In the third of a six-part serial horror saga, Rebecca Morrison purchases the perfect ""welcome home"" gift for her cousin Andrea, an exotic cigarette lighter in the form of a dragon, a gift that inflames the darkest passions of the human heart.
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ASHES TO ASHES: THE DRAGON'S FLAME
Prologue
It wasn't right.
It wasn't the way it was supposed to have been.
When she'd discovered she was pregnant, Tommy was supposed to insist that they get married immediately.
But instead of putting his arms around her and assuring her that everything would be all right, he'd looked at her with such pure fury blazing in his eyes that she thought he was going to hit her, that he would throw her out of the roadster right then, and she'd have to walk all the way home. "How could you be so stupid?" he demanded. They were parked on the lovers' lane on the slope of North Hill that faced away from Blackstone, and he'd yelled so loud that the people in the backseat of the only other car up there that night had rubbed a clear spot in the steamy window and peered curiously over at them.
She'd shrunk down in the seat, so embarrassed she wanted to die. Then Tommy started the engine and took off, slamming the car through the curves so fast she was terrified they were both going to get killed before they got back to town.
Maybe that would have been better than what happened next. He pulled up in front of her house, reached across and shoved the door open, then glowered at her one last time. "Don't think I'm going to marry you," he growled. "In fact, don't even think you're going to see me again!"
Sobbing, she stumbled out of the car, and he roared away, tires squealing, and disappeared around the corner. A week later, when she heard that Tommy had joined the army and was going to Korea, she knew she had no choice. She had to tell her parents.
She expected her dad to go into a rage, threatening to kill whoever did this to his little girl. When she told him Tommy was in the army, his face blackened with fury and he swore that if the North Koreans didn't kill the stinking son-of-a-bitch coward, he would, no matter how long it took. Her mother demanded to know how a daughter of hers could ever let a man use her the way Tommy had, and sobbed that she would never again be able to look any of her friends in the face.
All of that, she had expected.
What she hadn't expected was what happened the next day: Her parents took her up to the top of North Hill and committed her to the Asylum.
She sobbed and begged. She raged at her father with every bit as much fury as he'd raged at her the day before.
But her parents were implacable. She would stay in the Asylum until the baby was born.
Only then would they decide what would be best for her to do next.
For the first two months, she lived in terror, afraid even to leave her room for fear of what might happen to her. All her life she and her friends had lived in quiet fear of the building at the top of North Hill. All through her childhood there were whispered stories of terrible things that went on up there, and she'd spent more than one sleepless night cowering under her quilt at rumors that one of the "lunatics" had escaped.
The first few nights in the Asylum were the worst. She was unable to sleep, for here there was no quiet at night; instead the hours of darkness were alive with the screams and moans of the tormented souls hidden away within the forbidding stone walls. But slowly her mind became inured to the howls of anguish that echoed through the small hours of the night. Finally she began to venture forth into the dayroom, where she joined the rest of the lower security patients, who whiled away their lives playing endless games of solitaire or thumbing through magazines whose pages they never actually read.
And they smoked.
During her second month in the dayroom, she began smoking too. It passed the time, and somehow numbed the pain of loneliness and hopeless desperation.
As the weeks turned into months, and her belly swelled with the child she was carrying, she began slowly, tentatively to make friends with some of the patients. She even tried to befriend the woman who always sat perfectly still, only her constantly darting eyes betraying her consciousness. But the woman never spoke to her.
One day, the silent woman simply vanished, and though there were stories that the woman had died somewhere in the secret chambers rumored to be hidden deep in the Asylum's basement, she didn't quite believe the talk.
Nor did she quite disbelieve it.
Her family had not come to see her. That was no surprise: Her father was far too angry, her mother too ashamed.
And her two little sisters, both much younger than she, would be far too frightened to brave a visit to the Asylum on their own.
So the months passed.
Today, on a cold March morning after a night in which the howling of the wind had been loud enough to drown out the cries and wails of the Asylum's occupants, she felt the first painful contraction.
She winced as it gripped her body, but didn't let herself cry out, for over the months of her pregnancy she had come to understand that the pain of childbirth would be nothing more than punishment for the sin she and Tommy had committed.
A punishment she had vowed to bear in silence.
Within an hour, though, the contractions were coming every few minutes, and she could no longer bear the pain without crying out. The women in the dayroom called out to one of the orderlies, and the orderly summoned a nurse.
With the pains coming every two minutes, and her body feeling as if it was about to be torn apart, she was strapped onto a gurney and wheeled into a white-tiled room. From the ceiling, three brilliant lights blazed down, nearly blinding her.
