can't get near her. I've tried, but I can't get through to her. Here." He pulled the talisman over his head. "Take this, just in case." He pressed it into her hand.

"In case of what?" she asked, but as soon as he let go he doubled over in anguish. Tears welled up and fell onto clenched fists.

Confused, not knowing what else to do, Grace touched the talisman to his quaking shoulder. He relaxed instantly.

Still breathing raggedly he said, in a quavering voice, "Don't worry about me. Make her stop before she kills us."

"Stop what?"

In lieu of answering, Gabriel convulsively shoved her away and coiled in pain once more.

Grace looked at the writhing figure in the wheelchair, then at the glinting metal in her hand, and finally at the pathetic figure that Gabriel claimed was the source of his pain.

"Mose? Get him out of here." When he didn't move she bellowed, "Now!" He fired off a sarcastic salute and roughly shoved Gabriel away.

Grace dropped the chain of the talisman around her neck, then, visibly bracing herself, strode into the lion's den.

Gabriel slowly straightened up as he was removed from Celeste's presence. He still felt ragged around the edges, but his emotions were under some degree of control.

Mosely's first words did nothing at all to help his precarious state. "What the hell did you do to her, Knight?"

"I didn't do anything to her," he replied, unsteadily.

"That's what you always say when you leave crying women around." Mosely snorted. "You are a grade A *ssh*le, and never in my life have I been more tempted to push you down the stairs."

Under ordinary circumstances, Gabriel would have laughed. However, the sincerity of the threat combined with raw, wounded feelings drove him over the edge.

"Go ahead!" he screamed. The suicidal depression he had felt only moments before came back in full force. "Why not? Push me! Hell! You've got a gun, shoot me!" Mosely stepped back, alarmed. Gabriel went on. "Are you afraid you'll miss? I've got my dagger! I'll do it my own f*cking self!"

Held in numb shock, Mosely watched as Gabriel, trembling, face red with fury, eyes blinded by tears, pulled away and headed for the stairs. Then he shook himself and, realizing that Gabriel meant it, ran after him.

He caught the chair about a foot from the top stair and pulled his friend back.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. Gabriel only shook his head in response.

Mosely shrugged. "C'mon," he said. "We need a drink."

He took them back to the room he was staying in and dug out a whiskey flask. After taking a long pull he tossed the flask to Gabriel. It bounced off his arm and fell to the floor.

"Gabe? You're worryin' me, here."

There was no answer.

"Gabe?"

Gabriel's shoulders shook. A muffled sound came from him.

"Christ! Are you laughin' at me, Knight?"

Gabriel only shook, wordlessly.

"It's not funny."

A distinct sob emerged, quickly subdued.

"Sh*t! What the hell's the matter with you? You don't do this kinda thing!"

Gabriel finally spoke, choking on tears. "What did she do to me?"

"I have no idea. Just. . . calm down." He had a thought. "Stay here, don't move. I'll go get you some water."

Gabriel nodded and Mosely left for the kitchen. Breathing deeply, Gabriel looked around the guest room Mosely was using. His eye fell on a table holding Mosely's wallet, keys, handcuffs. . . and his gun.

Celeste gradually became aware of a presence at her side. She looked up to see Grace, concern radiating from her, kneeling next to her. Celeste flung herself at Grace.

Upon finding a weeping girl in her arms, Grace did the only thing she could think of: she hugged Celeste tightly and murmured soothing sounds, all the while rocking her gently, like a baby.

Eventually, Celeste regained her composure. Embarrassed, she pulled back and apologized.

"Why?" Grace smiled. "I think it's my turn to listen."

Celeste returned the smile, tears of gratitude welling up in her eyes.

"Don't start that again," Grace admonished her teasingly. "We'll flood."

Celeste laughed weakly. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Want to talk? Tell me what happened?"

"Okay." Celeste sighed. "But you're going to hate me."

"Not likely."

"I was definitely in lust with Gabriel."

"Ah." Grace recovered rapidly. "That happens a lot around him. I can understand why you're upset."

"No. I'm upset because I still am."

Grace froze. "Oh."

"I told you that you'd hate me." Celeste tried to pull away. Grace stopped her.

"I don't hate you," she said. "It's just a little surprising. That's all. What did you do to him?" she asked. "He was as big a mess as you were."

