A Family Affair. V. J. Banis

      A FAMILY AFFAIR

      V.J. BANIS

      BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY VICTOR J. BANIS

      The Astral: Till the Day I Die

      Avalon: An Historical Novel

      The C.A.M.P. Cookbook

      The C.A.M.P. Guide to Astrology

      Charms, Spells, and Curses for the Millions

      Color Him Gay: That Man from C.A.M.P.

      The Curse of Bloodstone: A Gothic Novel of Terror

      Darkwater: A Gothic Novel of Horror

      The Daughters of Nightsong: An Historical Novel (Nightsong Saga #2)

      The Devil’s Dance: A Novel of Terror

      Drag Thing; or, The Strange Tale of Jackle and Hyde

      The Earth and All It Holds: An Historical Novel

      A Family Affair: A Novel of Horror

      Fatal Flowers: A Novel of Horror

      Fire on the Moon: A Novel of Terror

      The Gay Dogs: That Man from C.A.M.P.

      The Gay Haunt

      The Glass House: A Novel of Terror

      The Glass Painting: A Gothic Tale of Horror

      Goodbye, My Lover

      The Greek Boy

      The Green Rolling Hills: Writings from West Virginia (editor)

      Green Willows: A Novel of Horror

      Kenny’s Back

      Life & Other Passing Moments: A Collection of Short Writings

      The Lion’s Gate: A Novel of Terror

      Love’s Pawn: A Novel of Romance

      Lucifer’s Daughter: A Novel of Horror

      Moon Garden: A Novel of Terror

      Nightsong: An Historical Novel (Nightsong Saga #1)

      The Pot Thickens: Recipes from Writers and Editors (editor)

      San Antone: An Historical Novel

      The Scent of Heather: A Novel of Terror

      The Second House: A Novel of Terror

      The Second Tijuana Bible Reader (editor)

      The Sins of Nightsong: An Historical Novel (Nightsong Saga #3)

      Spine Intact, Some Creases: Remembrances of a Paperback Writer

      Stranger at the Door: A Novel of Suspense

      Sweet Tormented Love: A Novel of Romance

      The Sword and the Rose: An Historical Novel

      This Splendid Earth: An Historical Novel

      The Tijuana Bible Reader (editor)

      Twisted Flames

      The WATERCRESS File: That Man from C.A.M.P.

      A Westward Love: An Historical Romance

      White Jade: A Novel of Terror

      The Why Not

      The Wine of the Heart: A Novel of Romance

      The Wolves of Craywood: A Novel of Terror

      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1973, 2012 by V. J. Banis

      Originally published under the pen name, Lynn Benedict

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      I am deeply indebted to my friend, Heather, for all the help she has given me in getting these early works of mine reissued.

      And I am grateful as well to Rob Reginald, for all his assistance and support.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Her mother was dead. Panting with the exertion of what she had done, Jennifer Rand felt a perverse excitement. Slowly, with infinite caution, she removed the pillow that she had held so tightly against her mother’s face and stared wide-eyed at the figure sprawled ungraciously over the bed.

      Yes, she was dead, there could be no doubt of it. Jennifer’s eyes filled with tears, her mouth worked wordlessly. She stood as though transfixed, the awesome warmth of the pillow clutched to her breast. Then, dropping it all at once, she turned full around and half-ran, half-danced from the room. She pirouetted through the living room, bursting through the kitchen and out into the moonlight that flooded the backyard. Her mother was dead. Dead. Dead.

      “Jennifer?”

      As a balloon bursts when punctured, so Jennifer’s spirits burst, the exhilaration that had filled her spilled from her in one horrible rush.

      “Jennifer?”

      Sleep was rushing away from her, carrying with it the dream. Jennifer reached for them, tried to hold them to her, but the voice was too strong, instinct was more powerful than desire. She lay huddled and wearied in her small bed, and accepted waking with grim resignation.

      “I’m here, Mother.” She held her eyes closed, trying to recall the dream. It had been something pleasant, of that she was certain, although she could not remember what; but not altogether pleasant, for lingering with the sense of freedom and exhilaration was an eerie feeling of guilt. She concluded that she had been dreaming of something wicked, and wondered what on earth it might have been.

      “I’ve been calling you.” Her mother’s voice was heavy with reproach and self-pity.

      “I didn’t hear you,” Jennifer offered meekly. Then, as though to substantiate the claim, she added, “I was asleep.”

      “I called and called. I thought you had gone somewhere. You know I want you close by me.”

      The dream, where had it gone? If she closed her eyes and surrendered to her sleepiness, would it come back to her?

      “Did you want something, Mother?” It was useless. She would have to begin all over the maddening ritual of begging sleep, coaxing her body and her mind into the realm of non-consciousness, gradually drifting and waiting for the dream to come for her again, in its own way and its own time. It would come. It had come before and gone, and although she could remember nothing about it, she knew that it was the same. Someday, she promised herself, I’ll remember.

      Her mother had not answered. Jennifer focused her attention in that direction, listening carefully. Yes, her mother was asleep again. She had wanted nothing after all, only to determine that Jennifer was here.

      She’ll want me to die with her, Jennifer thought bitterly, and at once flushed with guilt at the thought. What a dreadful thing to think, she scolded herself, and turned on her side, tugging the blanket up close about her chin.

      She thought of her mother’s medicine, sitting on the nightstand. She should have given it to her while they were both awake; it might have meant an opportunity for both of them to sleep comfortably past the time for it. But it was too late now. She would only have to awaken her mother, which would certainly provoke a quarrel, and in the end neither of them would get the advantage of the additional sleep.

      “If only I weren’t so tired,” Jennifer thought wearily. “If only I could sleep.”

      But much sooner than she had expected, she fell asleep again.

      “Jennifer?”

      The voice was little more than a whisper as it penetrated the depth of Jennifer’s slumber. A part of her, the wary sentry self, heard, and sounded its warning.

      “Jennifer?”

      From far, far away, Jennifer heard the warning. I should wake up now, she told herself, but the thought went