The room was cold--close to freezing. The orderlies began to strip her gown from her body. She begged them not to.
They ignored her.
The nurse came in, and the doctor.
As yet another contraction racked her body, she begged them to give her something for the pain, but they only went about their work, ignoring her pleas. "It's not an operation," the doctor curtly told her. "You don't need anything."
Her labor intensified, and then she was screaming, and thrashing against the restraints that held her strapped to the gurney. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pain so intense she was certain she would pass out, until, with one last agonizing spasm, she felt the baby slip from her body.
She lay gasping, trying to catch her breath, her exhausted body still at last. Then she heard it: a tiny, helpless cry. Her baby, the baby for whom she had endured unimaginable pain, was crying out to her.
"Let me see it," she whispered. "Let me hold my baby."
The doctor, his back to her, handed something to the nurse. "It's better you don't," he said. "Better for both of you."
The nurse left the room, and she heard her baby's wails fade away into the distance.
"No!" she cried out, but her voice was pitifully weak. "I have to see my baby! I have to hold it!"
The doctor finally looked at her. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. It would only make it much harder for you."
She blinked. Harder? What was he talking about?"I--I don't understand--"
"If you don't see it, you won't miss it nearly as much."
"Miss it?" she echoed. "What are you talking about? Please! My baby--"
"But it's not your baby," the doctor said as if talking to a small child. "It's being given up for adoption, so it's better that you not see it at all."
"Adoption?" she echoed. "But I don't want to give--"
"What you want doesn't matter," the doctor informed her. "The decision has been made."
Now a new kind of pain flooded over her--not the sharp pangs of the contractions, which, as violently as they'd seized her body, had quickly dissipated. This was a dull ache that she felt taking root deep within her, which she knew was never going to fade--a spreading coldness that would grow inside her cancerously, filling her with despair, slowly consuming her, leaving her no avenue of escape. She could already feel it uncoiling inside her, and someday, she knew, there would be nothing left of her at all.
There would be nothing left but the pain of knowing that somewhere there was a baby who belonged to her, whom she would never nurse, never hold, never see.
Left alone in the operating room under the cold, merciless lights, she began to cry.
No one came to comfort her.
When she awakened the next morning, she was back in her room, and though her blanket was wrapped close around her, it did nothing to protect her from the icy chill that had spread through her body.
Though she felt utterly exhausted, something drew her from her bed to the window. The landscape beyond the bars was no less bleak than the Asylum's interior: naked gray branches clawed at a leaden sky. Only a wisp of smoke that curled from the chimney of the incinerator behind the Asylum's main building disturbed the cold, silent morning. She was about to turn away when a movement caught her eye--a nurse and an orderly emerging from the Asylum and walking toward the incinerator. It was the same nurse who had been in the operating room yesterday, and the orderly was one of the two who had strapped her to the gurney.
The nurse was carrying an object wrapped in what looked like a small blanket, and even though she could see nothing of what was hidden within the blanket's folds, she knew what it was.
Her baby.
They weren't putting it up for adoption at all.
She wanted to turn away from the window, but something held her there, some need to see exactly what was going to happen, even though the scene had already played itself out in her mind. In the next few moments, as she stood shivering with cold and desperate fear, the scene she had just imagined unfolded before her eyes:
The orderly opened the access port of the incinera...
Prologue
It wasn't right.
It wasn't the way it was supposed to have been.
When she'd discovered she was pregnant, Tommy was supposed to insist that they get married immediately.
But instead of putting his arms around her and assuring her that everything would be all right, he'd looked at her with such pure fury blazing in his eyes that she thought he was going to hit her, that he would throw her out of the roadster right then, and she'd have to walk all the way home. "How could you be so stupid?" he demanded. They were parked on the lovers' lane on the slope of North Hill that faced away from Blackstone, and he'd yelled so loud that the people in the backseat of the only other car up there that night had rubbed a clear spot in the steamy window and peered curiously over at them.
She'd shrunk down in the seat, so embarrassed she wanted to die. Then Tommy started the engine and took off, slamming the car through the curves so fast she was terrified they were both going to get killed before they got back to town.
Maybe that would have been better than what happened next. He pulled up in front of her house, reached across and shoved the door open, then glowered at her one last time. "Don't think I'm going to marry you," he growled. "In fact, don't even think you're going to see me again!"
Sobbing, she stumbled out of the car, and he roared away, tires squealing, and disappeared around the corner. A week later, when she heard that Tommy had joined the army and was going to Korea, she knew she had no choice. She had to tell her parents.