Celeste blushed. "Well. . . you probably won't believe me, but. . . I'm an empath."

"A what?"

"I said you wouldn't believe me!"

"I believe you, I think," Grace said. "I just don't know what an empath is."

"Oh. Well then. I can feel how other people feel. Sometimes, I can make them feel what I feel. I'm not sure what happened this time." Celeste looked confused.

Grace felt confused. "What happened, exactly?"

Gabriel didn't know much about guns. This was some sort of automatic, and it looked loaded. He picked it up and weighed it thoughtfully. It was heavier than it looked.

How many lives have I ruined? he thought in despair. How many kids do I have that I don't know about? How many women hate me? There's got to be a lot of them.

Slowly, he put the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

Sorry, Gracie.

His finger tightened around the trigger.

"I feel terrible," Celeste said. Grace nodded in sympathy. "I shouldn't have done it, I know." The girl was still quaking. "He just made me so mad. . . I think I went a little crazy."

"What happened?" Grace repeated.

"He told me the story of how he got the talisman. The dreams. . . it was obviously a family thing. It was never a secret that Dad wasn't my father, so it just fell into place.

"I'm sorry, Grace, but he's just too much to be true! I've been dreaming about him ever since I met him--just the thought of that gorgeous man. . . sorry," she apologized, abashed, at the look on Grace's face. Grace was disquieted, but kept her peace and motioned for Celeste to continue. She did.

"When he said, actually said, that he was my father, something just snapped. I mean, here's this guy I barely know, worse, that I've been fantasizing about for months, and he says he's my father! I was so mad--I just wanted to hit him, but then he backed down from me, and he looked so. . .I dunno. . . appealing.

"I went for him. I wanted him to hold still, and he did. I wanted him to kiss me, and he lifted his head, just the way I needed him to, but I could feel him. He was panicking. He felt trapped. He felt disgusted. With me." Her eyes were closed, teeth clenched. "He felt revulsion at the thought of me! I hated him for that, right then. I wanted to kill him. I could feel his heart--it was racing--and I wanted to stop it. I knew that when I kissed him, I would be giving him the kiss of death." Silent tears rolled down her raw cheeks. "Then I did kiss him. And I reached out with my mind to where I could feel his life pounding away. . . and I squeezed. . . I tried to kill him."

Loud cries broke out as she relived the memory. She gasped the rest out between sobs. "That's when. . . something. . . pushed me. . . away. And. . . then. . . I knew. . . I'd just tried. . . to kill. . . my father!"

Grace cautiously took Celeste in her arms. "Do you still want to kill him?" she quietly asked.

"Nooo," Celeste moaned.

"You're not the first person who's wanted to," Grace tried to joke. Celeste only cried harder. Sighing, Grace cuddled her close and tried to project calm. It was difficult.

After a while, Celeste wound to a halt.

"Feel better?" Grace asked her.

"No." Celeste smiled weakly as she answered.

Grace laughed softly. "Can you project to and control anyone?" she asked after a pause.

"No." Bafflement riddled Celeste's voice. "I can't project much, or to many people, and I've never controlled anyone before."

"Who can you project to? I don't feel anything."

"I think I've figured out that only people with some sort of psychic thingy of their own can pick up on me. And Mom, but that's what moms do."

"Hmm. I wonder--"

Grace was unable to complete her thought. Right then, something that sounded like a gunshot echoed through the castle.

Mosely entered the room, carrying the promised glass of water. The sight that met him stopped him cold.

"Gabe?" he said softly. "What're you doin'?"

Gabriel froze. "Nuvvin," he mumbled. He tried to unobtrusively take the gun out of his mouth.

"Nothin', huh?" Mosely said, walking slowly towards Gabriel, like one might approach a wild animal.

"Go away, Mosely." Gabriel refused to look at him. Consequently, he didn't see Mosely until the gun was snatched from his hand.

"I don't think so, Knight. If I leave you alone with this you might remember to turn the safety off next time."

Gabriel look up then, slowly flushing a violent vermillion. "I'm goin' to my room," he announced, and turned to leave.

"Not yet, you ain't." Mosely slammed the door and leaned against it, gun still held loosely in one hand. He absently tucked it into his belt and folded his arms. "You're gonna tell me, right now, what the hell's the matter with you."

"Why the hell should I? What difference does it make to you? 'Sides, you should be happy to be rid of me." Gabriel looked Mosely up and down and added maliciously, "If I'm outta the way, you just might have your chance with Gracie."

The proverbial snowflake fell; the branch snapped under the pressure. With a practiced ease, Mosely drew his weapon, released the safety, aimed, and fired.

Grace and Celeste went rigid at the sound.

"Was that a--" Celeste began, but another shot rang out. The sound rebounded along the ancient stones and a achieved a majestic quality to which it had no right.

They were on their feet and out the door in a flash.

Gerde was on her way up the stairs. She knew that Gabriel hadn't eaten much at dinner, so when Franklin had come down to fetch a glass of water, and told her how upset Gabriel was, she decided to make a plate of sandwiches for them.

She heard a gunshot echo down the hall and she stopped, startled. Then she heard another. She ran.

The three converged at the door to Mosely's room. Grace kicked the door open as a third shot was fired and ran inside.

She stopped.

Gerde and Celeste hurried in behind her, and nearly knocked the small woman over as they collided with her stiff form.

Gabriel was slumped motionless in his chair, Mosely standing near him, face contorted with rage, oblivious to the women behind him.

"Do you see now, dipsh*t!" he was yelling. "With the safety on--" he pulled the trigger. It didn't move. "Nothin'. With it off--" he flipped the switch and destroyed an innocent vase. He flipped the switch again. "On!" he shouted.

Before he could again demonstrate the effects of "off," Grace broke in. "What the f*ck is going on here?"

Mosely froze. Gabriel jumped. Both turned to look at Grace, who was standing with her arms folded across her chest, flanked by an astonished Celeste and a furious Gerde.

"Why are you shooting that thing in here, Franklin?" Gerde demanded.

Mosely looked sheepish. "I, uh, I was. . . uh. . . " His color went from the red of anger to the red of embarrassment. He still resembled an overripe tomato. "I was just showin' Gabe how to shoot," he finished weakly.

"Inside? Are you crazy?"

"Well, uh. . . " he tried.

"Do you know how difficult it will be to repair this damage?" Gerde appeared rather less than understanding.

"Easier to fix than Gabe's head would be. If I hadn't come in, it would be smeared across the walls. Imagine cleaning up that mess!" Mosely burst out.

The three women stared at Mosely, then, as one, turned to look at the flushing Gabriel. He cringed.

"Gabriel?" Grace asked, with artificial calm.

"Leave me alone," he said, miserably.

Grace removed the talisman from around her neck and held it in front of her. "I think you'll feel better with this back," she said, walking toward him.

He flinched a little, but stayed in place. As soon as Grace slipped the gold over his head the more destructive emotions fled, leaving only acute shame and embarrassment.

"What was I doin'?" he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Gabriel," Grace said, "you need to have a talk with Celeste."

"No!" he cried.

Celeste winced at the terror in his voice. "I promise," she said tearfully, "I'll never ever do that again."

"Gabriel, please?" Grace's chocolate colored eyes bored into his. He couldn't say no, not to that, not to her.

"Okay, Gracie."

She kissed him tenderly. "Go back to your room," she said. "I'll wait outside, in case you need me."

He nodded, dazed, and rolled off, feeling a tingle in his lips where she had touched him. Celeste and Grace followed him.

Mosely and Gerde looked at each other. After a while, Mosely said, "Sorry 'bout the mess. I'll clean it up."

Gerde continued to stare at him, then looked down at the forgotten plate in her hands. She held it out. "Hungry?" she asked.

Grace snagged a pillow and camped in the hallway while Gabriel and Celeste settled down to talk.

Identical green eyes met and retreated several times. Finally--

"I'm sorry."

They looked at each other. They had spoken simultaneously.

"That was weird," they said, then stared at each other.

"Stop that!" Again, it was in unison.

It was too odd. They both laughed. The patterns of laughter were eerily alike.

Keeping his lips tightly pressed together, Gabriel gestured to Celeste to speak, then burst out laughing because Celeste had mirrored his movement.

"Miso soup and popcorn," Celeste said, still giggling.