She expected her dad to go into a rage, threatening to kill whoever did this to his little girl. When she told him Tommy was in the army, his face blackened with fury and he swore that if the North Koreans didn't kill the stinking son-of-a-bitch coward, he would, no matter how long it took. Her mother demanded to know how a daughter of hers could ever let a man use her the way Tommy had, and sobbed that she would never again be able to look any of her friends in the face.
All of that, she had expected.
What she hadn't expected was what happened the next day: Her parents took her up to the top of North Hill and committed her to the Asylum.
She sobbed and begged. She raged at her father with every bit as much fury as he'd raged at her the day before.
But her parents were implacable. She would stay in the Asylum until the baby was born.
Only then would they decide what would be best for her to do next.
For the first two months, she lived in terror, afraid even to leave her room for fear of what might happen to her. All her life she and her friends had lived in quiet fear of the building at the top of North Hill. All through her childhood there were whispered stories of terrible things that went on up there, and she'd spent more than one sleepless night cowering under her quilt at rumors that one of the "lunatics" had escaped.
The first few nights in the Asylum were the worst. She was unable to sleep, for here there was no quiet at night; instead the hours of darkness were alive with the screams and moans of the tormented souls hidden away within the forbidding stone walls. But slowly her mind became inured to the howls of anguish that echoed through the small hours of the night. Finally she began to venture forth into the dayroom, where she joined the rest of the lower security patients, who whiled away their lives playing endless games of solitaire or thumbing through magazines whose pages they never actually read.
And they smoked.
During her second month in the dayroom, she began smoking too. It passed the time, and somehow numbed the pain of loneliness and hopeless desperation.
As the weeks turned into months, and her belly swelled with the child she was carrying, she began slowly, tentatively to make friends with some of the patients. She even tried to befriend the woman who always sat perfectly still, only her constantly darting eyes betraying her consciousness. But the woman never spoke to her.
One day, the silent woman simply vanished, and though there were stories that the woman had died somewhere in the secret chambers rumored to be hidden deep in the Asylum's basement, she didn't quite believe the talk.
Nor did she quite disbelieve it.
Her family had not come to see her. That was no surprise: Her father was far too angry, her mother too ashamed.
And her two little sisters, both much younger than she, would be far too frightened to brave a visit to the Asylum on their own.
So the months passed.
Today, on a cold March morning after a night in which the howling of the wind had been loud enough to drown out the cries and wails of the Asylum's occupants, she felt the first painful contraction.
She winced as it gripped her body, but didn't let herself cry out, for over the months of her pregnancy she had come to understand that the pain of childbirth would be nothing more than punishment for the sin she and Tommy had committed.
A punishment she had vowed to bear in silence.
Within an hour, though, the contractions were coming every few minutes, and she could no longer bear the pain without crying out. The women in the dayroom called out to one of the orderlies, and the orderly summoned a nurse.
With the pains coming every two minutes, and her body feeling as if it was about to be torn apart, she was strapped onto a gurney and wheeled into a white-tiled room. From the ceiling, three brilliant lights blazed down, nearly blinding her.
The room was cold--close to freezing. The orderlies began to strip her gown from her body. She begged them not to.
They ignored her.
The nurse came in, and the doctor.
As yet another contraction racked her body, she begged them to give her something for the pain, but they only went about their work, ignoring her pleas. "It's not an operation," the doctor curtly told her. "You don't need anything."
Her labor intensified, and then she was screaming, and thrashing against the restraints that held her strapped to the gurney. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pain so intense she was certain she would pass out, until, with one last agonizing spasm, she felt the baby slip from her body.
She lay gasping, trying to catch her breath, her exhausted body still at last. Then she heard it: a tiny, helpless cry. Her baby, the baby for whom she had endured unimaginable pain, was crying out to her.
"Let me see it," she whispered. "Let me hold my baby."
The doctor, his back to her, handed something to the nurse. "It's better you don't," he said. "Better for both of you."
The nurse left the room, and she heard her baby's wails fade away into the distance.
"No!" she cried out, but her voice was pitifully weak. "I have to see my baby! I have to hold it!"
The doctor finally looked at her. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. It would only make it much harder for you."
She blinked. Harder? What was he talking about?"I--I don't understand--"
"If you don't see it, you won't miss it nearly as much."
"Miss it?" she echoed. "What are you talking about? Please! My baby--"
"But it's not your baby," the doctor said as if talking to a small child. "It's being given up for adoption, so it's better that you not see it at all."
"Adoption?" she echoed. "But I don't want to give--"
"What you want doesn't matter," the doctor informed her. "The decision has been made."
Now a new kind of pain flooded over her--not the sharp pangs of the contractions, which, as violently as they'd seized her body, had quickly dissipated. This was a dull ache that she felt taking root deep within her, which she knew was never going to fade--a spreading coldness that would grow inside her cancerously, filling her with despair, slowly consuming her, leaving her no avenue of escape. She could already feel it uncoiling inside her, and someday, she knew, there would be nothing left of her at all.
There would be nothing left but the pain of knowing that somewhere there was a baby who belonged to her, whom she would never nurse, never hold, never see.
Left alone in the operating room under the cold, merciless lights, she began to cry.
No one came to comfort her.
When she awakened the next morning, she was back in her room, and though her blanket was wrapped close around her, it did nothing to protect her from the icy chill that had spread through her body.
Though she felt utterly exhausted, something drew her from her bed to the window. The landscape beyond the bars was no less bleak than the Asylum's interior: naked gray branches clawed at a leaden sky. Only a wisp of smoke that curled from the chimney of the incinerator behind the Asylum's main building disturbed the cold, silent morning. She was about to turn away when a movement caught her eye--a nurse and an orderly emerging from the Asylum and walking toward the incinerator. It was the same nurse who had been in the operating room yesterday, and the orderly was one of the two who had strapped her to the gurney.
The nurse was carrying an object wrapped in what looked like a small blanket, and even though she could see nothing of what was hidden within the blanket's folds, she knew what it was.
Her baby.
They weren't putting it up for adoption at all.
She wanted to turn away from the window, but something held her there, some need to see exactly what was going to happen, even though the scene had already played itself out in her mind. In the next few moments, as she stood shivering with cold and desperate fear, the scene she had just imagined unfolded before her eyes:
The orderly opened the access port of the incinera...
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More About the Author
House of Reckoning is John Saul's thirty-sixth novel. His first novel, Suffer the Children, published in 1977, was an immediate million-copy bestseller. His other bestselling suspense novels include Faces of Fear, In the Dark of the Night, Perfect Nightmare, Black Creek Crossing, Midnight Voices, The Manhattan Hunt Club, Nightshade, The Right Hand of Evil, The Presence, Black Lightning, The Homing, and Guardian. He is also the author of the New York Times bestselling serial thriller The Blackstone Chronicles, initially published in six installments but now available in one complete volume. Saul divides his time between Seattle, Washington, and Hawaii.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Another excellent work by John Saul!,
By A Customer
This review is from: Ashes to Ashes: The Dragon's Flame (Blackstone Chronicles, Part 3) (Mass Market Paperback)
If you haven't read the first 2 parts of "The Blackstone Chronicles", please do so! You'll understand this review better! In this third part, Rebecca Morrison, niece of the eccentric Martha Ward, goes to the town flea market with Oliver Metcalf, the newspaper editor, who has been trying to find out about the asylum's past, and has witnessed a gruesome sight at the end of Part 2. While at the flea market, Rebecca finds a beautiful, ornate cigarette lighter in the shape of a dragon's head. She buys it for her cousin, Andrea, who is coming home to Blackstone, after being thrown out by her boyfriend and becoming pregnant. As is expected, she and her mother, Martha, clash, but not until the story has been established. I can't say much more without giving away the plot, but I can say, it follows the lines of the previous parts, and leads you a little closer to discovering what is going on in Blackstone. Pick this up, and enjoy
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Very good,
This review is from: Ashes to Ashes: The Dragon's Flame (Blackstone Chronicles, Part 3) (Mass Market Paperback)
I have read the entire installment of the Blackstone chronicles but this one stands out the most. Sweet simple minded Rebecca is pleased when her cousin has decided to return to live with her fanatical mother. A well-meaning Rebecca buys her a fancy lighter at a flea market, but like the other objects from the Asylum it carries a deadly curse. The whole series pulls you and gets you involved it is reminiscent of the old series Friday the 13th, definately one you won't want to miss
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Different yet the Same,
By
This review is from: Ashes to Ashes: The Dragon's Flame (Blackstone Chronicles, Part 3) (Mass Market Paperback)
Once again, the basic plot line in "The Dragon's Flame" is almost identical to the first two installments. The main character is Rebecca, a quiet, friendly young woman who lives her strict aunt. When Rebecca's rebellious cousin comes home, chaos mounts. This extremely dysfunctional family makes the story very interesting, and difficult to put down.
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