"What?"

"I just wanted to make sure we wouldn't say the same thing again."

"It worked." They laughed again, far more relaxed with each other than either had thought possible only minutes before.

"It's your house," Celeste said after she could breathe again, "you first."

"What happened?" Gabriel asked her. "What did you do to me?"

Celeste stiffened, then sighed. "That's a fair question. As I told Grace earlier, I'm an empath."

"What's that?" he asked.

She explained it to him, then continued. "I was mad, I think you felt that." He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, after that, I don't know how I did it, but. . . I controlled you."

He shuddered at the memory. "Yes, you did," he agreed.

"That's never happened before. I've only been able to project at other psychics, but I've never had such an involved link before."

"You can only affect psychics?" Gabriel cut in.

"Well, Mom always knows how I feel but, like I told Grace, I think that's just a mom thing. They all do that, don't they?"

"I wouldn't know." Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "If it's not just a maternal instinct of some sort, if it has to do with. . . . Does Gran ever pick things up from you?"

"I don--actually," she said, thinking back to a number of occasions where she had soothed Gran--like in the hospital, or when she first heard about Gabriel's accident--and times where she had gotten Gran excited about something that wouldn't normally interest her, "I think she has. Then that means--"

"That I got hit from both sides. Seein' as I'm related to you and have some of the family abilities, you might say--"

"That you're the most susceptible person in the world to what I might put out."

"Right."

Their eyes met. "Didja notice," Gabriel began.

"That we just did it again?" Celeste finished. "Yes. I did."

They were silent again.

"Come here," Gabriel said suddenly.

Celeste jumped. "Why?"

"Because," he said. "I'm not gonna hurt you. C'mere."

She approached him cautiously. "How can you trust me?" she asked.

"You tell me." He took her hands and gently drew her closer.

"What are you doing?" she quavered.

He felt it. "I'm trustin' you," he said. He placed her hands on either side of his head. With a strong physical connection established, he dove into the quiet center of his mind and opened his thoughts to her.

She felt the flood of his feelings and memories roll over her and sank to her knees beside him from the pressure. Drowning in experiences from a life more than twice the length of her own, which was filled with more pain than she could have believed possible, Celeste dropped her carefully maintained guard. The flood now went both directions.

They surfaced, exhausted, gasping for breath. Gabriel was holding Celeste closely, the long, dark hair of her mother's trailing over his shoulder. Her face was buried in his neck, which was damp from her tears. They held each other for a long time in that manner.

Gabriel recovered first. "I'm sorry," he stated. "Your father was quite a guy, wasn't he?"

"Yes. He was." Celeste was still getting her breath back.

"There's something you need to hear: it wasn't your fault." Celeste met his eyes, startled. "It was cancer. It was nothing to do with you."

"But, but," she stammered, "I didn't hear him. I was supposed to help him. Mom was at work and I was supposed to be there and I wasn't. . . " She trailed off in fresh tears.

"Celeste," Gabriel hugged his estranged daughter to him, "believe me. He was sick. He was in pain. You, of all people, can't be around that. It's hard enough to watch someone you love in that kind of pain without feeling it yourself. You needed to be away from him.

"Even if you had heard him right away, you wouldn't have been able to help him. He was dying. You couldn't have changed that."

"But--"

"No." Gabriel stared into her eyes, so like his own. "It wasn't your fault."

Celeste clung to Gabriel for support, crying in renewed grief. He did his best to soothe her.

Thomas Bradley had died of a particularly malignant form of cancer. It had ravaged his body until it are a hole in his lungs. He had drowned in his own blood, weakly calling out for his daughter.

Celeste had locked herself in her bedroom, trying to escape from the ever-present pain that washed out from her father. When she had heard his ghastly coughing at last, she ran for him, but by the time she had reached him he was dead, blood pouring from his open mouth, vacant eyes staring accusingly at her.

Two months later, Celeste and her mother had moved back to Marianne's parents' home in New Orleans. Celeste still had nightmares of her father.

That knowledge was fresh in their minds as they held each other.

"You don't need to feel guilty over something you didn't even do," Gabriel told her.

"If that's true, then why do you feel guilty about Malia?" she responded, looking up at him soulfully.

He froze. "What do you mean?"

It was a silly question, he knew. Celeste had been in Gabriel's mind as deeply, if not more deeply, than he had been in her's. What surprised him was how vivid the memories still were, and how much they still pained him, in spite of the years and the efforts he had made to forget.

It all came back in a rush. Malia's terrified face hanging over the burning abyss. The pain of the dagger slicing through his flesh, and the sheer agony of holding her weight with his lacerated arm. The expression in Malia's eyes as she let go of him, condemning herself to a horrific and painful death. That had hurt him the most.

Celeste idly traced the white scars on Gabriel's arm. "You did everything you could to save her. She chose to die, it wasn't your fault."

"She chose to leave me." The hurt was still fresh, after all this time.

"Rather than risk hurting you more, yes. She did." Celeste considered what Gabriel had told her--hearing the words from someone who had been there, had trulyseen what she had seen, had relived her immensely. Feeling Gabriel's pain, who had experienced the same thing, only much more intimately, she resolved to help him through it. Laying a hand on his cheek and deliberately projecting her newfound peace, she continued. "She loved you, Gabriel. But she's gone now. Now, someone else loves you. Don't make a mistake with her."

Staring at his daughter with respect and pride, Gabriel covered her hand with his own. She pulled away.

"I felt that," she said. "I don't feel right in calling you my father, or with you thinking of me as your child. I'm not. I want you to know that." She sounded apologetic.

Gabriel thought for a time. "I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of," he said, "and one of them is what I did to you and your mother. I don't want to take your father's place, even if I was cut out to be a parent, but there's no denyin' that we're related." He considered for a moment longer. "How about callin' me Uncle Gabriel?"

Celeste quirked a smile as she considered it. "Uncle Gabriel? It sounds so formal." She winked mischievously."Why not Uncle Gabe?" She laughed at his expression.

"If you must," he said.

"It's late. We're tired. I'm going to bed now. Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?" Celeste grinned at him and headed for the door. She opened it and said, "Good night, Uncle Gabe!" to the surprise of Grace, who was still seated in the hallway.

Giggling slightly, much relieved, Celeste went off to bed and a dreamless sleep.

Grace stepped into the room.

"Uncle Gabe?" she said, incredulously.

"Neither one of us would be happy with 'Daddy' now, would we?" He tried for a half-hearted chuckle, but was too tired.

"You sound awful."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious. You've had a rough night."

He smirked slightly. "Tell me 'bout it." His face fell. "I'm completely drained, Grace. I just want to go to bed and forget that tonight ever happened."

Grace had been planning to talk with Gabriel, but could see that it wouldn't do any good tonight. She decided on the direct approach. "Let me help you." She started pulling his shirt up.

"I think I can manage that by myself, thanks."

"I know." She drew the T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

"Gracie. . . " he warned.

"Shh. I've been thinking a lot tonight," she said as she pulled his arm over her shoulders to support him.

Gabriel stood awkwardly for a moment before toppling into bed. "Glad to hear it," he said, as he settled. "You're good at that."

"I've been trying to imagine," she sat next to him, "what my life would have been like without you." Trailing a hand down his bare chest, she absently rubbed the chain of the talisman between thumb and forefinger.

Gabriel had been through a few emotional hells already that night. He felt like the top of his head had been opened and the contents stirred around with a pointy stick. That being said, he did a remarkable job of hiding from her his nervousness at the direction she was taking.

"Oh? And what did you decide?" He tensed only slightly, even though he was afraid of the answer.

"If I had never met you, I'd probably have my doctorate by now, and would be living a calm life teaching history at some college with only inter-office politics and calls from my mother to break to monotony of lectures and grading papers." She stroked his face with gentle fingers. "I would never have been kidnapped for use as a voodoo sacrifice, I would never have gotten anywhere near a werewolf, and I definitely would not have been tripping over dead bodies or had anything to do with vampires."

Grace stretched out on the bed and nuzzled her head against Gabriel's shoulder. "In short, life would have been a lot less interesting."

Smiling sleepily, his last fear assuaged, Gabriel wrapped his arm around Grace and hugged her. "Thank you," he said simply and closed his eyes.

"For what?" Grace asked, but he was already asleep.

Last update: October 24, 2007

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The Barren Tree

Chapter 11